#Just catchin up on things before I disappear again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsdanii · 4 years ago

Note

Because I’m an angst-addicted ball of misery, is it okay if I request drabbles of Fuckboy!Atsumu and Fuckboy!Oikawa being the crush of the reader but she knows of how they treat other girls and doesn’t want to end up heart broken and since she’s shy and introverted, the boys barely know her aside from her being a classmate?

She tries to keep a simple distance away from them until said boys randomly show an interest in her and they start showing her attention, love, and treating her better than the girls they messed with until after a few weeks she overhears from them or their teammates that it’s out of pity/they were bored because Y/N seemed easy to mess with.

Y/N doesn’t let them know she overheard them, instead a switch is flipped and she’s emotionless around them and avoids them. When they ask why she’s like that, she simply says “I won’t let you hurt me like the others.” She basically treats them like they don’t exist (she’s friendly to everyone but them) and said f!boys regret it and bust their asses to fix everything between them (I read how you felt about full angst, so the reader just blocked their number, social media’s, and treat them like the plague until they prove that they truly love her or regret messing with her :) )

Hey, bub. Sorry for the slight delay! I hope you don't mind me making slight adjustments about the plot for my comfort 🥺 And uh... this drabble turned out to be a oneshot because I got carried away. I only did Atsumu's part which went over 3k+ works 👁️👄👁️ Anyway, I hope that you still like it. Have a good day, stay safe and hydrated! ♥️

Karma's a b*tch

genre: angst to fluff

warning/s: rude behavior (resolved), cursing, self doubt and insecurity(?), do message me if I missed any

a/n: please do read the warnings before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason

ft. fboy!atsumu miya, f!reader

never play with a girl's feelings. wanna know why? just read the title.

You stared at the back of Atsumu's head dreamily, your elbows propped on your desk as you basically ignored the world around you.

Contrary to the belief that noisy students always sat on the back, Atsumu and his twin were actually seated in front. Despite being in the middle of a class discussion, the two kept on chattering as if the teacher didn't exist. The teacher basically gave up already trying to shut them up since they never listened anyway.

You knew that she could've just sent them to detention but of course, who would do that to the miya twins? People almost worshipped them and your teacher wasn't excluded. Everytime she entered the room, you noticed how she would always cast a glance at the Miya twins and smile "politely."

The two, of course, took advantage of it. If it meant being able to get away with their noise by just simply smirking at the teacher in front of them, they'd do it. They already did anyways. They never did anything more than that though, and for some reason you were thankful that they never crossed that line.

You jolted up slightly when the bell suddenly rang, a loud yelp slipping past your lips out of shock. With your eyes widening like saucers, you felt your cheeks heating up when majority of your classmates turned their head towards your direction, some having a grin on their faces while the others having a look of displease.

However, their stare didn't matter as much as a specific person's did. A pair of brownish eyes stared at you intensely, his gaze so intense it was enough to make you almost squirm in your seat.

Feeling your heart rate picking up along with the shiver running down your spine, you looked down at your lap, successfully cutting your eye contact with Miya Atsumu - the guy you secretly liked despite being hailed as your school's certified f!ckboy.

"Make sure to finish all your requirements this upcoming weekend. You're all seniors so I have high expectations on your outputs, understood?"

With a series of "Yes, ma'am," the class was dismissed.

The room was filled with different noises - subgroups gossiping with each other, the footsteps of students hurrying their way out, the rustling of papers, clanking of chairs and the voices of the class representatives reminding the assigned people to clean properly.

It was lively, for them at least.

As for you, you preferred being alone. No, you weren't some weird nerd kid who acted as if they hated the world. Instead, you preferred categorizing yourself as one of those people who were naturally shy and introverted.

You don't really like crowds nor socializing. You've always opted on sitting by the corner, just enjoying the calmness silence brings you.

Grabbing your books from your desk, you stood up and made your way to the door, head casted a little downwards to avoid making eye contact with people, knowing that doing so will result to interactions, and who has time for interactions anyway? Certainly not you.

With the lack of paying attention, you failed to notice someone who was rushing their way out. Like a cliche movie, your body collided with them, the impact causing you to stumble backwards, loosening your grip on your books as they fell on the floor.

Luckily, the person behind you managed to catch you on time, their hand gripping the small of your back to keep your bum from meeting the floor.

"Whoa, there. Ya alright, princess?" spoke the familiar voice just behind your ear, his breath against your skin giving you small goosebumps.

Instantly, you jerked away. Turning around to face him, you bowed down while muttering continuous apologies. "Miya! I didn't mean to bump into you, I.. I swear. I was just walking out and then somebody j-"

Chuckling, Atsumu placed a hand on top of your head, giving your hair a small ruffle which eventually made you look up at him. "Calm down, I ain't mad at ya. No need to be so flustered."

With a stiff nod, you mumbled a small "Okay," before bending down to pick your books off the floor. You didn't fail to notice how your hands were trembling and you silently prayed to whoever diety was watching over you that Atsumu won't notice it.

"Yer y/n, right?" Atsumu asked as he bent down as well, one hand clutching your book as he let his finger trace over the name written on it. "A pretty name fer a pretty face like yers."

You wouldn't be surprised if he'd ask if you were doing okay because by now, you were a hundred percent sure that your face must be looking like a red tomato. "Thanks I guess," you said, giving him a shy smile before taking the book from his hand.

The small encounter was cut off by someone calling for Atsumu's name. Turning your head to the direction of the noise, you noticed Osamu walking towards you with a small frown on his face, one hand gripping the strap of his bag as he went on how they're going to have to run extra laps again if they ever got late for practice.

Atsumu only chuckled at Osamu before turning his focus back on you. With a cheeky smile, he booped the tip of your noise fondly. "Guess I'll see ya around, pretty thing. Careful not to stumble again, alright? Don't want another man catchin' ya."

With that, Atsumu went on his merry way, turning around one more time to send you a wink, chuckling as you gave him a slow wave before his figure disappeared from your vision as a mere dot.

"See ya later..." you whispered on thin air, lips unconsciously curling up as you stared at the direction he went off to. Once you snapped out of your daze, you bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing like a school girl in love.

Well, technically, you were a school girl in love, right?

That night, as you laid on your bed staring at your ceiling full of glow in the dark stars, you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad making conversations with people every once in a while.

The days went by pretty quickly.

At first, you thought that everything will be back to normal. After all, you never tried associating yourself with people. Your high school life was basically nothing but waking up early for school then going back home after class and then repeat.

However, something was strange. In fact, it was very strange. Not only were people trying to befriend you but the one and only Atsumu Miya was actually making an effort to talk to you, and to say that you were confused would be an understatement.

He basically didn't pay attention nor spared you a glance before, until that day you bumped into him.

You knew that it wasn't a good practice to judge someone based on what other people say but he wouldn't be called as your school's f!ckboy for nothing. He'd change his girlfriend almost every week as if he's only changing clothes, cruelly dump those who did not meet his certain standards and doesn't care even if a girl cries infront of him. Those are exactly why you tried not associating yourself with him nor his twin.

But there was something about Atsumu Miya that kept on drawing you in. You didn't know if it was his annoying piss colored hair, intense gaze, or the aura surrounding him. You couldn't help but wonder how someone like him, the exact type of person you swore you hated, managed to keep you attracted like a moth on to a flame.

It was weird.

And yet you loved it.

"Ya know y/n, ya kinda wound me," Atsumu said, plopping himself down beside you on the cafeteria.

With your hand clutching the chopsticks mid-air, you surveyed your area, noting how some heads, specifically the Inrizaki VBC's, turned to your direction. "Sorry, what do you mean?" you muttered as soon as your eyes met Atsumu's.

"I literally thought we're already friends when I saved yer ass from falling backwards," Atsumu answered before stuffing his mouth with an Onigiri, no doubt made by Osamu.

Placing your chopsticks down, you wiped your lips with some napkin before speaking up. "I'm sorry for asking this but... what's with the sudden interest, Miya?"

You were aware of how snappy you sounded, but in reality, it was your own defense mechanism acting up. Just how were you supposed to ignore him when it's he himself who kept on clinging to you?

"Hm, what do ya mean? Is it so hard to believe that I'm trying to befriend ya?" Atsumu tilted his head a bit to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Why not try givin' me a chance, princess? That isn't so much to ask for."

You organized your now empty bento, placing it on the side before focusing your whole attention to the man in front of you. "I've seen how you treated girls before," you said with a low voice, averting your gaze from him to avoid melting into a puddle.

Damn stupid feelings.

"I see..." Atsumu said with a slow nod. "Then I guess that makes it more of a challenge."

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed upon hearing that, your curiosity spiking up at what his words meant. "Challenge? What do you mean?"

Instead of answering you, Atsumu just stood up, his bento in hand with the side of his lips curled up. "I'll see ya around, princess."

With that, you were left alone in your table, eyes still trained on Atsumu as he made his way back to the Inarizaki VBC's table. You watched as most of his friends chuckled while patting his back, some even sending a glance towards your direction.

Deciding that pondering over it would only be a waste of time, you stood up and made your way back to your classroom, failing to notice a grey haired Miya watching you.

You let out a small squeak as someone behind you reached for the same book you've been trying to get for almost 5 minutes now. Tilting your head back a little, you were met with an upside down vision of Miya Atsumu's face.

With your arms still raised in the air, you spun around to face him, your back flush against the bookshelf keeping you basically trapped. "Miya," you mumbled while looking up at him, one hand fisting the side of your skirt to release some pressure.

"Here," he simply said while handing you the book, obviously holding back from laughing at your flustered expression. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna try anythin' that would make ya uncomfortable. I was just passin' by and saw you strugglin'."

"And he even tucked my hair behind my ear!"

"He did that?" your cousin spoke from beside you.

Both of you were seated on top of your bed, legs crissed crossed as you gossiped about your interactions with Miya Atsumu.

For the past few weeks, you've been having encounters with Atsumu - in the cafeteria, in the library and even outside of school where he claimed that he was out to buy some ingredients for Osamu and only managed to bump into you "coincidentally". Name it and he'll be there.

With these constant encounters stirring up your feelings, you had to resort on calling your cousin for some girl time in order to save your sanity. Luckily, your parents had no objection. They were even happy that you were actually trying to open up to other people. It was only your cousin but according to your parents, "A small step is still a step."

Plopping your back on your bed, you grunted as you placed both of your hands on your cheeks. "Mhm. I just don't get it you know? He's basically this popular guy that plays volleyball, has a group of girls swarming over him and has the face and body that looks like it's been sculpted by God himself, and yet he's wasting his time on me."

You looked at your cousin with a small pout, one hand reaching out to poke her thigh. "Am I just overthinking things?"

With a breathy chuckle, your cousin laid down beside you. "Maybe? I can't really say for sure since I don't know this Miya guy except your description of him, but what I think is that you should give him a chance."

Hearing that, you laid on your side to face her, elbows propped up against the mattress as you rested your cheek on your palm. "Aila, have you been listening to me? He is a f! ckboy. Dangerous, treats girls like shit, and undeniably sexy. What if his sudden interest is only a one time thing? What if he's just messing with me?"

"And what if he isn't?" Upon hearing no reply, your cousin took your silence as her cue to continue. "What if people just labeled him as this so called 'f!ckboy' because that's what they perceive him to be? What if inside him is just someone who's vulnerable, trying to protect themselves from getting hurt by people so they end up hurting others first to save themselves from the pain? What if he's just waiting for someone who wanted to really know him, the real him? Would you really deprive him of that opportunity just because of what you hear from other people?"

"I... I don't know.."

"Miya isn't here to defend himself and I'm not trying to defend him, but don't you think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt?" Aila smiled as she settled herself on a comfortable position. "Give him a chance, y/n. Everyone deserves to get one. It's up to him to prove whether he's worth the chance he was given."

You sighed deeply, letting her words sink in as you also shifted yourself on a comfortable position, raising your comforter up until it reaches just below your chin. "Then what happens if he isn't worth the chance he's given?"

With a hum, your cousin just shrugged. "Then you either forgive him and let it go or... give him the finger and tell him 'f!ck you' for messing with your feelings," she said with a short giggle.

"It's something only you in the future can decide. Goodnight, y/n."

With a thankful smile, you turned the lamp off as you whispered, "Mh, goodnight, Aila."

"Let's be friends," you said as you slammed a box of onigiri in front of Atsumu, a smacking sound resonating in the air making the rest of the boys look at your direction.

Even the sound of balls whooshing in the air stopped, replaced by the sound of them dropping suddenly on the gym's floor.

With his lips parted, Atsumu shifted his gaze from the onigiri, Osamu, Suna and you. "Ah..." he muttered as if he was just as shocked as you for having the guts to come inside the gym in the middle of their training.

Feeling your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment due to his lack of response, you looked down and started to fiddle with you fingers. "You said you wanted to be my friend and I kept on keeping my distance from you so I thought you might appreciate those onigiri as my peace offering." You scratched the back of your head before giving him an awkward smile. "A-anyway, that's all! I'll see you around, Miya!"

Atsumi could only watch you as you dashed out of the gym. Snapping out of his daze, he looked down at the box of Onigiri, smiling unconsciously as he noticed the sticky note posted on top with "Good luck on your practice, Miya! :))" written on it.

"Interestin'," Atsumu whispered before standing up, Kita's voice filling the air as he called the team back for practice.

It's safe to say that after that embarrassing moment, you became friends with Atsumu. You even became close with his twin because they were always with each other. It wasn't long then when the usual duo became three - Atsumu, Osamu, and you.

It was hard to adjust at first. Your female classmates would always glare at you and spout out some nasty remarks but the twins were always there to defend you. In fact, you even met the whole team and hanged out with them when you didn't have some academic tasks to finish.

It was fun, and you were thankful for your cousin who gave you the advise of giving Atsumu a chance.

But there was a downside on the situation.

Your feelings which you kept hidden for a long time was only growing day by day, and you were afraid that it was slowly showing signs.

How?

Everytime Atsumu was near, your heart would beat so fast that you felt like you just finished a 4 kilometer run. Your hands would become clammy, breath would hitch, and face would heat up whenever he teases you, and don't even forget to add that one time you literally froze when you spun around, only to come face to face with him - nose almost touching, lips ghosting against each other with only an inch keeping you apart.

You were playing a dangerous game and yet you had no intention of stopping, not knowing that it wasn't only you who had a secret.

Because Atsumu Miya was also playing a game - something much more dangerous than yours.

"Where's 'Tsumu?" you asked as you peeked your head inside the gym.

Kita, who was about to walk out, gave you a smile before opening the door wider for you to come in. "Atsumu's in the storage room. The twins made a mess again so I told them to go clean up before we start practice."

"Typical," you said with a short giggle. "Anyway, I'm just going to drop off Atsumu's hoodie that I borrowed last week. I'll watch over them while you do your business."

"That would be great. Thank you so much, y/n-san. Call me if something happens," Kita said, giving you a small nod before leaving.

As you entered the empty gym, you grimaced upon seeing something that looks like spilled milk on the floor. With a shake of your head, you made your way near the storage room sneakily in attempts of scaring Atsumu.

However, as you got closer, you heard two familiar voices. It was Atsumu's and Osamu's voice, and basing from the way they were speaking, it seemed as if they were in the middle of an argument.

"The fuck did ya say?" It was Osamu.

"I said I was only playin' with her. I mean, she's so easy, don't ya think? It basically only took me a couple of weeks and she came runnin' to me with that box of Onigiri, claimin' she wanted to be friends," Atsumu said, followed by a chuckle. "As if I didn't notice the way she acted around me. I'm telling ya, that girl is in love with me."

"And so, what if she is? That's not an excuse for ya to play with her feelings, dipshit."

Hearing Atsumu huff, you slightly backed away from the door, only to freeze when you heard his next words.

"Y/n is nothin' but a toy to me, somethin' I can dispose of when I got bored."

Biting your lower lip, you clenched the handle of the paperbag you were holding before running out with tears streaming down your face.

You ran as fast as you could, ignoring the worried looks you're getting from the people you were passing by. Even Kita was shocked to see you yet he didn't bother calling out, thinking that you might be needing some alone time for yourself.

You skipped class.

Throughout your whole Highschool life, this was the first time you skipped your class and it was a bummer that the reason was Atsumu Miya.

Stirring your strawberry milkshake from a nearby cafe, you thought about Atsumu's words, another batch of tears streaming down your face as you realized how pathetic you were for believing that he isn't what others say.

Maybe your cousin was wrong.

Atsumu Miya wasn't worth the chance he was given, because he only proved that once a f!ckboy, always a f!ckboy.

You blocked Atsumu's social media accounts.

In fact, you even blocked and deleted his number to stop getting in contact with him.

Even in person, you didn't bother paying him any attention unlike before. You stopped coming to their practices, stopped giving him food and stopped talking to him.

You basically acted as if he didn't exist.

It was hard because you knew that your heart belonged to him, but you had to endure it. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction for playing with you. You know your worth and there's no way you're going to let some f*ckboy ruin you.

"Y/n, would ya stop?!" Atsumu said as he grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping you from walking away from him any further.

"Get your hands off me, Miya. I don't wanna talk to you." You struggled against his hold, trying to take your hand back, only to fail when he tightened his grip.

"The hell's yer problem? What's with the sudden attitude? Yer basically ignorin' me and I don't have any idea what I did. Just tell me what I did wrong instead of actin' like a little brat." Letting go of your wrist, Atsumu groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration. "I.. I don't like this."

You laughed, eyes squinting as you let out a fit of giggles before pointing at him. "You don't like this? Why not, Miya? I'm just a toy for you, right? So, I don't really get why you don't like this. Is it because you're not bored of me yet so you're not willing to dispose of me?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a serious expression. "Well, I'm sorry to say this but I'm not going to let you hurt me like the others. I'm not a plaything nor am I desperate like those girls pining over you. Have fun looking for a new toy. You're not worth playing with anyway."

That being said, you turned your back on Atsumu, ignoring the whispers that suddenly filled the hallway as the students parted some space for you, leaving Atsumu with his lips parted and feet frozen on the ground.

Serves you right, Miya.

Atsumu felt hollow.

With every passing day that you're ignoring him, conversing with people whom you never bothered associating yourself with before, the more he regret taking advantage of your feelings.

It was only supposed to be a game, nothing but a pass time and yet why did it felt like something was missing?

"I wasn't supposed to care," Atsumu said desperately while clutching his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table as he opened up to his twin. "F!ck...I think I like her, 'Samu."

"No shit, idiot," Osamu answered without taking his eyes off the stove. "I told ya several times to stop messin' with people's feelings and did ya ever listen? No. That's what ya get for bein' stupid."

Groaning, Atsumu rested his cheek against the table, facing Osamu's back. "Help me."

Slowing down from stirring the pot, Osamu looked at Atsumu through his shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, I'm yer twin. Aren't ya supposed to help me? Plus... y/n acts fine around ya." Atsumu sighed before sitting up properly. "I won't bother ya fer a week if ya help me out. I already did everythin' I could. Flowers, chocolates, even payin' attention in class just to impress them! Nothin' worked."

Osamu chuckled at the desperation and frustration in Atsumu's voice. "Deal." He turned the stove off, covering the pot before making his way to Atsumu. Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest while staring at the brokenhearted Miya. "Y/n is actually kind. Well, not until that moment she found out about yer stupidity. Have ya tried showin' her that yer willin' to change?"

Atsumu nodded. "I did. I even gave her the usual things girls like."

"I asked if ya showed her that yer willin' to change, not tried winnin' over her through bribery." When Atsumu didn't respond, Osamu let out a 'tsk' before continuing, "Just stop botherin' her and prove that ya regret what ya did."

"Easier said than done," Atsumu grumbled which earned him a smack on the head.

"Will ya stop bein' a sad boy already? I have a plan."

Its been two weeks.

Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu trying to apologize. Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu following you like a lost puppy while holding either chocolates or flowers.

Instead, what you were getting were these random post it notes on your locker, your desk, everywhere. Wherever you go, there would be random post it notes with various messages. Some contained cheesy quotations, the others short apology letters.

And despite how mad you were at Atsumu, you wouldn't be able to deny how cute the act was. Not only did he gave you space but also exerted an effort of silently letting you know that he'd be willing to wait for you.

You noticed how he stopped acting like a boss in class, opting to jot down notes instead of chattering with Osamu like usual. You also noticed how he stopped having a random girl beside him during breaks. Everytime you would pass by, no longer would he try to block your way and flick your forehead, but instead give you a hopeful smile before proceeding on his way wordlessly.

But what made you realize that he indeed regret what he did was that one time.

You were walking back to your classroom after forgetting your umbrella. The sound of the heavy rain tapping on the ground resonated on the empty hallways, the cold wind making you shiver as it whooshed in the air.

Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you entered your classroom, eyes widening as you saw Atsumu trying to fit something on the space below your desk while mumbling something.

Clearing your throat, you noticed Atsumu jolting up slightly before turning around to face your direction.

He smiled sheepily before scratching his nape. "I know it's yer birthday tomorrow so I was tryin' to fit this here. I guess there's no point hidin' it already since ya caught me anyway." Sighing, Atsumu picked up the fox stuffie and handed it to you. "Happy Birthday, y/n. I know yer still mad at me and ya probably hate me but I still wanted to give ya a present."

You stared at the fox in your hand, your fingers poking the fluffiness of the material as you fought back the urge to smile. "Thanks," you answered with a dismissive tone.

For a split second, it was silent, and you were aware of the intensity of Atsumu's gaze burning on your forehead, yet you refused to look up, knowing that once you did, you won't be able to hold yourself back and might just forgive him there and then.

"I like ya, I really do. I know I messed up big time fer taking advantage of ya and I'm sorry fer that. It was stupid and childish of me to think that the people around me are nothing but mere toys fer me to play with. I regret hurtin' yer feelings and I'll be willin' to wait until ya forgive me. Just know that I won't stop until ya do."

Hearing something rustling, you looked up and noticed Atsumu taking off his jacket. Within a few steps, he was already infront of you, draping his jacket over your figure. "I'll see ya around, princess. Don't get sick, alright?" Smiling, Atsumu gave your cheek a small pinch before heading out.

You were left in the empty classroom with nothing but the fox stuffie serving as your company. Atsumu's scent was swirling around you from the jacket you were given and at that moment, you haven't notice the single tear sliding down your cheek.

Because of all people, you never expected for Atsumu Miya to be the first one to greet you without having to remind them.

He was the first person you knew outside of your household to ever remember your birthday.

You hugged the stuffie close to your chest, burrying your face on top of its head as you let the comfort it brings envelope you.

You stared at the empty space infront, your head swirling as you thought of the possible reasons why Atsumu haven't been in class for three days now.

It's currently your last subject and throughout the whole day, you've been doing nothing but wonder where he was. You haven't asked Osamu about it yet since he was excused from the class due to the preparations for the upcoming match.

And so, the moment your class was dismissed, you rushed your way out, making your trip to the gym. You were thankful that they were in the middle of a water break so you had the chance to call out Osamu's name without having to worry about Kita.

"Y/n?" Osamu's eyebrow shot up upon seeing you. Suddenly, a knowing smile made its way to his lips. Standing up, he walked over to you. "He's sick," he said without even waiting for you to say something.

"Oh.." you muttered, shifting from one foot to another nervously before tugging at the hem of Osamu's jersey. "Do you... uhm, do you think it would be alright if I visit him after your practice? I wanna see if he's doin' alright."

"Alright. I think 'Tsumu would appreciate that. Why don't ya sit on the bench and wait a little for us to finish practice then ya can visit our house after?"

Upon hearing that, your face instantly lit up. You smiled at Osamu as you nodded.

Osamu only chuckled at you and fondly ruffled your hair, a habit he and Atsumu shared.

You waited patiently, and it wasn't long then when their practice finally finished. After Osamu took a shower, you both went on your way to their residence.

As you entered their house, Atsumu's voice immediately met your ears.

"'Samu! Cook me somethin', I'm starvin!"

You looked at Osamu who only shrugged as if he was already used to it. You took your shoes off and wore the slippers you were given before placing your bag on the couch.

"Our room is on the right. Go ahead and talk to him." Osamu said as he pointed on the door at the end of the hallway.

With a nod, you slowly made your way to their room, knocking softly before sliding your way in.

The first thing that greeted you were the mess of opened junk foods on the floor. Roaming your eyes around, you grimaced at the sight of empty water bottles littered around along with the volleyball laying on the ground.

Averting your eyes away from the trash, you looked at Atsumu whose back was facing you, his shoulder raising up and down evenly, indicating that he must be asleep.

Carefully, you walked claser and sat on the edge of his bed, your hand immediately feeling his forehead. "You're burning up," you mumbled, brushing his hair away from his face.

Suddenly, Atsumu's hand gripped your wrist, his eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. "Am I dreamin' or are ya a ghost?" he asked with a raspy voice.

"I'm not a ghost, 'Tsumu. I'm really here."

You watched as Atsumu slowly nodded before letting go of your wrist. "What're ya doin' here? I thought ya were still mad at me." Sitting up, Atsumu held the comforter close to him as he shivered.

"I heard you were sick. I'm no longer mad at you. I guess I'm still upset but I just can't hold a grudge against you forever, can I? That's not something I can do," you said with a shake of your head. "I really like you, you know? Despite your title of being a f!ckboy, I still fell for you. You were the first person I tried opening up to aside from my cousin. It's just a bummer that you ended up taking advantage of that vulnerability."

You felt Atsumu reaching out for you, his hand enveloping yours as he gave it a small squeeze. "I know, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"And if I give you another chance, will you prove me that you deserve it?" you asked as you looked at him, "I'm still hurt about what happened so I hope that if I give you this chance, you won't waste it."

"Yes. God, yes," Atsumu answered breathlessly, "I promise it won't happen again and I'll try to be better."

Suddenly, Atsumu wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you on his lap as he settled his head on the side of your neck. "Thank you," he mumbled repeatedly against your skin, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid of letting go.

And he never did.

Indeed, there was something about Miya Atsumu that kept drawing you in, and despite the bumps and dangers that came along your way, you didn't withraw.

Because as you closed the last page of your photo album eight years from then, you realized how right your cousin was alll along.

Atsumu Miya was worth the chance he was given, and he proved it to you every single day, sealing it with the diamond ring now resting on your left hand.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

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sunflowervolvimp3 · 5 years ago

Text

changes (best friend!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol

Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader

Word Count: 17k (holy shit)

A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3

{masterlist}

Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.

This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London. However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.

Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor. Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas. Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.

This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.

Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother. Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off. Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there. Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world. Just typical teen things.

However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever. They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother). Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition. Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.

They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating. Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other. However, their answers were always the same. Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more. Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything. Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.

Until now.

Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest. His entire body glistens with water from the shower. Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—

Her breath catches in her throat. Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.

“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.

Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”

Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.

Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes. Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times. The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times. But she’s never seen him like that.

When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child. Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.

Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror. She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did. Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.

As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up? Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman? Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?

Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago? That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?

The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed. Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before. She likes it more than she should.

After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child. She isn’t a child.

Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.

Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.

Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.

“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”

Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did. Woke up a bit early, though. Thought I’d shower before brunch.”

Right. Brunch. They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before. Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked. I forgot you slept over, and—”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No. You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”

“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”

“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.

The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love. It’s fine, promise. I don’t mind that you saw. I’m very comfortable in my body.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”

“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.

“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes. There is.”

“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”

Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone. The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night. Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.

Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted. There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.

And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.

I’m on the last flight back to London. Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together. You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.

Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through. Harry’s already on the plane. So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.

Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life. She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks. She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes. She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.

When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago. The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.

“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug. One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”

“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States. I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”

“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone. And I wanted to be with you.”

Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon. I have dinner ready.”

Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.

“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six. Stop pouting to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”

Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first. You smell like a plane.”

Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely. Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.

Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV. When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first. It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.

As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second. They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous. And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them. They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.

Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent. His words slur together as well

“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer? Feels nice.”

The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says. Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.

Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes. Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.

“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.

“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”

Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”

“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”

If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him. She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.

But Harry is hardly awake right now. And it wouldn’t be fair.

“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.

…

It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time. While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal. While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.

A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple. He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.

Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”

Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out. Not anything good, anyways.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”

“We can go out. We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard. Why don’t you use it?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”

Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job. I’m on the clock for another two hours.”

“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”

Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”

Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini. However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency. Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning. She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.

Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you. Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”

“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water. Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.

“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day. You really would’ve liked it.”

“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“All musicians are narcissists, love. At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”

“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry. The pool is for swimming only.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do. She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.

She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool. Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.

“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”

“The pool is for swimming only. I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”

“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”

“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”

“Right. Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”

Harry just grins at you.

…

“Want one?”

Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.

“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.

Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah. I’m not very good, though. Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”

“So high maintenance.”

Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha. High maintenance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”

“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.

Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly. To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.

“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now. I’m sophisticated.”

Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”

Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”

“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”

His Y/N. That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core. Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.

“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.

“She doesn’t take shit from anyone. She gets drunk fast and high faster. She’s always down for a laugh. And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.

“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.

The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.

“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.

Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah. Just haven’t done that in a while.”

“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.

Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly. She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.

Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.

Y/N really doubts it.

“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”

Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face. Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.

“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that. Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”

“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”

“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul. Neither was I, honestly.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”

Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”

“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”

As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her. He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.

“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall. Did you two ever…?”

“What? Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.

Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah. I guess so.”

“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun. But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”

Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip. Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes. His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.

“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter. Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”

The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.

“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”

“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why. You usually tell me everything. You always have.”

Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”

Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.

After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater. Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it. Social distancing, and all that.”

Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No. I sleep better with you beside me.”

When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall. She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.

Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her. Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.

Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done. The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry. Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.

Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers. He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders. Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

The tender action leaves Y/N speechless. The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other. But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.

Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again. Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly. It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.

…

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout. His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face. His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.

“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”

“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.

Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.

Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later. It’ll be fun.”

…

“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”

“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone. Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface. There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.

“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon. Try a cupcake.”

Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth. She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.

Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah. They’re good.”

Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing. He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah. Sweet.”

The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk. They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.

“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”

Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”

Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”

Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know. I miss sex so much.”

“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”

A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face. Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching. I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”

Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”

“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching. It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.

She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”

Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass. You know exactly what I meant.”

A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge. He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that. If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.

“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair. She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping. The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”

Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else. He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”

Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”

Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”

“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching. Intimate touching. And…being touched intimately.”

Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah. I miss that too. Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”

“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”

Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”

Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair. You know that.”

Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass. Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions. And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.

“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”

Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too. That’s always nice. I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”

“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H. Isn’t that strange?”

Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control. Have someone else…”

“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah. I’m more like that, I think. I usually let someone else decide. But I like the in-between, too. Like…both exploring each other.”

“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.

Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”

Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”

“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”

Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“And remember how nervous you were?”

“Yeah.”

“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you. Kind of like…a breathlessness. And you looked at the other person and knew they…”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know. I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually. But nice.”

“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine. What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee. He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”

“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me. And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”

“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”

Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H. That’s good. That’s…brave. You’re not afraid of how you feel. Most people are.”

“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.

Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth. She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.

Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position. His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Who have you been in love with?” He asks. His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.

“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university. We were together for two years. That’s it, I think.”

Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really? No one else? No one since Christian?”

Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know. I didn’t love any of them. I was…infatuated. But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark. Nothing prolonged.”

Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment. He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”

Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”

“Yeah. Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left. Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”

“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry. We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you. And you were…”

“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”

Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression. His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.

“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”

…

“Good morning.”

“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”

“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”

“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.

“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m used to it. I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites. She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.

“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.

Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink. You chose to.”

“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”

“Exactly.”

Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”

Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”

“Of course not. I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”

“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”

It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other. They’ve never acted any other way.

Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.

Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry. But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before? Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?

Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.

“Look at them. Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose. Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.

“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms. She likes how warm he feels.

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her. Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”

Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so. Do you?”

“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice. He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.

They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.

“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”

Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it. This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”

“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.

Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls. She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this. She wonders if he notices it, too.

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

…

The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side. What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.

“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”

Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“I’m a terrible artist, Harry. You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”

“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”

“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”

“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”

“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.

“That’s why I want you to do it. I want it in your handwriting.”

Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”

Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”

“No. Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.

“Why do I have to be creative?”

“Because I want you to decide what I get.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”

“I am! Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

…

“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.

Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”

“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”

Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.

Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”

“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters. She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”

“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.

“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.

“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”

“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.

“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”

“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”

Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose. Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.

“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”

True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish. When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.

“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”

Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face. There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”

“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”

“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”

“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”

Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”

Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”

Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.

They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them. It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.

“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”

“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right? Being touched?”

Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah. I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done. Find someone there.”

He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”

Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan. Not right now, at least. It’s not what I…want.”

“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”

“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random. I want sex, but I want to be…intimate. Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”

Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”

“No. It would be nice, but no. That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares. I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”

“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.

Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah. Intimately touched.”

“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”

The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”

“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks. And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”

“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…? I mean…”

“I—yeah. I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that. We’ve just never…discussed it.”

“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild. If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”

“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.

Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”

“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”

Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”

Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged. His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.

Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly. His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions. However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.

“Like this. Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly. His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”

“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.

Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch. His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.

“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.

“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah. Good. But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck. If you’d like.”

Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck. He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body. Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.

Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.

She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.

“H…”

“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.

“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.

For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him. She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now. Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something. And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more. She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.

Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed. Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.

“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly. If anything, she thinks, it’s worse. She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.

“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.

Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was. She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.

“Is it okay if I…?”

The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love. Go ahead.”

Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch. Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others. She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore. She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.

Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles. She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.

Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.

“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish. He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.

“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.

“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”

Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm. Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.

“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.

Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance. His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed. His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own. Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose. Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.

“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.

Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”

Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath. He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.

“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.

“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”

Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”

Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach. His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once. She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.

“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.

Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body. When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.

Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones. She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair. She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular. Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.

“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.

Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching. She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts. Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him. However, she’s not sure if they should.

Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”

Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know. I have no fucking clue.”

“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”

“Yeah. It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”

“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you. I’ve always wondered if—we—”

“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves. Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”

“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day. I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”

A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

“This isn’t the alcohol talking. I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you. And I think…I think you need me too.”

“I do. I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends. This is going to change that.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless. You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I want you.”

Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.

“I want you, too.” She says simply.

Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N nods. She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.

Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away. Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.

When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.

Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement. Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation. This kiss is the exact opposite.

Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate. Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top. His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.

Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before. Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time. Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark. She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.

Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.

Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side. Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.

“You’re not done.” She says simply.

He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again. This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.

Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure. With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.

With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious. His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.

“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”

“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.

“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that. Touch me like that.”

Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction. Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.

Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them. Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence. She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”

He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep. Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.

Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple. He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.

When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.

“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger. The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”

Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth. He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.

“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”

Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad. Yeah.”

Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed. Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.

Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top. When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.

“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”

Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there. In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.

Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes. She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.

When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair. She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.

“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down. Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.

Y/N loves him for it.

Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair. She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.

“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”

Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.

“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”

Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”

Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.

“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.

Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”

“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry. Just relax, yeah? It’s just me. I got you.”

Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center. When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.

“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.

Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.

The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties. Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.

The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure. Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.

“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”

Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”

“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.

“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”

Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her. YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.

“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”

Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”

“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”

He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt. His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.

“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”

He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can. Y/N continues to whimper above him.

“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”

Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him. However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.

“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”

Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth. He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.

“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”

“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H. I’m going—”

Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before. Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.

Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.

Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes. Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.

Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness. He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.

“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently. She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.

“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”

Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”

The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H. I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours. Always.”

Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”

“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you. Feel your weight. Feel you close.”

With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between. He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them. He’s teasing himself just as much as her.

“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”

“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”

“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”

As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between. I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling. A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.

The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before. Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete. He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.

“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”

Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”

Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up. While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her. This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.

Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her. Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer. As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her. As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop. Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.

They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible. Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication. Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language. When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being. When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.

Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.

Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”

Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.

“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.

Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge. He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.

Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”

“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you. Yours.”

Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her. He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.

As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again. He can’t think of anything else to say. He can’t think of anything else worth saying.

When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her. She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance. It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.

They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are. Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one. The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm. Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring. And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.

Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.

Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.

“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”

Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom. Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes. Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.

Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed. He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.

“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”

Y/N nods again. She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.

Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know. Almost done.”

Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later. His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.

He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H. Just…tired.”

“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”

“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”

Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.

…

The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry. It’s always been Harry. In every way.

Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry. She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.

Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm. Barely.”

A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungover. A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.

Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers. She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time. He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.

Y/N wonders if she looks the same. If she looks as pretty.

“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.

“Well…it is, actually. I made your drinks. And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.

“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”

Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”

Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”

“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”

Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No. I don’t. Do you?”

“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”

A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it. It felt—you felt like heaven.”

Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms. So that was a first for me.”

Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment. It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.

“I did.”

“You said you were mine.”

Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.

“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”

Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”

Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead. Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H. Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”

Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”

Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach. Not right now. And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N. I still would, and I always will.”

Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out. Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.

“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl. You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always. Don’t you know that?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades. Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost. I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll make it work. I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”

Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H. I do. I need you. I told you that last night.”

“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”

Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this. I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”

His low voice makes her shiver. “No. It feels right. Really right.”

“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”

“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”

Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”

“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”

“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.

“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it. At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”

“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent. Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”

Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t. But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N. I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something. I’ve loved it. I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll never get sick of you.”

Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”

“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”

“Yeah. It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”

Harry nods. “I am.”

“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”

Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”

“I’m just saying! We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”

“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”

Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah. We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.

Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”

“I’ve already admitted it!”

“So have I!”

“Not as well as I have!”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”

“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”

“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”

“Just—”

“You’re so irritating—”

“I’m irritating? You—”

“You’re the worst!”

“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”

“Okay. Nope. Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”

“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love. Come back to bed.”

“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.

“Come here!”

“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”

Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.

“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”

Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body. He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together. One less record for you.”

“Good. Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”

“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”

“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”

She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”

“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”

A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”

“Harry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”

“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.

Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”

#feedback is appreciated and use a condom kids #harry styles oneshot #bestfriend!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles preference #one direction imagine #one direction preference #one direction fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction #best friend!harry sty;es #watermelon sugar #watermelon sugar music video #fine line album

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sukifans · 4 years ago

Note

Congrats on 1k!!! Can you do number 9 from 50 cliché promts and tropes with mako x reader? :)

MAKO + “there’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling”

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

“Well, this is... unfortunate.”

“It’s unacceptable.” You glanced at Mako, who was visibly irritated. “First Beifong only approves one room because of ‘budget cuts,’ and now we’re expected to share a bed?”

“Relax, tough guy. I’m sure it was just a booking error. I’ll go talk to the receptionist.” You left your partner and your bag in the room with the single large bed against the wall to go downstairs and sort out the mistake. You gave the man at the desk your friendliest smile as you approached.

“Hello again,” the man said, looking up at you. “Is there a problem with the room?”

“Yes, actually. We should’ve been booked for a room with two beds but there’s only one. Could we be moved somewhere else?” You tried to sound as amicable as possible as you spoke, hoping the employee would oblige.

He flipped through the large book of records in front of him and traced his finger down a page. “Ah, yes! You reserved a double. So sorry about that—let me see what else is available.” You watched as he flipped through again, mumbling to himself. Your smile faltered a little when he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“It appears everything else is filled for the night. I’m terribly sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.” The man eyed you as if expecting you to blow up at him, but you just sighed and tightened your smile.

“Ah, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Thank you for checking, though.”

Mako was not gonna be happy.

“You’re joking,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. You dropped down to sit on the edge of the problematic bed itself. “Are you and Beifong trying to pull a prank or something?”

You stared up at him. “Beifong? A prank? Really?”

“Okay, no,” he huffed. “But you’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you think it’s funny to inconvenience me?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mako.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking.”

He groaned and threw himself in the threadbare armchair in the corner of the room. “Great, just what I needed,” he grumbled to himself.

“Hey, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either!” You rolled your eyes. “If you’re gonna freak out about it you can take the bed and I’ll just... sleep on the floor or something.”

“No, no. You take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“How noble,” you laughed. “You’re the one who has a problem sleeping with me. Take the bed.”

“I—” His cheeks tinged a slight pink that didn’t escape your notice. “I don’t have a problem.”

“You sure seem to.”

“I shared a blanket with Bolin on the street for most of my childhood.”

“You must be getting spoiled with that detective salary if you can’t rough it for one night and share a bed with your favorite partner. Going soft?”

You grinned when he glared at you. “Why are you torturing me?”

“You’re easy to torture.” You stood up to rifle through your bag. “And it’s fun.”

“I’m requesting a partner transfer when we finish this assignment,” he muttered, making you bark out a laugh.

“You wouldn’t, you’re too attached now.” You straightened up with your arms full of toiletries and clean clothes. “I’m gonna go wash up so I can pass out. Early day tomorrow, and all. Catchin’ bad guys, kickin’ ass, takin’ names.”

“Uh-huh.” A small smile finally graced his handsome face for the first time since arriving at the inn. “I’ll be here keeping watch—y’know, for the bad guys.”

Once you’d scrubbed off the long day of travel and changed into clean, comfortable clothes you reentered the main room to see Mako studying the files for the case the two of you were working. His eyebrows were set into a furrow as he read through it and chewed at the inside of his cheek absently. You watched him for a few more moments once you settled down onto the worn but comfortable mattress. Something in the papers seemed to perplex him as he wrinkled his nose and flipped back a few pages. Suddenly, his warm orange eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked with a small frown.

You shrugged. “Trying to figure out if that smell is the room or just you.”

His frown deepened. “Uncalled for.”

You hummed noncommitally and snuggled down between the sheets. “Go clean up so I can sleep.”

“I’m not stopping you,” he said, snapping the file shut and rising from the chair.

“I gotta keep watch, remember? Bad guys,” you murmured despite your heavy eyelids. Mako shook his head and disappeared into the bathroom. The gentle, steady sound of running water lulled you into a drifting sleep after only a few minutes.

You roused slightly when Mako returned, shuffling around the room followed by curling steam and the smell of his soap from the bathroom. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter and tried to fall back asleep until you felt him grab a pillow off the other side of the bed. Rolling onto your side you sleepily looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.” He stood next to a blanket on the floor with the pillow in his hand, dressed in a clean white shirt and loose pants. “I was just getting set up over here.”

You squinted at the pillow he held while your tired mind tripped over itself trying to catch up. “What?”

“I told you I’d sleep on the floor,” he said, gesturing to his makeshift sleeping area.

You blinked slowly at him. “Mako.”

“Yeah?”

“Get in the bed.”

“But—”

“I wasn’t asking,” you interrupted. “Come. To. Bed.”

He flushed lightly and opened and closed his mouth a couple times before looking down at his pillow he srill gripped. “I—I don’t want to make you... uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” you repeated blankly and he nodded. “I put my life in your hands every day, Mako. I trust you, probably more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. You’re not gonna make me uncomfortable. In fact, I’d be a thousand times more comfortable with you up here than on the floor.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, finally moving back towards the bed. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good.” You closed your eyes again and yawned loudly. “The mattress is big enough we can both stay on our sides, no big deal. You need to rest well so I know you’re alert enough to save my ass tomorrow and sleeping on the floor does not reassure me.”

“I already agreed, you don’t need to keep working at me.” Mako carefully slid into the sheets, being almost calculating in how close he could stay to the edge without falling off. Even with the considerable empty space between you, you could still feel his familiar warmth seeping into your tired muscles.

“‘M a detective, can’t help it.”

“Go to sleep. You’ll have plenty of time to harass me in the morning.”

“You know you love me.”

If only you knew, he thought to himself as you slipped back into your dreamland.

The first thing you noticed upon regaining consciousness was the thumping rhythm next to your ear. The next thing you noticed was how warm you felt, despite the sheets being tangled down around your feet. You turned your head and buried your face into your pillow, inhaling deeply.

Soap. And smoke.

Hold on. You lifted your head up slowly and blinked blearily, taking in where you were as your brain whirred back to life.

Not your pillow. Mako—his chest, more specifically. Your eyes trailed down to where your bodies were pressed together in a tangle of limbs. The arm wrapped around you ended in fingers pressing into your waist. Your thigh was hiked up around his hip and his knee was slotted between your legs. You looked up at his face to see he was still sound asleep, lips parted as he breathed slowly.

You sat up all the way and his hand on your waist flopped down onto the bed. “Mako.”

He snorted and gave no other response.

“Mako,” you hissed, smacking his chest lightly. Without opening his eyes, he grabbed your hand and yanked you back down.

“Don’ hit me,” he grumbled, lips brushing your forehead as he spoke. “‘M sleepin’.”

Your face was starting to burn. “Well, wake up!”

He cracked one eye open to peer down at you and closed it again with a sniff. All at once it seemed to hit him and his eyes flew open as he shot upwards, knocking you to the side. You groaned as he launched himself out of the bed and onto his feet.

“What time is it?!” he barked.

“I don’t know!”

He whipped his head around to look at the clock on the bedside table. He made a small noise of panic and snatched it up as if getting a closer look would change the reading it gave.

“Fuck, we’re late!”

thank you for the request! i hope you enjoyed it! it ended up being way longer than i thought it would be lol. i guess i’ll tag my atla list and the people who wanted to be tagged in my full mako fic lol

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @blazedbakugou @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula @wooscottoncandyhair @chewymoustachio @ohno-caroline @sunflowerr-mami @1vitamin @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @u-4iia @nymeria-targaryen @tommy-braccoli @dizzy-miss-lizzieeeeee @a-sloppy-bitch

REQUESTED TAGS: @ur-jinji @maruchan77 @songofgratitude @missturtleduck @zuko-is-the-sun @xxspqcebunsxx @atlabeth @malauri-lynn @sadskater25 @biqherosix @goodandevil18 @theeavtrkyoshi @miyonii @mcallmestiles @zutaraisendgamee @unketh @shortmexicangirl @keysvdssstuff @simmantha

#mako x reader #mako x you #mako x y/n #lok x reader #tlok x reader #mako fluff #mako imagine #atla x reader #mako fanfic #mako fic #legend of korra #avatar: the legend of korra #mine #lok fanfic

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honestsycrets · 5 years ago

Text

Hard Sell II: Mother’s Approval

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | he’s too shy to say anything.

❛ warnings | verbal argument, crazy family, 4B ivar is my favourite ivar

He sits by that rock looking out at the pier. As he reclines there, watching the waves pull and push onto the pier, Aslaug watches him too. There’s something on his mind, she knows, a mother always knows her son’s needs. She stops by the rock, the back of her hand brushing his prominent cheek bones, and waits.

“Ivar…”

He grunts, turning up from the waters, and regards her softly. “Mother.”

“There are no raiders leaving.” She notices.

“Mm.” He nods, turns his eye back, and she suddenly realizes what it is that he’s looking at. There, in the waters, his best friend pokes at the water with a long pole. She strikes, then fails, and the man beside her roars in laughter, getting a kick of heavy water toward him.

She mentions your name, “I see now.” Her foxish face pulls together, amused. “And the boy?”

“Cousin,” Ivar answers, settling his chin back on his forearm. “So he said.”

“She won’t marry her cousin, Ivar.” She settles beside him. The strange thing of his mother, as he always thought, was her infatuation with him above all his sons. The only one who truly and really loved him. Maybe then-- she was something protective of that role.

“Maybe not,” he grunts.

“Yet still no husband,” her voice pulls, amused. He hates it when she does that. Pointing out something that he knows, and could do something about, but hates all the same. He lowers his head down, barely peering over the leathery gloves.

“No, no husband.” Ivar agrees.

“Any reason why?”

Ivar’s fingers flicker. A growing annoyance-- because despite that chat the other day, nothing had changed. He saw you pick up your skirts, clinging to the form of your legs, and move onto sandy land. He also saw the confidence in which you carried yourself when you knew others were watching. You liked the eyes. His eyes, especially.

Something had to be there. You wink in his direction. It’s for him, he knows that now, and yet… You turn to place your hand back in the binding that the healer had given you to keep it taut against your chest. You’re an awful person to take care of. Always disobeying orders despite the break.

“Ivar!” You shout out to him, rushing to his rock, when you stop. It’s as if you’ve noticed something is astray. Or rather, someone.

“Aslaug,” you bow your head to her. Aslaug’s features soften, grasping Ivar’s arm. There it was, that display of dominance, and Ivar knows that this is the precise reason why you hadn’t done more to chase him. Ragnar didn’t love his mother like Lagertha. Every fool knew that. The way he… he cringes, turns his head away, finds his mother’s eyes.

“Any luck in the waters?” she asks, minding the fishing stick in your hand. You flip the pole in your hand, lowering the prod down to her as your cousin throws a wet sack over his back. “‘fraid not. Einir over here scared the fish away,” you accuse.

Did not, Einir scoffs, blowing out a small tuft of air. “She’s just a shit fisherwoman. Does better watchin’ than she do catchin’” he motions, pausing when Ivar’s eyes catch his, hot and hard. Almost as if to ask him to say that again, no really, say that again. “But-” he punches your arm playfully. “We’ve gotta get to the longhouse. Got some fish for dinner myself. Uncle’s waiting, huh?”

“You should come,” you gesture to Ivar, then pause. Aslaug-- she’d certainly wouldn’t complain if Ivar went, but you keep in mind that Ivar is her lifeforce to Midgard. “You too, Queen Aslaug. Father makes a good roasted fish.”

“Perhaps.”

That’s not awkward. You excuse yourself, punching Einir with your one good hand, even if its still holding the fishing pole. Fuck you, he makes out. Aslaug’s eye follows you until you disappear, then her arm snaps free of him, running instead through his hair.

“Do you want to go?” she asks.

Ivar, gazing back at her, nods. And they go together.

Your family works hard. So it only makes sense that they play hard, booze hard, laugh hard. Aslaug is familiar with this sort of company, but at the same time, she isn’t. They drink over one’s lap, husbands and wives drink of one horn, brothers brawl in the longhouse over the stupidest shit-- there’s your brother now, thrusting Einir across the floor and into the bench like beds that lined the walls.

“Do they always fight like that?” she asks.

You inhale, picking at the roasted fish, regretting all your life choices in that instant. “More or less. Einir calls Eyr something, Eyr calls Einir something, right Ivar?”

“You do the same thing.”

“I do not! I haven’t called them names.” You cut him off quick, tapping Ivar’s prominent forehead. Somewhere along the line, Ivar’s head had met your lap. Aslaug found this unsavoury. If only because she’d never seen him like this before, but the way he smiled, pure and wide, was something that she couldn’t fight about. “...today.”

“Tch,” Ivar clicks his tongue. “Continue to delude yourself.”

“Asshole,” you tell him, like its just you and him. But his mother is there, lips churning into a frown, obviously wise to your words. She leans on the edge of the chair.

“So,” she says, setting her own empty plate aside, and balancing the ale in her fingers. “Ivar says you’re uncalled for.”

“Uncalled for?”

“Mother.”

“You’re unmarried,” behind her, the rustling of Einir and Eyr comes to a complete stop. As does the loud, booming festivities of the evening. Instead they cue into her words. “Surely you aren’t going to remain unmarried. Do you have plans?”

By the gods, Ivar sits up. The safety net of having Ivar there has gone, and in its place, your hands run together with uncertainty. “I hadn’t thought of it. Spend all my time at home or with him.”

“You should.” She says. “There are plenty eligible men in Kattegat of your class.”

Of your class-- your eyes bulge, and so do Ivar’s.

“What does that mean?” Einir stands upright, though with a stagger, given the welt above his eyebrow swelling out. Blood trickles into his lashes. “Ya don’t think she could marry up?”

You gesture your cousin to calm himself, but he’s a farmer’s man, with a raging temper. He’s been busy knocking down timber for trade all night. He’s willing and ready to go, and you sense as much off the way he sets one of those fat palms on your shoulder, standing like a wall of offended muscle.

“Why my girl could marry a goði,” your father chimes in with a slur, and you squeeze your brow, “Father please.”

There’s no real stopping your father, nor your brother, nor your cousin when they started. “In fact! Just look’it ol’Ivar!”

He freezes, staring up like a deer caught in the hunter’s grasp, begging with the old man not to say something. Then, knowing he would, his fear turned to abject anger, his broad nose squeezing tight.

“She’s gottim wrapped around her li’l finger.” He shoves his wife’s shoulder, roaring in a laughter that is almost mocking. “A prince righ’? A prince.”

Aslaug isn’t fazed. Rather she searches you for a reaction. How would you handle this? Ivar’s face was hot and red, swelling up like the surge before the hurricane at sea. Your hand shoots out, cupping over his. Fingers lace up, drawing his attention from the momentary need to lash out, and replacing it with a soothing calm.

“I’m sure she could.”

You release tightly held air.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Since when have you been sorry?” Ivar asks, settled over his rock with his hood drawn up over his shaggy hair.

“Since, uh, now?” you come to sit beside him on the rock, pulling up your dress. His eyes catch the unprotected skin, cementing it to his memory, and he knows he’s in trouble then. His eyes tear away. “No difference. He was right.”

“About what?”

The cool air rushes by, reminding him of his mother’s words: Still no husband? And yet, you could have one, if Frigg willed it. His throat has clammed up on him, dry like a rock. “You have me around your finger.”

It’s ridiculous.

“You can’t be serious. He was drunk Ivar. He didn’t mean that--”

He could. He would. And he is.

“...I do.” His voice quakes, like he’s too shy to actually say it, that I want you-- that I like you-- maybe love you. He’s not sure of it and yet he’s never been more sure of anything else before. He only knows that it feels right when you gaze at him through the crowd, seek him out like a morsel of food among a plate.

He’s sure, more than ever, that this is what he needed.

“Well, I… of course.” You say, your head connecting with his shoulder, breathing in the scent, then exhaling. “You’re my best friend.”

If he died without hearing those words again, he’d be a lucky man.

“...of course.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @beyond-the-ashes @supernaturalvikingwhore @mblaqgi @wuxiesalt @hopplessdreamer @therealcalicali @rekdreams-fandom @moondustmemories @athroatfullofglass @poisonedjoinery @strangunddurm @shookforyoojung @peachesnpisces @tierneygonzalez @hexqueensupreme @nohemi2500 @queenmissfit @alicedopey @dmv49 @sallylebecks @terrainhead @mybarnesmyhero @youurkryptonite @lif3snotouttogetyou @vikingsmania @looneytunes20033 @bat-fam-blob @oneofthelothbroks @lovelynerdytraveler @chinduda @whatamood13 @honeyofthegods @ilvebeenabad @queenbeeta @wonderlandofsu @itsjusttaralove

#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #Ivar the Boneless imagines #ivar ragnarsson x reader #vikings/reader #vikings x reader

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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years ago

Text

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chapter 29″

youtube

"Oh my, time heals all but you outta time now (Now) Judge gotta watch us from the clock tower (True) Lil' tear gas cleared the whole place out I'll be back with the hazmat for the next round We was tryin' to protest, then the fires broke out Look out for the secret agents, they be planted in the crowd Said, "It's civil unrest," but you sleep so sound Like you don't hear the screams when we catchin' beatdowns Stayin' quiet when they killin' niggas, but you speak loud When we ride, got opinions comin' from a place of privilege…"

"Lockdown"-- Anderson.Paak

Califia stood before the march organizers and read off the things the group wanted to pass along to other protestors. Erik sat next to her on a chair and listened to her tick off each item.

"People should bring protective gear if they can. Goggles or sunglasses for pepper spray. If they have access, they can use the heavier gear for tear gas. Masks or bandannas for the face. Milk and water is good to have on hand to flush out the eyes if tear gas is used. Tattoos and other identifiable markings need to be covered. They should wear plain clothing or gear that doesn't have identifiable brands. A woman was arrested in the States because the Feds were able to trace a T-shirt she bought online at a specialty site. We have advised everyone to bring extra t-shirts and other clothing to switch out so they can disappear if surveillance photos are taken and the streets get hot. Confusing the enemy is the name of the game. We learned a lot from Hong Kong protestors in the past. Phones need to have GPS turned off and if possible, passcodes placed on them in case they are confiscated. No sharing selfies or uploading images…"

The list was long and her fellow organizers nodded in agreement with all the actionable items she shared.

Soliel stood next to her and read off her list of protest roles that would be fed out online to give everyone interested an opportunity to participate, especially those with disabilities and even those who wanted to march but were afraid of losing their jobs or being harassed by their own families.

"As long as we all fight in our own way, we can move this city and this country forward. The whole world. We expect the state to use whatever tools they can to make us look bad, so we must squash any groups that try to disrupt our peaceful march. There will be plants among us. We know this. But we can't allow them to bait us into a situation that would allow them to use violence against us. That is what they want. We'll have our shield soldiers briefed on how to defend us if the federals act out. Our flag bearers are young and move fast, so we will be made aware as soon as possible when the federals arrive in various locations. We have range soldiers, fire squads, and barricaders trained to act. There will be medics available, and as long as we follow our plans, we will have a safe and successful march," Soliel said.

Califia's chest eased with the tightness she had after talking with Erik. He listened on the chair and even asked a few questions about their safety if the police there took them to jail. They had bond pledges ready and lawyers on stand-by, but they hoped it wouldn't come to that.

When the meeting broke up, she walked outside to check on N'Jobu, Bakari and Besouro who opted to stand watch outside. As the organizers left their home, N'Jobu walked up and down the street. She worried that the spies sent to watch their house would take pictures of him, but he assured her that his kimoyo beads would mess up their tech. He planned on using a protective shield on her when they marched.

Besouro said goodnight, and her father and Bakari turned in for the night. She sat outside with N'Jobu and Erik.

"You feel comfortable?" N'Jobu asked her, tossing his arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah. I think we have it all down. The people just have to show up."

"How are you feeling?"

Looking into his eyes, she saw worry in them.

"Quiet…um…settled I guess. It's like the feeling I get when I used to dance at school. You rehearse and practice and understand your role, and now it just comes down to the performance. You hope things go well."

"They will," Erik said.

He sat on the small step that led up onto their tiny porch.

"Did we forget anything in there?" Califia asked, giving her son a smile.

"You had it all covered, Mom. Good job."

"Thank you."

His eyes glanced around the street. Then rested on N'Jobu.

"Baba, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about the march and us returning home."

Erik walked over to N'Jobu and rested his arms around his father's shoulders.

"I like having you around like this all the time. It's been fun here," Erik said.

N'Jobu stroked Erik's hands.

"I've enjoyed myself too, Son. What will you and Marisol do while we are at the march?"

"We'll watch it online, and then make dumplings with Auntie probably. She promised to make them on Saturday."

"Don't eat too many, you always get bad gas," Califia said.

"No, I don't—"

"You don't have to smell yourself when you go to sleep and start ripping bombs," she said rolling her eyes.

"Slander!" Erik said pushing on her arm. She pushed him back.

Down the street someone put on music in their home and Erik wiggled his hips and did a couple of backflips. Tapping his father's knees to get him to play, Erik hopped back from the porch to give N'Jobu room.

N'Jobu slid off his shoes and did an assertive swagger step that circled Erik. The boy's eyes kept watch on his father's hands, expecting the attack to come for his chest and not his feet. Erik stayed on the balls of his own bare feet, hopping up and down each time N'Jobu passed behind him. N'Jobu lunged forward but dropped to his feet tricking Erik into using his hands to go for his father's face. The moment Erik did that, N'Jobu cartwheeled into a side handstand using his legs to knocked Erik aside.

"Clever!" Erik shouted, hooking his fingers and jabbing N'Jobu with hard hits into his thighs. Their motion was fluid, and N'Jobu didn't allow it to move too fast.

"Alright little warrior, time for bed," Califia said.

Erik gave his father a hug.

"If you take a shower, try not to make too much noise, okay? Grandpop is having a hard time sleeping, so any noise keeps him up," she said.

"Okay. Night."

She kissed his cheek and watched him enter the house. The street was quiet then, and there were no more spies that they could see watching their home. The unmarked cars were gone.

Califia sat next to N'Jobu on the sturdy wooden chairs they propped out on the porch. Life felt good in that moment. She reached out and held his hand.

"When we have the vibranium, people can be protected from all police. All types of violence. We can create sources of energy that will lower the cost of living for everyone. People can really live. Sit on their porch and just watch the stars at night with their families and not worry about bills, or putting food on the table," N'Jobu said.

He cradled her fingers and kissed them. Califia stared into his eyes. She believed every word he said because the conviction in them was infectious. She had so many plans for when they began to remake the world. She wished Lia was alive to participate in shaping the future.

"Free education for all at any level. And that education will be equitable in quality everywhere. We can transform healthcare and the education of doctors and nurses on what true health and healing is. No more fossil fuels corroding the earth. People can work at what makes them happy, like my people at home. Wakanda isn't perfect, but we know how to run a society that treats people like humans and not capital gains."

She kissed his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked with a teasing quality in his voice.

"All that sounds so sexy coming from your mouth."

"This mouth right here?" he said pointing to his lips.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Let me test it again and see."

She climbed onto his lap and he held her sideways. Lowering her head, she licked his lips then suckled his top lip before going full open-mouthed kissing with him. His hand slid up and down her back and she felt a little something growing under her.

"We should take this to the bedroom," he whispered rubbing on her backside.

"We can't. Erik's sleeping in there, remember? Grandpop has his bed—"

"And Bakari's on the couch…yeah…that is a problem," he sighed.

They kissed longer, and when their necks began to shift left and right as their passion grew, N'Jobu broke away from her wet mouth. They didn't have a car, and the house was so small inside, they would wake up everyone even if they tried to sneak into the bathroom or kitchen.

N'Jobu's eyes darted to and fro, and then he had her lift up.

"What are you doing…babe…no…"

His jeans slid down to his thighs.

"Pull down your jeans, girl."

His erection was hot against her naked thigh. Dragging his fingers up and down her slit, he teased out her wetness.

"It just looks like your sitting on my lap," he whispered. His tone had gone heavy. He was ready.

She couldn't resist and sat down on his length and when she felt his balls, a groan escaped her lips and he covered her mouth.

"Shh, c'mon now. Let's pretend we're back in your grandmother's living room. You know how hot you get when you have to be quiet. Mmmm…shit…Califia…see, you do remember what that was like. Riding my dick. Up and down. Just like that. Give me what I want Califia. I'm your throne…I'm your throne…fuck!"

Califia shifted her weight and let it drop on his lap, allowing his dick to penetrate her deeper. He had her at his mercy, but she switched that up quickly.

"You like that Your Highness?"

His eyes grew big then narrowed with lust. This man. That royalty talk made him grow even stiffer. She rotated her hips in slow agonizing circles as she kept direct eye contact with him, biting her lip and pouting whenever he said her name in submissive whispers.

"You like that Your Highness?"

His head tilted back and his lust-filled eyes gazed up at the heavens filled with stars. She rocked forward and back letting his dick hit her walls with a different energy in the movement.

"I love it!" he gasped clutching at her covered breast.

She began a slow calculated bounce and his right thigh shook under her.

"Dammit!" he cried out while burying his face in her neck, gripping the skin there with his teeth.

"Bite me," she panted, wanting those gold panther teeth of his to dig into her throat and make her feel drunk with his power to weaken her flesh.

His loving never got old or boring or repetitive. N'Jobu's dick aged like fine ebony wine and he could still bring tears to her eyes when they made love. The tasty fucking he was giving her on the porch had her eyes swimming in water already.

"Fuck me Prince N'Jobu."

She whimpered when his eyes fell shut and he held her down on his lap so he could thrust up into her. She leaned forward again to adjust the side angle he had her in and allowed him to slam his dick into her with a faster rhythm. Her cheeks began to clap loudly and she worried that her family inside could hear it. N'Jobu gave no care to whoever heard him. He was inside his woman. That's all that mattered.

"Your Highness, fuck me harder!" she blurted out in a rush of desperate air.

He gave out a loud moan that he couldn't hold back, and now her loud ass cheeks were joined by the sound of her wet pussy being stirred like creamy cake batter. She didn't even have to play with her clit to keep it stimulated, the side fucking tugged on her stiff bud.

"Yes! Baby…harder…"

Tears dropped from her eyes and her mouth started to dry out from being open and yelping every three seconds. When she began to squeal and squirm from all his thrusting, she dug her nails into her knees and let go.

"I'm cumming Prince N'Jobu! I'm cummi-!"

She slammed her hand over her mouth as the contractions in her walls took over. She stood on tippy-toe as her pussy did all the work of milking his dick. He shouted a curse word in Wakandan and the swelling of his length released a torrent of hot semen. He shoved his dick into her deeper and allowed his release to coat every inch of her slick interior.

Panting, N'Jobu pulled out of her and she felt the back rush of his excess cum drip from her folds. She pulled her underwear and pants up.

Wiping his sweaty brow, N'Jobu stared at her face and they both laughed.

"We are a mess," she said.

She watched him slip a single bead from his kimoyo bracelet as he walked to the front part of their tiny yard. Digging a small hole with his index finger, he dropped the bead in like a seed and tapped it twice. Califia's eyes caught a slight bright afterimage in her retinas that felt like a muted camera flash.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Security. I just activated a surveillance sensor. It will protect the house and alert me of anything outside."

He tapped another bead on his arm. Their house popped up as an image floating above his arm. It rotated 360 degrees. She could see her father, Bakari, and Erik asleep inside.

They snuck into the house and took a shower together. Crawling into bed next to their son after changing into shorts for him and a nightie for her, they spooned Erik on either side of him, the child's snores giving Califia relief that he heard nothing.

N'Jobu stared at his son's sleeping face. Califia' stroked the boy's hair.

"I will give him the world," he said.

Califia nodded, but her man had to know that he was already their son's world.

Erik had it whenever his father was next to him.

###

At the starting point of the march, N'Jobu slipped a kimoyo bead inside the pocket of the black jeans Califia wore.

If any trouble occurred, he would activate a protective camouflage shield around her and him and escort her out. She seemed anxious but eager after Soliel's parents dropped them off and took Erik to stay with Marisol. Erik appeared disappointed once more that he couldn't participate, but he kissed them goodbye and N'Jobu felt relief that his son would be away from potential harm.

The weather was agreeable and he watched Soliel and the march leadership give final instructions to the large crowd that listened to them speak through megaphones. Califia passed out water bottles from the medic supply tent that was set up at the starting zone. There would be others dotted along the march route.

Despite the sad memories of losing Lia, there was a palpable sense of celebratory vibes wafting off the marchers. Some had posters with Lia's face on them, others had posters of other victims of police brutality and police misconduct. Califia wore a brown and beige Steampunk mask that covered the bottom half of her face with attached goggles with dark lenses that protected her eyes. Once Soliel stopped speaking, she too covered her face with a bandanna and dark sunglasses that obscured her face. The family of Lia would be direct targets, and relatives were advised to blend into the actual march and not center themselves for any reason.

More supporters arrived and by the time the march started at three, there was plenty of media and the frenzy to try and capture trouble wafted off of the press. Chants of Lia's name and Brazilian protest songs were sung, and N'Jobu felt proud of the family for keeping Lia's name and work alive.

Two hours in and miles of bodies marching through the streets, word spread through the crowd from flag bearers that the police were moving in to contain pockets of protesters who had broken off from the main march. There was to be a rally at the end in front of the city hall, and the joyful energy in the crowd shifted into caution mode. N'Jobu held Califia's hand and kept her next to him as they walked. The surge in numbers of people grew, and N'Jobu began to feel as if he should remove Califia and the family. Something didn't feel right.

His military skills went into hyperdrive and he searched roofs for snipers and spotted some along the route. They were near the front of the first wave of marchers, and he could see police barricades already blocking access to city hall and limiting the space they had been given permission to occupy.

The crowd grew tense.

Soliel chatted with some women who were to speak in front of the mayor's office and she signaled for Califia and N'Jobu to come next to her.

"They don't want me to speak," Soliel said, "there are some police here who many think we're part of the assassination of Lia."

"You have a right to speak without fear for the family," a young man said who was in charge of the speakers line-up scheduled.

Soliel's face was creased with worry.

Another woman held up her cell phone.

"A group on social media have threatened to make trouble," she said.

"I won't be scared off," Soliel said even though her voice shook. She looked at Aunjanue. Bakari caught up to them.

"There are some people near the middle of the line that are instigating trouble. Some police are getting a little heavy-handed," Bakari said. He scrolled his burner cell.

"Besouro and some drummers are trying to help contain it when I left."

"What do you want to do, Soliel?" Califia asked.

"We should speak. I will speak. They silenced my sister a year ago. We can't allow that to stop us now. Intimidation tactics are what they are known for. I won't bow down to it."

The rally commenced.

N'Jobu and Califia watched speaker after speaker give testimony about Lia and the work still being done to combat the problems of police brutality and the inequities in the city. Califia checked in with Soliel's cousin who babysat the children and things were fine. Soliel closed out the speeches and gave a fiery address. N'Jobu watched her pull off her t-shirt and standing in her bra, she showed everyone her old bullet wounds in her chest and arm. Her voice was guttural and Califia translated her words as fast as she could for him.

"They put a bullet in my sister's head, and they tried to kill me too. Look at me! Look at me! I am a Black woman fighting to honor my sister's memory. I have dedicated my life to doing work that helps my people just like my sister did. My family is still watched by the police. I get email threats every week since my sister has been gone. Why? Because they do not want anyone else to rise up and challenge injustice. The police do this. The same police who allowed my sister to be murdered by their own are out here standing among us. They are not here to protect and serve the people. They are here to uphold the will of the state. And the state says that Black people are not worth anything…"

The crowd booed and some made catcalls to the police surrounding the mayor's office.

"…they say we are not human beings who deserve to live dignified lives. My sister dared to speak truth to power and…"

N'Jobu watched the crowd carefully and then kept watch over the police on alert.

"Oh shit…" Califia said.

"What?"

"She named names. Told the crowd we know the individuals who killed Lia…."

Soliel held up her cell phone and scrolled it.

"She's now naming cops in the line up here and telling the people reports of their misconduct records…"

N'Jobu felt the energy around him get amped up. The anger was swelling from the marchers. The cops looked tenser. A few left their posts and threaded away from the protestors.

"I'm glad she did it, but that was not part of her original speech," Califia said.

Loud chanting started behind them and N'Jobu swiveled his neck to see where it was coming from, but it seemed to erupt from everywhere in a spontaneous show of power.

"Fuck the police!" Califia shouted her fist in the air.

N'Jobu's eyes darted around. Many cops had their hands on their weapons ready to discharge them as they held up riot shields to push back people. He slipped his fingers on his kimoyo beads. One false move and he would make Califia and himself disappear from sight. Califia caught his fingers on the beads and she clutched onto his arm.

"Soliel," she whispered.

"I slipped a bead into her jean pocket," he said.

Califia pressed her head onto his shoulder. The relief spilled from her.

"We are not afraid of you. You should be afraid of the power from all of us. We will change this city for the betterment of all. The world is watching us right now. My sister, Negra Li, she is watching all of us right now. Our ancestors are watching over us right now. Justice will come. Justice is here. I thank all of you for coming—"

An organizer rushed over to Soliel and tugged on her arm. Soliel stared down at her cell phone.

"I just received word that my home was firebombed. My home was attacked—"

"N'Jobu! The children!" Califia shouted.

N'Jobu grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the crowd.

###

Smoke rose up from the destroyed back half of Soliel and Aunjanue's home, and as it drifted up to the sky, the setting sun made it look monstrous like a snarling dragon sitting on top of it with a heated white-gray breath. Adrenaline coursed through N'Jobu. The fire department and police tried to hold him and Califia back as they all stared in disbelief at the destruction.

His heart began to beat again when he saw Soliel's cousin who was in charge of caring for the children standing near an ambulance with Marisol. The little girl was given fresh oxygen. That relief was short-lived.

"Where's Erik?" Califia screamed.

The cousin, Ines, began to cry with a bruised face and Califia shouted out in agony and lunged for the wrecked house again. N'Jobu grabbed her and held her tight, but she fought him. "Is my baby in there?! Is he in there?" she screamed at the firefighters.

There were already firemen going through the rubble in the back. He dragged Califia over to the cousin and Marisol.

"What happened?" N'Jobu asked trying to contain his anger.

"I was cooking and Marisol was with me in the kitchen. An explosion blew up the back….we were thrown onto the floor. I covered Marisol up…but JaJa, he was in the bedroom playing a video game. I called to him, but I couldn't get him because we were covered in debris and the house was burning…"

Ines burst into uncontrollable tears and Califia tried to comfort her as her eyes pleaded for him to find Erik.

"Go get him!" she demanded.

He moved with a swiftness as Dante and Soliel's parents arrived. Soon enough Bakari and Soleil showed up with many organizers.

"My son is in there get off of me!" he yelled pushing on a policeman. He kicked aside wood and concrete, shouting for his boy, his eyes filling with smoke…

"Baba! Mom!"

N'Jobu turned to find Erik running up to his mother. Califia grabbed him in a tight hug, lifting him off of his feet.

"Where were you?" N'Jobu said clutching for him too.

Guilt was on his face.

"I left the house…I snuck off to go to the march…"

His eyes took in Marisol and then he stared at the destroyed rear of Soliel and Aunjanue's home.

"What happened?" Erik asked. His eyes were wide like a baby owl.

Califia kissed all over his face.

"I should be angry with you, but being hardheaded saved your life!" she scolded.

Erik walked up to Marisol who was in the arms of Soliel.

"You okay?" he asked.

Marisol burst into tears.

"We thought you were dead!" she wailed.

The little girl said what they all felt and Erik hugged her.

Califia wiped her eyes.

Soliel lost it.

"They tried to kill my family again!" she shouted.

Aunjanue tried to hold her and Marisol's face crumpled.

"The police did this! The police did this!"

Soliel's parents pulled her and her family away from the ambulance and ushered them to a waiting car. N'Jobu grabbed for Erik and Califia's hands.

"Let's go," he told them with Dante and Bakari on his heels.

He hailed a cab two blocks away and Califia called Soliel's mother to see where they were headed. The new family home was the destination. N'Jobu checked their own rental property and it was intact.

"This is crazy," Bakari uttered.

The ride in the cab only lasted five minutes and they took refuge inside a single-story home. Both the children were checked thoroughly and Marisol was sent to go rest. Calls were made and fears were heightened. Califia's hands wouldn't stop shaking and N'Jobu rubbed her back.

"JaJa," N'Jobu said.

"I know you told me to stay at the house, but I watched the march online and I just wanted to be there. I caught the bus but a lot of streets were blocked off, so I just walked around until I found some marchers. I walked and then I came back."

Fate.

Fate had a way of working on N'Jobu, and he thanked Bast for whatever got into his son's head to leave.

"Poor Marisol, and Ines," Califia said.

"Shit," Dante said.

Califia's father walked to the front door and they all followed.

Groups of angry people were storming down the street yelling.

"This isn't good," Bakari said.

Erik tried to peek at the action but Califia pulled him back and took him to the room where Marisol rested.

N'Jobu heard bottles breaking outside. Soliel's father Andres closed the front door.

"We stay indoors," Andres said.

"They destroyed my home!" Soliel shouted. Aujanue tried to calm her again.

"We will go salvage what we can in a couple of hours, but right now, we stay here."

Andres's voice made things sound final.

The rest of the night was spent watching the news of the firebombing, screening phone calls from the police and media.

People took to the streets and whatever feelings of goodwill and hope that the march provided ended in anger and destruction of public property. Government property was targeted and they all watched in horror as the Sao Paulo community that peacefully assembled to celebrate Lia broke down into hopelessness. Hundreds of arrests were made. N'Jobu and Califia saw young people throwing Molotov cocktails at the police who shot back with rubber bullets and real ones. Complete chaos. Supporters stood outside and protected Andres's home.

Califia was able to slip his kimoyo bead away from Soliel when she changed clothes and returned it to him. N'Jobu spoke with Erik about what he saw in the streets. His son only reported positive things and he felt good about being a part of the memorial march.

"Will they be able to fix the house back up?" Erik asked when he rested between him and Califia for the night in the spare bedroom of Andres's home.

Bakari was camped out on the floor next to the bed on a small cot, and Dante was curled up in a sleeping bag directly on the floor to help his back.

"There was too much damage to save it," Califia said with bitterness lacing her voice.

"Are you guys still mad at me for leaving?"

"No, Son. We are happy that everyone is alive and well. Homes can be replaced. People cannot," N'Jobu said.

Erik rested his head on his mother's stomach.

"Why do bad things happen to us here?" Erik asked.

Califia looked at N'Jobu for the answer.

"Powerful people with ill intent often don't like to see good people change the world. They are afraid of losing their power to control others," he said.

"Marisol was so scared. I shouldn't have left her."

"Don't worry about that. You are safe and sound and here with us," Califia said.

"Will she have to see someone like Dr. Davis? Like I had to talk to someone about…you know…"

"Probably. Don't think about that. Get some sleep, okay?" Califia said.

"Will they stay out in the streets all night? Because of what happened to Auntie's house?"

"Most people have gone home. Luckily, no one was killed by the police—"

"But that woman got shot in the leg, Mom."

"She'll live, son. Everyone is upset and hurt by what happened. They had to act out those feelings. But it's calm now."

Califia smoothed hair from Erik's eyes.

"Somebody needs a haircut," she teased.

"You!" he said pulling a clump of her hair.

"Ow! Boy!" she chirped slapping at his hand.

Erik giggled.

N'Jobu was glad that he wasn't traumatized by the shocking events of the day.

Erik fell asleep and Califia eased him off of her belly and tucked him between them. N'Jobu reached over and stroked Califia's arm.

"I'm still so angry. If they were watching all of us, then they knew there were children in that house. They didn't care. Willing to kill our babies—"

"Shh, Califia. Not now. Don't wake him."

She stared at her hands.

"Look at my hands. They still shake. God, I want to strangle whoever did that to us. I just saw that rubble and knew Erik was under it."

She grew quiet.

"Califia?"

"You think he's okay? He seems calm about all of this."

"I think he's fine. No one was seriously hurt and we all came together quickly. There was no chaos like…like last time."

"I needed to be here for this…"

"But?"

"Maybe it was a mistake. Bringing him here. I could've come by myself…"

"We needed to be here together. All of us—"

"Don't just say that to make me feel better, N'Jobu."

"We can't control the actions of our enemies. The march was an overwhelming success."

"But after the march, we'll get blamed for what happened."

"People acted out of legitimate frustration and anger about what happened to Soleil's home. It was another attack on Lia's good name, and if people destroyed a few police vehicles and buildings, so be it. Why are you smiling?"

She shook her head, her smile deepening.

"What would the old N'Jobu say about you talking like this?"

"The old me was naïve and corrupt."

"Corrupt?"

"Corrupted by privilege. Isolation. Willful ignorance."

Her eyes rested on their son.

"He'll really be okay, right?"

"Yes."

She eased her head on a pillow and closed her eyes.

He drifted in and out of sleep. Their journey into the future would begin soon and he fretted about it until he saw Bakari wake up and go into the kitchen. N'Jobu followed him.

"Couldn't stay sleep," Bakari said pouring himself some instant coffee.

"Me neither. Part of me wants to run out and just beat the hell out of anyone affiliated with the police, and another part of me knows that it could be anyone out there against Black people."

Bakari nodded.

They sat at the kitchen table together and listened to the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

"Erik?"

"Good. So far. He wasn't there so he's only concerned about where they will live. Marisol and Ines will have to process this."

"Marisol was laughing with Andres last I heard before I went to bed. Ines said she's been through worse, so…I don't know. Maybe this will pass by for them without much scarring."

"Bakari. When we return to the States, I will need your help with some legal things."

"Like?"

"I'm planning some things and it involves my family. I'll give you more details when there aren't so many ears around, but it's very serious and I need your complete confidence and discretion."

"Whatever you need man."

N'Jobu walked into the living room and peeked out of the large front window. He could see a few neighbors standing guard outside the gated yard, and not much foot traffic or cars rolling through since the police blocked off access near the house. He hoped things had really calmed down, but his gut told him to be ready for anything.

###

The local news was in a frenzy, but the story about the firebombing was picked up on international channels. N'Jobu laid low indoors with Erik. Califia moved in and out of the house to make statements with the press alongside Soliel. Later that day the family went to salvage personal items from the destroyed home. N'Jobu watched the children and cooked for them, checking his kimoyo beads for Califia from time to time.

The march organizers had a debriefing meeting that Soliel insisted on participating in that evening. Dante had a return flight back to Oakland, so goodbyes were given and Califia saw her father off in a cab before she headed out with Soliel. They were gone for hours, and when he didn't hear from them after too much time had passed without a check-in, he grew concerned. He asked Bakari to watch the children while he set out to track her with the kimoyo bead planted on her.

He tried Califia's cell phone, but she didn't answer it. Soliel didn't answer hers either and when he drove a few blocks away from the house, Califia's phone number popped up on his cell.

"Califia?"

The voice on the other end spoke rapid Portuguese and N'Jobu couldn't make out the words. It wasn't his woman speaking. He pulled over and parked. He saw a police vehicle on the corner and there were people lingering outside as the evening settled down.

"Hold on. I don't understand…too fast…slow down…vá mais devagar! Where is my wife?"

The voice became shrill. The only thing he understood was his name and Califia's.

"Hold on for a minute, please!"

Clutching the phone to his chest, N'Jobu swept his eyes back to the police car ahead of him. Something made him leave the car where it was and walk discreetly back to the house.

"Erik, come here!"

Erik bounded out of the bedroom. Bakari stepped out of the kitchen.

"What's up man?" Bakari asked wiping down a plate.

"Someone's on the phone and I can't figure out what they're saying. They're using Califia's phone."

Bakari reached for the cell.

"I can talk to them."

"It sounds urgent and Erik's Portuguese is better."

Erik took the phone.

N'Jobu tapped his beads and he could see that Califia was alive and stationary, but she wasn't where she was supposed to be. He wished he had given her a 4D bead, but he couldn't take the chance of his brother scanning it and discovering his whereabouts or seeing Califia with it.

"Baba, this woman says that the police raided Mom's meeting…the phone cut off."

N'Jobu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Andres and Soliel's mother stepped into the house carrying bags of groceries.

"Mestre, I need you to call Califia's phone back. Something has happened."

Andres took the cell and put it on speakerphone.

The woman answered again but her voice was quieter like she was trying to whisper.

"Turn on the TV!" Andres shouted.

Bakari snapped on the television and N'Jobu's eyes and ears were split between the cell and the news.

"Okay, that was one of the organizers—"

"Mãe," Erik said holding onto Soliel's mother whose hands shook.

N'Jobu held onto the woman's arm and helped her sit down on the couch.

"What is happening?!" N'Jobu demanded.

"The women were having a meeting and the police went there to charge Soliel with inciting a riot and there was shooting. An officer was killed and—"

All eyes went to the TV as reports of the dead cop was announced.

"Where are they?" Bakari asked.

Three women were seated on the curb of a street in handcuffs and N'Jobu recognized them from being in his house days earlier. There was no sign of Califia or Soliel. Aunjanue wasn't seen either.

"Shoot out?" Andres said with an incredulous voice as the TV reporter made ridiculous claims, "My daughter would never have a weapon—"

"Shh," Mãe said patting his arm.

"Baba," Erik said.

His son stepped next to him and held his arm.

"It's okay, Son. Your mother is fine."

He almost convinced himself.

The threads were coming together to tell a story that N'Jobu didn't like. Cops raiding Soliel's organization. He could imagine Califia or Soliel popping off and the cops retaliating for accusations and calling out names for Lia's murder. They had to be on the run if that many police were parading in front of the TV cameras. They would've ditched their cell phones to keep from being tracked.

When the news report went to commercial, N'Jobu turned to face Andres.

"They won't be able to come here. Where can they go that will be safe?" N'Jobu asked.

He couldn't let on that he had the exact location of the women. Picking them up from wherever they were would not be a problem for him, but if they were in deep and actually did kill a cop, he'd have to get Califia out of the country.

"They would head out of the city," Andres said.

N'Jobu held onto Erik's hand. His eyes glanced at N'Jobu's beads and then they were on his father's face. The boy was quick.

N'Jobu ran through plans in his head. They would have to leave all of their belongings at the rental property. There was nothing there they needed. Erik had his mother's laptop there with him. N'Jobu would leave it with Bakari to take back to the States.

The landline rang.

They looked at one another and then Andres answered it.

The man listened to whoever was on the line and his body language relaxed. He hung up and took a deep breath.

"They are fine, but hiding out with Besouro in his apartment. They can't stay there long because the police will probably start locking down streets since a cop was killed. There is now a manhunt for them."

That meant they had names.

That also meant that Califia couldn't leave the country by plane or car. She was stuck.

Unless…

"We can get Aunjanue and Soliel to the Mantiqueira Mountains, but Califia would have to stay with them," Andres said.

Erik's body grew tense against him.

"No. I will get her out of the country," N'Jobu said.

"Man, how you gonna do that? They will have this place crawling with cops, and they will be out for blood," Bakari said.

"Baba," Erik murmured.

Marisol walked into the room rubbing her eyes. Mãe ushered her back into the room she came from napping in.

"I will get her out of here."

N'Jobu's words were final.

###

He was taking a huge risk.

N'Jobu had War Dog allies all over the planet, but what he was attempting to do now could risk the greater mission if it failed.

He stayed secretive as he rode in a cab with Erik and Andres.

Favors had been called in from Andres's cadre of capoeira supporters and close family friends. Spiriting away three wanted women was going to be a delicate task. The police already had a woman in custody who was Soliel's right-hand soldier and she wasn't speaking to anyone but a lawyer. Bakari stayed in Andre's home contacting lawyer friends back home and discreetly checking to see if there was someone who could help him with Brazilian law where it pertained to American citizens accused of crimes.

Changing cabs a few times and walking for the last leg of getting to Besouro's apartment was tough, especially for Erik whose anxiety about his mother spiked tremendously. Entering the back of the twenty-story apartment building, N'Jobu used his kimoyo beads to scramble cameras outside the apartment and inside as they rode an elevator.

He was able to breathe normally the moment Califia was in his arms.

"Jobu!" she cried out when she saw him.

He hugged her so hard that he squeezed the breath from her chest.

"Don't talk about anything, not in front of Erik," he whispered in her ear.

She nodded and he released her to comfort their son. Erik did his best to appear brave but it didn't stop a few tears from trekking down his face once he was back with his mother.

Time wasn't wasted and Andres gave Soliel and Aunjanue wigs that Mãe sent with him and a change of clothes. They waited an hour and then one of Andre's friends called from a hidden car out on the street.

"Cali," Soliel said.

All the women hugged. There were no tears among them, just reassuring touches and kisses. Andres ushered them out.

Besouro cooked for them and they watched the news. Erik held onto his mother until she made him go lay down in Besouro's bedroom.

"Show me your roof access," N'Jobu said.

Confused, Besouro took him to the stairs of the apartment and they walked up ten flights.

"How will you leave here?" Besouro asked.

"I have a plan. We'll be leaving later tonight."

"Why do you need to see the roof?"

"Don't worry about."

"Don't worry about it? Are you insane? How can I not? I have to make sure Califia and Erik—"

"I will take care of my family."

Besouro's eyes look heated.

"They are my family too. They all are. Even you."

The man's voice grew soft.

N'Jobu held out his hand and Besouro clasped it in his and shook it.

"Thank you for protecting them. I promise you; I will take care of them and send you word when we are safe."

Besouro nodded, but N'Jobu could see great doubt there. The man was terrified. And he was putting his own life on the line for harboring fugitives.

"I'm going back down," Besouro said.

N'Jobu watched the man leave. When he was certain that he was alone he tapped his kimoyo bead.

"Lixesha lokuba ndimke."

Indeed.

It was time to leave.

"Your Highness, we shall arrive in exactly one hour. We have your coordinates."

"Thank you, Yonela," N'Jobu said into his beads.

He walked back down to the apartment and joined his family inside Besouro's bedroom.

"Listen to me carefully," he said standing in front of Califia and Erik as they sat on the bed.

Their questioning eyes made him smile.

"We are leaving the country. At midnight."

"I can't get on a plane, N'Jobu. I can't even drive out of Sao Paolo," she said.

"What about our stuff at the house?" Erik asked.

"That can be replaced later. When we get to Oakland we'll have to stay at my apartment. Understand?"

They both nodded.

He touched Califia's hair and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Ten minutes before midnight, N'Jobu gathered his family and walked them into the living room.

"Don't follow us," N'Jobu warned.

Erik and Califia hugged Besouro and he looked so lost and helpless to N'Jobu.

"Send me word," Besouro said.

N'Jobu nodded then herded Erik and Califia out of the apartment.

They all stayed quiet walking up the stairs and when they reached the roof, they stared at him.

"What's going to happen Baba?"

Erik's earnest eyes made N'Jobu pat his shoulder.

"You shall see, my Son."

Califia's eyes just took in the roof.

"Baba!"

Erik touched the gums on his lower lip. Califia stared at her arms and hands.

N'Jobu could feel the vibration in his body too and turned to face the sky.

"Mom, look!"

Erik pointed above them as streaks of neon blue lit the black sky.

"What…?"

Califia couldn't even finish her sentence as the sky above them appeared to ripple as if someone threw a pebble into a placid dark lake. They were all enveloped in the ticklish field of the multi-spectral camouflage shield. Erik held his fingers up to try and touch the shield but then a loud gasp escaped his throat and Califia's as a Wakandan Battle Cruiser shimmered into full view above them.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Califia shrieked.

N'Jobu enveloped her hand in his.

"Baba!" Erik shouted jumping up and down.

The large Cruiser spun around and hovered at the edge of the roof. A large ramp silently eased out from it and two soldiers walked down the ramp.

"Your Highness."

Captain Yonela Majola greeted him with gentle eyes. Her second in command Lt. Deyi looked around the roof to make sure it was secure. His eyes took in N'Jobu's family and when he stared at the Prince, he gave a respectful head nod in deference.

"No matter what happens, you did not see these two. Understood?" N'Jobu commanded.

"Yes, your Highness," they said in unison.

They stepped aside making room for him and his family.

"Come," N'Jobu said holding Erik's hand. Califia walked right next to him, the ship overwhelming her senses.

"I can't believe this," she whispered.

Onboard, the rest of Yonela's crew bowed to him.

"Where would you like to sit, Prince N'Jobu?" Yonela asked.

Erik's eyes made N'Jobu chuckle.

"In the front for now," N'Jobu said.

"We are on course to rendezvous with a Royal Shadow Fighter in Guyana in good time. We will have to stay in hover mode for a day before we can transfer you," Yonela said, "It is the only way I can keep this operation covert."

"That is fine, Captain," N'Jobu said.

Lt. Deyi guided Erik and Califia to empty high-backed gray seats behind the Captain's floating chair.

"Baba, it's not attached to anything. How is that possible?" Erik whispered.

"I will tell you later. We have to leave right away. Califia, are you comfortable?"

Califia sat back in her chair. She looked around for a seatbelt and then her eyes regarded his. He sat next to her and took her hand.

"Whoa," she yelped when the gravity belts secured them.

Her eyes gazed down at her waist and then she touched her shoulders.

"I feel something, but there's nothing here," she said.

Yonela took her position in the floating chair. The chair turned around to face them.

"May I, your Highness?" Yonela asked.

"Proceed," N'Jobu said, taking delight in his family getting a feel of his old world.

Yonela's eyes took in his family.

"You do not exist," Yonela said.

Erik's eyes were bright. Califia was cautious and a bit nervous.

"We are loyal to our Prince. We would die for him. We will get you home safe…"

Yonela's English was simple and clear. She slowed down to make sure they understood every word. She handed them kimoyo beads from her bracelet.

"Keep these on you. They will hide you in plain sight on board this ship. I can communicate with you while you have them. Understand?"

They nodded.

"Good. Welcome aboard."

Yonela floated back around

"At your stations!" she commanded.

The other soldiers took their positions and Yonela swiped her hand in front of her face. Touching a glowing magenta rectangle near her right hand, she took her index finger and thumb widening the rectangle. As she did that, the viewscreen window before them widened.

"Wow!" Erik said.

Califia's eyes were wider too as they took in the landscape of the city.

"May I proceed, Your Highness?" Yonela said.

"Proceed," N'Jobu said.

Yonela's left hand swiped another small floating screen and they all felt the engines rev and the Cruiser floated forward.

The smooth ascent gave them more spectacular views of Sao Paulo. Califia pointed to their left.

"Those are the Mantiqueira Mountains," she said.

N'Jobu held her hand.

"They'll make it, my love," he said.

"Erik," Yonela said.

"Yes?" he answered.

Yonela tapped Lt. Deyi's shoulder and the man stood up from his floating seat in front of Erik.

"Would you like to sit next to me?"

Yonela's eyes twinkled as she turned her head to look back at Erik. The gray hair peppering her short dark curls were the only give away that she was much older than she looked. She was sixty and barely looked forty.

"Can I Baba?"

N'Jobu's eyes met Yonela's. He hadn't been openly forthright with letting her know that this was his own family. He had told the Captain that they were a mother and child he was close to and that they needed help escaping undetected.

Yonela's eyes looked even gentler after she received confirmation.

"Go ahead," N'Jobu said.

Erik wiggled in his seat, and the gravity belt released him. He jumped onto the floating chair.

"Easy, JaJa," Califia said, still holding N'Jobu's hand.

"You see that button there?" Yonela asked pointing to a glowing yellow circle.

"Yes."

"Tap it two times," she said.

Erik did and the lights inside the ship grew dim until it was almost completely dark and just the glow of the night sky and the lights of the city enveloped them.

"Good job, young Prince," Yonela said.

Erik's eyes gazed at the woman, and then he looked back at N'Jobu in wonderment.

Yonela's fingers moved swiftly across her floating controls.

"Stealth mode engaged. Radio silence maintained…"

The rest of the soldiers went about their normal duties.

Yonela kept the cruising altitude low so that Erik could watch them travel over the country of Brazil. N'Jobu felt Califia squeeze his hand and when he looked over at her, there was water in her eyes.

"Come with me," he said releasing her from her seat.

He took her to the upper level of the ship where there were showers and sleeping quarters. Grabbing fresh white cotton loungewear from a closet, he waved his hand for privacy and several soldiers moved away from their section.

He helped her remove all of her clothing before taking his off and led her into a shower stall, locking the shower door behind them. Fully lit with plenty of room for the two of them, he took soap and shampoo from the dispensers and lathered her hair and body as she wept, the stress pouring out of her. He held her, and when she was rinsed off, he made her sit on the shower bench with him. Rocking her in his arms he allowed her to cry until no more tears came.

He pulled her into the body dryer and when they were ready, they dressed in the comfortable and clingy loungewear.

"This way," he said.

She followed him to an empty wall in a corner and watched him wave his hand over a section of it and a bed slid out from the wall.

"Lay down."

She crawled onto the small comfortable bed and he climbed in after her and wrapped his arms around her.

"When you are ready, tell me everything."

She nodded and fell asleep on his chest.

The hum of the ship rocked them both into a much-needed rest.

Chapter 30 HERE.

###

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#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Vol. 2 #N'Jobu #Killmonger #Little Killmonger #Erik Killmonger as a kid #N'Jobu Fanfiction #Black Panther Fanfiction #N'Jobu Smut

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Seven, “The Tables Have Turned”

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and POV surveys

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- Playlist

SNEAKYYYYYY PEEEEEK

“At least I had my orientation with Harry to look forward to that coming Friday, but I still wouldn’t start at his firm for another week after that. The anticipation was killing me, and so were the little moments Harry and I shared when I happened to remember them. Sometimes I wish the alcohol had stolen those memories away, because they hurt too much to remember, but then at other times I’d never wish them away, because they give me something irreplaceable - hope.”

Music Inspo: Everywhere by Niall Horan (click to listen)

“You think I like having you in here, destroying everything that was me until all that’s left is you and a dead shell? You're all I bloody think about ... dream about. You're in my gut ... my throat ... I'm drowning in you.”

- Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (S5 x E14)

“How’s yer dad doin’?” Harry asks me when I return to my seat across from him, the soda threatening to spill over the top of my cup.

“He’s doing good, thanks. It took a while for his energy to come back, and sometimes he gets tired easily, but it’s a process,” I answer, plucking a chip from the small white bag and drenching it in the yellow queso. “He’s pretty happy to have all of his hair back, and he’s started to get back into running and lifting weights. Late last summer he started back to work where he does construction.”

“Wow, I feel like I learn mo’ ‘bout yer dad e’ry time we talk ‘bout him. I didn’t know he was into weights and all that, good fer him. Bloody hell he’s like superman. Ya dunno how happy I am t’ hear he’s back on his feet, and doin’ well,” he murmurs with a gentle warmth adorning his features.

It spreads with a spark across my skin when I feel his fingers wrap around mine, squeezing my hand. I’m guilty again with an absence of words when I look back into his eyes, all syllables stolen away from me at the sight and by his gesture. I don’t need to say anything though because unspoken words pass between us as he stares back at me, memories unraveling from all of the times he showed up for me. I still don’t know how I could have ever doubted he cared about me.

“Thank you,” I reply emphatically, squeezing his toasty hand in return. His thumb brushes along the back of my hand before letting it go.

“Welcome, Becks. ‘m sorry I wasn’t there at tha end t’ celebrate,” he responds softly, sadness laced throughout his words as his head falls. His eyes avoid mine as he picks up a few pieces of shredded cheese that fell onto the wrapper laid in front of him.

“It’s okay, Harry, we both kinda forgot.” His head of curls goes up and down at my softly spoken words that only brush the surface. Regardless, I think that it did the job and he knows what I mean. We both know that we ignored the other and forgot, whether on accident or purpose. “I guess there are several reasons for our celebratory dinner and drinks.”

“Very true, bug,” he agrees, the dimples finding their way back onto his cheeks once again. The itchy nervousness abates when his eyes lift again to mine and he holds out his half-eaten taco, grease and warm sour cream dripping from it. “Cheers t’ yer dad’s recovery, catchin’ up with old friends, and tha best o’ all - Becks gettin’ tha associate position at me firm workin’ with me. ‘m excited t’ see what tha future holds for me new favourite lawyer.”

“Stop it, or else I’m going to start crying, and you’ve seen me cry more than enough,” I smile, blinking back the tears as I hold out my taco and bump it against his. “Cheers to new beginnings, Harry.”

“Cheers, Becks, and ‘s okay if ya cry. Happy tears are good too.”

“Very true,” I agree, taking a page from his book before I finish the rest of my taco, a silence falling over our table. It’s replaced with crinkling of wrappers, sips of soda, chewing of crunchy chips and chocolatey churros, and stolen glances at the other.

“How’re Skye and Robbie these days? What’re they up t’?” he inquires, squashing the wrapper of his third taco into a ball that he sets on the side of the tray for our trash. I watch as he plucks a quesadilla from the stack of dwindling food, but he stops and grabs a churro as well with a sly grin. “Hey, they’re fer me too.”

“Harry,” I warn teasingly, a giggle peeking out from my words which he quickly echos, although accidentally. “Um, they’re both good. Skye got a new job at a salon on the west side that she likes. It’s called Roots or something or other, and Robbie is still working at Black and Blue. He actually started dating a girl recently, but I’ve yet to meet her. God, it seems like everybody else is having luck with love, beside us. Myles told me he’s engaged now, and then Robbie’s girlfriend, and Skye said the other day she has a date this week.”

“Ya, we’re ratha pathetic, aren’t we? We haven’t even had any drinks yet and we’re gushin’ ‘bout bloody love,” he cracks, clucking his tongue before feeding the rest of the crisp churro between his rose lips. My oh my, is that a scenic sight right there.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” I remark, finishing my second taco and grabbing the remaining quesadilla, earning a disapproving head shake from him.

As the flavors of the tangy sour cream, fiery seasoned chicken, and gooey cheese melt on my tongue, our words hit a sensitive spot in my heart. I just hope we can avoid it for the rest of the night, or else I’m afraid I might blurt out some words I’ve been itching to say.

“Hurry up, ‘s bloody cold,” Harry titters, digging his hands further into the pockets of his matte black coat.

“How far are we even going?”

“Oh, hush, you. ‘s not very far, jus’ anotha block,” he answers, his lengthy legs far ahead of mine.

“Harry, that’s what you said like five minutes ago, and slow the fuck down!”

“Hey, watch tha language, there’s no need t’ swear,” he remarks, meeting my eyes over his shoulder with his brows quirked into a V. When we arrive at a busy intersection, our feet stop on the sidewalk, and a muttered curse falls from his lips.

“Oh, so you can swear, but I can’t?” I quip, poking his arm playfully.

“Yes, li’l one, I can. ‘m not bein’ a very good role model fer ya, am I now?” he replies, a hand leaving his pocket to pat the top of my head covered in a knit hat. I respond with a roll of my eyes as his sly grin graces my eyes. “Are ya shrinkin’ on me, Becks?”

“Don’t.”

He only giggles, turning back to the onslaught of moving lights around us. I’ve always enjoyed the sights of London like this, the neon and fluorescent signs hugging every street, and the towering buildings. Harry mumbles a ‘c’mon’, tugging on my sleeve until I follow him across the crosswalk. Soon, we come upon a pub with a green neon sign donning the front, reading ‘Murphy’s’ that Harry pulls me into. His long legs lead me through the entryway, across red-tiled flooring, and to the long wooden bar where boisterous laughs sound.

“Can I have two Purple Haze martinis, please?” Harry says to the bartender, a tall fellow with an interesting red mustache that curls at its ends. He nods and turns around to grab two martini glasses.

“What are Purple Hazes, like is it something Prince liked to drink?” I ask Harry, falling onto the black bar stool beside him.

“I dunno, but you’ll like it. Jus’ trust me,” he smiles as he slides off his coat, and I admire the new view of his side profile. Something I haven’t seen in a long time. Seven months both does and doesn’t feel like forever, especially compared to that day I found him standing at the front of that lecture hall. Yesterday, when I turned around to find him standing in Myles’ office, it felt like it had been years. I blame it on all of the hurt. “‘Scuse me, can we also get two Skittles shots? Thanks.”

“So, now you’re my drinking mentor too, huh?”

“Pretty much, ya,” he smirks, balling his hand into a fist that he lays his cheek on to look at me. The smile winding its way along his lips under the dim lights drills a hole into the armor around my heart that’s cracking more and more. “And yer not doin’ that sissy thing ya do where ya have a glass o’ water on tha side.”

“Harry, I don’t want to be hungover tomorrow!”

“Becks, you’ll be fine! T’morrow’s a Saturday, anyways. What will it hurt?” he answers, shrugging his shoulders as the crinkles begin around his eyes. They almost disappear from my view when he looks to the bartender who sets the shots down in front of us, Harry mentioning adding it to his bill after thanking him. “Bottoms up, bug.”

“Oh, God,” I sigh, taking the greenish-yellow shotglass of liquid from his outstretched hand. “Stop looking at me that way.”

“What way?” he inquires with a furrowed brow, holding the shot close to his grinning lips.

“Like you know we’re about to get drunk.”

“Cheers,” is all he says, clinking his glass against mine before downing the liquid effortlessly. Shaking my head, I exhale loudly as the liquid nears my lips, and then it burns with hints of sweet and sour on the way down. “See, not so bad, was it?”

“Shut up,” I retort in the middle of a cough racking my chest, setting down the glass with a clunk.

“I have a question,” he announces after his giggling dissolves into the air. “Ya neva told me how you and Skye met, so how’d it happen?”

“You’re thinking about that right now?” I quip, carding a hand through my hair after I slip off my mauve-colored beanie. He shyly nods as he fidgets with a ring on his left hand, meeting my gaze only shortly. “We met in first grade. She was scary at first, because one day early on she got mad at me for stealing her friend, or something- I can’t remember. Then the next day, she came up to me and we were both wearing pink Hello Kitty shoes, and decided to be best friends. Like they say, the rest was history, and we were joined at the hip from then on. We were in the same class a lot throughout the following years, took the same electives in high school, and moved to London together to go to uni.”

“Sounds ratha picturesque, dontcha think? Or I s’pose that’s how it goes with five-year olds,” Harry murmurs, nodding to the bartender when he brings us the purple martinis. An awe leaves my lips when I see the ombre of purple hues filling the glass. “‘s vodka, Curacao, Black Raspberry Liqueur, and cranberry juice. I think you’ll like it. Go ‘head, try it, Becks.”

I obey and bring the chilly glass to my mouth, relaxing at the sweet taste of berries, filling me with the color purple. Then I wince at the harsh bite of the alcohol, eliciting a titter from Harry whose foot I kick with mine. Beside me, he gulps down a quarter of the drink, unfazed.

“How about you and Myles?”

“Good question, I dunno if ‘ve eva told ya that story,” he hums, tickling his stubbly chin with his fingers while thinking. Even the way the skin between his eyebrows disappears when he’s thinking is cute. God, everything about him is and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it to myself once all of this alcohol passes my lips. As another drink of the martini burns my throat, I think I may be warming up to that idea, but there’s the possibility it could all be for nothing if the alcohol steals our memories away.

“We met in high school inn’a class I can’t rememba tha name of, but we both hadd’a crush on tha same girl, and we both played guitar. So it was natural,” he mumbles, licking his lips and making me feel woozy all over at the sight.

“Sure, that’s a real natural friendship,” I giggle. “You know I’m a lightweight, by the way.”

“Oh I know, ‘m bettin’ onnit,” he returns with a wink, bringing the large glass to his bubblegum lips.

“You know what’s good?” I follow, watching his thick eyebrows hike up his forehead. “That Kinky stuff,” I respond, taking another sip. I almost choke on it when I glance at the shocked look screwing up his face.

“Becks.”

“No, God- t-the vodka, Harry . . . not that other stuff,” I chuckle, my entirety collapsing into nervous laughter. His own echoes mine as a prickly warmth spreads like fire across my body.

“My bloody God, Rebecca Holte, are ya already feelin’ that drink?” he hums, his bony knee knocking against mine underneath the table. The fiery nervousness abates briefly at the mention of my formal name, one I can’t recall the last time I’ve heard him say in its entirety. It comes as a shock to me, considering at times I’m convinced he’s forgotten it.

“No, I-I just thought a liquor connoisseur such as yourself would know what I’m talking about.”

“Sure, I totally don’t believe you on that one, love,” he replies, scoffing when I softly hit his shoulder. “Yer prolly into handcuffs and gags, arentcha?”

“Harry Styles!” I exclaim, squirming when his hand covers my mouth. It falls within seconds, but the spicy vanilla smell coating his body remains with me, along with the warmth of his touch. Most of all, the familiarity and safety wrapped all in it causes a pang in my chest. “I do not do handcuffs, or bloody gags, and nor would I ever tell you, if I did.”

Words fleet his lips as he drowns them with another swallow of his violet martini. I turn away with my hair tickling my cheek as it shakes from side to side. It flies in front of my eyes when his fingers plunge into my sides, yanking laughs from my mouth as he lifts his eyebrows at me with a look that tells me to be quiet.

“I missed you,” I blurt out at random, feeling his fingers still on my side and his expression relaxes. The happiness falls from his eyes and cheeks, and with it I turn away, unable to deal with the disappointment I’m sure I’m on the verge of.

“I missed you too, y’know . . . loads,” Harry concurs, his fingers dangling at my side until they wander to my hands clasped in my lap. He steals one of them away and holds it against his leg, rubbing circles into my knuckles.

If this doesn’t make me spill the beans, then I’m positive the following liquor just may, and it all might come crashing down in front of me.

The next shot, a Lemon Drop, didn’t go down as smoothly. I felt like I was going to hack up a lung when I feel Harry’s warm hand on my back.

“Alright?” he murmurs in a rush, patting my back firmly until the cough subsides. “Sorry, that lemon one ‘s kinda hard sumtimes, ‘s ratha sour.”

“Ya think?” I respond, trying to make it go away with the last gulp of the Purple Haze, but it’s only a few seconds of relief.

I exhale and only feel his hand leave me when he orders a water, and two Tequila Sunrises, his a stronger one.

“Breathe, love, a water’s on ‘s way,” Harry hums, squeezing my arm. I nod and swallow hard, embarrassment coating me like a musty sheet.

“I thought you said no water.”

“Hush, I gotta take care o’ me li’l one,” he assures me, bringing a finger to his lips when I dare a look at him. A smile returns to my lips and remains there when the cold water graces them, him sipping at the Tequila Sunrise sat between his ringed fingers.

Oh, what I’d give to be able to wake up to a sunrise with him by my side. Oh, Harry.

“Hey, wha’s that ya got there?” he inquires, soon his painted nail lifting the bracelets from my right wrist. “Becks has a tattoo?! Since when?” he exclaims, astonishment and shock mixing into a cocktail amongst his features. His eyes bug out of his skull and then narrow when they return to my wrist.

“It’s a Queen Anne’s Lace, Robbie has one too, just on his upper arm and bigger. We got them when we were eighteen, um . . . . after our Gran passed. Grandma Holte . . Ann Holte,” I explain, helping him by removing the bracelets from around my wrist.

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or just him, but my wrist finds a new home in his palm that he turns to better look at. The shock is replaced by a slow smile transforming his face, bleeding into his eyes that find their way back to mine.

“‘s gorgeous, Becks, truly. ‘ve always found tattoos o’ flowers t’ be so beautiful, yer makin’ me want t’ get anotha one even mo’ now. I mean, I have tha rose and anotha sumwhere I think, but now I want anotha thanks t’ you,” he hums, tracing the ink with the tip of his thumb, just a whisper of his touch. “‘m sorry ‘bout yer Gran, sounded like it was premature which ‘s always tha worst. Knew ya were strong, but fook, ya amaze me e’ry day, Becks.” Unannounced tears press warmly at the back of my eyes as he admires the sprawling flower, tracing each little petal until he’s tracked them all.

“You didn’t think I was that badass, huh?”

“No, ‘ve always thought ya were a badass, babe. A flower tattoo jus’ takes the cake,” he quips, looking me in the eyes and sending another crack down the case in my chest.

I don’t know how many more little shocks like this I can take, or my heart, before it breaks free from the cage I locked it up in so long ago. I hid it there to protect it from him breaking it, again.

“This ‘s me,” he announces, bringing us to stop in the parking lot. My confusion only grows as I look around, until my eyes stop on the black Harley Davidson in front of us.

“What? It’s the middle of winter, Harry.”

“I know, I know. That’s what e’rybody says, but I dress warm. I like t’ take her out e’ry once in a while t’ keep her runnin’ good. Maybe ‘ll hafta take ya onn’a ride when ‘s not too cold fer pussy Becks,” he coos, voice rising to a mocking tone.

“I’m sorry I don’t like the cold wind ripping my skin off,” I titter and his eyes roll into the back of his head with a groan. I stand there awkwardly, eyes following him as he grabs the helmet from the locked bag towards the back seat.

“Ya sure yer good t’ drive, bug? I can give ya a ride if yer not too much o’ a puss puss,” Harry remarks, turning to face me as he holds the buckle strap to the side, a smirk claiming his face.

“Yeah I’m good, thanks. Those four waters and twenty trips to the bathroom helped,” I answer, although regretfully as everything inside of me screams at me to accept.

Girl, how dumb are you?

Quiet, demon, I can’t take it back now.

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that, love. I uh, reckon ‘ll see ya inn’a week then?” he replies, sliding the helmet over his dark curls, fingering the chin strap.

“Yeah, the eighteenth.”

“Don’t miss me too much now,” he jests from behind the lack of visor that he had pushed up and out of the way. Even with the bulky metallic gold helmet, he’s so goddamn sexy it’s unbelievable.

“As long as you don’t miss me too bad either.”

“Eh, ‘ll try not t’ but it’ll be hard,” he echoes jokingly, squishing his lips to the side with a thought and suddenly they collapse into a pout. Then, he winks at me as he settles onto his bike. “See ya inn’a week, Becks.”

“Bye, Harry. Have a good weekend, and careful driving.”

“You too, bug, drive safe. ‘ll talk t’ ya soon, gotta get tha recipe fer that Kinky Blue drink from ya,” he tells me, the bike rumbling to life when he twists the key in the ignition.

“Bye,” I exhale, taking one last look at him before I turn around. I put one foot in front of the other and walk away from him, my least favorite thing to do of all things on this planet.

From behind my steering wheel a few cars down, I watch in awe as he slides on gloves before toeing away the kickstand and pulling out of the lot, looking more handsome than ever.

Just when I think he can’t surprise me, he does just that, and in the best way possible. Every time.

“Care to explain where you’ve been all night, missy?”

“It’s not even eleven, Mom,” I respond with a firmness trying in my voice, but I can’t muster it as I slide off my boots. No, there’s not really any reason in the world that I could be upset right now, or feign anything other than utter happiness.

“I know, I can read a clock, Ree. Hey, what’s that big smile for? I never got to hear how your interview went yesterday.”

“Oh yeah,” I realize aloud, the words falling automatically as I hang up my coat in the closet by our front door. Boy, is that a lot to unpack and rehash, and yet I look forward to relaying it all to her. That way, I get to relive all of it a little bit, and I don’t mind if I do. “Well, you were out all night partying too, so you can’t be mad at me.”

“You got me there, I’m guilty. Or can I say that yet, Ms. Lawyer?” Skye responds, a lightness showing in her words. After closing the door to the closet, I find the anxious eagerness waiting in her eyes, bringing elation to the front of my mind as I nod.

“I got the job yesterday,” I barely am able to say before she crossed the room, surrounding me in a hug. “Harry called me when I got home from work and told me the good news!”

“Oh my god, Ree, that’s so amazing! I’m so happy for you, holy shit!” she exclaims, amazing me at her strength when she squeezes me with her noodle arms. “Was he happy to see you?!”

“Yeah, I think so, and fuck he looked so good, Skye. He hugged me the first second he saw me.”

“Aww, that’s so bloody cute. So, when do you start?”

Pulling away, I look her in the eyes and revel in the happy celebration coating me in waves again.

“Monday the twenty-eighth, but I have orientation with him next Friday.”

“Oooo, lucky you!” she smiles, and I swear my happiness about the whole thing has only doubled since she stopped being angry at me for applying.

“And I may or may not have just went out for those belated dinner and drinks with him tonight,” I reveal slowly yet eagerly, watching more shock paint her face and her jaw drops.

“Ree, you basically went out on a date with him, that’s my girl!”

“Skye, it wasn’t a date!” I protest feebly, because once again any of the negative emotions have no chance at outshining the wonderful positive ones right this second. “It was just to celebrate my new job, and to make up for the dinner we never had this summer, and the drinks he wanted to get for my birthday which also didn’t happen.”

“Wait, what?!” she almost explodes, nearly all of the emotions under the sun covering her face, if only for a few seconds at a time. “I thought you didn’t talk to him on your birthday?”

“Well yeah, I didn’t besides that one text,” I answer, and then I slowly see the realization shine in her eyes.

“You opened his presents?!” she shouts, coming to grab my arms as I giggle with a nod.

“Yeah, after I got home and right before he called. Talk about a lot of happy tears yesterday.”

“No wonder you weren’t answering my calls, and I don’t blame you, you were a busy girl. Busy with Harry,” Skye notes aloud, the same sunny emotions showing in her words, but they die down as she nears her finish. “I told you he still cared about you.”

“I know, you were right all along, and it kills me that I ever believed he didn’t. He got me a mini purple piano keyboard, a journal to write songs in, the first season of FRIENDS, and wrote me the sweetest birthday card. Then, he called right after to tell me I got the job, and fuck, it all seems like a dream sometimes. But then I called him at work today to set up the orientation, and he had the idea to get together tonight, and it’s all like a dream come true,” I tell her softly, and slowly it all doesn’t seem so fake anymore, but instead it feels just like the dream I’ve always wanted my life to become.

“Girl, you are so lucky,” Skye comments, dragging me by the hand over to the sofa where we fall with a thud, heads resting on the back cushion. “Did you kiss him tonight? Because God, Ree, you are both so in love with each other, I dunno how you haven’t kissed him already.”

“I don’t know,” I muse aloud, staring at the ceiling, but really all I can see is him smiling at me at the bar. His hand on my back when I was coughing, bringing my hand into his when we said we missed the other, and all of those feelings sitting in his eyes that I’m sure he could’ve seen in mine as well. “I think I’ll wait until I get settled at the job, because starting a new job is always the worst part and overwhelming enough as it is.”

“If you say so, Boops, but I figure that’s not too bad of an idea.”

“Yeah, guess why?” I counter, turning my head to face her, finding strands of purple hair sticking out of her messy bun. She looks back at me, confusion etched into the lines in her forehead. “He’s my mentor for the next few years and I’m his mentee, so I get to work with him every day and all day.”

“Ree, you should’ve led with that! Holy shit, why didn’t you?” she exclaims, swatting my arm in disbelief as I dissolve into a happy laugh. “That’s amazing! You get to work with him and under him, it sounds like a pretty good deal,” she chuckles, her laughing lips falling into a please smile.

“I know, I really can’t believe the last two days sometimes. I hit the jackpot, the Harry jackpot,” I giggle happily, relaxing against the sofa, trying to remember his spicy vanilla scent. If I try hard enough, I can smell it when his hand covered my mouth in a joke, and the warmth of his touch the few times our hands met. It wasn’t nearly enough times, though. “I have to work with Myles my entire second week though, because he’ll be in Scotland to try the case I’m helping him prep for my first week.”

“That’s shitty,” she grimaces, crossing her arms over her chest clad in a fuzzy blue bathrobe. “Just ask him out when he gets back then, it’d be too annoying starting to date while he’s away. If you didn’t, I’m pretty sure you’d die from missing him, Ree.”

“Fuck, I already might, I’m dreading it,” I sigh sadly, not even wanting to think about how pathetic I already feel not looking forward to that week.

“I know you are, but don’t. You have so much more to look forward to just in the next few weeks, and maybe you can sneak your second and third date in there, and a kiss perhaps.”

“Oh my God, Skye, shut up,” I retort, but it’s soon consumed by my laughter as she pulls me into her arms and her chin rests on my head.

“I’m so blooming happy for you, Ree. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“So have I, Skye, so fucking long,” I recall aloud, trying not to let the melancholy find me as I lose myself thinking about how ungodly perfect he looked tonight. And how I get to see that handsome face five days a week for the near future; talk about lucky. Talk about a dreamboat finally lifting its sail.

The next few days seemed as if they took twice as long, and the mild headache I woke up to on Saturday morning didn’t help. Although relaxing, the day dragged on and soon it was Sunday, with another long week ahead of me. At least I had my orientation with Harry to look forward to that coming Friday, but I still wouldn’t start at his firm for another week after that. The anticipation was killing me, and so were the little moments Harry and I shared when I happened to remember them. Sometimes I wish the alcohol had stolen those memories away because they hurt too much to remember, but then at other times I’d never wish them away, because they give me something irreplaceable - hope.

One of the many things they don’t tell you about becoming an adult is how music makes everything all the more tolerable, and exciting. Air Hostess by Busted fills one of my ears as I pass the aisle for boxed pasta, pasta sauces, and the like. On an endcap, I grab a box of fettuccine that I toss into my cart. Lifting my eyes, my legs move again and come across a figure that walks right out in front of me. Our metal carts bang against the other’s as a warmth tickles my insides, and my lips.

“God, Styles, you’re an awful driver,” I remark with a tsk, removing the earbuds to stuff into my pocket.

“Oh, hey, Becks. ‘m sorry I didn’t see ya there,” he comments, turning his tired green eyes to mine. He messes with the gray knit beanie covering most of his messy locks, and it suddenly makes me hyper aware of my godawful just-fell-out-of-bed appearance.

“No duh you didn’t,” I snicker, kneading the plastic sheath on the cart’s push bar. “Wow, nice Sunday Best, I’m impressed,” I tease, running my eyes over the baggy gray sweats covering his legs and the cream Abbey Road crewneck on his torso.

“You as well, Ms. Power Rangers,” he quips, nodding his head at my outfit that compares very much to his with black cheetah sweats, a hoodie, and beanie. “Which one was yer favourite since there was neva a purple one when we were li’l?”

“I know, I felt so ripped off by that,” I sigh, following him as he takes off and turns into the next aisle. “But I always loved the red power ranger, I don’t really know why.”

“Hmmm, interestin’ seein’ how he was always tha one in charge. D’ya have a thing fer bossy men or sumthin’, Becks?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh, tapping his bum with the front of my cart, earning evil eyes from him over his shoulder. “Who was your favorite Power Ranger, then?” I say, turning the tables to him. He comes to a stop in front of me, straying from his empty cart to grab a few cans of corn and peas.

“Green, I think. Can’t really rememba why,” he shrugs, placing the cans in the cart, soon returning to another section of shelves to pluck a large can of crushed tomatoes from it. “Which season was yer fav’?”

“Time Force, for sure.”

“Oh c’mon, Dino Force was far betta,” he scoffs disbelievingly, giving me another dirty look as he sets down the large can in his cart, crossing off something on the piece of blue paper he holds.

“Maybe you should be friends with my brother, seeing how you like all of the same stuff. The green Power Ranger was his favourite, and so was Dino Force,” I laugh, comparing two different brands of green beans, deciding on the cheaper one that I grab. My legs pass his cart and when I see him shrug his shoulders with a sly grin, I softly swat him on the arm, his name leaving me.

“Becks, ya betta watch it,” he giggles, catching my arm in his gentle grasp.

“Or what?”

“Don’t test me,” he warns, but the grin creasing his cheeks tells me otherwise, he’s harmless. I bump my shoulder against his after he lets go, but not without a tickle from him.

“Harry Styles,” I groan, grabbing a can of tuna from the shelf. His grin is wider when I turn around, rolling my eyes at him on my way back to my cart.

“Rebecca Holte,” he whines in a mocking voice, once again shocking me with his recollection of my name.

“Don’t, it sounds weird when you say my name like that.”

“It really does tho’,” he remarks agreeingly, words falling into a hearty laugh. I almost echo it until I spot the look on his face. Following his eyes to the shelves, I find his stuck to a display of Spaghettios. Some have meatballs in them, hotdogs, the pasta are in different shapes, and some cans are bigger than others. I’m not sure which one he’s looking at, but the absence of anything on his face whisks that question away. “Alright?” I ask softly, taking a few steps towards him, and he wakes back up when my hand touches his arm.

“Y-Ya,” he hums sadly, letting my fingers come around his forearm, almost as if I’m about to hook arms with him. God, I wish. “‘s been a while since ‘ve seen these, and even longa since I ate ‘em. I always used t’ eat ‘em at me granddad’s house with a piece o’ buttered bread,” he explains, nodding towards the arrangement.

“Oh, Harry,” I exhale, sadness bending my features as I squeeze his arm. He musters a forced laugh, carrying his eyes over to mine with apology held in them. “It’s almost been a year, hasn’t it?”

“Ya, this week. I can’t believe it,” he remarks softly, kneading his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger of his free right hand. “Almost think I should grab a can fer him, but I dunno if ‘d like ‘em now. I don’t wanna ruin that memory.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to buy it. You could buy or do something else to remember him, Harry.”

He nods beside me as I look up at him and watch the thoughts paint his face. It seems his face goes through every emotion within a minute - sadness, regret, confusion, frustration, grief, etc.

“Maybe get something you both like.”

“Ya, he loved those fudge-striped cookies, maybe I can find some o’ those instead,” he decides, tearing his eyes away from the lines of cans to meet mine. “Thanks . . Boops,” he smiles, that simple image calming the worrying of my heart.

I laugh and walk away from him, returning to my cart that I begin to push, but I find Harry’s in my way. With a playful groan, my lips part, “Come on, Harold, move it so we can go to the cookie aisle.”

“Hey, that’s not me name,” he responds, wrapping his bare fingers around the handle, giving me another glare over his shoulder.

“Well, neither is Rebecca, so don’t call me that.”

“But it ‘s actually yer name. Yer confusin’, y’know that?” he tuts, shaking his head as he looks straight ahead, moving down the aisle. “Hey, how’d ya eva come t’ be called ‘Boops’, anyways? I rememba Skye would call ya that sometimes when ‘d come ova.”

“God, I can’t believe you remember that nickname,” I groan, receiving a light chuckle from him ahead of me. On purpose, I bump the front of my cart against his bum again as he waits for somebody to pass.

“Becks- I mean, Rebecca, stop,” Harry says, turning halfway to meet my giggling eyes. One sits in his greens as well, but he only lets it show as a curling of one side of his mouth. “Ya I rememba, that’s all she called you. I think she did it on purpose.”

“Probably, knowing Skye she did it to bug me or embarrass me,” I comment, taking a right down the big aisle in between all of the smaller ones. Rows upon rows of cookies come before our eyes soon, along with baking supplies like flour, sugar, and chocolate chips. Dang, the amount of chocolate in this aisle is unreal, and somehow comforting. “My dad started it when I was a baby, or so I’ve been told. He’d tap my nose with his finger and it always made me laugh, I guess, so it stuck.”

“Aww, that’s adorable. Does he still boop yer nose when he calls ya that?”

“Sometimes,” I laugh, leaving my cart on the side as I pull out my phone, bringing up my shopping list. “So what are you all buying today?”

“That’s cute, y’know, and jus’ stockin’ up on some stuff. ‘m makin’ a pot pie t’night, so needed stuff fer that - carrots, an onion, celery, pie dough, broth, chicken, y’know,” he answers, bending down to squat so he can pull a pack of fudge stripes from the shelf. “Ah, here they are. I can’t rememba tha last time I had these eitha, but ‘m excited t’ try ‘em again, and think of Granddad when I have ‘em with a glass o’ milk.”

“Good idea,” I agree, patting him on the back as I tote a sack of flour in my other arm.

He finds me with his eyes over his shoulder, and those to-die-for dimples make an appearance again as his lips open with a smile, “Thanks, Boops,” he grins, tapping my nose with his finger. I want to tell him how original he’s being with that response, or the lack thereof, but the butterflies taking flight in my stomach consume all the bravery I had. “What’re you buyin’, hmm?”

“Same, just necessities.”

“Looks like yer bakin’ or sumthin’ with all that flour,” he comments, nodding to it as I set it down amongst the other items.

“Well, I’m going to make brownies, so yeah it’s a necessity, but that’s nothing new.”

“Ah, so Becks has become a baker, has she now?” he inquires, filling his arms with items up and down the aisle, because of course he is. I nod, joining him by a box of premade mixes, watching as he debates over which brownie mix to buy.

“I literally just said two seconds ago that I’m making homemade brownies, and you’re buying a box mix of them! Homemade is always better!” I exclaim, then groan with a disapproving shake of my head. “Harold.”

“Boops,” he returns, a smile winding its way up his cheeks covered in a light layer of dark facial hair. Now, that’s new, and what’s not to like? “I don’t mess with bakin’, so yes, ‘m buyin’ a box o’ premade. Unless ya’d like t’ make me some?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at me with an idea forming inside of my head.

“Maybe if you stop calling me Boops and Rebecca, I will one time.”

“Noted,” he responds, winking at me as he replaces the box on the shelf.

“Good boy.”

He continues to smile at me, and quickly I remember what it’s like to stare into this sunlight, and how it’s not so bad sometimes. It’s quite wonderful, actually. The buzzing inside of my chest grows when his finger nears my face again, and then brushes under my eye.

“I like seein’ yer birthmark when ya don’t cover it up, ‘s pretty, Becks,” he hums, tracing his thumb over it, tickling my skin. A small ‘thanks’ drops from my lips at his words, and the buzzing only intensifies as he stares back at me. In that moment, I swear I could do it and I almost try to until he turns away. I attempt to find comfort in assuring myself that I don’t want our theoretical first kiss to be in the middle of the supermarket, lest anybody join us in this aisle. “I think that’s all I needed t’day.”

Thoughts are building into words on my tongue until the ringing of my phone interrupts my plans. This is definitely not all that I needed today, per say. Lifting it towards my face, I see my dad’s smiling face waiting for me, reminding me I haven’t spoken to him in days amidst everything going on. He’s already called a few times and I wasn’t able to answer, and he’s probably starting to grow concerned. I also really need to tell him about the new job. He’ll be so happy, and I can only imagine the suggestive things he’ll say about Harry. Oh boy.

“I should take this,” I announce, bringing my eyes back to his. He nods as he arrives back in front of his cart. “It was nice to see you and only one of you,” I snicker, alluding to the far too many drinks we consumed the other night.

“You too, Becks, it was nice runnin’ into ya. ‘ll try not t’ crash carts with ya tha next time,” he returns with a warm smile, coming towards me as he pushes his cart. The next time? Can you please not tease me like this, Harry? I want all of the grocery shopping trips with you, even if they’re only like this where I can’t have my arm hooked through yours. Maybe one time we’ll only need one cart, just maybe. He lifts an arm and squeezes mine on his way down the aisle. “Take care, bug, ‘ll see ya Friday.”

“Bye, Harry. Careful driving that thing!” I call out, and this time he doesn’t give me a dirty look when he looks back at me. Instead, he sends me that blinding smile of his I love so damn much. “And, I’ll be thinking of you this week, I know it’ll be a hard one.”

“Thanks, bug, I appreciate it,” he returns, winking at me before turning back around and rounding the corner, just as I press Accept on my phone.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, waiting to hear my dad’s comforting voice.

“Hey, Boops. How’s my favourite girl?” he asks, the warmth in his voice providing me with happiness, and stealing it away at the same time. God, I miss him sometimes, I realize inside my thoughts. As I still stare down the aisle, I miss another man too.

It seems I’m always missing these two every second of every day, and one of Harry’s hugs that I wish I’d stolen a few seconds ago.

As the numbers climb in front of my eyes, the last few days flash before them. Somehow, I’m amazed when the number seventeen appears before my eyes in a bright red font. The last week has dragged on at times, thoughts of Harry and standing in this very lift occupying my every thought. Checking my watch, I’m glad to see I’m early, just like I had planned.

The gunmetal doors part in front of me and I’m rewarded with the sight of Seventeen in all of its glory. The buzzing returns in my chest, and so do the multitudes of butterflies in my gut as I look around. It does and doesn’t look the same as before, but it smells the same, and in some ways it sounds the same. The Cubiclers are gone and now more offices line the walls, and a certain somebody sits inside of one this very instant. The very same person I get to spend the entire day with, and it’s the first of oh so many. I take a long look around, admiring the gleaming tiled floors and the dark wooden walls, a new cream chandelier or two dotting the ceiling. God, that remodel must not have been cheap, I think silently, and soon wonder if a certain somebody’s father in construction had anything to do with it.

I almost expect to see him round one of the corners of the large floor dedicated to the firm, but I don’t, and I’m unsure of how I feel about it. It’s all washed away when I find the door I’ve been looking for, and it’s open.

“Hey, stranger,” I announce, leaning against the door frame with a cheeky grin plastered across my face. “Look at you with the fancy new office all to yourself.”

Their tousled head of sandy hair lifts from their computer screen, and I watch his eyes change almost entirely. My name falls from his lips as he stands up and crosses the room to me, enveloping me in a hug.

“What are you doing here? Does Harry know you’re here?”

“Yeah, he knows,” I smile against Asher’s shoulder, pulling away after a moment of being surrounded by his crisp cologne. “I work with him uh soon - I got the associate job, and he’s my mentor.”

Again, the look on his face changes in a blink, and astonishment paints him in stripes. A nervous laugh falls from his lips as he grips my shoulders and clucks his tongue in disbelief.

“You’re always good with the surprises, aren’t you?” Asher replies and I nod, waiting for him to say more. “Becky, t-this is what you want?”

“Yeah, it’s what I want. He’s already been so kind to me, and we’ve been talking a lot. He picked me over everybody else, Ash!” I respond, watching the words register with him as he nods the slightest. “I’m not going to let him get away this time.”

“As long as you’re happy, and he’s good to you,” he insists, pointing a stern finger at me dotted with shiny blonde hairs.

“Yes, he’s already being good to me, Ash. We went out for dinner and drinks that we meant to do this summer, and things are already looking up.”

“Good, good. That’s already progress, Becky,” he hums, and I mumble a brief agreement. “But still, what are you doing here now?”

“Oh, I have my orientation with him today, but I don’t start officially until the twenty-eighth, after I finish my job at the courts,” I reply, and he nods a little harder this time, biting on his thumb.

“I see, it’s all making some sense now, thank God. So, when are you going to ask him on a date?”

“Ash!” I exclaim, following him further into his plain looking office where he sits on the corner of his desk. He crosses his arms over the ochre button down showing a white t-shirt underneath. “It’s not even my first day of work yet!”

“So? You’re wasting precious time!” he argues, his loud chuckle soon stealing away his words. I groan as my eyes roll into the back of my head, soon pushing up the sleeve of my dark violet blazer to find my brown leather watch.

“Yeah, sitting here arguing with you,” I giggle, returning my eyes to his summer blues.

“No, you’re right, because you could be talking to him right now. You know, flirting with him and asking him on a date.”

“Ash, stop!” I laugh, turning to walk away, but I stop when I reach his door. “I like the new office by the way, I’m happy they finally made you head of I.T. I’m really happy for you,” I say softly pointing to the words on his door, hanging onto the handle as he meets my eyes softly.

“Thanks, Becky, I appreciate it. It was about time Bitchie Trishie retired anyways, fuck was she old.”

“Ditto,” I smile and he returns it right away. “I’m really happy to be back.”

“I’m happy you are too, and I’m sure Harry is as well. You should get going, you don’t want to make a bad uh, second impression,” he notes, shooing me away with his hand.

We say our goodbyes and I return to the hallway, straightening my unbuttoned blazer over my long slacks the same color for probably the twentieth time this morning. What feels like for the fiftieth time, I smooth down the chiffon black blouse tucked in underneath, hoping I ironed out every single wrinkle. Skye’s words from his morning when we said goodbye come back to me with a warm smile.

“Ree, if he doesn’t realize what he’s been missing the second he sees you in that outfit, I’m going to be very disappointed in him,” she mused, shaking her head with pursed lips and arms crossed over her chest as I laughed nervously.

My black pumps echo with every step I take on the immaculate floors, soon finding Amelia at the front desk who I wave at, not bothering to check in again. Asher’s comment and its ambiguity comes to mind as I take a right through the lobby. What did he mean that he’s sure Harry is happy I’m back, too? Since when do Asher and Harry talk, or when have they ever spoken to each other with more than three words? Does he know something that I don’t know?

I don’t get another second to think about it, because soon I turn down the hallway. His hallway. The nerves of anticipation and excitement come over me as a smile grows hastily on my lips. I’ve been waiting for this moment for longer than I think I know, probably months, or even years. It’s hard to believe that the last time I was in his office, it was two years ago. The thought appears with a sting when I remember the last time I was in his office, because of him walking in on Amber well, assaulting me. A moment that I ended when I walked away from him, and here I am walking back to him, and I couldn’t be happier.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

I see his door first, and how it’s ajar, letting a section of his office peek through. Then, I hear the Paul McCartney song escaping from his office, followed by his humming. The humming doesn’t match the song oddly enough, but it transports me back to the hospital in Madley when I was wrapped in his arms. It’s the same song he was humming then that I still can’t figure out. God, those kinds of things bug me.

I see him first, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that, because I get a few extra seconds to admire him. It allows me to remember the way he absently twirls a piece of hair around his finger when he’s lost in a thought, how he always crosses his legs at the ankles under his desk bobbing a foot to the music, and just how incredible he always manages to look in a suit. A pastel teal number hugs his trim body with a cream button up underneath, giving me a peek at his thick chest hair underneath. Oh, I could just eat him up. If only.

Swallowing, I take the time for a silent deep breath before rapping my knuckle against the cold glass of his door with nervous lips, “Good morning, boss.”

His head flies up and I think I’ve scared him almost, but the happiness that consumes his face is instantaneous and contagious as ever. It spreads across his flushed skin until my favorite little things about his smile appear before my eyes, making this all the more real. The perfect little curls falling over his forehead make it all the worse, and the better.

“Mornin’. Are ya ready t’ get started, Ms. Holte?”

“Yes, I’ve never been more ready,” I reply, the anxiousness abating as he stands from his chair.

“Great, then let’s get started with yer official orientation as a lawyer fer Styles and Lawson,” he announces, firmness playing in his words until they end with sunshine dancing across them, his footsteps finding their way to me. “Y’know, ‘ve been waitin’ a long time fer this day, Becks, too long.”

Me too, Harry. I’ve been waiting for what feels like forever for this new beginning.

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nureyevv · 6 years ago

Text

Rita Detective Agency vs The Man Without A Name

When Rita first joins the crime crew doesn’t trust Peter Nureyev one bit

Of course back in those days she knew him by another name: Rex Glass

She hadn’t seen him since he’d stolen that Martian mask all those months ago

And, though the boss had found him annoying, she’d thought he was plenty charming. Sure he was a criminal, but there was no reason to be so judgmental!

She watched Mistah Steel’s face when they saw each other again, though, just before they left mars, and she was quick to figure out what had taken place between them, though

See, there were these face stealin’ moon dogs that lived near jupeter— she’d learned about em in one of her shows— and basically they could mimic any face they saw in order to trick unsuspecting people into becoming their dinner— in one episode a face stealer had taken the face of someone’s beloved BUT when it saw how much Justin (that’s the hero’s name of course) loved his husband the face stealer ended up Falling! In! Love! with Justin instead of eating him and it was all so tragic and romantic, but of course Justin couldn’t go on without the real Mika—

Anyway OBVIOUSLY mistah glass had been mimicked by a face stealer and sworn the boss to secrecy, but even if he fooled everyone else, he couldn’t trick Rita!

So she got straight to work. At first she just tried to use some of those classic face stealer catchin questions, ya know, how many limbs did your mom’s mom have, how do ya feel about boiled eye balls, the usual. Not-Glass was good though, too good

Plan B was less exciting. She just hacked his comms to check his search history for face stealer forums. That was easy enough.

Or at least, it should have been easy enough. Even though she knew Glass hadn’t been involved with Dark Matters for over a year, gettin into his comms reminded her of patching the boss through to that old friend of his who worked with them now. Every time she got through a layer of security codes another popped up in its place. She almost couldn’t make it through.

But she was Rita, so of course she did. Glass’s comms themselves were even stranger than his security, though, mostly because there was nothing there. Who went through all that trouble to hide nothing? She didn’t know, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find out.

Even if the guy had virtually no viral footprint, there was one footprint everyone had. The real kind! So maybe it wasn’t the most “formally worked in law enforcement” thing to do to break into Glass’s room on the ship but... well she was curious! What else could she do?

Hacking the ships door system was easy enough, but figuring out when Glass would be out of the way was much more difficult. Eventually, though, Buddy sent Glass with the boss to stock up on supplies on a nearby planet. They pained look on mistah steel’s face wasn’t lost on her, but she liked to take things one mystery at a time.

Glass’s rooms were.... well they were something. For such a well groomed man he was quite the slob if she was honest. Little papers scattered the room, crumpled up into loose balls. Upon further investigation she found that most of them were just pen doodles, and she could appriciate a fellow artist. She even found a couple that reminded her vaguely of the crew. One stick lady had Vespa’s bright green hair, the next was marked by jet’s enormous stature. She found a few of the boss and even one of herself, which she pocketed.

She moved on to investigate Glass’s desk. Oddly enough, most of the drawers were as empty as his comms. One had a tube of red lipstick, another held a couple of creds. The most interesting thing she found was a book that she saw, when she opened it, had been hollowed out to hold a single knife. It wasn’t a completely unexpected thing to come across on a ship of criminals but still. This guy was weird.

Maybe a bit sad too, though. His room was cluttered, but mostly by trash. It didn’t seem like he actually had a lot of anything except maybe clothes and makeup. It wasn’t a big room, and Glass— or whoever he really was— still couldn’t fill it.

It was as she contemplated this that she noticed a note left haphazardly on the desk. It was written in elaborate cursive script, but the bottom half of it had been scribbled over till it was no long legible. What she could read, however, was enough to grab her attention.

“Juno, my love—“

She had just put two and two together when she heard the sound of footsteps outside the room.

“We aren’t going to be able to work together like this, Peter,” said a familiar voice through the wall. She recognized Mistah Steel’s distinctive tone.

The response was so cutting she almost couldn’t place it. “We’ll have to figure something out I suppose, because I’ve said I don’t want to discuss it. Goodbye, detective.”

The owner of the second voice— Peter according to the boss, though her mind yelled another name— did not wait around for a response. The door to Mr. Glass’s room slid open and her face stealing suspect slid inside. He let out a tired sigh and rubbed his temples. Then, he saw her.

His eyes were wide, but his voice was calm, albeit a bit strained. “Oh, Mrs. Rita. I wasn’t expecting you... Pardon me, but just how much of that did you hear?”

She gaped at him. “It really is just like Justin and Mika!”

His stolen eyebrows furrowed together. “Excuse me?”

“You’re Mika, ya know from the shows! Except you’re not Mika! And you ain’t whoever that Peter is either!”

“I can’t say I’m following—”

“Hush! You won’t trick me with your face stealin tricks! I ain’t gonna let ya fool the boss either, bub, so don’t even try it! No wonder Mistah Steel’s been so distressed, with you walkin around with his beloved face and stolen love notes!”

At that, the thief seemed to flush as his eyes darted towards the paper on the desk. “I knew I should have gotten rid of that... no matter now, though, I suppose the secret is out. I am still curious about the ‘face stealer’ comment, however.”

Gracious as she was, Rita provided him with an extensive description of Justin and Mika’s tragedy. She was used to the boss being so uncultured, but even for a people eatin trickster it was hard to believe he’d never seen it. Unlike Mistah Steel, however, Fake-Peter listened intently and never even cut in with a sarcastic comment. She had to admit, it was pretty refreshing.

When she’d finished, he regarded her with quiet amusement. “Well. That is very exciting, but I’m afraid the actual story is much less interesting. With the cat out of the bag, though, I might as well enlighten you.”

Rita wished she had brought snacks with her cause Mistah Peter’s story was almost as good as any of her shows. Martian artifacts and death trains, a tragic romance— the drama of it all was too much! But most shocking of all was that everything he said made sense with what the boss had told her about his disappearance the year before.

“Huh. So no face stealers then?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answered.

“Well that’s pretty unfortunate.”

Mr. Peter nodded in solemn agreement, but Rita didn’t intend to let her snooping go to waste. “Well, face stealer or not, you have GOT to tell me where ya got this color” she said, holding up a vial of nail polish she’d come across.

He grinned, apparently happy to brag about his collection. “It’s from earth— made from snake venom they say,” he explained. Then, when he saw her excitement, suggested: “you could try it if you’d like. I happen to be a certified nail technician on six planets.”

She grabbed his wrist and led him to the table, the theif letting out a small yelp as she exclaimed “oh boy I thought you’d never ask! I can show you some of that face stealer show too— I got it downloaded on my comms of course. And I expect more inside secrets on the boss, he drives me crazy with the whole mystery man thing, like jeez Mistah Steel I didn’t know your favorite color was such a sore spot—“

She went on in that manner for about fifteen minutes.

Peter it seemed, was a very good listener. Rita liked that in a person since she considered herself a very good talker.

“Oh dear! He didn’t just— Miss. Rita this is quite the show!”

“I know!!” She exclaimed, grinning. She could get used to this, and by the looks of it, so could Peter.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #juno steel #peter nureyev #rita tpp #jupeter #my writing #rita and peter are best friends ok this is the hill i die on #also ik this aint great but pls just appriciate Them if nothing else lol

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 6 years ago

Note

How bout “Are we really gonna do this in public?” And “Someone’s gonna hear you.” For which ever character these spark your writing muses for. 😁😉

We both know who these prompts were made for 😉 I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut below the cut 💓

* * * * *

“Gene—this place is amazing!” you gushed, wrapping up your childhood friend in a tight hug.

Gene laughed in your ear and the sound filled you with a warmth that rivaled the heat radiating from the huge fireplace in the center of the ski lodge.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” you said as you grasped his upper arms and looked over his face, taking in the way his eyes sparkled.

“It’s amazin’ what a change of scenery can do for a fella.”

“I’m glad you invited me.”

“Let me introduce you to the rest of the gang. This is Burgie and his gal Florence. Bill, Jim, and Charlie and his sister Candace. That’s Marilyn and her cousin Frances in the corner chattin’ up the ski instructors. And this is Snafu.”

You smiled and said polite hellos until your eyes reached the last of Gene’s friends and you suddenly found yourself without even the simplest of words. You knew your cheeks flushed at the way the man looked at you as if he were peeling back each layer of your identity so he could take a peek at the part of yourself kept the most hidden away. You’d never really met anyone who could look at person like that—or maybe it was just you because everyone else seemed unaffected by his presence.

Doing the only thing you could, you gave him a small wave and turned back to Gene to ask which room you would be staying in. He hopped around the counter and produced a key for a room on the third floor.

“It’s small, but it has the best view,” he grinned.

You thanked him and waved off his efforts to carry your luggage upstairs. As you walked by the mantel Snafu was leaning on, you could feel his eyes on you, taking in every step of your movement.

When you slipped the key in the lock, opened the door, and shut it behind you, you felt such an immense amount of relief that you sighed and dropped your bags right by the door.

And then, with a sharp intake of breath, you looked out of the spectacular window that framed the outermost wall of your room. Gene was right—it was small, but the view was breathtaking. You could see snow for miles and miles; the trees were coated with it and the mountains were a greyish blue in the background with snow-covered tops, just like in magazine pictures.

The cold was a welcome change from the dull warmth of the south in winter. You’d only ever really seen snow once when you were a child. An anomaly of a storm came through and snowed six inches, effectively reducing Mobile to a state of chaos for nearly a week.

But this, this kind of white brilliance as far as the eye could see was breathtaking. You wanted nothing more than to don your snowsuit and jump in it.

And as it turned out, over the next few days, you did get intimately acquainted with the snow as you fell down time and time again while learning to ski. You were starting to grow concerned for the state of your backside, as you were now certain that the bruise on it was never going to heal.

As it turned out, though, the mysterious Snafu picked up skiing like it was in his nature. When you fell for the third time in as many minutes, he extended his hand to help you back up.

“I feel like we haven’t been properly introduced,” he said, his voice a soothing bass, startlingly masculine for his small frame.

“I’m Merriell Shelton. Snafu to Sledge n’ the boys, of course.”

“Southern Louisiana?” you asked, recognizing the Cajun accent.

“Yes ma’am,” he said as he finally wrestled you into a standing position.

“Thank you. This is a lot harder than it looks. How long have you been skiing?”

“Bout as long as you,” he said with a dazzling grin.

“You’re lying.”

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Swear on my momma’s grave.”

“Fuck,” you said, eliciting a deep laugh from the Cajun that you knew, instantly, you wanted to hear again.

“How ‘bout I stick with ya? Try to teach ya at least as much as I’ve learned so far?”

“Thank you, Merriell. I would appreciate your attention since the ski instructors have clearly already chosen their favorites,” you said glancing up the hill at Marilyn and Frances, skiing slowly, side by side with the instructors, laughing as they learned to turn their skis to a point and come to a stop, something they had neglected to teach you.

Merriell followed your gaze but said nothing, and instead, pulled you back to catch the rope that led up the bunny slope.

Merriell was an excellent teacher. He was patient, and just laughed on the two occasions you managed your get your skis tangled and ended up taking him down with you. By the end of the day, you had conquered the bunny slope and the least steep beginner’s trail.

“Success!” you cheered, sliding to a stop as Merriell waited for you at the bottom, that same wide grin on his face, his teeth flashing just as brilliantly as the snow, his skin a gorgeously dark contrast made even more pretty by the way the cold turned his cheeks and nose a little red.

“How ‘bout we celebrate with dinna and a drink?”

“Gene doesn’t have anything on the agenda for tonight?”

“He may—but I’m suggestin’ we make our own plans.”

You bit your lip and looked into those overpowering green eyes, so bright as they reflected the last light of the sun as it hit the snow.

“Alright. I need to change into something much less … wet.”

“Let’s get you outta dem skis,” he said, leaning over to pop your boot loose with his pole.

About an hour and three dress changes later, you met Merriell in the living room of Gene’s lodge. He was dressed in dark grey slacks and a green turtleneck sweater that made you want to drag him straight up to your room so you could beg him to fuck you against all that glass as you watched the last of the skiers’ runs down the mountain.

Your final outfit seemed to have the same effect on Merriell as you watched his eyes unabashedly look at you from head to toe.

“Stunnin’,” he whispered as you approached, pulling a shy smile from you.

“Not so bad yourself.”

“I know. I could tell I picked the right sweata by the way ya looked at me.”

Your mouth popped open, completely knocked off your game by the way he read your body language and by the way he was arrogant enough to tell you about it.

“Catchin’ flies now, are we?” he said as he reached out to push your chin up and close your mouth.

“Let’s go to dinner,” you said slowly after taking a breath, looking at Merriell Shelton as if he were the first genus of an entirely new species of man.

Dinner was nothing more than foreplay, both of you flirting, laughing, and using any excuse at all to touch each other until you finally said, “Merriell—I have to be honest. I’ve never been so interested in a man so suddenly before. You’re quite … special.”

For the first time that night, you managed to say something that really surprised him, and he turned shy.

“I’m nothin’ special, Y/N. I just like ya. Sometimes, it’s nice to let someone know instead of havin’ to play all the games.”

“I don’t want to play games,” you said, your hand reaching beneath the table to grasp his thigh. “In fact, I don’t want to wait a minute longer to show you that I do think you’re special.”

Merriell’s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by what you assumed was a role reversal. You were certain it was always Merriell Shelton doing the initiating, but there was something, something about him that gave you the confidence to tell him you wanted him, needed him.

You leaned forward, your hand still grasping his thigh, and when your faces with only a breath apart you whispered, “Kiss me.”

And he did.

It was a soft, close-mouthed kiss, but you worked to memorize the way his lips felt beneath yours, around yours, but before either of you could deepen the kiss, your waiter cleared his throat.

“Your check, I presume?”

You had forgotten you were in the middle of a dimly lit, romantic, but extremely busy restaurant.

“Oh,” you said, leaning back into your chair as Merriell chuckled and pulled out his wallet.

“Yes, sir. We’d like the check.”

The waiter disappeared, and you dissolved into a fit of giggles, hiding your blushing face behind your hands.

“Merriell—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. My mother, god love her, was probably just struck with an inexplicable desire to clutch her pearls.”

Merriell laughed and laid his arm across the back of your chair as you picked up the last of your drink and drained the glass, a smile still on your lips.

The waiter returned and Merriell paid for your dinner. You took an extra few dollars from your purse and left a large tip.

“Atonin’ for scandalizin’ the serva?”

“I think so, yes,” you said laughing again as Merriell chuckled and pushed in your chair.

“I think there’s somethin’ else I need to teach ya,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye as he seemed to regain the upper hand, your assertiveness feeding his own.

Merriell took your hand and led you to the restroom at the far end of the restaurant. It was large and fancy and clearly marked as the ladies’ room.

He swiftly locked the door behind him, and you marveled at the fact that it was unoccupied.

Merriell read the expression on your face and smiled, “Must be fate.”

You shivered as you moved closer to him and dropped your coat on the little couch in the center of the outer powder room.

“Are we really gonna do this in public?”

“Ya wanna wait?”

“No,” you said wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers bunching in his sweater as you pulled him closer for a real kiss.

It was clear within minutes of kissing that Merriell Shelton was born to do just this—to defile ladies like yourself in restrooms, in train cars, in taxi cabs, anywhere he fucking liked. The man had you worked up into such a frenzy with just his lips and his tongue, that you moaned loudly at the thought of what he could do with his fingers or his cock.

He laughed softly as he pulled his lips off your neck and said, “Someone’s gonna hear you.”

“I can’t bring myself to care,” you said your eyes clouded with desire as you palmed him through the front of his trousers, your nails scratching along the bulge of his cock as a moan then escaped his throat.

He pushed you over to the sink and lifted you on top as your hands worked open his trousers. His fingers slid up your dress and swiftly pushed aside your panties, his grin wolfish as he felt how wet you were.

When he slid a long, thick finger into your center, you clenched around him and you both moaned at the sensation.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” Merriell breathed, his forehead resting against yours as you scooted to the edge of the sink, aching for him to fill you up.

“Show me—show me how perfect I am.”

Merriell pulled back and looked at you, his eyes roaming your face, his gaze stripping away any remaining inhibitions, leaving you feeling just as raw as you felt the first time he had ever looked you.

He pulled his finger out and swirled your wetness over the tip of his hard cock. He pulled you even closer to his hips and you wrapped your legs around him as he slowly slid into you, inch by inch until you could feel him bottom out.

Your leaned back and you sighed with content, squeezing around him and encouraging him to move.

“Show me,” you demanded again.

And Merriell Shelton moved, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you. He fucked you at a steady pace, both of you ignoring the delicate, intermittent knocks on the door. In the back of your mind, you knew that someone would tell someone on the staff eventually, but you prayed to god it wasn’t before your orgasm.

Merriell shifted his hips and pulled your panties further to the side, allowing him to work your swollen clit with his thumb. A few quick, hard circles of pressure was all you needed and you were coming on his cock, his hand pressed against your mouth to stifle your moans. He slowed down and let you come, but as soon as your breathing evened out, he pulled you against him and fucked you, bouncing you off the sink as he chased his orgasm.

You were so excited by the way he fucked you, another orgasm began to build with each brush of his cock against your inner wall, and when he bit down on your shoulder to stifle his own groan of pleasure as he came, you yelled his name when stars burst behind your eyes, completely giving away just what was going on inside of the ladies’ restroom.

As you heard the turn of a key in the lock, you and Merriell scrambled to put yourselves in order. His cum filled your panties as you hopped off the sink and yanked your dress into place while standing in front of him as he zipped up his trousers just as the door burst open with your poor, poor waiter being the one who had retrieved the key to unlock the door.

“I should’ve known,” he groaned, standing aside to let you and Merriell rush out the door, your laughter echoing as you dashed out of a restaurant you knew you could never show your faces in again.

“So,” you asked, turning to face him as you reached the snow-covered walkway outside of the restaurant, “your room or mine?”

Merriell scooped you up, the snow falling heavily and quickly, and spun you around until you giggled.

“I hear ya room has the best view.”

“It does,” you said with a wicked grin, thinking back to the idea of Merriell Shelton fucking you against that big, gorgeous window.

“And I think I know a way we can make it even better.”

#Smut Prompts #Snafu Shelton #snafu x reader #Merriell Shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton imagine #rami malek #rami malek character

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 5 years ago

Text

FFT: second one to know, adam page

Notes:

This is another fake fic title ask sent to me by @adampage on my old writing blog (which is now my main) It’s part 1 of a 2 part thing, so the second part will be posted right after this.

Summary:

Giselle and Adam are best friends. Also helplessly, hopelessly in love with each other. Giselle gets dumped by a shitty boyfriend and is left without a date to go home for the holidays. Enter Adam.

Pairing:

Adam Page x OFC, Giselle

Warnings:

Uhh, none.

“Now princess, don’t get upset. I told you from the beginning when you asked me to… Do that.. That I might not be able.” Sean stared her down and took a few deep breaths. Just the prospect of her getting upset and making a scene and making him look like the bad guy.. When he saw her tearing up, he grumbled. “Don’t make a scene. We’re in public for God’s sake, have some class.”

Giselle stared up at him, a hand in her hair as she took a few long and deep breaths. When he told her to have some class, she gave a hollow laugh because suddenly, it hit her.. He was just saying that work was the reason he couldn’t make the trip to meet her family. In reality, he felt like he was better than her family. Better than her.

Suddenly everything he’d said to her became clear as crystal and she realized she was essentially nothing more than a plaything to him. She was a rung on the ladder of his career. Having her on his arm drew him attention, gave the illusion that he had his shit together and he was what a successful company needed.

“Have some class, hmm?”

“Giselle, don’t start. I don’t have the time or the patience for one of your tantrums. Now I’ve said I’m sorry. And you need to accept that. In relationships, we compromise.”

… no, I give and give and give and forgive and you do NOTHING… the thought as it hit her prompted her to finally say something.

“I don’t accept it. And what we have isn’t a relationship, Sean, c’mon..”

“It is?” Sean eyed her, a brow raised and an irate look on his face as her voice raised just a hint. Giselle stepped closer and she snatched at the necklace around her neck. “Go find yourself a new fucking toy to play with.”

She turned to walk away, intent on finding her friends or finding a quiet place and calling her mom to explain what happened -and hear her mother say those dreaded words, and as she did, he gave an amused chuckle. “Are you really breaking up with me right now?”

She tilted her head slightly and pretended to think it over. “Yeah. Actually you holier than thou piece of shit, yeah I am.”

“Just know that I set the bar. You’re never going to find anyone who can bring what I do to the table.” Sean called out after her but she continued to walk, shoving through the crowd as she focused on keeping herself reasonably together until she could find a quiet and private area to fall apart in.

She felt drained and yet, somehow as if a huge weight had been lifted off her. She wasn’t dreading his excuses or lies anymore. She wasn’t having to listen to his little casual remarks about her or her upbringing or her job or anything he liked to nit pick about.

“How the hell was I so stupid?” she wondered aloud, shaking her head sadly as she sank into a seat. She bought her knees to her chin, listening to her flight boarding and yet not rushing to it immediately.

… I’ll get a later flight, it’s not like I don’t know what they’re all gonna say when I show up without Sean anyway… they all told me he acted like he was too good for me…

XXX

Hangman tensed as he watched the whole thing go down. He stood there a second or two, torn between going after her and going after her now ex boyfriend and throttling the guy.

“Don’t waste your time on him, buddy.” Kenny spoke up, nodding in the direction Giselle disappeared to instead.

“Yeah, go find Giselle, she looked really upset and they’re calling her flight now.”

Adam took off after his best friend rather than go pull her ex out of line for his flight and beating the guy senseless. He found her sitting in a lesser crowded waiting area, staring out the window and for a second or two, he worked on calming himself down.

… if she were with me that would never have happened… I’d never do that…

… well, man, here’s your shot… you gonna shoot it or stand here and think about shootin it all night…. That last thought spurred him forward and he made his way over to where she sat.

After a few seconds of just sitting there, he put his arm around the back of her chair, resisting the urge to comment on how soft the jet black curls were as they brushed his arm.

He cleared his throat, trying to think of just the right thing to say at the moment. She shifted to lean against him and wiped at her eyes, laughing and shaking her head. “I can’t believe I ever thought that guy was the one.”

Adam shrugged and muttered something about the way love makes people crazy sometimes because he couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t the truth.

“Yeah well there’s crazy and there’s plain stupid, Hangman and I’m afraid that right now, I fall into that second category.”

“C’mon, hon, don’t say that. I happen to think you’re pretty damn great.” Adam leaned in, wiping at her eyes with his thumb. He noticed that the flight she was supposed to be getting on was already departing and he swore, quietly.

“It’s okay. I’ll just.. Take a day to pull myself together.” Giselle shrugged as if it were nothing, and Adam nodded.

“At least call your family. Tell ‘em.”

“Don’t remind me.” Giselle gave a weak laugh as she took a few deep breaths and then stood. “C’mon. I’ll walk you guys to your flights.”

“We’ll walk them.”

Giselle eyed Adam and he stared right back at her. “I am not gettin on a flight and leavin you here alone.”

She bit her lip, starting to protest, but Adam plugged his ears. “I’ll stay until you get a flight. We can get a hotel room and have a sleepover or somethin’.”

“Okay, fine. But I’m gonna warn you now. I’m probably not going to be much company.”

Adam chuckled and gave her that grin of his as he shook his head. “I’ll keep ya entertained. Promise.”

Somehow, Giselle didn’t doubt it, but she still felt guilty, making him delay his own plans to return home. “You don’t… have to do this.” she tried again to protest, to talk him out of staying behind just because she was. But Adam wasn’t hearing it, pressing a finger into her lips and cutting her off mid sentence. They wandered over to where Cody and Brandi stood talking to Kenny and the Bucks, saying their last goodbyes before their flights departed.

Kenny flashed a knowing grin as he set sights on them. “Finally.” he mouthed as Hangman gave him a warning look and mouthed back, “Not right away, damn.”

Adam slipped his arm around her and despite herself, she leaned against his side, staring up at him. It didn’t surprise her at all he was doing this. Adam was just that kind of man.

“They’re calling our flights. See you around, Page.” Matt and Nick gave their friend a hug and Kenny eyed Giselle and Adam. “Don’t both of you have flights?”

“We’re catchin a later one.” Adam answered as Kenny chuckled and nodded, stepping up to hug Adam and using the hug to whisper to his friend, “ If you keep waiting on the perfect time, you’re gonna miss out, buddy.”

Adam nodded and then turned his attention to Giselle as their friends boarded their flights. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the parking lot. “If we want a hotel room, we might wanna leave now.”

“Yeah, true. I just hope we can find one.”

Her cell phone rang and she eyed her mom’s number, finally sighing and muttering “Best to just get this over with.” as she stepped away, answering her mom’s video call.

“Darlin? Why are you still in the airport, hm?”

Giselle honestly meant to answer her mother, but before she could, her mother was swearing under her breath and then sighing. And naturally, her mom went there.

“That guy of yours blew ya off. See, this is…” her mother started to say it but Giselle spoke up calmly, “Yeah, look. I missed my flight fighting with him and breaking it off between us, so if you’re about to say I told you so, get it over with because I am so exhausted, Mama.”

“Where are ya? You’re not alone, right? Because you don’t make the best decisions…”

“I’m with Adam right now. He missed his flight too, so we’re going to catch the first ones out in the morning I guess. What the hell do you mean I don’t make the best decisions? Nevermind, mama, don’t answer that. I… I’ve gotta go. I don’t want to argue with anyone else tonight, especially not a literal brick wall.”

She hung up and Adam chuckled quietly from behind her as he dragged his hands through his hair and eyed her in concern. “You okay, Ele?”

“My mama being herself, of course.”

“Yikes. Let me guess, they adored that jerk?”

“Oh, no, she hated him. Hindsight being what it is, I can’t hold that against her, but you know how she is… Treating me like a child no matter what I do. It’s a mess.. Can we just.. Go now? Please?”

Adam nodded, picking up her bag as he slung his across his shoulder and Giselle went to take the bag from him. He shook his head. Their hands brushed and Giselle stared up at him, biting her lip and staying totally silent for a few seconds.

“What’d she say that got you all wound up, hon?” Adam asked as they walked out of the airport and towards the rental car that luckily, she hadn’t returned earlier. Giselle sighed and looked up at him, giving a sheepish laugh. “She’s right, I mean.. I don’t make the best decisions.”

Adam stopped them in the doorway of the airport and looked down at her, shaking his head. “She’s not right. You just thought ya loved the guy. There’s nothin wrong with that.”

“I think she was referring to all my other so called mistakes. She gets like this when my sister comes home with all the grandbabies, starts trying to meddle in my life because it’s not EXACTLY what she wants it to be.” Giselle sighed and shivered in the cold. Adam held out his jacket and she eyed him. “It’s freezing out here, are you insane? You need that. I’m fine, the car’s not far.”

“Take it, woman. Stop being so damn stubborn!” Adam chuckled, holding the jacket out again. This time Giselle took it, snuggling down into it, letting the smell of her best friend fill her nose because he always smelled so good and it always made her feel better somehow. She pressed into his side and peered up at his phone as he muttered, “There’s a hotel not even a block away. We’ll try there. You eat anything tonight? I’m starvin.”

Giselle’s stomach growled almost on cue and she shook her head sheepishly. Adam eyed her and she admitted with a shrug, “I was running behind. I thought I could just grab something when they came around on the plane.. Then get actual food when I found a hotel on my all night layover.”

“Woman, what the hell? Look, we’re goin to find an Applebee’s or somethin.” Adam chuckled, shaking his head at her as he put his arm back around her and they walked towards the yellow Challenger she’d been so excited about snagging when they all rented cars earlier in the week. Giselle put the keys into his hand and Adam unlocked the car, opening her door. As she went to lower herself into her seat, they brushed against one another and Giselle found herself just… Sort of staring at him.

She took a deep breath. It was that feeling she seemed to get a lot lately around him. The one she couldn’t quite pin down. The one that had her tingly all over.

Adam caught her gaze, fingers tucked beneath her chin to make her look at him. “Hey… it’s gonna be okay, darlin. What you did was the right thing.”

“I know. Honestly? It doesn’t really hurt. I’m… More disappointed in myself than anything. Like… how did I not see that about the guy?” Giselle shook her head and sighed, taking a few long breaths as Adam pulled the car out into traffic. They were pulling into the parking lot of an Applebee’s near the airport and he snickered quietly, realizing that she’d just really started to doze off. Reaching out, he tapped her shoulder and cleared his throat as he leaned in.

“Hey.. we’re here, Ele.”

Giselle sat up, rubbing at her eyes and stretching. Adam was getting out and walking around, opening her door for her and again, as she got out, she wound up standing close to him, the jacket he’d given her to wear beyond big enough to swim in. Adam laughed when he caught her staring up at him, making the joke that he had to have something in his nose and she shook her head, choosing to stay quiet.

“We goin inside, or?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Adam couldn’t help but ask again and Giselle shrugged, but gave a half smile. “I don’t honestly know right now but I think.. Maybe.”

Truth be told, she just felt relieved to an extent. It hurt, but at the same time, it didn’t. Then again, she reminded herself, this is just the night you finally had enough. There’s no telling how you’ll feel about this in the morning.. When it actually sinks in.

She tried not to think about it. Just like she fully intended to continue doing. She didn’t want to think about any of it, from how stupid she’d been to choose a guy like Sean to begin with, to just how blind she’d let herself become while she’d been with him, to how more than likely everyone -from her family to her co workers, could see right through him.

Adam nodded, staring at her intently while also trying not to do it. “That’s good, darlin. I mean it, you’re gonna be okay. You’ll see.”

“You say that like you don’t know what a mess I am.” Giselle hugged against him for warmth and Adam tensed slightly, arms tightening around her. His nose lingered in her hair and he took a few deep breaths. “You’re not a mess.”

“I kind of am.” Giselle argued. Adam shook his head at her no and she sighed. “Fine. I’m starving. Let’s just go in and get food.” it was her way of changing the subject because suddenly she was picking up on this heavy lingering tension and realizing that tonight was not the first time it had been present.

That it seemed to hang heavily in the air whenever she was around Adam.

Something Riho said earlier in the month, when they’d all gone out for Halloween, it came rushing back to her.

.. no, that’s not it… i mean, i am attracted to him but like… that’s all it is, it has to be, I’d know if it were more than that, right?… she thought to herself as they found a back booth and scanned the menu.

XXX

“ I will… Never try to eat that much again, fuck.” Giselle groaned as they stepped into the hotel room they’d just gotten. Adam’s lack of a laugh at her comment and the way she went about being overdramatic about it immediately drew her attention to what he was currently fixated on.

The room they’d been given only had one bed.

Giselle’s mouth opened and closed and before she could stop it, that feeling was back, fluttering through her insides, making her heart race a little. She dragged her fingers through her snow dampened hair and opened her mouth to say something but Adam had apparently been thinking the same because he blurted out with a shrug, “You take it, darlin. I’ll be fine, I’ve slept on worse than that couch thing.” he nodded to a loveseat that despite it’s upscale design, looked about as comfortable as a boulder.

Giselle started to shake her head, but Adam was grabbing a pillow and stopping in front of her, a hand lingering close to her hip as he stared down at her. “It’s fine. Take the bed.”

She didn’t argue - it wouldn’t have done a lot of good, Adam was a stubborn guy, she knew it from experience as his best friend, and she flopped onto the bed, letting out a long and slow breath.

“Are you sure? I mean..”

“Darlin, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” Adam reassured her, even as he sank down and grunted because the little two person sofa gave… Nothing at all. The so called cushions felt like brick covered in black pleather.

And given the fight he’d been in earlier at the arena, it wasn’t the best feeling.

Giselle tried to settle into the giant King sized bed after wiggling out of her clothing, but watching him toss and turn and try to get at least a little comfort left her feeling guilty because what the sofa lacked in the way of comfort?

The bed was like a cloud covered in pale blue sheets.

After turning out the lights, she tried to go to sleep and she just… Couldn’t. Everything from the day so far was rushing through her mind only to fleet just as she’d try to grasp one solid thing, one tangible thought.

Until the most unexpected one of all crept in..

… You’re both adults and Adam is not comfortable over there… Sharing the bed… Nothing has to happen and you do feel really comfortable with Adam…

This was the one solid thought she grasped onto and as if she were on autopilot, it’s the thought that had her sitting up in bed and reaching for the switch to the lights. Adam grunted, shielding baby blue eyes from the harsh flourescent overhead lights because he’d been just about to finally fall asleep.

“Everything okay over there, Ele?” he called out.

The tone of his voice half asleep had her gasping quietly. She sat there a second or two, trailing her fingers lazily over the thin blanket on the bed. “No. It’s not. I…”

“Yeah?” Adam was on his feet and making his way across the room to her, sitting just at the edge of the bed, his back to her.

His eyes met hers and she swallowed hard, nodding to the bed. “We’re adults and watching you over there barely fitting onto that fabric covered boulder.. I’d just feel better if you slept on the bed too? Please?”

Adam eyed her. Everything inside him insisted that he should protest -especially given the way he felt about her and what she’d gone through earlier, but one look into those eyes of hers had him nodding. “Okay, fine.”

She smiled and patted the empty side of the bed and Adam pulled back the sheets getting in and getting as comfortable as he possibly could, all things considered. He tensed a little when she slipped her leg between his, an arm going over him as she cozied right up to him from behind.

“Adam?”

“Y-yeah, hon?” he stammered out, taking a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to roll over and just kiss her already, no matter how shitty the timing might be for it at the moment.

“Thank you for being there. Thank you for being my best friend.”

… Darlin if you knew just how much I wanted to be so much more than that… The thought came and Adam tried to push it to the back of his mind. After a few seconds, he answered quietly, “You deserved better anyway. As far as tonight, and bein your friend.. I want to because you’re an amazing person. You don’t have to thank me.”

“ I know,” she yawned, her cheek nuzzling right against his bare upper back as she moved even closer, “but I wanted to. Because I.. You don’t know how much it means to me. How much you kinda mean to me, Hangman.”

“Night, darlin.”

“Night, big guy.”

XXX

Adam woke up to the sun streaming in the windows and to discover that during the night, he’d rolled onto his back. And that apparently, Giselle draped herself across his body. He took a deep breath and watched her sleeping for a few seconds. He carefully reached out for his cell phone on the nightstand and when he caught sight of the fact that the sun was so bright for a very good reason, he sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair.

On the one hand, she was sleeping so well.. As upset as she’d been the night before, he’d honestly been afraid that she’d have a rough night full of tossing and turning.. On the other hand, they both had flights to get on.

… or A FLIGHT.. Because it’s not like you have anything in particular to go… the thought snuck in before he could stop it, and he shook his head at himself.

He leaned down and gently shook her awake. “Hey, Ele? We have exactly ten minutes to get dressed and get over to the airport for check in.”

Giselle shot up in bed, biting her lip as doing so as fast as she had led to the sheet wrapped around her upper body very nearly falling down. She blushed a little and Adam turned his head.

After grabbing the shirt she’d taken off at some point during the night and tugging it down, she tapped his shoulder and yawned. “I was sleepin so good. Parts of me are really dreadin this whole goin home thing..”

“Yeah?”

“Well.. I know how my mama is.”

She fidgeted and Adam felt his breath literally catching hold in his throat, found himself hoping despite it all that she was about to hint at what he felt like she might be.

Giselle took a deep breath and caught his gaze. “ I don’t.. Nevermind, it’s dumb.”

“No, no.” Adam tilted her chin, making her meet his gaze.

“You’ve probably got plans and the last thing you wanna spend Christmas doing is hangin out with me..”

… you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried… he thought to himself as he chuckled and eyed her, a teasing hint to his voice, “Ele, are you tryin to ask me somethin?”

“I was, yeah.. But it’s dumb. I mean you’ve already done this..” Giselle gestured to the room they’d spent the night in and she took a deep breath. “It’s just I… When you’re around, I feel better.”

… and maybe I just want to… i don’t know, give myself the chance I’ve been too afraid to take before and get to know you better…. She realized she’d gone silent and she added quickly, “We don’t have to tell them we’re dating or anything, I promise..”

Adam chuckled, staring at his hands as he pulled himself together. What she was asking was… a huge deal for him. And there was something a little different about her this morning, in the way she kept looking at him, and all the little touches.

She leaned against him and sighed. “Sorry.” - followed by an awkward but cute laugh. Adam chuckled and turned to the side so that he held her gaze. “You don’t have to be sorry. Yeah. I’ll come back with you.”

“Wait, huh? R-really?” it caught her off guard and she bit her lip, catching his gaze, feeling relieved when she saw that smile of his.

“That bein said, darlin.. We’re kinda down to 8 minutes.”

“Shit.. But I don’t wanna get out of this bed.” Giselle pretended to whine, pouting even as she looked up at him as he stood. She turned away quickly when she realized just how little happened to be covering his body.

Her cheeks heated in a blush and despite looking away, she may have peeked through her fingers, sucking in a sharp breath.

“It did feel really comfortable.” Adam sighed and gazed at the bed -and her, as he grabbed his discarded jeans and tee shirt. He’d just finished dressing when she slipped out from between the sheets, grabbing her own jeans, tugging them up her legs. It called entirely too much attention and Adam had to turn around completely.

Even that did no good because the mirror over the dresser gave him a view. He coughed and called out, “About done, Ele?”

Giselle tapped his shoulder and waved up at him, nodding to the door. “Yeah. We should get going now.”

“We should.”

In her hurry to get dressed, she’d grabbed one of the tee shirts he had out the night before. He chuckled and she looked down, palming at her face and quietly groaning before giving a mumbled “Fuck it. I have zero time to change. And it’s comfy.”

“Looks cute on ya too.” - it came out before Adam could stop it, making her blush all over again. They stood there, migrating closer and closer for a few seconds until finally, Giselle grabbed for her backpack.

“ You can’t say I didn’t warn you in advance. My family is a little.. Out there.” she told him with an amused laugh as Adam smiled back at her and held the door open for her, “I can’t wait to meet them.”

#adam hangman page fanfiction #adam hangman page fanfic #adam hangman page fic #adam hangman page oneshot #adam hangman page imagine #// part 1 of 2.

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your-worst-knightmare · 5 years ago

Text

Hoist the Colours: Pt. 4

Part Three

Now some are dead and some are alive And others sail at sea. With the keys to the cage And the devil to pay We lay to Fiddler’s Green.

Drifting. Between the realms of both light and darkness, the Prince drifted. He drifted from silence to a sort of drone of a myriad of sounds blending together and back again. It felt like being pulled along by the tide, sometimes waves pushing him farther to the coast of consciousness before the riptide brought him back again.

He was almost happy there in the darkness. It was thick and heavy, enveloping, blanketing, comforting. Safe. The darkness brought no pain. It brought no malice. It was only as it had presented itself. Deep, black nothingness. He was almost content there. Almost.

Something was tugging at him, something telling him he had to wake. He didn’t want to. He wanted to retreat to the familiar darkness rather than face consciousness. Consciousness only brought agony and the metallic taste of blood. He wanted to run from it– as far as he could into the depths of his own mind. But it was insistent. Wake. Wake.

With an astronomical amount of effort, he hauled himself onto the brink of alertness. He began to take in the things around him. The bed he was lying on was comfortable, more so than he was used to. Golden daylight filtered into the room through the circular windows. The room was adorned in rich colours– reds, oranges, purples even. Gold and brass lanterns hung from the ceiling, ready to be lit once the light faded. A room fit for royalty. The Amazon’s quarters, he realized.

She was there too. Sitting on a stool, cleaning her weapons. She hummed as she worked, a song that Jason couldn’t identify. Her fiery hair was pulled back for practicality’s sake. The Amazon’s humming eventually morphed into a quiet tune, the words too ancient of a language to be remembered. The Prince simply listened, too fatigued to get up. He didn’t dare interrupt her with his raspy voice. It was bewitching, lilting. Enticing, alluring, and dare he think it– beautiful. Not that he’d ever say it aloud.

It didn't feel right. How was he able to rest at a time like this? The Black Mask was still out there. Still able to find both him and the bow. And Artemis. Jason’s breath quickened at the mere thought. No, no, no. Jason hadn’t said anything. But the Black Mask was still looking for the bow. And if he found it…

“Red?” he rasped. “Where ‘re we?”

Artemis looked up, surprised to see him awake so soon. “We left Port Rionn yesterday. Go back ‘ta sleep, Prince.”

“No, no, no, no, no. . . We need ‘ta go back, miss. We need ‘ta–” The Prince cut himself off with a bout of coughing. He held his side, wincing.

“‘Y want ‘ta go back for what, hm? To get skewered again, maybe? ‘Y would’ve been dead if I hadn’t found ‘ye. So no, Prince, ‘m not goin’ back.”

Jason looked up at Artemis weakly, still clutching his side. Her eyes glittered with something– not anger, that was for sure, but something just as fierce. “I found out who has ‘th map.” The map that they had originally gone to the isle for. Some said that it was enchanted– that it would show the location of whatever the user wished to find. “Black Mask. ‘Th pressgang was spewin’ ‘bout it.”

“Fine. We go back. But you’re stayin’ onboard.”

“This isn’t my first time wi’ healing serums, Miss. ‘M fine. Everythin’ jus’ hurts, is all.

Artemis sighed. “Jus’... be careful. I don't want ‘y gettin’ hurt again… I was worried, Jay….” She trailed off, fingering the hem of her sleeve absentmindedly.

Jason gave her hand a small squeeze. “‘S alright, Red. It’ll take more than Black Mask ‘ta keep me down.”

“That’s an assurance, then,” the Amazon huffed. “Come smartly, then. We don’t ‘ave all day.”

Never was it said that a place adapted to its people. However, that certainly applied to Port Rionn. The travellers it hosted were largely smugglers and pirates, and due to this, the place adapted to serve such people. A blacksmiths would sell horseshoes, shovels, and pitchforks to the common folk, and weapons to anyone who had the money. No questions were to be asked. That was the only law in the lawless isle of Port Rionne.

The Prince observed the streets he walked through in a sort of awe. Despite having travelled frequently, he still wasn’t accustomed to such a place. He sipped on a draught he had bought from an apothecary to numb the ache that still lingered in his body. He noted the sweet aftertaste of licorice root, which seemed to be the silver lining on the drink.

A small shop caught Jason's attention. He excused himself and went inside. He remembered passing it on his first visit to the isle and had made an acquaintance with the shopkeeper. It sold all sorts of valuables and Jason hoped to repay his debt to the Amazon. In some sort of way, at least.

“Ahoy, is that th’ Damned Prince in my shop?”

“Aye!” Jason grinned and greeted the woman with a small bow. “ How have ‘ye been, Miss Griffiths?”

“I’ve been better, but that’s jus’ old age catchin’ up wi’ me,” she laughed. “Now what can I do fer ye, lad?”

“‘M in need of a gift, Miss.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “For a lady…”

Miss Griffiths whistled loudly. “Runnin’ after some poor lass, are ye? I’ll see what I have.” The woman went into the back of her shop, rummaging around while Jason waited. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to give Lady Artemis, but hopefully Miss Griffiths would help.

The woman came back with a simple wooden box. Jason immediately was fixated on one thing– a ring. It was ironic, it was his that had brought them together and now he would be getting her one as a thank you. It was gold and inlaid with a small black stone. “How much for th’ ring?”

“Four crowns. It came from the Barbary Coast. Some say it belonged to th’ pirate queen, Lady Hurra. Thought ye’ might appreciate th’ history.”

Jason dumped five crowns onto the table and slipped the ring into a cloth bag before depositing it into his pocket. “Thank ye Miss. ‘M sorry I can’t stay longer. God be wi’ ye!”

He left the shop and joined the Red Amazon on the street several minutes later. She strode several paces behind Jason, far enough to not be associated with him but close enough to communicate. The shops grew more and more sparse as they approached the outskirts of the Black Mask’s estate. They stopped out of sight of the guards at the gate.“Are ‘y sure about this, Jay?”

He nodded solemnly. “Give no quarter, Red.”

The plan was simple. In theory. Jason would demand to see the Black Mask and Artemis would follow discreetly. She would find the map while Jason kept the Black Mask busy and then come help him get out of the port.

Artemis disappeared into the shadows while Jason got the attention of the guard at the gate. The guard looked young and most likely inexperienced, which worked in Jason’s favour. He insisted he had business with the Black Mask and told the guard to let him in.

It was well-known amongst smugglers that the Black Mask’s estate was where most of his trade took place. One could find a job there if one was desperate enough. It paid well, at least. The estate was a regal-looking thing, lavish enough to house a king. Jason wrinkled his nose at the pomposity of it all.

His escort strode behind him, reinforcing the feeling of being a prisoner. Back to the Black Mask, who still very much had the power to imprison him again. Jason’s only assurance was the silent yet ever-comforting presence of Artemis somewhere on the grounds. At least if things went south, he would have backup.

“Please,” the escort spoke suddenly, startling Jason. “Have a seat in the dining room. The Black Mask will be with you shortly.”

Jason nodded silently and warily took a seat. The room could barely be called a room– it was more of a hall, really. He didn’t trust such opulence. He didn’t trust the Black Mask much either. Which was why he gripped his concealed knife apprehensively. And in that grey silence, he waited. Waiting was torture. It left too much time to think. His thoughts swirled off onto troubling tangents that only worsened his anxiety.

What if Lady Artemis was not able to find the map? What if she were caught? What if he was not able to escape from the Black Mask’s clutches again? What if–

The grand doors of the dining room swung open, thankfully putting an end to Jason’s fears. The Black Mask strode in, an entourage of guards behind him.

“I didn’t expect ‘ta see ‘ya so soon, Prince. The effort ‘y must ‘ave taken ‘ta see me in my own home...” The Black mask chuckled. It was a chilling sound, one that reverberated off the lavishly-furnished walls of the room. Jason grimaced as he neared. “Really, I ‘ave to know. Why’d ‘ya come back, boy?”

The Prince shrugged, as nonchalantly as possible. “Payback, maybe?”

The Black Mask let loose another laugh, taking a seat at the other end of the table. He laced his fingers together, staring Jason down intently. If it was possible for a gaze to burn holes through someone even with a mask on, the man managed to accomplish it. “ I believe we went over the consequences of lying, Prince.”

“Down ‘ta business, then,” Jason said, forward in his seat. “I need another job. Do y’ have any tasks fer me?”

Jason could practically feel the Black Mask’s grin. “ Ah, that’s entertaining… The Damned Prince as my errand boy… “ His demeanor changed almost instantly. “ But ‘y don’t want a job. Not ‘ere. Y’ want ‘ta distract me from the Amazon rummaging through my storehouses.”

A weight dropped in the pit of Jason’s stomach. The Black Mask knew– he knew! Jason gripped the hilt of his hidden knife once more. “Where is she?”

The man waved a gloved hand around in the air indifferently. “ Alive. I ‘ave my uses for her. Would you like ‘ta see her?”

“Show me.”

The Black Mask’s entourage of guards followed them as he led Jason through the estate. He stopped at what the Black Mask called the “guest chambers”. Jason was almost surprised to see a normal-looking room, albeit barred windows and several other measures taken to make sure that the “guest” did not escape.

True to Black Mask’s word, Artemis was there. She lay unconscious, in an awkward heap on the bed. Was it just Jason’s imagination, or were her breaths unnaturally shallow? He approached her cautiously, as if she might shatter any second. He reached the side of the bed and hesitated. She was too still. Jason’s fingers brushed her wrist tentatively. She was alive. Thank God. But something was wrong.

“What did you do?” He snarled, a sharp edge lacing his voice. He still gripped the Amazon's calloused hand, discreetly tapping out the same message over and over. Wake up. Please.

The Black Mask seemed vaguely amused by the whole scene, which only fueled Jason’s anger further. “She’s alive, Prince, She is still useful, after all.”

Jason scowled at the statement. The Black Mask had no right– no right whatsoever to say anything like that. Artemis was not a tool to be used and discarded. She was not a toy for the Black mask to play with and grow tired of. She was an Amazon. The Red Amazon, at that. She was a requiem to all the damned souls that dared cross her. She was graceful, ruthless and beautiful. She was all of that and then some.

FInally, Artemis tapped out a message back. Jay. Get down.

Before Jason even had time to react, Mistress materialized beside Artemis and she lept off of the bed. The guards went down easily– so much so that it was pathetic. The prince shook himself out of his stupor and went to help her.

In the commotion, the Black Mask had all but vanished, most likely to alert the rest of his guard. The Amazon motioned towards the window. “Are ‘y willin’ ‘ta jump, Prince?” Jason's eyes widened as she flung open the window and warped the bars as if they were paper.

“”Ye better not let me die, Red,” he finally said, taking her hand. Artemis laughed at the statement and leaped out the window.

The estate was easy enough to escape from, especially with the help of Artemis. The Black Mask hadn’t counted on her immense strength. Soon enough, they were back aboard Nephthys’ Daughter, with the map in Artemis’ possession. She had been smart enough to store it away in a magical storage area that Artemis had called the Duat. Jason didn’t quite understand it, but he was glad that it had worked nevertheless.

“What happened at th’ estate?”

Artemis shrugged, her eyes still watching the form of Port Rionne grow smaller and smaller. “ I assume th’ black Mask caught wind of our plan. It went south. He had a sedative, I think. Wore off quite quickly though.”

“Look, I…” Jason looked down at the floorboards, his heart racing. The patterns in them now seemed very interesting and much preferable to the conversation he was about to instigate.

The Amazon crossed her arms over her chest, smirking. “You what, Jay?”

“I ne’r got ‘ta thank ye for helpin’ me after… y’ know….” It was too late to turn back now. He dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out the cloth bag. He placed it into the Amazon’s waiting hands sheepishly. “It’s not much but… I wanted ‘ta thank you.”

Artemis, now curious, opened the bag wordlessly. Jason felt like his consciousness was elsewhere as he watched the ring fall into her hand. She stifled a gasp with her free hand. She stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded before sliding it onto her finger. When she looked up, Jason was surprised to see her eyes glimmering with tears.

“What ‘d y’ think,?”

She grinned– a beautiful thing through her tears and pressed her forehead against his. “Thank you, Jay. It’s beautiful.” She closed her eyes, sighing happily. She couldn’t deny the fluttering in her chest. She wondered if this was what the lovesick poets of time immemorial had tried to describe century after century. She wanted to stay this way forever.

Jason heaved out a sigh of relief at her remark “I take it you like it then, Miss?” He chuckled lightly. “Thank God,” he muttered under his breath.

Artemis placed a silver of her happiness on his cheek. “Yes, Prince,” she smiled. “And you may call me Artemis.”

Jason was beaming like an idiot. “Well, then, Artemis? Consider me eternally at your service.”

The Amazon raised an eyebrow trying her best to hide the grin tugging at her mouth. “And I, you, Jay.”

The ring Jason finds previously belonged to Lady Hurra or Sayyida al-Hurra, a real Pirate queen. She has quite the story– I encourage you to go look her up!

#fluff #jaytemis #au #pirate au #rhato 2016 #jason todd #artemis grace #artemis of bana mighdall #red hood #fic #dc comics

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mo-nighean-rouge · 6 years ago

Photo

Claire of Broch Mordha

AO3

Three vignettes into the life of orphan Claire Beauchamp as she grows up.

I'm so excited to bring this one-shot to life, as it's been bouncing around in my head for quite awhile! As you might be able to guess, it's a loving tribute to the Anne of Green Gables series by L.M. Montgomery.

Many thanks to betas @phoenixflames12 and @isitgintimeyet.

*Cragaidh = "Rocky Place" in Gaelic, Claire's home beautifully named by Phoenix.

12-year-old Claire Beauchamp bounded up the steps of the schoolhouse, the weekend’s revelations still fresh in her mind and putting a spring in her step.

After some deliberation, Murtagh and Glenna had decided that they wanted to keep her.

Though Murtagh had been dour and unresponsive on the wagon ride from the stagecoach, unsure what to do with Claire and her glowing observations about every tree, cloud, and rabbit seen along the way, she had carried on as if they were old chums.

He had even less to say when he had presented Claire to his sister as the “lad” they had requested from the orphanage.

“Claire Beecham,” she had pronounced proudly to Glenna when she was asked for her name. “Not Bow-champ.”

“What difference does it possibly make?” Glenna turned back toward her brother, muttering about what she could with a grubby child that had holes in her stockings.

But Glenna had eventually come to tolerate her in the past few weeks, while Claire shared some quiet moments with Murtagh watching the sunset in the evening. Finally, they had shared the good news with her.

For the first time she could remember, plain old Claire Beauchamp had a home at Cragaidh. After countless foster families where the parents couldn’t care for their own ill children, let alone a scrawny English orphan, Claire was where she belonged. It was a wonderful fact she was reminded of every day as she gazed upon the beautiful blue vase on Glenna’s breakfast table.

Claire waved to Jenny MacKenzie across the schoolroom as she shrugged off her coat and placed her dinner basket on the shelf above. Amid a few mishaps, she and Jenny had gotten along beautifully since Claire’s arrival. All her life, she’d longed for a bosom friend, and she had a good feeling that Jenny might just be it.

As her classmates settled in, Claire noticed that her usual chair was occupied. Sat beside Jenny was a boy she’d never seen before, with cinnamon colored hair and a deep tan.

Claire raced to the desks, eager to ask the boy to trade seats with her. She tapped him on his shoulder, but he didn't seem to notice her, continuing instead to chat with the other lads in Gaelic, as if she wasn’t even there.

Impatient at his refusal to acknowledge her, she began tapping her foot, the rhythm picking up as the moments passed.

“Aye, just a minute,” he drawled, turning to face her for the first time. He froze as his eyes swept over her. “S—sorry, lass. I didna see ye there.”

Claire rolled her eyes theatrically. Of course he’d seen her. He’d just bloody ignored her.

“Dinna mind him Claire, that’s just my clot-heided wee cousin,” Jenny cut in encouragingly, glaring at the boy. “Back from a trip to visit his uncle in Paris.”

“James Fraser.” The boy’s voice deepened infinitesimally as he extended his hand toward her.

Claire arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. She opened her mouth to beg for a trade just as Mr. Bain cleared his throat to begin class.

She harrumphed.

Best not get on his bad side again.

She took the nearest desk available, directly in front of Jamie so that she could still be close to Jenny.

Claire tried to pay attention as her schoolmaster droned on. She was anxious for their worktime to begin so that she could study quietly and let her imagination run free.

She felt something brush her arm. It tickled, but the sensation disappeared just as quickly. Then the unmistakable feeling of a finger tapping her shoulder followed. She rotated her arm to dislodge it.

“Lass… Claire…” Jamie whispered behind her.

“Leave me alone,” she answered through gritted teeth, turning her head to the side. She heard the scrape of the boy’s chair as he startled at the sound of her accent. Great.

“Miss Beauchamp, is there a problem?”

“No, sir,” she responded meekly.

As she tried to carry on with puzzling out the arithmetic exercises before her, she felt a tug on one of her loose curls but tried to ignore it. A sharper one followed, along with a hissed whisper.

“Sassenach!”

No. Not bloody that. Anything but that word that had been spat at her by countless asylum directors and murmured knowingly by overly-friendly orphanage patrons.

Claire stood calmly, chalk in hand. With a speed and force that surprised her, she pivoted and smacked her slate over Jamie’s tangled mop of curls. It made a satisfying thwack as it broke into two pieces against his apparently hard head, chalk dust settling over his freckles.

He looked up at her, stricken still.

“Claire Beauchamp, to the platform. Now.”

*********************

Claire exited the schoolhouse swiftly, Jenny close behind.

After three hours of standing with her nose in the corner, followed by missing the meal break to scrawl a half-hearted apology over the chalkboard repeatedly, she was fuming. She was mortified.

Just then, a figure stumbled out ahead of them, shaking his red hair out of his eyes. “Look, I really am sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didna mean to get ye in trouble.”

Claire turned her nose up in reply.

“Perhaps we could start anew? Like I said before, my name is Jamie.” Before she could react, he took her right hand in both of his.

Claire regarded him for a moment, then wrinkled her nose. “My name is Claire Beauchamp, and I don’t like you very much.” With that, Claire turned away briskly, accepted Jenny’s arm, and they marched back toward Jenny’s house, heads held high.

________________________________________

17-year-old Claire followed the pathway from the village toward home, still in awe. All that worrying, and the problem was taken care of. She reflected that she should have relied on God and her prayers more steadfastly, after all.

The apprenticeship with Dr. Gowan in Broch Mordha was hers. The other candidate had given up his own assignment for family matters, they’d told her.

Claire wouldn’t have to leave Glenna behind as her eyesight worsened, nor Murtagh in the aftermath of his mild heart attack and the stoop that seemed to increase by the day.

She'd been told repeatedly that the position she'd almost accepted was a fine opportunity, and that there was hardly a better learning experience for a woman to be offered. But it was all the way in Inverness, while Claire still longed for Broch Mordha.

Lost in her thoughts, Claire looked up again as she came into contact with a solid form rounding the corner of the shady, pebbled path. Lifting her chin, she met Jamie Fraser’s eye.

For once, the sight of him didn’t stir anger in her belly. She couldn’t help but smile as his palms settled on her shoulders to keep her upright.

For years they had competed at everything. The top marks. The best speeches. The most prestigious scholarships.

But Claire was now headed in the direction she’d always hoped. She could learn a bit more about medicine before heading to university in a couple of years, then study to become the doctor she’d always dreamed to be. And she’d heard that Jamie was well on his way, too. Perhaps it was time to put the rivalry to rest.

“Good evening, Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie’s eyes seemed to widen, then his posture relaxed as she greeted him, recovering his manners just enough to nod. “C-Claire. Ye seem to be in good spirits.” His hands fell to his sides, then tucked into his pockets just as quickly.

“Well, actually, I’ve just had the most wonderful news.” Claire rocked forward on her toes. “I’ll be able to stay in the village this autumn.”

The corners of Jamie’s mouth rose into a small smile. “That’s great to hear, lass. Congratulations to ye.”

“Thank you. I suppose I’ll be seeing you around, then?” Claire realized that might not be such a bad thing, after all.

“Och, a bit,” Jamie scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll be spending a good deal of time in Inverness, but I’ll be ‘round to see Mam and Da on the weekends, when I can.”

“Inverness?” Claire’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What’ll you do there?”

“I’ve taken the schoolmaster position up there.” He hesitated.

“But Jenny said you’d be here…”

“My plans changed.” Jamie shifted awkwardly.

Claire gasped in understanding. “Jamie, was it you that gave up the apprenticeship with Dr. Gowan?”

Jamie swallowed. “Aye… I thought it’d be better for ye, to be around for Murtagh as he recovers.” He looked at the ground again. “And I’m no’ sure doctoring’s for me, after all.”

Claire raised her hand to his shoulder. “Thank you, Jamie. Truly.”

Jamie met her eye, cheeks red. “Aye, it’s nothin’.”

She shook her head, unable to stop the grin forming on her lips. “Well, best of luck, Jamie.”

“Claire, wait,” he called before she could get very far. “Do ye think… could we ever be friends, you and I?”

She turned back to face him, feeling her cheeks flush. “I’d like that, actually.”

Jamie’s chest rose and fell triumphantly as he grinned back at her. “Do you mind if I walk ye home, then? I feel we’ve a bit of catchin’ up to do.”

Claire nodded, and they chatted all the way back to the gate at Cragaidh, walking side by side. It was easier than she ever thought it’d be.

Neither noticed Glenna peer out the kitchen window at them curiously as Claire shut the gate and Jamie gazed toward the doorway even after she had entered the house. Glenna shook her head fondly at the memory that flashed through her mind, ever hopeful for her Claire.

________________________________________

23-year-old Claire looked out over Broch Mordha from the heather clad hill they had frequented as children. She sat cross-legged, plucking at the clover below her feet, mind racing.

It might be too late, she reasoned. Even if he recovered, what could she possibly say to him now?

Jamie had suffered a head injury playing recreational shinty with his university friends, a wound that was immeasurably worse than any damage her broken slate could have sustained, years ago. He had been sent home before the term’s end to convalesce, but what concerned the town doctor more than anything was the infection set in from the deep laceration at the back of his skull.

“Jamie Fraser is dying,” Glenna’s adopted boy, Fergus, had announced with little ceremony when Claire had arrived home for the summer.

It was all Claire could think about. Jamie lay at home, dying, and they hadn’t spoken in months.

She had been utterly unprepared for a marriage proposal from one of her oldest, dearest friends. She’d never seen him as anything but Jamie, her school chum. She hadn’t known if she could risk one of her most cherished attachments for a fleeting romance that might not last.

Claire had only seen him once more after that dreadful and teary day. Jamie had been resplendent in his traditional tartan and kilt, standing a head above all the others. He had walked her down the aisle at Jenny’s wedding to Ian, a sweet, if quiet, young man from Broch Mordha. While standing next to him had felt as natural as ever in their long companionship, neither had been able to cut through the tension between them to exchange more than a few pleasantries.

At the time, she’d heard things were becoming very serious between Jamie and Geneva Dunsany, another Englishwoman attending the University of Edinburgh with them. She was from the Lake District, and of means. Claire wondered if she would even see much more of him once the union became official.

Claire, meanwhile, had been seeing a charming history student, Frank Randall. He had entertained her with anecdotes about this uprising and that revolution, and had a promising career ahead of him.

She’d thought she would be ready to accept Frank’s proposal as graduation drew closer. But when it came, she had panicked at the last moment.

As she reflected upon her decision in the awkward days afterward, she realized she’d more appreciated the idea of Frank, as he was similar to what she remembered of her father.

Upon arriving home after graduation, Claire realized that every corner of Broch Mordha that she visited reminded her of Jamie.

The only place she hadn’t dared to go was Jamie’s home at Lallybroch. She wasn’t sure in what condition she would find him. Nevertheless, she had to decide what she wished to tell him. Would she just wish him well, then part ways again, leaving them each with only distant memories of each other? Or could there still be some hope for them? She would start small, if she had to. If they could only even be friends again…

The shuffle of footsteps behind startled Claire from her thoughts. Likely Fergus had come to fetch her – Glenna probably needed help in the kitchen, or Murtagh wanted her to fetch something from the village.

Turning, she saw a figure about two feet taller than Fergus; squinting upwards, she saw the familiar glint of auburn curls catching the sun's rays. With her heart suddenly sounding impossibly loud as it thundered in her ears, she scrambled to her knees. “Ja – you’re awake! You’re up!” With wide eyes, she looked behind him at the uneven path he’d just traversed to climb the hill.

Jamie squatted awkwardly to sit down across from her.

“Christ! Be careful!” Claire reached out to steady him by instinct, terrified that he’d lose his balance and it’d be too late before she could find someone to help move him.

She finally got a good look at his face as he settled. His skin was much paler than she’d like, and there were dark circles under his eyes that betrayed how much the climb had cost him. But the small smile he gave her revealed him to be in the same spirits as always.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hullo,” she answered softly.

Claire realized she’d just said more words to him than she had in two years.

Jamie studied her face, then met her eye. “How were yer travels home?”

“Just fine,” Claire nodded, feeling her cheeks grow pink. The relief of seeing him alright, combined with his mere presence, was making it hard for her to concentrate. “A train ride like any other.”

“And graduation? I suppose it was bonny. I’m that sorry I missed it.”

“Oh, but don’t worry about that, you’ll have plenty of time to make up your work and finish your degree in the autumn.”

He looked down at the view below them, then turned back with his gaze piercing into hers. “I canna say I’m verra concerned about that, just now.” He scooted closer to her. “Even after everything, I have no’ been able to stop thinkin’ of ye, lass.” His chin trembled.

Claire held her breath, not sure if she could believe her ears.

Jamie lifted her right hand and held it to his heart. “Claire, if ye still feel the same, ye must tell me, and I’ll no’ bother you again…”

She reached out and placed her shaking left palm to Jamie’s warm cheek. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut.

“Claire, would you reconsider becoming my wife?”

With a small sob, Claire leapt toward him, knocking him to the ground in his weakened state.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Their lips met at last, gently at first, but suddenly fiercer with reunion and possession. Still sweeter than Claire could have ever imagined.

She ran her hand through his hair, fingers finding the place where the shorn curls were growing back after his injury. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “About before.”

He shook his head, just barely. “Think nothing of it, lass. We both still had some growing up to do, aye?”

Claire tightened her grip on his hand. He was right, but she regretted that it had probably been more on her part.

Jamie must have seen the question in her eyes. “Gillian Edgars from uni wrote to me, said ye’d broken up with Randall, and no’ to give up on ye just yet,” the side of his mouth twisted upward. “Dr. Gowan found my recovery thereafter near miraculous.”

They stayed until sunset, basking in the privilege of touching, kissing, and dreaming together at last.

He ran his thumb over her left knuckle, where his class ring now rested. “We both still have a bit of studying left to do,” he reasoned at last. “Ye with medical school and I to grasp the running of things at Lallybroch.” Sitting up, he pulled her close, so that her head rested against his shoulder.

She buried her face there, where she could feel the vibration of his next words.

“Will ye wait for us, Claire?” The words were a thick swallow that she almost missed. “Even when the time comes, I’m no’ likely to be able to adorn you with pearls and such fine things.”

Unable to stop smiling, Claire shifted so that her forehead pressed against his. “I just want you.”

Fin.

#Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Jenny Fraser #outlander fanfic #My fic #Anne of Green Gables #L.M. Montgomery #au #Claire of Broch Mordha

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 6 years ago

Text

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 26)

A long one for you lovely humans. I considered splitting this into two chapters, but I couldn't find a good spot to do it. I know as a reader I prefer longer chapters. It gives me something to really sink my teeth into. But as a writer, sometimes it hard to stretch a chapter too long. Sometimes it just feels right to end it and move on to the next. So sorry if my inconsistent chapter lengths annoy people, I can't help it looool

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Daryl was sat in his tent watching Charlene sleep peacefully. She had been back now for a few hours but neither of them had left the tent. After Merle had come in, interrupting fuck knows what, Charlene had told them both everything that happened after she got lost. After that, she looked worn out so Daryl had demanded she lay down. She did and fell asleep within seconds. Merle left after that and Daryl had just sat here staring at her. He couldn't believe she was actually here. He couldn't believe that for once he had some good fucking luck. He had not taken his eyes off her for a second, like he was scared she might dematerialise if he did. It just felt so foreign to him, that something went his way. He had been convinced that was it, but it wasn't. She was back here with him and Merle and he couldn't find the words for how grateful he was. Now she was sleeping peacefully he could really look at her. He hated how unwell she looked, knowing she had struggled and he wasn't there to help her. He tried to remind himself of her words just hours earlier. She didn't blame him. He blamed himself though but he was trying to stuff it down. She was here and fine and that's what mattered.

He kept thinking about what might have happened if his brother hadn't come in. She leant down, almost like she might kiss him. His brain couldn't seem to wrap his head around it, because he knew she would never kiss him in a million years. It annoyed him to no end that Merle had to interrupt them, so now he was left wondering and confused. Maybe she was just gonna lean her head on his again like she had done earlier. He liked being that close to her. He knew emotions were high in the moment, it was the only reason why he had grabbed her and pulled her on his lap. He’d never be able to pull that shit otherwise. But he had been so desperate to make sure she was real, that she wasn't just a ghost in his mind coming to torture him. He hated being in his own head, wondering what might have happened. He knew what he wanted to happen but it was just a fantasy, it would never be a reality for him.

He glanced to the side, noticing her shirt and the rabbit's foot. His face flushed a little realising the girl had seen him clutching them both. Prolly thinks I’m a fuckin’ pussy now. His stomach was growling, it had been for hours. But he hadn't been able to drag himself away from her. But after the billionth time, the painful rumble in his belly won out. She was safe here anyway, sleeping soundly in his tent. He got out of the tent, making sure to zip it back up before walking over to the RV. They kept most of the food in here and he hated how he had to walk through people to get any. Before he could even get there Shane was stood in front of him with a stern face and Daryl clenched his jaw. He didn't like Shane one bit. It wasn't just the fact he was a cop. Daryl never liked cops much anyway, they always tried to pin shit on him just because he was a Dixon. But that wasn't his issue. The guy was a fucking asshole and he hated the way he looked at him and his brother, like he knew he was better than them. There was something off about him. Daryl couldn't put his finger on it but he didn't like it.

“What ya want?” Daryl asked roughly, glaring at him. He wasn't in the mood for this bullshit.

“We think you should wake Charlene up. We haven't really had the chance to introduce ourselves properly,” Shane had this look on his face. A condescending look that made Daryl want to throttle his damn neck.

“Nah, she’s stayin’ put and no one's gonna fuckin’ bother her,” Dary sneered, going to take a step around him. Shane sidestepped him though and Daryl clenched his fists by his side.

“We just wanna talk to her man,” Shane shrugged, looking like he thought he had a say in this.

“Think ya talked enough when she fuckin’ got here and ya’ll ambushed her,” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head.

“We got kids here, we need to know if we can trust her. So you need to wake her up for me,” the policeman in him was seeping out and Daryl wanted so badly to kick him in the face.

“I ain't gotta do shit. We trust her, that's enough,” he growled, glowering at him. Shane snorted, looking more than amused.

“Oh right, because we should take the word of you and your junkie brother?” he asked with a smirk. Daryl stood a little straighter, scowling at him.

“Yeah. Or we can go somewhere else and ya can see how long ya fuckin’ survive without the redneck trash catchin’ ya food,” Daryl snarled, his voice low, menacing almost. Shane squared up to him a little and Daryl never wavered as he glared him down.

After a tense minute, Shane scoffed, moving away as he shook his head and walked away. Yeah, fuckin’ walk away ya piece of shit pig. Daryl went back to the task at hand, going into the RV and grabbing a random can. He heard Merle before he saw him, he would recognise his brother's footfalls no matter what.

“What’s deputy dipshit want?” he drawled with a snort, standing next to him. Daryl glanced at him and shrugged.

“Wants me to wake Charlene up so they could fuckin' prod at her,” he huffed, stabbing his knife into the can and opening it.

“What ya say?” Merle asked curiously, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Told him it ain't gonna happen and if he don't like it we can leave. See how long they last without us gettin’ their food,” he replied. Merle barked out a laugh and clapped Daryl on the back, making him flinch a little.

“Shit son, I’m proud of ya,” Merle laughed. Daryl didn't know how he felt about that. Merle’s approval had been something he had been desperately seeking since a young boy. But if he was proud of him for being an asshole then he knew it wasn't a good thing.

“How’s she doin’?” Merle piped up after a moment of silence as Daryl ate. Daryl heaved a weary sigh and tossed the can in the small trash can before he turned fully to look at his brother

“She don’t look well. Skinny as fuck, worn out,” he said tensely, making Merle nod.

“She’s been through a lot without us there to help her. But she's alive,” Merle said firmly. Daryl lowered his gaze, chewing his thumb and Merle squinted at him.

“Don't make me hit ya, boy. I know its still botherin’ ya. It’ll take some time to get used to the fact shes here again. But it ain't yer damn fault,” Merle scolded. Daryl scoffed bitterly, meeting his eyes.

“Is my fault. I told her to run and she got fuckin’ lost. Now shes half-starved and exhausted,” he huffed, scowling at him.

“Ya blame yaself. I get it. I blame myself too. If I hadn't let my guard down for a second I wouldn’t have got knocked out by that damn biter. We can both blame ourselves brother but it don't change a damn thing. She's here. She's fine. We get some food in her belly and get her to rest up, she’ll be as good as new in no time,” he insisted. Daryl looked down again before nodding. He was right, it wouldn't change a damn thing dwelling on it. He still blamed himself but he needed to move past it.

Merle left to do God knows what. His brother always seemed to just disappear and Daryl didn't know if he wasn't sneaking off to use or if he was just terrorising people here like usual. He couldn't bring himself to care too much. He wanted to get back in case Charlene woke up. He left the RV and when he glanced at the tent, he saw Lori loitering around it looking nervous. He stomped over, so done with people and their bullshit.

“Don’t y’all ever get tired of bein’ annoyin’?” he scoffed, making her glance up to him. She looked wary and Daryl stood up taller. He knew he was being intimidating but that was the point. These assholes needed to leave his girl the fuck alone.

“I just wanted to talk to her, I have some spare clothes if she needs them,” Lori said softly, shrinking back a little when Daryl took a step forward.

“Then come back when she ain’t sleepin’ and not a second before,” he growled, unzipping the tent and getting inside. He zipped it back up and heaved a sigh as he sat down.

Being in a group was going to be taxing, sharing her attention with all the others. He didn't like it one bit. He watched her as she stirred in her sleep, and she yawned a little. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around frantically, but when her eyes landed on him he saw her relax infinity and snuggle back into his blanket. He knew it would take some adjusting for her too. She had told him how she had been sleeping up in the trees to stay safe. He was proud of her. She had survived two weeks without him and she did fucking good.

“Sleep alright?” he rasped, making a sleepy smile grace her pretty little face.

“I did. It’s nice to feel safe again,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. His heart constricted. He would never get used to the fact she felt so safe around him. It made his chest swell with pride and he tried to ignore it.

A few hours later and Daryl found himself brooding just outside of his tent. He was working on a trail snare, hopefully they would grab some rabbits at some point. As soon as they had stepped foot out of the tent, Lori had ushered the girl away from him and since then he hadn't been able to talk to her. He had no desire to go over as she spoke to Carol and Lori, he just sat outside of his tent with a scowl etched on his face. He was engrossed in his task, trying to ignore the burning jealousy that was scorching his veins from the inside out.

“Daryl?” his head snapped up when he heard her timid voice, looking up at Charlene as she stood there looking somewhat awkward. He squinted a little, not sure why she was acting that way.

“S’wrong?” he asked gruffly, thinking the worst as he always did. He noticed then she had a bundle of clean clothes in her arms, some shampoo and a brush lay on top of them.

“I wanted to wash in the quarry, but I don't wanna go alone,” she said softly. He tilted his head and quirked a brow at her.

“Alright…?” he asked slowly, clearly not getting why she was telling him this. Shouldn't Lori or Amy or someone go with her? He just blinked up at her for a moment and she looked down, her cheeks flushing and it only confused him further.

“Will you come with me?” her voice was almost a whisper and he was more than certain he hadn’t heard her right. She wanted him to go with her? Whilst she was naked? Washing herself?

He looked up at her dumbly for what felt like forever until he realised she had in fact asked him that, and now she was stood glaring at the floor with pink cheeks.

“I...uh…” he looked down, feeling the tips of his ears burning as he tried to compose himself. Fuck sake, just do it. Act like a fuckin’ man.

“Alright,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. She looked at him with a little smile and he swallowed thickly as he stood. He grabbed his bow in case he needed it and lead her down to the quarry. She set the clean clothes on a rock near the water's edge and the shampoo and brush within reach. He stood there, eyes flitting about and when they landed on her, she was looking at him expectantly.

“Are you gonna...you know, turn around?” she asked looking somewhat amused. He turned around, sneering at himself as he cursed inwardly. Just fucking stood there like he expected her to get naked in front of him like that. Fuckin’ idiot.

Charlene got undressed, keeping her underwear on because she didn't feel too comfortable with being naked out here like that. She got in the water and Daryl sat on a large rock near the edge, keeping his back to her.

“The waters nice and cool,” Charlene mused as she started scrubbing the dirt and grime from her body. Daryl just grunted and nodded. It was pathetic how much his mind was running away with him. He wasn't even looking at her and he felt like a pervert for just being there. He stayed quiet for a while and then he heard someone walking towards them. He raised his bow on the off chance it was a biter, but instead, Shane came into view. Daryl had to fight himself to put the bow down, glaring at him.

He didn't fail to notice how Shanes gaze wandered to Charlene in the water and Daryl bristled, sitting up straighter, completely tense. Shane walked over to him, sitting on the rock opposite with a smug look on his face. Daryl didn't want him here, Daryl didn't want him facing the girl while she was trying to fucking clean herself.

“The fuck ya here for? Can't ya see she’s tryin’ to get clean?” Daryl sneered at him. Shane gave him a smirk and raised his brow.

“Could ask you the same thing. Didn't take you for a peeping Tom,” he chuckled. Daryl inhaled a deep breath, resisting the urge to deck him.

“She asked me here,” he growled, anger flashing behind his baby blue eyes. Shane cocked his head a little as a slow smirk spread across his stupid fucking face.

“Is that so? She your girl?” He asked, his tone mocking almost like he knew Daryl wouldn't ever get a girl like her in a million years.

“Yeah, she is. So ya best put ya damn eyes back in ‘fore I scoop ‘em out and fuckin’ feed ‘em to ya,” he snarled. Shane looked almost surprised for a moment before he chuckled. He raised his hands like he was surrendering as he stood up. Daryl glared as Shane took another look at Charlene in the water before he sauntered off.

Well shit, how the fuck do I explain that one? The anger was simmering, about to boil over as he tried to breathe through it. Shane was a fucking prick.

“Daryl?” he heard from behind him. She sounded like she was right behind of him now, out of the water. He was about to look when he remembered her lack of clothes and he stilled completely.

“Yeah?” he asked warily.

“Could you help with my hair? It's really bad,” she lamented with a sigh.

“The fuck I look like, ya damn caretaker?” he snapped, regretting the words as they left his lips. It was the panic in him causing him to lash out. Not only had he told someone they were together and he knew damn well the group liked gossip, now she wanted him to wash her fucking hair. He’d be close to her, whilst she was partially naked. He stood tense, his mouth unable to form an apology because he was a pig-headed asshole and he glared ahead of him.

Charlene pursed her lips, she didn't know why he was being a dick all of a sudden but it sent a rush of anger through her.

“Maybe I should ask Shane,” she muttered. She wasn't sure why she said that, maybe it was because he had just been there so it was the first person she thought of. It was almost childish but it still left her mouth anyway. She didn't know why but it was clear Daryl didn't like the man for some reason or another. And apparently, Daryl wasn't the only person who liked to push buttons when they got mad. Daryl turned around, scowling at her, her undressed state forgotten as he squinted at her.

“That supposed to be some kinda joke?” he spat, his right eye twitching with annoyance. Why the fuck had she said that? Did she know he was jealous? Because if she did that was fucking awkward. She just looked up at him defiantly and he had to fight to keep his gaze on her face.

“No. I’m just saying, if you don't wanna help me I‘m sure someone else would,” it was like something inside her had snapped a little. She was already aware he would never see her in that way and it irritated her that it was such a big deal for him to help her just because she was partially undressed. Like she was that vile to look at it made him snap at her.

He glared at her, the image of Shane washing her hair making his brain hurt and he clenched his jaw., but when he really looked at her, he saw just what she meant when she said her hair was bad. It was all knotted and caked in blood and he felt the pang of guilt in his chest. It was his fault that she was this way, he had failed her. The least he could do was swallow his pride and fucking help her out a little. Besides, he had a thing for her hair for the longest time. It would be a shame if she had to cut it.

“Fine, I’ll help,” he relented, looking at her sheepishly.

“You sure? I mean you aren't my caretaker and all,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she padded back over to the water. Daryl shook his head with a deep sigh. Why did he have to fuck things up all the time? She had been back a few hours and already it was back to the same bullshit. Him lashing out whenever he felt cornered and her thinking he didn't care about her. He toed off his boots, rolling up the legs of his pants to his knees as he followed her. He couldn't help but look at her heart-shaped ass in nothing but panties as she got in the water. He wouldn't forget that anytime soon.

He sat on the edge, his legs in the water and she went over to him, standing between his legs. He grabbed the cup she had brought with her and started to pour water on her hair, her head tilted back. Her hair was a mess and he worked carefully, trying to pull apart some of the matts in her hair. He grabbed the brush and pulled it through some of the knots.

“Ow!” she yelped, turning to look over shoulder at him with a glare. He looked at her sheepishly and bit his lower lip.

“Sorry,” he muttered as she turned back around. He was more careful after that as he tried to brush out some knots, he wasn't used to being so gentle. He alternated between water and the brush for a bit and then he grabbed the shampoo. He wasn't sure who it belonged to but he wasn't sure about it. He didn't want her meadowy scent to be overridden by it. He massaged her scalp with his fingers, relishing the feel of her hair and getting the chance to touch it like this. After a few more washes and brushes, her long hair was once again clean and knot-free.

“There ya go,” he said, still feeling ashamed of himself for his earlier outburst. She turned around in her water to face him and his eyes went to her small breasts without him meaning them to. He caught himself though and brought his eyes back up to her face. She didn't seem to notice since she didn't hit him in the nuts.

“Thanks,” she said, looking somewhat sad. He stayed sat there with her between his legs and he chewed his thumb.

“Look, about before…” he started.

“Let me guess, you didn't mean it?” she snorted bitterly. His heart sank at her words and he furrowed his brow as he looked down at her. See, she’s already gettin’ sick of this bullshit.

“I didn't mean it Charlene and ya know I didn't. I fucked up...again,” he bit out, feeling angry with himself.

“I get it Daryl. You don't like looking after me and you certainly don't wanna be stuck with my ugly half-naked ass,” she frowned. Daryl looked at her like she had grown another head. He was about to speak up, to tell her just how wrong she fucking was with every bit of that statement but he was interrupted.

“Room for one more?” Merle grinned. Daryl closed his eyes and groaned, of course Merle had to do this. He noticed how Charlene moved closer to him, hiding herself behind his legs almost. Her breasts were pushed against his thigh and her arm against his crotch. He hoped to fuck his dick didn't decide to wake up with her being pressed against him like this, things would get real fucking awkward if that happened. He was confused why she was so at ease with being in her underwear around him. Even letting him wash her hair, yet she shied away from Merle who she was also close to. Nothing was making sense today.

“The fuck ya want Merle?” Daryl sighed, casting a glance to his brother. Merle had a smug grin on his face and Daryl wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He knew his brother knew how this was affecting him. His brother knew he liked her after all.

“Just comin’ to see how my favourite little lady's doin’,” Merle smirked, plonking himself down on a rock near the pair of them.

“I’m kind of busy here Merle, and half-naked,” she snorted, her face flushing little as she pressed even closer to Daryl. Dear God, I take back every bad thing I said about ya. Please don't let me get a fuckin’ boner. I’ll do whatever ya want. Fuckin’ go around bible bashin’, baptise people in the fuckin’ quarry. Name it and it's yours, just don't let me get hard.

“I noticed that. Seem awful cosy here huh?” Merle smirked. Charlene's eyes widened and she looked down, her cheeks heating up. Did he know she liked Daryl? She couldn't even look at either of them. Daryls felt the heat creep up onto his face as he glared at his brother.

“Keepin’ an eye out. Shane thought it was appropriate to come down here and catch the show,” Daryl spat, his anger resurfacing as he remembered. Merle’s face darkened a little and he pursed his lips,

“Hm...is that so? Might have to have a little word with him,” Merle mused. Daryl smirked inwardly. Merle was just as protective of her it seemed and he actually wanted to see what would happen if Merle had those words with the jackass.

“Guys, shut up okay? Just leave it alone. I know how you talk Merle and it's with your fists. Can we just have no drama for once?” she huffed.

“Anyone would think ya got a thing for him,” Daryl muttered bitterly. He shocked himself. He had thought about it, but he hadn't meant to fucking say it out loud and make himself sound like a jealous bastard. Merle's grin widened at his words and Charlene glared up at him looking unimpressed.

“What's wrong? Jealous?” she sneered as she moved away a little. Not so bashful about her lack of clothes now she was getting angry. She knew he wasn't jealous, but he was being an asshole so she was being one right back.

“The fuck would I be jealous about?” he growled, standing up and grabbing his boots and his bow. Merle shook his head looking at him incredulously as he started walking away.

“How the fuck did ya ever get laid before all this Darlina?” he snorted. He really didn't understand how bad his brother was at this. He liked her and he was being a dick. Daryl shot him a glare before stomping back off to camp. Leaving Charlene with Merle.

“The fuck is his deal?” she asked angrily, climbing out of the water. Merle looked down, averting his gaze as she grabbed the clean clothes and tugged them on. It was uncomfortable since she was still wet but she was mad and didn't care.

“Don't worry about him sweetcheeks. He doesn’t know his ass from his elbow right now. Think his heads all over the damn place, with ya comin’ back from the dead and all,” Merle muttered, glancing back to where Daryl had been moments before.

“I wasn't dead,” she huffed, finally dressed. She put her hair up in a high ponytail to let it dry and get out of her face. Merle stood then, dusting himself off a little.

“I know. But we thought ya were. I don't think ya get just how bad it was sugar. We really thought ya weren’t comin’ back. Daryl just...shut off. He wasn't there for a while. And when he came back he was just angry. Only ever seen him like that after Ma died,” Merle frowned. He hoped by sharing this with her she might cut his dick of a brother some slack.

She chewed her lower lip a little. She couldn't fathom why Daryl had been so upset but she knew Merle wouldn't lie to her. She knew Daryl had issues. Especially when it came to failing at things. He had said he blamed himself for what happened so in her mind, the only logical explanation for how upset he was, was the fact he had failed again. That was the only reason he could be that upset.

“I’ll just stay out of his way until he cools off,” she sighed, making her way back to camp with Merle by her side. Merle knew he needed to talk sense into his brother. If he didn't want to admit how he felt, then fine. But he didn't have to keep lashing out at her like this. His damn mood swings were giving them all whiplash and it wasn't fair to her. If he wanted to ignore his feelings he needed to fucking man up and do it right.

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