#at that point I’d be grateful grace ended the world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

disneyprincemuke · 1 month

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my reputation's never been worse * fem!driver

her boyfriend's not made for her anger

pairings: matt x rocky (hehe)

notes: let rocky be happy challenge (impossible) LOL

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

she whines tiredly, throwing her head back. “draw of the luck.”

matt smiles slightly and drops himself into the vacant seat next to her, popping her pepsi can open. “you probably don’t wanna be sitting next to me right now.”

“what?” the girl snorts, snapping her head to him with furrowed eyebrows. “bub, why would you even say that?”

“because you’re sitting here instead of being on the track racing with everyone else, duh,” matt chuckles, offering her the soda can. he sits back in the chair and rests his arm on the back of hers. “i’d totally understand if you’re upset about being here.”

she sighs shakily, craning her neck to look at the small tv hanging in the garage. liam’s car is on the screen, just making the sinking feeling in her chest worse.

truthfully, what a shit start to the year.

the churning in her stomach makes her want to tear the walls of her garage down, but it’s simply too early to say. at least that’s what she’s been telling herself all day since sebastian had broken the news to her.

it’s just one race.

though, the devil on her shoulder is insisting that it’s not as simple as that.

she shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “it was shocking,” she whispers with a firm nod. “but i’ll be back next week.” she leans against his arm, cheek resting on his shoulder and reaches over to take his hand into hers. “i’ll be okay.”

“i know you will be,” matt mutters, putting a hand on her knee. he glances at her. “but you don’t have to keep saying that to me — i’ll be here for you.”

“you’re really okay?” matt asks softly, bending to his side to try and get a look at the girl’s face.

the girl hums with a small grin, darting all over the room to shove everything into her backpack. “why do you keep asking that?”

he sighs, sinking further into his beanbag. “because you finished outside of the points today and you didn’t race last weekend. you haven’t lashed out yet, you haven’t cried… you haven’t even said anything about it yet.”

“it’s only been 2 races,” she shrugs with a small grin, standing up straight to look over at him. “bub, i’m okay.”

“i don’t wanna go there,” he frowns, “please don’t make me go there.”

she tilts her head, “what do you mean?”

“your only crash of last year, you got into a fight severe enough that it almost shattered your entire world,” matt points out softly, truly unsure if it’s even a wise decision to bring up one of her lowest points of the previous season. “you have to at least be feeling some type of way about this all.”

she sucks in a deep breath, tearing her eyes off of him. and he has a point.

right now, it seems like throwing a tantrum over mishaps from 2 races into the season just sounds like behaviour that she could easily get lost in. that’s not how she was raised, after all.

she just takes what she can get and she’ll remain grateful even though these past 2 weeks have arguably been getting harder to cope with. not starting the race felt like the end of the world a week ago — she’s just glad she got to race this weekend.

though she swore, stepping into the paddocks with her chest feeling tighter, that she wanted to cry into matt’s shirt. but when she opened the door to her room and saw him looking at her with sorry eyes and open arms, the anger and frustration seemed to be pushed away.

she shrugs again. “it’s just simply too early to tell.”

she can’t seem to say anything else that’s not an utter lie.

it’s unusual to be woken up by the heaviest sleeper he knows. matt had been woken by snuffling and he initially assumed it to be kidnapper sniffing either of them, waiting to wake them up for some snacks in the middle of the night.

until it hits him that they’re not even in her apartment in london right now — they’re in a hotel for the race weekend. his eyes fly open as he scrambles to sit up. he finds her sitting in a chair, face illuminated by her phone screen as she bites down on her nails.

“bub, what are you doing up so late?” he whispers so as not to startle the girl. “you have a race tomorrow.”

the room goes dark when she immediately shuts her phone. “nothing, i,” her voice quivers, “it’s nothing. i just woke up to use the toilet 10 minutes ago.”

he can’t help but notice the way her voice shakes. “is everything okay? what’s wrong? feeling sick?”

she sighs and shakes her head before she realises that matt can’t see her. “it’s really nothing,” she whispers, starting to climb into bed again. she sniffles and rubs her nose on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “i’m fine. let’s just go back to bed.”

matt scrambles to sit up, swiftly reaching over to turn the lamp on before he turns back to her before she can drop herself on the bed again.

“what are you doing?” he mutters, grabbing her arm and yanking her into his body. she doesn’t do much to fight it; just softens herself up as she lands in his lap, head buried in his chest. “why do you keep saying it’s nothing? i know something’s bothering you.”

“i just–” she grabs at the material of his shirt and bunches it up in her hand. she squeezes her eyes closed as another lump in her throat forms. “i hate feeling this way. you should see the things people are saying about me right now. it’s not fair; they don’t say any of that about liam.”

“rocky.” truthfully, he doesn’t really know what to say. how would he? he rests his cheeks on the top of her head as her soft cries fill the silence of the hotel room. “you really shouldn’t be reading that. didn’t seb tell you off on that?”

“he did,” she choked, shaking her head, “but after my performance in qualifying today… i had to see what everyone’s saying about me.”

he tightens his arms around her, hoping slightly that this would help her feel better. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault my life’s like this.”

so it seems that matt’s unlocked a part of her that she hasn’t shown anybody else. there’s a certain level of vulnerability now that not a lot of people have had the pleasure, or unluckiness, of experiencing firsthand in recent years.

once upon a time, she had people to turn to when her racing had gone to shit. but realistically, she hasn’t experienced many mishaps with machinery as a driver, which is probably what’s making it so difficult to cope with her current situation.

nonetheless, her only support system seems to have taken a life of their own that can no longer accommodate her. that’s what she tells herself: oscar and logan have lives and are building relationships and there’s no more space for her in their immediate lives.

she dreaded the media pen after another finish, barely making points out of the race in p9.

to her dismay, her predictions were absolutely right. her first question after stepping up to the mic and camera was something about her ending up behind logan in the placings after spending her entire racing career typically ahead of him.

she wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t pointed it out and now the resentment grows as the clock ticks.

matt sighs, “you don’t really mean that; they’re your friends.”

“but i do!” the young girl shrieks, throwing her arms in the air. she paces around the room as she heaves, hands tangled in her hair as she finally sighs about her frustrations. “it’s not fair! nobody cared that logan wasn’t producing results when oscar and i were! suddenly, they’re comparing me to him? i have every right to feel like this, matthew!”

“i know.” he grabs her shoulders to stop her in place then cups her cheeks to force her to look him in the eye. “and you do. i’m not saying you don’t have the right to feel this way, but–”

“you are, though!” she shrieks, stepping back and removing his hands from her. “you don’t get it. i spent my whole life better than logan and suddenly now i’m incompetent just because he’s scoring points? give me his teammate’s car — i’ll still beat him in a race by a margin.”

“i never said that,” he argues, throwing his arms in the air. “you grew up with these guys and i understand that you’re frustrated… it’s okay, but take it easy.”

“i can’t believe you’re taking their side right now, matt,” she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. she throws her arms in the air. “everyone’s already on their side! i need you to be on mine!”

“and i am!” matt huffs. “i am on your side — i just don’t want you to burn bridges like this! it’s okay to be angry, it’s just me here anyway. but these are your best friends!”

“you’re the only one i can be this open to! i need you to be with me!” she stomps her foot on the ground with her hands balled into fists by her side. “i can’t run to my friends and say that that should’ve been me. do you realise how fucked up that sounds?”

“i do!”

“then let me have this one! let me hate them for a couple of minutes before i have to swallow it down and pretend like i’m not fucking jealous of the success they’re all finding this year!” she opens her mouth again to say something, choking up as she tries to speak again.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as a lump forms in her throat. “i can’t say that to them, they’ve worked so hard to be there. and it’s not their fault that i’m not up there with them.”

“you’re right,” matt whispers, taking a step forward and enveloping her in his arms. “you’re right — i’m sorry. it’s just all pent up right now, isn’t it?”

“they’ve been supportive when i’m doing well. i feel like shit feeling like this towards them,” she whispers. “it’s not fair to them, you know? i have to show up for them like they did for me.”

matt calls out her name and the girl simply holds a hand out to him and walks past him in the garage. she pulls the balaclava off her head and shoves the door towards the paddocks to leave him behind.

“hey, talk to me!”

she snatches her arm back just as he grabs it, a bewildered stare on her face. her eyes are teary as she scowls at him. “just leave me alone. not now, matt, god!”

he sucks in a deep breath watching the girl storm further from him. he clenches his jaw and turns on his heel to make his way back to her garage, only to be met by a familiar face.

oscar looks over matt’s shoulder where the girl had strayed off to. “is she okay?”

“she’ll be okay,” matt grins, trying to ignore the pang of pain growing in his chest. “just needs a while to recuperate by herself.”

“are you okay?” oscar asks slowly, flashing him a knowing stare with a comforting smile. “she can get a little angry sometimes, but i promise she’s not always like this.”

“i know.” he forces a chuckle out. “she’s great. but she’ll be okay — just wants to have time to herself right now.”

every week brought around a certain form of unknowing. it’s hard to keep sane when you keep having to adapt to survive.

perhaps that’s the problem: she’s finding it too difficult to adapt.

when she gets out of the car, there’s only ever one consistent thing. it’s always meeting the same pair of warm green eyes in the garage and his arms wide open waiting to receive her.

she crashes into his body, stumbling back a couple of steps from the impact. “i can always expect one thing out of a race,” she sighs, eyes fluttering closed when she feels his hands wrap around her. “and it’s the fact your face will always be here in my garage.”

she feels a hand resting on her back. “well, i want to be here for my girlfriend, you know? she deserves that much.”

“haha, very sweet,” she giggles, pulling away with a small grin. “let’s head out to dinner tonight?” he nods excitedly. “it’s a date.”

perhaps she’s pulled the gun a little too early on that one. the evening had seemed like it was off to a great start with her feeling uplifted from the way she made it to the third round of qualifiers. the interviews and her team meeting hadn’t gone as well as she initially expected.

she leans forward on the table, cheek resting in her palms as she pushes the sole piece of carrot left on her plate. sat across her is matt, talking about something from his audition a couple of days ago.

he stops himself, tilting his head at his seemingly unresponsive girlfriend. “is everything okay?”

she lifts her eyes, lips parted with an empty stare. “yes. sorry, you were saying about your audition?”

“right,” he smiles, “i was saying that i think my audition went great. it’s a good show so if i get the part, it’s going to be–” but the lack of reaction and enthusiasm from the girl makes him stop midsentence again. he lets out a shaky breath, “nevermind. maybe another time.”

“no, matt,” she sighs looking up slightly more aware and attentive than before. “i’m sorry. i just have so much on my mind right now. please keep telling me how the audition.”

he shakes his head and drops his head to continue his meal. he would have asked what’s bothering her, but he’s since learned that she would tell him if he really wanted to, especially after he’d already asked her seconds ago. “it’s alright, bub. when you’re feeling better. what’s on your mind?”

“okay, wait up.”

matt struggles to catch up to the girl after having stormed out of the garage after briefly stepping into it for a mere second. he’d barely gotten a glimpse of her before she started stomping towards the small exit door in the back of her garage.

the girl had stormed through the semi busy paddocks with tunnel vision to the racing home, ignoring anyone and anything that tried to get between that. he had even followed up with soft apologies as she blatantly continued to ignore bigger names.

realistically, they should have taken the look of fury on her face as a clear sign. with her race, she didn’t have the energy to stop and feign a smile to make small talk.

no, because she genuinely feels the world spinning underneath her feet.

the door to her driver’s room flies open with a loud thud as it comes into contact with the wall.

and at the comfort of her floral-scented room, she stands in the middle of it, hands fisted by her side. she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she does so.

surely the 30 second pit stop that caused her a points finish warrants this, right?

to some degree perhaps, she tries to reason with herself.

she opens her eyes and starts to look around her room for something **— anything — to keep her from tearing the walls down of the building of the team that keeps screwing her over. she keeps her eyes on the picture frame on the wall of her and sebastian from the year before in miami, champagne drenched with her trophy in hand.

at the call of her name, she feels something snap inside her.

her scream pierces through the silence of her driver’s room, followed by the loud thud of her helmet clashing against the wall decorated with a singular picture frame. the helmet falls to the ground followed by the framed picture on her wall.

she drops to her knees with another scream, quickly transitioning into a sob as her fisted hand comes into contact with the carpeted ground of her room with every word she screams. “that’s not fucking fair!”

“rocky–”

“don’t!” she pushes away the hand that hovers over her shoulder, desperate to console her. “don’t touch me!”

she’s been holding it in since the race had started — something felt wrong. every weekend she walks into the paddocks feels like a chore; the only thing constantly in her head is the question of how another race could possibly go wrong for her.

every single passing weekend seems to outdo the previous and there is only so much she can do as a driver with a car that’s uncooperative.

the man behind her can only watch, in agony, as the girl kneels on the ground. she slowly hunches forward, elbows on the ground with her sobs echoing in the empty room. her fisted hands hit the ground with a soft thud as she cries. “i’m not any better than i was every moment before this. maybe i’m not even as good of a driver as i’d thought.”

she throws her head back as she sucks in a deep breath. she breathes out, “i don’t wanna do this anymore.” she twists her body, eyes stinging from her tears and her cheeks stained. a soft sigh passes her lips as the initial bout of anger and frustration finally leaves her. “can we just go home?”

“you still have the debrief to attend,” he says softly and hesitantly. “that might really make you feel better, you know? maybe if you talked to your team about it, they could address what your concerns are and even come up with a solution?”

“please,” she whines with a heavy sigh. “i don’t want to stay here. fuck the team.”

and so he does what he can to help, against his better judgment and the image that he tries to keep around here for her. he helps her pack her bags, wraps his jacket around her and brings her back to the hotel. he’ll just call sebastian later and explain.

she lies on her side, kidnapper nuzzled into her chest as she taps away on her phone. on the other side of the bed is matt, on the phone with his agent, talking about something regarding the audition he had gone to a couple of weeks ago.

she shuts her eyes at the constant chatter filling the silence of her bedroom, irritability growing in her chest. the peace and quiet she’d been hoping for is now gone.

she scrambles up with a soft huff before quickly leaving the room, the door slamming behind her as she leaves. she grabs the throw on the couch and wrapping her body with it. she lies back down on the couch and closes her eyes, desperate to get a nap in before their flight later in the evening.

the door creaks open, matt’s head popping out with the phone against his chest. “is everything okay? you left without saying anything.”

“i’m fine,” she mutters, voice muffled by the pillow she’s pressed her face into. “i just need time to myself right now.”

she hears him sigh. “bub, i’m on the phone with my agent. i can’t do this right now.”

“we’re not doing anything,” she scoffs, lifting her head momentarily to glare at him before lowering her head again. “just leave me alone. i want to be by myself.”

“okay,” he answers, the door slamming closed.

she wasn’t going to cry, at least not until now. all day she’d been dreading leaving for the airport to fly off for another race weekend — there are only so many misfortune a person can take in an underperforming car before it takes a toll on their confidence.

but she does and wraps it up the minute she hears the bedroom door open again.

she urges matt towards the door. “please, please. you have to come up with some lie why i can’t make it out tonight,” she whines, squeezing matt’s arm.

“what?” matt shrieks, turning around to stop her from opening the door. “they’re your friends. you should be the one to tell them why we’re cancelling on them tonight.”

“i can’t face them right now, bub,” she sighs, shaking her head. “i miss them, but i also kinda hate them right now. please?”

she’d agreed to head out to grab a couple of drinks with oscar and logan tonight, especially since it’s one of the rare times that they’re all in london together. but as the clocked would down to the time that they’re supposed to pick her up from her apartment, she abruptly changed her mind.

she just didn’t have the energy to go.

“tell them i’m sick or something or that i fell, i don’t know,” she whispers. “please, do me this favour.”

“i’m back from the store!”

matt furrows his eyebrows at the empty living room. he’s only greeted by kidnapper sitting in front of her bedroom door, mewing softly. the cat turns its head to glance at him, meowing again before turning to the door.

“is rocky in there?” he asks softly, bending down to pet the cat on the head. “and you’re mad she’s not letting you in?”

as if the cat understood what he said, he meows back again with a slow blink. he hums and puts the paper bag down next to the door.

he pushes it open, greeted by a dimly lit room. he flinches back at the figure sitting at the edge of the bed, hunched over with soft sobs filling the room.

“sorry,” she mutters, rubbing her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “i fell down a rabbit hole. i know we said i shouldn’t but i couldn’t help it.”

“hey, what’s wrong?” he coos, walking around the black cat that’s pouring into the room with him. “what happened?”

she keeps her back facing him, yanking her phone towards the top of her bed. “i read the stupid articles again,” she cries, covering her face with her palms, “i had to know what they were saying about me.”

he sighs her name, a comforting hand on her shoulder. “why did you do that? you know that isn’t good for you.”

“because it’s not fair!” she shrieks, pushing herself off the bed to stand. “i worked so hard the past 2 years to prove that i belong in formula 1 — that i worked harder than anybody else to make it here and be the first woman in the grid in decades. but that doesn’t matter anymore, no, because i’m washed. i’m a fluke; sebastian took the chance on the wrong girl.”

“that’s why i’d said–”

“that kimi raikkonen and fucking jenson button are starting to eat their words about the girl that their friend had taken a gamble on to put in a race car alongside 21 other men on the grid,” she rambles on. she throws her arms into the air. “you don’t fucking get it, matt! and consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to because this shit is fucking exhausting!”

matt sighs, putting his hands on his knees as he takes her spot at the edge of the bed. he watches her intently as she continues her rampage.

“this shit sucks! do you have any idea how i feel? i’ve fallen so far from grace — there’s no saving my career!” she shrieks, turning her back on him to look out the window of her bedroom. “nobody’s ever going to take a chance on another woman if my results keep ending up like that.”

he closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, trying to ignore the way his patience was slowly escaping his grasp. while he likes letting her speak her mind, lately, it just seems like nothing is ever going through her head.

she listens, but nothing ever actually takes effect.

“let’s go get ice cream,” matt mutters, standing up from his spot on the bed. he only has so much self-control. “would make you feel better.”

she whirls around, eyebrows furrowed. “what?”

“come on,” matt beckons her towards her bedroom door. “let’s go. and then let’s pick stubby up from logan’s and go for a walk in the park. how’s that sound?”

“kinda nice actually,” she says softly. “okay, just let me get dressed.”

it’s happened again. she got mad at something minuscule again. if you asked matt, he wasn’t even sure what had happened. he simply asked her if she needed his help, cleaning off the contents of the vase that previously sat on the dining table as decoration.

then she just lashed out.

“yes, fuck’s sake,” she mutters after he’d asked. she lifts her head to look at the black cat sitting in the seat of the dining table, head hung low at her. “and god, kid! i told you to keep off the fucking table! that’s exactly why i keep telling you that!”

“hey! that’s a cat you’re screaming at!” matt stands up from his position on the ground, previously helping her collect the water beads that she’d thrown into the vase for the flowers. “it was a mistake — it’s a one-off thing! what’s your problem?”

“i’ve got bigger things to worry about, matt.”

“oh, my god, rocky!” he puts the vase down on the table and looks at her. “do you even hear yourself right? actually, have you taken a step back and listened to yourself lately? you’re screaming at a cat for doing cat things. your cat.”

she clenches her jaw, tilting her head. they’ve never really fought before. “there’s a reason he’s trained to not be on the table!”

“he’s a cat!” matt emphasises, pointing at the cat that’s now run off towards the balcony of the apartment. “listen, okay? there are two people in this relationship. you can’t always fucking expect me to baby you like this.”

she squints her eyes. “what are you talking about?”

“have you really even tried to look at the bigger picture lately? there’s more to life than your time and results in a race car,” he states. he hadn’t expected to break now. initially, he’d been planning to sit her down and have a serious chat about her mental state. but hearing her lash out again over something that typically wouldn’t be an issue broke him. “everyone’s telling you the same thing. it’s the car. it’s. not. you.”

“yeah, but–”

“and if you’re just going to nod your head and then drag your feet to lock yourself away from everyone else, it’s not going to make you feel any better! you actually have to believe the words that we’re saying to you. you know that, don't you?”

he takes a deep breath to collect himself. he doesn’t even really shout often. he’s more on the reserved side. “if you don’t want my help, fine. but if you need me… when you decide that you finally want my help — when you’re really ready to listen and willing to get some perspective — call me. please.”

matt finally gets a good look at her, hands clasped in front of her, now standing with her head hung low. if he’d taken a second longer to scan her, he’d have noticed the way her lips quivered and the tears that filled her eyes to the brim. “i don’t like seeing you like this,” he says softly, “but i also don’t like being treated like a fucking doormat. and i tried to be there for you, bub, but you’re unreceptive.

“i keep giving you my hand to hold and you just keep fucking ignoring it. when are you going to get in your head that shutting down and keeping to yourself isn’t going to be a viable way around this?”

“matt,” she says softly, her hand reaching out to grab his.

he takes a step back before she can touch him. “this always happens, rocky. you lash out, you hurt my feelings, you apologise then i forgive you. it’s good for a couple of days and then something happens and we’re just stuck in this loop — it’s exhausting. and i love you.

“god, i love you. and i want to keep liking you too, but love just won’t cut it,” he sighs, slouching his shoulders. “i don’t want to get tired of loving you, okay?” he sucks in a deep breath and he knows that he will probably regret uttering these words to her. “i’m sorry, rocky, but i can’t keep doing this cycle with you. i need a break.”

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youcouldmakealife · 4 months

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Raf/Grace, Bryce/Jared, various; solemn occasion (pt 1)

For the prompt: A collision of worlds at Raf and Grace's wedding: Bryce and Jared, David and Jake, maybe throw in Robbie and Georgie too…

Pre-wedding for now. We all know this thing is going to end up being 15,000 parts long.

On the drive home after Chaz and Ash ask them to be in the wedding party, Bryce says, offhand, “You know Raf’s asking next.”

“Yeah,” Jared says through a yawn. It's still early, so he thinks Chaz and Ashley’s perpetual exhaustion might be contagious.

“No, I mean, he’s going to ask you to be his best man,” Bryce says.

Jared snorts and shuts his eyes.

“I mean it,” Bryce says.

“I’d be a terrible best man,” Jared says. “Raf’s too smart to do that.”

Jared clearly overestimated Raf’s intelligence.

“Um,” Jared says. "Wait, really?"

Raf blinks back at him.

“Bryce said you were going to ask me that,” Jared says.

“And you said ‘good because I’m definitely going to say yes’,” Raf says. “Right?”

“Is that what you want me to say?” Jared says.

Raf shrugs.

“Are there like, responsibilities involved?” Jared asks. “Or is this a symbolic thing?”

“A few,” Raf says. “The bachelor party, I think, though obviously it’s not going to be, you know. Traditional.”

“No strip club?” Jared asks.

Raf vehemently shakes his head, and Jared relaxes.

“There are a couple other events,” Raf says. “Rehearsal dinner and the like. I think most of the logistics typically end up being handled on the bride's side, but Grace and I want to make this equitable.”

“Of course,” Jared says. “Naturally.”

Raf narrows his eyes. “You tried to make me write your vows.”

“You’re never going to stop bringing that up, are you?” Jared says.

“Your vows,” Raf says. “The words you use to express your love for and devotion your husband. You asked me to write them for you. And then you asked Chaz.”

“Okay, but I wrote my own in the end,” Jared says. Well, made a bullet pointed list, and then ignored all of it to embarrass himself in front of everyone he loved, but semantics.

“Because Chaz and I said no,” Raf says.

“Which was bullshit,” Jared says, and Raf smirks.

“You really don’t need to do much,” Raf says. “I’d rather handle everything myself, frankly.”

“You’d end up taking over even if I tried to do it, wouldn’t you?” Jared says.

“Probably,” Raf admits.

“And you don’t want me to write your vows,” Jared checks. Vows are not his forte even when they're his own.

“I actually want Grace to marry me,” Raf says, and laughs when Jared kicks him under the table.

“When’s the wedding?” Jared asks.

“Next summer,” Raf says.

“Uh,” Jared says.

“Don’t worry,” Raf says. “We’re coordinating with Chaz and Ashley so nothing overlaps. And I already gave Arvan a heads up.”

He gives Jared a look then, like ‘remember the time you forgot to tell Arvan you needed time off to get married?’. One of the drawbacks of knowing him so well is that Jared knows his looks mean, and a good number of them are withering.

Jared didn’t know being a best man would involve so many logistics. Like, sure, he asked what was involved, and Raf said he’d handle most of it, and Jared’s pretty sure he is handling most of it, but there are so many moving parts it makes Jared a little dizzy. And this is only two months in. Jared dreads the remaining ten if this is any indication of what’s coming.

In the movies it’s mostly funny speeches and bachelor’s parties, and he was already dreading that enough — Jared is not good at speeches or events, and he continues to be grateful Raf has absolutely zero interest in going to a strip club because Jared is way too gay to deal with that particular form of locker room talk. But they’re basically planning an event for over a hundred people, and even from the sidelines Jared can tell it’s a lot more complicated than ‘book a nice vacation house, get expensive catering, don’t forget a cake’ like his own wedding was.

There’s the venue, which they had to book a whole year in advance. The catering, but on a whole other scale. The wedding party’s been picked, and they’ve all got to match for some reason. Flowers are a thing. A big thing, apparently. Thankfully Jared doesn’t have to hear that much about them firsthand, but he knows from calls, texts, and in person venting — many of them — that they are stressing Raf out. Even at the spitefullest peak of Jared’s wedding planning he didn’t give a shit about flowers.

And all that’s not even getting into the invitees, which is what Raf called to bitch about. Jared didn’t think Raf had this many friends. Like, Jared pegged them as having a pretty similar philosophy on friendship — quality over quantity all the way — and there were like, a dozen people at Jared’s wedding.

And to be fair, there would have been more if it wasn’t for the whole ‘secret relationship both of their teams wanted to keep hidden’ thing. His mom’s side of the family hasn’t stopped giving him shit about not knowing who Jared’s husband was before it was trending on twitter. At first he thinks they were genuinely upset, but now it’s become the new running joke, like Erin getting shit about her hair constantly changing colour, and his dad getting shit about being the lesser Don in the family, and his mom gets shit about absolutely everything.

The problem, apparently, is that Raf and Grace booked a venue for two hundred people, and that’s somehow not enough.

“You seriously know hundreds of people?” Jared asks. That sounds like a nightmare. "How?"

“I mean,” Raf says. “My family. Her family. The Caps, Grace’s university friends, some former Hurricanes—“

“You still keep in touch with your teammates from the Dub?” Jared asks. “Seriously? Why?”

“You’re currently babysitting for your old captain,” Raf says.

Jared looks over to where Maia’s sitting in Bryce’s lap, both riveted by whatever show Chaz told Bryce to put on if she got cranky. Apparently blue dogs are timeless entertainment.

“That’s different,” Jared says.

“Okay,” Raf says.

“You’re friends with him too,” Jared says.

“I am,” Raf says.

“We’re babysitting specifically because your fiancée and his fiancée are currently shopping for wedding shit together,” Jared says. Well, they said ‘brainstorming’, but considering they’re brainstorming at a mall, Jared stands by describing it as shopping.

Raf was supposed to be having a day to himself, which doesn’t seem to be going well, judging by the fact he’s talking to him right now. Jared has no idea what Chaz is doing, because all he did was mumble something about ‘freedom’ and ‘go crazy’ when he dropped Maia off, and Jared felt it might be best to just leave the man alone, especially after he practically hissed after Bryce offered him a drink.

“This is only supporting my point, you know that, right?” Raf says.

Jared is unfortunately aware of that.

“Do you think it’d offend people if I kept the hockey players separate from everyone else?” Raf asks. “I know it’s not time for the seating plan yet, but —“

“I think it’d offend people if you didn’t,” Jared says. “Because hockey players are obnoxious.”

“Hey,” Raf says, then, “Good point.”

“Put them all in the corner,” Jared says.

He swears he can hear Raf taking notes.

Bryce raises his eyebrows, and Jared raises them back, then has to bite down a laugh when Bryce raises one of Maia’s pudgy little hands in a wave.

“Okay,” Raf says. “Next on the docket.”

“Is there a docket?” Jared asks. "Do you have a list in front of you? There better not be a list.”

It’s impressive that silence can sound so guilty.

Jared groans and wanders over to the couch, letting Bryce tuck him under one arm. “Okay,” he says. “For the record, I’m babysitting now, so you’re just going to hear ‘yeah’ and ‘uh huh’ to everything you say.”

There’s another silence, this time considering.

“Okay,” Raf says, and Jared ‘uh huh’s through far too much detail about ideal seating arrangements until Ash and Grace arrive to rescue them.

#fic snippet #SOTM #Jared Matheson #Rafael Sanchez #Bryce Marcus

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rain-in-the-clouds · 2 months

Text

To Your Desire.

Paul Atradies x Feyd Rautha Harkonnen

Princess Bride AU

Word count: 11,218

M/M pairing

Warnings: NSFW, graphic depictions of sexual acts.

Part One

Paul stared out past the balcony where he sat in the lavish castle where he currently resides. Though for him it was a gilded cage. The rolling forests that wash into meadows and sprawling grasslands. It was beautiful, bright lush greens and colors the young Atradies only seen in holo-logs. But the beauty that laid before him was a melencholes sight; something he’d grown to hate, a reminder of his unchanging fate.

He missed his homeworld of Calidan. The never ending ocean that graced every horizon, and the cold air that blew over every bit of land. But mostly he missed his old life, the one that died with his love years ago.

(flashback)

Paul grew up on Calidan, a world blessed with seas. He came from a grand house, his family line long and proud. At one time he cared about his familial history, took pride in his social standing. But in truth it was mostly a front, he loved his family, the caring and loving parents he was so grateful for; but he felt isolated then too. Only finding solace in books, fictions told by guardsmen, and the teasing torment of a servant.

The servant wasn’t from Calidan, discarded or sold, Paul never knew which, by the Harkonnens when Paul was just a child. The servant, at the time, was also a child. Not two years older than Paul. His name was Feyd, but Paul refused to call him by name.

Always finding him in the middle of his work. In the beginning he would stand back and away from him, spying on him from a distance. Feyd intrigued Paul from the start, he was stoic and serious and wholly different from everyone else around them. He had near black eyes, eyes that bore into your very soul. His skin a perfect alabaster that glowed in the light. He had no hair, and never grew any, but it never worked against him in his looks. Paul would find himself staring at Feyd whenever he was around, even if he didn't understand why.

The longer Feyd was there, and more evident that he wasn’t going anywhere; Paul became more brave. They were about 16 when Paul finally walked right up to Feyd.

At first nothing was said, Paul put on a mask of disinterest, as if he was simply inspecting the servant; despite the fact Feyd had been with them for years at that point.

Feyd paid no mind to the aristocratic boy before him. Though acutely aware of his presence and proximity. But Feyd also knew it was all for show. Though Paul thought he was sneaky about watching Feyd, he really wasn’t. But he also assumed Paul wouldn’t get the courage to actually face him. Despite keeping focus on his task, he was enjoying the moment nonetheless.

“Is there something you require, my young lord?” Feyd asked, formal as he was taught, but he didn’t meet Paul’s gaze; keeping his low, all the while continuing his work.

It threw Paul off, not planing for words to be exchanged, the mask began to crack. His cheeks began to flush a light pink, but he breathed through it while taking a step back. Shaking his head, “N-…” Paul began but stopped abruptly. Catching sight of the small, barely there smirk on Feyd’s lips. Quickly he caught on. Paul frowned, realizing too late his expression, Feyd eyeing him from the side; the smirk he wore got a little bigger. Paul made his face as natural as possible, doing his best to fane composure. “I’d like my horse prepped for an afternoon ride, servant.” Paul spoke smugly, trying to egg on Feyd. But something else happened instead.

Feyd stopped his work, stood straight up before Paul, towering over the Atradies some. It took Paul by surprise. What shocked him more was Feyd’s eyes meeting his own, a black well pulling him in; an endless abyss Paul wanted to fall in for an eternity. “To your desire.” Feyd bowed his head, but never braking eye contact, not until he had to leave to fulfill Paul’s request.

Paul was left speechless, standing in the garden alone, watching Feyd disappear around the house towards the stables. He knew his face was flushed, however he didn’t care, he wanted Feyd to look at him like that again. But with his life and what was expected of him, Paul found it hard to stay moments with Feyd. All of which were him ordering Feyd to do some task, at first something expected of him to request, but as it went on the tasks became small and meaningless. All Paul wanted was to be under Feyd’s gaze, to hear his voice speak only to him.

Paul’s 20th birthday was creeping closer, he had already met with several possible suters, and he dreaded the affair every time. After each forced meeting, he’d find the right moment to slip away from his entourage, off to find Feyd, wherever he may be in the moment. The first few times Paul met him simply to be near him, an unspoken arrangement, seeking odd comfort from the others' presence. It helped Paul at first, but when the meetings grew in number, he began conversing, openly, with Feyd.

One day, after a long an argous meeting with a lady from an outer world, he didn’t care to remember. Dashing away from his auntourage and his father’s top advisor. Near running through the manor, uncaring of the trouble he’d be in if caught, but luckily he was alone everywhere he went. He didn’t actually start looking for Feyd until he’d long last his breath, about falling into a corridor lined with giant windows.

The windows looked out at the flourishing garden, deep dark greens, thick trees and bushes; just beyond was the deep blue ocean, seemingly stretching out forever. Paul leaned against the thick glass, practically sliding down the cool surface. It didn’t take him long to regain his breath, his many activities and training keeping him fit. He’d gotten quite far from where the meeting parlor was, reaching the far end of the manor in a matter of minutes. When he calmed he began to look for Feyd.

First he checked the garden, mid afternoon on a stormy day, he’d usually find the alabaster man outdoors. However, with everything happening at the manor, the romers of a move, the plannings to marry off Paul; it was chaotic. So Paul moved through the garden to the back of the manor until he was in front of an old, slightly rotted wooden door that led to the under workings of the manor.

There was no real floor down there, a mix of rounded pebbles and mud. However the servants over the years had refined the area, turning the once useless access and room into a bustling underbelly. Specifically to the kitchen. There was a large hearth, it was used to bake and cook in grouse amounts. The other half of the room would become like a second kitchen. Due to the hectic goings on, he’d hoped to find Feyd there. But he only found Milla, a sweet and caring lady, who’d worked and live with his family for as long as he could remember. She was standing in front of the hearth, switching out bred pots. Her daughter, Briar, an equally sweet, and flirtatious girl, was at a large table quickly rolling and pounding dough.

“Hello Paul.” Milla called, happy as ever. Paul smiled, despite his disappointment. “What are you doing?” She asked, her voice thin and full of maternal concern.

Paul shook his head. “Nothing really. Just had to get away from everything.” It was a half truth, knowing she probably wouldn't ask further. And he was right, she nodded simply and went back to work. However Briar waved him over. Paul glanced at Milla before moving towards her daughter. Paul stood on the opposite side of the table from Briar.

In a quiet voice she spoke, “Feyd’s down at the docks. Charged with watching the guests’ ships with the night guards.” Briar explained, her whispered voice filled with a wild tone of gossip. Paul smiled, not verbally responding, but nodding his head. With that he headed to the docks, just outside their estate.

~~~

As Briar said, Feyd was stationed at a ship, large and intimidating, something that didn’t need guarding. But it gave Feyd a moment of calm and relaxation. He enjoyed days like this, cold, gloomy, and wet. The ocean was a roaring monster beyond, dark and powerful. The crashing sounds of the waves were music to his ears. He was in the midst of doing routine checks on a crate of goods when Paul found him.

At first Fayed did as he always done and paid no mind to the young Atradies as he strode up. But he did notice the disheveled look about him. His once neatly done dark curly hair now out of order, the evidence of his hands being dragged through the locks. He was wearing one of his more regal attires. An Egyptian blue coat, lined with a silver threading, embroidered with a pattern like blades laid side by side. His pants were simple and black, matching his shoes, but all of it together made him shine. In Feyd’s eyes, he was brighter than his home world's black sun.

Paul saw what Feyd was doing before he was near him, he decided to pace about a bit around Feyd. Nervous energy needing to escape. Feyd wanted to ask, but he was never the one to speak first between them. Paul finally stopped a few minutes later, finding perch on an already checked crate. He was slumped and weary.

“Are we all something to be pawned or sold off?” Paul’s voice was quiet, but full of venom. Feyd didn’t respond immediately, uncertain if Paul was wanting to talk, or be heard. When Paul didn’t go on, Feyd assumed the former.

“From my perspective? Yes. Doesn’t matter the status.” Feyd spoke grimly, but matter-of-factly. His voice was a low gravel, almost like a rasp. He didn’t look at Paul as he spoke, some part of him worried about being caught, despite nothing happening. Paul was thankful to have Feyd to talk to, to confide in.

“Will it ever change?” He asked, whatever hope he had fading fast. The whole ritual of it all slowly began to crush his spirit, knowing at some point, he won't have a choice. “I don’t want any of this. I want to stay here.” His words were crushing, and the way he spoke tore Feyd apart. The young Atradies expression was more than sad, it was heartbreaking to behold.

Feyd wasn’t sure what to say, believing he didn’t have the wisdom to comfort the young nobel. But he knew what he would have wanted to hear. “Then don’t go. Stay.” Feyd kept his voice low, trying to be soothing and comforting, it worked in some way. But it was how he look at Paul, his black eyes made darker by the looming clouds, somehow high lifting his begging expression. His brow that is usually always furrowed and pulled down, was soft and lifted. His otherworldly alabaster skin appearing as a gray color during the stormy weather. He was beautiful in every way to Paul. His pleading gaze made Paul’s heart beat strong and heavy in his chest.

It took Paul’s breath away, not expecting such a thoughtful and emotion filled response from Feyd. Believing the Harkanon was only humoring his pestering company, only hoping he’d see the young noble as a companion. “Maybe one day I can change things.” Paul spoke, with the smallest amount of hope in his voice. His eyes half lidded, almost distracted by the sight of Feyd. If not hope, then some kind of longing.

That was their first real conversation, however short, Paul smiling softly at Feyd before quickly leaving, knowing he would be expected soon. But both knew neither wanted to parted, a silent promise formed to meet again sooner than later.

~~~

The next few weeks went on like that, after each meeting with potential brides he’d rush off to find Feyd. The conversations were mostly one sided if they happened at all. Both still unsure of how to move about their budding relationship; but when they did speak it always sparked something within Paul, a deeper want for a freedom he didn’t know he lacked. Feyd would lull any worry Paul presented him, but always in few words. It was then that Paul realized more about himself and his feelings the longer and more they talked. As well, he missed the words Feyd would only say to him, unaware what they meant and why it was so important to him.

Paul held onto these thoughts and feelings awhile longer, wanting to understand them better, but also out of a fear it would push Feyd away. After some weeks had past, and the seasons coming to the end, Paul was able to find respite away from the socialites in the cold winter in the manor. Ignoring the fast approach of his 18th birthday and all the hell that will bring.

It was the first of many frozen nights that bled into day. The beach frozen and snow covered, all of the land blanketed in pearly snow. Paul spent most of the morning in his room, lounging in front of a large window, simply enjoying the days beginning. It wouldn’t be till just before noon when Paul finally left his quarters to explore the manor he’d memorized when he was still a chilled, knowing all too well that his Father would be off all day with other dignitaries and his Mother would be off with the other Bene Geserit. A group of religious zealots he’d grown to hate, especially when he discovered it was their order that plotted his future. Whenever they had a meeting in the manor, or even to cart his mother away for some unknown rite; whatever the reason for their presence, he’d find every way to not be around. Once it was a losing choice, and in the end he decided pretending to court a possible bride was better and less nerve wracking.

But he didn’t have to worry about any of that today, he was free to do what he wanted. And he knew exactly what he wanted, or more who he wanted; but finding the elusive Harkonnen was a trial in itself.

At the same time, Paul wasn’t in any rush. Winters promised short days and long nights, something most everyone hated, he found refuge in. Everyone busing themselves ignoring the change in season, Paul was able to do as he pleased around the manor and on the grounds. He was becoming lost in thought, joyously planing the days to come, when he realized he’d made it to the main hall of the manor.

It’s a grand hall, ment for grand balls and large, usually royal, meetings. It was beautiful, dark blue stone, silver accents, bronze peaking through, making everything stand out even more. The magnitude of the hall and of his home, always had him curious how the servants cleaned it all. He believed it just couldn’t be done. And in some capacity he was right, like any ordinary home, it appeared to be perfectly clean, but truly wasn’t. Paul had these thoughts and more like it as he made his way through his home, quickly coming to the main kitchen, which, unlike the rest of the house, was alive, bright and warm.

Milla and the other kitchen staff were busy at work, Paul thought it best to not interrupt them; so he sneakalie grabbed a small rag, some cuts of bread, cheese and grapes; tying all in the rag before rushing out of the kitchen.

From there Paul went to the basement kitchen, Feyd was not there either. Through the cellar-like hall, out to the back garden.

It was a bright wash of snow, so bright Paul had to wait and allow his eyes to adjust. Holding his hand over his eyes, while they were practically squeezed shut. He stopped moving, only after almost falling on his face. Stumbling some, digging his boots into the thick snow and soaking them through. He didn’t mind though, the chill that was running up his body was easily ignored when he was being blinded.

When he finally thought his eyes had adjusted, he opened them slowly, his hand still shading him from the light; and for a moment he really couldn’t see anything. The stables were some distance away, and blurred by the bright white, but the more Paul focused, the more he could make out. However he, without thought, began to move forward, not expecting someone to rapidly come into view.

Paul walked smack dab into someone. At first he didn’t see who he’d run into, still partially blinded by the brightness, nearly falling backwards in the snow. But he was grabbed before he was even close to the ground. It shocked him, a thin breathy gasp escaping him. A sound he didn’t think he could make. What was a bigger shock was who he’d run into and who caught him.

Feyd was standing above him, an arm slinged around Paul’s waist, while his other hand was holding him by the arm. It was a sweet moment, but not a pretty one. If there was an onlooker, it would be a sight of one young man half doubled over the other, like they were frozen in the middle of the fall. But for Paul, it sent a feeling through him he’d never felt before, but something he would completely expect from the Harkonnen.

“Young Lord.” Feyd greeted, a smug smirk painted on his lips. He swiftly lifted Paul back into a standing position, letting him go and stepping away, all in one smooth motion. Paul barely had a second to process everything. But when his eyes finally took in Feyd, his breath was taken away.

In the blinding light of the snow, Feyd glowed. His eyes were more striking than ever, dark pools sucking him in again. If it wasn’t for his dark clothes, simple work pants, thick shirt and coat, he would be totally hidden in this weather. However the thought had Paul picturing Feyd without clothes, another thing he wasn’t expecting to happen that day. It made a furious blush spread over his face, but he played it off as the cold making his skin red. Whether Feyd believed it or not remains to be seen. When Paul continued to not speak, Feyd furrowed his brow at him in confusion.

“Is everything alright?” Feyd asked, genuine concern, but also very confused. He’d seen Paul flustered before, half the time he being the one to cause it, but this was something new to him as well. They’d never been that close before, Feyd had never touched Paul before, never even gotten close to it. But it just happened, and had left him in his own state of shock. But Paul, for whatever reason, always seemed to ground him in some unexplainable way.

Paul shook his head. “No-“ He shook his head again, “I-I mean yes. I’m fine.” Paul stuttered out, caught up in his flurry of emotions. Paul took a steadying breath, running a shivering hand through his hair, he held out the rag that was slowly getting soaked. “I was going to have lunch….” He trailed off, unsure of what else to say or how to explain that he was looking for Feyd. Feyd cocked a brow, narrowing his eyes at Paul.

Feyd made a show of looking around, “Out here?” He questioned, knowing by now that Paul enjoyed the banter, welcomed it. “Seems…Odd.” Feyd didn’t hide his sarcasm or enjoyment of this situation.

Paul smiled softly, mostly to himself fully ignoring his blush, as well as the burn he began to feel on his skin. “Sort of.” Paul sheepishly explained. “Why are you out here?” He asked then, realizing Feyd was the only servant outside.

Feyd gestured towards the stables, “Tending to the animals. I was about to head in myself.” Feyd then gestured towards the manor, leaving an unspoken question in the cold air. Paul nodded simply.

“Mind if I join?” He then asked, his smile growing, though still somewhat flustered, his blush was fading and confidence growing. Feyd smiled softly in return, gesturing for Paul to lead, he stayed a step behind him as they made their way into the cellar.

Both were well aware of the layout of the manor, and knew their way around, easily able to weave through the long halls. Paul didn’t directly ask, but gestured for Feyd to follow him after they entered through the kitchen, having been ignored by the other staff. They were on the second floor, almost to his room when they stopped. Standing in a large hall, staring out large windows. The cold outside seemed so far from where they stood, it made Paul reach out to touch the freezing glass. He pulled his hands back quickly, hissing at the hot burn of the cold.

Feyd leaned forward some, inspecting Paul’s hand, but he was alright, yet it made Feyd worry. His expression was soft, but his eyes were hard and piercing. When Paul caught sight of Feyd’s eyes, he let out the smallest of gasps. Having to blink fast and breath slow to get his composure back. It worked but now the two had been standing there silently for so long, he began to feel self conscious about what he wanted.

Yet Feyd didn’t seem unperturbed, if anything he was content and peaceful, a stark difference from Paul’s rigid feelings and jumbled thoughts. But whatever Paul wanted ,he would have to strike soon.

Feyd turned to the young man, a very small smile on his lips. “If that is everything, I should leave.” Feyd bowed slightly before Paul, before standing straight again, and turning on his heel.

To Paul it happened all so fast, Feyd had his back to Paul and was moving to descend the stairs, but Paul stopped him suddenly. It happened in a blur, but Paul had lurched forward, near violently, throwing himself towards Feyd. With a free hand he grabbed onto Feyd’s arm, pulling him back slightly.

“Wait.” Paul was breathing deeply, his grip on Feyd’s arm waxing and waning in pressure. Feyd met the young Atradies eyes, his own expression a mix of shocked confusion. But Paul’s eyes were soft and pleading; it sent an emotional stab into Feyd. A second after their eyes met Paul dropped his hand from Feyd and all too quickly took a step back from the Harkonnen. The look Paul wore made Feyd’s chest burn; his eyes were still soft, but there were quickly becoming glassy, his brows pulled together in a worrying scowl. Paul’s lips were parted, as if he was going to speak, but the words getting caught in his throat at the last second.

Feyd knitted his brows together at the young noble. “What’s wrong?” Feyd was serious, his voice low and gravely, the tone of concerne clear for any to hear. Feyd wanted to step forward and enclose Paul in a comforting embrace, but like always he stopped himself, the only evidence of his thoughts were the slight twitch in his hands and fingers. The need too great that even the smallest movement would expel the want. But in this moment it was the hardest it had ever been.

Paul shook his head earnestly, his hands balling around the knot of the rag, nearly white knuckling the small cloth. Feyd tilted his head, still not understanding what Paul wanted. Paul screwed his eyes shut, not able to look at Feyd, the fear of rejection so strong, it was all he could do to hold onto the little confidence he’d gained. “Eat with me.” His voice was small, almost inaudible, but their closeness allowed Feyd to hear him fairly clearly. Though it wasn’t a question, it was an invitation, however poorly executed. When Feyd didn’t immediately answer, Paul added, “In my room.” Some part of him hoped the promise of privacy would entice Feyd to join.

Feyd didn’t hide his pleasant surprise, his eyes going wide and mouth slightly agape. He blinked a few times to get the information to process in his mind. His usual quick wit was silenced by this. Feyd nodded first in the affirmative, his small smile having grown wide and full of what’s normally unseen happiness. Before leaving just the smallest amount closer to Paul, his eyes trained on Paul’s own, something passionate buried in the blackness. “To your desire.”

Paul tried and failed to hide the smile those words brought to his lips, but that and the pink blush still speared across his face. Paul nodded once, gesturing with his hand for Feyd to follow again. The Harkonnen followed, but instead of being a step behind, Feyd strode right next to Paul as the two made their way to the young Atradies’ room.

In Paul’s room, he’d set up the night before, a small floor table and sitting mats in front of the fireplace. He’d set it up as part of a sort of ritual he did for the first real night of winter; but now it would seem to match his current intentions. He’d had his main windows curtains drawn, allowing the afternoon light in, setting his room in a soft white glow.

When they entered, Feyd moved towards the center of the room while Paul closed his door, making sure no one would interrupt. Paul half ushered Feyd to the fireplace; starting to set wood in the fireplace, when Feyd stopped him.

“Let me do that.” Feyd’s hand ghosted over Paul’s back, but never truly touching him; it still sent shivers down Paul’s spine.

Paul handed the lot and prod to Feyd, making sure his fingers brushed across Feyd’s hand. Nodding, showing acceptance in the assistance the Harkonnen offered.

Feyd made quick work of getting a fire going, fairly large, enough to heat Paul’s room. Paul had sat at the floor table, long discarding his boots, in place for more comfortable house shoes. Paul realized while Feyd was starting the fire, that he’d done something similar and was now barefoot. It had a melancholy feeling building in Paul. Before Feyd was done, Paul had opened the balled up rag, and speared the small assortment of food out. The small display had a smile creeping back on Feyd’s lips.

Feyd sat across from Paul, the silence between them growing and becoming more tense. Feyd wasn’t sitting facing Paul, but the fire, passively watching it crack and burn. However he was very aware of Paul.

Hating the feeling that was trying to settle between them, Paul produced a dark, decently sized bottle of mead and two glasses. Pouring Feyd and himself a glass, while also placing food in front of both of them. Feyd faced Paul at the sight that was unfolding before him.

“Where did you get that?” Feyd asked, truly stunned, never expecting something so adolescent from Paul.

Paul smiled half smugly, holding the bottle out for Feyd to take. “I swiped it from the kitchen a few weeks ago after one of the meetings with a suter. Haven’t really drank much of it though.” Paul explained, a little sheepish. Feyd smiled back, big and charming.

“Surprised you didn’t do it sooner, with how much you don’t like the betrothal thing.” Feyd admitted, letting his own negative feelings slip into his words. The situation grated on both of them; each dealing with it in their own way together. Though they had yet to actually speak about the situation and their feelings, it was a shared silent agreement in some way.

“Didn’t have the chance, really.” Paul drank some from his glass, enjoying the cool sweet taste. Feyd let out a chuckle at that. The thought of Paul sneaking around the kitchen was very amusing.

The afternoon changed to night, the two happily enjoying their time together, but the feeling, or more knowledge, that the end was coming soon. The food was long gone, and the mead was about spent, it not being a full bottle to begin with. But neither were intoxicated, if anything just a pleasant warmth engulfing them. As time passed the twos conversations had come to a pleasant close, the silence they now sit in comfortable and calming.

It grew close to dinner time, Paul knowing he’d hear the bell ring at any moment, Feyd knew too, but different. He had to make his way down to the kitchen before Paul was at the dining room.

Feyd stood then, quietly and smoothly. “I should go before the bell.” He said, a bit solem. Paul nodded once, his expression matching the feeling of disappointment. Feyd made his way to the door, stopping to grab his shoes, when Paul stopped him again.

“I want you to come back after.” If not for the fact Paul had been wanting to ask all day, he wouldn’t recognize his own voice.

Feyd was again stunned, the sweet, small smile responding before he could. He wanted to do as Paul asked, but it seemed an impossible request. He didn’t have to say anything though, Paul understood and already had a solution.

With a light grip, Paul pulled on Feyd’s arm, gesturing towards an overly large painting, the only thing that did not match the youth Atradies room. It was of a grand castle overlooking a roaring ocean, all in bright colors. Feyd was puzzled but didn’t say anything.

“Later, when everyone’s asleep, you can come in this way.” Paul explained, a hand gliding over the textured canvas while the other ran along the ornately carved frame, feeling for something unseen. When Paul found what he was feeling for, he made a small sound of success, followed by the sound of a click and thunk. With a small push the painting swung outward, leading to a dark tall passageway.

Feyd was left speechless. His eyes darting around the painting to the concealed hallway, before landing finally on Paul standing next to him.

“I’ll explain later.” Paul said simply. He stepped through the threshold, pulling out a small orb-like device that floated above them, giving them light, but very dim. “Step in, and put your shoes on.” Paul waved a hand, almost frantically gesturing for the Harkonnen to follow.

Feyd quickly stepped through, sliding his shoes on in the process. Paul didn’t wait for Feyd to be ready, pushing the door closed until he heard a deep thunk of the latch catching. Paul stepped back in front, leading Feyd through the tight dark hidden hallway.

A bit always from Paul’s room, Paul pressed a finger to his lips, silently shushing both of them. He pointed to the wall to their left and mouthed, “Parent’s room.”

Feyd’s eyes went wide again, the sheer foolishness the two were partaking in was testing his mischievous nature. His eyes scanned the wall as if he could see through it, as if he could see the Duke and his wife readying for dinner. But what the two young men could see was light that seeped through the old wood, orange and dim, the only way Paul knew they were in there and to be as quiet as possible. Feyd nodded, though unnecessary, before they continued onward.

Paul led Feyd through the winding secret passage, down two sets of thin steep stairs, until they reached the ground floor. Feyd took note of the time it took to get from Paul’s room to the ground, it was far less time then the main way; somehow the construction allowed for it. It had him curious how many and how interconnected the secret passages were. But what surprised him the most was how trusting Paul was of him. In a way he wasn’t expecting, Feyd felt honored to have Paul’s trust.

At the ground floor they were met with three doors; one that was directly in front of them, one just next to it, but it sat diagonally from everything else and was smaller than the others. The third door was to their left, the two ‘odd’ doors looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years.

Paul grabbed the orb that floated just above them, turned it off and passed it to Feyd, “You’ll need that.” His voice just above a whisper, impossible for anyone but Feyd to hear. Feyd pocketed the orb, not questioning Paul’s advice, however, Feyd had a sharp memory, and the best vision out of anyone in the estate. But Paul cared, and that was more important than his own pride in his skills.

The door that Paul had obviously been using for a long time, was seemingly not fully latched shut, for Paul was able to gently pull it open, just enough to peek out. But not seconds after Paul hastfully shut the door and latched it closed, all to Feyd’s surprise.

Paul took a large step back, almost bumping into Feyd, but he’d shadowed Paul’s movements. Feyd looked down to Paul, silently asking what was wrong.

Paul paused for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen, but when nothing did, he turned to Feyd and again whispered, “Can’t go that way.” Despite the anxiety that was cereal on Paul’s expression, even in the dark, there was humor in Paul’s voice. The ever surprising young noble moved for the diagonal door, fumbling a moment, looking for the latch in the dark. Feyd smirked to himself as he pulled the orb out again and shorn the dim light down on them again. Paul stood straight, looking to Feyd, who still wore a sly smirk, giving his own smile in return to the Harkonnen; a silent thank you.

Quickly, Paul opened the odd door, it led to a short narrow staircase into another hallway. When through the threshold, Feyd moved a bit closer to Paul and whispered,

“Where did that lead?” His gravelly voice and hushed words had the hairs on the back of Paul’s neck stand on end. The young Atradies breath quickened slightly as Feyd’s words fanned over the back of his neck.

Paul swelled thickly, “One of the linen closets. Someone was in there.” He explained, his mouth feeling dry and hands damp. “This’ll take us to the library.” Paul explained as they continued on.

It wasn’t long before they were at what was a door, but looked like a dead end. There was no lock, knob or latch; Paul had to push, hard, on the heavy door till it began to swing open. As one would picture, the door was hidden by a bookcase, large and heavy, swinging outwards. But both Paul and Feyd slowed the door to a stop before any sound could be made. Paul showed Feyd how the door closed, not able to avoid the thunk of the door sealing again. But the library was empty, thankfully.

Paul about ran to the main doors, unsure they wouldn’t open until they were ready. “Tonight, go to the third linen closet on the ground floor, at the very back the wall slides open. That’ll take you back to my room.” Paul explained, a bit rushed and still in a hushed voice. He was grabbing the non locking door handles as if his life depended on it. Feyd looked at him with compassion, but concern, causing Paul to quirk a brow.

“Are you sure about this?” Feyd asked, his voice full of concern. But his eyes held something deep and loving. Paul felt like he was both floating, and being crushed while under the Harkonnen’s gaze.

Paul’s eyes softened, his lips pulling into a smile, a look of longing clear. “Yes. Yes I am.” He said finally and firmly. Not wavering from what he’s asked. Feyd went to speak but Paul stopped him. “Come here.” Paul then said, his voice hushed, sensuality dripping from the breathy way he spoke.

Feyd cocked a brow, glancing between them, they were already standing about a foot apart. It’s when his eyes met Paul’s that he understood. Feyd took the single step closer to Paul, now nearly standing chest to chest. Feyd did nothing else, just stood close.

Paul took a calming breath, his hands falling to his sides, and for a long moment he only stared at Feyd’s chest. When he raised his gaze, a hand followed, resting on the Harkonnen’s chest. Paul stared deeply into Feyd’s eyes, getting lost in his black pools. Slowly, Paul slid his head up Feyd’s chest, stopping at the crook of his shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the back of Feyd’s neck.

Feyd met him halfway, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Paul’s waist; when Paul showed no sign of pulling away, Feyd closed the gap. His hand coming to Paul’s cheek, tilting his head slightly, to finally connect their lips in a long awaited passionate kiss.

Paul’s eyes fluttered shut the instant their lips touched, he’d snaked his arms around Feyd’s neck, standing on the balls of his feet, everything to deepen the kiss.

Feyd pulled him as close as he could, their bodies flush, his hand ran up Paul’s back until his fingers were tangled in Paul’s dark curly hair. Their lips melded together perfectly, the kiss was slow but deep, each fully feeling the other; memorizing the moment as if it were their last.

They only broke the kiss to take deep heaving breaths. They kept their faces close together, their foreheads touching. A tender moment both waited so long for, and were displeased it had to end so soon. They stayed like that a moment longer, stretching time for as long as possible. Feyd placed several kisses around Paul’s face, his lips, cheeks, forehead. Trailing light kisses along his jaw. Paul relished in it, mesmerized by the simple shows of affection.

When finally they pulled away from each other, however they were still locked in an embrace. Paul looked into Feyd’s black eyes, now certain what he sees in them is the same emotions he feels.

“You’ll come tonight?” Paul asked, somewhat sheepish, despite the passionate kiss, Paul was still unsure of Feyd’s decision.

Feyd smiled at Paul, sweet and mischievous, his eyes soft and trained on Paul. He leaned forward and whispered against Paul’s lips, “To your desire.” He spoke in a deep voice, sending more sparks though Paul before planting one final kiss to the young noble’s lips.

“The painting will be unlocked. I’ll be waiting.” Paul proclaimed just before Feyd disappeared behind the library doors. The two having agreed to leave separately, Feyd first.

Not long after, the dinner bell began to ring. Paul intentionally took his time making his way to the dinning hall, though after the fact it seemed wholly unnecessary.

Dinner went by quickly, the conversation between Paul and his parents was enjoyable, but as normal as ever. Paul was holding in an overflowing well of anxious excitement. He felt like he was on the verge of imploding at any moment. But no such moment came. He stayed composed the rest of the evening. Though he also spent a long time in the library after dinner, fanning the want to read and study; when in reality he wanted to be sure the door was closed, and no one knew he’d moved through the secret passages. To the best of Paul’s knowledge, no one had used the passages in decades; he being the only one to use them, and only at night. When it was an appropriate time too, Paul made his way to his room. He stopped to bid his parents good night, a display he put on; ensuring the rest of the night would go on without interruption.

Paul felt restless as he waited up for Feyd. The second he got into his room, he locked the door, unlocked the hidden door and sat in a reading chair he kept by a window. But that didn’t last long.

Paul frantically, however needlessly, cleaned his room, all but forgetting that Feyd had already seen it earlier. In the process of cleaning he also remade his bed. Stripping the bed of all his sheets and blankets, anything he’d already slept in, and tossed it down the laundry shute. He replaced those with, what he thought, were his nicest bedding set. Dark red silks, and a thick silken black comforter, with matching pillowcases. Happy with his work, Paul tried again to simply sit and wait, but the longer he sat, the more disheveled he felt.

Attempting to be quick, Paul stripped his clothes off and jumped into the shower. He enjoyed the hot water that soothed his muscles, but he didn’t waste any time. Paul quickly dried his hair, not carrying that it was still damp. He threw on his undergarments and a simple shirt, but nothing else.

With no ideas left to help him pass the time, Paul started another fire. This time he set up the floor mats to be next to each other and the floor table in front. Paul’d replaced the bottle of mead with a new one, and snuck in a small arrangement of fruits. Similar to before, he speared the food out and poured two glasses. By then it was starting to get late into the night.

Paul wasn’t sure when, but at some point he’d fallen asleep in front of the fire. When he awoke, the flames were still burning and lighting the room; and Paul wasn’t alone. Paul woke up in Feyd’s arms, his back pressed against Feyd’s chest, a strong arm draped over Paul’s waist.

When Paul began to stir, Feyd propped himself up on his elbow, and slid his other arm back until his hand was resting on Paul’s hip. He waited before moving again, his eyes locked on Paul’s dreamy expression.

Paul blinked a few times, forcing the sleep away. After taking in everything, he rolled over until he and Feyd were chest to chest. The Harkonnen smiling down at the Atradies.

Paul had a thousand things he wanted to say, but instead he pulled Feyd into another kiss, showing all his emotions in one action. Wrapping his arms around the toned young man, nearly causing Feyd to fall onto him. But Feyd gladly returned the kiss, engulfing Paul in his embrace.

Feyd pulled back first, smiling down at Paul. “That’s one way to wake up.” He spoke with humor, a light laugh leaving him. It didn’t take much for Paul to join in.

“I’ve been so excited to see you again.” Paul couldn’t help but comment, “It felt like an eternity.” The young noble sighed while snuggling against Feyd.

“I know. I worked to keep my mind busy.” Feyd let out a deep laugh, a thought coming to mind. “When I found you asleep, I figured you’d worked yourself into a frenzy.” Paul couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. Paul opened his mouth to speak, but Feyd stopped him by planting his lips against Paul’s. Taking the opportunity to explore Paul’s mouth with his tongue.

Paul was surprised, but quickly melted into the kiss. However he did not expect a deep moan, that Feyd gladly muffled with his passionate kiss. Feyd pawed at Paul, dragging his hand up and down Paul’s side, gripping his hip and squeezing his ass. Every little touch sent a burning fire through Paul, Feyd’s ministrations had Paul letting out small moans, all of which Feyd devoured.

Paul pulled away next, practically gasping for breath. His face was flushed, lips red and swollen, his chest heaved with each breath. “Bed.” He spoke between pants, lazily gesturing towards his bed.

Feyd gave Paul that mischievous smirk, “To your desire.” Feyd’s voice dripped with subduction, he spoke low, the gravel of his voice sent a chill down Paul’s spine. Feyd wasted no time, sitting up, one knee on the other ground, in a half lunge position. In one smooth motion, Feyd stopped Paul up bridal style and began towards the bed.

Paul couldn’t help the airy laugh that left him as Feyd carried him the short distance from the fireplace to his large bed. Large enough to easily fit the two of them. Feyd gingerly laid Paul down on his still freshly made bed, openly noting the red and black satin bedding.

“Are you trying to court me, Paul Atradies?” Feyd asked teasingly. Climbing into the large bed, half beside Paul and half hovering over him. That devious smile never leaving his lips.

Paul blushed furiously, his whole body going hot in an instant. Paul tried to put on his best sultry expression, his eyes half lidded and lips pouty. “Maybe.” He said first, fluttering his lashes at the young man above him. “Maybe I want Feyd Rauthra Harkonnen to bed me.” Paul made his voice low, trying to match Feyd’s sensuality. Despite Paul’s lack of confidence, it worked and more on Feyd.

The Harkonnen nearly pounced at Paul. Climbing on top of Paul, settling between Paul’s legs. In the process, Feyd had stripped his shirt off. Paul watched in aroused awe, his eyes dragging over Feyd’s toned body, taking in and committing every detail to memory. Absentmindedly reaching out and tracing the outline of his muscles. Lingering only for a moment before gliding to a different area. Feyd did not move, allowing Paul to do as he wished with him.

When Paul’s eyes found Feyd once more, he nearly shuttered. The look Feyd was giving him was that of a caged animal. Just as Paul was gawking at Feyd, so was the Harkonnen. A hunger in his black eyes Paul never knew was possible. Feyd slowly lowered himself until their foreheads were touching.

In a low voice and affectionate tone Feyd asked, “Are you sure about this?” His eyes were ablaze with passion, his words oozed concern, and his touch hot and full of long awaited contact. Paul openly shuttered, his skin becoming decorated with goosebumps, a thin gasp escaping him in the same instant.

Paul dragged his hands up Feyd’s chest, resting at his shoulders. In a breathy voice he spoke, “Feyd, I’ve waited and I’ve wanted. Yes. Please. I want this.” With each word breathed, Paul held Feyd a little tighter, ensuring he won’t go, that Paul won't lose him.

Not another word was spoken. Feyd connected their lips again, slow and sweet. The fire within him held back, wanting to take his time and prolong the night for as long as possible. Paul did not protest. If anything he dissolved into Feyd’s touch, in a fumbled, sloppy motion, Paul stripped his own shirt off, allowing full access of his body to the Harkonnen. Feyd swiped his tongue across Paul’s lip, asking for entrance.

Paul obliged, parting his lips, using the small moment of separation to gasp for breath before Feyd plunged into Paul’s mouth again. A grone, deep, like a growl, came from Feyd then. Paul moaned in response, his body responding on its own. It was becoming difficult for the two to ignore their growing arousal.

Paul had been hard from the moment they got to the bed, now it was almost painful. Feyd was becoming farl, he slipped his tongue from Paul’s mouth to nip and bite at the young noble’s lip. Paul reacted in kind, moaning, loudly, bucking his hips up into Feyd’s. The friction had both groaning and moaning; rutting against each other.

Paul broke the kiss, squeezing at Feyd’s shoulders. “Feyd.” Paul’s voice was quiet and horse, pleading with the Harkonnen.

The sound of his name coming from Paul’s lips sent him spinning. Feyd nipped and sucked at the skin of Paul’s jaw and neck; littering his flawless skin with love marks, all different shades of purple. Paul was gripping onto Feyd like he was the only thing keeping him from floating away as Feyd began to kiss and nip down Paul’s chest; while all Paul could do was buck up into Feyd, a litany of moans coming from the young Atradies.

Feyd was enjoying every reaction he was enlisting from Paul. The sight of Paul under him, writhing under his touch, it was all so intoxicating for the Harkonnen. Paul was starting to dig his nails into Feyd’s skin, unknowingly urging Feyd on. Feyd let out a deep guttural growl, grabbing Paul’s wrist and pinning them above the young noble’s head.

“You’re going to be the end of me Paul.” Feyd spoke between heaving breaths, his words coming out like a low growl against Paul’s skin. In his wake, Feyd left a trail of small bite marks down Paul’s chest, stopping at his hips, just above his underwear. Feyd met Paul’s eyes, staring deeply into them, wordlessly asking for permission.

Paul’s lips quivered, his eyes peering back at Feyd. In a move Feyd wasn’t expecting; Paul slipped his wrists from Feyd’s grasp, hooked his hands under Feyd’s arms and in the blink of an eye the young Atradies had flipped them over. Now Paul was, more or less, straddling Feyd.

Feyd looked up at Paul in awe, his hands sliding up and down Paul’s thighs, finding their perch on Paul’s hips; holding him in place. Feyd ran his gaze over Paul’s body, following the rise and fall of his chest, seeing his muscles twitch and clench, every little reaction, Feyd saw them.

Paul sheepishly smiled down to Feyd, his eyes were still half lidded, his parted lips turned up in a coy smile. Paul leaned down and placed his lips to Feyd’s. A gentle and soft kiss, starkly different from all before. It was a declaration, a promise. Paul pulled back just enough to smile at Feyd, before he began kissing down the Harkonnen’s neck. Leaving small marks in his wake, Feyd’s neck and jaw were quickly peppered in purple love bites. When Paul found the small spot at the crook of Feyd’s neck that had the Harkonnen a growling, bucking mess. Paul couldn’t help but smile, proud of his work.

Paul sat up just enough, trying to inch his way lower, however, Feyd had a different idea. Similar to Paul, Feyd moved fast, his hands gripping Paul’s hips, Paul reacted without thought, his legs squeezing around Feyd’s hips. In a quick motion, Feyd rolled the two of them over so he was back on top. Paul loosened his hold around Feyd just enough, but never actually dropping his legs.

“Feyd.” Paul breathed his name out in a breathy gasp. He’d begun grinding his ass against Feyd, begging for any kind of release. Feyd’s grip on Paul’s hips tightened, enough that he will have bruises there for the next coming days.

Feyd met Paul’s eyes, the hunger in their gazes was all consuming. The Harkonnen nodded once, his hands slipped from Paul’s hips, down his legs, unhooking them from Feyd’s own hips. Paul pouted at the lack of contact, his expression had Feyd smirking down at him, the young Atradies turned his gaze away, a flush of embarrassment washing over him then. Feyd leaned close to Paul’s ear,

”I’ll go slow.” Feyd’s lips ghosted over Paul’s already sensitive skin. The shutter that came from Paul had their bodies pressing together; Feyd rejoiced with every reaction he was illiceting.

Paul had snaked his arms under Feyd’s, wrapping embracing Feyd. He pressed his face into the crook of Feyd’s neck, inhaling deeply. He nodded curtly, rubbing his face against Feyd.

Feyd brought his hand up to Paul’s head, combing his fingers through Paul’s curls, a gentle and affectionate gesture. Paul leaned into his touch, following the movements of Feyd’s hand. Feyd guided Paul’s head to rest against the pillows, Feyd was being as gentle as he could possibly be; treating Paul as if he was the rarest gemstone in the whole of the universe.

Feyd rose slowly, propping himself up by his knees, his feather light touch traced Paul’s hands that rested on his shoulders, also guiding them down to the bed; Paul’s hands now resting beside his head. The Atradies looked a picture of seductive radiance below Feyd.

Feyd softly slipped his hands down Paul’s chest, his skin prickling behind Feyd’s long fingers. Paul’s breath quickened the closer Feyd got to Paul’s undergarments. Feyd moved past them however, sweeping over Paul’s legs and unhooking them from his hips. He was moving torturously slow, enjoying all the time they had; however, even his own patience was starting to wane.

Paul was gripping the satin sheets below, his body aching and clenching, all but screaming out for Feyd. Who had moved on to finally stripping Paul, and himself, of their undergarments.

The shock of cool air against hot skin had both letting lose a round of grones. Feyd dipped back down, just below Paul’s sternum, giving light kisses down his stomach, again stopping at his hips. Feyd nipped at Paul’s soft skin, leaving a deep purple mark on the small area between Paul’s hip and groin. Paul was a moaning mess the whole time.

“Please Feyd.” He begged, having to hold himself back from bucking up. But it also helped that Feyd was holding Paul down by the hips.

Feyd chuckled, hearty and bright. “To your desire.” Feyd declared boldly, his eyes alight with something joyous, and ravenous.

Feyd dropped his head again, starting at Paul’s inner thigh, leaving feather light kisses and spark-filled bites, leading up to Paul’s hard, throbbing member. Paul had his gaze locked on Feyd, anticipation over taking him. Feyd gave a few tentative swipes of his tongue up Paul’s erect member. The simple action caused Paul to roar out a littny of moans; sounding almost like music, created by love and eroticism. Feyd held back a growl, the sounds urging him on. Before Paul could quiet, Feyd popped Paul’s member into his mouth.

Circling his tongue around the tip before taking Paul fully into his mouth. Feyd slowly retracted before sucking him back in. Paul could barely keep himself quiet, having to, almost painfully, clap a hand over his mouth to silent his near screams and moans.

Never before had Paul felt such pleasure, never been touched in such a way, never felt such affection. He was over the moon and beyond. But Feyd was still devious, hastfully ending his pleasuring ministrations as quickly as he began them. Paul whined out, loudly, despite his hand muffaling his uncontrolled sounds.

Feyd met Paul’s wanting gaze, propping himself back up, “Oh my Lord, how common of you.” Feyd laughed heartily, “To pout so openly.” Feyd crawled up to Paul, stopping just at his neck. Again kissing and nipping at the skin of his collarbone. He continued up until his lips were connected to Paul’s. However, when he pulled back and saw the tears that pricked at Paul’s eyes, he was instantly sent into a frenzy. ”Paul- I-“ Feyd kissed the tears away, swiping his thumbs down Paul’s reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry.” It came out a whisper, words seldom said.

Paul shook his head, though still between Feyd’s hands, his eyes were still glassy and lips swollen. “No, Feyd.-” Paul stuttered, his voice horse. He pushed up as much as he could, giving Feyd the softest kiss. “I’m okay. I am.” Paul nodded then, leaning against Feyd’s gentle touch. Paul’s eyes were full of earnest understanding, the smile he gave to Feyd one of sweet longing.

Feyd brought Paul into another kiss, this time deeper, that burning passion rising again. Feyd nodded too, “Okay.” His voice so quiet, it vanished with the light moving air.

Feyd held himself up on one hand, pausing a moment to think about how he wanted to proceed. His eyes dancing over Paul’s flush and sweat covered body. So focused on his thoughts, he didn’t notice Paul’s expression turning into one of puzzlement. However the Atradies figured out quickly what was taking up Feyd’s thoughts.

With his legs still on either side of Feyd, Paul leveraged himself up, squirming some, trying to reach for his nightstand drawer. However, it was a near fruitless effort, as he and Feyd were in the middle of his large bed. Feyd had snapped out of his thoughts the moment Paul started to move, but he was enjoying the sight of Paul half struggling. Though he easily saw what Paul was reaching for.

Feyd followed Paul’s attention, quickly leaning over to the nightstand and rooting through the small drawer. With little effort he found what Paul was trying to get. The Harkonnen’s evident success brought a new wave of embarrassment washing over Paul. Feyd didn’t have to guess what it was; a small, half full, bottle.

Paul hid his eyes, not truly able to hide any other part of himself, downcasting his gaze, all but closing them entirely. Paul made himself small under Feyd, his chest and shoulders curled in some, his legs holding on a little tighter. Doing all this, feeling all this, all while Feyd was inspecting the bottle, plotting his next set of actions; when he finally noticed Paul.

Feyd leaned down, placing a chaste kiss to Paul’s cheek, his fingers gliding down Paul’s blushed cheek. “Are you ready?” He asked in a low voice, sweet and caring. With that same hand, he tilted Paul’s head up, forcing their gazes to connect. In the young nobles eyes were a flurry of emotions; excitement, joy, worry. So many feelings happening at once, it sucked the air out of both of them. Feyd brushed his lips against Paul’s, with his eyes open and looking deeply into Paul’s. “I love you, Paul.” Feyd’s voice was so quiet, the sound of their thundering heartbeats nearly overshowded it. But Paul heard clearly.

Paul’s eyes went wide, he knew his own feelings, and knew for how long he’d been harboring them, but he never thought, only hoped, that Feyd would return them. “I love you, Feyd.” Paul spoke louder, a declaration. Wrapping his arms around Feyd’s neck and pulling him down on top of himself in an embrace. A fit of laughter following after.

They connect again in a kiss, deep and passionate, their tongues locked in an erotic dance, while their hands explore each other's bodies. Feyd snaked his hand between them, slipping it around Paul’s member and stroking him heartily. Paul fell into another round of moans, each ripping from his throat; whereas Feyd was grinding himself against Paul’s thigh. Both yearning for release.

Feyd never stopped plumbing at Paul, but also never allowing him release, moving lingered, almost tourtorsly so. With his free hand, Feyd popped the bottle and slicked up his fingers with the lubricant; slowly and carefully working his fingers inside of Paul. At this point, Paul was more than a mess, moans slipped from him like a beautiful opera; Feyd’s ministrations had him a sweaty puddle.

Little by little. Feyd slipped three fingers into Paul, pumping in and out of him while also continuously stroking his erection. Feyd intentionally starving himself of touch, enjoying the moment and sight before him. His own erection painfully throbbing.

Paul gripped onto Feyd’s strong, flexed arms, “Feyd, I- p-please.” Paul could barely form words, let alone able to convey his wants. His eyes again glassy and half open, his lips now dry and chapped, but still puffy. The young noble looked the picture of perfection to Feyd.

Feyd nodded simply, gingerly removing his fingers, earning the deepest groan from Paul thus far. Feyd brought Paul close for a kiss, the softest, most gentle he’d offered the entire night; it took Paul by surprise.

Feyd adjusted his positions, scooting just a bit back to allow for himself to better align with Paul’s entrance.

Feyd had himself propped up on one elbow, staying close to Paul, while he began to slowly press the tip of his member into Paul. Feyd was met with a shutter from Paul. The noble’s hands gripping tightly at Feyd’s shoulders, leaving deep crescent shaped indents in his pale skin. Feyd tried to stifle a growl, but every sensation had him near roaring. In his excitement, Feyd pushed a bit more of himself inside Paul.

Paul clenched, hard, around Feyd; earning another animalistic sound from the Harkonnen.

“Paul.” Feyd’s voice was strained and low, the gravel that’s ever present exacerbated. It riled Paul up in a way he would never expect. “Paul- I-” Feyd spoke in huffs, having to fight every urge to not hammer into Paul.

Paul took steadying breaths, trying to relax his body, to some degree it worked. Paul felt as if his skin was on fire, his body igniting with a passion he could only find in Feyd. Paul couldn’t really speak, his voice so strained, so he vigorously nodded his head, kissing Feyd with the same amount of vigor. Through action, Paul conveyed his wants, and Feyd obliged.

Feyd broke the kiss to lock eyes with Paul, watching, almost dutifully, as he fully sheathed himself inside Paul. The noble’s mouth fell open, and eyes rolling back, his head thrusted into the pillow; a silent moan leaving Paul’s body any way it could.

Feyd began slow, pulling out some, before, just as slowly thrusting back in. Their mouths connected without them thinking about it. Though starting slowly, soon they were moving at a bruising pace. Feyd had fast repositioned himself, up on his knees, his hands gripped at Paul’s hips. Paul had his head buried into the bed, his hands balled into painful fists in the sheets.

Paul shifted his legs to drape over Feyd’s shoulders, while his own head and shoulders buried deeper into the bed. Feyd used the new angle and leverage to pound into Paul that much harder.

Feyd’s speed picked up after that. With his teeth gritted, he began to thrust into Paul harder. The sounds of skin and muscle clapping together filled the room, Paul’s moans having gone horse and broken.

Feyd’s thrusts and rhythm were quickly becoming erratic, his grip on Paul becoming harder. “P-Paul.” Feyd croaked out, his own voice starting to go. “I’m-” Feyd tried to give warning, though needless; Paul knew, his whole body ready and wanting. Despite his own erection going without attention, he was close as well.

“Feyd- I.” Paul tried, it hurt to speak, the angle he was at doing nothing to help.

Hearing Paul’s cracked voice breath out his name was Feyd’s undoing. He dug his nails into Paul’s skin, colliding their hips together; though Feyd was on shaky knees and quickly becoming fumbled and erratic. Feyd slammed into Paul, hard, a few times, releasing into Paul.

The new sensation that ran through Paul had him, almost painfully, arching his back, pushing against Feyd; all while shooting his load onto his own stomach, a shrill moan escaping him in that same instant. It was beyond euphoric.

Everything stilled then, as if frozen in time. The two felt like they were flying, adrift in the stars. When the crash happened, it was slow. Feyd pulled out of Paul before collapsing beside him, however, their legs were still tangled together.

The moment Feyd let go of Paul, he fell to the bed limp. The two a mess of sweat, pants and tangled limbs. They lay together, a bit sticky, holding onto one another.

Paul nuzzled into Feyd, his face pressed against the other s chest. Feyd held the Atradies close.

“You okay?” Feyd asked, combing his fingers through Paul’s curls. His other hand traced patterns on Paul’s arm.

Paul nodded, his face rubbing against Feyd’s pale skin. “I’m okay. Better even.” Paul answered, meeting Feyd’s gaze. Their eyes were filled with a deep love and passion. They shared a short sweet kiss before a big yawn left Paul.

“It’s late. You should sleep.” Feyd declared, going to remove himself from the bed, but was hastfully stopped by Paul. Grabbing his arm and pulling him back down.

“Don’t leave.” It came out as begging, but Paul was begging.

Feyd smiled, a small nod given, “Okay.”

Feyd pulled the comforter over the two of them, the lights going dim as they settled in. Though it was late, they still had a long night together.

Many nights were spent like this between the two. For three years they were able to be together, their time spent was blissful. A love as grand as theirs had not been seen in the universe in a millennia. But like all great happiness and love, comes great sorrow and hatred.

Paul and Feyd were able to keep the idea of regal marriage at bay, Paul switching his efforts into ascending Dukedom through other means. The plan they’d spent months on was simple; Feyd leaves Calidan to claim his right as Baron, and the two would marry. Forever changing the course of history; but things didn’t go to plan.

During the begging of their relationship, both knew the secret of them would not last without help. Paul turned to one of his closest friends; Duncan. Duncan was the one to help them in tight spots, see to them having some privacy, all around being the support system the two needed.

Before Paul’s 23rd birthday the two decided it was time for Feyd to leave for Gedi Prime.

The night before Feyd would leave, “How will I know?” Paul asked, worried, near frantic.

Feyd brought Paul into a deep kiss, holding him close. “You’ll know. I’ll be on your doorstep.” Feyd wore a smile, but his gaze was soft, something concerning in them.

“I’ll be waiting.” Paul spoke in a hushed voice, a few tears slipping from his eyes. “I’m going to miss you.” Paul laid his head against Feyd’s chest, listening to his heart beat.

Feyd hummed, nodding in agreement. “I’m going to miss you.” Feyd whispered to Paul, kissing his cheek in the process. Paul held him tighter. Feyd brought his hand to Paul’s chin and tilted his head up to meet Feyd’s gaze. “No matter how far apart we are, we will always have the stars.”

Paul nodded, more tears falling, the two melting into each other's arms, committing everything to memory, as it would be the last they would share for a long time.

The next day, Duncan was to take him during a diplomatic mission to Kaitan. However, before they could leave for Gedi Prime, they were attacked by the Harkonnens.

When Duncan arrived back at Calidan with the news, it crushed Paul. For months he would not eat and barely slept. All alone, even then only Duncan knew and only he was able to comfort Paul, what little he could.

Three more years passed. Paul becoming a husk of himself, doing mundane things to keep his mind at ease, though most days a fruitless effort. Until one day, when his mother came storming into his room. Proudly announcing Paul’s betrothal. Something that about made him instantly cry, it took everything in him to stay composed in front of his mother.

Before he knew it, he was shipped off to Kaitan. Fast living in the Emperor’s palace, betrothed to the princess.

#fanfiction #fanfic #dune #dune part 2 #paul atreides x feyd rautha #paul atreides #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #princess bride #romance #fantasy #alternate universe #smut #feyd rautha smut #Paul Atredies smut

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in-christalone · 1 year

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Hey girl! Ok so I NEED another opinion asap so I’ve been Christian for just over 2 years and granted; I slip up and need God every day and have A LOT to learn but someone who ended up becoming close to me and turned to Christianity about a year ago now started acting in a way that felt belittling or just emotionally hurtful especially when it comes to my faith and I am grateful to Jesus every single day. Sometimes life gets the better of me but this person would sometimes say that I don’t look like I’m having a good time in church simply because I wasn’t dancing around ~ I am shyyyy ~ but Jesus is helping me and if I point out that yes, sometimes I am tired and did not even want to come to church but I did cause of God an honouring him that just wasn’t good enough. Sometimes was pointing out I have all the problems that I’m not sharing and I need to go to God about it cause if I did have a relationship with Jesus I’d not have issues like that 🥲 I don’t know how else to describe this behaviour but this person often starts talking like a failure OR that I’m being judged of anyone else is being judged for anything that doesn’t seem to fit how they want us to be in church, sometimes I get so confused so I didn’t want to go to church because I dread this behaviour which I know is not a good thing on my behalf but one time I had not showered and I didn’t have time and I had a family thing in the afternoon. I let the friend know that I know it would have been nice, but I don’t think I can go today because I feel gross and didn’t have time to do anything but I will still spend time with God and the response I got was that I was being silly and who cares if I haven’t showered because Jesus will cleanse me….

Hey, its OKAY. I am also like that, some days I am so mentally, physically and spiritually drained that I wont even sing, I'll just stand while listening to everyone else sing. There's honestly no problem with this, your behavior isn't wrong, give yourself some grace. You're a human living in a world system that's ruled by satan. Yes, God is in control and even satan is under God's chains, but satans influence on us is sometimes overwhelming. THE IMPORTANT THING IS; you showed up to church, you obeyed Christ by not forsaking the gathering of the saints. (Let it be said that if youre sick, stay home ofc)

Church attendance doesn't require you to dance around or constantly have a smile on your face. Sometimes that's hard to do, I get it cause I'm the same way.

Next time this person bothers you, tell them to show you where the Bible say that dancing in church is a commandment, and then tell her that she shouldn't expect so much from people, and frankly to mind her business (unless your obviously in sin)

Hope it goes well for you!

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editorauthoranna · 2 years

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SOUTHERN REACH TRILOGY: ACCEPTANCE (Book 3) Review

Acceptance

By Jeff VanderMeer

We did it! The Southern Reach Trilogy is finished!

Before I get into the third book, Acceptance, I’d like to talk a little about the series as a whole. I’m still fully of the opinion that the second book, Authority, could’ve existed as 150 pages lighter with no real drawback in regard to plot or characters. Honestly, that’s my main complaint about the series. Well, main complaint from an editor’s standpoint when looking at things like pacing and reader interest levels. It’s possible to be subtle without being long-winded, and Authority dropped the ball off a three story building with that one.

Onward to Acceptance though! Overall? Much better pace. Acceptance starts us out with the habit of narrator changes via chapter change! I couldn’t have been happier to see that style of narration for this book. It was exactly what the series needed. It not only sped the pace but filled in massive knowledge gaps for the reader as the story progressed.

Control has a less grating personality this time ‘round. That is to say, he isn’t changed much, but he’s broken from the “tortured spy” gimmick that cropped up too much in Authority.

Grace . . . well, I don’t really want to talk about Grace. Besides existing in Acceptance as the “mentor” figure to answer some questions—spoiler: that would’ve been answered anyway via the biologist’s letter—before the journey could begin, she had no real impact with the other characters, her environment, her situation, or herself. No change from the second book, really. Still kinda unnecessarily aggressive. Still wanting to act as boss lady. Still a flat character. Sure, we get some tidbits: she’s a divorced, middle-aged woman with adult children that she doesn’t see often enough but also doesn’t have much of a relationship with. So? This isn’t enough to let a reader feel connected to Grace. Not really. We don’t meet these people. They may as well not exist. The story would be just fine without them. And I know VanderMeer is more than capable of making the average important! He does it with Control’s chess piece. It’s beautifully done. It’s practically a character, and it’s a better one than Grace.

Ghost bird is still pretty good. Though, being fair, she’s also the most dynamic of the three. She is, by far, the most internally driven character. Part of her curiosity is the reader’s endeavors to figure out what part Ghost Bird plays in the story. Why does she exist? What’s her purpose? Is there one at all? Of course, Ghost Bird asking these questions of herself is the complication given to her character. She’s self-aware enough and brave enough to analyze everything. Even herself.

However! We get new characters in Acceptance! The lighthouse keeper and the director both make comebacks in the finale of the Southern Reach Trilogy. The lighthouse keeper is wonderfully written and full of life. He’s a believable person and, as a reader, he’s very easy to sympathize with. His life. His story. His actions are led by emotions that are all too easy to understand.

The director is a little more difficult to like and understand, but it’s really just the good writing of her damage and the way she relates to the world—similar to the biologist—that makes her compelling. In comparison with what we got of her in Annihilation, this version of the director and her memories are much more impactful in Acceptance.

The ending. Oh boy. So, I was really looking forward to the finale of the Southern Reach Trilogy. All my questions answered. Right? All my theories shot or developed. Right? Nope, not really. You will get answers from Acceptance—here’s the part where my significant other says it’s like I’m going through stages of grief with this book, and maybe he has a point—but you won’t get what you’re looking for. Probably. Me? I was seeing tons of buildup and lines drawn in the sand for a reveal that never happened. In the end, the finale felt “just okay” or “a little disappointing” compared to my expectations paired with what VanderMeer was building. With so much preparation, so many embeds, and callbacks, and twirled oddities of phrase, you get your final answer: (spoilers?) it was an accident of fate. And that . . . That, people, is disappointment wrapped in lethargy. An “accident of fate” is one level up and adjacent to “it was all a dream.”

Now then. Was it a horrible, terrible, badly written ending? No. It fit the story well enough. You won’t end the series confused about what happened, broadly speaking. It makes sense on paper, but isn’t brilliant. There’s nothing patently wrong with the ending. There’s enough strings to lead to the right conclusions, or the characters make them for you, and you’re more likely to end on an “oh” rather than an “ah ha!”

I still love VanderMeer’s writing style! There are more descriptive gems in Acceptance than in the other two books in this series combined. It was a delight to read them all! My general apathy about the Southern Reach Trilogy’s story, particularly the ending, wouldn’t stop me from picking up another book written by VanderMeer. From this small sample of his work, I’m inclined to think he excels at novels more-so than series. I’d be curious to try out a singular work from him. Maybe if another title finds its way to my bookshelf in the future.

~ Anna

#book review #supernatural #environmental horror #southern reach trilogy #jeff vandermeer #paranormal #books #writing

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weaverlings · 3 years

Text

music like white noise

A/N: hello i still Care Them very much

Hornet reached for the mug on the table, to soothe the tickle in her throat before it was too late. Before-

She coughed.

Once. Again.

Then she was wheezing, her breath torn and itself tearing her already-tender throat. Driven by the foul compulsion that such a tickle could become, she caught herself on the coffee table and snatched up the mug instead, drowning it all in gulps of tea.

This time, she kept the mug in her grip as she lowered herself back onto the extra cushions and pillows stacked behind her on the couch. She adjusted the blanket with her free claws, fought back the urge to sigh, and took a slower drink.

Lace leaned out of the kitchen, relying on the doorframe to achieve a dangerous angle. “Did you need more tea, sweet?”

“Mm.” Hornet tilted the mug and considered the remaining liquid. “If you could.”

“Of course.”

Lace twirled upright and spun to join Hornet in the living room. Hornet offered up the mug, and Lace leaned down to kiss Hornet’s forehead.

Lace frowned. She pressed a hand where she had kissed. “My, that’s quite a fever.”

“You say this like it’s some achievement.”

“Oh, yes. Not everyone could have such a fever, nor be so lovely even when laid low.”

Hornet snorted, which became a cough. She threw one arm out; Lace passed the tea back into Hornet’s claws. Hornet drained it. She’d averted the worst this time, at least.

“Oh, dear. Sorry, darling.” Lace kissed her again, the same as before, and reclaimed the mug.

“Give me but a moment.”

“Not your fault,” Hornet said to Lace’s back, and settled into her nest again. Unthinkingly, she closed her eyes, giving in however briefly to the not-quite-ache behind them: the sensation like rotted webbing, throbbing slowly.

She should have been in bed, but that would have had Lace back and forth all day at her own insistence, and Hornet’s restlessness would have driven her forth for her own tea at some point. Once, her self-reliance was an endless wellspring, painfully and necessarily so. Resisting this habit could still be its own battle.

So they had reached a compromise: this nest, the pillows and cushions and blankets. Lace had selected them and fluffed them up. Lace had brought Hornet food, and stayed with her in between these tasks.

Lace returned with the mug now, along with a plate and a damp cloth draped over one arm. She looked Hornet over – her dulled chitin, her sharp limbs burrowed or shrouded in fabric, absent their usual sense of constant, pre-spring tension. Hornet’s eyes opened; she watched as Lace set down the tea and the plate and took the cloth in both hands and leaned over her again. Those eyes were tired. Attentive, but tired. Hornet was tired, and it was bound to show through sometimes.

“Here, darling,” Lace said, plainly, tenderly. She draped the cloth between Hornet’s horns, where it might shift, but wouldn’t fall, even if she moved.

“Thank you.” Hornet did move, tugging the plate closer. Toast, topped with a careful amount of spicy pickled waterbug. In truth, she had little appetite, but she needed whatever food she could manage. And it had been thoughtfully prepared, with just enough of the soft spread to keep the toast from being unpalatable. She wouldn’t waste this.

She tucked up her legs as she ate. Lace sat down beside her and picked up a waiting book. Hornet set the plate back on the table and lay back. Lace said nothing, only resting a hand lightly on Hornet’s leg, over the blanket.

Hornet had no input to offer, and Lace’s theatrics were, if anything, born from an understanding of when not to speak. There was no weight in their silence, nothing wanting, nothing to fill.

Sleep would be best. Hornet closed her eyes.

But everything, everything grated – her breath down her throat, the fever under her shell, her head’s wavering between pressure and pain. Indeed, none of it was pain, precisely. She could manage pain, push through if needed. But this wasn’t pain, just sickness. Normal sickness. She didn’t need to push through, and in fact doing so would be detrimental to her recovery.

Sleep would be best. She had eaten, now she should sleep. She should sleep.

As if thinking about it ever helped. She grunted.

“Go ahead and turn on the radio, love,” Lace suggested.

Hornet rolled onto her side. “It won’t bother you?”

“Not at all.”

The device in the center of the coffee table was modern and graceful, all whorls in wood and shining metal. Lace reached forward to fiddle with the wires before pushing it closer to her wife and leaning back, satisfied.

Hornet twisted one bright knob. The next thing she did was lower the volume, and then she let the program sink in. An announcer’s soft voice, offering information about agricultural statistics. She flicked the dial.

A sporting match. This piqued her interest.

She lingered on it. Shots passed and caught, equipment wielded with precision and valor.

It reminded her of all the exercises she’d rather do herself.

Flick.

Two former nobles arguing about something, and ignoring a moderator who tried to bring reason.

Flick.

Instrumental music. Pleasant.

But it left her in the same restless daze that silence had.

Flick.

An audio drama. An angry former guard and a thief, something about a cursed mask.

Trials were performed for the entertainment of others, again rich people behaved poorly.

Though there was some comeuppance.

Hornet listened through to the inevitable betrayal at the end of the episode, in part because she wasn’t absorbing anything at all. She was subject to another coughing fit partway through, requiring more tea and a steadying backrub from her wife.

After that, she realized that this would require more focus than she had to appreciate, and that if she had that focus, she wouldn’t have enjoyed it much. It wasn’t to her taste.

Once again, her claws darted from under the blankets. Flick.

An opera. The singer’s voice was dimmed by the radio, but otherwise high and full in spite of the grainy speaker. Hornet listened long enough to determine that it was a comedy; the singer was dramatically lamenting a ribbon lost in a river as if it were a pet.

“You could do better,” Hornet observed.

Lace sang quietly, without looking up, “Just so, ma petite araignée, just so.”

Still, she left it on. It occupied enough of her attention to let the rest of her drift off. And it seemed that Lace was familiar with the piece, because here and there she sang along: sweetly finishing the lament of the ribbon, falling silent for the next section about a carriage ride, and joining in again for a song about cheesemaking.

Hornet thought it was about cheesemaking. She dozed, deeper and deeper, catching less frequent snatches of music. So perhaps the cheesemaking was a metaphor of some sort.

She couldn’t be sure.

Hornet sneezed, uncurled, and was halfway upright on one arm before Lace said, “Where do you think you’re going, darling?

Hornet looked over, and stared at her numbly. Her breath wheezed through her mouth. Finally, she said, “Wherever I please.”

And then she dropped back heavily onto the couch and pressed her face back into a pillow. The cloth rubbed into her shell. It should have been tepid, but it was refreshingly cool. She lifted her head enough to pluck at it, and found that it was a different color than before. Lace must have changed it while she slept. Hornet hadn’t stirred at all, so she supposed she’d needed the rest.

“How long?”

“Long enough for me to make soup.” Lace leaned forward and spun the lid off a thermos that had been waiting on the table. She passed it to Hornet. “About four hours.”

The soup went down almost easily. Her sore throat had been replaced by mere roughness, and the warmth and substance itself would have helped no matter what. She took a long drought, drawing in the salt and strength.

She set it back on the table with a determined plunk. “Much better. My thanks.”

“Good.” Lace sighed fondly. “It’s so boring when you’re not well enough to spar. No one else is half as fun.”

Hornet smiled, a wide twitch of her chelicerae. “Ah, and so you reveal your true purpose.”

Lace pressed a hand to her chest. “Wanting to spend time with my handsome wife, feeling her best?”

“Don’t frame it like that. You’ll make me feel guilty for teasing.”

“You always were soft-hearted,” Lace said, her lilt making it a compliment. She leaned in and stole a quick kiss between Hornet’s parted fangs.

“As you say. But enough,” Hornet croaked the declaration. She cleared her throat and coughed, but got her breath back alone. She took a drink of soup just because she wanted it. She sat up and shoved the pillows towards the back of the couch, and commanded, “Come here.”

“Very well.” Lace obliged, claiming the space Hornet indicated so that Hornet could lie in Lace’s lap. “Comfortable?”

“Finally.” Hornet slid her arm up to reach around Lace’s shoulder from the back. She pulled herself against Lace’s chest. “If you try to move me, you’ll see whether or not I’m truly able to spar.”

Lace hummed. “You are feeling better, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’d not give up such a luxury as this.”

"Nor would I," Hornet agreed. She nestled into Lace's lap, and closed her eyes again.

Her entire life had become luxurious, it seemed. And there were no requirements to earn it; not suffering, duty, nor any performance. She could have them just by existing, which was well enough, if surreal.

But then there was this, too: here and now, the softness around her aching body, the food warm and ready, and – and, miraculously while yet the most natural thing in the world – her wife with her. None of it was lost, even while she was suffering. She didn’t have to earn them, but nor were they likely be taken away from her. This had been proven, time and again.

That, she supposed, was safety.

#hollow knight #silksong #lacenet #hk hornet #hk lace #pins and needles #my fanfic #sickfic #illness #ask to tag?

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candlelight27 · 3 years

Text

Reiner - NSFW Alphabet

Reiner x F!reader

A/N: I really wanted to write something for Reiner and this happened! I hope you enjoy it. I might have added way too much drama for a simple nsfw alphabet but I have so many strong feelings for Reiner that I CAN'T. I'm just a simp... Okay, so keep in mind I made this thinking of post-timeskip Reiner.

Warnings: NSFW, obviously. Smut, fluff, angst. Some kinks discussed.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

First things first, he’ll help you get cleaned up. He will either get a clean rug or you’ll share a shower. He won’t leave you alone, asking if you’re okay, if you need help, leaving several kisses on your shoulders and lips.

He’s rather emotional afterwards too. When you are lying on your bed in the dead of the night, he doesn’t understand how you are able to love him after all he’s done. He embraces your body and buries his face right in the crook of your neck. Reiner inhales your scent as you trace random patterns in the broad expanse of his back. He trembles in the slightest of manners, and you hear a faint sob, but you don’t say anything. You let him stay like that for as long as he likes. Sometimes it takes five minutes for him to calm down, while other times, it takes hours. But you don’t mind, and let his warmth surround you. He’s ever grateful of your love and carefulness. It’s not easy to forget all he’s done, and it’s even more difficult to accept he must live with the weight of his sins, so these moments of some kind of normality crush him. But you’re there, ready to help him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He might be biased because of his training as the Armoured Titan, but he loves his arms and back. Reiner is strong and he uses it to his advantage. It makes him feel powerful and in control, more so when he has an opportunity in bed to show off his strength. He’s always elated when you absentmindedly caress his shoulders, arms and back.

Risking being vulgar, Reiner adores your ass. He takes a handful whenever he can – yes, even in public. If you wear something that accentuates your rear, the blond completely loses it, and it takes all his willpower not to kiss you and take you right there and then. During sex, it turns him on to see it, so he’s all into fucking in front of a mirror, or any position that lets him stare at your bum.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Reiner’s favourite place to cum is inside of you. He’s always a little scared, even with all the preventive measures, because the last thing he wants is getting you pregnant. Still, as a forbidden fruit, Reiner will enjoy every moment he’s releasing his seed inside of you, filling you to the brim. Unless you’ve gone a few rounds, Reiner’s cum is usually thick and abundant, always leaving a mess behind.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Reiner legit steals your underwear. He will regret it afterwards. But he does it anyways and more than once, he’s masturbated to your smell. To be fair, he would also steal other items that smell like you for those times you’re not around. Your scent helps him fall asleep and comforts him a lot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He wasn’t that experience, although he had done the deed before. You live in a world where you could die in any moment, so he hasn’t held his urges that much. However, until he met you, he hadn’t let any of his previous partners see his most vulnerable side. Reiner always had that façade of confidence and assurance, that he always knew what he was doing, when in reality he was just faking it and hoping no one would notice. With you, that came to an end and he finally admitted he wasn’t as sure as he was supposed to be. Of course, it led you to a journey of exploration and you’d confidently say he’s now an expert. Reiner knows your body like the back of his hands, and he know exactly what to do to make you moan the way he likes. And of course, he’s an expert in making you cum whenever he wants, and for him, that’s enough experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favourite position is the one where you ride him with your ass facing him. He loves the view of your rear, that you can use him as you like for your own pleasure and that he can touch wherever he wants. He just sees advantages this way. Reiner would start eating you out while you were on all fours, getting you wet and ready for his cock. He’ll take his time as he savours your essence. Then, with his strong arms, he’d help you slide into his dick and grope your waist and your butt.

Since you often complain of him getting the best views, he’s committed to try as many positions as humanly possible. So, every other day, it’s an adventure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It really depends on Reiner’s humour. Sometimes, when sadness hits him, he just wants the solace of your body. During those times, he barely talks, and you answer to his silent pleas with actions rather than words. On the other hand, when he’s in a good mood, he loves teasing you. He’ll banter until you get slightly offended, all heated and cute, and then kiss you everywhere.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Reiner doesn’t have that much time to shave, so he just does labours of maintenance from time to time. And yes, the carpet matches the drapes. He’s got a dirty blond mop of hair down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

The blond gets too into it. He looks at you in the eye and smiles adoringly. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear when he’s embracing you, your skin on his. He repeats all the time how much he loves you, how amazing you are. Reiner’s the whole romantic package. It may backfire, though, because if it becomes too emotional, he might cry. He doesn’t believe he deserve any happiness, much less with you involved, so an uncontrollable, deep horror takes his heart until he can’t take it anymore. Thankfully, your reassuring words help him forget all those intrusive thoughts. You’re quite used to Reiner’s ups and downs, so it won’t ruin the mood that much, and you will continue your activities at some point during the night – or right away if Reiner insists.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he steals your underwear, it’s inside his coat’s pocket. Reiner takes them with one big hand, while the other goes to his girthy cock. He’s working on paperwork, most likely, and alone in his room or an office. He starts slowly pumping his dick up and down, turned on by your smell. Then, he thinks of the last time you were with him and his pace increases until he can’t take it anymore.

His favourite place to masturbate is the shower, though. His muscles relax under the hot water and he can let go all the tension that’s been accumulating there all day. Reiner can spend hours there. And he’s so kicked back, that his hands slowly roam his body and find his dick. He will lean against the wall, supporting himself with this free arm. His quiet moans get drowned by the noise of the shower, and he can take as long as he wants. So he strokes himself slowly, lazily into completion. One of the best parts is that he doesn’t have to clean all the mess he leaves, since he’s already under the running water. One of the worst parts is that he’s alone and, even though he enjoys it, but it’s not the same as being with a partner.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Is dry humping a kink? Because he adores it. Reiner loved watching your body rub against his with clothes on. This way, he can see how your face becomes more and more desperate for him to take you, and he loved the feel of being needed. So, yeah, he’s all into you both wherever you are – the chair, the sofa, the bed – making out, his tongue exploring your mouth, while you are riding his thigh, or your crotches rub together.

Reiner is into spanking, too. Not as a punishment. He’s just so turned on that he forgets all his manners and morals and spanks you sporadically. However, when the skin he’s hit turns red, he regrets it deeply. He feels bad, because it reminds him of all the harm he’s done, and you are always so loving… You like it anyways, so when you see the shadow of doubt grace his face, you reassure him that you enjoy it just as much as him. He still feels like a brute, but a happy one.

Finally, edging. Reiner has never had the reins of his own fate. Never. He became a warrior to please his mom and basically, his life has been determined by the decisions of other people. Most of the time, he feels helpless. Therefore, his love for edging roots in the control it grants him. He can decide when you are going to cum, when he’s going to give you your reward, and he loves that. It’s weird, because he’s not usually attracted by the idea of dominance over you, but this does it for him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Truth be told, he’d make love to you anywhere. He likes the risk of both of you being caught, so I’d say an unfrequented yet public place. And he’ll never lock the doors, because there’s something appealing at someone seeing with their own two eyes that you love him, that he’s a great lover and that you chose him. He might be into exhibitionism a bit, but at the same time, he’s too shy to be open about it. In the end, he’ll try; Reiner kisses you deeply in the secluded but risky space, like the cleaning supplies closet, but just when things get heavy and sexy and you slide your hands to grab his dick, the blond proposes moving to somewhere more private. You’ll tease him a lot, and you’ll convince him to have sex in a place where you’ll get caught. On those rare occasions, you notice Reiner is hornier than usual. Actually, whenever you are in bed, just the fleeting mention of those episodes makes him lose his mind.

Other locations he enjoys, or rather pieces of furniture, are armchairs and sofas. The close contact it gives you, because you can’t lie down, makes him be able to reach any part of your body and cage you, so he’s all into it. Besides, it’s quite refreshing from always doing it on the bed. And it’s a plus if it’s not his or yours, for tainting an space that’s not yours adds to the spice and the fantasy.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your whole self gets him going. You ass, mainly, but also your cute and gorgeous face, your voice, your body… When you dress up for him, it’s a treat. There’s no better gift. He can’t believe how lucky he is that someone like you loved him. Apart from those things, what gets him going is dirty talking. Mention his kinks and he’ll be up and ready to fulfil his duty. He’s filled with energy, love and anxiousness, so Reiner is nearly always up for sex.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Reiner is a bit possessive, so I think a threesome would be kind of a turn off, even though he might enjoy it if he tries it with someone he trusts. He’ll be reluctant to try toys, simply because the idea makes him all shy and uneasy.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Our favourite blond gives oral like a starved man. Your taste enticed him, and he can never get enough of you. He laps and laps all over your clit time after time, then lets his tongue roam inside your hole. At some point, he uses his fingers as well, because he doesn’t have the heart to tease you and wants to make you come. He’s going to give you more orgasms afterwards, so he won’t skimp on the pleasure he gives you.

There are few times in which you give him a blowjob and he’s not eating you out. During those rare occasions, he treats you as if you were made out of glass. His fingers caress your face and your hair delicately, and he tries staying as still as he can. Even when you scratch his thighs lightly, or play with his balls, he’ll behave, as disciplined as the soldier he is.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Reiner always starts slow and sensual, but it doesn’t last long. Not in the least. He gets impatient and once his mind is set and he sees you like it, his rhythm becomes relentless. It’s quite the experience, to be ravished in that way, but he can’t help it. Yet, in the rounds following the first one of the day, he’ll relax and control himself better. That’s when your most tender moments during sex are shared. He’s no longer chasing your high, but enjoying the moment, and you share loving words. This can last a lot, until you are oversensitive and cum because you’ve been at it for so long, you can’t take it anymore. Reiner, on the other hand, just comes at the same time because he can’t contain himself when you’re contracting around his cock.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t like quickies. If there’s no other option, he’ll take it. Sometimes you can’t see each other as frequently, and you’ll have a mere hour together, so those are the occasions where he might accept a quickie, but it’s not his style. He needs his time to properly adore you. Otherwise, it leaves him cold a confused. Reiner considers quickies a bit soulless and he gets a bit paranoid that you’re distant or angry. Because of this, he prefers avoiding quickies altogether, because even though he knows those thoughts aren’t real, they make his heart ache even more in your absence.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Reiner likes to experiment different positions. He will try every position at least once – or almost any position. And he takes mental notes of the ones you enjoy the most, for real. Yet the only real risk he takes is having sex in semi public places, and it happens really far in between and at your constant begging. Reiner loves the idea of exhibitionism but can’t handle his shyness.

When it’s late at night, and you are in an office where anyone can enter, you kiss his lips with passion. He knows where this is going, and he’s torn. But your lips are so soft, and your hands roam across the muscles of his shoulders and arms… and he’s forgotten almost everything already. He’s sat on an armchair, so you climb onto his lap, straddling him with your legs. Your fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt, and his dick is already hard and pressed against your sex.

“What are you doing?”, he murmurs.

“Nothing”, you answer. You slowly sway your hips back and forth and Reinter lets out a moan. You let your tongue roam his mouth as you pull on the blond locks of his hair, then his hands find your waist. He’s squeezing you, and he answers to your movements with his own.

There are voices outside, but you don’t care. You undo his pants, and his dick breaks free. You discard your underwear, grunting at the lost of contact, but quickly come back to him.

“So?”, you tease.

“Let me have you already”, he sighs. You’ve caught him unarmed, and he’s ready to surrender. During the hour you are there, nobody interrupts you, but the noise outside is constant. You know he notices because his cock twitches every time. But you can see, at the same time, that he’s having way too much fun.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Reiner’s first round is usually the shortest, because he’s dying to have sex with you. Still, compared to other guys, it’s a long period of time. But once he’s come and breathe a bit, he wants more rounds. And this time, he’ll last much longer because he will be focused on enjoying all you have to offer instead of being overwhelmed with your presence. Reiner, all in all, is a guy with a lot of stamina, and being a warrior only enhances that aspect.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own toys and he’s reluctant to use them. You might be able to convince him little by little. First, you could introduce him with toys he can use with you… but it will take long and a lot of patience.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You tease him way more that he does tease you. Instead, he loves to spoil you, and even when he’s edging you, if you plead way too much, he’ll let you come. He’s got a heart of gold deep inside, and he can’t avoid not giving you something you want. Reiner’s just like that, attentive and helpful.

He enjoys teasing you with words, though. And he’ll tease you about every little thing you can think of. Until he finds a certain aspect that particularly irritates you, which he will use to his own benefit. He loves when you seem angry, but can’t resist his advances.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s usually silent, releasing a moan here or there. But he will dirty talk a lot, so be ready. He starts with obscene sentences, but he softens and ends up being a flustered mess saying loving words. But the things he says, corny or not, do turn you on.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Modern AU! Reiner is not the kind of guy to send dick pics. However, the first time you were sexting, he sent a video without a warning. You hadn’t even sent each other a picture, so it caught you by surprise. It was incredibly sexy, as he was caressing his dick through his underwear, then taking it out and pumping it up and down. However, it took a few minutes to reach, which were enough to make Reiner paranoid. He started apologizing, until you phoned him and told him to come to your place right away.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Reiner is not the longest, but he’s thick. And when I mean thick, I mean that he has to make an effort to make you wet and ready for him. You love it, because it fills you completely and you can feel every little movement, so the stimulation washes over your whole body. He’s very confident in the way he makes you feel, so he likes his size. It’s also slightly curved upwards and a bit to the right, and his head is bright pink. He has foreskin and there’s a big vein gracing the left side. He’s never really thought about his dick at any level – he hasn’t done that thing of comparing his prick to his friends’ – but he can feel his heart swell with pride when you compliment him and praise him, and when you worship him with your mouth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man always wants sex. Unless he’s really, really sad, in which case he needs a good hug… and it sometimes leads to sex because your body pressed against his own and he can’t control his urges. Fortunately, you’re almost always as needy as him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Reiner has a lot of troubles falling asleep. You’re more likely to drift off first. He’s always dwelling on something, but he won’t be anxious. Instead, when your asleep right next to him, even if he’s awake, he feels calm and a sense of peace.

#reiner x reader #reiner x female reader #reiner smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #reiner braun

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myeternalsin · 3 years

Text

Dance With Me (Tech X F!Reader)

Up next, It's the loveable and handsome clone with such brilliant intelligence; Tech! Get ready for some feels~

Summary: Tech sneaks back to (Y/N)'s apartment after a stressful mission with his brothers, what is it that she's doing?

Word Count: 1009

Warning: No warning really, a little angst, and you'll probably get some major feels!

“What are you doing cyar’ika?” The tall technician inquired, putting his helmet down on the end table as he watched (Y/N) twirling around in the living room in her light yellow sundress while adjusting his glasses. He knew (Y/N) was home once he saw the discarded pair of brown leather wedges tossed to the side when he entered her apartment.

The soft piano music resonated around the apartment. The ruffles from her dress lightly graced her legs as she continued to sway to the music. She dragged a pedicured foot along the carpeted floor, pretending to dip her foot in some sort of imaginary water as she didn’t bother to look up at him. “I’m dancing silly, what does it look like?”

Tech rolled his eyes and sighed, “Of course you're dancing dear, I should have phrased my question better. What I meant was why are you dancing in the middle of the living room? You don’t even have the proper shoes to dance in. What exact dance are you trying to execute?”

(Y/N) giggled as she did a pirouette, the sundress swirling around with her. “I’m not trying to recreate any type of dance Tech, I’m just dancing.” She held out her left arm bent and her right arm straight, pretending she had an imaginary partner now leading her though a dance.

“What's the point of that?” Tech asked as he continued to watch her with curiosity, taking a couple of steady steps into the open entryway. He always did find her quite fascinating when she could be her true authentic self. She was never afraid to show how she felt, it was the opposite of him at the moment.

(Y/N) smiled as she continued to waltz about the room. “No point really dear, I just felt like doing so.” She made one final twirl around, the full skirt of the ruffles on her dress flared out in a magnificent fluttering blur of brilliant yellow. Like a ray of sunshine in this war period.

(Y/N) blushed bashfully as she finally stood still in front of Tech. Her face flushed a rosy pink as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He was at the edge of the carpet leading to the living room, and he stood a couple of paces away. He still had his plastoid armor on, and looked as handsome as ever.

(Y/N) held out her arms “Dance with me, please.” She whispered her plea, trying not to spook him. She looked at him through her lashes and took a couple of cautious steps towards him. “Just pretend the world doesn’t exist.”

Tech shook his head, “No, no. That’s not a good idea.” He backed up a couple of paces and was about to walk away when she wrapped her arms around his midsection.

(Y/N) looked up at Tech with pleading eyes as she pouted. Giving Tech the best puppy loth wolf eyes she could fabricate. “Why not?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever danced before,“ Tech chuckled. He then waved his arms about and shook his head. ``I wouldn’t even know what to properly do!”

Tech’s eyes stilled as he saw the sparkle in her eyes. Those beautiful eyes. He always found himself on more than one occasion studying those irises.

(Y/N) ran her hands up along the sides of his arms, to his neck, and rested her hands on his cheeks. “You don’t have to do anything perfectly dear,” (Y/N) looped her arms around his neck. “just sway with me.”

(Y/N) grabbed his hands and placed them on the small of her back as she also brought her arms back to his neck. She rocked her body side to side, lifting one foot off the ground and then the other. Tech's arms were stiff, but soon relaxed as he got into the rhythm of moving back and forth on his feet.

The rich music of the deep alto piano still rebound along the apartment walls, and soon turned into a soft smooth soprano as the music faded in and out. Except the two weren’t truly paying attention to the melody in the room. Too focused on their true feelings for each other.

(Y/N) laid her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, embracing the feel of her secret lover's hands on her back. Just knowing that he stood in front of her unharmed melted her heart. All of her worry and anxiety secretly washed away as she remembered hearing the door open when he arrived.

(Y/N) had to be strong and put a front up for Tech. She needed to be his light in these dark times of war. She needed to show that Tech didn’t have to lose sleep over her. She wanted to be his rock. However, it was Tech who felt quite the same.

He was proud that his brothers completed their mission, and that he could come back to her in one piece. He needed to put up a front with her as well. Show that the missions he went on weren’t that big of a deal, especially with his intellect.

It was that first time they kissed on the Havoc Marauder that Tech realized that he was starting to fall for her. Now in this moment just rocking with her in his arms being grateful to be in her presence, he needed to savor this moment. If anything were to happen to (Y/N), he felt scared. For once in his life, he had no idea what he would do.

(Y/N) looked up at Tech and cupped his cheeks once more, drying away the silent tears that slipped down his face. She leaned forwards and softly kissed his lips. Their lips moved together, reassuring the other. Letting the other know that everything was alright. That one day, this war would truly be over.

And after thinking of that, Tech knew there was no going back.

He was hopelessly in love with (Y/N).

My HEART!!! You have no idea how much I'd love to have somebody like Tech in my life! *sigh* Ah, just the feels man! I feel so happy and warm after writing this! Let me know what you guys think! Bad Batch Request are still open, and I'll be starting on them tonight! I'm hoping to post the first one tomorrow before work.

~MyEternalSin

#the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #the bad batch tech #bad batch tech #tech x reader #tech x you #female reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #the clone wars x reader #star wars one shot

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sgwrscrsh · 3 years

Text

winter days: underneath the tree

☁️a/n☁️ this made my heart very warm to write even though i pulled an all-nighter to get it done because my time-management has gone to shit after finals. requested by @sachirou-senpai. thank you, ellie, for giving me a reason to bring back my boys. i’ve missed ‘summer on you’ so much. this can be read as a stand-alone or as a spin off of ending b, my fave. either way, merry christmas to my babes who celebrate! i have one more christmas fic for tmr and then i’m hiding away to plan + write an smau.

includes: female!reader, poly!seijoh four, post-timeskip (very minor manga spoilers), lots of domesticity, a little suggestive bit, a lot of eating and sleeping now that i realize, a christmas tree, matching pajamas, a very special christmas gift, makki slapping your ass once, a lil teary moment w tooru, homemade curry + pancakes (but not together), lots of cuddling, lots of love, happy holidays, 4.35k words

☁️masterlist☁️

shivering slightly, you unlock the door to the rather spacious apartment you shared with your four boyfriends later into the evening than you would’ve liked.

yes, four boyfriends. whom you love very much and are loved by in return.

living with four towering hunks has it’s ups and downs, but you wouldn’t trade tooru’s extensive skin care regiment sprawled across the bathroom counter; hajime’s bag of protein powder that he always forgets to put away; issei’s boots that you always tripped over when you came through the front door; or takahiro’s costco-sized box of cream puffs in the freezer that he insisted he would finish by the end of the month, almost half a year ago, for the world.

you made sure to stomp off the snow stuck on your boots before entering the building, but you couldn’t help but sigh at the warmth that greets you once you toe them off.

“ahhh,” you think. “thank goodness tooru convinced us to invest in heated floors.” another perk of having four boyfriends was that two of them brought in enough bank for you to seriously consider becoming their cute little housewife. snorting, you shake your head, though the idea of prancing around in a maid outfit to tease them seemed very appealing. “maybe we should make hiro dress up and clean the house since he still hasn’t found a new job yet.”

“what’s so funny, sweets?” speak of the devil. makki’s head pops out from the bathroom nearest to the front door, steam rolling out and droplets falling from his hair, signifying that he had just taken a hot shower. wordlessly, you stare at him, lost in thought imagining the water caressing his toned body, but a second later, he gets a better look at you and laughs. “you look like a wet dog!” your glare loses some of its edge when he takes in your own damp strands.

“did someone say something about a dog?” tooru comes bounding round the corner, and you could’ve sworn he drooped a little when he realized it was just you in the hallway sans dog. turning your icy glance on the setter, you open your mouth to complain about how mean the two of them were being to you when your prince charming comes in to save the day.

“you two, stop bullying the poor girl and let her take a warm bath before she gets sick!” iwa chides as he helps you unbundle the layers that protected you from the snow and sharp winds of the winter. pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead and promising to pick out comfy clothes for you, he ushers you into your spacious en suite where a steaming tub full of rose petals awaits you. hajime chuckles at the starry eyes you give him, heart warming at the love and appreciation shining clear as day on your face, before he leaves to grab a clean pair of underwear, one of issei’s t-shirts, and a pair of his own sweats, knowing you much prefer to wear their clothes at home.

submerged in the bath, you exhale contentedly, eyelids fluttering shut as you enjoy the product of iwa’s consideration and foresight. letting the stress of work and the chill of the outdoors melt from you, you stay in the water until it cools and your fingers prune. a lone thought of how much more you would’ve enjoyed the bath if the boys had joined you flits through your mind, but you jolt when you open your eyes and find issei sitting on the counter with a towel and your robe in his lap, some of the water sloshing over the side of the tub.

“oh thank god, i was scared you fell asleep and would drown or choke on a rose petal.” you giggle while he wraps you up in your robe before gently toweling your hair dry. “you can’t leave me to deal with the three of them alone.”

rolling your eyes, you retort easily, “if anything, i’d feel bad about leaving hajime to deal with the three of you alone. the poor man puts up with enough from his team, he doesn’t need you guys ganging up on him, too.”

“well i’ll have you know, sometimes he really enjoys us ganging up on him.” his cheeky quip paired with his wiggling eyebrows earns him a smack on the chest but regardless, you let him sweep you up into his arms and drop you on the massive bed the five of you shared. “get dressed, babygirl. as much as i’d love to spend more time with you naked, i gotta help haji finish dinner.” with a quick peck on your lips, issei leaves you to do just as he said.

emerging revitalized and relaxed, your mouth waters at the smell of homemade curry, distracted enough to not notice tooru’s arms wrapping around your shoulders and waist.

“hey, cutie, i’ve missed you,” he sings, face snuggled into the junction of your shoulder and neck. you spin around in his hold to slip your arms around his slim torso, relishing his firm lines against your soft curves.

“‘ve missed you too, tooru.” and you really did, grateful that all of you were able to take time off work and he was able to come home a week before the holidays, giving the five of you a whole month to spend together before he had to jet back to argentina for his next bout of training and practice games.

“hell yea! group hug!” makki comes running towards you guys, only for you to twist out of his reach at the last second, sending him straight into the sofa behind you. “oof, that was cold, y/n.”

you stick your tongue out at the strawberry boy. “yea, well that’s what you get for laughing at me when i got home. sucker.” still entangled in tooru’s embrace, you feel his body shake with mirth and bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from dissolving into giggles when you see a pout take over hiro’s pretty face.

“dinner’s ready,” comes iwa’s call, beckoning the three of you into the kitchen before you could antagonize each other some more. once you all got your servings of curry, you settle into your proclaimed seats on the large sofa, your body comically small compared to their tall frames dwarfing the cushions. noting the way tooru threw his long legs over iwa’s and how mattsun and makki leaned against each other as they ate, you fold your legs to tuck your feet under takahiro’s thigh and dig in to your meal with some trashy reality show lighting up the tv screen, completely certain that the warmth in your chest was from the company of your loved ones more so than the piping hot potatoes in your stomach.

during breakfast the next day, you blearily rub the sleep out of your eyes before taking a sip of your coffee, a satisfied “ahhh” escaping your parted lips as you lean against the kitchen counter. slowly peeling your eyelids open, you notice all of their gazes were focused on you. “yes? can i help you?” you ask amusedly, awake now that caffeine had be introduced to your tired body.

“how are you still so gorgeous in the morning?” you blink at the dreamy look on iwa’s face propped up in his hands with his elbows on the surface of the island. looking around, you see the other three matching the athletic trainer’s pose and expression next to him. thinking over your messy bedhead, mysteriously stained pajamas, and almost impressively dark eyebags, you want to scoff, but the unfairly handsome men giving you their undivided attention despite all of that (“because of all of that, y/n-chan,” tooru would argue) make you blush instead.

“you’re one to talk, haji,” you opt to remark, hoping to divert their focus from you and your rosy cheeks. “and don’t look at me like that,” your pointed finger swinging wildly between the four of them like the needle of a compass. “you already know you guys are way outta my league, you don’t need me to tell you that.” with one last flourish, you wave your hand dismissively before grabbing your mug with both hands, palms warming against the ceramic.

“as wrong as you are, you can’t blame us for wanting to hear the love of our lives compliment us first thing in the morning as we admire her natural beauty,” mattsun grins once he sees the success his words have at deepening the flush on your face. tooru nods gravely in agreement, but it’s makki’s one-two combo of a wink and an air kiss that breaks you. you roll your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a laugh but release it immediately when the playful atmosphere takes a heady turn. clearing your throat, you pay no heed to their hungry expressions, knowing full well that they all noticed your little action and how they would react to it.

“a-anyways,” you stutter, “i’m gonna go get ready ‘cause i have things to do today so-” you try to slip by, leaving your empty cup in the sink, only to get caught in your tracks by hiro’s long arms.

“ah, ah, ah, princess. and where do you think you’re going?” soon enough, you find yourself surrounded by your smoking hot boyfriends and heat up in anticipation of their next moves.

“this so isn’t fair,” you complain aloud, though you were just as eager as they were to get you out of your worn sleep clothes.

“tough shit, babygirl. guess you’re just gonna have to add four more things to your to-do list, huh?”

naturally, you leave your errands for some day later in the week when you’re able to walk properly again.

the opportunity comes when you rise earlier than the rest of them, a rare occasion where you found yourself graced with the freedom of sleeping on the outside instead of being sandwiched in the middle of the bed. tiptoeing about, you brush your teeth and get dressed, somehow managing to not wake any of the sleeping beauties. you scribble little love-filled messages on post-it notes and stick them around your apartment on your way out, but not without one last soft smile in the direction of the bedroom, the sight of the four of them cuddled together through the door left ajar renewing your motivation to accomplish your tasks and come home sooner.

with your laptop bag in tow, you set out for your first destination, settling into a corner booth at the coffee shop with a full cup and a pastry. once you finish your breakfast, you pull out your laptop and get to work, scouring the internet for the perfect gifts for your lovably imperfect partners. you rack your brain for any recollection of any moment where they would’ve let a potential present slip into conversation and light up when you come across volleyball print pajama pants. you check the availability of the sizes you needed and upon realizing that they were all in stock and would be delivered before christmas, you place your order without a moment’s hesitation. satisfied with your progress, you pull up the animal shelter’s hours before heading out of the cafe, the barista’s greetings and the jingling bells echoing behind you.

by the time you return home, it’s late in the afternoon and you’re greeted by a wall of warm bodies as soon as you step through the front door.

“where’ve you been, babe?” once again, takahiro is the first to meet your return, but this time he plants a sweet kiss on your lips with his long fingers encircling your waist after his inquiry.

“oh, you know,” you sigh, dazed from the saccharine embrace. “out and about.”

“busy day? hope it was productive.” you nuzzle into tooru’s chest, feeling the timbre of his voice through your skin, and nod.

“as a matter of fact, it was.” their eyes soften at the proud grin stretched across your face. but your grumbling stomach just had to ruin the moment, making the three of you stare at each other before bursting out in chuckles.

“you skipped lunch?” oiks asks, wrapping each arm around yours and hiro’s waists and guiding you into the kitchen. you rub the back of your neck sheepishly.

“i guess so? i didn’t really notice i was hungry until now.”

“good thing we saved your favorite from that chinese place down the street for you,” mattsun comes up behind you and lands a kiss on the crown of your head. you beam gratefully up at him and skip over to the fridge to retrieve the takeout.

“welcome home, love,” iwaizumi emerges from the bathroom to complete the set and gives you a once over. “you look tired.”

“gee thanks, hajime.” he rolls his eyes playfully at you while you wait for your food to heat up in the microwave.

“what time did you get up this morning?”

“uhhh,” you start, mouth full. at iwa’s stern glare, you swallow before answering, “seven-ish? earlier than i would’ve like for a vacation day but it was worth it.”

“hm, well i’m glad you had a good day at least.” you shuffle over to kiss his cheek before dropping yourself on top of where tooru and hiro were cuddling on the sofa, eyes drifting around the room to take in the holiday decorations adorning the space.

“thanks, haji. but you’re right, i am sleepy.” suppressing a yawn, you lean back against the broad chests behind you and tuck back into the paper container. “can we take a nap once i’m done?”

“sure thing, babygirl.” the innocent smile mattsun sends your way turns mischievous with his added comment. “we really tuckered ourselves out while you were gone.” you nearly choke but makki’s hand thumping your back helps you dislodge whatever food got caught in your throat. iwa shakes his head and looks to the side in an attempt to hide his face, but the reddening tips of his ears give him away. meanwhile, oikawa catches your eye and winks.

“how else did you suppose we keep ourselves occupied when our baby wasn’t home?” you get up to toss your now empty container, shaking your head as you go.

“i’m glad to see you at least got the christmas tree up before going at it. god, you’re all insatiable.”

“i mean, it’s hard not to be in this relationship,” hajime grumbles.

“aww, iwa,” makki pushes his lips into an overexaggerated pout. “you make me hard, too.” full-bellied chortles escape the four of you, ignoring iwaizumi’s indignant huffs.

“whatever,” comes his miffed reply, but you know he takes all your antics in stride. soon enough, he returns to the living room with a stack of blankets and finds you and issei added to the pile of limbs tooru and hiro founded. somehow, hajime situates himself to fit perfectly in your cuddle fest, blankets sprawled about to keep you warm.

one last yawn leaves your mouth before you mutter a sleepy, “night, guys. love you,” barely registering the quiet “love you”s you get in return as you drift off, the lights adorning your christmas tree twinkling above you.

christmas day, you wake up before the others again, this time more than willing to feign sleep and revel in the warmth of your shared bed. luckily, you don’t have to wait long for your boys to stir. sitting up, you stretch your arms above you head and begin to climb out of bed only to be caught by the wrist and dragged back down.

“haji, please,” you draw out. “we can finally open the presents under the tree!”

“i don’t care, it’s too early for you to leave me, princess.” you hum as he pulls you closer to him, revisiting your mental note that iwa is much more openly (and selfishly) affectionate in the mornings.

“oi, the rest of us are still here you know.” face buried against tooru’s back, mattsun’s muffled complaint gets hajime to loosen his hold on you.

“yea, yea,” he props himself up on his elbow to lean over you and kisses the former middle blocker’s temple. “unfortunately.”

“so mean, iwa-chan,” oikawa pipes up, stretching his arm across you to caress your boyfriend’s toned arm before lacing his fingers with makki’s. the pink haired man himself, still half-asleep, squeezes tooru’s hand before sitting up.

“hey, wait. it’s christmas, isn’t it?” takahiro’s question reminds you of the package you received a couple days prior, prompting you to spring out of bed before one of them could reel you back in. the four watch you rifle through the closet and resurface with the pajama pants you ordered.

“merry christmas!” you cry excitedly, tossing each boy their respective pair and eagerly awaiting their reactions. “they’re matching pj’s! look, i got one for myself, too.” thankful that you chose to go to bed in just one of iwa’s godzilla t-shirts and underwear last night, you rush to slip on your volleyball print pants. the boys take in your childlike joy, chests tightening at how precious you are. “hurry up, i want you to try them on so we can match!” at your insistence, they roll out of bed and dutifully don your gifts.

“oh these are actually really soft,” tooru murmurs thoughtfully, fingering the fabric on his thigh.

“right?” you pipe up, nearly bouncing off the walls. “i wanted to do something to commemorate our first christmas together in this apartment and i thought these were really cute since volleyball is what brought us together in the first place.” eyes meet each other as you all reminisce that special summer, grateful that you stayed close despite your individual journeys after graduation.

suddenly, the doorbell ringing catches your attention. a brief glance at the clock on the bedside table tells you it’s much later in the morning than you though, but you’re quick to answer the door.

“who could that be?” the boys are left wondering, wandering out into the living room in time to see you wave goodbye to whoever it was with a large gift-wrapped box sitting on the floor next to you.

“babe? who was it?” tooru is the first to ask the question on all of their minds.

“oh, just my best friend. they wanted to drop this off on their way to their parents’ house.” you gingerly pick up the box and bring it to where your boys were waiting for you. “go ahead!”

“go ahead?” hajime parrots.

“yea! open it!”

“it’s not for you?” takahiro ponders.

“well yes and no. c’mon just open it already!” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet at this point. tooru finally takes the initiative to remove the lid of the box, eyes widening when he sees what it hid.

“oh my gosh,” he breathes. the other three nearly knock heads with how quickly they lean over the opening.

“is that-?” a furry little head pops up over the edge of the box, round eyes peering up at the four of them.

“a dog! yes!” you squeal. “he’s a shelter dog!”

“he is?” hiro is in awe, slowly reaching out to cradle the little guy in his arms.

“i met him the other day when i woke up early and ran errands without you guys. isn’t he just the cutest?” big hands dwarf the small pooch as they gently pet his head and stroke his fur.

“does he have a name?” tooru has the good sense to ask.

“mhm, the lady at the shelter said his previous owner named him ponyo.”

“ponyo…” issei whispered, eyes shining.

“i know we’re nowhere near ready to start thinking about kids,” you start, the topic of the conversation instantly drawing their attention. tooru even ignored ponyo’s little tongue lapping at his fingers. “but i thought we could use an addition to our family.”

“y/n, princess, we obviously all love him already, but we’re busy with work- well, most of us are. who’s gonna take care of him?” hajime questions, almost reluctantly.

“i mean, hiro is home all the time since he’s still unemployed (“i said i was looking, damn!”), but i actually got promoted so my schedule is way more flexible and i can work from home most of the time.” your voice trails off bashfully, but they give you no time to be embarrassed, swallowing you up in a huge hug.

“why didn’t you say anything sooner, baby? we’re so proud of you!” now you know how the dog felt being smothered by their affection, not that it was anything new for you.

“uhh, surprise?”

“fuck yea, surprise! god, you’re incredible. lemme make a list of things we’ll need to get for ponyo once the stores reopen tomorrow.”

“actually…”

“you didn’t.”

“i did, with help from my best friend.” going into the lowest cupboards in the kitchen, you show off the bag of dog food and water and food bowls you bought soon after visiting the shelter. “his bed and crate are in the other closet by the washroom.”

“how did we get so lucky?” takahiro asks aloud, making you blush as the others nod in sync, all of them blown away by your thoughtfulness.

“this is nothing. i just wanted to show you guys how much i love you.” you play with your fingers, a little overwhelmed now that the initial excitement has worn off. “oh wait!”

“there’s more?” tooru asks, shocked.

“but wait, there’s more!” mattsun and makki chime in simultaneously, making you laugh as you retrieve the last present. you hop over to where tooru was sitting on the sofa with ponyo on his lap, scooping the dog up and locking the two of you in the bathroom. a couple minutes later, you open the door to let ponyo scurry over to his dads, who coo softly once they see him come around the sofa.

“when did you have time to do this?”

“my pants were a little long, so i hemmed them one night after you guys passed out on the sofa watching your old volleyball matches. i kinda guessed ponyo’s measurements based on standard info i found on the internet, but it fits perfectly so i’m glad!” looking at the little sweater you made for your new family member out of the extra fabric from your pj pants, you couldn’t stop the pleased grin that broke out on your face. “now even ponyo matches with us!”

while your gaze was trained on the tiny dog that was exploring his new home, theirs were stuck on you, your resemblance with a proud mother struck something in them, giving them thoughts of you with their children. yes, children. but for now they shoved those images to the backs of their minds, meeting each other’s stares to confirm they were all in silent agreement.

“we’re gonna make breakfast, you just sit there ‘n look pretty while you watch ponyo, yea?” issei announces before pulling you into a searing kiss as he walks by.

“not that that’s hard for you,” iwa tags on, kissing your cheek and ruffling your hair following mattsun into the kitchen.

“but i’m always hard for you.” you yelp when hiro playfully slaps your ass, flipping him off as he trails after the other two with a loud hoot. tooru comes up behind you and rubs your sore cheek, spinning you around so that you were face to face.

“why’d you do this to me, y/n-chan?” you meet his frown with a confused look of your own. “now it’s gonna be even harder for me to go back to argentina.”

“oh, tooru,” you wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to bring him close. “you have the next few weeks to spend with us and our new baby.” as if he knew you were talking about him, ponyo pads over to sit by your feet, tail wagging. oikawa sighs melodramatically.

“a few weeks is nothing compared to the months i’ll be gone!”

“oi, shittykawa, you better not be complaining after everything this morning,” hajime hollers from the kitchen.

“love you, too, iwa-chan!” tooru calls back instinctively then he looks back down at you, his eyes giving away how much leaving will hurt him and it nearly makes you tear up with him.

“tooru, baby, it sucks every time you leave us, but you’re following your dreams and doing what you love. and we want to support you all the way, even if it means doing so from across the world. but with my new work schedule, i’ll be able to call or text you pretty much whenever. and just think how much sweeter it’ll be the next time you do come home to us. so don’t be too sad, okay, my love? we’ll all be here waiting for you.”

as the last words leave your lips, tooru has you pulled flush against him, arms wrapped tight around your body. his face was hidden, but you could feel the sobs in hot breaths against your shoulder. you guided him over to the sofa and let him cry, petting his hair and peppering kisses on his tear-streaked face until he tired himself out.

issei, hajime, and takahiro come out of the kitchen with stacks of pancakes and all the fixings, setting them down on the coffee table in front of you once they see tooru snoozing in your lap. iwa picks ponyo up before he could get a bite of your breakfast while you gently shake your boyfriend awake. mattsun and makki set up ponyo’s crate and bedding, leaving him with a toy to keep him occupied while the five of you filled up your plates.

sitting in the living room of the apartment you shared with your four boyfriends on christmas day, stuffing your face with fruit and whipped cream topped pancakes that they made, in matching pajamas with your new rescue dog scampering about, you couldn’t ask for a better gift underneath the tree.

taglist: @lovemeafterhrs @sachirou-senpai @honey-makki @kenmaki

#skye writes fluff #seijoh four #seijoh third years #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu poly #haikyuu post time skip #skye writes a series #summer on you: the series

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bl00dgutsgl0ry · 3 years

Note

ahh i’ve read all ur childe fics and they are absolutely amazing 🥺 i also live for angst and the way you portray ur characters emotions is emasculate *chefs kiss* is it possible if i may request an angsty childe fic where his s/o feels betrayed after finding out hes only been with her as part of the fatui’s plans but throughout the process childe actually falls in love and never meant to hurt them? and pls a fluffy ending bc my heart can’t take angst 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Pairing - Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Reader

Warnings - Spoilers for Childe’s background.

Other Comments - Hello!! I am so glad that you are enjoying my stuff! I never would have imagined that I would receive so much positive feedback as I just started doing this but everyone has welcomed me with open arms hehe!! (//▽//) Anyway you are in luck because I absolutely love writing angst so lets go! Also these are heavily inspired by the songs Decode and All I Wanted by Paramore so I kinda recommend listening to them while you read. (๑˘︶˘๑)

Everyone you have encountered along your journey have been so friendly; all of them going out of their way to assist you. You have gained many friends along your way which have caused you to become quite a trusting person, to a fault at this point. Every person you have met with try their best to help you with your journey and leave a lingering friendship which you are incredibly grateful for. When you first decided you wanted to become an adventurer, your parents were extremely apprehensive, not trusting the world around you. You were determined to prove them wrong, and so far you have.

You had decided you wanted to settle down in Liyue for a while, exhausted from the constant traveling. This way you were always able to stay close around the Adventurers Guild. Along your journey of living in Liyue you had continued to meet many lovely and helpful people; one being a tall copper headed man.

During your travel and adventuring you had started to become a fairly big name, as you were incredibly skilled and managed to help save Mondstadt on a variety of occasions; even getting to know the grand master of the Knights of Favonius. So when a tall young man approached you, already knowing your name you weren’t all too surprised. You had already settled down into your small cozy apartment when he had come up to you.

“Excuse me, you don’t happen to be (y/n) do you?” You looked up, your eyes meeting bright blue ones as you found the owner of the soothing voice.

“Oh uh, yes that’s me. Is there something I can help you with?” A pleasant smile graced your face as the tall man gave a polite smile back before continuing.

“I was wondering if you could assist me with a domain, I seem to be having a bit more trouble with it than I had expected. I’ve heard you’re one of the best out there right now.” Your face flushed, something about this man was so endearing, and helping him out couldn’t be too hard, you had been able to defeat most of the domains in the area anyway so why not?

“Sure, I’d be more than happy to help you out! Are you an adventurer like I am?” You heard Childe let out a low chuckle.

“Oh no I am a Fatui Harbinger.” Wait- did he just say he was a Harbinger? You didn’t know much about the Fatui, but what you did know and have heard from other people was that the Fatui were always bad news. He didn’t seem like what everyone was saying though.

“Well then, when would you like to go?”

That was the beginning of your relationship with the Harbinger. After that you two both seemed to get along surprisingly well, and you found yourself struggling to stop seeing him. He was always on your mind, and with him almost always being around you that wasn’t helping either.

“So, where shall we go today darling?” Childe had decided to take up space in your already cramped apartment, not that you were complaining. It had been about six months since you had settled down in Liyue and you decided it was finally time to start traveling again. You had formed a really close connection with Childe, he always seemed to be your savior in situations that you needed it. You hoped that Childe would come along with you, but part of you had a feeling that he had to stay here for some reason.

“Well I was thinking I would go back to traveling again, I have stayed for about half a year so I think it’s time.” The smile that always seemed to find its place on Childe face quickly dropped, and you saw something change for a split second before returning back to normal.

“Oh well if that’s what you want then I am not going to stop you, but I can no longer accompany you, you better leave as soon as possible though.” Now what could he have said that for.

“So you can cover as much ground of course!” Childe must’ve picked up on your questioning gaze when he said that, as a reassuring smile found its way back to his face.

“I suppose you’re right, I need to say goodbye to the friends that I’ve made here though. Could you help me pack my things while I go do that?” A strong nod came from Childe before you granted yourself permission to leave.

It took you longer than you had anticipated to track down and say goodbye to all of the friends you had made here and Liyue, which you could blame Xiangling for as she made sure to make plenty of your favourite dishes for your trip.

As you approached your building you saw the back of the boy you knew so well, duck into a dark alley. Something could’ve been wrong, so to make sure he was okay you quietly followed a little ways behind.

“Are you deaf or just stupid? Your job was to get close to the dumb bitch and then bring them in. What is taking so long are you kidding?” A shorter man with a large hat was currently talking to Childe, surely they couldn’t be talking about you.

“Listen I know what my orders were, I was just waiting for a good time.” Childe’s voice was quite and his eyes were focused on the ground.

“If they’re leaving today, you better hope that they are still in Liyue for your own well being.” With that the shorter man quickly turned away and stormed off. So it was all a setup. Everything they did and talked about... All the things he told you... You as you were backing away in disbelief your shoe scuffed against the ground, causing Childe to whip around, those once familiar blue eyes meeting yours blowing out wide.

“(Y/n) wait-” You didn’t let him finish before you took off sprinting up to your apartment, hoping to get up there and lock yourself in. Was he going to kill you for over hearing?

You tripped a couple times going up the stairs hoping to the gods that you would still have enough time to shut and lock your door, all the while Childe was behind you begging for you to stop, for you to come back. Relief washed over you as your eyes found your door, adrenaline still pumping wildly through you.

“Please please please gods let me in!” You franticly attempted to unlock your door, the adrenaline making you shaky causing you to miss the keyhole. Your feverish prayers were answered when you flung the front door open, Childe’s loud footsteps pounding against the floor behind you. Right as you were slamming the door closed Childe’s body flew against the door, causing it to swing back open, hitting you in the process and tossing you to the ground; knocking the wind out of you.

Childe stood over you, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Was this the end? Were you going to die? Your wild eyes found his, the fear in them causing him to falter. He never wanted to see fear in your eyes, especially not because of him. The darkness of the night made it hard to see, the only light spilling in from the hallway through your open front door, spotlighting your face and the tears you had falling down your cheeks. You don’t remember when you started crying but it was obvious now. Neither of you spoke for a while, not knowing what to say. It was clear that Childe wasn’t going to kill you, but that still left a plethora of issues.

“You...” You began to speak, your voice shaky and uncertain. Childe’s eyes silently begged for you to stop.

“You took advantage of me. Everything was a lie. Was anything that came out of your mouth true?!” Sadness and anger flushed your face and you slowly rose to your feet.

“(Y/n) please... I never meant for it to go on this long.” That didn’t help his situation, that sentence having the same effect of putting water on an oil fire. Anger bloomed from your chest, almost making it hard to breathe.

“I trusted you! I guess this is all my fault for putting my trust into a Fatui Harbinger! Childe’s not even your real name! I know NOTHING about you!! And... and I let you stay with me! Keep me company! I let you put your filthy hands on me! You kissed me!!” Tears began to spill faster, but not just from you this time.

“(Y/n) please my feelings and actions towards you were no lies!! I admit this was all set up, but then I began to truly fall in love with you!! You have to believe me!” A loud broken laugh escaped your lips, almost like a bark.

“Believe you?! Again I don’t even know your real name-”

“Tartaglia.” This stopped you in your tracks, you couldn’t quite make sense of what he said.

“What?” Your words were barely above a whisper.

“My name. It’s Tartaglia. My family calls me Ajax. I am the 11th Harbinger of the Fatui. I moved to Liyue as a debt collector. I don’t want to be in the Fatui, not ever since I met you. You knew who the Fatui were and still chose to trust me. No one except my family has ever looked at me the way you do. I am from Snezhnaya. My birthday is July 20th. I enjoy ice fishing and combat. I have many siblings, a couple younger brothers named Teucer and Anthony and I have a sister named Tonia. See? You know so much more now!” You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, you just stared at him. Childe or Tartaglia rather, was clearly getting anxious at your silence, as he shifted around more or fiddled with his gloves. He was normally so confident, so seeing him like this was shocking.

“(Y/n) please, say something; anything.” The desperation in his voice made your chest tighten. What could you say? On one hand you wanted to just forgive him and fall into his arms, on the other hand he had completely destroyed your trust; were you really willing on forgiving him that easily?

“Childe... I...” You could see Tartaglia flinch, not used to the tone of his code name on you tongue. He wanted so desperately for you to just say his real name. He wanted to embrace you, for you to forgive him. He would find a way out of this for the both of you.

“(Y/n) I will help you. I fell in love with you. I knew the second I set my eyes on you that I say going to fall for you. I will get you out of this situation, I have to. I know it’s stupid to say this now, but you have to trust me on this. After I get you out of here is when you can hit me scream at me and tell me never to see you again. I just need to make sure you’re safe.” You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore as you began to cry again. Tartaglia stepped close to you, slowly to make sure that you had a way to back up if you didn’t want him to get closer. When you didn’t move he took that as an ‘okay’ to get close, and that’s what he did.

Slowly the distance between the two of you closed as Tartaglia sunk to his knees and clung to you. His hold on you was iron tight, as he waited and hoped for you to return the hold; which much to his surprise you did. You clung to him and cried.

“I will make you trust me again (y/n). I will make you trust me and I will keep you safe. You have my word. I love you.”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact imagine #childe imagine #childe imagines #tartaglia imagine #tartaglia imagines #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagine

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acnelli · 3 years

Text

First Time Falling

This is my entry for the @hpqueerfest 2021. Thanks to the mods who hosted this! And a big thank you to my great beta-readers @nagemeikenu and @static-abyss who put up with my phone-writery (writing time is hard to come by these days).

This story was inspired by Prelude and Fugue by shes_gone, and it’s set in a world where Harry didn’t go to Hogwarts, but had been prepared for his destiny.

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley Rating: T TW: strong language, mentions of war time, mentions of drug and alcohol consume Prompt: Falling in love for the first time as an adult (late 20’s-early 30’s) Summary: Harry Potter –Head-Auror and Savior of the Wizarding World– spontaneously asked out a cute redhead and it turned to so much more than he could have ever hoped for.

You can also read this on AO3 and FFN.

*** *** *** *** ***

Not bothering to knock, Ron Weasley marched into Hermione Granger’s office. The heavy mahogany door slammed against the wall, making Hermione jump up from her chair.

“Ron,” she shrieked as a bunch of paper fell off her desk. “What happened?”

Instead of providing his best friend with an explanation for his sudden intrusion, Ron paced back and forth. The panicked look in his eyes made Hermione assume the worst.

With one swift motion, Hermione stepped in front of the redhead, forcing him to stop his frantic pacing. “Ron, please talk to me,” she pleaded, taking his hand into hers. “What’s going on? Is someone hurt? Is your family okay?”

Hermione’s worried expression and the panic in her voice finally brought Ron to his senses. “No, don’t worry, Hermione,” he sighed as he closed her office door. “I’m sorry! But...do you have time for a quick cup of tea in the cafeteria?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. This report is giving me a headache and I need a break.”

Hermione grabbed her purse and gestured for Ron to lead the way.

“I swear, Ron, if you almost gave me a heart attack over something Quidditch related, I’ll hex you into next week and make your new Firebolt disappear forever,” Hermione added as they made their way down to the Ministry cafeteria.

Ron glanced over at the bushy-haired witch, suppressing a grin as he told her his distress was indeed about Quidditch. They grabbed their beverages and headed towards a free table. Gracing him with a dark look, Hermione gestured for Ron to finally tell her what’s going on.

“Harry Potter asked me out on a date!”

This statement caused Hermione’s drink to go down the wrong way, resulting in a violent coughing fit and her spitting out the tea.

“What?” she wheezed out between coughs, as Ron cleaned his face and shirt with his wand.

He waited patiently until Hermione recovered, both from the coughing fit and the shock. “See, even you don’t believe me,” Ron sighed, harshly rubbing his hands over his face, “I don’t blame you, though. I can’t believe it myself, after all.”

Finally being able to speak again, Hermione put her elbows on the small table and leaned forward, determined to not miss a single thing about this story. “Spill! How? When? Where? And don’t you dare to leave out even the smallest detail.”

Ron shook his head, still in disbelief about what had happened to him just twenty minutes ago. Not being able to wrap his head around it, he decided to tell Hermione today’s events from beginning to end.

“Today, Robertson sent me a memo to come to his office to discuss the ridiculous complaints about the Tornados/Harpies game last week,” Ron started and couldn’t help rolling his eyes about the things he had to put up with at work sometimes. “So, I went there, gave him my report about the match and a brief overview. Thank Merlin, he only asked his usual useless questions about referee bribery claims. I was ready to launch into a whole speech but he suddenly dismissed me and told me to write up a statement for the press.

“I was just on my way back to my office when I met Seamus. The fucking wanker had the nerve to claim the next Cannons match for himself. I know he did that just to spite me so, naturally, I gave him an ear full about it as we waited for the lift. We only noticed Harry Potter standing right behind us when we got inside the lift. I probably sounded like an idiot but Seamus and I kept the conversation up because I always get second-hand embarrassment when people stop talking if Potter walks by or joins the lift.”

Hermione patiently listened to his ramblings, restraining herself from telling him to get to the point already.

Ron sipped on his tea and shook his head. “You know what? I read too much into this. Just realised that I’m acting exactly as everyone else does. What’s the big deal? Just a bloke who wants to have a pint after work.”

Hermione stared at Ron, expecting him to go on with his story, but he just kept sipping his tea.

“Ron!”

“What?”

“How did he ask you out?” She accidentally raised her voice but Hermione was finally losing her patience with him.

“I told you, he most likely-”

“Just tell me the damn story, already!” Hermione snapped, blushing a little when she noticed the people on the other tables giving her funny looks.

“Alright,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Calm down, barmy woman.”

“You're the one marching into my office like a lunatic. Spill it! Now!”

With a heavy sigh, Ron continued with his story, curling his hands around the tea mug to keep from fidgeting.

“Seamus had already gotten off at another level, so it was just me and Potter in there. I tried to avoid the awkward silence, so I asked him if he followed Quidditch and was going to listen to or even watch the Tornados match tonight. He said that he does follow Quidditch and that he intended to listen to the match at home but if I'd be up to it, we could listen to it at this new pub that just opened in Diagon. He totally caught me by surprise, but I must've agreed because he told me he'll meet me at the fireplaces at 5. Then he left the lift. Then I freaked out and came to your office.”

Ron marked the end of his story by taking another sip of his tea before he defiantly crossed his arms in front of him.

“Jesus, Harry Potter actually asked you out! Oh my God!” Hermione almost squealed, grasping one of Ron's arms.

“Nah! I don't think so anymore. I bet he just wanted to have a pint and was only being polite when he asked me to come along,” Ron said. “Who'd ask someone out like that anyway?”

“Someone looking for a partner?”

“Yeah, but think about it, Hermione. Why would he ask me out? The guy is not only fucking famous, he's also devilishly handsome. He could have anyone he wanted.”

“So?”

Ron looked at Hermione as though she'd just declared the desire to live as a chicken.

“So? So, why would someone ask me out while on a random stroll through the Ministry? Who'd think ‘Oh, that freakishly tall ginger with more freckles than skin looks kinda awkwardly cute. Let's try to get a leg over?'"

“I dated you,” Hermione interjected.

“You don't count.”

“Well, thank you!” Her sarcasm was all but ignored by Ron.

“I just know I'll embarrass myself tonight,” Ron insisted, looking quite unhappy. “Let's go back to work. I still have to write that useless report.”

“Devilishly handsome, hm?”

“Shut up!”

**** **** **** ****

Harry didn't know what had possessed him to ask the cute ginger out for a pint.

Maybe it had been the Prophet article speculating for the umpteenth time about when the Savior of the Wizarding World would finally settle down and make some black-haired, green-eyed babies. Rita Skeeter had many ideas about what worthy witch could conquer the heart of Harry Potter. All things considered, the article had probably not been the worst thing written about him so far.

Sometimes he wondered if he should've taken Sirius’ advice to feed the press and public meaningless details of his life. It wouldn't stop the constant speculations and made-up affairs, but it probably would reduce the paparazzi following him around, the crazy fans sending him love letters and maybe, they would find something more newsworthy than where Harry Potter bought his toilet paper.

But he hated the fact that people demanded this from him. He was 29 now, and while the great hype about him was over, he still seemed to be interesting enough to write about, even over a decade after his defeat of Voldemort.

He knew the majority of the Wizarding World was sincerely grateful for what he'd done. There were so many parents thanking him for the simple fact that they're still alive and able to see their children grow up.

It reminded him that it was all worth it. The sacrifices, the nearly friendless childhood, his secret life away from the public, the growing up with the knowledge that he might not live long enough to celebrate his 17th birthday. All of that had resulted in ending Voldemort once and for all.

When he'd destroyed the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes though, Harry’s hope of finally living a normal life got crushed soon after. In the post-war world, it had been next to impossible to lead a life like everyone else. Because of his childhood and his training by Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody himself, he learned not to trust easily. And since occasions to make friends or interact with strangers had been few and far between, he never really learned what to look for in a friend.

He was well aware that he was complaining about a comfortable life. His parents had left him a respectable amount of gold, and Sirius bought him a flat in London after he graduated from Auror Academy. Maybe he'd gotten this job because of his fame and reputation, but he knew he deserved the position as Head Auror. There was hardly anyone with the same amount of training and experience he brought to the table, and he was under the impression the people working for him did genuinely like him as a boss. Two of them he even considered friends after all these years.

Aside from the two friends at work he also had his family. He had Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, Tonks and his godson, Teddy. He wasn't alone by any means, but he'd never met someone he could possibly fall in love with. Hell, aside from one of Tonks’ old friends from school and her father's attempts to set him up with several of his countless nieces—and later nephews when Harry told his family girls didn't do it for him—he'd never even dated. Toby—a fellow student from elementary school and the only friend his age—dragged him to Muggle pubs and clubs, resulting in the occasional snog or even a shag with a stranger. Needless to say, his first time hadn't exactly been romance novel material and it sure wasn't something he liked to think about. Sometimes, Harry feared that he would never fall in love, that he wasn't capable of developing those feelings for another person.

Those unpleasant thoughts combined with the Rita Skeeter article may have been the result of his sudden impulse to just go for it and ask the redhead out. But it also could have been the brilliant blue eyes, the kind, shy smile and the lean shoulders. Harry was sure, though, that the main reason for it had been the fact that this man hadn't treated him like a Messiah. It had just been an easy conversation, even if it had been only two minutes.

Harry hoped it would remain that way when they watched the game later. In fact, he could just brush it off as a friendly meeting with a fellow Ministry worker if Cute Ginger wasn't interested in anything more.

But when he thought about the redhead’s lopsided grin, Harry felt a foreign flutter in his stomach and he couldn't help but hope for more, even if it was just another visit to the pub.

**** **** **** ****

In the 30 years of Ron Weasley’s existence, he'd never been on time for something not work-related. Today, though, he was almost ten minutes early as he waited by the fireplaces for Harry Potter.

Again, he felt rather pathetic. For a hot second, he considered waiting in a nearby bathroom to pass the time, pretending to get to their meeting place just in time. But then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a petty teenager anymore, and even if Potter found it pathetic, Ron didn’t expect a repeat of tonight, anyway.

He decided to just treat this like a meet-up with Dean and Seamus every other Thursday after work. Just two guys, enjoying a couple of pints together, talking about Quidditch. Nothing special. Nothing to freak out over.

The atrium was busy as ever but he spotted Potter right away when the Head-Auror stepped out of the lift and made his way towards the fireplaces. He still wore his magenta work robes and Ron couldn't help but notice how sexy they looked on him.

“Hi!” Potter greeted Ron, smiling somewhat shyly. “Ready for some beer and Quidditch?”

“Sure! But I forgot to introduce myself earlier, so I figured I'd do that now,” Ron said, giving the dark haired man a smile in return, as he offered his hand for a proper introduction. “I'm Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“I'm Harry.”

**** **** **** ****

“No way! How did he get out of there?”

Harry barked out a laugh at Ron's tale of a night out with Seamus and Dean. His outburst was loud enough for the other guests of the pub to look in their direction. Ron found it amusing how a simple change into Muggle clothes, different glasses, and a slightly lighter hair colour resulted in no one recognizing the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Since it was a Muggle police station, Seamus had to spend the night there. Statute of Secrecy, and all. We picked him up the next morning and filled him in on what he'd done the night before, including showing everyone his pale arse.” Ron grinned deviously at the memory. “I invented some things for good measure. Unfortunately, Dean is too good for this world and told him a few hours later that I was taking the mickey.”

Harry shook his head, chuckling. “That reminds me of Remus searching the whole of London for Sirius, only to find him several hours later in a hidden spot on the roof. He was gazing at the stars and totally stoned. Combined with Firewhiskey, he didn't remember a single thing from that night.”

“Sirius?” Ron looked quite interested at the mention of his Godfather’s name. “Sirius, as in Sirius Black?”

“Yes. He was my Dad’s best friend. And he's my Godfather.”

“I'm just asking because I'm related to the Blacks. My grandfather married Cedrella Black.”

“Yes, I recognize the name. Her face got blasted off the family tree,” Harry said, and at Ron's raised eyebrow quickly added, “Sirius’ mother blasted everyone off that tree who didn't uphold the Black family's motto ‘Toujours pur’. So, Cedrella must have gone against the high and mighty Black Pureblood tradition.”

“Well,” Ron said, taking a swig of his beer, “she married a Weasley. I'm sure that alone was reason enough to disown her. The Weasleys have been notorious blood traitors since forever.”

“Sounds like your grandmother had good taste in men if you ask me.”

Harry winked at Ron, and the redhead felt the burning blush creeping up his neck.

Ron was once again amazed at how little time it had taken him to lose his nervousness. But Harry Potter made it very easy for him. Harry was confident, yet humble and polite. His humor didn't have Ron's sarcastic edge, but the redhead found Harry delightfully witty with a good amount of sass.

Ron didn't know what he expected but it was undeniable how easy it was to talk to Harry. He could only hope the raven-haired man enjoyed this just as much as he did. Harry laughed at his jokes and seemed genuinely interested in Ron's more-than-mundane life.

As much as Ron tried to see this as a meeting with a good friend, he couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest every time Harry smiled at him or his leg accidentally bumped against Ron's. And if the alcohol hadn't gone to his head already, making him imagine things, Harry's eyes kept flitting down to Ron's lips.

When the woman behind the bar announced the final round, they decided to call it a night since it was one of Harry's work Saturdays tomorrow.

As they ventured out of the crowded pub and into the cool night air, Ron was disappointed about the evening coming to an end. Time had flown and he was sure they could've talked for several more hours.

“Would you mind if I walk you home?” Harry asked just as Ron wanted to wish him a good night.

Ron nodded, not being able to suppress his smile as Harry obviously remembered him mentioning that he only lived a few blocks away.

They kept their pace slow and walked a little closer to each other than necessary, their hands bumping against one another. Every touch sent a jolt through Ron's body and he wanted nothing more than to take Harry's hand.

Eventually, they reached their destination. During the entire walk home Ron had gathered all of his Gryffindor courage to ask Harry out, this time for an official date.

“I- um,” Ron started, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck to ease his nerves. “I really enjoyed this evening and I was wondering...Maybe I got this all wrong, but you seem interested, and well, I'm interested too. And if you're not, that's totally fine. But...caniseeyouagain?”

And before Ron's face had the time to go completely crimson, he got his answer as Harry took his hand to pull him close, leaned up and kissed him.

Harry pulled back from Ron's lips, his stunning, green eyes slightly darker than usual and holding a hopeful glint.

Ron didn't give himself the chance to overthink as he put his hand on the back of Harry's neck and kissed him again. A deep groan escaped him when Harry licked at Ron's bottom lip and Harry took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside.

Ron was positive that he'd never experienced something more incredible than kissing Harry Potter. The only things he was capable of paying attention to were Harry and the wild thumping of his heart. And while it was exhilarating and new and positively made him weak in the knees, it also felt a lot like coming home.

Having lost all sense of time, Ron couldn't tell if they'd kissed for a minute or several hours when they broke apart. Harry's hands still gripped his shirt and Ron let his own hands glide from Harry's dark hair down over strong, well-defined shoulders to finally rest at his hips.

Both of them tried to catch their breath and Harry, who finally let go of Ron's shirt to put his arms around him, smiled up at Ron almost shyly.

“Yes, you can see me again,” Harry said, grinning.”What are your plans for tomorrow night?”

“Well,” Ron pretended to think about it for a second, “I thought I'd do this.”

And with that, he leaned in to kiss Harry again.

“I think that's a brilliant idea.”

**** **** **** ****

Just as he turned off the radio and grabbed his coat from the rag beside the door, a loud knock sounded through Harry's now quiet flat.

“Ten minutes early. Eager, aren't we?” Harry said as he opened the door for a tall ginger with a picnic basket in one hand and a broom in the other.

“Says the one waiting right beside the door like a good dog.”

Ron shoved his way inside, putting down the basket and broom before pulling Harry into his arms.

“Happy Birthday,” Ron murmured against the other man's lips. “And I thought I was supposed to give you a present, not the other way around?”

Harry pulled back a little, apparently confused. Ron grinned at him and squeezed Harry's arse. “Thanks for wearing my favourite pants today.”

Chuckling, Harry pointed at the broom Ron had brought with him. “No way I'll fly on a broom in these. Good thing I also packed my joggers.”

Ron hadn't told him where they were going for Harry's Birthday. He'd just instructed Harry to be ready at 9 in the morning, so they'd be back in time for dinner at Grimmauld Place with Harry's family.

Only two months had passed since their first kiss, but Harry already felt as though he'd known Ron for much longer. Every kiss, every touch, all the teasing and banter, and late night talks felt so completely natural, yet blissfully exciting.

“Come on, grab your broom. We're on a tight schedule.”

Ron winked at him and before Harry knew it, they were standing in the middle of a giant Quidditch pitch.

There wasn't a single soul besides them, but Harry immediately recognized the giant Hogwarts House banners from his family's keepsakes of their school years. Aside from that fateful day when he'd fought Voldemort on those grounds, he'd never visited the school. Not before, not after.

Harry tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. The surprise must be the result of one of their late night talks, when Harry confessed that his deepest desire while growing up had been to go to Hogwarts.

“Are we allowed to be here or do I need to arrest you for breaking into school grounds?”

Arms wrapped around him from behind and Harry could feel Ron smiling against the back of his head. “I wouldn't be opposed to playing the big bad Auror and the naughty Suspect later, but this is actually 100% legal. Having contacts with important Quidditch officials has its perks sometimes. And my annual chess game against McGonagall helped too, I suppose.”

“Okay then,” Harry said, lifting one of Ron's hands to his mouth to brush his lips against his knuckles. “Fill me in on that plan of yours.”

Ron let go of him and reached for their brooms, tossing one of them at Harry. “I thought we'd fly over the grounds first, so I can show you everything from above. The castle looks fucking amazing from up there and the Great Lake is a sight to die for when the water reflects the sun.”

Ron mounted his broom and flew in slow circles around Harry as he continued to talk. “I hope you don't mind that I invited your family for dinner. But I thought we could all show you the castle, introduce you to our favourite spots and secret places. Andromeda can show us the Slytherin common room. I've never been there myself. I'll show you the kitchen first. That's where I'll cook dinner later while the others show you around.”

Jumping down from his broom, Ron looked at Harry with a mixture of excitement and reluctance as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was a telltale sign of the redhead being nervous, Harry had learned in the last weeks.

“So, I thought this to be fitting for a 30th Birthday. I wasn't sure what to get you that you don't already have, and I reckoned this might be fun.”

Harry didn't know what to say and his silence only made Ron doubt his plan more. It always baffled Harry how Ron didn't realize how wonderful he was. He wished Ron could see himself through Harry's eyes.

Right at that moment, as Harry looked into Ron's blue eyes, it hit him. In fact, he knew he'd been harbouring these feelings inside him for weeks now, but only now he could see it with shining clarity.

He was falling in love.

The feeling was new, something he'd never experienced, but still he recognized it for what it was.

Love.

***

#hpqueerfest #mine #my stories #my fanfics #rarry #rarry fanfic #rarry fanfiction #hp #hp fanfic #harron #ronarry #harry potter #ron weasley #harry x ron #ron x harry #ron and harry #harry and ron #ron/harry #harry/ron

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occult-castiel · 3 years

Text

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

#destiel secret santa #sorry this is being posted so late in the day!!!#my internets broken at the moment so it was very difficult to get it up #and i also couldnt run it through any spelling/grammer checkers #hopefully theres nothing atrociously wrong with it #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic

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sohotthateveryonedied · 3 years

Text

Gender? In THIS Economy?

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Duke is questioning stuff and goes to Tim for advice. (feat. trans!Tim and nonbinary!Duke)

“Here you go. One Batburger with extra pickles, extra onions, and extra extra mayonnaise.” Duke drops the paper takeout bag unceremoniously into Tim’s lap. “Your taste buds need a tune-up, bro.”

Tim unwraps his burger and takes a bite. Batburger may be questionable when it comes to copyright laws, but damn if they don’t pile on the condiments better than any fast food restaurant in Gotham. “Sounds to me like you simply haven’t reached the sky-scraping level of enlightenment that I have, grasshopper.”

“Enlightenment would have been going to Red Robin and using your uniform to get a discount,” Duke says. He sits beside Tim on the rooftop’s edge, their legs dangling side by side a hundred feet above Gotham’s plunging gray streets. He digs into his own burger and makes a face. “Enlightenment would also be getting the Robin Nuggets next time. This tastes like dried leather.”

“I like it,” Tim says with a shrug. “It has personality.”

“So does raw sewage, but you don’t see me eating that.”

Tim concedes the point. His communicator buzzes in his belt. He checks the screen and discovers an alert from Cass composed entirely of clown emojis and red harlequin diamonds.

Duke notices. “Should we get that?”

Tim pockets the communicator. “Nah, Spoiler’s got it. We have time to relax.” And he’s not about to pass up quality time with the one little brother who doesn’t hate him. It’s hard enough as it is for Tim and Duke to find the time, what with them being on opposite sleeping schedules and work snatching their attention away with grabby, toddler-sized hands.

“Don’t get a lot of that during the day shift,” Duke says. “Every time an alarm goes off, it’s my business.”

Tim knocks him in the side with his elbow. “That’s what you get for turning to the light side instead of kicking it in the shadows with us. More employees to go around.” He sips his soda for a moment. “Why did you come out tonight, anyway? I thought you stayed in on weeknights.”

“Right. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” Duke says it carefully, like he’s testing the waters. “I need advice.”

Tim has to admit that his chest puffs out a little at that. It’s not often people come to him for advice when Dick and Barbara are right there, all full of adult wisdom that Tim is too pitifully shrimpy to possess. “What’s up?”

“It’s kind of...personal.”

“Yes, Bruce does have special powder for suit-chafing. It’s in the cabinet under the first-aid supplies.”

“It’s not that,” Duke says, though he snorts in half-hearted laughter. He looks down at his hands like he’s dreading the words lodged in his throat. “What was it like, realizing you were a dude?”

One of Tim’s eyebrows shoots up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s an invasive question.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You just caught me off guard, is all.” It’s not like this is the first time someone has asked. Tim used to be uncomfortable talking about it, but he’s grown up since then. Talking about his trans journey is as normal as talking about what he did yesterday. He eats a fry. “What do you want to know?”

Duke searches Tim’s face for a sign that he’s lying, that he should back off. When he doesn’t find one, he asks, “How old were you when you figured it out?”

Tim thinks back. “Nine, I think? But even before that, it’s not like I ever really felt like a girl. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what. When I first heard about what being transgender meant, everything I’d been feeling until then clicked into place.”

“What was it like?” Duke asks, “growing up the way you did? Presenting as a girl when you knew you weren’t?”

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. It was life at the time. I dealt with it.”

“Was it hard? Pretending to be something you weren’t?”

Tim doesn’t know what answer Duke is looking for, or why he’s so interested, but he won’t ask. “My parents always had this idea of me being the perfect daughter, all obedient and graceful and crap. I’m pretty sure their hope was to eventually marry me off to the highest bidder so they could reap the business benefits.”

“That sounds awful.”

Tim shrugs again. “I didn’t start feeling any different than I should have until around six or seven. I was always a tomboy. I liked doing boy stuff and playing sports, but my parents thought it was a phase I would grow out of. They’d make me wear dresses and go to fancy parties with them, all the while I just wanted to claw my skin off and go home.”

He remembers the nights he would lie awake in bed, imagining what it must be like to have been born someone else. Anyone else. To grow up as a little boy who was allowed to run around, to get dirty, to be himself instead of following some arbitrary guidelines someone else drew up the day he was born. He imagined what it would feel like to answer to a different name than the one he’d been given, which grated on his ears the longer time went on, like an itchy sweater he couldn’t shed. It was hell.

He gives Duke a sly grin. “But the upside of having absent parents is that there aren’t as many people watching you. No one cared if I went to school in the boy’s uniform instead of the girl’s. No one was there to stop me from cutting my hair short the way I wanted it.”

Duke's eyes widen. “You cut your own hair?”

“It went exactly the way you’re thinking. I had to go to the barber the next day and have them fix it because it was so uneven. But by the end of the day, it was the way I always imagined it. I was finally starting to look like the person I wanted to be.”

Duke stares intently at the remains of his burger as if the universe’s answers to an unspoken question were written in sesame seeds. “Did it get better after that? Did you feel...at peace?”

“‘Course not. The world wasn’t magically fixed just because I took a step in the right direction. My problems didn’t go away.” When he says that, Duke looks almost...disappointed? “But,” Tim adds, “it was better than it was before. I still had to act for my parents and the rest of the world, but I didn’t have to hide from myself anymore.”

“How did your parents react when they found out?”

Tim grimaces. “They...didn’t take it well.” He can still hear his father’s voice in his memories, bringing up therapy and camps and whatever places he could think of that would “fix” his little girl.

“But, after a while,” Tim continues, “it was clear that I wasn’t going to change my mind anytime soon. I guess they figured it would be easier to go along with it than fight me every step of the way. They still didn’t like it, but they tolerated it.”

Duke is quiet.

“Why do you ask?” Tim prods.

Duke’s expression doesn’t give anything away. It’s nights like this when Tim can see how perfectly Duke fits into this mental institution they call a family. For all that Duke thrives in the light, he keeps his cards just as close to his chest as the rest of them. He gives Tim a half-smile. “Just wondering.”

“Okay.”

They fall into weighted silence, the scales tipping on either side of their post, but never settling. Tim waits. He finishes his burger and busies himself with reorganizing the pouches in his belt, giving Duke the privacy to think.

“I don’t know,” Duke starts after several minutes, “if I’m a boy.” He looks at Tim. “I think I might be something else.”

“Okay,” Tim says calmly. “What do you feel like?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always felt different, y’know? When I was a kid, it was because I was smarter than everyone in my class. And it was fine, because I knew what it was and how it worked and why it was a good thing, being the smart one. It made sense. Time went on, the other kids started catching up, but that mismatched feeling never went away. I never felt right in my skin.”

Duke’s face rises to the dark clouds, the Batsignal shining from the top of the police station like a holy beacon. “Then I met Batman. My powers started to come in and everything clicked into place, all at once. That was why I never felt like I fit in with everyone else, because I was different. I had powers. That must have been it.”

“But it wasn’t,” Tim guesses.

Duke shakes his head. “I thought it would be. I mean, what else could it have been, you know? It should have explained why I never felt at home in my identity. But time goes on, I learn how to use my powers, and it fixes some of it, but not everything. There’s still part of me that looks in the mirror and sees something off. Some detail out of place.”

“Do you feel like a girl?” Tim ventures to ask.

Duke folds over the corner of his straw wrapper again and again in tiny triangles. “Nah, I doubt it. I like some feminine things, but I don’t think I’m a girl. Or a guy. I think...I might be nonbinary?”

Tim does his best to channel Bruce’s “supportive dad” energy and smiles. “Okay. What pronouns do you want to use?”

“They/them, maybe? For a while?”

“Duly noted.” He puts a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “I really do appreciate you telling me.”

Duke rubs the back of their neck, their cheeks flushing. “It feels good to say out loud. Not just in my head.”

“Do you think you’re going to tell anyone else? You don’t have to if you’re not ready, but our whole family will support you.”

“Yeah.” Duke picks at their nails, nodding absently. “I know they will. I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Duke takes a deep breath in, and Tim is reminded of a balloon close to bursting. “My parents aren’t dead. I’m going to get them back. And when I do...what are they going to think when they wake up after half a decade and find out that their son isn’t their son anymore? What if they don’t like the person they see?”

Tim can’t say that he hadn’t swum with the same thoughts years ago, back when the person who is Tim Drake was still on the drawing board. But there’s a difference between his situation and Duke’s. “Your parents love you, Duke. They’re not going to stop loving you just because you’ve grown up since they last saw you.”

“What if it’s too much? The superpowers and the crime-fighting and the new gender...it’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, sure,” Tim says. “It might take some time for them to get used to it, but this is who you are. They’re going to love it just as much as they love the rest of you.”

Duke smiles, and if their eyes are a little misty, Tim pretends not to notice.

“Besides,” he says. “If I were you, I’d just lead with the superpowers thing. Anything after that sounds perfectly acceptable.”

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beautifulletdownfics · 4 years

Text

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

Chat to me here

#OOOO SHIT what have i done #well #1dff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles X reader #harry styles stories #harry styles imagines #harry fic

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : point of view

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : tomorrow is something that is never promised, less so when the dead walk the Earth. being trapped for the night when a storm pours down upon you and daryl while trapped in a decrepit house by a few walkers are you sick and tired of hiding what you feel.

— warnings : some swearing, talk of potential death ( of the reader ) , a wee bit of angst that turned into more at the end :)

note: omg another daryl oneshot i gotta chill ajksajksk, but i had like seven main bullet points i made to follow when writing this and i followed like...... two, three at the most, anyways.... enjoy? this is brought to u by ariana’s discography lmao oops it does be cute at some point tho ... also felt a bit hsm with that one line at the end ahaha but fr lemme stop talking now

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Dark and gloomy clouds swirl over your head, blending into an extremely large and angry looking ready to descend from above. You wonder to yourself just how long you have left before the loud cracks that crumble through the air to accompany the forceful winds and pouring drops of rain are finally released. Halfway through the trip back from the town that lays after miles from the prison the car used decided it preferred to lay quietly in the middle of the road, shortly after the sickly sputters from the engine you heard Daryl mutter a few curse words. You were unable to hold in your amusement, despite the fact that a lack of transport obviously leaves you in a vulnerable position, it felt like it was your luck for that to happen to you.

It’s why you stay behind following the hunter in silence.

Studying him with focused eyes you can’t help but wonder how he never realises when you’re unable to tear your gaze away from him. In the beginning when you began to develop a certain affection for him you had been glad, for it to be too embarrassing for the thoughts you had about him in your head. In spite of this, when you realised that it was much more than a crush did you wish for him to mind read, because you have no idea just how to approach him about such a sensitive topic and while he can be tender about feelings, it’s also his downfall.

“ it’ll be gettin’ dark soon, there should be some houses down there to spend the night in. “

You stop in your tracks with a curious look that bled so suddenly into your features you had no time to stop it.

“ you don’t want to carry on? I mean, we’re not far from home? “ you question him with a hint of fear coddling your words.

“ we’d be trippin’ over our feet. Let’s back it back in one piece, yeh? “

Nodding, you regain your pace. It’s been a few months since you’d been hopping from one house to the other during that harsh winter, the bare thought of having to stay in yet another frail structure sent a chilly hand drawing its claws deeply up your spine. If you never had your group, you don’t think you would have made a winter like that, barely protected from the elements and the walkers that wished to plunge their teeth cavernously into your flesh.

“ as long as we leave as soon as the sun comes up. Please. “ you plead, your words filter off into a gentle volume from your position.

Leaves crumble and buckle underneath the weight, the sound of crickets dominate your surroundings as the two of you walk in silence. You itch to start a conversation, but the fear of distracting the man and annoying withhold the words that wish to fall from your lips, even then you don’t know how to begin. What would you say? There’s not much to talk about in a world where the dead have risen, where they wish to drag the world into decomposition.

Your wandering mind is pulled from its very own depths from a noise coming from Daryl, he’d turned to catch your attention. You both set to work attempting to enter any of the abandoned houses, hoping one had been left unlocked at some point.

Of course, luck is scarce. Despite there not being a soul who occupies them, they’re still somehow locked. Mournfully, you wonder if the owners of these homes had thought the governments and armies would eventually lock everything under their control, to the point that there would be a house for them to come back to? Your heart thuds painfully in your chest to think about what happened to them, and if they’re even still surviving.

A large thud draws you back to the present, the wooden door splinters at the force Daryl puts into a large kick to its frame.

“ well, there goes the lock. “ you mutter humourously, lifting the heavy bag higher up onto your shoulders as you walk in the open door.

“ we’ll put the couch there, stop any unfriendly types that come our way. “

“ I don’t know if there’s anyone left anymore. “ you reply, dropping the bag to the floor and moving towards the couch.

Situated on the other side of it, you grip the plush handle and lift with a struggle. It’s a strain to get it through the doorway to turn it around the corner, but eventually it happens. Daryl is joined by your presence by his side, you both push ⏤ this time it’s an easier feat with two of you on one side to dedicate your strength and weight to advance it.

As soon as you finish, a heavy crackle cuts through the air.

“ we got here just in time, huh? “

“ just about. “ he answers you, sparing a glance before moving through the lower floor ⏤ searching for anything that can be taken back to the prison.

Thunderstorms had never been your favourite thing growing up. Of course, rain was something that calmed you from the anxieties life brought, but the thunder and lightning is what you loathed. Never knowing when you were about to receive a fright from the loud rumbles and flashing lights ruined the whole experience for you.

The rustling Daryl makes is the only thing that brings you comfort in this moment, keeping you grounded and away from your thoughts. It doesn’t escape your notice that these houses feel no more than graveyards with the memories that have no use to live, instead haunting the structures with what could have been had chaos and death not taken over. You climb the stairs, hugging your sides as you refuse to touch the handrail leading up stairs.

There is a middle room with access granted without having to push open the door to gain entry. Your eyes scan the room’s interior, even with the dust and grime that bespeckle its surfaces, you can still see its beauty. Now, who does that remind you of? Your mind cheekly thinks before you banish it into the shadows of your brain, where you know it will force itself out with an immense stubbornness.

Despite the thunder booming in the distance frequently, you can’t help but admire the beauty of rain drops falling to the ground with a dainty grace only it holds. The sky continues to grow dimmer, only seeing the rain on your level and lower, no street lights flood the street to aid you in being able to see torrent from above. Jumping at another roar of sound from the storm, your heart begins to pick up its pace, so much you don’t realise Daryl joining you in the room.

“ scared? “

Turning around with such speed that leaves you surprised whiplash did not greet you, Daryl is left smirking at your reaction.

“ yeah, I hate these things. “ you respond, a bitterness coating each word heavily as you speak.

“ more than walkers? “ he questions you, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“ well, I suppose not that much .. “ another clap of thunder interrupts you, the rain beating harder and harder on the windows of the bedroom. “ can we talk about anything? This shit really grates on my nerves. “

“ what y’wanna talk about? “

Your mind stalls, with the previous thoughts that had been swirling in a state of disorder your draw a blank. A continuous thump downstairs interrupts your shrug, speeding down the stairs you realise a few walkers are trying to enter the property, of course their lack of intelligence fails to realise they’re throwing themselves into the walls and not the blocked doors.

“ shall we take them out? “ moving closer to the lengthy curtained window next to the door to get a better look, you can see three walkers hauling themselves mindlessly against the structure.

“ nah, the storm’ll get ‘em soon enough. “ he shakes his head softly, your mind taking note of the lack of proximity between your bodies as he repeats your action. “ no need to risk ourselves. “

“ wouldn’t be the first time you’ve risked your life. “

“ s’nothin. “ he contradicts gruffly, wiping a finger across his nose at your words. He truly doesn’t view it as that, refusing to think of it as risking his life. To Daryl, it doesn’t feel like risking everything to help the people around him, it’s not something he can find the words to explain but all he knows if there’s a chance, he would do it again and again.

“ Daryl Dixon, so humble. “ you speak warmly with a gentle smile threading itself into your features. “ you need to give yourself more credit. “

“ stop. “

“ you’re as brave as anyone in the group. I’d say braver than Rick. “ you joke, setting yourself from the entryway to the sitting room. “ although, if I had to choose you and Carol .. I’m sorry, but Carol every time! “

“ damn woman frightens me. “

Laughter light in weight dances airily between you with an elegance in its movement. For even a fraction of a second you forget that there are walkers that are itching to break through into the property, that there’s an angry storm that threatens to demolish whatever stands in its path, because right now it’s only you both here and now in this one room.

“ she’s come a long way. “ you agree, pulling a lone chocolate bar from your bag. Your favourite and you’re thanking the universe that it hasn’t spoiled yet. Turns out all these preservatives and chemicals have some use after all you note to yourself as half is offered to the man standing across from you.

“ so have ‘yuh. “ he acknowledges, taking the broken half of the candy from you.

“ I think we all have to be honest. I don’t think any one of us are the people we used to be. “

“ now who’s humble? “ Daryl asks, his tone light in relaxed merriment. He’d long since taken note of the transformation you’d gone through, he’s never seen you so strong as a person before.

“ don’t you turn this round on me, Dixon. “

The two of you fall silent, you direct your gaze to the window and the raindrops that litter the window pane’s surface. The harsh noises thundered no more, leaving a calm pitter of precipitation to fall with no interruption. From your position on the second couch, you wrap around a thin decorational blanket around your arms, leaning your cheek against the palm of your hand.

Pretending the world hasn’t gone to hell, that it’s just a normal evening where you’re admiring the scene before you. Skies that weep heavily is what the Georgian greenery has been calling out for, especially since the warmer temperatures have returned in full force. Switching your line of sight to Daryl, you feel a mellowness in the pit of your stomach as you watch him fondly. You can’t be sure if it’s the lack of distractions or eyes from your group, but you feel a miniscule spark of confidence within your confines.

“ come sit down, you can relax for a bit. “ you call, trying to convince him lightly. Your hand moves to pat the seat next to you.

“ can’t relax in this world. “ despite the disagreement in his words he does move towards your position on the plush seat.

“ it doesn’t mean we can’t make it. Otherwise we’d be burnt out, I’d hate to see that happen to you. “ You divulge as you reply to him, little inklings of hope in your tone.

“ y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. “

“ but I do, Daryl. “ you groan as a dull glumness contorts your features into something new. “ I mean, the lengths you go to .. you scare me to death. “

“ don’t be dumb. “ Daryl warns lowly as he shakes his head, few have shared their vulnerability with him. Perhaps only Carol, his mind can’t wrap itself around the fact that people genuinely care for him. Growing up, he’d been taught of it as a weakness. Something that should not exist, no one cared when he went missing for a short while as a child, and now having people who show him the opposite? It leaves a strange feeling to settle within his heart.

“ please, I need to tell you. I mean, I might not even be here tomorrow. “

“ nah, don’t say that. Y’will. “ he argues, he doesn’t even want to entertain the notion of not seeing you even for a day ⏤ let alone forever.

Truthfully, you’d not been particularly close. He understands it now, he pushed everyone away wherever he had the chance to. But after the downfall of the farm? You wouldn’t let up in trying to forge bonds that could rival even the strongest of metals. You had no idea, but he’d overheard you talking to Beth one day. When you said you didn’t want to be afraid of living, to have something worth dying for. That struck him deep.

“ neither you or I can guarantee that. Now, call me selfish but I can’t die with what ifs in my brain. “ you explain, you know it’s probably selfish to announce any kind of fondness for a person nowadays, because you can be ripped from their existence without any kind of announcement. But if you were to depart from the realm of the living, you’d want to have affectionate memories to experience and for them to look back on.

“ what y’sayin? “

Your eyes well up in frustration, whether it’s over the way you find the words are hiding beneath your tongue like cowards under the cloak of night or over the fact that you have begun this topic of conversation, backing yourself into a corner. There’s so much you want to say but how you should is not coming easy. Eloquence in your words is something you find yourself yearning for with all of your being should it bring you a happy ending to this discussion.

This isn’t a fairytale, there’s no happy or bad endings in real life you sorely think. There’s just reality, and the conclusions for that are neither black or white.

Fingertips grip the roots of your hair for a fleeting moment before letting go as if you’d never clutched them in exasperation at all.

Shutting your eyes so hard they hurt, you muster up the courage to speak the truth you’ve locked away in your heart, allowing it the light it has been deprived of for so long.

“ Daryl, I ⏤ “ your voice shuts off with a painful sound, sighing as if to psych yourself up. “ I feel more for you than I probably should. “

When Daryl says nothing, you open your eyes. Your entire being preparing yourself for the worse answer, this moment may hurt now but the pain will lessen. At least your soul feels lighter with the hidden information no longer chained to it as a burden, no longer will it have to be weighed down by its mass.

“ I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I couldn’t keep it in any longer. “

“ who said I didn’t wanna hear? “

“ ⏤ what ? “ you question, your brows falling lower as you squint in disbelief. You wonder if your brain is forming a false memory to protect itself later on.

“ y’don’t nothin’ to do with me though. “ he hesitates, the automatic response to push away anything good that comes his way to the furthest reaches. “ nothin’ but trouble. “

A sorrowful smile full of grief clouds your features, your unshed tears threaten to fall. If only he could see himself from your point of view, he doesn’t see just how admirable of a human being he is. Yes, he has his flaws but who doesn’t? In all of humanity, you don’t think there has ever been a perfect person, but it’s how they approach their downsides that shows the peak of their humanity, that they don’t let the darkness fester in their heart, to poison their soul into becoming a shell of a kind hearted person. That shows the strength of their character.

Daryl? You feel honoured to have been a first hand witness to see him turn from a hot ball of anger to a softer, kinder soul.

“ Daryl, you really don’t see what I do.” you forsake everything, leaning forwards and laying your hands across his. Taking in the immense warmth from them. “ That? It hurts me, because you’re rather amazing. “

Saying nothing, Daryl looks down at your intertwined hands. He wants the chance that’s being offered, though the fear of being the one who poisons everything he lays his touch upon settles heavily on his shoulder. No one has come out unscarred when dealing with a member of the Dixon family, his family tree being nothing more than toxic, with weeds that wrap around the limbs of the poor fool who got involved with them, as they drag them to their lowly depths. He doesn’t know how to let go of the past and for this he continues to pay, with the high price being his happiness in the present world. No response leaves his lips, for the first time in a long time he doesn’t know what to say, while knowing what he wants to say. It’s not until he feels arms wrapped around the top of his shoulders is he brought back down to Earth, a shudder of a breath is released from him as he realises what is going on. The action is reciprocated in earnest, you’re full of gratitude that he’s accepting your comfort ⏤ knowing it could have been a gamble of a decision, a fifty fifty chance of him reacting negatively or positively. You, too, draw comfort from the position you both find yourself, clutching the other. Hope dawns on your heart, knowing Daryl is not a particularly affectionate man. This means a lot, for it’s a leap for you both.

“ thank you. “ he whispers in the night. You know that this is the start of something new.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl imagine #twd imagine #the walking dead imagine #twd oneshot #daryl oneshot

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