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domestic-harry · 6 years

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have you made an angst rec?? I saw your top 5 angst fic rec but do you have one with all of them?

My Bible of Angst Fics

Undone, Undress : Louis’ new roommate is shy, skittish, and flinches at the slightest sounds. He’s an art major who gets drunk on cherry wine, wears lacy lingerie, and shows up late at night covered in bruises that blossom across his skin like flowers.

Obviously something is wrong. Louis just doesn’t know what it is.

Never Gonna Dance Again : Louis is a spy and Harry is a dancer. The only real thing they know is each other.

Got the Sunshine on my Shoulders : Five years ago, Harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn’t have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.now, Harry has everything he could possibly want: he’s rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. But when said boyfriend proposes to him, he’s forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who’s spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

Adore You : Against his wishes, Harry spends the holidays at his family’s summer estate, and is reluctantly pulled into a courtship he didn’t ask for. Harry doesn’t want to get married, but Louis does. They don’t fit, but then again they really, really do. Vaguely set in the 1920’s. Headpieces, jazz, fashionable canes, and flapper dresses, and that.

Perfect Storm : What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.Harry and Louis choose the latter.

Young & Beautiful : Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn’t stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight : Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they’re both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

Where Your Heart Is : Louis is ready for his brand new adventure. So what if he suffers from a genetic condition that prevents him from being touched? College is going to be awesome. It has to. Karma kind of owes him right now. Forget about his overprotective mother, or Liam– his entirely too chipper step brother– or his mess of a roommate. Forget about the gloves he has to wear at all times. He’s here to expand his knowledge, write and drown himself in books – No matter how distracting ‘Hallway Boy’ may be– The obnoxious, flirty frat wannabe determined to become the bane of Louis’ existence.

Own The Scars : Louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friend, for the life he’s supposed to want. After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis’ parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. Because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

Unbelievers : It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Scintillating : The one where they fall in love, Harry wins the X-Factor, and everything goes to hell.

Burn to Ash: Harry is sitting there, so fucking casual, and Louis realizes in a split second he was not ready. When Harry walked out in Detroit and never looked back, he was a boy verging on a man, still only twenty years old, but there’s a man in his place now. Hard and resolute, yes, but still, for the first time in a long time, Louis can kind of see the old Harry in him. The soft, directness of his gaze, the hesitant smile he gives to Lou, the way he wrings his ridiculously large hands in his lap.He’s a little bit the eager sixteen year old puppy dog again, his innocence and sweetness resurrected miraculously, and Louis freezes in place. He was prepared to face the asshole Harry. He was prepared to meet a whole new Harry.Louis is not prepared to meet one of the old incarnations of Harry, and it absolutely tears him up.Or the fic where Harry spirals out of control, the band breaks up, and then he shows back up, five years later.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can’t Lose : American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football. A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

With a Whimper : Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

Butterfly Gun : Harry has never been much of a fighter, but—as always—where Louis Tomlinson is concerned, a lot of things stop being true.1940’s AU. Even after six years apart, they can’t forget their shared wartime childhood.

Take My Breath Away: There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.

Through Eerie Chaos : For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

Love Is A Rebellious Bird : AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who “has made Mozart cool again” according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Ever since New York : Before the One Direction hiatus, Louis and Harry had decided to break things off, and they were doing as promised. But they bump into each other in New York and things take a sharp turn. No one knows how many times they’re going to have to push each other away until they face the inevitable truth: they’re each other’s soulmates. akaThe one where Harry writes a song about Louis and he finds out.

Gods & Monsters : The instructions were simple: seduce and destroy Harry Styles. Not once did they discuss the option of Louis actually falling in love. So, naturally, that’s exactly what he did.

Baby Heaven’s In Your Eyes : Or a sixth form!AU where Harry is the fucked up bad boy with too many problems, Louis is the perfect rich boy with too much money and their schools are right across from each other. They meet at a party and that’s the last (and maybe the only) thing they need.

These Bountiful Silences : They live in a world where they can only say four words per day. harry meets some people that don’t want to live that way.

The King of Spades : Undercover Metropolitan Police officer DC Louis Tomlinson has worked his way up the ranks of a prominent London crime family without raising suspicion, but when he finds himself pitted against a rising crime boss with a police background and a favoured employee by the name of Harry Styles, everything starts to unravel. Finding himself in the middle of an escalating war between two bosses whose bad blood runs deep into a violent past, Louis has to be even more careful where he steps in case his big secret catches up to him – and if it does, he knows he won’t survive it.Not to mention he’s falling for someone he can’t have – whose earnestness and honesty is a bright spot in a dark world – he can’t sleep because his nightmares haunt him and he’s in way over his head, but it’s just a game, always just a game, and if Louis plays his cards right he might just make it out alive.

Wanted Most : Louis Tomlinson is a thief, and a damn good one at that. Most have heard of him. Most don’t understand him. And Harry Styles is the FBI agent who can never seem to catch him.

Never Be : The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.

Coax The Cold : England, 1897. English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Red Brick Heart : Uni AU. Harry had turned up at the halls of residence expecting fun, new friends, and maybe a life experience or two. What he doesn’t expect is a surprise roommate who’s loud and dramatic and obsessed with tea and is maybe, actually, all he’s ever wanted.

The End Should Be A Good One : It doesn’t feel like falling in love, the way it had felt the first time around, easy, simple, almost like floating, wrapped up in a whirlwind of touches and kisses, late nights spent laughing breathlessly into each other’s skin. This feels broken, complicated, like every move carries the weight of their past. Like the floorboards beneath them could collapse at any moment. This doesn’t feel good. Or, the one where Harry loses the love of his life on New Years Eve and finds him again, six months later, ready to open some poorly-stitched wounds.

Hiding Place : Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual. From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance. Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

Fading : Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.

You Are The Blood : A seventh-year Hogwarts AU in which Niall gets all the girls, Liam goes on a journey of self-discovery, Zayn falls in love, Harry wants something more, and Louis tries to figure out once and for all why he, a Muggleborn, was sorted into Slytherin.

Bigger Than Life : “Boybander Harry Styles spotted leaving West Hollywood joined hand in hand with new beau, Xander Ritz”His heart drops in his chest as he scrolls down, ignoring the short irrelevant article and looking desperately for a picture. Sure enough, there’s pap shots of Harry and Xander, walking hand in hand, looking drunk and cheerful and together.And that’s—that’s really not what Louis was expecting at all.

Strawberry Milk Series : Au where Harry paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk and is too nervous for it to be nothing and Louis’ just trying to figure out whats wrong with him

Who Painted The Moon Black: Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six’s victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven’s victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.

Empty Skies : For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

Time Bomb : Or the one where Louis has everything: a lead role in a giant Hollywood franchise, a glittering new house with an entertaining Irish neighbor, and a steady, normal boyfriend who he probably loves. Louis never expected to become a household name among young Hollywood overnight. He also never expected to find something endearing about the enigmatic rockstar who keeps showing up on his back porch.

Shake Me Down : Harry’s new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

Louis Lucas : Pornstar!AU. Louis is a pornstar with more issues than he can drink away. Harry is a bisexual singer/songwriter who is desperate to be signed to a major label. Zayn and Liam are Louis’s long-suffering best friends (who also happen to be pornstars, and also happen to be dating each other). Niall just wants to play his guitar.

Turning From Praise : Louis has had a strict Christian upbringing that he never realized he resented until he meets Harry Styles, a boy who lives to rebel and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. But the better he gets to know Harry, the more he begins to realize that maybe Harry does care. And maybe “the children who God forgot” are closer to God than the devout will ever be.

Into the Blue : AU. In which Louis is Harry’s scuba instructor and quite happy to provide the requested special treatment, pun fully intended. It can’t be all that difficult to convince Harry that they’re on the same page, right? Also, Niall and Liam may or may not be dating, and Zayn is surrounded by emotionally stunted idiots. He bears it with dignity.

Give Me Truths : Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy

Hush. : Au where small towns suck, Louis is losing it, and Harry’s just too perfect.

Wear It Like A Crown : AU. As part of a team of fixers hired to handle a gay scandal in Buckingham Palace, Louis expects Prince Harry to be a lot of things—most notably a royally spoilt brat. Never mind that the very same Prince Harry used to star in quite a number of Louis’ teenage fantasies.

You’ve got to see yourself from far and wide : Harry and Louis meet at a very early age under all the wrong circumstances, which leads them to absolutely loathe each other for years on end. Eventually they both make it as professional football players in (very) rival teams, but are suddenly bought by the same club and depend on one another to either make it or break it at the height of their careers.With a side of sports journalist (and bridge friend) Niall, teammate Liam and wannabe football rep Zayn. They say that there’s a fine line between love and hate. That line might as well be shaped as a football trophy.

Nameless Night : For their 18th birthday, every person receives a letter that reads a simple date. That is the date you’ll meet your soulmate. Harry and Louis have different beliefs, live in different worlds and have different dreams, hopes and fears. Yet, they’re not so different from each other when it comes to love. When their paths cross, there is no doubt they belong together. Except for that one, essential difference: they didn’t receive the same date.

Chasing Empty Spaces : The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

Back To You And Tennessee : Louis Tomlinson rises to rock and roll fame at age twenty three and is thrown into a life of luxury and excess, but being on stage isn’t easy for a boy who has always stuck to the side-lines, and Louis struggles to deal with his new fame as he joins the Grand Ole Opry and is sent out on tour with names like Liam Payne and Elvis Presley. His life takes a turn, however, when his childhood role model, Harry Styles, joins them on tour, and the two become closer than two men in the spotlight are allowed to be.

OR, the one where Louis is Johnny Cash and Harry is June Carter

Tainted Saints and Velvet Vices : A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they’re forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Stars Are Guiding Me Back : Directing the first ever season of The Bachelor with a bisexual star is a huge career move for Louis. After throwing himself into his career, he finally has the opportunity to prove himself as a director with a unique vision.For Harry, being cast as the first ever Bi Bachelor means finally putting his ex-boyfriend behind him and starting anew. He’s taking a chance on finding love and determined to do it right this time.They didn’t exactly think this through.

OR the BACHELOR AU where Louis directs his ex-boyfriend Harry in his season as America’s first bi bachelor.

Cocaine for Breakfast: Louis Tomlinson is a drug addict, sent away from his beloved party-scene to recover. There, he discovers that small towns have just as much access to drugs as London did, plus something even better that he just can't get enough of. That something is a boy with green eyes and bouncy curls named Harry Styles.

#uuum i think these are all of them #and yes i rec my own fic because i legit love it #hoity hoy #fic rec #asks

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years

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Merry Christmas, @jadorehale!

Read on AO3

*****

Here today, gone tomorrow

Stiles wakes up sweaty, dizzy, and with a persistent throbbing behind his eyes. He lifts his head and blinks blearily, and then immediately regrets that decision when last night’s tequila decides to try and make an unwelcome reappearance. It takes a few minutes, and couple of deep, careful breaths, but he eventually manages to swallow back the wave of nausea without throwing up all over himself.

Or whoever he’s sharing a bed with, because there's a warm body spooned up against Stiles’ back, a heavy arm draped over his waist, and a mouth pressed against his shoulder, huffing out quiet, steady little breaths.

It’s not uncomfortable, actually, and since moving too much seems to be a shitty idea anyway, Stiles snuggles back against the guy—and it’s definitely a guy, hello morning wood—ready to doze off again. The guy makes a sleepy noise, tightens his grip, and pulls Stiles back against his chest, nuzzling at the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles could get used to waking up like this. Well, minus the hangover, but the rest of it is pretty sweet. He’s getting cuddled, this bed has way less pointy springs than the shitty one in his dorm, the sheets are super soft, and the scent of contented alpha hanging in the air is a nice change from the aura of weed surrounding his roomate at all times.

Now, if only the sun could move a couple of inches to the left, and stop shining right into Stiles’ face, that would be—

“Shit!” Stiles exclaims, eyes flying open.

The world tilts dangerously when he props himself up on his elbow, double vision going full force as he frantically looks around the room in search of a clock. He doesn’t find one, but spots his phone, thankfully not quite dead yet, on the bedside table, grabbing and unlocking it with shaking fingers.

8:17. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

His shift at the library starts at 9:00. If he’s still in the same neighbourhood as the bar he ended up in yesterday, then there’s no way he’ll make it back to campus, and then to work on time. Without a pit stop at the dorm, he might just make it, though.

Standing up is a Herculean task—seriously, fuck tequila—and Stiles has to brace himself with a hand against to wall for a long moment until the room stops spinning. Which puts him in prime position to get a good whiff of himself, and nope, he can’t show up to Saturday Reading Hour like this. So, plan; shower, get the taste of death out of his mouth, find his clothes and hope they’re not a completely lost cause, somehow get to work on time.

Right. Totally doable. Probably.

Once he’s relatively sure walking won’t result in falling over, Stiles moves around the bed towards the bathroom, and then stumbles for reasons entirely unrelated to alcohol. Because holy crap. Holy crap!

The sheets must’ve slid down when Stiles got up, because they’re now pooled just below Stiles’ bedmate’s ass. And what an ass it is; big enough to really grab onto, and looking deliciously firm, with two inviting dimples above it. It connects to an expanse of tan, muscled back, including a tattoo, which ends in a strong neck, and a head of tousled dark hair. With Stiles gone, the guy has shifted onto his front, face turned to the side, giving Stiles a perfect view of a cut jaw, sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and a pair of thick, almost ridiculous eyebrows.

“Well done, me,” Stiles says, and just barely resists the urge to high five himself.

He lets the guy—Derek, Stiles is about 85% sure the guy’s called Derek—sleep, and tiptoes into the bathroom. It’s a shame he only has vague memories of last night—drinking too much because he was frustrated with his project partners, not very subtly ogling Derek across the bar, letting Derek push him up against the wall next to the bathroom, a cab ride to a hotel that felt like forever, coming hard enough to pass out before Derek had even pulled out—Stiles thinks, a little sadly, as he tries to wash off the clubbing grossness. Derek, as shallow as it sounds, looks like he knows how to show an omega a good time.

It’s 8:36 when Stiles comes back out of the bathroom, minty fresh, wrapped in a fluffy hotel bathrobe, rubbing a towel over his hair, and feeling a little more alive. His clothes are strewn all over the floor, and his underwear has mysteriously vanished, but he finds his pants, jacket, socks, and shoes, at least. There’s an open suitcase on the floor, though, and Stiles only hesitates for a second before he goes to rummage through it, pulling out a pair of briefs and a red henley. They’re both a size or two too big for him, but they’ll do for the morning.

His wallet’s still in his jacket, thankfully, and his phone has just about enough battery left to call an Uber. All in all, his drunken adventure could’ve ended much, much worse.

Derek’s still out cold when Stiles crouches down next to him, but he grunts when Stiles, unable to resist, runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter, and he leans into Stiles’ touch, reaching out blindly until he catches the zipper of Stiles’ jacket. He tugs, then huffs, disgruntled, when Stiles stays where he is.

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles murmurs apologetically, scratching gently at the back of Derek’s head. “Gotta head out. Call me?”

He’d stolen Derek’s phone at one point, Stiles remembers that much, before he’d decided to screw it—both figuratively and literally—and just go back to the hotel with Derek. Stiles has never been patient. Or good at denying himself. It’s a whole thing.

“Mmh,” Derek hums, clearly still only half awake. He does tip his face up, though, and Stiles doesn’t have to be asked twice; he leans in, closing the distance between them, and presses his lips to Derek’s.

And jeez, Derek certainly knows how to kiss. Stiles gets lost in it for a few minutes—in the drag of Derek’s stubble against his cheeks, Derek’s mouth moving softly against his, Derek’s fingers toying with the hem of his stolen shirt—groaning, disappointed, when he finally manages to pull himself away.

“Call me,” he says, again, and straightens up.

He can’t resist dropping one last kiss on Derek’s forehead, before he dodges Derek’s grabby hands, and makes for the door. He’s alone in the elevator down to the lobby, which is probably a good thing, because he’s smiling all goofily, his face red with beard burn when he catches sight of himself in the mirrored walls. There’s a huge, already dark bruise on the side of his neck, and Stiles can’t help but prod at it, shuddering delightedly when the slight pain makes him feel warm all over.

Yeah. Definitely could’ve gone worse.

* * *

Derek doesn't call. It’s—it’s whatever.

Stiles is disappointed, sure, and then angry, because what kind of asshole leaves someone with a temporary claiming bite, only to go on to totally ghost them? Real dick move, that. For a hot second, Stiles thinks about going back to the bar where they met, but Derek’s from out of town, so chances that he’ll be there are pretty slim, and Stiles refuses to be the clichéd, clingy omega who makes an idiot of himself by running after a clearly disinterested alpha.

Fuck Derek. Stiles doesn’t need some hot shot alpha doting on him to feel good about himself, he knows his worth. He’s smart, cute—growing into his ears and lanky limbs had really helped in that department—hard working, and has a group of amazing friends. So, really; fuck Derek.

And, once October rolls around, and school work picks up again, Stiles doesn’t have the time to think about stupid, sexy Derek anymore, anyway. He has study sessions with Scott, Kira, Malia, and Mason at least twice a week, works at the library with Hayden on Saturdays, and spends most Sundays tutoring—read: trying to not kill out of frustration—Liam and Corey.

In between all of that, he somehow needs to find the time to eat, sleep, Skype with Lydia, and call his dad every now and again, which is more than enough to keep him busy and distracted. Not that he needs to be distracted, because he’s absolutely not still hung up on Derek, not even a little bit, nope. Zero pining is happening, here, no matter what Scott keeps saying.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Corey asks, one Sunday morning in November, watching Stiles across the table instead of focusing on his reading. “You’re kind of pale.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, then pointedly looks at the open book in front of him. “Done with the chapter?”

“We can totally reschedule,” Liam pipes up hopefully, then lets out a huffed oomph when Corey not so subtly elbows him in the side. “If you’re sick, I mean. Maybe you should go back to bed?”

“You can sleep off your hangover after we’re done with your essay,” Stiles says, making Liam groan dramatically, and slump down further in his chair. Corey does look genuinely concerned, though, so Stiles shoots him a reassuring smile as he nudges the book closer to him. “I’m fine. Stressed, but what else is new? The glamorous life of a college student.”

There are a few minutes of blessed silence, during which Stiles resolutely ignores the worried looks Corey’s shooting him. Then, suddenly, Corey blurts, “You’ve gained weight.”

Stiles slowly lowers his pen. “Excuse you?”

Corey shifts uncomfortably, not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Well, I mean. You have? And you’re always tired, and now you’re looking sick, and—”

“Did you get knocked up?” Liam cuts in, shrugging and demanding, “What?” when Corey groans, and facepalms.

“We were just wondering,” Corey continues, sheepish but determined. “You have to admit, it kind of fits.”

“What the—no!” Stiles snaps, and then, when Corey and Liam share a disbelieving look, he adds, glaring, “I’m not pregnant. And I liked you both better when you didn’t like each other.”

Liam grins, and throws an arm around Corey, who rolls his eyes, but goes with it. “You love us.”

Stiles scowls at them. “Go back to work.”

They do, researching quietly, but Stiles can’t concentrate on his own project anymore. He’s reeling, heart pounding way too fast, because what if? It’s possible, technically, even if unlikely. Stiles’ sex life hasn’t exactly been flourishing the last couple of weeks, and he is on birth control. Which isn’t always 100% effective in omegas, but he always uses condoms, to be extra safe. He doesn’t remember using a condom with Derek, but he also doesn’t remember not using one, and he always does, which means he probably did.

Right?

Right.

He’s just stressed, maybe in the beginning stages of a cold. That certainly explains the headaches and exhaustion. And so what if he’s gained a pound or two? It’s Scott’s fault, for buying all those tubs of completely unnecessary Getting Over Derek ice cream. Everyone knows Stiles is a sucker for Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie goodness.

Pregnant, pfft. Ridiculous.

Scott doesn’t think it’s ridiculous, when Stiles mentions it over dinner later. Instead of laughing it off with Stiles, he looks thoughtful. “You have been taking a lot of naps lately.”

Stiles stares at him, incredulous. “Scott. Scotty. My man. You can’t be serious right now?”

“And, no offence, but they’re kind of right about your weight—”

“It’s called the freshman fifteen, oh my god!”

“You’re a sophomore, Stiles,” Scott points out, ducking the couch cushion Stiles throws at him. “Also, you’ve been puking on and off over the last couple of weeks, and—”

“You’re the one who made me eat that questionable burrito!” Stiles screeches, a little shrilly. This definitely isn’t going the way he expected it to. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He immediately feels guilty when Scott looks hurt at that, muttering a quiet, “Sorry.”

“I’m always on your side, you know that,” Scott says, scooting closer. Stiles puts up a token protest when Scott grabs him, flailing a little, before letting Scott pull him in to hug him into submission. “You’re my brother, and I love you. But you’re also the most stubborn person I know. I’m just trying to help, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs, and turns his face into Scott’s neck, breathing in deeply. Scott’s alpha scent is familiar, soothing, and Stiles allows himself to be calmed by it, knowing Scott would never use any of this against him. He’s not that kind of alpha. And he knows Stiles could totally kick his ass.

“The student health center does free blood tests,” Scott says, after a couple of minutes, resting his chin on top of Stiles’ head. “They were super nice and helpful when Kira and I had our scare last semester.“

Stiles doesn’t say anything, but he does lean into Scott some more.

* * *

“Hey, dad.”

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear to glare at it. Having a cop for a dad is just unfair sometimes. “So, uh,” he says, because lying’s useless once his dad is in Full Sheriff Mode. Capital letters and all. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

He glances down at the sheet of paper on his lap, chewing the inside of his cheek, not sure where or how to begin. It had taken him another week after his conversation with Scott to muster up the courage to go to the student health center, and then several more days after getting the results to psych himself up enough to call his dad.

It’s not that he thinks his dad will be angry, or unsupportive, but there’s really no good way for a child to tell a parent, “I had a drunk one-night stand with a stranger I met at a bar, got knocked up, can’t find the other dad, and have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

“Stiles,” his dad says, gentle but firm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a drunk one-night stand with a stranger I met at a bar,” Stiles blurts, and once he’s started, he can’t seem to stop, much to his horror. “I got knocked up, and I can’t find the other dad, and I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

He doesn’t realise he’s breathing too quickly, close to hyperventilating, until his dad instructs, “Slowly, Stiles, in and out. Come on, in and out, Stiles. Like me, okay?”

Stiles nods, even though his dad can’t see, and tries to match his breathing to his dad’s intentionally, exaggeratedly loud one. It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually Stiles manages to croak out, “Thanks.”

His dad doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Oh, kiddo.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, hot with shame. “Dad, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, now,” his dad cuts in, “I’m not angry, Stiles—”

“Just disappointed?” Stiles finishes, with a self-deprecating little laugh, and rubs a hand over his itching eyes.

“No,” his dad says, taking Stiles aback with the vehemence behind that one word. “Stiles, no. Hell, kid, I’m not gonna lie and tell you this is what I wanted for you, because we both know it’s not. It was a dumb and dangerous thing to do, and whatever you decide to do now, things’ll change and won’t be easy, but it happened. It is what it is. And we’ll figure it out, together. Okay?”

Stiles has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can speak again, but even then, all that comes out is a sniffled, “Dad.”

His dad is smiling, Stiles can tell, when he says, “I love you, too, kid. Now, tell me the plan. You been to see a doctor already?”

Stiles flops down sideways on his bed, and makes himself comfortable, relaxing slowly but surely now that the worst of it is over and done with. “Not yet. Christmas break is in two weeks, I thought I’d go see Doctor Yukimura when I get back home? She’s known me forever, and she can probably refer me? If I’m staying, I mean. I—” he hesitates, frowning down at his carpet. “I should, right? Stay home, I mean? My scholarship should be transferable, so I could take a semester off, maybe even a year. And it’s not like I can keep a baby in my dorm, so Beacon Hills Community College makes the most sense. I could live at home, be close by, and—”

“That’s not what you want,” his dad interrupts softly. And, normally, Stiles would bristle at being told what he does and doesn’t want, but his dad is right, and they both know it, so he clicks his mouth shut. He does scowl a little, though. “Columbia has been your dream since you were ten years old, Stiles.”

“Well,” Stiles grumbles bitterly, “a baby wasn’t exactly part of that dream.”

“Dreams are adjustable. You’re not the first person to have a kid while you’re still in school, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. No one’s saying it’ll be a cakewalk, but since when are you the kind of person to give up without even trying, who’s afraid because things might get difficult?”

“It’s not—” Stiles huffs, frustrated. “What if I can’t do it, though? What if I fuck it up?”

“Don’t think that I won’t call you out on your language anymore just because you’re about to be a parent yourself,” his dad teases, making Stiles bark out a startled laugh. More seriously, he adds, “And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I know you, kid, and you’ll regret not having given it a go more than potentially failing.”

Which is true, but his dad sounds a little too smug about it for Stiles’ taste. “Yeah, yeah, old man. Hey, no,” he says, tisking, when his dad makes an outraged sound at that, “you can’t complain about that anymore. You’re going to be a grandpa soon.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a drawn-out groan.

Stiles grins into his pillow. “Didn’t think about that, did you?”

“Menace,” his dad says, much too fond for Stiles to take him seriously.

* * *

Stiles is torn between embarrassment, and a fierce, previously unknown sort of pride as he watches his dad practically shove the ultrasound pictures at Mrs Owens from down the street, beaming wide enough to look completely deranged. Mrs Owens—mother of six, grandmother of thirteen, great-grandmother of ten—takes his enthusiasm in stride, cooing appreciatively, and nodding along to whatever Stiles’ dad is saying.

Another shopper coughs pointedly at them—which, fair enough, they’re totally blocking the dairy aisle—which only makes Stiles’ dad thrust the picture under his nose, still smiling brightly. The guy’s eyes widen, but he obediently takes a look at Stiles’ offspring. Stiles’ dad wearing a holster with his service weapon in it probably plays a pretty big part in that.

“That’s going to take a while,” Stiles murmurs to himself, absently petting the slight swell of his stomach.

He turns the shopping cart around, heading for the meat counter. He’d been terrified, initially, of people’s reactions to the pregnancy news, even if he’s a little ashamed to admit it now, because everyone’s been great about it so far. Scott, being the big softie that he is, had cried, which, as usual, had set Kira off as well. Mason had immediately offered to babysit, Malia’d bought him a giant box of earplugs, and even Liam and Corey have been less whiny during their tutoring sessions lately. Sure, Lydia’d yelled at him over the phone, but more out of concern than anger, and only until Allison had snatched the phone away from her to squeal at Stiles. Even Danny and Jackson, after the news had gotten around, had sent congratulatory texts. A slightly insulting one, in Jackson’s case, but congratulatory nonetheless.

And Stiles isn’t naive enough to think that there aren’t people gossiping about the 19-year-old, unwed, pregnant omega behind his back, but with the Sheriff being so obviously overjoyed with the whole thing, no one’s been brave enough to say anything to Stiles’ face, at least. It’s a small victory, but Stiles will take it.

Especially considering that their search for Derek has yielded zero results so far. Stiles hadn’t expected it to, since they really didn’t have anything to go on, but he’s still disappointed. There’s no guarantee Derek would care even if he knew—hitting and quitting isn’t exactly a point in his favour—but Stiles has decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not because Derek deserves it, but because every kid should at least get the chance to meet their parents, no matter what happens after.

They’ve exhausted all their possibilities, though, from Danny’s hacking magic to Lydia bringing her social media connections to bear, and there’s been nothing. Well, apart from that freak incident when Stiles had thought he’d caught Derek’s scent near their bar, only to follow it to the Starbucks across the street, and find a curly-haired guy with a scarf fetish, and a bitchy attitude.

He’s not quite ready to give up yet, but Stiles isn’t actively holding out hope anymore, either.

Which makes it all the more surreal when Derek himself rounds a row of shelves, basket in one hand, and his other arm casually slung around none other than scarf guy’s shoulders.

Stiles freezes at the sight, instincts going absolutely haywire. Part of him wants to rush to Derek’s side, is almost excited to see him, while another wants nothing more than to turn tail and flee. He wants to hide, to never face Derek again, and he wants to confront Derek, to yell at him, to bare his teeth at scarf guy, to bury himself in a hole and never come out again, to—

“Stiles?” his dad asks, suddenly, from behind him, making Stiles jump, and only just bite back a shriek. “What’s going on? Are—”

“Shh!” Stiles hisses frantically, mind apparently made up.

He pushes at his dad, urging him back around another row of shelves, out of sight. His dad’s eyebrows are up nearly to his hairline when Stiles turns to him, hands braced on his hips, and foot tapping against the floor impatiently. “This is strange even for you, kiddo.”

Stiles shoots him a bitchy look, then inches forward again to peer at Derek. He’s standing in line at the register now, head bent towards scarf guy, talking quietly while they wait. Stiles automatically narrows his eyes at scarf guy before he realises what he’s doing, and quickly slips behind his shelf again.

“As fun as this is, I don’t actually want to—”

“Derek’s here,” Stiles whispers furtively, risking another quick glance. He huffs when his dad nearly crushes him as he leans over him, trying to get a look of his own. “The one with the leather jacket. Who wears a leather jacket in December? And how dare he look so—so hot doing it, and those jeans are definitely a size too—”

“Yes, thank you, Stiles,” his dad interrupts, grimacing a little. “Who’s the curly one? They look cosy.”

Stiles scowls, because, yes. Yes, they do.

Then he meeps, and flails back, because Derek is turning around, shit, shit! His dad catches him under the arms, more than used to Stiles’ clumsiness by now. He’s frowning, though, lips pursed, and that’s never a good sign.

“What?” Stiles demands, righting himself with as much dignity as he can muster. He waves jauntily at old Mr Henderson, who’s definitely seen the whole thing. “What’s with the face?”

The face in questions hardens. “That’s your Derek?”

“Not my Derek,” Stiles says, feeling himself flush. “But, I mean, yeah. That Derek. Why?”

His dad doesn’t answer. Instead, he straightens up to his full height, tugs at his jacket to make sure his badge is visible, and goes to step around Stiles.

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Stiles says, grabbing two handfuls of his dad’s jacket to hold him back. “Dad, no.”

His dad lets himself be tugged back, but it’s only done reluctantly. “I could find a reason to arrest him.”

“Yes,” Stiles drawls, and rolls his eyes heavenward. “Because that’s totally how we should broach this unexpected fatherhood topic. Throw him in the back of the cruiser, take him down to the station, and oh, by the way, you knocked up a teenager, you’re going to be a dad, surprise!”

“Fine. But talking to him—”

“No, dad, I don’t—”

“Stiles—”

“I’m not ready!” Stiles says, too loud. Mr Henderson is still staring, and this time, both Stiles and his dad wave at him, before looking back at each other. “Dad, please. This is—it’s out of nowhere, okay? What would I even say? How would I even say it? I can’t—I can’t do it, dad. Not yet. Please.”

His dad’s expression softens at that. He clasps Stiles’ shoulder, then sighs, and pulls him into a proper hug. “Aw, hell, kid,” he says, squeezing Stiles carefully, mindful of Stiles’ stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles mumbles into his shoulder, hugging back tightly.

After a moment, his dad asks, “What about stopping him if I see him driving around town?”

Stiles swats at him, and his dad laughs, kissing the top of Stiles’ head despite Stiles’ protests. “God, dad, come on.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Henderson,” his dad says innocently when he finally lets go of Stiles. “Nice weather today, isn’t it?”

And he wonders where Stiles gets it from.

* * *

The shirt hits Stiles in the face, nearly knocking the ice cream out of his hands. He shakes it off, clutching his bowl against his chest protectively, and glares at his dad.

His dad is not impressed. “Up and at ‘em,” he orders, leaning over the back of the couch to take away Stiles’ bowl. “Go get dressed, we’re leaving in half an hour.”

Stiles pouts up at him, and doesn’t move. “I’m perfectly comfortable right where I am, thank you very much.”

“Tough luck, kiddo,” his dad says as he moves to, presumably, dump the bowl in the sink. “Mayor Hale’s holiday party is tonight. And, as the Sheriff, I have to make an appearance.”

“Have fun,” Stiles says sweetly, intentionally missing the point.

A moment later, his dad is back, and yanks the comforter away from Stiles. “I will, because my son is going to come along to spend some quality time with his loving, understanding, very patient father.”

Stiles whines, and makes grabby hands for it, but his dad just throws it on the armchair all the way across the room. “Rude.”

“It’ll be good for you,” his dad insists, “to get out of the house for a couple of hours, talk to some people, wear actual clothes.”

He says it jokingly, but Stiles can tell there’s real worry underneath. It’s been four days since the Derek sighting, and Stiles has pretty much moved onto the couch, wearing his baggiest clothes—the stolen henley happens to be super soft, the fact that it used to be Derek’s has nothing to do with anything—and stuffing himself with junk food, wrapped burrito style in his dad’s comforter for some reassuring family scent.

“Fine,” Stiles groans, grabbing the shirt. “But no eggnog for you. That stuff’s basically just sugar and fat. Also, it’s gross.”

Which is how Stiles finds himself standing opposite Mayor Hale in the Hale mansion foyer forty-five minutes later, feeling self-conscious about the way his shirt—bought for his high school graduation over two years ago—stretches tautly across his stomach. If he pops a button, he’s going to make his dad eat tofu turkey for Christmas.

“Mayor,” his dad greets.

Mayor Hale shoots him a mock annoyed look. “How many times, John?”

“Talia,” his dad corrects with a laugh, returning the kisses Mayor Hale brushes against his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You remember my son?”

“Mieczyslaw,” Mayor Hale says, nodding. She clucks at the hand he offers, hugging him gently instead. “Little Mischief.”

Her gaze gets stuck on Stiles’ bump when they pull apart, making Stiles blush, and shrug sheepishly. “Not so little anymore.”

“Congratulations, Mieczyslaw,” Mayor Hale says sincerely, before ushering them both along. “John, we’ll have to catch up later. Make yourselves at home, grab something to drink. Patrick and the kids are around somewhere, if you need anything.”

“Props to her for remembering my monstrosity of a name,” Stiles whispers as they make their way into the dining room, grinning up at his dad. “And not mangling it beyond recognition.”

His dad immediately zeroes in on the finger foods, of course, and Stiles trails him to the buffet tables to fill a plate of his own. Stiles gets a few more congratulations, and his dad gets drawn into handshakes and hugs all around, which gives Stiles ample opportunity to sneak some veggies onto his plate.

“Celery isn’t a Christmas food, Stiles,” his dad complains once he notices, but dutifully takes a bite anyway, only rolling his eyes a little bit.

They both turn when someone asks, “Stiles?”

The man sounds amused, almost gleeful, looking Stiles up and down critically, straying to his stomach before settling on his face. It makes Stiles’ hackles raise, even though the man’s another omega, and he moves his hands over his stomach instinctively. “Yes? And you are?”

“Hmm,” the man says, instead of answering. He’s smirking, holding up a finger as he scans the room before calling out, “Nephew dearest, a moment, if you may?”

Only then does he deign to introduce himself. “Peter Hale. And you, my boy, are exactly the entertainment I was hoping for tonight.”

Stiles gapes, and behind him, his dad’s scent is souring, but before either of them can say anything, Derek walks up to Peter, looking about as confused and shocked as Stiles feels.

“Derek,” Peter says, eyes flickering excitedly between Stiles and Derek, “I believe you know Stiles? Our beloved Sheriff’s very obviously pregnant son?”

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Stiles tells him, then rounds on his dad when he makes a reprimanding noise. “Don’t even. Hale. Nephew. You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been working with Mayor Hale for over a decade, you must have recognised Derek at the store. And you dragged me here on purpose, didn’t you?”

His dad does look guilty, but he also stands his ground. “I will drive you home right now if you want me to. But you need to talk to him sooner or later, Stiles. Probably sooner.”

“How about right now?” Peter suggests, because he is, apparently, a total shit-stirrer.

“Peter,” Derek growls warningly, and Stiles knees absolutely do not go weak at the sound, nu-uh.

His dad is still watching Stiles, smiling when Stiles gives him a minute nod. “You know,” he says to Peter, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder, “I think I remember arresting you for public indecency a couple of years ago. Right around the time Mr Argent got divorced.”

Peter doesn’t look happy as Stiles’ dad leads him away, but he has the good sense not to complain. Stiles watches them go, worrying his bottom lip. He feels a little betrayed that his dad didn’t just tell him, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he would’ve delayed talking to Derek for as long as possible without his dad pushing him. Not that he knows what to say to Derek, now that they’re here.

So it’s Derek who breaks the tense silence with a tentative, “Stiles?”

And, suddenly, Stiles is furious. Because how dare he? How fucking dare he sound like—like he gives a shit, after vanishing for months? After ditching Stiles? After being a huge freaking dick?

“You,” Stiles snaps, whirling around, and poking a finger into Derek’s chest. “You never fucking called!”

Several heads turn in their direction, but Stiles is beyond caring. He opens his mouth to really tear into Derek, but forgets what he was about to say when Derek takes his hand. “Not here,” Derek says, tugging at their linked hands. “Come on.”

Stiles digs his heels in for a moment, to show Derek that he could resist, before following Derek out into the hall, then up the stairs. Derek guides him into an office, and barely has the door closed before Stiles says, accusing, “So, you don’t just claim and ditch, you’re also embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Derek’s voice is almost jarringly soft, especially compared to Stiles’, when he says, “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Stiles rips his hand away, crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers at Derek.

“I wanted to call, but—”

“This better be good, buddy.”

“But,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles’ interruption as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. He thumbs at the screen for a few seconds, then turns it around, holding it out to Stiles. “But this.”

There’s Stiles name, followed by three eggplant emojis. Underneath it is Stiles’ number. Or, rather, the first four digits of it. The rest is missing.

“I would have called,” Derek says, moving closer. “I would have, Stiles, I swear. I looked for you, everywhere, but I couldn’t find you. I want you, I never meant to—hey, no, please don’t. I’m sorry.”

Stiles hasn’t cried over this entire fucked up situation once in all the weeks since waking up next to Derek, but right now, he can’t hold the tears back. He lets Derek cup his face between his hands, lets him wipe at his cheeks, and closes his eyes, breathing him in. He’s ashamed, for causing all of this in the first place, and still jittery, but also happy, and relieved, and he goes eagerly when Derek wraps his arms around him, tucking himself as closely against Derek as humanly possible.

Derek’s breath hitches tellingly when Stiles brushes his nose along his neck, arms tightening automatically. He presses his open mouth against Stiles’ temple to scent him, swaying them both gently, one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, the other stroking up and down Stiles’ spine.

They’re both mumbling apologies, and desperately clutching at each other; it’s a total mess, but Stiles wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

“Your henley stopped smelling like you,” is the first coherent thing Stiles manages to get out, minutes later.

It makes Derek chuckle wetly. “You can have all the sweaty, smelly shirts you want from now on.”

Stiles smiles against his neck, giddy. “Jackpot.”

One of Derek’s hands moves to Stiles’ waist, where he hesitates for a moment, before settling it on the side of Stiles’ bump. “You’re—is it—”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, taking pity on him. “They’re yours.”

Derek pulls back, shining eyes wide. “They?”

“It’s twins. Surprise?” Stiles offers, making jazz hands.

“Twins,” Derek says, faint, and plops down on the desk behind him. “I’m going to be a dad. To twins.”

Stiles pats his chest consolingly, stepping between his legs. “It takes some getting used to, trust me.”

“This is—it’s a lot,” Derek agrees, rubbing a hand over his face. When he meets Stiles’ eyes again, he looks stubbornly determined, though, promising, “I’ll be there. For you and the babies. I want to be, if you want me to be.”

Which is great news, of course, but Stiles needs to know, “What about your—the cherub guy?”

“Cherub guy?” Derek mouths to himself, and damn him, even bewildered is a good look on him. “Do you mean Isaac?”

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably, and frowns down at Derek’s knees. “Maybe? I don’t know. But I saw him in a café back in New York, and he smelled like you. And you seemed, uh, pretty friendly, at the store a couple of days ago. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I guess, because, I mean, we’re not—”

“Isaac’s my intern, and my friend,” Derek says, settling his hands on Stiles’ hips. His thumbs press in carefully, and there’s nothing in his scent to indicate that he’s lying. “We work together, that’s all. He comes to New York with me every other week because he’s thinking about transferring to NYU. I’m an architect, and he’s doing his BA in real estate. NYU offers better options than BH Community College.”

“I don’t want to transfer,” Stiles blurts, then winces at his own abruptness. “I’m at Columbia. And I really love it. And you live in California.”

“We have offices here and in Manhattan. If you want to stay in New York, I’ll put in a transfer, spend more of my time over there,” Derek says, all casual, as if he isn’t offering to move across the country. Just like that. Stiles has no idea what his face is doing, but whatever it is, it makes Derek smile, and lean in to brush a kiss over Stiles’ cheek, murmuring, “I told you, I want you. All three of you.”

Stiles groans, and thuds his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Stop being so—so perfect, ugh.”

“Sometimes I grind my teeth in my sleep?” Derek says, amused, nosing behind Stiles ear, then lower at Stiles’ neck where he left the claiming bite, which really is unfairly distracting.

“Well, apparently I fail at remembering my own phone number when I’m drunk, so I’d say we’re about even.” Stiles pulls back a little, but only enough to properly look at Derek. It’s probably for the best anyway; the Mayor’s son and the Sheriff’s kid getting caught canoodling at an official event would definitely make the front page of the BH Gazette. “Which totally is the worst of my bad habits, I’m an absolute delight otherwise, you’ll see.”

“Over dinner?” Derek asks, sly and shy all at once. “The diner’s open all night. My treat.”

“Well,” Stiles stalls, pretending to consider. “Will there be curly fries?”

“You know what,” Derek says, going for serious, his mouth only twitching a little, “I’ll even throw in a milkshake for dipping.”

Stiles beams at him. “It’s a date.”

#jadorehale #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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onceuponaprincessworld · 7 years

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CaptainSwan One-Two Shots Recs p.10

Hello CaptainSwan Fandom! I made a new list which contains some old, some new but all are amazing One & Two shots fics. Hope you enjoy!

If you are intrested you can find my other lists here.

One-shots

Tuesday, @swanandapirate

Every Tuesday, she’s there, working late with her son and every Tuesday so is he. He offers to keep Henry busy so she can finish her tasks, but neither of them would have expected that Henry would grow to think ‘Mr.Killian’ is his dad.

The Only One Who Didn't Know, @tnlph

Emma and Killian squelch their office rivalry in favor of a "co-workers with benefits" relationship. It goes well, until one of them realizes it's more. (A very, very, very off interpretation of the secret dating trope.)

Secret Santa, @xemmaloveskillianx

Maybe the holidays aren’t so bad.

Prompt, @sotheylived

Killian and Emma are both thieves that work together but they have a maybe bank robbery gone bad in which one of them gets hurt with a happy ending?

Walking the Walk, @shireness-says

Emma Swan is willing to do anything to get money to fund her self-defense classes. Well, anything but this.

Two Booksellers of Storybrooke, @spartanguard

Emma Swan has two problems: 1. Killian Jones, the annoying co-owner of the bookstore across the street from her own (just how many book shops did one small town need?); and 2. The fact that she may or may not be falling in love with the same Killian Jones. The course of true love never did run smooth, did it?

The Five Times Emma Said It Was Over and the One Time She Decided That Maybe It Wasn’t , @oncertwice

A CS modern AU in which Emma can't seem to stay away from Killian, her ex.

swordfight, @alexandralyman

little CS/CC ficlet for Captain Charming Friday.

You Jump, I Jump, Jack, @belovedcreation

Why does Emma Swan frequent Killian's diner? Three reasons: the coffee is outstanding, her son Henry insists it is the best breakfast spot, and Killian Jones has a really nice ass. (Gilmore Girls-inspired AU)

The True Story of CaptainKJ and EBostonLover, @darkoneliesdarkonetricks

Celebrity on a dating site AU - Killian, lead singer of famous band Captain Charming, accidentally ends up on a dating site where he matches with Emma. Texting and falling in love and confusion ensues.

For The Very First Time, @hooklineandswan

It seemed to be a splendid idea … to have her first time with her best friend. But when the first time turned out to be so much more than she expected she did the only thing she could do … she ran.

Two-shots

The Legend of Captain Killian Jones, @hollyethecurious

Cursed three hundred years ago to take on ghost form and haunt his family estate, Killian Jones receives a reprieve once every hundred years to take on corporeal form in order to try and break his curse.

A renowned restorationist, Emma Swan takes on the project of bringing the three hundred year old Jones Manor back to its former glory. A manor that is reportedly haunted by the notorious Captain Killian Jones. Good thing Emma doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Contact Light-p.2, @welllpthisishappening

Emma Swan has never been one for big, overwhelming…anything. And as far as she’s concerned space is both big and overwhelming and just a bit terrifying because she’s fairly certain her connection to gravity is slightly tenuous when he glances in her direction. But that’s neither here nor there because she watches all his stupid space documentaries anyway and keeps letting him glance in her direction and, at some point, she learns the first words uttered by a human being on the moon. Contact light. It’s not common knowledge. That seems, almost, oddly appropriate now.

Operation Pirate Law - p.2, @hollyethecurious

All of Liam’s efforts to get his older brother together with the town Deputy are not having the desired effect. Maybe he needs to change tactics and find himself an accomplice? Fortunately, the Deputy’s son has the same idea, and together they put into action.

last call-p.2, @luscipher

Best friends (of sorts) turned lovers (of sorts) AU, just a short little two-shot filled with fluff, banter, and— dare I say it— a smidgen of crack.

but an orphan's an orphan, emmaofmisthaven

Emma is seventeen when Ingrid gets Killian’s file, and she can see her adoptive mother is wary about this particular case. They haven’t fostered boys her age since Felix, and Emma isn’t very good at pretending she doesn’t know why. She does understand the logic behind that choice but – she’s not stupid, she knows better than to get attached to anyone staying in this house. Hell, she knows better than to get attached, period, because nothing about her life told her that, if she was given something, she could keep it. She’s still getting used to her bedroom being her bedroom, and she’s been living with Ingrid for years.

“What?” she tells Ingrid, when she’s reading the file. “You’re afraid I’m going to seduce him with my college applications and Harry Potter trivia?

I'll Never Get Over You (Getting Over Me), @amagicalship

Of all the bars in the world, why did Emma have to walk into the same one that her ex-boyfriend Killian happens to be in? And what will happen when the green-eyed monster shows up too?

Late Night Cooking Adventures with Emma Swan, baseballandcupcakes

Emma Swan is pretty sure that 90% of the people she has met during her first week of college wouldn't last a minute if the cafeteria wasn't there to feed the drunk, hungover masses. But cafeterias (and drunks) have never sat well with her, which is why she's cooking in the communal kitchen in her dorm at 11PM on a Friday night when she meets Killian Jones in the most unexpected of ways.

Accidents Happen, @singingisfun

Based on this prompt: I need a fic where Emma and Killian had an 'oops' baby, and years later, the same thing happened again.

feel a little rush (I think I’ve got a crush), @piratesails

He can appreciate the advancement that the internet has brought, a completely new language that it’s created with acronyms and shorter words per sentences that deliver precisely the same meanings. Wherein I’m going to die ilysm and omg wtf this man and CRYING are all appropriately positive expressions, and apparently only the beginning of the comments under his photo.

AU where high school lit teacher Killian Jones ends up on the hotdudesreading Instagram and is very confused by it all.

#cs ff #cs rec fic #cs rec ff #cs fanfiction #cs au #cs rec list #my rec list #cs fanfics #cs rec ff #cs rec #one shot

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accio-ambition · 7 years

Text

Under Christmas’s Influence

Merry Christmas Sandy ( @tehgreeneyes )! I was fortunate enough to be your CS Secret Santa this year! I know we didn’t really talk much, but I really enjoyed what we did talk about. 12 Monkeys is now definitely on my to-watch list, with all the Googling I did to cameo it in here (I might have fallen into a vortex for a couple hours of distraction, but whatever). You said that one of your favorite tropes was fake!dating/engaged/married, so I wrote you a (not so) little fake!engaged Christmas story. I hope you don’t absolutely hate Hallmark Christmas movies, because that is where I drew a bit (aka a lot) of inspiration for this story. Merry Christmas!

(This is a long one, so you can read it on AO3 too in case it hurts your eyes.)

The call from his brother isn’t necessarily unexpected. It is Christmastime - the one time of year one starts reflecting on the past year and thinking about all the important people in one’s life. But since getting married last winter, shortly after Valentine’s Day, Killian’s barely heard from his brother or new sister-in-law. A postcard from the honeymoon, the occasional tag in a Facebook post, but otherwise, nothing.

It’s been difficult, he will admit, watching his brother go from bachelor to husband, but only in that selfish way where now Liam has to ask if he can accompany Killian on bar crawls or can’t make it to every football game during the season.

So when Liam does call as he walks in to his apartment after work one afternoon, Killian gladly answers it. It had been a long, trying day at work - depositions for most of the morning, then a conference call that lasted five hours with little time to eat or even use the restroom in between. Killian cannot wait to get out of his stuffy suit and tie, throw on his sweats, and watch T.V.

ESPN, he tells himself. There’s that important college game on tonight.

It’s a losing battle, though: it’s Christmastime, which means corny, completely unnecessary, totally unoriginal Christmas movies. The perfect remedy to the problems practicing the law could bring up.

Killian flips the light in his room on before immediately turning on the T.V. and muting it before answering his phone. He greets his brother just as some woman silently giggles at a man holding a dog.

Haven’t seen this one before.

“Little brother, my god, you are alive!” Liam says instead of hello.

“In the sense that I’m still alive and breathing, yes,” Killian quips back, putting his phone on speaker and proceeding to change out of his clothes. “Other than that, I’d hardly say I’m alive.”

Liam groans and Killian can just imagine his older brother slapping himself on the forehead. It’s his own fault, the sarcastic streak Killian has, though it does both of them wonders during certain situations, particularly during hard court cases.

While Killian chuckles, Liam’s groan transforms into a sigh. The change in mood is as unexpected as Liam’s phone call, but instead of asking about it, Killian lets the quiet ensue. If there’s one thing Killian’s learned about his big brother in his time on earth, it’s that, if something’s bothering Liam, he’ll say it.

So when Liam says, “I apologize for being an arse,” his younger brother can’t imagine what he’s managed to do wrong if they haven’t truly spoken in months.

“About what exactly, may I inquire?” Killian asks, changed and taking a seat at the edge of his bed. His eyes sort of glaze over as he stares at the screen. Another man’s face is contorted into some slimy smirk or grimace or something akin to that, looking after the woman with the puppy.

This plot would be so much simpler if I could hear what they were saying.

Killian fiddles with the remote, trying to find the button for subtitles or captions, while Liam continues. “I know I’ve been sort of…” he pauses just as the captions begin scrolling along the bottom of the screen, “neglecting you since I married.”

Shrugging, Killian reasons, “Your priorities have changed. You’ve got Belle now. All that marriage stuff. Honeymoons and thank you cards and on and on.”

“Yes, but you’ll always be my little brother.” This time, Killian groans, but it’s in the same way that he bemoans cheesy pickup lines and corny Christmas movie plots. It’s a sentiment he doesn’t exactly always feel this time of year, but when he does, it makes his heart grow like the Grinch’s.

“I’m still learning how to balance brotherhood with marriage, alright?” Liam says, his voice a bit gruffer. “So I’m sorry if I made you feel poorly. I never meant to.”

“Worry not, Liam. I’ve gotten used to it.”

His older brother scoffs. “Now don’t say that,” he says. “You really make me feel like a horrendous person.”

Killian barks out a laugh. “You said it, not me.” Dramatically, he flops back on his mattress, letting his muscles relax into the comfort. It really has been a long day.

“So what’s going on in your life?” Liam asks in a friendly manner. “What have I missed?”

Killian opens his mouth to answer - it’s been months, there really is too much to cover in a single phone call - but it shuts quickly when he hears a key in the lock of his front door. There’s only one person in the world who’s got his spare key to his place.

While losing Liam as his automatic plus-one to all social events was a bummer, Killian’s managed to find solace in his neighbor, one Emma Swan, who barged into his life quite suddenly and hasn’t really allowed him a moment to recover since.

Liam just doesn’t know that.

Not quite yet.

And with all the time he’s had to theoretically prepare for this moment, Killian hasn’t the slightest idea how to tell his brother that the most important thing he’s missed in the past months isn’t an event, but a person.

0000

He’d briefly seen her move in, just a couple days after returning to his apartment from Liam and Belle’s wedding festivities. The door next to his propped open with a box overflowing with shoes and the grunts and groans of furniture-moving from within were dead giveaways. Still tired and a bit hungover, Killian resolved to introduce himself later. Maybe after he’d had a thorough shower.

Very thorough. I’m pretty sure someone vomited on me during the morning-after brunch, he thinks. I can still feel the grime on me.

And that’s all the thought he spares this new neighbor of his. Killian goes about showering and returning to the land of post-Liam’s-wedding. It isn’t until two or three Sundays later that the new neighbor crosses his mind again.

Settling down on the couch, Killian takes a deep breath. 12 Monkeys is set to premiere in mere minutes - perhaps not the best attempt at unwinding before what’s promised to be another tough work week, but he can’t even ponder the idea of dodging spoilers. Too much stress.

His eyes slide shut and the next thing he knows, the opening notes of the theme music float through his ears. Killian opens his eyes, hoping they clear in time for him to catch all the intricacies this episode might offer.

And then the pounding starts.

Someone incessantly bangs at his front door. Everyone who’s anybody important enough to him knows not to interrupt him during this time of the week. So he tries to ignore it, just let the complexities of Dr. Railly and James Cole’s adventures take him away.

But the knocking won’t stop.

“They’ve just got the wrong apartment,” he mumbles to himself.

“Open the door, 312! It’s an emergency!” a woman’s voice shouts through the door.

Apparently not.

An emergency could mean a slew of things: broken bones, burning buildings, a mouse in the shower. But if it’s either of the first two, he doesn’t want the woman’s injury on his conscience for the rest of his life. And Liam did raise him to be a gentleman. It wouldn’t be chivalrous to let the mouse run all over this woman’s apartment if she really didn’t want it to.

Eyes still glued to the TV, Killian walks and opens the front door. The only way he can tell that the blonde hurricane that rushes by him is a person is the brush of hair against his arm and the aforementioned tone of voice.

“Excuse me,” he says, watching as she takes his seat on his couch to, what seems like, watch his T.V. “Can I help you?”

“My cable isn’t working and I heard the theme song through the walls.” Her words are direct, offering no other option except for the fact that she’s in his apartment during his show. Eyes on the screen, the woman pats the cushion next to her. “Close the door and sit the fuck down.”

And despite the fact that she’s the one that barged into his apartment, Killian does as she requests: a bit stunned, he shuts the door and ambles over to the couch, barely able to focus in on the show unfolding before them.

“Who are you?” he inquires, easing himself on to the cushion she’d indicated.

“311,” she replies.

“Lovely to meet you, 311. Is that the name - “

She shushes him, her hand waving next to him, gaze still intent on Cassie as she’s deep in conversation with some character Killian hadn’t even known existed. “Wait until commercials. Then talk.”

Again, Killian surprises himself by following her instructions. Between commercials, he manages to get a little more information out of her through hesitantly asked questions. Emma Swan, she says, apartment 311, moved in a month or so ago after escaping from bailbonds and getting something a little more efficient (and probably safer) in law enforcement.

But that’s all he gets that first night, aside from the few physical descriptors he gets from her profile. Otherwise, she’s silent, intent on trying to figure out the twists and turns the show keeps throwing at them. And, man, even as distracted as he is, even he can tell that this season is bound to be a gamechanger.

When the episode is finished, she quietly thanks him, a much different tone from earlier, and leaves his apartment with a completely changed demeanor. But just before his front door shuts between them, Killian sticks his foot in the jamb.

“Next week?” he asks. She - Emma - turns gently, eyebrow raised and eyes squinting at him with confusion. She’s wary, for some reason or another. Swallowing nervously, Killian repeats himself. “Would you like to come over for next week’s episode?”

Taking a step back, Emma’s tongue peeks out between her lips. “My cable should be fixed by then,” she says.

“Oh.” That’s a bit of a letdown. Then again, as he’s constantly had to remind himself tonight, she hadn’t really given him much to go on about her personal life except that her cable was out.

He’s always been up for a challenge, especially one as beguiling as the show that unintentionally brought them together. For now.

“Regardless, you’re more than welcome to come, Swan,” he tells her. Gesturing toward the door, Killian also suggests, “Perhaps knock a bit gentler next time.”

He watches Emma struggle to hold back a grin, her fingers wringing around each other. “Maybe,” is all she deigns for an answer. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones and that’s not something Killian usually notices with anybody. With a silent nod, she takes the five or so steps back to her front door and goes back home.

Killian lingers in the doorway far longer than appropriate.

The next Sunday, he’s settling into the couch, ten minutes to showtime, when a much more hesitant knock sounds at his door. Killian can’t help the smile that crosses his face as he approaches the door.

When he opens it, Emma stands on the other side, both hands holding a plastic bag between then. When he glances down at it, she struggles to hold it up on display.

“Apology Chinese?” she says by way of greeting, her lower lip getting stuck between her teeth. Bringing the bag back toward the ground, she adds, “I’m sorry I forced myself into your apartment last weekend.”

Killian’s already shaking his head before she’s completed her thought. “Completely understandable,” he remarks. “The cable was down.”

Chuckling, Emma shuffles her feet. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees that as an emergency.”

It takes an exorbitant amount of time for Killian to stop nodding like the village idiot. But when he does, he takes a step back and waves her into his apartment. “Please, do come in,” he offers. “You made it just in the nick of time.”

And the rest, he likes to say, is history.

0000

“Killian!” The shout is followed by slam of the front door. “Killian, where are you? I need to complain to you about my day and then drink all your booze.”

He’s up quicker than he thought possible at this time in the evening. Killian slides down the hardwood floors into the living room, silently and frantically slicing his hand across his throat and mouthing shut up!

Emma just stares at him with befuddlement in her eyes. She briefly mimics his motions.

“Are you having a fucking stroke?” she asks, coming up to him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Bringing his phone down to his chest to cover the speaker, Killian whisper-shouts, “It’s my brother,” just as he can hear Liam on the other end of the line. His voice is muffled, of course, what with the shirt and all, but even from here, Killian can tell his brother’s tone is adamant and desirous of information.

Emma, on the other hand, is dumbstruck. Those green green eyes of hers are blown wide with surprise. She tiptoes away and sinks into the corner of the couch, pulling one of decorative pillows he threw on there when he first moved in a couple years ago into her lap and squishing it.

“Sorry,” she whispers, hiding the lower half of her face with the pillow, presumably trying to protect herself from the blush of embarrassment rising on her cheeks.

Killian sighs and shakes his head. He walks over behind the couch and rests his empty hand on the top of her head, running his fingers through the hair that catches there. When he finally puts his phone back to his ear, Killian just catches the tail end of Liam’s barrage of questions.

“Who was that, little brother?” Liam asks.

“No one,” Killian answers too swiftly. He feels pressure on his hand, Emma leaning into his hold, before she gets up and heads toward the kitchen.

Probably to start drinking that booze she mentioned, he thinks.

Liam catches his attention once more. “Killian, I can’t even see you and I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

Unconsciously, Killian’s hand raises and scratches at the skin behind his ear. “So?” he asks, his brother losing his focus as Emma finds whatever poison she was searching for and takes her seat back on the couch, cup in hand.

“So, I’m your older brother,” Liam explains. “You’ve got to tell me.”

“Have not.”

“Have so.” Liam doesn’t say anything for another moment before pleading, “C’mon, Killian.”

Sighing, Killian looks at Emma again. He’s not sure why he hasn’t told Liam about Emma yet, lack of communication in the past few months aside. It’s always been his little secret, almost - a secret friend who’s come to rely on him for alcohol and support and who knows what else.

Emma turns on the T.V. in the living room, already on the Hallmark channel from last night’s bad movie binge. She mutes it, but Killian doesn’t need the dialogue. It must be the end of the movie, the main characters standing at the end of a church aisle.

“It’s just…” he hesitates.

“Yes?”

He knows it’s going to be a mess before he even comprehends what he actually says. “My fiancée?” He winces, the ends of Emma’s hair making some sort of noise as they whip around on the back of the couch. Killian can feel her staring at him.

“Fiancée?” Liam repeats, sounding just as disbelieving as Killian is that he actually said it. Killian hums in agreement as Emma’s green eyes go impossibly wider. Liam, on the other hand, grumps. “Bring her...Him?” Killian rolls his eyes and replies her. “Her to Christmas Eve dinner. You guys can stay with Belle and I and we can have a real Christmas morning.”

Moaning, Killian walks around to the front of the couch and takes a seat beside Emma. His free hand comes to rest on her knee, a move she mimics in solidarity. “I don’t know, Liam,” he says. “I really wouldn’t want to intrude on Belle and yours first Christmas as husband and wife. You should have - “

“Nonsense!” his brother shouts. “Christmas is about family. We should spend it together.”

“I thought Thanksgiving was about family,” Killian scoffs.

“You and I both know we have no bloody clue about these American holidays. We like to - “

“Keep good form as we go.” Next to him, Emma chuckles. He’s been known to say the same phrase on occasion. “I know, brother.”

“I know you know. It’s my job to remind you sometimes.” On Liam’s end of the conversation, something arises in the background, a scuffling sort of noise. It’s probably Belle, Killian thinks, making dinner or coming in from work. Liam’s voice is muffled as he probably greets him.

“I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I?” Killian asks once the racket on the other side signals his brother’s back on the line.

“No, no, I called you, remember?” Liam says. “I’ll let you get back to your -” he pauses, making his voice more suggestive, “-.fiancée.”

“Thanks.” There’s something hard to swallow around in his throat. “I’ll see you for Christmas Eve dinner, I suppose.”

“Yes, both of you will,” Liam bids, his last phrase a subtle reminder, before hanging up and spending the evening with his wife.

Killian, on the other hand, groans and throw his phone on the coffee table. He rubs his hands against his face.

“Fiancée?” Emma says calmly. “Really?”

Killian shrugs, his face warming with embarrassment. “I’m really bad at thinking on my feet.”

“How is that possible? You lie for a living!” Emma flops back on to her spot on the couch, really too semantic for her own good.

“No I don’t.” It's a point of discussion since the inception of their friendship: in her experience, Emma's seen attorneys lie and lie and Killian tries really hard not to.

But sometimes…

“I just sometimes have to spin the truth in a different.” Emma glares at him. “Ugh, I don’t know.” He throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “I was watching one of those bad Hallmark Christmas movies and I guess their subliminal messaging worked.”

Scoffing, Emma turns back to the T.V., where one of said movies comes to its joyful conclusion. As always, there's unnecessary confetti that's definitely going to kill the birds, but no one cares about that because it's a low budget T.V. film. “I’ll be sure to write a letter to the TV executives congratulating them,” she says drolly, finally unmuting the T.V. She sighs as the new movie starts, one he's already seen this season. “Well, what happens now?” She asks on another sigh.

Killian should've known. His Swan is nothing if not curious, if not nosy. But she was there, as she is nearly every night in any given week, and he knows he really should've asked her before blurring out the word fiancée as he did.

But where else is he going to find a fake fiancée in such a time crunch?

“What plans do you have for Christmas?” he inquires, hoping for a subtle reaction.

That's not the case, of course. Turning toward him slowly, Killian watches as Emma's eyes go wide as saucers, her brows raise high, and her jaw drops.

“Killian, you can’t be serious.”

“Swan, darling, what else are you going to do?” he reasons. “You’ve got an invitation to dinner on Christmas Eve and the guarantee that you’ll wake up to presents and stereotypical family warmth on Christmas morning.”

“I-I mean,” she stutters, jaw still dangling dangerously close to her breastbone. “Weren’t we going to get drunk Christmas Eve and sleep off the hangover Christmas day?”

Recoiling a bit, Killian raises a brow and asks, “We were?”

Emma shrugs, somehow digging herself further into the couch. She takes to holding the decorative pillow from earlier, a sure sign of her nerves. “We didn’t decide anything, but I figure it was the sort of thing we would do.” Looking furtively between him and the T.V., Emma shrugs again. “I was gonna suggest it after dinner tonight.”

“Well, we can do that at Liam’s,” he offers, playfully nudging her with his elbow. “We’ll have some drinks with dinner, have a nice time, then steal whatever from the liquor cabinet and down it all in the guest room in our pajamas.”

She rolls her eyes. “That can’t be good form.”

He doesn’t deign her an answer - not because it’s technically not good form, but for other reasons - and begins poking her on the knee. “Come with me,” he requests of her quietly. “You can meet Liam and Belle. It’ll be great.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes on the male character as he ascends to a throne, before looking him dead in the eye.

“Promise?” she asks softly, her mouth partially hidden behind the pillow.

Killian nods solemnly. “Promise.”

0000

It’s been dark all day, clouds heavy with snow, but somehow, as Killian and Emma sit in her car in his brother’s driveway, Christmas Eve somehow seems to get darker.

“It’s kind of cold,” Emma mumbles, playing with the ring on her left hand. It’s fake, of course, but real enough to pass for an engagement ring. Or at least that’s what they’ve settled on. Killian dug it up from his pirate Halloween costume, and he spent a pretty penny on getting something real enough to fool adults more than children.

Works well for short notice, he thought.

“Yeah, it is.” They sit there for a moment longer, both lost in their respective thoughts, before Killian tsks. Reaching over the center console, he stills her nervous fiddling by taking her hand in his own. “You ready?”

Inhaling sharply and deeply, Emma nods slowly. “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she says accusatorily.

“I can’t believe you agreed to it,” he quips back with a smirk. Killian doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. He unlocks his door and squeeze her hand once, hopefully transferring some courage from his palm to hers. “It’s going to be great.”

Emma scoffs, unlocking her door as well. “You better hope they’ve got some top shelf stuff in their cabinet.”

Killian chuckles as he steps foot outside the car, letting go of Emma’s hand to grab the bottles of wine they brought as gifts. “I should hope the same. Alcohol’s the only way to warm up after this cold,” he says over the roof of the car.

The wind blows up a terribly bitter breeze just as they walk up Liam and Belle’s front steps, leaving Killian and Emma to huddle up to each other.

“It’s fucking freezing!” Emma shouts over the wind.

“Try the door!” he replies. “It should be open.”

The next gust of wind ushers them into the starkly warm house. Both shaking off the breeze and the snow, they hang up their coats and rid themselves of their boots. Killian can smell some sort of meat roasting from the over, the scents wafting down the hallway with the Christmas music gently playing on the stereo.

“Hello?” Killian calls, draping his scarf over his jacket. “Liam?”

Liam’s head pop out from around an archway that must lead to the kitchen, for he’s decked out in a festive Santa apron. His smile is goofily wide, though Killian’s sure that there’s a grin as equally as absurd on his face.

Bloody hell, I did miss him.

“Little brother!” Liam shouts, much to Killian’s chagrin. He comes around the corner and embraces Killian in one of the tightest and, in his opinion, most unnecessary hugs in the history of the universe. “My god, it’s been eons.”

Killian can’t help but belt out a laugh as he slaps his older brother on the back. “I saw you at your wedding,” he reminds Liam.

“Really?” Pulling back, the look on Liam’s face makes him seem a lot duller than Killian knows he is. But then he lights back up, in the present instead of the past now, as Belle comes into the room. “Then it has been too long, Killian.”

Moving around his brother, Killian takes his sister-in-law into his arms. “Belle,” he pauses to buss her on the cheek, “radiant as always.”

“Why, thank you,” she says, color rising on her cheeks. She blinks a few times before her eyes focus behind Killian, on to Emma. He’s nearly forgotten she’s there, she’s unusually quiet.

But Belle, ever the people person and general lovely lady that she is, immediately takes to her, stepping forward and offering her a friendly smile. “You must be Killian’s fiancée.”

“Yeah,” Emma chokes out, her voice decidedly soft and watery. “I’m Emma.” Awkwardly, Emma sticks her hand out. Instead, Belle goes in for the hug, Emma’s hand getting caught between their chests. Killian hears her quietly go, “Oof, a hug.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle says automatically, taking a step back subconsciously into Liam’s hold. “Do you not do hugs? I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry, I’m just excited that we’re going to be family.”

And that’s something that neither Killian nor, he’d bet to say, Emma had thought about. Sure, they can pretend that they’re going to get married, say that they incredibly happy and in love, but the idea of being family…

It’s not one of the angles they thought of, he can safely say that. And, from what he know of Emma’s past and the skeletons in her closet, he’s afraid the mere fathom of it might trigger her into quitting the whole charade.

But Belle, bless her, isn’t privy to Killian’s inner monologue, and moves on to the next thought. Addressing Emma, she says with a chuckle, “I don’t know if Killian’s the same way, but I know Liam is a handful more often than not.”

Liam pulls her closer into his chest. “Now, darling, I resent that sentiment,” he chides her lovingly.

Their little exchange, apparently, gives Emma enough time to reboot and get over whatever turmoil she might be experiencing internally. “Hugs are fine,” she tells Belle, her voice a little stronger than when introducing herself. “I was just surprised. It’s been…” She licks her lips, and glances up at Killian for a tick. “Well, it’s been a while since someone greeted me that way.”

“To be honest, Emma, I’m not surprised,” Liam replies. Looking to his wife, he adds, “Did I tell you, Belle, when I called Killian, the only way I knew about Emma’s existence was because the front door slammed and she yelled at him?”

Killian’s arm goes around Emma’s shoulders, mimicking his brother because that’s what engaged couples do, right? “Frankly I deserved it.”

“He did,” Emma agrees, finally cracking a smile. And then, surprisingly Killian, she places a hand on his chest, looking up at him with a weird glimmer in her eyes, one he’s never really seen in her before. “But he’s still the best part about coming home, and he knows that and accepts that I am a very loud person.”

“I do.” Something about that look of hers keeps him from sarcastically remarking that she can be incredibly loud without even trying. It shakes him because, for some reason or another, her glance reminds him of the way his brother looks at his wife.

Shaking the thought from his brain, Killian turns back to Liam. “So dinner?” he asks. To Emma, he says, “I don’t know about you, love, but I am starved.”

“Seconded,” Emma agrees.

Liam and Belle usher them into the kitchen where the final timer goes off. Liam pulls a ham from the oven and Belle mixes them their first drinks of the evening. That easily leads into dinner, where Killian finds himself glancing at Emma, his excuse being that he wants to make sure she’s having a good time. By the way she laughs hysterically at Liam’s tales of their childhood and keeps whispering to Belle next to her, Killian believes that she is.

A couple times during the meal, he finds his hand wandering over to her knee, exerting slight pressure, silently asking her if she really is doing okay. She always responds with a complementary squeeze, and when her hand lingers there more often than not, Killian tries to focus on literally anything else occurring at that specific moment in time.

By the time the dishes are drying and the leftovers are packed away for lunch tomorrow, Emma’s happily tipsy and Killian’s well on his way to joining her. Liam tells them they’ll have to share the guest bed, but neither of them take issue with it. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve fallen asleep together in close quarters.

Killian manages, though, to keep up his end of the bargain. After bidding Liam and Belle a goodnight and merry Christmas, he nabs two bottles of rum from the liquor cabinet and sneaks them into the guest room, where he finds Emma laying on the bed, flipping through the T.V. channels. She throws the remote to the end of the mattress when her search lands on the Hallmark Channel.

“For someone who enjoys complaining about the subject matter, you’re always quick to find them,” he says over the click of the door closing.

“I get it,” she states as he hands over a bottle. She pops the top and takes a healthy swig.

“Get what, love?” he inquires.

“The bad movie thing,” she says with a roll of her eyes, as if that’s been the topic of discussion for the past two hours and not the last two seconds. Pointing toward the screen, she explains. “Escape. Even though he sent her back home and banished her from Aldovia or wherever, you know he's going to go find and her and they're going to be happy.” On a sigh, Emma settles her head into the pillow. “It's nice.”

It’s so outside of Emma’s realm to be as serious as she is right now. Killian smiles softly at her, joining her on the bed. “I'm glad you finally see that.”

Just as it’s seemed she’s gotten comfortable, Emma swiftly stands, digs through her overnight bag, and goes off into the bathroom with her pajamas. Killian watches the movie as she changes, trying to pick up on the plot points he’s missed and occasionally taking a drink of rum.

When Emma comes back in the room, her daytime clothes balled up in her arms, she announces, “I don't have a family.”

It’s not necessarily out of left field, what with all the talk of Liam and Belle’s wedding and their fake impending nuptials over the dinner table, but Killian’s still a tad surprised by her statement. He doesn’t say anything, though: just allows her to continue at her own pace.

“I was bounced from foster home to group house until I aged out,” she explains, setting her clothes atop her bag. “There were so many kids that none of the adults particularly cared about the holidays.” Coming back to bed, Emma curls up beneath the covers, her voice growing quiet. “And when I grew up, I took to ordering Chinese food and watching these bad movies and the old stop motion ones all night.” She scoots closer to him, her eyes never leaving the T.V. screen. “This is the first Christmas I won't spend alone.”

Killian’s always known her life to be a little harsher than she deserved, but never quite that bad. There’s a hint of that emotion from earlier, the one that made him feel things, linger in her eyes, and he can’t help himself: gently, he brushes some stray strands of hair from her face, his hand staying on her cheek. “Then we're going to make this the best Christmas ever, Swan.”

“It already is,” she sighs happily, looking up at him. “I'm here with you.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead before crawling under the covers himself. Emma’s head ends up on his chest halfway through the movie, the rum forgotten on the nightstands, and they’re both asleep before the prince even proposes.

0000

Killian wakes up shortly after sunrise, head pounding with a headache. He stumbles to the bathroom for aspirin and water and brings back enough for both of them. Popping a few too many drugs, Killian takes a large swig of water to wash them down, and settles back in bed, hoping to get a few more hours. If there’s one Christmas present he’s not going to take for granted, it’s the chance to have a lie in.

Especially when an innocent Emma flips over and snuggles into him, sleep warm. And though her sigh airs on the side of dreamy, Killian can’t say the same for her morning breath. He’s casually choking on tainted air when she rouses.

“What time?” she asks, still half asleep.

“Too early,” Killian says, dragging his hand down her back to try and lull her back into unconsciousness. “Go back to sleep, Swan.”

“But Christmas,” she grumbles.

“It’ll still be Christmas when you wake up,” he assures her. But her breath’s already evening out, and she’s fast asleep less than a minute later.

0000

When they both wake to the sounds of pans clanging in the kitchen a few hours later, Killian feels a lot better. His head isn't killing him anymore, his mouth no longer tastes like cotton, and he's still got a Swan in his hold.

For now.

“You're so fucking hot, get off me,” she grumbles, pushing him wearily, her eyes still closed.

“It's so kind of you to say so,” Killian quips back, holding her even tighter. “I find you to be quite attractive as well.”

Emma groans and shoves his face away. She rolls over and scoots to the very edge of her side of the bed. “You know what I fucking mean.”

Killian sidles in behind her, careful when he threads his arm across her hip and waist. “I do,” he murmurs behind her ear, “but it's Christmas, so your words of malice mean nothing.”

She says something else that her pillow exclusively hears, but then she's sliding out of bed and toward the bathroom.

“If it's Christmas, then we better get started,” she says before closing the door. “The sooner it's over with, the sooner I can be mean to you again.”

Chuckling, Killian shouts through the door, “I like you even when you're yelling at me!”

Emma pokes her head and shoulders out the bathroom door.

“I'm not yelling,” she says matter of factly. “I'm simply expressing my opinion in an angry and slightly elevated tone.”

Once taken care of, Killian and Emma shuffle into the living room to find Belle curled up in a corner of the couch, sipping from a mug.

“Merry Christmas, You two,” she greets them quietly.

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” Emma says in return. “Where's your Jones?”

Belle giggles and tilts her behind back to the kitchen. “He wanted to put some cinnamon rolls in the oven to bake while we opens presents,” she explains.

“Always thinking ahead,” Killian remarks as his brother walks into the room.

“Ah, the lovebirds have awoken.”

“I could say the same for you.”

They exchange gifts - nothing to big or mind blowing. Liam gives Killian his annual pair of socks. Emma and Belle, it seems, thought along the same wavelength, exchanging candles and lotions meant for a relaxing home-spa day. Nobody changes out of their pajamas - too busy eating leftovers and watching classic Christmas movies - until Killian regretfully reminds Emma that they have to drive back home tonight.

“Some of us have to work early tomorrow morning,” he tells her jokingly.

“It’s not my fault your field likes to start their day at 8am,” she gests back.

By the time they say their final goodbyes and merry Christmases to Liam and Belle, it’s dark again, though thankfully not snowing. And when Killian drops Emma’s overnight bag at her doorstep, he can’t quite believe they made it through the holiday.

“Thanks for playing into my fantasy,” he says, surprising himself by how shy he sounds. They’ve spent the better part of the last 48 hours together pretending to be head over heels in love with one another, and now is the part where he begins to be scandalized by the matter? How curious indeed.

“Thanks for giving me the part.” Searching beneath her feet for the answers to life’s greatest questions - or at least that’s what he assumes she’s doing, she staring so intently - Emma scuffs at the floor. Unlike his apartment, she’s got a welcome mat, a little dinky, but still as welcoming as the word written across it. She kicks at it before she inhales deeply. “This might be a bit of a surprise, but that’s probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had in my life.”

“So you said,” Killian says with a chuckle, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. Then he admits quietly, “Me too.”

Her eyes light up, that same emotion bright behind her fluttering eyelashes. “Really?”

Killian shrugs. “The company was above average this year.”

“Aw shucks.” She kicks at the mat again. “Hey, um...” And then she stops herself from continuing.

“Yeah?”

Her right hand is cradling her left as Emma looks at the costume ring on her finger. His gaze falls to it as well. It’s just a silly fake pirate ring, and yet seeing it on her finger, knowing that it belonged to him only a day ago, does something that he suspects looks a lot like the little glimmer that keeps showing up in her eyes.

“I know I should probably give you this back,” she says, “but, um...”

“Keep it,” he says without hesitation. “It's part of your Christmas present.”

Emma shakes her head, already starting to pull the ring off her finger. “You've already given me so much and I just…”

“You've been perfect,” Killian interrupts her. He takes her hand in his and holds it tightly, effectively stopping her from removing the ring. And then, surprising himself, Killian adds, “Since the day you barged into my life and demanded to watch 12 Monkeys.” His tongue runs along his teeth, contemplating the idea formulating in his mind. “But...”

“But?” she repeats.

“If you feel so inclined to thank me...” His sentence drifts off, leading him to raise his finger and tap it to his lips.

Rolling her eyes so hard Killian fears they might get stuck that way, Emma says, “Oh my god, are you serious?”

Killian shrugs again, bringing his hand back into his pocket. “I said if you were inclined.”

“Please, you couldn't handle it,” she says quickly.

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” he quips back easily.

And before he knows it, Emma’s pressed against him, chest to chest, her hands pulling harshly on the lapels of his jacket. He’s jettisoned forward, his lips to hers, in what’s probably the least expected kiss in his life and possibly the lives of everyone else in their apartment building.

It’s also probably the single best thing to ever happen to him, romantically-inclined or otherwise.

Emma doesn’t step away once she’s done with him, merely comes down from her tiptoes with a heavy breath. “Only one way to find out, right?” Her voice sounds wrecked, her tongue coming out to lick what’s left of him on her lips. Then she lets him go and takes a step back. “Why don't you drop your stuff off and we can see how much we can actually handle together?” she suggests.

Raising a brow, Killian smirks. “Challenge accepted.” He grabs his bag from where it’s fallen to the floor and can’t help himself when he leans over and presses his lips to hers swiftly once more. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

He leaves her unlocking her front door to enter his own apartment, throwing his bag on the couch and beelining it toward his room. There’s dirty laundry to do and he should probably just go to bed because he does have to go to work in the morning, but the opportunity presented to him is just too good an offer to pass up and he can’t be sure that it’ll still be there come morning.

I hope it is, Killian thinks as he pulls on his sweatpants.

But then there’s banging on the other side of his bedroom wall, insistent and forceful and she’s never done that before. Something must be wrong. Throwing on another shirt and forgoing shoes altogether, Killian rushes over to her apartment, knocking equally as hard on her front door.

Emma’s smiling when she flings the door open.

“What's wrong?” he asks, confused by the conflicting information he’s receiving.

“Killian, the Hallmark movie with the dogs!” she shouts at him.

Shaking his head, Killian squints. “Yes, what about it?”

She points toward her living room. “It's on!” Taking his hand, Emma drags him into her apartment, her pleading eyes doing a number on his stomach. “Can we watch it and or have it on in the background?”

He sighs as the screen comes into view. It’s the beginning of the movie, so they can watch it in its entirety and laugh about it together. “I suppose we can wait,” he relents, allowing Emma to sit him down on the couch. He, in turn, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her legs over his lap. “But I'm not taking my eyes or hands off you for a moment.”

“Good,” she says with a smirk of her own. “I'd despair if you did.”

She tucks her head in the space between his neck and shoulder and something settles, warm and happy, in Killian’s chest.

If Killian had to think of one word to encompass this Christmas, he'd have to settle on unexpected. From his brother’s phone call to his and Emma's fake engagement, the last thing he thought this holiday would end with was him and Emma cozied up on his couch, curled around each other while watching a cheesy Christmas movie.

(And if they don't make it to the triumphant end in order to create their own, then sue him. Sometimes Hallmark movies have to write themselves.)

#csss #captain swan secret santa #cs ff #cs au #fake!engaged #ALSO CHRISTMAS FLUFF #ouat #my words #storytime #this is easily the longest one shot ive written ever #its over 7k #i was worried it wasnt going to get done in time #BUT IT DID #MERRY CHRISTMAS SANDY #i feel like i neglected you as a secret santa #im sorry #i hope you enjoy this!

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hazftcor · 7 years

Text

Jealous Book 2 Part 3

Scoot Mctoot cares about his sister so much that he’s willing to do the things he doesn’t want to do, just for her

“Good morning Scott.” You say as you take a seat at the breakfast table.

“Can you add another plate for my new boyfriend please?” Scott looks at you, startled. You laugh at his expression.

“Do not tell me you and Theo are dating now.”

“Yes we are, is there a problem?” Scott furrow his eyebrows.

“You just broke up with Liam?! Now you’re dating him? The enemy?” You frown.

“First of all, It was Liam who broke my heart and Theo, and Corey, who helped me through my heartbreak. Theo was always there for me and during our adventure fighting off the ghost riders while you remembered Stiles, there was a deep connection between us. Secondly, Theo is not our enemy anymore. he’s my boyfriend.”

“Are you crazy? He’s a f*cking murderer!” He raises his voice.

“Theo will never do anything to hurt me. He loves me! And I love him!“

“You can’t trust him, he’s the reason why you and Liam broke up.”

“I can trust him. I will always trust him. He’s my best friend! You’re just mad because it isn’t your otp!” Scott’s eyes turn red. You get scared and step back. He realizes what is happening and calms back down.

“I’m sorry Y/n.”

“Please Scott, just let me be with him.” You whisper, afraid he would lash out on you. He steps a bit closer. You flinch a bit.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t be scared of me.” He reaches his arms out for a hug and you carefully hug him.

“Hear me out, today is the last pack meeting before Stiles goes off to the FBI thing. We’ll have a vote there. See who agrees and disagrees with you guys dating. I promise I won’t vote until the end.” You nod.

“Is everything okay here?” Theo comes down. You can smell his chemosignals, he was sad.

“Baby, you heard all that?” You ask walking up to give him a hug.

“Yes baby, don’t worry I’m alright.”

“Okay, come on, let’s eat breakfast together.” The three of you gather around the table. You give Theo your plate and go to get your own. It was silent, with only the sound of you guys chewing.

“Oh my God, where the hell is he?” Stiles complains. You cuddle closer to Theo while holding his hand. You catch Corey staring at you and he sends you a wink. A knock is heard on the door and Lydia opens it.

“Finally! Liam and Hayden! You’re here!” The other couple walks in. Liam’s eyes lands on your intertwined hand with Theo.

“Hey guys, sorry we are late. This is my new girlfriend, Hayden.” He smirks.

“Hey, I have a new boyfriend too! Everyone, Theo is my new boyfriend.” Liam glares at you. You knew just how to get on his nerves.

“You guys are gonna have to vote if Theo and Y/n should date.” Scott informs the pack.

“I agree, they look cute together. And Y/n is happy!” Lydia states, smiling. You smile brightly.

“Me! I agree definitely! Come on Mason.” Corey says quickly. You chuckle.

“Okay, I’m okay with them.”

“Okay so that’s 3 out of 8. You just need two more votes to be able to date Theo.” Stiles slowly raises his hand.

“I agree.” Scott gasps, putting a hand on his chest as if Stiles’ choice stabbed him in the heart.

“Stiles.”

“What? Y/n is happy, I am happy.” Stiles says. You grin.

“Okay one more vote. Malia? Liam? Hayden?”

“I completely disagree.” Liam states. You roll your eyes.

“Okay so now its two versus four.”

“I don’t mind, as long as he,” Malia jabs a finger at Theo. “,doesn’t bother me.”

“Is that a yes?” Scott asks. She nods. You happily jump up.

“Yay! Thanks Scotty! Thanks Mal, Thanks Lyds, Thanks Mas, Thanks Stiles, Thanks Cor! I love you all. Well not you.” Your eyes land on Liam. He frowns. You go back to cuddling Theo, who has been silent all along. You smile at him and he smiles back, kissing your forehead,

“What’s wrong babe?”

“Nothing, I just feel unwelcomed.“ You put your hands on his.

“Baby, it’s just one pack meeting. you don’t have to come to the rest if you don’t want to.” You give a small smile and cuddle closer to him, inhaling his scent.

“Okay so since we’re going to college, I’m leaving it up to you guys to protect Beacon Hills. If you have any problems, ask Y/n or Liam. They will be your alpha 2.0.″

“Why me and him?” You whine.

“because, you’ve been in the supernatural world longer than him and he’s my first beta.”

“Yeah, Yeah. just like the old times. Don’t worry Scotty, I will protect those who cannot protect themselves as much as possible, and that includes dear Liam over there, who has the I.E.D. What does it stand for again? Intermittent Explosive Disorder?” It was a good thing you had Brett Talbot’s number, because he and Liam held a grudge against each other. Brett loves to play with Liam’s anger issues. It was also good that you were good friends with Allison before she died.

��Y/n.” Scott sternly says. You snicker.

“Can you please stop trying to get MY boyfriend angry?” Hayden speaks up.

“Don’t emphasize on ‘my’ please. He was my boyfriend in the first place.”

‘Well-”

“Hayden.” Liam states. Hayden instantly shuts up. The meeting continued on, with the tension being so thick that you can cut a knife through it. You received glares from Hayden, so you glared back.

Finally, when the meeting finished, you and Stiles embraced tightly.

“I’m gonna miss you Y/n. Call me if you miss me.”

“Oh Stiles. I will miss you and your sarcasm.” You let go so Stiles and Scott could hug.

“Princess I’m gonna go.” Theo says from behind you. You turn to him and pout.

“Awh but I wanted you to stay.”

“I don’t think Scott likes me. I’ll come by once in a while don’t worry.” He smiles to reassure you.

“Okay, stay safe baby.” You peck him on the lips before he walks out the door.

When everyone left Scott walks up to you.

“Y/n you can have my motorcycle. I have Stiles’ jeep now.” He hands me his keys. “Take good care of it.” You nod.

That motorcycle can save someone’s life.

By the start of the school year, everything was different.

“Hey! Nice work Diaz! Nolan, you can stay in there. You can take him. Nice shot, the best for pre-season.” Scott blows the whistle and watches the players on the field. You walk up to your brother.

“Hey sis, You ready to fill in my spot?” You nod.

“Assistant Coach McCall, What exactly are you doing?”

“Drills.”

“You’re giving them hope. When did I ever give you hope?”

“Never.”

“Exactly. Nothing motivates more than withering criticism. Also is this the new assistant coach? And speaking of losers, where's- where's your little friend?” Scott looks around the field for Liam.

“Yes coach, I’m Y/n McCall.”

“You’re a girl. Have you played Lacrosse before? Have I seen you play?” You nod.

“okay show me your moves. Go change.” You start to leave to go change. Coach turns back to Scott.

“Um..”

“Um? Is um a location? Is um behind me?”

“He’ll be here okay. He’s the backbone of our team, he stepped it up everyway possible. A born leader who can handle anything you throw at him.” Scott looks at you and gestures you to find him quick. You give him a nod.

“hey little McCall, who’s that on the bleachers?” Coach points to Theo sitting on the bleachers, reading a book.

“He’s my boyfriend. Gotta go.” You run inside and enter the boys change room.

“I can’t handle this.” Liam sulks, lying on the bench, half naked. You roll your eyes.

“Dude you haven’t even changed? Stop sulking about Hayden. Scott has faith in you.” The three boys look at you.

“Go away Y/n, You don’t belong here.” Liam says.

“I do. I’m the new assistant coach.”

“I can’t handle this.” Liam groans. You roll your eyes again and help him.

“Yes you can. And you’ve handled so much worse than this. Now stop crying.” Corey and Mason grab his uniform. You push him up.

“I don’t think you should be here. This is the boy’s change room.” Corey says, nervously.

“Corey. Both of you are fully dressed, literally the only thing to see at the moment is Liam and his naked chest. And I’ve seen Liam naked before.” You help him put on his uniform and lacrosse things. Liam ignores what you said.

“You’re practically the Alpha now dude.” Mason tells Liam.

“i’m nothing without her.” You roll your eyes dramatically.

“Can you stop being a crybaby?” You push Corey and Mason away so you can quickly put on his clothes. Liam stares at you.

“You don’t understand, Hayden left me.”

“Good,” Corey hits you gently. You smirk.

“She moved, to protect her sister. It’s not like she dumped you or anything.” Mason explains

“Why are your arms so god damn heavy? Liam help me out here please.” You complain, struggling to put on the lacrosse padding over him. Mason gets a text.

“Okay, Scott says coach is losing it.”

“Scott’s leaving too.” Liam says before falling back towards you. You push him away.

“Going to college is not leaving, okay? it’s called growing up. And we’re all going to different colleges eventually.” Mason explains

“I thought we both were applying to UCLA?” Mason hand gestures Corey to shut up.

“You guys are going to the same college?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I don’t know where I’m going, so...”

“I don’t want to be with you.” You gasped, pretending to be offended

“Liam, we’re still here. Stop sulking and get moving. I have to change myself too.” Mason gives him his lacrosse stick and you get away from the boys, taking off your shirt.

“Um. Y/n.”

“What? Just look away duh.” You chuckle at Corey’s response when he saw you in your bra.

“You still wear that bra?” You face reddens and you quickly put on your jersey which was Scott’s old jersey.

“Shut up.”

‘What is the point?” Corey and Mason start dragging him out. You follow.

“The point is, summer is almost over. We’re gonna be seniors. This is about to the best year of our entire lives, and you’re still captain of the lacrosse team.” They back up into and fall on each other. You laugh. Mason phone vibrates.

“Coach is making Diaz captain.” Liam’s expression changes.

“Welp see ya. Gonna be kicking your asses later.” You wave goodbye before running out.

Diaz has the ball when you reached the field.

“Other team, little McCall.” You run to the other side and put on your helmet. You look at Theo who was look at you. He smiles. Diaz throws the ball towards the net. Right before it hits the net, Liam jumps in.

“Now that’s how you play lacrosse, McCall. Who is that kid? He’s spectacular.”

“Coach, That’s Liam.”

“well how am I suppose to tell them apart? They all are wearing the same thing.”

“They got numbers on the jersey’s coach.” Liam was running with the ball and you smirk. You run right at him, slamming into him. Both of you fall.

“Ow god damn it.” Liam gets up slowly, breathing heavily.

“F*ck. Liam.” You say. Scott blow his whistle and runs toward you guys.

“Y/n!” You put your hands up in surrender. Liam looks up with his beta eyes.

“Liam, your eyes.” Scott says.

“McCall. what the hell was that? That wasn’t a foul. That’s called winning.” Everyone gathers around but their eyes land on something else. A wolf.

The wolf growls and walks a bit closer.

“Everyone back.” Scott tells everyone. They step back. You step a bit behind Scott. You see Nolan standing and staring at the wolf.

“Nolan.” You say. You look at Scott.

“Nolan, Stay back. Are you okay?” You ask pulling him back. He looks at you, fear in his eyes. Scott stars at the wolf, eyes flashing red. The wolf turns around. Scott looks back at you and Liam. You nod. Liam and Scott follow the wolf into the woods, while you get everyone settled.

You hear Scott and Liam groan as you walk by Scott’s room. They were trying to close Scott’s suitcase. They were able to close for a second, but once they threw it on the bed, it opened again.

“Hi guys. Having some trouble I see.” You smirk.

“Y/n go away.” You fake gasp at what your brother just said. You go and sit in between the two boys.

“I’m offended Scott. Are you guys trying to kick me out of the house? Keep in mind that this is my house too.”

“Go away.” Liam tries to push you away.

“No. Don’t touch me. Liam was being a pervert today.”

“You changed in front of me.“

‘It’s not like you guys never seen each other naked.” Scott adds. The both of you blush.

“So do you want to talk about it?” Scott asks Liam.

“I thought we were talking about it.” You poke Liam’s head.

“Ow, what the hell?”

“That’s obviously not what Scott’s talking about.”

“Oh. That. Me.” You shake your head smiling.

“Yea. You. Your fangs. your eyes. your growl.”

“This is like the dread doctors all over again.” Liam blushes a bit, thinking about those times.

“Its not like we’re talking about this.”

“You just gotta remember your mantra. What three things cannot long be hidden?”

“The sun, the moon, the truth.” You chirp in.

“I haven’t had to used that-”

“What three things cannot long be hidden?” Scott repeats.

“The sun, the moon ,the truth.” Scott tells him to repeat that over again. He takes a deep breath and repeats it. Scott listens to his heart beat.

“Better.” You hug Liam.

“I swear to god, if you make me kiss you again, I am gonna kill you.” You whisper. Scott laughs and Liam laughs in embarrassment.

“You don’t have another suitcase do you?”

“I have duct tape.”

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf season 6 #dylan sprayberry #liam dunbar #liam dunbar imagines #theo raeken #theo raeken imagines #cody christian #Scott McCall #Tyler Posey #nolan holloway #froy gutierrez #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #lydia martin #Brett Talbot #malia tate #Thiam

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larryfic-recs · 7 years

Note

Do u know any percy jackson au? Also could u recommend some wattpad fics other than jeddiejay and larry_lashton?❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hi! I’ve only found one Percy Jackson au and its quite short. But I’ll also rec another fic where Harry is Cupid (the love god that shoots arrows at ppl’s asses and makes them fall in love lol) and it’s a very good read! And about wattpad, please follow my account pattycake18 and Jen’s account _SweetDisposition_ and add our fic to your library link here! We have lists of the fics that we have read so you can look through those. In the meantime I’ll rec a few of my favorites. As far as wattpad authors go, Britt1DForLife, TrulyMadlyLarry, LarryWriting, onedirection23rd, bestwriterever8, uniquelyxlarry, gaysicle, LemonSuccubus, EvouzAg, booandhazzababe, and smileyourepretty have some good ones.

- Ami xx

Like a Drum (Baby, Don’t stop Beating) by exitthequitters (1k words, percy jackson au!)

They walk through the camp together hand in hand, past the big house where Chiron waves happily at them, past the strawberry field where Louis first kissed Harry, past the lake where Louis first met Zayn and Liam, past the dinning hall where Niall sat down next to Louis before he knew he shouldn’t, and to Harry’s cabin.

Or, they’re all sons of Greek gods at a summer camp for demigods.

cupid’s defence by rhuubarb (100k words, WIP [two chapters left])

“Of course, the ONE time a ridiculously attractive man shows up at Louis’ home, butt naked, he turns out to be an arrogant love god. Not only that, but he’s an arrogant love god facing a multi-million pound lawsuit, possible banishment from Mount Olympus, and a shit ton of adjustment issues.”

Alternatively: Harry is Cupid, Louis and Liam own a law firm, and they’re all getting sued.

Wattpad Recs:

Victorian Boy by AudreyHornesHeart (WIP, currently reading and loving)

Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the annual fox hunt in Yorkshire, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis’ bed. But when secrets from the Louis’ dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn’t the only one being hunted.

17 Black by larrys_fedora (WIP, slow burn, but amazingly written)

When sassy, stubborn high school football star Louis Tomlinson meets the new hard-ass team coach, Harry Styles, a heated rivalry sparks between the two and it is evident that the upcoming season is sure to be eventful.

no homo by louvinglouis (WIP, funnest fic I’ve ever read!)

louist91: I kinda really wanna suck your dick

louist91: no homo tho

my summary: Texting au where Louis and Harry fall in love over funny messages but Louis always ends them with #NoHomo. They eventually meet in person, along with Niall, Liam, and Zayn, and the madness only continues.

Thin Walls by beautifulnightmare2 (complete)

Louis moves into a flat while he’s at university, his next-door neighbour, Harry, who he’s never seen is rather loud at night. Louis confronts him about said noise and the two start to chat through the rather thin wall between their bedrooms. Will they ever meet, and if they do… what could ensue for the both of them?

Wanted Most by LarryWriting (complete)

Louis Tomlinson is a thief, and a damn good one at that. Most have heard of him. Most don’t understand him. And Harry Styles is the FBI agent who can never seem to catch him

these bountiful silences by tommoandbambi (complete)

They live in a world where they’re only allowed to say four words a day. Harry meets some people that don’t want to live that way.

i sleep naked by uniquelyxlarry (complete)

“you’re so small.” as if to prove his point, louis squeezed harry tightly in his arms, and harry just scrunched up a little bit, snuggling his head impossibly farther into louis’ chest. “my pretty paper doll.”

and when louis squeezed him again, placing a shaky, yet warm kiss on harry’s cold forehead, harry felt his heart feel that way again, he felt love. a soft flutter, that even the most self control in the world couldn’t stop. he loved louis. he loved him even though he didn’t want to, he really didn’t.

okay, maybe a little.

17BLACK by obeylarry (complete)

17Black: a gay strip club in London known for hot strip teases, a talented dj, and matchmaking? Harry is moving to London as a new addition to 17Black - new penthouse, hot job, amazing pay - sounds great. Sure it is a clear violation of Harry’s sexuality, but it’s not gay unless you make it gay, right? Plus it’s only for a month anyway. And of course, time flies when you meet a cute bloke named Louis. Who knows? A lot can happen in a month.

Elf Bites ❄ by simmerup (WIP, Christmas au)

“Deck the halls with balls of toenails, fa-la-la-la-la, I hate your beard.”“I don’t have a beard.”“I know. It’s pathetic.”

A jolly AU where Harry is an elf-in-training who quits his job and moves to London after the Elder Elves cancel Christmas in the North Pole. He plans to stay in London after that…but he decides to save his favorite holiday instead. And he may or may not enlist the help of his favorite human and full-time scrooge, Louis.

Wicked by gaysicle (complete, fairy tale au)

ursula lives under the sea with her surprisingly beautiful son. she gives him legs so he can get revenge on ariel by killing her daughter, but he gets his own ideas when he views peter pans son

Fading by tothemoonmydear (complete, one of the best)

Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.

If I Could Fly by alessandra (complete)

If the sea can meet the sky agreeably at the horizon, how much harder can it truly be for feathers and fins? Is the water not drawn naturally to the shore? Does the sun not bend down to kiss the waves at the end of the day?

A Larry Stylinson-inspired fairy tale AU that’s mostly fluff with a dash of angst, and a lil adventure thrown in for good measure (feat: merman!harry & harpy!louis characters by pass-the-pencil)

Just Say You Love Me, Just For Today by _SweetDisposition_ (complete, my personal fav by Jen!)

A Larry Stylinson Parent Trap Au

Boys Divisional School of Manners by boybands77 (complete)

What the fuck is the purpose to a manners school? Not what I was expecting I’ll tell you that. Basically a BDSM school fic.

Fight For Me by Mie1412 (complete, no smut)

“So, we’re friends?” Louis asked timidly, his blue eyes looking up at Harry through his lashes, Harry’s chest suddenly feeling all weird.

Fuck everything. His life really was one big mess at the moment but maybe he should just go with the flow and see what happens. Couldn’t get any crazier than it already has been anyway.

"Yeah… we’re friends.“

[Or the one where Harry’s an underground boxer, Louis’ the prize and now Harry has to fight to protect him]

Four’s Company by vampire_angel_z (complete, and theres a sequel)

The Styles Triplets need a mate. Louis is too good to be true.

Purple Reign by LemonSuccubus (complete, please read the warnings)

“Love is for fools; and I, Louis Tomlinson, am not meant to have any lover other than myself.”

Purple Rain /ˈpɝː-//reɪn/: A of feeling or emotion brought on by the memory of a regretful action, resulting in the personal knowledge that what has transpired cannot be corrected or undone.

Hunting the Belgian forest as a falconer for the royal family is where Louis and his brother Niall find sanctuary. A regal living within the stone walls of the castle is the only haven the prince’s cousin, Harry, has ever known. Their lives shouldn’t cross paths, but when word gets around that Harry could be a new candidate for Louis’ notorious promiscuity, the two find themselves in uncharted waters.

Though Louis believes that love is for fools, he can’t help but find himself becoming a fool for Harry. Their serendipitous love is only beginning to flourish when royal secrets emerge and test their loyalty.

Baby Heaven’s in your Eyes by smileyourepretty (complete)

They couldn’t be more different if they tried.

Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster, before then he’s off to Uni. He has big plans for his future, and thanks to his parent’s money he will have no problem achieving them. Everyone who attends his school knows him thanks to his incredibly rich family, sassy attitude and gorgeous girlfriend, Eleanor Calder. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a community college right across the street from St. Mark’s Private School, and he has to look at the poor, totally inappropriate students that go there.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to Doncaster’s community college, just because the Holmes Chapel comprehensive expelled him twice in the span of two years, so he and his family had to move to another town. He has no future because he never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his, who think they’re better than anyone just because their parents have money.

When they meet, Louis is nothing but disgusted by the tattooed boy, and Harry can’t help but laugh at the innocent yet sassy boy with blue eyes and amazing arse.

Or a sixth form!AU where Harry is the fucked up bad boy with too many problems, Louis is the perfect rich boy with too much money and their schools are right across from each other. They meet at a party and that’s the last (and maybe the only) thing they need.

Whatever It Takes by bestwriterever8 (complete, mpreg)

Louis Tomlinson always wanted to have children.

At the age of 29 and after years of failed relationships he decided he wasn’t going to wait for the right person anymore, so he had a baby on his own.

But what will happen when that child gets sick? What will Louis be willing to do to save his child’s life?

Detention by TrulyMadlyLarry (complete)

Detention is supposed to be a punishment, but for Louis and Harry, it’s the start of something beautiful. Unfortunately, what starts off as a harmless love affair quickly takes a turn for the worse. Through all the stereotypes, judgments, family issues, and demons from the past, Louis and Harry struggle to stay strong. What happens in detention, stays in detention.

Strip Me Clean by onedirection23rd (complete)

After Harry had grown up in an orphanage since birth, he finally escaped.

He left.

He couldn’t take being in the place anymore.

At the age of 16, Harry was already on the streets.

He needed a job and now.

When he runs into a man, he gets offered a job that he never thought he’d be doing.

And now, at the age of 22, Harry was one of the best strippers in his clan.

Harry hated the job. He just hated people in general.

But, it did pay well.

When Louis goes into this strip club for his birthday, what happens when he produces feelings for the dark eyed, loud mouth stripper boy who hates relationships, hugging, kissing, hand holding, physical contact, and more?

Louis wants one thing.

To strip Harry clean.

The Housekeeper by onedirection23rd (incomplete)

Harry was just a poor housekeeper… a maid, a caretaker of homes. He had absolutely nothing going for him. He was back and forth on trying to settle in a proper place, but he never made enough money to do so. Harry was always stuck and always came across problems.

That was until he met Louis Tomlinson.

Who was Louis exactly?

Well, he was one of the richest people in London.

Louis had a perfect life.

He had a perfect girlfriend, Eleanor, he had a perfect house, he had a perfect job, he had perfect friends, he had a perfect everything.

Harry would have never expected a job of such worth, but it came about at complete random.

One of Louis’ managers had hired Harry off the bat after Louis had fired his old maid, in search for a new one.

Of course, it started off as any house Harry has taken care of, he would clean up, cook, and go home, unless he was allowed to stay at the home he took care of (which rarely happened).

It was nothing.

Louis only saw Harry as his housekeeper with a shy attitude.

And Harry only saw Louis as his ‘master’ with a big ass ego.

They were opposites, polar opposites.

But… opposites attract, don’t they?

#larry #larry fic rec #larry fic #louis #harry #wattpad #larry wattpad #larry wattpad fic rec

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louisfeatharry · 7 years

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* newly added fics to my fic rec page as of 05/29/17

Amazing Sin by thecheshirepussycat (56k) [au, friends to lovers, pining]

Gears started turning in Louis’ head. Purely mischievous gears that had Louis formulating a revenge plan against Taylor. He’d had enough of sitting around and taking it. If she was going to call him a whore, then fine, he’ll act like one for real. “I’m going to say something, and as my friends you are obligated to love me anyway.”

“This can’t be good,” Niall said, Zayn just groaned.

“So I know we have this strict ‘no lashing back at Taylor’ rule with me, but what if I can get press revenge a different way?” Louis asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer, because they knew by now to just go with it. “What if I stole her boyfriend?”

Or, the story of Louis ‘Steal Your Man’ Tomlinson.

as a memento from me by aliferuined (15k) [au/ou, 5+1 things]

Five lives in which Harry and Louis didn’t end up together, and one in which they did.

Dance to the Distortion by Lis (domesticharry) (96k) [au, uni, fake relationship, enemies to lovers]

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.

Every Arrow That I Aim Is True by estrella30 (24k) [ou, friends to lovers]

“I can see you don’t believe me,” Harry says, pretending to be stern. Louis chuckles a little but doesn’t get out of the bed. “Anyway, I texted Liam and told him you’re with me. He said to stay here as long as you need, and he’ll deal with the show over there until you want to come back, all right?”

Louis doesn’t say anything again so Harry whispers, “Just stay here with me for a while, yeah? I’ll take care of you.”

Louis is quiet. He never picks his head up, but Harry can see the pillow move from where he’s nodding and his fingers tighten around Harry’s. “Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah, all right.”

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove (124k) [au, based on a movie, getting back together, slow burn, angst]

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth by MrsStylinson (290k) [au, neighbors, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, pining, angst]

When Louis moves into the flat next to Harry's, neither of them thinks it will change their lives. Louis is stuck in a relationship with his controlling and overly possessive boyfriend who he loves too much to break up with.. Harry is content, seeking refuge from the snobby world he grew up in and forging a new path for himself. He does happen to have a habit of wanting to fix people though and when he meets Louis, the gorgeous man with a prat of a boyfriend, he finds himself trying to do just that. While Harry tries to avoid getting tangled in a messy situation, Louis tries to deny that there's a niggling voice in the back of his head that prefers Harry to his own boyfriend. While both studiously refuse to let change come, they fail to notice that exact force wrapping around them and pulling them tighter together until there just might be no escape from the feelings brewing within.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) by thedeathchamber (55k) [au, hurt/comfort, angst]

Harry thinks he has good reasons for avoiding relationships. Meeting Louis puts those reasons to the test.

I Could Do Without A Tan On My Left Hand by fookinglousers (7k) [au, 5+1 things]

The five times Harry's blind dates go horribly wrong and the one time it goes horribly right.

No Bleeding Hearts by whoknows (12k) [ou, coming out, angst]

“I’m going to come out,” Louis says abruptly. His grip on the controller is tight, knuckles whitening. He doesn’t look at Harry when he says it.

“What?” Harry says. Louis sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“When we re-negotiate our contracts. I’m going to come out.” Harry fumbles with the controller and manages to set it down on coffee table without cracking it in half.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry says. Louis is still pointedly not looking at him.

“I’m not having this argument with you again, Harry,” Louis tells him. He leans forward and deposits his own controller on the table beside Harry’s before standing up. “I’m gonna go to the hotel.”

Par for the Course by colourexplosion (36k) [au, famous/nonfamous, friends to lovers, pining]

Harry's right there. In person. Wearing a ridiculous purple golf shirt and those stupid gloves that keep the clubs from flying out of your hands when you swing and he's staring at Louis like he's just seen a fucking ghost.

Though, Louis supposes, he really sort of has.

Or, a golf au.

(based on the summary of Becky Wicks' Before he was Famous)

Pure Imagination by toolatefordancing (52k) [au, enemies to lovers, slow burn]

Pure Imagination is full of bright colors, rhyming words, and bright smiles. It's Louis' creation, his very own local broadcast children's show. That is, until Harry comes in, a spoiled rich kid who wants a part of the show for himself. Louis doesn't take it well.

Liam is Louis' surf-instructor roommate and has a deep connection with his bong. Niall and Zayn are a couple that likes to get tipsy in bars.

Rain Is Falling, Looks Like Love by PearlyDewdrops (30k) [au, fluff]

Louis Tomlinson has a pretty ordinary life. He works in a small record shop in the heart of Manchester, shares a flat with a boisterous Irishman, is being pestered to date by his best friend Liam, and has a mind that's far too restless to settle for anything less than an adventure.

Enter Harry Styles, a boy with galaxies in his eyes, flowers in his hair and an unspoken promise to give Louis exactly that.

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire (110k) [au, historical, fantasy]

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

Louis has been alive since life was a mere concept; he watched the summoning of Man into existence, he was there when Eve took the apple. He’s seen seas break the world into separate pieces, he’s watched empires crumble into dust. He’s seen wildfire consume cities, he’s seen the world painted white with snow. He has known the most beautiful humans to walk the planet, he has watched the most powerful mortals gather their riches and influence around them and then die just like the poorest, weakest humans do. He’s met humans whose motives defy explanation, people who use their lives as battering rams, as tools, as weapons, as chess pieces.

None of that stopped Louis in his tracks.

But Harry did.

The Dead of July by whimsicule (117k) [au, fantasy, action, hurt/comfort]

Being an Avenger means continuing to be Captain America and smiling and being honorable for the public and Harry does his best. But it doesn’t give him time to figure out who he is supposed to be once he takes off his uniform and puts the shield to the side. Just being Harry had always involved Louis, and Harry fears he doesn’t know how to exist without him.

or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

True North by navigator, quitter (25k) [ou, friends to lovers, pining]

Altered-canon non-au set between November 2012 and January 7th, 2013.

Waiting On You by emma1234 (76k) [au, fantasy, friends to lovers, action & adventure]

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

You’re the Light by allwaswell16 (31k) [au, boss & employee, angst, pining]

Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

#fic rec list #recentrecs

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brielleroux-archive-blog · 7 years

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“But Megan,” you say, “haven’t you done this already?”

Yes. I have, but I’m doing this again because I have a habit of changing/tweaking things. And I’m tired. And I don’t feel like actually working on things right now.

Modern AU

Name: Brielle Roux. Nickname: Bri and Sis are the few nicknames that she’ll respond to. Age: 25. Gender: Female.

Nationality: American (North America; in a TES setting, Cyrodiil and later on Skyrim). Place of Birth: Anchorage, Alaska. She misses it (in a TES setting, she was born in Bruma, Cyrodiil). Current Residence: Officially, outside of Branson, Missouri. This can change depending on the setting, though (in a TES setting, she lives in Riften, Skyrim). Religion: Agnostic, but open to the idea of deities (in a TES setting, she believes in the Eight and worships Mara).

Languages: English and French she can speak fluently, and knows some words and short phrases in Irish Gaelic (in a TES setting, she speaks Common and Bretic fluently). Career: She’s currently working as a Licensed Practical Nurse, with future plans to further her education (her career in a TES setting is very similar, but with a touch of restoration magic and other practices).

Family: - Aditte Walsh (mother, previously Aditte Roux but divorced and remarried), a Registered Nurse and avid gardener.

- Manuel Roux (father, divorced husband of Aditte), a rather serious individual and banker. He has remarried, and is quite happy with life.

- Liam Walsh (stepfather, married to Aditte) is a dentist. He’s loud, and entertaining.

- Varnan Roux (biological brother, the eldest child), a police officer with an addiction to coffee. He and his girlfriend recently bought a new home.

- William Walsh (step-brother, twin of Levi) is currently in college, studying to become a computer software engineer. He’s the first one Brielle goes to when a beloved electronic begins to act up.

- Levi Walsh (step-brother, twin of William) is an aspiring police officer and an avid hiker. He and Brielle like to go hiking on the weekends, whenever they have the time.

Pets: She has a piebald python, Mandrake, and a pink-pastel hognose, Orchid. Mordecai is still around, but lives with her mother and stepfather. Change did not settle well with the cat, and he’s old enough that moving would be too harsh on him. Scamp is also living with her mother and stepfather, enjoying the quiet countryside. Nettle does live with her – he was a gift from her brother and his girlfriend. They’re reasoning? She’s going to be living on her own, and she needs to have a large, intimidating dog. Household: She used to live with Varnan and his girlfriend, but after a couple of years felt that it was time for her to leave. She now lives in a cozy apartment. It has its problems, but overall it serves her well. Social Media: How could she not? She enjoys social media, but tends to take day-long breaks whenever it grows to tiresome. Her favorite sites are Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube. And Snapchat. She loves Snapchat.

Height: 5’2” Body Type: Slim, and in shape. Jogging with Varnan, hiking with Levi, dance classes and a not-so-terrible diet have kept her in good shape. Hair Color and Type: Auburn and long, somewhat curly. It’s usually braided. Eye Color and Shape: Green, almond shaped. Tattoos/Piercings/Distinguishing Marks: She has one large tattoo on her back, a rebellious “fuck you” to her father’s rule. She would like to get another one (or two), but that costs money. She’s still covered in freckles.

Virgin: No. Age when they lost their virginity: 19.

Smoking: No. Drinking: Some Friday nights she’ll go out drinking with friends, but nothing too crazy. Special occasions that come with alcoholic drinks are taken advantage of, too. But again, she knows when to stop (usually, as there have been a couple of times that she’s drank too much). Drugs: Never.

Personality: Friendly, and very chatty. Excitable, and energetic. She’s always moving, and has trouble sitting still for long periods of time. She’s more confident and outspoken than her TES self – sticking up for herself or others doesn’t cause her to bat an eyelash. She is nice, and prefers to settle arguments in a civil manner. That doesn’t mean she’s a pushover. She can be a handful when she needs to be. Hobbies: She jogs with her brother twice a week, usually in the evening, or whenever their schedules allow them to. She and Levi hike on the weekends or, again, whenever they’re able to. She attends dance/choreography classes as well, and loves them. She reads whenever she can. She’s also developed an interest in the occult, and spends whatever free time she has left reading about various topics (and witchcraft, she’s begun to practice that, too; in all honesty, her interests in a TES setting are the same).

Favorite Drink: Tea (chamomile, to be specific, with lots of honey) and hot chocolate. Favorite Food: She’s fond of fruit parfaits, but her mother’s cooking is near and dear to her heart. Her rabbit stew is hard to beat. Favorite Music: She’ll listen to just about anything, but pop music and folk/indie music are the types she listens to the most. Favorite Movie: It would be a tie between The Last Unicorn and Hocus Pocus. Favorite TV Show: She doesn’t really have one. Favorite Books: Anything that falls into the fantasy, adventure, or romance categories.

Clothing Style: If she likes it, then she’ll wear it. She’s worn bright colored skirts and blouses, jean shorts and tank-tops, skinny jeans and t-shirts – as long as she feels comfortable wearing it, then it’ll be worn. It also depends on the season. Sweaters, cardigans, leggings and jeans are worn frequently when the temperature falls. Jewelry isn’t worn often. Underwear Type: Again, as long as it’s comfortable, she’ll wear it.

Heroes: None? Herself? The guy at the coffee shop that memorized her order?

Bucket List:

- Further her education. She would like to (at least) reach the status of Registered Nurse.

- Get a house of her own. The apartment is nice, but you can only do so much with it.

- Survive a night after messing with a Ouija board.

- (TES setting only) Study necromancy, because ‘screw you dad, I can do what I want.’

#modern!verse #i'm tired. here's this #i've already done it. but oh well

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princeofsalt · 8 years

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PrinceOfSalt’s fic rec in no particular order!

I need home (our tangled bones) by togetherwecouldbealright

Louis runs a record label and Harry is his daughter's new nanny. Over the course of a year, Harry helps Louis learn what it really is to be a father and somehow they find an unexpected home in each other.

Or, the kid fic where Louis wants to make Harry a star, Zayn just needs everyone to stop being stupid, Niall laughs his arse off at everything, Liam attempts to keep things in order and Harry takes a chance.

Orange Canvas by aclosetlarryshipper

Few can handle Louis Tomlinson on the dance floor, much less match him in skill and fervor. Louis has obviously met his soul mate; he just never expected him to be wearing a red snapback and to chew gum like an entitled Mercedes owner.

A spring break (kind of) fake relationship AU

This Wicked Game (particularly amazing) by cherrystreet

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

Take Off Your Running Shoes by polkadotpeacoat

AU- Harry is the fit supermarket check out boy. Louis wants to sleep with him. Summer romance ensues.

Anyplace, Anyhow, Anytime (amazing) by aimmyarrowshigh, colazitron

Harry's going to audition for The X-Factor in a few days, he really can't use this persistent tickle in his throat. What's even worse is when the tickle turns into a full blown cough, and the cough makes him pass out only for Harry to wake up in a different world. And then another one, and another one, and another one. The only other person who seems to be as affected as he is, is a boy with blue eyes who keeps showing up in every single one of these worlds.

led by your beating heart (as far as I can remember this one was real good) by missandrogyny

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou. But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

California Sold by isthatyoularry

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Where Your Heart Is by anhcor, tvshows_addict

Louis is ready for his brand new adventure. So what if he suffers from a genetic condition that prevents him from being touched? College is going to be awesome. It has to. Karma kind of owes him right now. Forget about his overprotective mother, or Liam-- his entirely too chipper step brother-- or his mess of a roommate. Forget about the gloves he has to wear at all times. He’s here to expand his knowledge, write and drown himself in books -- No matter how distracting ‘Hallway Boy’ may be-- The obnoxious, flirty frat wannabe determined to become the bane of Louis’ existence.

Or, a college AU set in San Francisco where two lost boys who seemingly have nothing in common find inspiration, each other, and themselves in the process.

Run Like the Devil by benzos

Harry stops pouting, but his frown is still fixed in place. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know it’s your soul you’re signing away.” He sounds…sad? No, that’s not right, but there’s something.

Christ. This is the most incompetent demon Louis’ ever met. If he hadn’t seen the red of his eyes he wouldn’t believe he was a demon at all. How’d he get this job if he isn’t trying to convince Louis to deal? Or is it just another trick? A ploy for sympathy?

“I’m sure,” Louis says. “Come over here and kiss me.”

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

break open the sky by karamelised

Being a werewolf isn't always easy. Especially if you have no idea what you're doing.

Werewolf au. Harry might be a werewolf, but he still wants to experience Uni like everyone else. Turns out he learns a lot.

In Vogue by otpwhatever

'Is that why David Beckham has been featured multiple times on the pages of your life's work? Does your criteria seriously consist of one thing – a man's ass?' 'Well the ass is a man's best asset,' Harry smirks, holding the Martini glass high up his face. 'And don't call the magazine my life's work. There are far more important things in life, Louis Tomlinson, than what's printed on the pages of a magazine.'

Fashion AU. Louis is the editor in chief of Vogue magazine, and Harry's running British GQ. Featuring Zayn as the crazy creative director and Louis' confidant, Liam as the sports writer that gets to sit front row at fashion week and DJ Neil as the only sane person in the whole story. (There are no skinny jeans in this fic)

Wont See It Coming Til It’s Already Gone by whoknows (MY FAVORITE AUTHOR)

“Tell me that this is a fake,” Peter says, slapping a handful of papers against Louis’ chest. He says something else, something loud and demanding, barely even pausing for a breath, but Louis doesn’t hear it. All he hears is the sound of his own breathing, the sound of his own heartbeat.

Because this - this looks like a marriage certificate.

For a minute, everything stills, quiets. Louis drags his eyes up, meets Harry’s gaze, fixed on him.

Then the noise is back, shouting voices clamoring to be heard over each other, and Harry is still staring at him.

The ring that Louis hadn’t been able to stop noticing in the loo weighs heavily on his hand. His left hand.

Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will. by lets_get_messi

Harry has a diary and he's been writing about the pen-pal he's never met in there since he's been 12 years old. One day he reads his diary out to a room full of strangers and finds that the man with the blue-eyes at the back of the room is a slight distraction.

(Or Harry goes to a public diary reading thing at his local coffee shop and gets more than he bargained for)

devil town by kingsoftheimpossible

a southern us au

“Mmm,” Louis hums, tipping his head slightly in acknowledgement. “You know what I reckon all the baseball games you’ve seen have in common?”

Harry rocks on his heels, uncertain, drifting. If it were daylight, if he could see Louis’ face, maybe he’d see where this was going. As it is, he hazards a guess, smiling beseechingly even though Louis probably can’t see him very well. “That I didn’t know what was going on?”

“I reckon,” Louis says, taking the cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ashes to the ground, “you only ever paid attention to baseball when it involved paying attention to me.”

like a timebomb ticking (this made me sob. I’ve read it like 5 times it’s so amazing. read it. do it.)by infinitelymint

Louis loses everything. Harry's still there.

Marking Up The Atmosphere by acidveins

At the age of twenty, Harry deals with things expected to occur at his age: student loans, instant meals, electricity bills, and the constant, incessant presence of never ending coursework.

That, and the job of raising his six year old daughter and avoiding the charm of a young, successful, and very off-limits Louis Tomlinson.

all of our important nothings by deadspy

Louis stares down at his phone for an eternity before typing out the message.

does she know that paper plane necklace was a gift from my mum to you our first christmas together???

He immediately regrets sending it. He knows it doesn’t matter. Knows Taylor’s necklace is a cheap knockoff of the one Harry had always worn so proudly— knows the way he’d smiled at it, lifting it slowly from the small box he’d been given it to in, the way Jay had met Louis’ eyes from across the room and winked, how it had dangled from Harry’s neck that night as he rode Louis on his childhood bed, the little silver airplane catching on the lights from cars passing by on the road outside shining into his room and casting soft reds and yellows over Harry’s pale skin.

[Harry and Louis are in love, Haylor happens, and Louis battles quite a few demons along the way.]

Glow by dolce_piccante (read EVERY. FIC. SHE. HAS.)

Alien AU, with a hint of Royal AU. A summer barbecue at the Tomlinson's is interrupted by a naked visitor from a peaceful planet far, far away. Can an alien and a human survive a summer together for the sake of the human race?

monsters are always hungry, darling by makescalamity

In Freudian terms, Harry has an oral fixation. Louis is more than ok with it.

All Tired Talk by orphan_account

In which Harry is the dying front man of a dying rock band, Zayn has finally given up holding his hair back in dingy bathrooms, Niall and Liam are holding up the fort, and Louis comes along with eyes the color of the sky to remind Harry that there is still more life to live.

These Constant Stars by stylinsoncity

Louis’ career has nowhere to go but up. He’s living at the height of New York City on the precipice of an epic promotion. Life is good and only getting better. And then one day, things turn disastrous.

This is a story about life, death, and punk rockers turned guardian angels.

Title inspired by "Fool's Gold" by One Direction.

walk my days on a wire by sunshiner

Harry hums, staring at his hands in his lap, and Louis can still feel their smoothness, how solid they were in between his own. “Do you think it’s the same for us? Are we here only because of the likeliness of our jobs? Of our lives?” “We’re here because we have inventive managers,” Louis says, giving Harry’s leg a little nudge with his knee, but all that’s going around in his head is, I think I'd be in the same spot in every possible universe.

or, when actor Louis Tomlinson used to daydream about dating Harry Styles, this is not what he had in mind.

my heart is breathing for this moment in time by usedtothebeach

When Louis first saw Harry at the 2010 X Factor Auditions, he thought he was watching a peculiarly special stranger. But Harry has known Louis ever since he was five years old.

Because Louis has a rare genetic disorder that causes him to Time Travel to important moments in his past and in his future - and to Harry, always to Harry. When they're put into a band together, it seems like everything Harry has been waiting and wishing for has finally come true. Except for the small fact that Louis doesn't know that Harry is in love with him- that Harry's always been in love with him. Fate, it would seem, is just getting started.

A story about growing up and growing together, and the impossible love that makes it all worthwhile.

#one direction fic rec #fic rec #larry stylinson fic #one direction fic #larry stylinson fic rec

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beingheldby-you · 8 years

Text

one million invisible lines

He’s eleven.

His uniform is pristine, his nails are clean, and his head full of hair curls upon itself, sticking to him like an unwelcome shadow.

He’s been enrolled in four schools in three different countries by the time he’s in Year 7 but this time, this time, Harry Styles is promised will be the last.

He doesn’t believe it.

Because both his parents are in love with a thrill. The thrill of discovering an idea and starting over. The thrill of building a company from scratch and then selling it and moving on to the next idea, the next country, the next market, the next big thing.

He can’t complain, really. He’s a byproduct of two wanderers who made their fortune by constantly starting over. The incessant stop and start’s have given him a sense of independence. It drilled into him a long form of adaptability. A passion for adventure. A burning desire to paint the sky whatever colour he feels like, whenever he feels like.

But the insurmountable need to regularly start over does eventually exhaust the psyche. He develops what his therapist calls “abandonment issues,” mourning his own exit every time his parents pack them up to the next big venture. It’s not classically the leave-ee who bemoans the separation, but there he is, at the age of eleven, sure that he will never find a place to call home.

But this time is different, they promise.

“This time we’re building something that’s just ours.”

He smiles and nods and doesn’t protest as he waves goodbye to his parents at a six digit per term tuition fee preparatory boarding school.

Alone in his room, he listens to the silence he’s left in.

He never wishes for friends when he starts a new term in a new school. Not since he’s learned that it only serves to make things more difficult when the inevitable happens. But he gets one anyway, in a form of a roommate; a boy with warm brown eyes and untamed hair not unlike his.

Like the sullen quiet of fog in winter, Liam stares at him as if waiting for permission.

He shrugs after a long minute, as though saying to himself that this new specimen will just have to do.

During their first day of classes, Liam points of the kids who are school royalty, because all schools have hierarchies, and the ones who rumour has it are actual royalty.

“The inbreeding makes it particularly easy to spot them,” he says. Harry laughs at his new companion’s subtle sarcasm, soft like the skin above the collarbone. Jagged but beautiful, like stained glass.

They go to their classes and read in their room. Occasionally Harry climbs to the roof and just lays in the meek England sun, counting the new ground secrets he’s discovered.

They will eventually prove useful; he knows it deep in his bones.

Life in conservative schooling establishments goes by in a blur, as they always do. But Harry notices him his first week, during breakfast, surrounded by a mish mash trio who all carry themselves with a same quiet grace.

His bright eyes and sheepish smile doesn’t reveal anything about him at all, and neither does the silent tempest in the eyes of those he surrounds himself with.

There’s something inexplicable about the boy.

They’re the old money people, Liam tells him. Coming from a long line of aristocrats and nobles who practically shit gold. And it’s perhaps the most accurate way to describe him since he’s the son of an oil tycoon; the new gold.

They get partnered during English by some odd coincidence and he learns that the boy with skin golden like the sun is all bravado and bullshit while Harry is all adrift and aerial, head in the clouds and barely present.

It's a cosmically fated connection; both different but just the same enough. Armed with a desperate frustrated attempt to prove themselves smart, whole periods of English became dedicated in debating Twain and Homer.

Zayn likes being the most obscure guy at the party, Harry realises, dropping random bits of dubious facts from books and passages that aren’t even part of the syllabus.

Their conversation soon shift to an array of subjects; from the latest Batman movies to whether or not they are in actual fact facing the possibility of an apocalypse. Zayn Malik, as Harry he learns with each passing English period, is as inexplicable as he is bizarre. Full of snark when you’re not looking and smoothed over by just enough charm when you are.

He never seems to take anything seriously either, each assignment and coursework an opportunity to prove just how smart he is.

As the year moves along, they rack up a number of detentions each, one upping each other with juvenile pranks. For their finals, he dares Harry to insert as many sex puns as possible into his verbal presentation on Shakespeare.

Harry takes him up on that in a gusto.

He’s not even sure if any of his puns and innuendo really mean anything to anyone at that point, but the entire class sits in their silent astonishment when he’s done.

And then, the one known as Louis laughs so hard he falls right out of his chair.

The substitute teacher, twitchy and crimson-faced, dismisses the class in a hurry before the period is even over and Harry moves towards the door with a triumphant glow on his face, while Zayn is waiting on his friends who are waiting on Louis, still laughing.

Harry could spot that recognisable smirk on his lips and amusement in his eyes from a mile away.

He walks out of that final English class sure that he would have to move to another school the coming year. Purely because it’s what he does; he leaves.

And he shuts off the world a little more everytime he does.

But at eleven, Harry Styles is realising that when you leave someone, they can leave you even more.

He’s twelve.

His parents keep their promise and he settles hesitantly into life in a preparatory boarding school.

The entire thing starts feeling weirdly normal. He sits with Liam for breakfast while he absent-mindedly seeks out the boy with hurricane eyes and the madman mind.

He watches as his part-time friend walk to his classes with those with whom he grew up with.

But Harry gets allocated a course alone with someone else in their little closed foursome.

They all have most of the same classes together really, but it’s foreign language and an elective and they’ve both apparently decided on French.

He raises a brow when Addison sits herself down next to him.

With a shrug she tells him that Zayn took the option to drop foreign language as he’s already multilingual, Louis chose German to impress his new neighbour Ada back at home, and Poppy followed suit because she’s spent pretty much all her summers in Berlin anyway and just wants an easy mark.

Harry chuckles.

“Liam’s taking German too,” he offers, “Because he loves everything automobile and he wants to possibly work with engines in the future and there really isn’t much that beats some fine German engineering.”

Addison arches a perfect brow at his spiel, “That’s forward planning right there.”

She takes out her textbooks as he watches, twelve kinds of awed at the ease and confidence of which she embodies.

She’s charm and chaos rolled into a minute frame.

And to be quite frank, Harry never quite had a clear read on Addison.

She’s old money too, according to Liam, as though it’s supposed to mean something.

But all he knows about is that she’s far too loud for someone so tiny, and that there’s a glimmer in her eyes that told tales of her crazy despite every attempt to appear like someone who is condescendingly rich and bored and blue blooded.

He can see in the way that she walks and talks; she has absolutely no desire to be prim and proper, and fit into the crusty upper class mould of London high society.

But a lifetime of hard conditioning of tradition and rules of propriety is hard to undo.

Harry’s sure it had taken her years to fully embody the face of pure disinterest, always unimpressed and not quite an open book. And she’s mastered perfectly the art of laughing in silence too.

“Just a matter of biting your lip and constricting your chest,” she says.

“You'll find it useful someday, trust me."

And he can’t understand it; why wouldn’t you laugh out loud if you wanted to?

“It’s the difference between us and them,” Liam tells him as they have their midnight talks when they both can’t sleep.

He doesn’t often think about that divide though; new money and old money. It makes him want to put his head through the nearest wall. But he wouldn’t do that, not when he’s deciding to grow his hair out.

So he just doesn’t dwell on it.

Harry debates Chaucer with Zayn in the library on Wednesdays, staying too late and talking too loud, and hangs out with Addison twice a week, partnering up for their scheduled class, absorbing orthology and memorising phonology.

And when they’re meant to be correcting each other’s grammar, she spells out profanities in every language known to man, face deadpan and devoid of emotion when he catches her doing it.

She’s smarter than she lets on, that he knows for a fact.

So he just crosses out the profanities and laughs.

It’s something, Harry thinks to himself, the settling in curb is not as steep as people make it out to be.

He’s thirteen.

He’s outgrown preparatory school and enters Wellesley College.

Except this time he’s not the one leaving, almost the entire school comes with him.

And by some stroke of coincidence or perhaps a divine joke, he gets roomed with a scholarship student.

He’s glad for it because it’s not him this time.

There are new faces and he’s now an old face; no longer invisible and no longer imposing. He sits with Liam, Louis, and Zayn for breakfast, Dee doodles more curse words into his homework during independent study periods, and Poppy giggles herself silly at his shitty jokes during dinner.

Harry, for all his bold self-made promises of not making permanent connections, begins to just sort of... fit into all of their lives.

Like they’ve been waiting for him this entire time.

His fists, writhed white from clenching so hard pushing the world away, start to relax.

And it shows.

He assures Niall that they don’t bite, that they’ve just all known each other longer.

Assures the Irish lad that that outside feeling goes away; because you eventually build your own inside jokes, your own personal relationships over time.

Like the way Addison’s become a permanent resident in their room, calling Niall all kinds of pop cultural blonde nicknames, listening to his Kings of Leon albums, and very occasionally condescendingly hover over them while they attempt to make a dent at their respective courseworks.

Like the way Zayn starts calling him Haz and it catches on.

And the way Zayn starts calling Addison Dee and it catches on too.

But he speaks her name differently.

He can’t really explain it, but it’s softer. Gentler. As though his tongue whispers her name like a prayer and his hands long cradle drops of her like water in the shower.

He asks him about it after they successfully steal the Provost’s confiscated whiskey stash.

(It involved, in no particular order:

A fork, two stolen pairs of shoes, three really good hair ties, and a willing Liam and Louis who are bribed into their silent roles by the promise of a share in the spoils.)

“I dunno, really,” Zayn says.

The two of them sit on the ground and drink until they can’t see straight, lying flat on the ground and looking at the stars, whiskey draining into their blood and across their veins.

He starts mumbling off about how everything wouldn’t matter one day anyway, because they’d be long gone; their footprints won’t perpetually stain the tiles of Wellesley hallways no matter how hard they try, and the names they’ve given each other won’t be written down into history books.

“It all just doesn’t matter,” he says.

And it’s like Harry’s been sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool all his life.

The world, as he knows it, full of clouded water.

And he’s just now breaking the surface into a new dimension of living. He almost hopes that Zayn’s words will swallow him whole. He wants to be swallowed whole and spat out something new.

Harry doesn’t know what it all means though, but in that moment, he swears that he could live off that feeling forever; alcohol running through his veins and best mate by his side, drunkedly contemplating mortality.

It’s as though someone had just tapped him on the shoulder and sucker punched him in the face.

And he’s not quite sure what his life is anymore.

He’s fourteen.

He’s grown three inches over summer and his hair is long enough to cover his ears now. He feels like his heart has grown three sizes bigger too and he’s sitting at the edge of the window that he’s managed to wedge open on the highest floor of the library.

Everything looks so small, even though he’s the one who’s young and uncomprehending.

He looks at their little study group; Niall with his attempts to make sense of Louis’ work, Liam explaining something or another to Poppy, and Dee and Zayn just sort of bickering and laughing into their hands about nothing at all.

Zayn somehow always comes out of their study group a little worse for wear, coursework not quite done and eyes a little too glazed over, as though he’s been staring at the sun too long.

And it’s all just... normal.

They’ve all kind of just jumped right into it, finding a surrogate family with one another with their real families on the sidelines kind of a little bit like, as Zayn calls it, “a pile of flaming horse shit.”

Money, as nice as it is to have, doesn’t really do much to protect or shield them from anything.

Harry closes his eyes, soaking in the sun’s feeble rays and feeling the soft hush of the greeneries.

“You’re going to get us expelled,” Niall complains, rolling his eyes.

“Life isn’t all about the rules, Horan.”

“Except physics is and gravity is real even if you don’t believe in it,” Dee comments lazily, eyes not leaving the book she’s reading.

“Addison Fitzgerald, is that concern in your voice?”

Harry climbs off the window opening and pulls out the chair next to her a little too hard on purpose, scraping it’s legs against the floor.

She doesn’t so much as flinch.

“I’m just not interested in looking after Zayn at your funeral,” she tears her eyes away from the passage she’s engrossed in, “But I’m sure you'll leave a sizeable enough inheritance for your poor widow to not be all that distraught.”

She shoots her patented wry smile his way.

“A bloke can only wish,” Zayn quips dreamily, expression frozen in an exaggerated seriousness.

Harry laughs, but a feeling he doesn’t quite recognise blooms through his chest.

He’s fifteen.

He has a lower voice now and his limbs have grown some more. Which help, considering that they’re running as fast as their legs can carry them.

They stop to catch their breath, both boys laughing raucously.

He sees Zayn’s outline, shaking in a combination of nerves, fatigue, and laughter. It’s a sight that could start wars and burn whole cities to the ground, he thinks.

“D’you think it’ll work?”

Zayn’s voice anchors him to the present.

“Don’t see how it won’t,” Harry says.

It’s the annual school ball, frumpy soirees with little to look forward to apart from silly dresses and frivolous tuxedos. And it’s about to get a lot more interesting. Not pig’s blood and false nominations interesting obviously. But what they've done is beyond petty meanness.

They’ve set up a mini explosive to ensure plausible deniability thanks to Liam’s expertise, which would burn down a line of gunpowder courtesy of Niall’s chemistry wits, leading to copious amounts of firecrackers obtained by Louis’ wily charms.

Basking in their genius, Harry sits himself on an upturned bucket, waiting on the rest of their group to return from their tasks.

He and Zayn had just broken into the Provost’s office and shifted some paper around, to throw him off, diverting the suspicion of what they were actually planning.

The watch that sits on his wrist says it’s three seventeen when Niall and Poppy emerge at the rendezvous point, triumphant and positively buzzing with adrenaline.

Liam and Louis return shortly after, Dee conspicuously missing.

“McKinney was... out late,” Louis chokes out as he takes a puff of a cigarette he barely manages to light referring to the newly hired discipline master.

Realisation dawns on them as Niall asks what they were all thinking.

“Where’s Dee?”

“We got separated,” Liam says.

“She’s not back yet?”

Concern etches across all their faces simultaneously.

Harry doesn’t worry though; he’s seen her feign contrition to appease many a time. If there’s anyone who could talk herself out of being found with firecrackers and gunpowder on school grounds, it’d be her surely.

But Zayn is not as convinced, pacing up and down, face so pale that white doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Even in the dark, they could see it.

They could all see it.

“If something’s happened with the firecrackers or the gunpowder—”

“We’d have heard it,” Niall cuts him off simply.

There’s logic to his words after all, gunpowder and fireworks are barely inconspicuous things.

“She’s fine,” he says, repeating it over and over again, as though a magical talisman.

After another fifteen minutes of their hairs all standing on end, fidgety and jumpy, Louis suggests that they all go to bed, “If she’s been caught, she’d be sent back to her room, yeah?”

But Zayn is beyond sleep.

“We agreed to meet back here, I’m not leaving ‘til she gets back.”

His voice is raspier than that time he drank an entire bottle of absinthe because Liam says it would kill him.

Everyone stays. Poppy falls asleep on Louis' shoulder, Liam smokes enough cigarettes to tranquilise a horse, and Niall paces around aimlessly and uncomfortably, his first official foray with mayhem. Scholarship students are, after all, not afforded the same rule bending luxury the same way the other students are.

Zayn’s paranoia covers them like a blanket, thick and suffocating. Every sigh and glance at his watch stretches the tension in the room even more, as though waiting for an inevitable implosion.

She appears an hour later and he glows like a lightbulb.

He all but runs into her and envelopes her, burying his head into her neck.

Harry looks away, feeling the tiniest hint of annoyance at the sight, the oxygen that’s finally rushing back into his lungs from a breath he didn’t know he’s holding burns of something he doesn’t quite comprehend. It feels like something private, like he's intruding into something he’s not meant to see.

Niall apparently shares the same sentiment, finding his shoes interacting with the dirt on the ground of the cramped gardening shed suddenly very amusing.

The raw relief that visibly settles into Zayn’s bones spread to every corner of their little hideout.

But Harry’s heart thunders in his chest and he can’t see anything but the dark outline of their embrace.

He is too undone and too put-together to do anything but retreat, standing up in a flummox and tripping on the edge of something or another.

A watering can? A shovel?

The loud clanging startles everyone and the pair jump apart.

“Haz?”

Zayn’s voice comes out softly, a small push, restrained, tinged with worry and concern.

He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair because he’s about to fucking explode.

“Let’s get out of here before we all get into even more trouble for four o'clock in the morning,” he says nervously, hiding the inexplicable anxiety with a nervous laugh.

It’s abrupt, and it’s sudden. His hands clench avariciously at the bits of madness that has seeped into his consciousness.

But he walks out of the gardener’s shed and he doesn’t turn back.

He’s sixteen.

And it occurs to Harry that he is very much in trouble.

His eyes are heavy from the champers, flickering tiredly to the boy across from him on the balcony.

Zayn’s voice hoarse and gravelly from the tobacco.

“I’m so fuckin’ in love with her.”

Trouble, indeed.

“Then ask her out again.”

Harry’s voice has gotten lower too, but it has nothing to do with the cigarettes. Or even the copious amounts of champagne he’s had through the course of the night.

“What, just like that?”

Harry shrugs, unsure of how Zayn can be sort of seeing one of their best friends one moment, and then just as suddenly as it began, not really sure what happened to it the next.

“It’s really not that difficult.”

And besides, if you don’t then Niall might, he thinks.

But he doesn’t say it out loud.

They continue smoking their cigarettes; Harry not elaborating and Zayn unquestioning.

He mind cooks up half a dozen ways for his best mates to sort out their relationship status, or more accurately, their current lack thereof of one. But he reins himself in before his limbs moves them towards inevitable storm.

It’s not going to be one of those nights, he thinks to himself.

Especially not after Dee’s very colourful threats still ring clearly in his mind from the last time he meddled, “Lock me in a closet again and I will slice your knees off and feed you the stew I’ll make of your bone and cartilage.”

Harry doesn’t even laugh. Because he knows if anyone can get away with slicing his knees off, it’d be her. And Zayn wouldn’t even do anything about it.

Heck, he’d probably even slice his own knees off and place them in a pot for her if it’d save her the trouble of doing it herself.

A stab of something punches him in the gut.

He remembers Liam telling him that it’s complicated.

“Just don’t stick your head in it again,” he says.

But it’s not complicated, not really. Harry knows complicated, as a matter of fact, he’s good with complicated.

Complicated is when your parents barely see each other because they’re so busy chasing a dream. Complicated is when their guilt is so strong that they throw mounds of money at you and let you run off with your friends for summer vacation. Complicated is when your sister, freshly graduated, aspires to build an app that’ll become the next big thing to prove herself worthy of said absentee parents’ time and affection.

Wanting or not wanting to snog the living daylights out of someone while leaving all your friends completely in suspense is decidedly not complicated.

Dee’s head pokes out onto the balcony, as if on cue, Zayn's eyes are slightly droopy and mouth loosely grasping at an uncontainable smile.

“Lou is completely smashed, he’s about to cut right through the ice sculpture on the front yard.”

Zayn’s eyes light up, whether at the words or the bearer of those words is as good as anyone’s guess.

“How?”

“How do you think?” She giggles, her entire body swaying, brows arched as though that’s the most ridiculous inquiry ever.

“Dee, you are bloody brilliant,” Zayn drops his cigarette and stubs it out before dashing off with her.

Harry catches his own reflection on the sliding glass doors and decides he might just need another cigarette before he rejoins his friends and the rest of the civilisation inside. Those who just stood around, glasses in their hands, alcohol in their system, basking in their wealth, and physical belongings.

They comment on the tapestries, and expensive china, and pristine furniture. As though an un-lived in house is something to be boasted of.

He is so lost in his own thoughts that he isn’t even aware of someone opening the doors and stepping outside. It isn’t until he hears her heels clicking against the marbled floors that he realises he isn’t alone anymore.

“You came out here to escape too?”

Her wavy black hair blows a bit in the wind, making her tuck a few strands of it behind her ear.

Her movements are graceful and poised and he thinks she must be another one of the bored pin up princesses dragged to these do’s.

The silence sits between them, thick and deafening.

And so he whips out the cigarette box and pops another stick into his mouth before igniting his lighter, gazing at the flickering flame for a moment before touching it to the white tip, crumbling it to ash and burning it bright orange.

“You smoke.”

It’s not a question as much as it is a statement. And her voice, though laced with boredom, isn’t quite the tone he expects. Different from when he firsts makes her presence known, the one that’s refined and rich with a pleasantness that’s dipped in something golden.

She sounds a little more edged the second time around, more daring, as though she had seen something that had her comfortable enough to let loose.

“It would seem so, yeah,” he raises his head to blow out a cloud of smoke.

Not the best small talk, but he’s really not in the mood.

In one fluid movement, she takes the cigarette from his fingers with ease, raising it to her lips for a lengthy drag.

It shouldn’t surprise him really, in all his time in Wellesley, he’s seen Dee outdrink and outsmoke the boys in their form, himself included.

It’s always the most unexpected ones that holds the most surprises.

But her boldness does startle him, and he’s too stunned to do or say anything about this stranger adeptly stealing cigarettes from his fingers.

She blows a thin line of smoke before her gaze returns squarely onto his.

A challenge of sorts; I won’t tell if you don’t.

Her eyes are bright and suddenly they’re both laughing.

“Victoria,” she offers.

“Harry,” he responds.

She’s twenty. She’s a fashion student who’s dropped out of college, the youngest after four boys in her family. A rebel from birth, she says, always starting things before she knows how she’ll finish them, all gut feeling and instinct and a natural compulsion to just do things without a thought of consequence.

Victoria reminds him of someone. Someone he can’t quite place. Someone who he dreams of. Whose name and voice and manner is just at the tip of his tongue.

The cigarette burns out and they smoke another.

And another, and another, and another.

His resolve and self-preservation that tonight won’t be “one of those nights” breaks in half.

He catches himself staring at her.

And when she does too, she asks, unabashed, “And what do you think you’re staring at?”

“You,” he says simply.

She iridescent and lustrous, like a glowstick.

In one swiftly elegant move, she moves towards him again, fisting her hands in the front of his shirt

She tastes sweet, like honey and champagne. His hands grip her waistline, hauling her hips against his as he bites her lower lip.

A moan rips from the back of her throat and he whispers her name against her skin.

Harry knows that this is finally it, the infamous summer fling that Poppy talks about when she returned from her previous summer vacation, tanned from travel. He’s knows what it’s meant to mean and what happens. There are hookups and there are break ups and you just ebb and flow into it.

But he can’t help it.

He finds himself falling for girl with the dark hair and the luminous eyes.

“Come to Tuscany with me?” Harry asks, out of breath and still seeing stars.

“What, now?”

“Yeah.”

She nods her acceptance with a giggle and they take off then and there.

He texts Zayn to prove a point;

It’s really not that difficult.

He’s seventeen.

He stands upright and proud in a vintage suit that doesn't fit him quite perfect and he’s scared. Harry is more afraid he’s ever been, mostly because he can’t for the life of him understand how he’s ended up in a church with happy wedding bells ringing and rose petals on the ground to steal a bride.

Of all the absurdly ridiculous and vapid plans he’s executed in his life, this would probably rank highest.

But he can’t think of that. Not when he has a clear blueprint to follow;

Find the bride, steal the bride, ride off into the sunset.

He somehow manages to escape notice, blending in with the crowd before snaking into the back room.

Find the bride -- check.

She is a vision of perfection.

The sight of her triggers how her lips taste like honey and champagne that first night they met. How she giggles against his lips as his hands wander.

But now she’s dressed in white, in a little chapel off of London, ready to be wed.

They tell him to fuck it; screw the invitation, don’t put yourself through the pain of seeing your dream girl from that perfect summer. And definitely, definitely, do not help her become a runaway bride.

But Harry is a romantic, he always has been.

So when Zayn shows up at his room with a tux in hand, he succumbs.

They break about thirteen school rules getting out of Wellesley in the middle of a school day, and about twenty one traffic laws to get to the church just in the nick of time.

And seeing her, he realises that he needs this. She needs this.

Whether or not she chooses him, there has to be some kind of a conclusion. A resolution. One doesn’t spend a romantic month in Tuscany with someone just to marry someone else without so much as an explanation.

And so there he is.

The silence that sits between them is palpable; lingering and loud.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” she finally says.

“You’re not supposed to run off with some bloke for the summer and then spend the year writing him emails to suddenly tell him you were engaged the entire time.”

The sight of her, doe eyed and clad in white, is the proverbial last straw cracking under the pressure. It shatters, something beautiful, collapsing the massive, heaping pile of bullshit he's kept in for the last couple of months.

“I sent you an invite because I can’t do this,” she blurts out.

Harry briefly wonders if it’ll still be considered stealing a bride if she walks out willingly with you, “You’ve been writing me in hopes of breaking your engagement?”

She laughs, devoid of any real humour.

“The term break an engagement implies that I’ve changed my mind at some point between saying yes and going out to the bachelorette party,” she declares, voice cold and jarred, moving around the room restless and anxious.

“I can’t do this,” she says impulsively, “I just can’t.”

Her eyes are brimming with tears about to spill over and it’s wrong, and sick, and so, so... wrong.

“Then don’t.”

He pleads so gently, he’s not sure if the words had really been breathed to life.

It is an odd feeling, Harry thinks, to be so sure of what he’s doing, “Come with me.”

She stares at him, wordless.

It’s the longest pause he’s ever lived through.

But then she kicks off her Jimmy Choo’s and they make a run for it.

Zayn is waiting just outside with the engine running, ready to go at a drop of a hat.

He drives off before the car doors are even shut proper and they ride into the sunset together, Zayn piloting their getaway vehicle.

Harry looks to the girl in next to him, and he cannot believe himself. He is about to sit for his A levels in a year and he has no clue what he’ll major in after or if he’ll even be accepted to college.

But he knows he wants her, that he wants this.

If it’s a choice between Victoria and her voice and hair and her smile and her laugh and her everything, or knowing the future, he’d pick her. Every time.

He wants to hear her talk and laugh and smile, more than he wants certainty.

And he can’t remember ever being happier.

He’s eighteen.

He has bigger problems than a bar brawl, yet there he is.

They’re faced with their A levels soon and the whole form is at the local watering hole that they often sneak out to, planning their graduating prank dubbed Project Vanity.

It happens too fast. But then again, doesn’t it always. One minute Harry’s in a conversation with Liam about colleges when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Niall throw his arm over Dee and he’s about to mention in passing that there might be something going on between Niall and Dee, when the next, he’s tapped on the shoulder and literally sucker punched.

He doesn’t even know how it happens, but Zayn is by his side quicker than anything he’s ever seen move.

As though it’s nothing more than a split second decision.

Harry turns to confront this assault head on, ready to defend himself or talk himself out of whatever mess he’s probably created to deserve it. But one look at the heaving chest and snarled lip and Harry just knows that he doesn’t have a good defense.

Or even any defense to speak of, really.

He stole a bride a year ago and now it’s time for penance. It’s fight or flight. And Harry has never been one to shy away from a challenge before, even if he’s not much of a fighter.

His jaw is still throbbing from that first punch hurled his way but his fingers unclench themselves and he’s ready to be beaten a bloody mess when a fist on his right swings.

It hits its mark with a terrifying angry crack.

The sound of flesh on flesh is the most satisfying thing he hears all day.

“Fuck,” Zayn sputters, shaking his hand out as every head in the dingy bar turns toward the scuffle.

And then all hell breaks loose; bottles are thrown, punches land, and bruises form.

Sweat and bone and bloody messes.

A particularly strong swing hits him square at the back of the head and he remembers nothing else. Only the steady throbbing ache reverberating through his skull and deep into every recess of his brain as he comes to with Zayn’s face looming into view, cut lip and all.

He’s nineteen.

And he’s lying on the couch, unmoving, in his pajamas.

Fresh out of school, he moves into the an apartment within walking distance if college. By some stroke of luck, he’s been accepted into London School of Economics.

No one is more surprised than him.

Harry suspects his dad may have a thing or two to do about it.

“We just don’t want you to make the same mistakes we did,” the older Mr Styles says.

“You need a degree to be taken seriously.”

He doesn’t complain.

Instead he lets his parents pay for tuition and rent and amenities. Victoria moves in and blogs from home. The housekeeper comes twice a week. They plan their weekends around what scenic backdrops they can head to for her to take her out pictures.

Life is good.

Until it’s not.

And he’s just there on his couch, wasting away.

There’s a sizeable amount that fills in the apartment; furniture, knick knacks from their travels, decor, food. But it just feels stripped somehow. Bare. Hollow. Like he’s lying in the middle of a home he doesn't recognise.

I’m sorry, she said, shaking her head. Her bags already packed and sitting just around the corner.

“I just... I can’t do this.”

The same words she had said when she ran out of that church with him.

The same words that left what’s unsaid lingering between them, eating away at his skull like the hum of pain that burrowed into his brain when the man she left at the altar socked him in the face.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

His phone rings.

And rings, and rings, and rings.

He looks at the caller ID and doesn’t pick up, content wallowing in self pity.

His front door swings open, and Harry doesn’t even bother to look.

“She left,” he chokes out.

In her absence, even his voice no longer feels his. And it feels wrong, unnatural, to even dare acknowledge her absence. It’s as though someone had ripped a hole right out of his heart.

“Jesus,” Zayn says, waltzing in without knocking.

“Fuck mate, have you even showered in the last two days?”

His best friend has about all the subtlety of a bus.

He doesn’t go to school for two weeks and his mates take turns checking up on him.

Niall, who is waist deep in a med degree on top of working two jobs to afford said med degree brings beer, Louis gives the housekeeper instructions to work around his designated wallow space for the day, Liam calls every other day from Germany to nag him about personal hygiene, Zayn practically moves in, and Poppy comes by with new lamps and drapes and sheets to rid him of everything she’s ever touched.

Even Dee flies back between classes to tell him to cut it the fuck out as she makes him omelets.

“At least they’re not made of your knees,” she says.

His head and heart and body feels too tired filling up the Victoria sized hole within to even smile.

Dimly, he thinks to himself that it’s a divorce of sorts. That Victoria should be getting at least half custody of their friends. Like the way Poppy had to alternate between Berlin and London from ages ten to eighteen, and the way Louis has double Christmases, and birthdays, and everything in between.

His friends are as much her friends by now, aren’t they?

After all, didn’t Niall, who’s living on campus in Imperial College, have a standing brunch date with Victoria where he helps her take those hashtag outfit of the day things?

And didn’t Louis use to pop by with those infernal films she used to like so much and spend entire mornings talking about old pictures?

He's sure that Poppy flew out with Victoria on at least three different fashion weeks, jabbering away about autumn colours and vintage resurgence.

Zayn’s even road tripped with her and Dee around France before he started reading law in Oxford, didn’t he?

Surely, they should be making up excuses as to why they won’t be round the apartment much and sneak out to see her at the coffee shop every now and then.

He confronts Zayn about it while he’s on the couch, Graham Norton reruns playing on the telly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says cracking open two beers and handing one over to Harry, “We’d pick you over anyone anytime.”

And it’s the first in fourteen days that he feels any closer to being whole again.

He’s twenty.

He’s taking a sabbatical from college.

Because, “Drop out of college and you can expect all your shares at Styles Enterprises rescinded.”

The threats sound petty and trivial, but Harry is sure that the older Styles is dead serious. A man doesn’t run a multi-billion pound tech corporation without the ability to make good on his threats.

And he’s sure he won’t survive based on his mother’s mercy alone.

So he’s just “taking a term off.”

He moves his life to Spain and spends whole days devoted to a neverending summer siesta. He has the local pizzeria’s number memorised and he has a standing reservation at the quaint little tapas and vino place around the corner of his hotel.

“Alright, it’s been long enough.”

The curtains are drawn open eight days into his little self-seeking vacation.

“If you’re going to grab life by the balls, Haz, at least do it right.”

Zayn’s voice floats into his head through the drunken afternoon nap fuzz, varying in volume and tone like a badly tuned radio.

He’s apparently taken the semester off too.

They’re not broken, Zayn insists, maybe a little beaten, but it’s nothing that a good few weeks of life on the Spanish roads can’t fix.

So they rent a car and drive from city to city. Reading badly translated city guides they get from tourist attractions and plotting out their journey on the fly with Harry navigating from the front seat, eating chips and asking if he’s even reading the damned map right, bitching about Zayn’s terrible taste in music with all that grimy dubstep bass and dirty R&B.

He looks at Zayn and he’s alight during those days and nights, a mixture of crumpled cotton shirts, honey hued skin, and hair humbly adrift.

Zayn doesn’t say it, but Harry knows that he knows that the sudden trip directly coincides with the anniversary of Victoria leaving. He misses her, he misses her like the desert misses the rain and on the exact one year mark to the day that she walked out of their apartment, he gets so drunk that he’s just lying on the floor of their hotel room, staring at the ceiling and slurring his words.

“I was so fucking stupid,” he says, over and over.

“How could I possibly think that someone who gives her word that she’ll marry you, and then bails, could ever keep a promise?”

He is completely and utterly sloshed and his chest feels like a black hole.

“It was all a mistake, wasn’t it?” Harry slurs, beer spilling all over the carpet.

The room is spinning and his head is throbbing and he wasn’t to just power down and hibernate into the next century.

Zayn’s voice cuts through the clutter though, unforgiving and devoid of pity.

“No, it wasn’t.”

His best friend’s face is contorted into an expression he doesn’t recognise, “You loved her, that was real. And you still do, that’s still real.”

He goes on as-a-matter-of-factly, “People just leave sometimes, it’s just.. a thing that happens.”

Harry looks at his best mate, blurry and drunk. So, so drunk. Between the scent of tobacco and the misty haze of its smoke, he sees his best mate’s face and he thinks to himself that it’s the most glorious sight in the world.

He wants to reach out and examine his best friend in deep detail, touch him like a child greedily poring over a treasure map.

But his head pounds, his vision is sliding, and then he’s asleep; the world around him forgotten.

He wakes up with his head pounding and Poppy’s voice on speaker, “Dee’s dying.”

The dying person in question protests from the background, her voice cracking through the phone line like a whip, “FOR FUCK’S SAKE POPPY.”

“She’s in denial.”

Zayn doesn't even say a word and Harry, in his hungover daze, books two flights out to Paris from his phone as the two of them bicker on the line.

He wonders momentarily what it’s like to be loved so surely and confidently by him.

He wants to rip into Zayn’s chest and take his heart between his teeth to devour piece by piece, until there’s nothing left. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, that way he can have him to himself.

It’s a peptic ulcer, the doctor says, brought on by internalised stress.

“She’s got the stomach lining of a 60-year-old air traffic controller,” the man with the white coat chuckles.

Zayn is pale as a sheet as he refrains from throwing the doctor against the wall, “She’s an art history student in Sorbonne, what could she possibly got to be— You know what, I don’t even care. Just, for fuck’s sake—”

It takes both Harry and Poppy to drag him out for a smoke, the smartest course of action really, before Zayn punches out the men of the French private healthcare industry.

He calms down after exactly three cigarettes and the nurses let them into her room.

She’s resting, they say. But the doctors and the nurses know better than to use the words “visiting hours” with Zayn in the room.

They see it in his eyes that those words just don’t apply here.

He imagines them shaking their heads with a small smile curved on their lips.

“Ahh. Young love,” he pictures them saying.

Zayn falls asleep on the uncomfortable bedside chair, head lulling over awkwardly.

With a less than graceful yawn and eyes rimmed red, Poppy leaves and promises she’ll bring breakfast for them the next morning. A couple of croissants, some macaroons for them maybe, and coffee, she promises.

“Don’t bother with the cafeteria rubbish,” she says, “It’s absolute shite.”

Harry assumes that with Louis' obvious absence that the on-again-off-again pair are on an off stage in their relationship again. So he doesn't say anything.

He does wonder though if it's worst to feel like you've lost something you had or to never have had it at all while he kicks his heels up to make himself comfortable for the night. Or as comfortable as he can anyway, with his long limbs and overgrown hair smelling of travel sticking to his face in the single seater.

Moonlight is filtering in through the open window and the whole world is quiet, holding its breath.

Harry looks at his best mate snoozing in his combined fatigue of travel and worry, and his heart suddenly feels eleven times too big for his ribs. Perhaps the worst part about losing someone is if you never even had them to begin with, he thinks.

It’s almost sunrise when a voice distracts him from huffing and puffing, tossing and turning restlessly in the chair that just isn’t meant to be slept in.

“Your shit’s a mess, Styles.”

He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he’s holding in, shaking his leg that’s fallen asleep, “Says the one who’s hospitalised dealing with an art history degree.”

She rolls her eyes, “At least I’ve never missed a haircut appointment, seriously, can you even call that thing on your head, hair?”

“Nice to see you feeling better enough to nitpick at my appearance,” Harry chuckles softly, moving his chair closer to the bed, “Poppy says she came to see you because you’ve been awfully quiet lately.”

“It’s just,” she starts before her eyes shift, taking in his entire appearance, “Alright, seriously what is going on with that hair, and when did you stop buttoning your shirts, you look bloody ridiculous.”

“I cut my summer siesta short to see you,” Harry counters, indignantly.

“I’m sure it’s Zayn cut your trip short to see me, he worries too damned much.”

Desperate to avoid further teasing from the brunette about his life and his hair and his choice of clothing, he steers the conversation elsewhere, “So you do know your effect on him.”

She refuses to meet his gaze.

“Think you’ll ever give him another chance?” Harry presses on.

No one really knew what happened between the pair, just that they sort of were.

Until they weren’t.

“I dunno,” Dee shrugs meekly, “Think you’ll ever quit pining over Victoria and finish your degree?”

Harry grins, even from a hospital bed with a belly full of blood, she’s still sassing him. He mimics her simplistic reply mere moments ago, “I dunno.”

Zayn shifts in his sleep and Harry wonders if he should cough loudly enough to startle him awake and make an excuse to leave.

“What’s it like?”

Dee’s voice breaks through his reverie.

He looks at her, all weak and washed out against the light blue of the hospital gown, her hair splayed across the pillow a stark contrast against the pale of her neck.

“What’s what like?”

“Loving someone for so long.”

She looks exactly like an art history major for once, quietly contemplative, almost as white as a blank canvas and spilling life all over.

Harry reflects on what she’s asking for a moment, eyes landing on the snoozing Zayn before them even though he knows she’s talking about Victoria.

The words come instinctively.

“Like you know them better than you know yourself.”

He’s twenty-one.

He drops out of college and sells everything he owns right down to the designer suits and shoes and ties.

He snaps a picture of the emptied out penthouse that his parents have been paying for, and sends it to them with a note;

Off to make my own way.

Love, Harry.

It’s hard to leave, but even more difficult to stay.

London held too many memories. And it held him back from all the things he wants to do, and see, and experience. His parents lit a fire in him in his youth and the fire, rekindled by the weeks on the road with Zayn, burned too strong to ignore.

So he leaves London on a tide of careful planning and pure brute force of will.

The new place he moves into, in sunny Los Angeles, is completely and utterly a dump.

Harry takes one look at the unpolished floorboards and the old walls, the mould on the tiles in the bathroom and the threadbare couch in the centre of the living room, and he signs the lease.

The wallpaper is peeling itself off the walls, he has absolutely zero furniture apart from the couch that also doubles as a pull out bed, and not all the taps work.

But there’s two bedrooms, a lockable front door, and a piece of paper that says that it’s all legally his.

He loves it.

He builds his first million from that dingy apartment.

And even though Niall's the one who's in the same country code as he is, Zayn and Dee are hte ones who are over with two bottles of champagne within twenty-four hours of him texting the group chat; one to spray him down with and another to drink.

They hit town that night, drinking far too much, running into trouble like flies to honey. And he can't help but think, he's killing it at this adulting thing.

He’s twenty-two.

He’s back in London temporarily because Dee had called and promised to track him down in the city of angels and swing a baseball bat at his head so hard that it’ll be delivered to Zayn as a graduation present.

“It’s also his birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.”

So he buys the first flight out to London and takes a taxi straight to Dee’s address.

The first thing Harry notices is a scent; an utter Zayn-ness lingering in the air.

It’s early, the sun barely has time to get warm, and he isn’t quite up yet. It disconcerts him, that whiff of Zayn. It takes him back to the days where he would lie in his best mate’s bed, back in Wellesley. And hours long road trips in the windy roads of Spain and Portugal.

“It smells like Zayn in here,” he announces, without so much as thought of what the words would sound like out of his mouth.

Dee laughs.

Evidently, it sounds ridiculous.

But recognising the scent is instinctual, like breathing.

And he finds it ironic that becoming so familiar with someone that you can smell them in a room makes them feel like more of a stranger than anything.

“So threats are the only way I can get you home then?” Dee crosses her arms sardonically staring him down from across the room.

But there is a tinkle of delight in her voice that Harry recognises.

And she’s also biting her lip the way she used to when concealing a laugh.

A gust of wind blows in from the balcony and the thrill, that dizzying pull of one Zayn Malik runs through his veins like electricity, igniting them right to their ends.

Before he knows it, he is enveloped in the familiar combined scent of tobacco and lemon and bergamot.

A warmth floods through him.

Must be the sun, he thinks, from the now open balcony.

“You fuckin’ idiot.”

His grin is better than any drug Harry’s ever experienced.

Harry chuckles appreciatively, casually grabbing a slice of uneaten toast from the Dee’s plate and taking a hefty bite.

Zayn starts talking about his post graduation plans, joining his father’s company and working his way from the bottom up.

“I mean, Liam’s working with his dad and they’re making a pretty good run of it, I figure I’ll do alright.”

He keeps talking and Harry’s mind, half awake from the ten hour flight and lack of caffeine can still absorb the continued deep timbre of his voice as he starts excitedly babbling about how it’ll be the first time they’re all in the same place at the same time.

There’s a new lightness to Zayn and Harry’s not quite sure what it is.

He’s going on about how Poppy and Louis have finally gotten their act together and moved in to their own place when Harry completely loses track of his words. Zayn reaches out to grab a mug from the top shelf, moving around comfortably in the kitchen that isn’t his, and Harry’s mind can suddenly register nothing else. He is distracted by Zayn’s movements; swift and seamless.

The way he easily pours a steaming brew into the mug, scoops two sugar teaspoons of sugar into it, dribbles in some milk before giving the concoction a quick swirl has him enraptured.

He extends the mug out to him and Harry’s gaze snaps from Zayn’s hands to his face.

“What?” Zayn looks down at the mug in his hands. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No.”

"So?” Zayn questions with an expression of easy nonchalance.

Harry isn't sure himself, but his stomach is clenching uncomfortably and he doesn't think it's from the long haul flight.

“You and Dee normally have tea,” his mind is apparently just making words up as he goes.

“There isn't any caffeine in tea though is there?” Zayn points out with a chuckle, “And you’re quite the grouch in the mornings.”

He slides the cup over.

Harry takes a gulp; the coffee burns as it fills his mouth and slips down his throat, but the sensation is better than the alternative.

“I got almost everyone home and a reservation at Hibiscus tonight,” Dee stands up, announcing to no one in particular, “Please wear something that’s buttoned up all the way?”

The latter statement is aimed at him, disarmingly sincere.

“And try not to burn down my house while I’m out, will you?” Dee looks at Zayn accusingly after chucking her plate into the sink.

“First of all, it was your candle,” Zayn huffs, an inside joke he isn’t in on, “Second of all, the house is still very much intact, innit?”

She shakes her head, small smile playing on her lips.

And that’s when it happens.

Zayn leans forward and catches her lips with his own. Casually. Comfortably. As though it’s a daily occurrence between them.

Harry barely registers her kissing him on the cheek and walking out after that.

More than any heartbreak, Harry realises, is when you didn't even know there was something to break.

And everyone seems to be moving forward so rapidly; Poppy and Louis, Dee and Zayn, Liam, and even Niall who they barely see anymore because the bastard has the audacity to study medicine while knowing his own health decline, because, "a sick doctor? Come on, it'll be a fuckin' riot."

They all seem to be working towards something substantial in their life. Whether it’s moving in with your on-again-off-again partner or finally labelling your relationship status or fitting into the shoes you’ve been groomed for your entire life, they were all traveling in the same orbit.

Change, Harry thinks, is always bittersweet. A scary monster that hides beneath his bed that he's learned to battle since the age of four, that first big terrifying leap into the unknown guided by nothing but the certainty in his parents hand.

And he’s happy for his mates, really, in all their certainty.

There’s just this bitter taste in his mouth he can’t explain.

He’s twenty-three.

And by now, he’s had one too many broken bones to not instantly recognise pain when he sees it.

Harry knows deep cuts from scrapes, however hidden they are by blood. He knows how bruises hurt and age and heal. And he understands intimately the look of pure stoicism in the face of pain.

So when he sees her, he knows she’s hurting.

He’s at a wedding out in Napa Valley and she’s just by the bar, the wine glass in her hand never too lonely for too long.

He instinctively just meanders towards the girl who looked as lost as he is.

“Let me guess, you want to buy me a drink from the free open bar.”

Her accent American, her voice bored, and her expression unamused.

“I was going to go with the ‘make me the third happiest person in the room’ route, but that works too,” Harry counters before taking a seat next to the one exchanging the proverbial blood bleeding out through her chest with gushing red wine in her hand.

“You’re Harry Styles,” her voice perks up.

“Excuse me?”

He’s more than a little taken aback; he hardly calls himself a recluse on the long list of millionaire start up owners, but he ever really considered the fact that his face and name might be common knowledge.

“You’re the heir to Styles Enterprises,” she goes on, as though reciting from a list she’s memorised, “You stuck it to your old man by starting up your own company five thousand miles away and you refused his buyout even when your four most expensive start up acquisitions failed. You’re kind of legendary in the industry,” she raises the glass to her lips once more with an eyebrow raised.

He’s more amused by it than anything.

“And what industry is that?”

“Tech journalism,” she lifts her chin at the words, pride evident on her face, “My name’s Beth Matthews.”

“Is that how you met and fell in love with the groom, Beth?”

It catches her by surprise. She’s blinking rapidly at his words, as though wondering if she misheard him somehow, “What are you—”

“Call it an instinct,” he shrugs.

He tells the barkeep that he'll have what the lady is having and plants himself firmly by her side for the rest of the night.

It's a familiarity, he decides. Their connection is one of two damanged people who sought for a home in others without having the blame of being the one who did the breaking.

Harry Styles didn’t unwittingly fall in love with Beth Matthews, he jumped; head first, eyes closed and trying not to think of it too much.

In hindsight, he should have really seen it coming; she does, after all, have the dark hair and eyes to match.

He hates to admit it, but he does have a type. And one moment she’s reluctantly laughing at his jokes by the open bar at the garden party of a wedding reception, and the next she’s whispering secrets to him at 2am from the bathroom they’ve locked themselves in.

He can’t for the life of him remember how they had acquired exactly thirteen thousand inside jokes over a few hours and too many glasses of wine, but all of them made him laugh and they’re snuggled next to each other with every crook and cranny of their bodies fitting perfectly.

Beth’s hair, which held scent traces of a lemon-y shampoo and the cigarettes she’s been smoking all night, reminds him of both home and the open road.

It’s quickly becoming apparent, even in his alcohol hazed mind, that he’s liking this girl a great deal more than he had intended to. It’s evolving into more than what he had hoped for; a few drinks, a straightforward shag, and a number on a napkin that will never be used.

But it isn’t until he finds himself staring at that the way her brow furrows before she sneezes that he realises that he’s a goner.

Hoping to impress her, he recounts the exaggerated tales of how he aided and abetted in multiple runaway brides in Vegas while attending a bachelor’s party.

“If you want, I can totally steal the bride and keep her distracted while you go for the groom,” he jokes.

An inexplicable sadness returns to her eyes.

A distraction; that’s all it had been for her.

“You know, it’s refreshing to see someone who can afford to take a million second chances but still holds on so strongly to the first,” she says.

He loses his trail of thought at that.

“Victoria. You still love her don’t you?” Beth prods on.

“What?”

“I mean, that’s what this all is, isn’t it? You keep falling for the ones you can’t have, like you’re re-living some kind of a trauma,” she slurs, “And it all stems back to that first runaway bride, that first person you fell in love with but couldn’t have.”

There’s a silence between them and Harry’s not quite sure what to say.

He hadn’t realised that he’d told this stranger so much about himself. He definitely wasn’t expecting her to be as perceptive to his words and stories and nuances.

Yet there they are, both stewing in their bleeding hearts and a lung cavity full of confusion.

Stranger still, is that his mind didn't immediately go to Victoria. As a matter of fact, it's been months since he had even so much as thought about her.

“You know, when we were sixteen, we used to sit on his parents roof and dream of a life where we’d go make something of ourselves,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out the wedding invite, the very one that had the smiles of the happy couple plastered on, “And now he has. I’m just not in it.”

His mind is a riot; as if he’s been hit in the head and all the blood is rushing to his head.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts all of the sudden.

She freezes, turning her head to stare at him.

“Well, if we never felt pain, we wouldn’t appreciate happiness nearly as much as we do, now would we?"

His eyes lock on her own hazel hued ones, astonished by her eloquence after drinking half the bar dry.

“You really think it’s that simple?”

She thinks for a moment before deciding on a response.

“I hope so.”

Beth gets to her feet unsteadily and leaves him in the bathroom alone, taking his heart with her.

He’s twenty-four.

It hasn’t exactly been a fun ride so far.

Harry has lived in six countries, aided and abetted in five runaway brides, invested in four failed start ups, been in three fights, and had his heart broken twice.

And he’s pretty sure both times were by the same person, wearing different faces.

Which is probably why when he rushes into the bridal room to find Dee frantically pacing and on the verge of tears, he doesn’t know what his presence is meant to do or not do.

“Tell me something good,” she pleads.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“No,” Harry declares, the scene all too familiar for him, “No, no, no, no, no. No! I am not about to find myself involved in a sixth runaway bride situation, especially not with Zayn on the receiving end, Addison, you are not doing this to me.”

His head is spinning and he can’t believe it, she starts saying his name when her head tilts in contemplation.

“Did you just say sixth?”

He assures her it isn’t the time nor the place for the story and she starts moving around nervously once more.

Fearing the worse, he asks relucatntly, unsure if he even really wants to know the answer. Unsure if the deepest darkest parts of him actually wants for an opposite outcome, “What’s wrong?”

“Just tell me something good, Haz, I need to hear something good.”

Her voice is pleading and sincere. And he doesn’t quite know what is good or true is anymore. So he goes with what he knows, “He loves you.”

Dee sighs, sitting herself down, eyes flickering to the bouquet in the corner.

“Zayn’s loved you since he was eleven,” Harry all but forces the words off his tongue.

He hates to admit it, but it had been clear to him since that first English period that Zayn is utterly unobtainable due to the fact that he already belonged to someone else.

“You may have thought that he was interested in a play thing, a doll, a pretty thing to put in a trophy case but you saw the truth eventually, you walked in love with him with your eyes wide open. You chose him every step of the way.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Dee whispers, barely audible, as though she’s talking to herself more than she is talking to him, “Everyone keeps telling me that I love him and that he loves me. And that we make perfect sense together. But how do you tell the difference between something that actually exists and something that only exists because everyone tells you it does?”

“What are you saying?” Harry exclaims, “This is Zayn we’re talking about.”

“The same Zayn who nearly had a heart attack in the garden shed when you didn’t come back from that stupid prank,” he starts, “The same Zayn who came this close to punching out a French physician, the one who bought you that ridiculously expensive painting when you graduated Sorbonne.”

She looks up at him pacing around the room, like she’s thinking.

“I just can’t shake this feeling that that nothing about us makes sense, not the way that—” Dee stops herself mid sentence.

She looks uneasy, even more so than she did moments before, like she’s about to confess something terrible. And for a moment, he’s almost relieved. Almost.

“Not the way that it should,” she finishes the sentence somewhat inadequately.

Dee looks like she’s choking when he says it, like suddenly there is not enough air in the whole room to fill her cracking lungs.

Secrets are a weird thing, he thinks to himself.

“Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense.”

Harry’s not sure who he’s trying to convince more, really, himself or her.

He sits himself down right in front of the bride, reaching to hold her hands steady in his own because she looks like she might disintegrate.

“Maybe there are a million universes out there where you don’t meet Zayn, and you marry someone else,” he suggests, “But you’re here, in this universe, and it’s real.”

She looks at him in something like wonder and he doesn’t know if there’s anything else left to say.

There’s a knock on the door telling him it’s time.

He gets up to leave her to it.

She has probably two good minutes if she wants to run. It’s an instinct he quite understands.

He’s lived in six countries to date.

He’s aided and abetted five runaway brides, put his entire life savings into four failed start ups, been in three physical fights where he's literally had the lights knocked out of him, and had his heart broken twice.

But he’s standing next to Zayn at the end of the aisle on his wedding day. And his smile is so full of light when he sees the bride walk down the aisle, it blinds him.

He’s sure that their paths cross in a different million universes in a different million ways, some of which they probably don’t even so much as glance at one another.

Maybe in all of them, Zayn never loves him back the way Harry loves him.

But still, he’s here in this universe.

So Harry considers himself lucky after all.

#1dff #one shot / request #gok zarry fic exchange #zarry fanfiction #harry styles #zayn malik

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