#but I would like to throw a can of tomato soup in the air

[ovaryacted]

Autumn Delight

Pairing: DI!Leon x fem!reader

Summary: As you cook to welcome the change in season, your daughter plays grocery shopping with her father.

WC: 2.1k

Notes: After reading @cinnarette write for girl dad!Leon, I wanted to add on to the hype and do some fluff because that man deserves it and I want him happy. Also I know I said Death Island Leon for this one, but I imagine him older. Anyways, enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing this one. Reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

The sun shined through the window as you hummed to yourself, the pot in front of you blowing off steam and filling the kitchen with the aroma of sweet tomatoes and fresh herbs. The scent felt nostalgic, like a soft weighted blanket that reminded you of what your mom would make for dinner after you came home from school.

The season was slowly transitioning into autumn now, a more prominent breeze shaking the leaves as they began to change color from their vibrant greens to shades of orange and dark red. Warm air now starting to cool down every passing day, tank tops and shorts exchanged for sweat pants and cotton crew necks. Soon enough, it’ll be time to go apple picking and welcome all things pumpkin, you mostly looked forward to having apple cider come back in stock at your local grocery store. 

A loaf of fresh sourdough bread rested in front of you, already knowing the cheese you needed for this meal was cooling in the fridge, ready to be melted to your heart’s delight. Grilled cheese and tomato soup were on the menu tonight, a nice hearty meal to welcome the first day of fall. You covered the pot of tomato soup, letting it simmer for a while longer. As you were ready to step to the side and tend to other tasks, you heard rambling on the upper floor of your townhouse, already knowing where the source of the noise was coming from.

Stepping out of the kitchen entirely, you went up the stairs, careful not to be too loud as your slippers moved over the hardwood steps. Walking down the hallway of the second floor, you continued until you were met with the white door to your left, wide open for you to take in the view inside.

Your husband was on his knees, surrounded by pastel green walls and soft carpet. Toys were all over the floor, a Barbie dollhouse in one corner of the room and a plastic play kitchen in the other. You leaned against the doorway and let out a snort, trying not to draw attention to the 3-year-old who walked around her bedroom with purpose. The man’s eyes were drawn to yours at the sound of your laughing, vibrant blues paired with soft wrinkles on the rounded corners of his gaze. A pearly white grin came your way, one that drew you to him all those years ago.

“You know, this place is quite small. Limited options”, Leon said, pushing a toy shopping cart that was comically small against him and skimming the shelf in front of him. He tilted his head to the side, finger on his chin as he thought heavily about what to grab next. Of course, he took this decision seriously, looking at the plastic toys resembling different foods from fake cereal boxes to ketchup bottles and eggs.

He reached forward and took a can of tuna, putting it in the cart and moving along. The cart was already full of a few things, plastic fruits and vegetables that were completely necessary. You watched him move around, going to the mini-kitchen that was set up on one side of the room.

“A drumstick in the sink? This is such a safety hazard for a grocery store”, Leon grumbled, knowing his daughter was right behind him, watching him diligently like a good sales associate. Her matching dirty blonde hair and blue eyes looked over him as he reached for the misplaced doll currently folded in the tiny microwave. He tried his hardest not to laugh, putting the doll back where he found it and gave you a glance.

Leon continued to shift around the room, finding plastic cookies on the floor and throwing them in the buggy with dramatic flare. He leaned down on the ground and found more toys littering around him. Grapes were underneath the toddler bed, toy crackers were in the hot tub in the dollhouse, and singular hot dog sausages were thrown in every nook and cranny imaginable.

Just looking at the room was stress-inducing, but the agent didn’t have the heart to be mad or irritated. If anything he was glad to have a mess like this to deal with in the first place. Had someone told him years ago he’d be happily married in a townhouse he bought with a three year old daughter that was his carbon copy, he’d laugh in their face. The image of having a loving family was a dream he had thrown away after the horrors he witnessed at 21. Being exposed to such monstrosities almost fully turned him away from ever thinking of having something more in his life besides fighting manmade monsters. He never thought he’d be able to have a life worth living outside of survival.

That was until miraculously, he bumped into you when he went to try a new cafe that opened in town. Years later having regained that dream he buried deep in his subconscious, he gets to be in a home full of love he never thought he’d get to experience. He has a reason to wake up every day, something and someone to fight for, and he wouldn’t take that for granted.

Leon shook his head and blinked at the sound of your voice, your eyes looking over him once or twice already knowing what happened. He zones out less as he gets older, but it still happens from time to time. Before, his memories used to haunt him, the traumas and burdens he carried would make his nervous system go haywire and put him in a constant state of paranoia. Now, he has moments where he’s reminiscing about his past and feels gratitude instead of self-hatred or fear. You didn’t mind, you accepted all parts of Leon with open arms, even the parts he couldn’t accept himself, and if it weren’t for your support lord knows where he’d be now.

“Hm?”, he hummed, giving you a look and silently admiring you like he often did, as if you were his guardian angel sent to ground him to this current reality.

“I asked if you could pick up some ice cream on your shopping trip”, you told him softly, your daughter now distracted and leaving her post at her fake cash register to collect all of the individual chip pieces she could find.

“Thanks for reminding me hun”, Leon said now returning to the present, shuffling to another part of the room to look for the ice cream pieces. He could only find the plastic waffle cone, not the strawberry ice cream scoop. With a shrug, he put it in the shopping cart as you held in your giggle with a bite of your lip.

Finally facing his daughter, he pushed the cart towards where she stood. Out of the kindness of his heart, he helped the toddler scan and swipe the toys, her small grabby hands reaching for whatever food item he gave her. It was moments like this you enjoyed the most, seeing just how much Leon loves the child you both created and how he treats her like the center of his universe. She’ll never fully understand just how much her dad cares for her, pure unconditional love if you ever saw it.

You couldn’t be more proud to see Leon become the father he never had, and the man he’s always wanted to be.

Leon now started to talk with his mini-twin, giving her sassy remarks as her tiny fingers threw the things she scanned back into his cart rather aimlessly.

“What? No bag? You’ve got to be kidding me”, he teased, playing the part of an angry customer all too well for your child to realize. She wagged a finger at him and pressed the button of the scanner towards his face, a beep sounding through the room as she did. She responded to him with an equal amount of sass, making you snicker under your breath and Leon had to bite his tongue so he didn’t follow you. Not only did your child inherit her father’s most noticeable features, she also got his corniness and attitude.

She continued to scan and beep all of the items until there was nothing left to pass, looking up at Leon with her hand out and demanding him to give the money for his groceries.

“Do you have change for a 20?”, Leon spoke, making you shake your head in disbelief at how dedicated he was in playing his role. He had a fake $20 bill he borrowed from the monopoly board sitting on the coffee table of your living room.

“Mine”, his daughter nodded with a bubbly giggle. She snatched the bill from Leon’s hand with enthusiasm, pressing some buttons on her cash register before the drawer opened with a ding. She pushed the bill inside and closed the drawer with no change in her hand. Leon only gave her a raised eyebrow.

“Wow. Is this how you treat your customers? You know what, I’m just going to go to Trader Joe’s down the block”, Leon playfully threw a hissy fit, making the 3-year-old laugh as she waved at her father and mumbled bye bye.

The blonde got up from his knees with a grunt, walking up towards you and pulling you in by the hips with a smile. Leaning down he kissed you on the cheek, then on the tip of your nose, and finally on your lips as you hummed against him, putting a hand on his chest and the other rubbing the back of his neck. It was an occurring routine of kissing he started years ago when you were still dating, all beginning the day he asked you to officially be his partner.

“You know our daughter is really starting to be more like you every time I see her. I’m getting scared, one of you is enough”, you taunted him, making him chuckle. You couldn’t help but stroke his stubbled cheek, loving the feel of the coarse hairs against your fingers.

“C’mon, you know you can’t get enough of me. I’m not that bad”, he grinned, offering you a corny wink that made you roll your eyes.

“Yeah yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night”

“I sleep just fine knowing you’re right next to me sweetheart”, he openly flirted with you, a sneaky hand coming towards your rear and giving you a playful tap. “You’re cooking aren’t you?”

“Mhm, grilled cheese and tomato soup, all from scratch”, you told him, noticing how his ears perked up at the sound of cooked food. You learned early on in your relationship that Leon was a foodie and preferred home-cooked dishes above anything else. So you made sure to get your clutches on him by making him some Tuscan chicken pasta, aka marry me pasta, on your 7th dinner date together. Safe to say, he hasn’t left since.

“God I love you”, he declared so frankly and so often that you knew he meant it. You never questioned his devotion to you, and you can tell from the way he says it as if it’ll be the last time that it’s always sincere. 

“I know, you would go hungry without me. I love you too”, giving him another kiss on his lips and letting him savor it.

You heard a tiny voice coming towards you both, something yanking on Leon’s jeans by the shin and forcing him to pull away from you for a minute. He looked down at the smaller blonde, cerulean eyes matching his own like a reflection of himself.

“Yeah sweet pea, what’s up?”, he turned towards her, reaching down to pick her up in his strong arms like he usually did. “You want some of mommy’s food too?”

“Yes! Sammi!”, it slipped out of her mouth, clapping to herself as she got excited at the mere idea of eating whatever was being made. She was always eager to eat, finding joy in the way she gripped her small spork and made a mess of herself with crumbs on her soft cheeks.

A passionate food lover, just like him.

“Hell yeah. Grilled cheese sammi and tomato soup. Let’s go help mommy cook”, Leon said, carrying his baby girl in his arms and marching down the stairs, allowing you to hear her laugh intertwining with his own. You followed them down the steps, watching your husband tickle your daughter’s tummy, beaming from ear to ear.

A warmth fluttered in your chest, silently watching the way they’d talk and interact with one another that would have anyone think they were the same person. You smiled again, going to the stove to stir the pot of tomato soup before you started on the grilled cheese sandwiches. 

You don’t know how you got here to have all that you did in your life, but you wouldn’t change an absolute thing.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #dad!leon kennedy #girl dad!leon kennedy #resident evil leon kennedy #resident evil death island #di! leon #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x reader #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

[buckleysbitch]

since the weather, request for a snow day with hazel? 🥹🥹 i feel like hazel would have fun in the snow and make hot chocolate

YES!!!! y’all i could not be more excited this snow for real

reqs are open!

listen to hazels spotify here ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

❆ sweetheart would absolutely see the news on tv about a snow day and speed to the grocery store to get hot chocolate and soup

❆ not anything practical though

❆ literally JUST hot chocolate and soup

❆ and she is so damn excited that she lays out your winter gear on the couch before you two go to bed

❆ “babe babe babe it’s gonna snow tomorrow”

❆ frost engulfs your window when you awake, hazels body heat being the only thing keeping you warm

❆ she’s definitely a walking furnace any time of the year

❆ so when you finally go outside, you’re clutching onto any of her bare skin you can get ahold of

❆ the first thing this girl does is breathe for like two minutes straight and watch the air escape from her plush lips, fidgeting with excitement in every breath

❆ but her trance is broken by a snowball nearly hitting her in the face, square in the chest

❆ grin plastered on her face, she throws one right back at you, striking you in the arm

❆ a snowball war breaks out, the two of you diving behind bushes and cars, dodging each others throws

❆ and i mean, shit, she can throw. she got some serious arms on her after fight club started

❆ accepting defeat, you flop down into the pillowy snow, little flecks dusting your cheerful expression

❆ kneeling down, hazel bargains “i’m sorry, i’m sorry….how about i make you some hot chocolate?”

❆ and how could a girl such as you possibly refuse?

❆ her tender hands slip the warm mug into yours, little marshmallows peeking out from the rejuvenating liquid

❆ laying your head on her shoulder, you look down at your interlaced fingers, snowflakes flurrying onto your gloves

❆ she kisses your forehead, and quietly enjoys the snow with you huddled up on the porch stairs

❆ then of course when you’ve both had enough with freezing your asses off, she hurries into the kitchen to make tomato soup and grilled cheese while you change into warm clothes

❆ she INSISTS you watch the perks of being a wallflower because “it’s obviously a winter movie”

❆ but you love it anyways so you don’t mind

❆ the fireplace crackling, hazels arm secured around your shoulder, the opening credits playing all while you eat your dinner together

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan blurb #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan headcanons #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan brainrot #hazel callahan au #bottoms 2023 #taking reqs #taking requests #requests open #reqs open

[ofmermaidstories]

what can you tell us about shouto’s yn and how would they get along with weeds and scribbles??? how do they (shouto and yn) meet? 🥺

okay, this is how i would describe Shouto’s Y/N, and their sequential meeting:

Imagine your best friend. You first meet at work; some corporate job that pays really well but is absolutely soulless. They’re a good worker, though—the others listen to them, and they’re confident in what they do and always explain things patiently to you but come lunchtime you’ve noticed they like to section themselves off to read a book or chill by the windows while they eat. The books they read are an array of genres, and the lunches they eat are beautifully packed and presented. You are fascinated.

One day, they end up chewing out some asshole who thought he could be sleaze around you; the asshole is eventually packed away into another branch of the office and you worm your way into your new Bestie’s good graces (“There’s a great little restaurant down the street,” they tell you, after the sleaze-encounter happens. “they do cheap drinks and the food is good. Let’s drink until we forget about that jerk.”)

You learn that your new Bestie shows how they care for others by doing things. Immediately. You’re not feeling well? An hour after you’ve messaged to say that, they’re dropping off a bag of groceries with some cold and flu meds and soups you can easily heat up and eucalyptus-infused tissues. Your mum needs help finding someone to install an air-conditioner? As you’re venting about it to your new Bestie, they’re creating a short-list of local professionals with good reviews and prices. But here’s the thing: you notice that they’re so used to taking care of others that they let themselves fall to the wayside. They won’t let anyone know they’re not feeling well, for example—they’ll just troop along. And if someone needs them then they drop whatever they had planned for themselves to help. But there’s a few things they luxuriate in doing for themselves—your bestie throws amazing dinner parties, they like to gather their loved ones to them and feed them delicious, fussy dishes with nice wines, cocktails. And if you’re out with them doing something and there’s a bookstore nearby like—that’s it, plans changed, you’re diverting towards it LOL. But even then, they’ll hum and haw over books, preferring to find them for cheaper elsewhere.

You think there’s something under the surface, about this Bestie; they don’t talk much about their childhood, beyond the occasional dark joke. When they trust you, when they trust someone in general, their humour surfaces—a fondness that manifests in gentle teasing. Sometimes it has an edge to it: you’re reminded, a couple of times, of how your friend easily has teeth when they want to. Teeth beyond what they have to use at work, in the offices. Teeth that they keep to themselves—most of the time.

Eventually, they leave the job you met at to go work at a jewelery store. It’s completely random. You knew, of course, that they liked doing things with their hands—at work they had always been making little flowers out of paper, or coiling paperclips while in meetings, but their love for arts and craft had been brushed off, joked about; another thing about this Bestie. Despite all they accomplish, all they do, they’re self-depreciating when it comes to the tender act of creating things. But it’s okay; you think they’re happy in this new job, the jewelery store—sliding from doing the accounts to sales to tentatively working with the artisan the store is run by. You don’t think anything could quench the drive they had to do a good job, no mater what it is.

It’s this Bestie that gets you and some other friends to the beach, one year—to Okinawa. They bring a pile of books they grabbed from the curbside collection on their street, and when you’re all out grocery shopping they pick out several good wines and a box of lumpy, vibrant tomatoes.

Another friend has brought her dog—this Bestie of yours is an early riser, and dearly loves animals, and ends up volunteering to take the puppy out with them on morning runs, along the beach. One day, early into your vacation, the morning run is postponed til the afternoon—it drags on longer than usual, way longer, and when Bestie makes it back they’re soaked. The puppy is fine—overly excited, still, yapping around everyone’s heels—but someone asks, “are you okay?” and this Bestie makes a weird face to themselves, something a little like dazed disbelief, before shrugging it off.

(they will disappear, intermittently, throughout your holiday and it won’t be until later that you learn that that was the day they met Shouto Todoroki—and everything began).

if you’re interested in how the friendship of our three Y/Ns would go, i’ve written a little about it here!

#ofmermaidstories-asks #still falling for you — fic

[keltonwrites]

dog days of summer

This is edition 101 of Shangrilogs.

God September is a romance, huh? Will they, won’t they, the crisp breeze swinging into the party, only there long enough to lock eyes and leave. Just another night of humidity without reprieve. You’re in the unrelenting sun when it creeps up your spine like cool breath. “Fall is coming,” everyone says, blessed with the premonition of a cold morning. “I can feel it.” 

It’s such a relief when summer caves in on itself, when the expectations lower and the season of routine sets in. The season of When Harry Met Sally and Practical Magic, of notebooks and soup. Maybe it’s the old memories of it, of losing summer to the coming chill. No longer did you have to judge whether or not you were adequately tan or adequately fun. All the lives you weaseled in and out of burrowed back into the ground, another season’s ghosts. And in their absence, this uncanny version of yourself, same as ever but with so much potential — so much potential in fact it made me throw up every first morning of the new school year. Absolutely gagged with options.

Now, fall means I can sleep. The sun angle changes, slinking away from my bedroom to peer into someone else’s window. The air cools and the logs shrink, letting the tendrils of night reach into the gaps of my bedspread, searching for bare ankles to twist around and beckon to the floor. 

But not yet. 

September is merely the promise of fall. You can put on your sharpest sweater, play only Bon Iver and Joni Mitchell, and summer will still rule the party in a slip dress and an aperol spritz. Save your Meg Ryan and Manhattans for October. How can one even stomach pumpkin on a seventy degree day? If only to be dragged by the senses one month forward and countless years back to color-coded folders and the clank of lockers and corn stalks tied with twine to the porch. 

The sun is setting at dinner time, though, shutting the blinds on a full stomach. At least she gets it. No more 9pms on the asphalt, still warm under foot. She’s as eager for fall as we are — she’s got to bring spring somewhere else. Her absence makes space for brooding. The longer nights lead to longer longings. Summer loses her grip when the stars come out. She might have the blistering of the high sun, but the green of the leaves has lost its luster and fall sneaks in at night. You can stand in the creeping wind of the evening and wrap your arms a little tighter, shove your pockets a little deeper, and breathe. Summer’s not watching at night. You can embrace fall like a lover. 

The embrace is brief, though. Too risky to let it linger. You would find a way to leave summer behind, but she always leaves first. She packs her bags while you’re eyeing a farmstand of peaches and tomatoes. She gives it her all, sweat shimmering on her collarbone, but the party always turns on her — she’s never the It Girl for long. Every conversation diverts from backyard BBQs to back to school, sunscreen to sweatshirts, and she’s left standing there with an emptying glass while the menu changes behind her back. She’s meaner now, hot headed and cruel. Too many years of people buying too many things in an effort to drown her out. They love her, they adore her, they forget her. Fall never overstays their welcome, they don't know how. They take their cues from the leaves, gone before you had a chance to say how you felt.

But not yet. 

For now, fall’s lovers simply practice their speeches in the mirror, shoulders still bare, summer just out of ear shot. “I’ve been thinking about you,” they would say. Something where the heft is in the hands of the receiver, where they can always back down with, “as a friend, of course.” But fall knows. 

The hot drink on a hot day, sweater tied around the waist, a sudden interest in the occult. A crush on fall is obvious if you’re looking. And who hasn’t dreamed of what they can’t have. Summer has an ever dripping affair so long as you’ll land between her latitudes. And those who find themselves cunning enough to play winter’s games can spend all year in her bed. But fall never stays, you would merely chase them around the world, just another leaf on the wind. 

Their cool hands will graze your skin, wrapping you in blankets, lighting candles of sandalwood and musk, and they’ll curl up next to you to watch as the leaves begin to blush, embarrassed they were ever so green, and they’ll press a hand to your cheek as they do every year, if only to remind you that however brief, the romance was real. 

But not yet.

“There are some things though I know for certain: always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder, keep rosemary by your garden gate, plant lavender for luck, and fall in love whenever you can.” - Practical Magic

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#autumn #fall vibes #falling in love #sweater season

[thebirdandthebee]

Easy As

A Carmen Berzatto Universe

Wow! We’re already at 10 installments! I’m having so much fun writing this series, I hope you all area continuing to enjoy it!

Vanessa Monaghan is the breath of fresh air that Carmen had been gasping for.

Page 10: Roommate

“Hi Roomie,” Vanessa pulled the front door open excitedly. Carmen’s grinned wildly, spanning from ear to ear as he stood in front of her, two duffels crossed his body, a backpack on his back and an empty canned tomato box in his hands.

“I’m here,” he was practically breathless.

Today, after 20 months of dating, Carmen was moving in.

To be fair, she was honestly surprised he had as much left at his place as he did. He’d been sleeping at her place 80% of the time, save for a few last nights at the restaurant and he couldn’t be happier to be adding twenty minutes onto his commute.

“Let me help,” she said, grabbing his box and leading the way into the apartment. “I cleaned out a bunch of space in the bathroom and closet,” she explained. “And I also emptied the shoe shelf in the guest room,” he’d follow her anywhere frankly.

Carmen made quick work of his things. He’d squared away his few toiletries while Vanessa got to work unpacking his clothes into the closet.

Heading over to the kitchen, he laid out his knife roll, a few pots and pans and a box full of his other tools. He had more items for the kitchen than anything else.

“You’re unpacked, but I wasn’t sure where you’d like two of your jackets, in the closet or the front hall,” Vanessa said, joining Carmen in the kitchen.

“I’m sure where they are is great,” he said, bringing her into his arms and holding her close.

“Sleepover every night,” she giggled conspiratorially. “M’gonna steal all your clothes.”

Carmen laughed, burying his face into her neck and inhaling the sweet smell of her.

They had been working out the logistics over the past few weeks – all bills would be split evenly. Vanessa would pay the HOA and they’d split her mortgage. When they got a car in the summer, they’d split the payment with Carmen paying the insurance and Vanessa paying the garage fee.

“It just feels like something exciting is starting,” Vanessa said, leaning up to kiss Carmen soundly.

“You’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me,” Carmen replied, holding her closely.

“What should we do? First day living together,” she sighed dreamily.

“Anything you want,” he replied.

“I’m a little hungry for some lunch and then maybe we can take a bath?” She asked, ‘s’chilly outside.” Carmen hadn’t taken a bath in probably 10 years, he figured he was due.

“Sure baby, what are you hungry for? I’ll make ya anything you want,” He said, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

“This might actually be more like a Chopped type of situation because I have no idea what’s even in the fridge,” she admitted, making him laugh.

“You did this on purpose, huh?” He asked.

“If you go for the ice cream maker, I’ll throw my panties at you,” she replied, causing them both to burst into laughter.

After a thorough inspection of the fridge and pantry, Carmen eyed enough items to make a good grilled cheese and tomato soup. Though he’d rather make it fresh, he wasn’t opposed to doctoring up a carton from Whole Foods.

“Don’t burn ‘em,” Carmen murmured, standing behind Vanessa as she watched the sandwiches dutifully, her spatula in hand. He pressed another kiss to her neck, grinning softly as he felt her goosebumps appear.

“Stop distracting me, I’m hungry,” she said, pushing her body back into his crotch. He held her hips in place before sliding one hand up her stomach to her breasts, cupping one gently and running his thumb back and forth over her nipple through her soft cotton T-shirt. “Carmy,” she whined, swatting at his hand with her spatula. He laughed, retreating and walking over to the fridge.

“Babe, you’ve got five kinds of bottled water, a Brita pitcher and a year’s worth of ginger ale in here,” he commented. “There’s more water than food.”

“I get thirsty!” Her voice went up an octave. He grabbed a can of ginger ale, pouring her a glass of water before she carefully flipped their sandwiches on the griddle. It wasn’t long until they were sitting at the kitchen island, Vanessa dunking her sandwich crusts into the soup. “Fuck Carm, this is so good,” she groaned.

“It’s not bad,” he agreed. He didn’t get to do it often, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt, but it was incredibly rewarding to cook for Vanessa.

“Baby, they’re amazing,” she replied, taking a bite of her sandwich and letting the cheese pull from her mouth.

It seemed that Carmen and Vanessa never left the honeymoon phase of their relationship – at least, it certainly felt that way as he watched her undress and join him in the steaming hot tub. She’d poured in some lavender crystals and just a bit of soap that made the water creamy and bubbly.

“C’mere,” she motioned with her finger, gesturing him over. He moved slowly and carefully, joining her on the other side of the tub. She guided him to rest his back against her chest and he melted into her embrace. “S’nice,” she whispered, kissing behind his ear. He mumbled in agreement, his eyelids heavy as he felt her breasts pressing against his back. He felt her move, and droplets of water hitting the bath before he felt a wet, warm presence on his skin. He dropped his head back against her shoulder as she ran a washcloth slowly across his chest and shoulders. “I love your little chest hair,” she whispered, running the cloth over the small patch between his pecs, “and these arms.”

Vanessa’s hand traveled down his chest to his stomach, where his toned stomach fluttered underneath her hand. She methodically dragged the cloth up and down his stomach and chest while she gently kissed his neck before fixating on one spot, sucking gently.

It took zero time for him to be fully hard, his pink tip just a few inches below the water line.

“Oh,” Vanessa murmured as he hand brushed against his erection. “Let me take care of you, Carmy.”

She set the drenched wash cloth on the edge of the tub before sliding her hand down his stomach yet again, circling his cock with her hand. He hissed at the initial touch, doing his best to keep from bucking in her hand.

Between the pressure of her fingers, the silky bath water, he breasts against his back and her lips, currently sucking his earlobe, he was sure he’d died and gone to heaven. All the pain, suffering, late nights, early mornings, verbal abuse and emotional turmoil was worth it if it lead him right to Vanessa and this moment.

She pumped him methodically, a choked groan releasing from his throat.

“It’s okay, baby,” Vanessa cooed in his ear. “I want you to cum,” she purred. Her other hand appeared from around the side of his hip, reaching down to cup his balls in her fingers, rolling them gently.

“Ness,” he gasped, hips stuttering at the feeling.

“Come on, Carm,” she whispered into his ear before repositioning to blow gently into the other. “You can do it, baby,” she encouraged. Carmen had tears in his eyes as he shot off into the water, his chest giving a soft hiccup.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips stuttering again as she swiped her thumb over his tip.

“Good boy,” she murmured, causing his skin to prickle and hips to jerk once more. He melted back down into the water, turning to kiss her thoroughly. After kissing her nearly breathless, he rest his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he said earnestly.

“I love you, too,” she smiled. “I can’t wait to do this with you for the rest of our lives,” she smiled.

“You proposin’?” He asked, nuzzling into her cheek.

“No, but making you aware,” she giggled, kissing him once again. “Think you can rinse me off in the shower? I’m all soapy.”

There was quite literally nothing else Carmen would rather do.

#carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x ofc #carmy smut #carmy fluff #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff

[7oji]

━━ same deep water as you, first part.

toji fushiguro is an unstable private investigator that takes on a case for an equally unstable family. when you have decided to throw everyone in your life away, you meet someone at the dinner you work at.

◞⁺⊹ 💭 toji fushiguro/fem!reader. no curses au, slow-burn ish, reader has a family, angst, age difference, grieving, eloping, protective toji, pet names (bunny/princess), eventual comfort.

╭ cw for light-voyeurism and stalking (not yandere), toxic families, alcohol use, mentions of organized crime, eventual nsft. 1.3k word count.

The old furniture in the office was uncomfortable. The place felt cold and reeked of cigarettes, which made people stay for short amounts of time like Toji preferred.

“After finding her, I just need you to follow her around and tell me what her routine looks like.”

Toji sat across an impatient-looking woman that looked out of place.

He loved desperate clients. Worried husbands, estranged fathers, or cunning wives were all dollar signs to him. And this time it was an obtrusive sister.

“What are you looking for, exactly?” His sharp eyes never left her when she pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Well, we talked from time to time, but after the notice for the funeral, no one can get a hold of her,” the woman paused to take a long breath off the cigar, polluting the air with her anxiousness. “The school could only give me what I gave you. So, my guess is she got together with someone, got knocked up or something.”

Toji nodded at her summary, focusing on the discharge forms from the college she mentioned.

“Okay. Just know, if you are going legal, I can only take evidence on public spaces.” He leaned back into his chair to start his usual spiel. “That's the reason I asked. I try to cather to all needs, so if you’d like more, it’ll be a little bit more pricey for you, but out of record.”

“I know, that's why I came here,” she barely avoided rolling her eyes. “Our dad is just so worried, you know, with his own dad dying too. It’s his little girl and he could never be tough with her. I want to give him something before deciding what to do with her.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for your loss,” Toji muttered in an attempt to skim over the sob story.

“Thanks. I know you knew him, but his friends better. You come... recommended,” she gave a critical glance across the neglected room.

“You mentioned that on the phone.” Toji flipped through her contact details to find what else to discuss. Both of them knew to keep that topic brief.

“Anyway, after finding her, which I hope will be no issue for you,” she puffed the smoke in his direction. “I'd like you to be with her for up to a month, depending on what comes up.”

He kept nodding mindlessly, getting ahead of himself to daydream about how easy this would be.

“I would prefer that you only focus on this and drop any other case, if possible. Money is not an issue.”

Oh, he’d almost squirm at that.

“I can imagine that,” he agreed, failing to contain a grin. “I do charge hourly and you’ll have to cover the expenses of my current projects to drop them, but we’ll set the payment details later on.”

They were done after the woman insisted on starting that same weekend.

“Have you ever gotten involved with the people you investigated?” was her last inquiry.

“That blows my cover, so, no.”

“But would you be willing to act? Like if someone needed to test if their wife was faithful?”

Toji had been offered similar deals a handful of times, easy to imagine with his looks, but the only one that went through was for a store owner looking to see if the girls at the counter would steal for him. Which they did.

He grinned after giving it a thought.

“Sure, for its right price.”

A chime filled the dimly lit dinner in the last minutes of your shift. It was dark outside when the cooks handed you a plate of tomato soup from the small kitchen.

The two tried some small talk when they held the door open for you, only to receive the usual quiet smile.

You couldn't bring yourself to be mean to them, but this way, it would be easier when you finally disappeared from the face of the earth.

Letting your hair down you exited the restaurant and walked over to the bus stop. Moving through the dark streets was easy now with your pepper spray gripped inside your pocket.

Your edge had gone down a few weeks ago, but the hairs on your neck were up that night, even though nothing seemed out of place.

The first sight when you finally opened the motel's door was of a full trashcan. Room service hadn't passed by that day, but you figured it was better if no one was snooping around your stuff when you weren't there.

When you found a place cheap enough in the next town over, it was too good of an opportunity to let it go. It made sense when one of your sisters called to let you know grandpa had passed away. Your grandfather wasn’t a good person and had always treated the kids and the wives roughly. For him, a man of questionable ethics, there wasn’t any sadness from you and you wouldn’t bother saying goodbye. So, you took it as fate and paid for a whole month in cash.

The urge of flopping face-down into the bed was great, but a reflection in the mirror caught your attention.

The hair color so unnatural to your own popped out in front of you. You inspected that your look was as unrecognizable as possible, like you had intended, before resuming your routine.

There was something specific about people who came to a private investigator for personal affairs. Toji would argue it was either craziness or lack of character.

When taking on a case for crazy, one had to be careful of them interfering in the jobs, so he would make sure to provide juicy information here and there, but not enough for them to know what his next move was.

Cheating husbands were his favorite. He was skillful at consoling a grieving wife, exclusively the ones that could afford him. For lack of excitement and transparency, he would not take any insurance claims or child custody cases. He was careful enough to avoid people from looking too deep into his practice.

Missing people were unusual cases, mostly because if the police couldn't do anything, those were people that didn't want to be found.

And for a moment he thought finding you would be harder than he thought. When he helped your sister file the missing person's report, he could go to the school but with no luck. You had dropped out with all necessary forms signed.

He moved over to the side of campus where most of your classes would take place, but asking around casually for you wasn’t giving him anything either. It seemed that you were hermetic enough.

“Excuse me,” he had heard a small voice when he was close to giving up. "Are you her family?”

Toji turned to find a girl too embarrassed to look him straight in the eye, but the mention of your name was enough for her to approach him.

“Yeah,” he said with a little smile. “Are you friends with her?”

“We were,” she hesitated. “At least I thought so, she didn't really talk to anybody, but we were in most classes together.”

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

“I was going to ask you what happened to her,” she had finally seen him for a whole sentence, eyes full of surprise. “She… didn't really talk, and the last day she came to class, she was pretty nasty to everyone.”

Her slight lip quiver made Toji realize the girl really meant everyone. You were a little brat, weren't you?

It took a lot from him to not giggle at the thought.

“Sorry to hear that,” he gave his honest attempt at an empathetic smile. “How about we go to the cafeteria and you can tell me more about what my cousin did?”

Her fluster was all the answer he needed. That was his way in.

After that, it didn't take him more than a week to be at the front of a makeshift motel on the side of the road.

“Hi, little bunny,” he whispered to himself when he got his first glance at you locking your room's door. Seems like you changed your hair and wore some glasses, but you couldn't fool his sharp eyes.

SECOND PART TBA.

note. ahhh this is inspired by a dream i had with this man. i plan this to be a short-chaptered series and to update in 1+ week. thank you for reading 💗

#i have not attempted to elope yet so excuse any inacc #uracies #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji angst #protective toji fushiguro #toji fic #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen angst #toji slow burn #jujutsu kaisen slow burn #toji x female reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #toji fushiguro slow burn #works 🧷.

[shingia]

i’m not sure if you’ve gotten this request before (feel free to ignore if u have loll) but could i request how hq boys would help u when ur hungover.... cause i am big time rn LMAO please and thanks <33

✗ HQ BOYS WHEN YOU’RE HUNGOVER ✗

the way i ran to my drafts to start writing this omg 🏃🏻‍♀️ ngl it almost made me miss being hungover <\33 anyways- hope you’ll feel better v soon and are taking care of your poor hungover self 😽

-> timeskip! kita, kuroo, tsukishima, suna, oikawa

-> warnings : mentions of alcohol (for obvious reasons), mentions of throwing up and mentions of food

— KITA

• this man knows how to handle a hangover better than anyone

• he’s a moderate drinker, but his grandmother’s books contain the cure to everything and he’s more than willing to make you benefit from his knowledge

• he will make you drink these three bottles of water, that bowl of tomato soup and that banana milkshake with a tablespoon of honey. dehydration ? he doesn’t know her

• but kita also knows how important it is to not stay in bed all day, so he’ll insist on having you spend at least thirty minutes outside in the fresh air, most probably in your backyard

• you can refuse, of course. but he’ll take away your cuddle privilege immediately, so~ your choice

• also expect a lot a few disapproving looks,,, because as much as he loves to pamper you, he can’t help but remember the dozens of times he told you you’d had enough to drink last night. obviously you didn’t listen

• i think would disapprovingly care : like- lecturing you under his breath as he sprays essential oils on your bedsheets or tests the temperature of the bath water before letting you in

• remember the cuddle privilege i talked about? yeah, that’s going to be your reward at the end of the day for not being stubborn and docilely following his instructions

• with freshly perfumed bedsheets and his natural body warmth, you’re likely to fall asleep in five second tops. but that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave you, quite the contrary. no, this man will continue to take care of you in your sleep

• and by that i mean belly rubs to make sure your nausea is gone when you wake up, or gentle head massages to make your migraine go away. he might even brush your hair so that you won’t wake up with knots

• he doesn’t even expect you to thank him, because « isn’t that what all husbands are supposed to do ? »

— KUROO

• he’s probably hungover too because he had to finish half of your drinks,,, yet it still wasn’t enough to prevent you from waking up with the biggest headache

• in other words : dimmed lights all day. he might not even open the blinds. and to be honest he likes these kind of vibes

• sure, it feels like your brains are about to explode, and every single part of your body is aching (eyelashes included), but it’s cozy and your minds are too fogged to worry about anything other than getting better- so it’s self care and self care only today

• it’s likely that none of you will feel like eating something, but kuroo’s an athlete : he knows better than to skip a meal, especially when you both feel so weak

• so he’ll sacrifice himself and make the grueling effort of leaving the bed to cook you a little something, nothing extravagant but still enough to reinvigorate the two of you

• and since you don’t have anything better to do, you guys decide to watch the videos you took during the party,,, and slowly come to the realization that you have very few memories of what happened

• « is that you dancing on that table ? » you ask him, pointing at the man who is just a second away from tripping on a napkin

• lifting his shorts, kuroo glances at the bruise on the upper part of his thigh : « ohh- well that explains a lot »

• chances are that, because of his built, kuroo will feel better before you. so the true pampering will come later in the evening

• he’s got vitamins, ibuprofens, blankets, and his arms ready for you. you’re in for the deepest sleep of your life

— TSUKISHIMA

• « i told you so »™️

• you would wake up feeling like absolute crap and he would be eyeing you, standing next to the bed with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised : « how are we feeling ? », even though the answer is pretty obvious

• but he knows that sarcasm won’t get him anywhere so he tries to tone it down (try to)

• you might think he’s not going to do much, but as soon as you step out of the shower he forced you to take (even though you were exhausted), you realize that he did do much

• the clothes you wore last night are already in the washing machine, your new ones (most probably his) are neatly folded on your bed, waiting for you, and he’s cooking an anti-hungover meal that he looked up on the internet

• if he has to study while you’re getting some rest in the bedroom he will put reminders on his phone every 15mn to come and check on you

• and he never leaves the room without lifting the covers up to your shoulders to make sure you won’t get cold

• he also wets a towel and gives it to you to place over your eyes if they’re sore

• but as soon as he’s done studying, he joins you in bed with greatest pleasure. and it’s a good thing that tsukki loves comfortable silences, because neither of you feel like saying anything

• you’re just laying there, letting him keep track of time since you’re too busy enjoying being pampered that much

— SUNA

• blackmail material for YEARS (in addition to the videos and pictures he took of you during the party)

• he turns this into a vlog, you could be half-asleep on the couch and hear him talk to the camera from the kitchen like « so here i am making pasta for this lightweight who threw up all night... i’m still waiting for my boyfriend of the year’s award... »

• but really, he’s just being dramatic. deep down he loves to take care of you when you’re hungover because you get much clingier,,, so he allows himself to be clingier too

• as much as he loves to lay down on top of you, the roles are reversed this time. because being crushed by a 6’3 tall man while you’re hungover is probably not a very good idea

• but before these lazy cuddles, he wants to make sure you’re comfortable : so he’ll remove your makeup (if you wore any) and give you his clothes because he knows you like how oversize they are

• so yes, naps and water are definitely the keywords of the day, but tell him once that you crave one specific food and he’ll immediately go get it for you

• he’s also surprisingly careful with any possible headache, so he’ll keep his earphones on while scrolling on his phone to make sure you can rest in complete silence

• however, at some point he will hand you his phone and have you record a video for your future self. something along the lines of : « hi y/n, this is you from the past. i feel like absolute shit right now so please be more reasonable next time... and don’t let rin get more embarrassing pictures of us »

• and you can be sure that he’ll use this video as a threat next time you’re partying. he would just have to point at his phone from the other side of the room and you would understand what he means

— OIKAWA

• he’s not the person to call if you want to be talked out of partying ever again

• because not only does he spend the entire day praising you highly for the way you looked yesterday, but you also realize that he loves your drunk self (as long as he’s here to watch over you)

• he doesn’t mind you complaining because he’s had a few hangovers of his own,, so feel free to whine about your stomachache/headache all you want

• and if you throw up ? it’s ok, he’s got you. and he’s not leaving your side unless you ask him to

• literally, he spends the entire day babying you. you’re feeling too tired to brush your teeth ? no problem, he’ll have you sit on the edge of the bathtub and do it for you

• same goes for washing your hair or getting dressed : there’s nothing he’ll refuse

• if your head doesn’t hurt too much, he’ll offer to watch a stupid tv show in front of which you can fall asleep without missing anything important

• and he’ll make sure to get the right cuddle position right away because he knows you’ll probably fall asleep very quickly and he doesn’t want to wake you up by fidgeting under you

• also: expect many many scalp massages. and his hands are the softest so they feel absolutely divine

• i think oikawa knows a lot about hydration so he’ll probably make you drink something like sugary water to give you a little boost. and if you don’t trust this drink, he’ll try again with another one until you’re completely hydrated

• and as i said, he’s very supportive,, almost too much : « you finished your glass ! i’m proud of you baby! »

taglist : @toworuu @catwithangerissues @miyumiya @livy384 @k0u-minamo2 @fullsundear @hsjvwq @kelsuuki @hiraeth-z @velvetvirgos @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @47meow @japanesevenom @geektastic84 @noir-blanches-blog @idontlikeyourjob @seiri-ami @atiny-grl-with-luv @admiringlove @nachotrash @kellesvt @aintyourholy @Moonlaeli @catchmewiddershins @duhsies @devilgirlcrybabiey @crystal-lilac @ijustwantfreenetflix @mimaki @maitenight

#reblogs are very cool 👉🏼👈🏼 #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu comfort #kita shinsuke x reader #kita headcanons #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo headcanons #suna rintarou x reader #suna headcanons #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa headcanons #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima headcanons #tw alchohol mention #tw alcohol #tw: alcohol

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek 6 (6-18): Baby Damian | Family bonding | First crush

Warnings: none

Notes: Short, sweet, barely edited cuz it's 1am. Please enjoy some de-aged Damian and frazzled Dick. Yes I'm back on my Damian and Dick bullshit. I just love them so much.

-o-o-o-o-

Three days, according to Zatanna. The magic that hit Damian isn't permanent, and should wear off on its own within three days.

Dick already doesn't know what to do with himself. He was hardly prepared to take over and raise a ten year old, let alone a toddler.

But here he is, sitting in the manor living room watching as a small version of his already little brother toddles around on chubby baby legs. He can't be more than two. He can walk around on his own well enough—though Alfred did block off all of the stairs in the manor anyways—and every so often he'll point at something and say... Something that sounds like a demand.

Dick wasn't really ever good with understanding baby gibberish. It doesn't help that Damian seems to have reverted in memories as well... so the things he's demanding probably aren't in English as it's not his first language.

Damian wobbles up to Dick, holding out a toy train that Alfred dug out from the attic that used to belong to Bruce. Dick takes it and thanks him, but Damian pays him no mind and returns to his toys, babbling about something only he understands.

It's so weird seeing him like this. All small, chubby, soft, and bright eyed. Dick doesn't know everything Damian has gone through... growing up in the League... and as much as Dick dislikes Talia, he knows she was the best mom she could be to him. She's raised him to be a smart, strong young man, and taught him to be able to protect himself in his dangerous surroundings... and of course Dick has known Damian long enough to have gotten through his walls and see the wonderful boy underneath, but as he watches this toddler squeal as another toy train turns on and runs on its own...

He cannot help but mourn the child Damian could have been. Should have been if every child in the world had the privilege of growing up in a safe home and no worries besides homework.

He shakes his head. He cannot think like that. Whatever child Damian could have grown into if he hadn't been raised by the League is still in there. Just a bit harder to bring out. Dick can feel himself getting closer every day.

Damian notices him shaking his head and makes a curious ah sound. He walks over to Dick, lifting his arms, and Dick assumes he wants to be lifted. He smiles at the kid and grabs him under the armpits and lifts him into the air perhaps a bit quicker than what he was expecting. The kid screeches as Dick lifts him over head and let's go for just a moment to catch him and bring him back down to his face.

Damian scowls a familiar scowl and hits Dick on the nose with his stubby little fingers.

"Bah," he scolds, and a laugh bursts from Dick's throat.

Yup, Damian is still in there.

-o-o-o-o-

"I'm beginning to understand why B adopted all of us when we were already in elementary," Dick complains as baby Damian screams in his wooden high chair—yet another thing dug up from the attic that probably belonged to Bruce.

Alfred hands Dick a rag with a smirk. The thrown bowl of mac-and-cheese is all over Dick's shirt.

"Master Bruce always had a tenderness for infants," Alfred replies as he uses another rag to wipe off the still screaming and complaining Damian. "He always found joy in finding whatever excuse he could to hold and play with a baby. We used to go to a church when he was still a child himself, and there was a woman there without a husband who would always bring her infant. He would always offer to hold the child for her during the sessions to give her a break."

There's a twinkle in his eye when he looks over at Dick. "I imagine that if this had happened to you, or your other siblings, when he was still around, he would have loved every second of it. Food throwing, tantrums, and all."

Dick can't help but smile. He looks over at Damian who's now kicking his legs and waving his now clean hands in a fit. "Still, I wonder what's making him so mad."

"He might not like the taste," Alfred says, "or the texture. Perhaps some experimentation is due."

After some expiration and a lot of screaming through baby lungs that couldn't possibly hold that much air, they find that Damian really likes tomato soup, apple sauce, and broccoli.

-o-o-o-o-

"Master Dick," Alfred speaks up on the first evening while they were showing Damian Pooh's Heffalump Movie. Dick was relaxing and watching the movie, trying to remember if he's seen this one or not, while Damian was on the floor playing with an old kitten stuffed animal.

"Yeah?" Dick asks. He looks over at Alfred, only to see Alfred raise an eyebrow down at Damian. Dick follows his look, then his stomach drops when he finds that under the recently shopped for infant clothes, is a full looking diaper.

Dick looks back up at Alfred.

"Please, god, no."

Alfred drops a diaper, a bag of wipes, and a cloth into Dick's hands. "Good luck, sir."

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's about to lose his mind. He did everything Alfred told him to. He read a bedtime story—Where the Wild Things Are, as it was Dick's personal favorite as a child. He made sure his diaper was clean. He turned on some white noise. He even gave him Zitka. Yet, everything he did, Damian would scream and sob in his borrowed crib until Dick picked him up and started to sing the lullabies sung to him as a child. He sings the ones from his own native language, and even though there's no way Damian understands Romani, the kid calms down and reduces to exhausted little hiccups and almost seems to fall asleep with his little fingers curled in Dick's shirt.

And the second Dick puts him down, the crying rekindles.

Dick doesn't know what to do. Damian cries and cries until he's held and sung to, but Dick can't hold and sing to him all night. He paces Damian's room, bouncing the aforementioned kid-turned-infant in his arms, mumbling tunes to whatever lullaby decides to leave his lips.

Alfred told him he has permission to wake him up if he needed anything with Damian through the night, but Dick can't bring himself to. Alfred already works so hard during the day and night, keeping the manor in shape and making sure Dick doesn't get himself killed during patrol... He shouldn't have to be relied on to take care of a grumpy baby that won't go to sleep.

No, no Dick can handle this. Damian is calm when he's held and sung to, so that's what Dick will do. He walks to the cradle and pulls out Zitka, then goes to his own bedroom to sit on his bed and holds Damian close to his chest, singing and bouncing him gently.

Eventually, Damian goes completely still against his chest, snoring slightly, but Dick's too fearful to risk anything now. He stops singing though, resorting to simply holding Damian and trying to keep his own eyes open.

He fails, but he wakes up in the morning with Damian laying on his chest, still fast asleep and drooling all over his shirt.

Dick doesn't look a gift-horse in the mouth. He shifts into a better position, then allows them both to sleep in a little longer.

-o-o-o-o-

Alfred discovers the problem quickly when Dick tells him how hard it was to get Damian to sleep. Turns out, Damian's teething. By noon, Alfred had returned from the closest grocery store with a few tools to help with that. He puts a few water filled plastics into the fridge, then gives Damian one to chew on in the meantime. And chew on it, Damian does. He gets slobber everywhere, but at least he's no longer so upset, especially once a cold one is exchanged into his grubby little hands.

-o-o-o-o-

"That's absolutely adorable," Barbara says over the phone. Dick's just finished sending her a massive amount of pictures he's taken of Damian after taking him outside to play in the backyard with the dogs. He's sent her the pictures mostly because he needs people to see how cute Damian is while trying to tackle a dog twice the size of him... but also partly because he gets the feeling once Damian's back to his normal age, he will make sure all evidence of this is destroyed.

Barbara is someone Dick's sure can keep pictures hidden in a safe place... just in case Dick wants to see them again after lying to Damian he deleted them.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's beginning to understand why people like babies. Like, they're cute, yes. The sounds they make are cute sometimes too. The things they find funny are usually very goofy and enjoyable to watch. Their laughs are contagious, and their babbles are enjoyable to try and decipher...

But nothing beats watching them sleep, curled up against your chest. Full trust in you that you'll keep them safe. It's nap time, and instead of trying to peel Damian off from him and put him in the crib, he's decided to just let the kid pass out in his arms and use the opportunity to take a nap himself.

Apparently it's bad to always let babies sleep with you, but Damian's not going to be this small forever. Might as well enjoy holding him like this in pure peace while he can.

-o-o-o-o-

It seems Zatanna was generous with her prediction, as he wakes up with his breath being knocked out of him. Damian, his rightful age and dressed in his full Robin uniform, scrambles off of Dick's chest. It's all knees and elbows, and Dick's left rubbing his ribs as Damian pats his body, as if making sure he's really a 10 year old boy and not an infant.

"Good to have you back," Dick grunts, rubbing his eyes and holding back a grin.

Damian whirls on him and points an accusing finger. "I don't remember what all happened," he hisses, "but you will delete any photos immediately."

Dick bursts into laughter, grabbing Damians pointed hand and tugging him into a proper hug. Damian squawks just a little, but relents when Dick squeezes him tighter than what he would to an infant. Yes. This feels right. Baby Damian was cute and cuddly, but he really missed the prickly attitude of this rascal.

"Okay," he says, releasing his charge. "I'll delete the photos, after we tell Alfred you're back and you've changed out of the suit."

Damian huffs and nods. "That was horrible."

"I don't know, I thought it was fun," Dick teases. Damian glares at him and Dick grins back.

Yeah, he missed his kid.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #Nightwing #dc comics #jin writes #fanfiction

[phrynewrites]

Ok the teacher's au sex ed drabble is getting too much to finish tonight so here's a little peek (relief from angsty fake dating jasco)

-----

“Fucking pamphlets,” Bosco mutters, pulling a fat stack of papers out of their mailbox. They turn and throw behind them, “Camden, does your girlfriend know why I’ve got all these dick papers in my mailbox?”

Tomato soup and a half-melted grilled cheese suddenly seemed less interesting to Jasmine.

“Why are there dick papers?” she asked, framing with air quotes. “Is that even allowed in a school?”

“Jazzy, baby, it’s not porn,” Bosco slid her one across the table. “It’s like, Planned Parenthood papers.”

As it hit her soup, Jasmine choked. “That sure is, uh, anatomy.”

“Yeah, ah…” Camden jumped in. “So it’s not Angie’s fault.”

“Never is, babe. As long as you two keep playing doctor, hmmm?”

Camden ignored Bosco, turning her attention to the pamphlet instead. “School board isn’t renewing non-cert staff for the school year. Maddy caught onto that and she quit. So now there’s no one to teach health, well really sex ed-”

“Wouldn’t you teach sex ed?” Jasmine picks at her sandwich. She may or may not have peeled the plastic off the cheese before putting it in the sandwich…. "You're a nurse. Bosco just teaches French.”

“Just French. And here I thought you thought it was a sexy language,” Bosco replies, beaming at Jasmine, tongue between their teeth.

---

Upon entering the room, Jasmine saw Bosco trying to shove the baby back into the anatomical model, finding it didn’t fit.

“You’re causing brain damage.” She grabbed the baby doll and stuck it into the model. “They come out head first, genius.”

Bosco nods. “So that’s how you fell on yours, or?” Bosco gives her a shove. “No one there to catch you?”

“Yeah no, I fell head first into the earth’s molten crevice, from which you emerged. Centuries old legend says that once every millennium, a child with a mononym and a frozen heart shall grow to-”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Bosco says. But their tone isn’t pointed. Not a lick of irritation can be found. If anything, their cheeks are puffed out as they reach for the dry-erase marker, like they would have laughed if they hadn’t caught themself.

“What’s got you smiley?” Jasmine poked their side. “You excited to teach about diaphragms? The miracle of life? Feeling warm and fuzzy reminiscing about your time in the molten crevice?”

“Sure, in a way.” Bosco numbered the board from 1 to 10 in perfect, straight handwriting. “I…I had a date last night and she was nice.”

While Bosco wrote out STDs, Contraception, and Consent, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary, Jasmine’s eyes blew out wide.

“Oh my god, you are capable of love.”

Healthy relationships. Pregnancy and Childbirth.

“I didn’t say love. I said she was nice.” Life Skills.

“Oh my god.” Jasmine gripped their hand, a smile remaining even as they shook her off. “You have to tell me everything. Are you going to see her again? Oh my god you had a date.”

“The more you say that, the sadder it makes me look, Mademoiselle Kennedie.” Bosco pats her shoulder, retreating as the first student enters.

#preview of the teachers au prompt #yes these two idiots are teaching sex ed and yes it's going to go about as well as you think #jasco teachers au #teachers au #jasco #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr fanfic #rpdr fic

[vanillann]

double sided recipe card (pietro maximoff x reader)

a/n: hi, pietro is literally the love of my life so OF COURSE i’d do this!! also request are always open so don’t be scared to send an ask whenever!!

word count: 2.3k

“Has anyone seen Pietro?”

I swung around the kitchen of the compound, walking in to find Clint and Nat in a conversation about who knew what. They both smiled when they saw me but Clint's face dropped slightly when he realized my words.

“Why do you need Roadrunner?” Clint crossed his arm, leaning back on the kitchen island slightly.

“I have his physical and if he wants to go to the mission tomorrow,” I tried off, smiling at Clint when he rolled his eyes.

“I think he’s in Wanda’s room,” Nat pointed over her shoulder, patting my shoulder when I passed her.

I did the lightest jog to the evaluator, finding Wanda’s floor number and smashing the button. The folder played between my fingers, my eyes begging to look but I knew I’d get in trouble if I was caught on camera.

The smallest ding drew me from my stares, informing me I had made it to the correct floor. I skipped out lightly, smiling when I noticed Wanda's door slightly ajar, the slightest bit of laughter spilling out into the hallway. I didn’t think much of him in Wanda’s room, he tended to sit around everyones room beside his own.

I stepped closer to the door, my knuckles ready to knock but I stopped when I noticed a female voice laugh. I looked closer, noticing Pietro sat in front of the T.V. his back turned to me but his knees were pressed to his chest as he stared at the T.V.

“Pietro,” a little bit of a younger Wanda's face smiled from the screen, her giggles sounded the same as they do now as she looked up.

“I’m shocked you didn’t see it coming,” Pietro's voice sounded around the room, the entire video was starting to catch up. Wanda mentioned she had a few older home videos in her room, she didn’t watch them but she never had to heart to watch them.

“I’ll kill you.”

Pietro suddenly slammed his hand on the remote, doing his best to make the video stop but the laughter never stopped. He held in the air, ready to throw it at the T.V. before my feet took off. I don’t know how I made it to his side so fast, my hand wrapping around the remote as I placed my other hand on his back.

“Hey,” my voice was soft as I got his hand to fall, he looked shocked for a second and I realized he probably was upset. I was watching but that didn’t matter as he curled closer to me. His hands pulled at the overshirt hoodie that clung to my frame, his face pulling closer.

He didn’t cry, just took angry breaths and held himself closer to me. By the time dinner rolled around he had drifted off, his hands lose on my shirt as I played with the edge of the folder.

“Piet-” Wanda knocked lightly on the door, a little smile on her face before she spotted us on the floor.

“Hey Wanda,” I spoke softly, trying to get his hand off so I could speak away from my ear, making sure I didn’t wake him. Wanda waited a second, most likely reading my mind for a second before she gave a sad smile.

“The home video?”

I just nodded, following her from her own room to the kitchen, where I could smell the food flooding the building.

“He does alot of bottling up, with the anniversary of mother birth-” Wanda trailed off, upset as she spoke about her poor mother.

“When’s her birthday?”

“Tomorrow,” Wanda shrugged, both of us stepping foot in the elevator.

“During the mission? I’m so sorry, I can lie to Tony and tell him you aren’t clear-”

“Don’t worry about it (Y/N), it’ll be good not to think about it.” Wanda smiled lightly, looping her arm in mine as she leaned on me slightly.

“Thank you, for being there for him.

“Of course, you know I care about you both.” The door slid open, the smell even stronger as we heard Steve’s laugh fill the compound.

“Care isn’t the word I’d use,” her accent was thicker as she rolled her eyes at me, the hint of a smirk on her lips as we walked closer to the kitchen. I pinched her side, laughing when she jumped slightly.

Once we made it to the kitchen the smell well smashed into my system, walking over to look down at the soup that was lightly boiling.

“It’s a Saliva meal,” Wanda handed me a bowl, holding one in her own hand while she waited for me to hurry up.

“Should I wake Pietro? He wouldn’t want to miss this-“

“I’ll make it again, for now he should rest.” Wanda held my arm, smiling at my concern for her brother as I gently picked up the ladle and became pouring my own soup in the bowl. I watched the light brown broth pour into the bowl and suddenly I knew exactly what I had to do.

“Wanda, would you leave the recipe card out for this?”

I stumbled into the kitchen, the reusable bag full of different ingredients practically falling from the bag.

“Aren’t you glad you aren’t an Avenger,” I heard Pepper’s soft voice from behind me, her giggles coming from the doorway. I only shrugged, looking down gloomy as the ingredients that sat over the island.

“What are you making?” I felt her presence beside me now, looking over the food beside me. I didn’t say a word, holding up the recipe card Wanda had thankfully left out.

“This is what we had last night,” Pepper noticed, looking at the side of my face with the smallest smirk ever across it.

“I’m making it for Pietro for when they get back, he didn’t get any last night.”

Pepper bumped my shoulder, my eyes rolling in the back of my head before I reached for a tomato. I let it roll around in my hand a few times, looking down at the card Pepper had placed back down.

“You don’t know what you're doing?”

“Nope,” I popped the “p”, walking around the island to grab one of the pots and filling it up with water. I placed it on the stove, staring at it for a little bit as if waiting for something to happen.

“Would you like help?”

I probably should say yes, I was trying to make this soup when I should barely make a bowl of cereal. Maybe soup was one of the easier foods to make but I would spend half the time as a few words still in Russian on the card.

“I’ve got it don’t worry,” I brushed her off, simply because I was hoping if I could pull this off alone he would be proud of me. I was hoping he’d make a smartass comment with that little smirk and mention that I did a great job.

“Okay, let me know if you need help. I’m always happy to do so for you and Wanda, just not Tony.” I laughed slightly at her sarcasm, waving over my shoulder as I heard her light footsteps leave the kitchen.

I finally reached out and turned the burner on, smiling when I heard the small click signaling it was in fact on and ready to begin boiling the water. I turned back to the island, picking at the index card. I assumed it was a family recipe but the handwriting and the older terms were used within the recipe.

As I finally placed the tomato on the cutting board, a large knife in hand I thought things were falling into place.

I was in fact, wrong.

I panicked when I heard the elevator open, hearing a light noise of voices enter the floor. I couldn’t be everyone as they weren't as loud and also with how late it was. Clint wasn’t going to hang around with everyone at 2:12 in the morning.

“Just go in the kitchen,” I heard a light female voice speak, my panic rising as I realized Pietro was in fact home and probably seconds away from walking in the kitchen.

I hid my bandage hand behind my back, trying to block the few things I managed to chop before I attacked my own hand with it by accident.

“Why?” His accent was thick with sleep, which made a little smile dance across my lips. I understood why Nat was teaching them to lose the accent for safety reasons but I loved the way they spoke with it.

“Just do,” I saw the door slightly move, knowing someone was going to walk in soon and part of me panicked. I was more worried about Pepper finding me like this, she would have my head if she saw this and I didn’t let her help.

“Fine fine,” I watched him finally walk into the kitchen, lucky alone, as he looked around it for a second. When his eyes spotted me against the counter he smiled but it quickly fell when he spotted the mess behind me.

“(Y/N)?”

“Pietro?” I spoke with nerves. my body on high alert.

“What’s this?” He looked down at the island, his eyes spotting the recipe card I had forgotten to put away. His finger picked it up, a sad smile on his lips before he even read the words on the card.

“My mothers,” his voice sounded far away, as if for a second he was back home before the bomb, before they lost everything but each other.

“Wanda let me use it,” I pointed with my unharmed hand, trying my best to make him comfortable with the conversation.

“She told you?”

“Just a few details,’ I brushed off, my eyes suddenly looking everywhere but him as I wanted to leave the kitchen and run into my own room. I had already ruined the meal, let's not ruin a whole friendship.

“You told me you couldn’t cook?”

I laughed at the memory, I completely forgot about the time I told him about Bruce’s birthday. Thor and I thought making a cake was a great idea but it ended up with a weird green blob. I was much younger then sure, but it definitely showed my abilities with making any sort of food.

“You remember that story?”

“I remember all your stories, as you do mine.” I finally stopped looking at the floor, looking up at him as he titled his head at me. His arms were crossed on the island but his under eye bags stood out against the harsh light of the kitchen. The natural light was long gone and it was only the moon that bought light from the outside.

“You should probably get to bed,” I wasn’t thinking straight as I walked forward and lightly pushed open the door for him. I high when my fresh cut hand hit the wooden door slightly too hard.

Even as tired as he was, Pietro was at my side in milliseconds, looking over my hand with the awkward bandage across it.

“What did you do?” I ignored the little pet name, trying to pull my hand from his grip.

“I’m really bad at cutting potatoes,” I shrugged, the awkward smile making its way across my lips. He said nothing, looking up at me with a disapproving look.

“You must be more careful,” he looked at it a little longer but eventually let my hand fall to my side as he smiled slightly at me.

The silence felt like it lasted forever, like it would never end, but it eventually did when he spoke.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t exactly make it,” I pointed to the brown sad water with nothing else in it. I didn’t make it far before things started going bad. Pietro frowned at me, speeding around the kitchen quickly before he stood in front of me.

A bowl was held in his hand, the brown water now had a few of the vegetables floating around in it, it looked much better but still not what Wanda made last night.

“I don’t know what you mean, I have it right here.” He held a spoonful up, taking a wide bite. I could tell it wasn’t what he thought but he didn’t look like he was going to be sick.

“It’s not your mothers recipe,” I looked up at him, trying my best not a smile at his little pout every time I said something.

“No, it’s your own.” He placed the bowl down, flipping the index card around and grabbing a pen that stayed in the kitchen for any reason. I panicked when I saw him start writing on it, my hand shooting out to stop him but he just quickly moved to the otherside of the island.

“That was your mother Pietro!”

“Now it’s your and my mothers! Two of my favorites on one card, don’t tell Wanda that,” he pointed at me with the last part, his smirk painted across his face making me feel little butterflies in my stomach.

I watched him write my name across the top with the ingredients he saw I had used. Once he was down he slid it across the table, smiling when I laughed at the title.

“(Y/N)’s Happy Mistake.”

“Yes, it’s my personal favorite,” he smiled, my own growing wider as the seconds went on with his looking at me like that.

“Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you, for everything,” he walked slowly, for the first time, around the island. He leaned beside me, his arm touching my own. I let my head rest there, smiling when I felt him leave a gentle kiss on my crown.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything Pietro,” I felt myself lean closer to him. I knew we would have to talk about this feeling in the morning, but we were both too tired to care for now.

“There aren’t any potatoes in my mothers’ soup.”

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#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x y/n #marvel x reader

[jayankles]

The Culmination: Endgame

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Word Count: 2362

Summary: Y/N doesn’t feel so good and it’s not like her to not answer the phone to Sebastian. He was right to send over Josie, Y/N’s friend, over to find out what’s wrong.

Warnings: Angst, Implied Smut, Fluff

Written for: @anyfandomangstbingo​ | @anyfandomfluffbingo​ | @anyfandomgoesbingo​ 

Squares Filled:  Sick fic | first time | “I really don’t like doing this over the phone”

A/N - Blake Lively is not a representation of the reader; it’s just for the dress. And the other beautiful woman is exactly who I pictured for Josie.

Feedback is gold and appreciated

Of course, you were sick today. The day that Sebastian had told you that he was to take a day at the gym then spend it with Don. You knew that when you woke up this morning it wasn’t going to be a good day, the cold sheets a little foreshadowing of how your day would have gone. The little guttural feeling you had punching you in the gut right now, it had you on the floor, bent over the toilet seat with your head in the bowl.

You felt awful. Unable to move, unless it was your throat spasming. Definitely the worst day so far, you couldn’t move and when you finally were able to move at all you felt like a robot. Not a good look.

You decided that it was time to head back to bed, none of your food would stay down so you made yourself a bottle of water and stumbled into bed with a bucket in your hand, ready to put the bucket on the floor beside your bed.

Pulling at the covers, you curled up under them and took a swig of your drink. Tears rolled down your face as you felt the pain grow stronger, you rubbed your stomach in hopes it would make you feel better; it didn’t.

All you could do was pray that you would fall asleep to not feel this pain anymore. Sleep evaded you. The pain is all there is that you feel. You threw up another three times before you finally succumbed to the pleasures of sleep. Rattling of keys had been the object that had drawn you out of your few moments of slumber. You didn’t dare move though, there was no point, you couldn’t move anyway.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?” It took you a minute to realise that it was your friend, Josie, shouting your name in hopes of finding you. “Y/N, Whe- There you are. What are you still doing in bed? Oh...”

She looked as if she sighed out a breath of relief before she retracted, covering her mouth and nose with her hand. Inhaling the stench of the room, she quickly ran out of there, returning with air freshener, spraying it around you to make her feel better.

“You need a bath, babe. Stay here and I’ll run you one. Of course you’re going to stay here, you poor thing.” Josie rambled, you stopped her before she could go on for another hour.

“Jo, pour some lavender in there. Love you.”

Freshly out of the bath after thirty minutes, you were wrapped up in Sebastian’s bathrobe, a reminder that he was home as it still smelt like him. “I hate feeling like this. It sucks. But I feel better already.”

Josie softly smiled at you, pity in her eyes. “Must have been that nap you took but I know it sucks. Could you imagine Seb with this kinda illness, though? It would be 100% worse just because it’s man flu.”

“Thank you for being here.” You said, taking a seat on the couch. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Seb called, said he tried texting and video chatting you but you wouldn’t pick up. I guess he was right to have me come over and check on you.”

“He’s such a cutie.” You groaned as you walked, the bath only slightly relieving some of the pain.

“I know. It makes me wanna barf… not like you, though. That shit is nasty, no, thank you, ma’am.” She tutted through a pinched nose, reminding of just how gross you felt and smelt not even a mere hour ago.

“You’re a pleasure as always, Jo. Always so kind to me, when I feel like shit. Thank you.”

She shrugged knowingly, a smirk on her face as she reached forward for the remote, finding a music channel and turning it down a little so it faded into the background becoming nothing but white noise. “So do you know what brought this on? Eat some bad food?”

“I don’t think so, otherwise Seb would feel the same way right?”

“Well you aren’t pooping as well as being sick so this isn’t a viral or bacterial thing. You’re not burning up? No severe migraines?” She asked and you only had one answer.

“Nope. And no, my appendix hasn’t burst because I’ve already had it out.” You said, becoming tired again as you let out a yawn.

“Well, I think I might need to slip out for a little bit.”

“Why? Where are you going? I thought you were going to take care of me?”

“I am. I’m just gonna head to the store and grab you some stuff to make tomato soup. I’ll be twenty minutes tops.” Josie was true to her word, never taking more than the twenty minutes she promised. Putting the bag of groceries on the counter, Josie pulls out the contents, revealing the ingredients she offered to get for you but you could tell that there was something else in the bag.

“What’s in there?”

Josie was fidgety, her fingers twiddling together. “I need you to keep an open mind because I think I know why you’re grossly throwing up.”

“Hit me. I wanna know how I can feel better right now.”

“It’s a good thing that you’re sitting down because…” She paused, making a face that she knew you weren’t going to like. “Because I think you’re pregnant.” her face unchanging as she pulled out the pregnancy test.

Then it hit you. 

No.No.No. Fuck!

Hands dancing.

Tongues twining.

Passion blooming.

It was everything you could have asked for when he was away but now that Sebastian was back, you couldn’t keep your hands off of him. You covered every area of the apartment possible.

Oh crap.

“Fuck!”

“Yes you did.” Josie laughed at her own joke, the reaction not quite the same on your end.

“Oh god, Sebastian is going to kill me. He’s never going to want to talk to me. Why was I so stupid? Oh, I’m never gonna hear from him again. I’ll be kicked out. I’ll be a single mother. I’m gonna have to live with you and if I have this baby, you’re gonna hate me, then you’re gonna kick me out too. ”

Josie scoffed at you, helping you scurf back your hair away from your face, making you look into her wide eyes. “First of all, chill. I gotchu, you know I gotchu forever. Sebastian isn’t like that, but if he is you will never see him again and that is a promise and maybe a little bit of a threat. He’ll deserve it if he hurts you so. Just be my alibi if anything ever happens. Just go take the test. Negative? You’re just sick. Positive? You call Sebastian and you talk to him like an adult.”

“Why are you always right? Don’t you ever get sick of it?” You huffed before you smiled at her, squeezing at her hand after taking the small handful of the pregnancy test boxes back to the bathroom.

Five minutes passed and you were holding the peed on sticks in your hand, four out of five of them being positive. “I think I need to call Sebastian, and a doctor.”

After making an appointment with the doctor, you took a deep breath and pressed the button to call Sebastian. He picks up the call pretty quickly and you are not surprised.

“Y/N! Finally! Are you okay? What happened?”

“Hey bubba. I’m fine, just a little sickness. But I really don’t like doing this over the phone. When are you coming home. We need to talk.”

Two months later.

It was the night of the premiere of Avengers: Endgame and you couldn’t be more thrilled for the success that the Marvel Franchise had. It was 10 years of absolute lovable craziness. Thank you, Stan Lee.

You had no idea that you would be here on the aptly coloured, purple carpet with Sebastian after all you would have thought that you would still be with him after the whole pregnancy fiasco but the two of you were able to talk things through. Things were thrown, voices were raised, and tears were shed but still after all of that, Sebastian made the executive decision to calm the two of you down. The stress was no good for anyone at this point. You were both going to be parents; it’s what was established.

The two of you walked hand in hand, palms sweating as the cameras flashed, and photographers called out to each and every star that was involved in the production of Endgame. The culmination of the whole franchise was just so surreal, the fact that it was ending with a bang both made you swell with pride but it also made you a tad emotional because this collection of amazing characters wouldn’t continue but the legacy they left would. And that was what mattered.

“Sebastian! Y/N! Over here!” You heard from one of the interviewers, looking beautiful in her outfit, Sebastian rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, you were going to be okay. He was right there with you and you had done this a few times before. He was there for you.

“Hi.” “Hello. You and Sebastian answered at the same time, making the interviewer laugh.

“Wait, I remember you. I bought you a soup in a thermos and Tom gave you his jacket. I see we got lucky with good weather today, huh?” You said, smiling at her.

“Yes. You remember me?!” The woman turned to the camera looking right into the lens of it. “Guys, I’m fangirling so hard right now. Ah!”

Once the woman got her fangirling out of the way, she moved onto the interview, trying to get any information that she could before the movie premiered. Sebastian took over that one, telling her that there was no way that they were allowed to say anything about the movie other than he was dust.

“Now we’ve got that movie non gossip out of the way. Are you okay to talk freely about your pregnancy?”

You looked to Sebastian, it was his decision just as much as it was yours, you knew that Sebastian wanted to keep his private life separate from his professional acting career. “It’s okay, honey. Go ahead.”

“I think you’re good to go.”

“Thank you. I must say that you do look stunning in that dress.” She gushed, you thanked her, hiding your face a little. You loved this dress, the nude under layer and the little white and purple flowers that scattered across your dress, your bump barely visible through your dress.

“How far along are you?”

“Well, we’re in the first week of the second trimester. So I’m a little more confident when telling you that.”

“That’s amazing. Was the pregnancy planned at all?”

You made a face, sucking in a little air, looking to Sebastian for a little light to be shed on the situation. “Not at all. It was Y/N’s friend that actually realised that her morning sickness wasn’t her having the flu. She felt absolutely awful that morning, it was enough to know that it was bad when I tried to call her and I didn’t get an answer.

“We had our issues, you know, we didn’t know what to do, we're new at this. But I think that it’s important to know that you don’t abandon your family.” Sebastian softly smiled at you, subconsciously putting a hand on your slowly growing stomach. “I guess that is what this franchise is about though, right? It’s about family and- and looking out for one another. Everybody’s got a somebody here and I love that.”

“And Thanos, fucks it all up and snaps his goddamn fingers.” The three of you and the cameraman began to laugh at your little outburst about the mad, purple titan. “God, I can’t wait for the premiere tonight but I’m scared. For everybody. But especially for me, you know, I’m an emotional person anyway, add a hormonal woman to the mix and a whole lot of angst. Get my ice cream and tissues ready, because I’m coming for you, Thanos.”

“I heard that!”

“Love you, Josh. For the record, Josh is a nice guy, the character he plays is a big old sack of balls and I have no idea how he does it so convincingly.” Lovingly, you made eyes at Seb. “But it’s just like my Sebastian, a dark hydra assassin but in reality he’s a big ball of sunshine and goofiness. And I love him for it.”

“This is- this is what gets me.” The interviewer leaned in a little as Sebastian’s voice dropped to a slight whisper. “I know that she is going to be the best mom for our child because Y/N loves everything and everyone and that is a great quality to have but she’s also caring and matches my goofy side but her sass outweighs mine of course, no one can beat that.”

“Aww, he’s making me cry already. Seb,” you whined. “My makeup.”

“Well that's it folks.” The woman spoke, telling the audience that this was one of the cutest interviews that she had ever taken, that she could die happy and quickly saying congratulations before the two of you were whisked away to walk the carpet again and pose for pictures.

“You’re way too good to me, you know that right?” You said to Seb as you admired the sky blue suit he was wearing over his plain white tee. “I never even got to tell them that this baby will have the hottest dad in the world as well as the sweetest man. Thank you for being my baby daddy.”

Unbeknownst to you, the cameras had caught every single moment the two of you shared. The kisses you shared together, were now shared with the world, all over social media. At this point you didn’t care, you only cared about the man in front of you and the baby growing in your stomach. And this god damn movie!

Feedback is gold and appreciated

#anyfandomgoesbingo #anyfandomangstbingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x pregnant!reader #sebastian x pregnant!reader #mcu fic #rpf fic #sebastian stan fic #sebastian x reader fluff #queue you! #jayankles #jayankles writes #bailey writes

[joshstambourine]

Greta Van Fleet when their S/O is on their Period

I freaking love this HC idea, it's so flipping cute! Thank you so much for the ask @anditsmywholeheart ❤

Now of course every girl experiences this differently, so I'll keep it pretty general and soft~

Taglist: @anditsmywholeheart @babydxll

Josh

Josh is a goofball by nature.

That wouldn't change just because of how his S/O body is revolting.

I can imagine him still making lots of jokes and wanting to be playful... but of course he's respectful.

If they aren't having any of that... you bet your ass he's straightening himself out.

An important note: Josh is an understanding dude. He'd get it if they happened to say something perhaps a little insensitive or to snap at him because of how they're feeling.

Its always forgotten as fast as its said.

If his S/O is in the mood though for his jokes, I can imagine a lot of silly faces and goofy conversations with the gentlest of cuddles.

Him playing with their hair as his rather idle chatter would take to the air. As always it's quick and about the most random of subjects.

"You know I read somewhere that cold things aren't good for periods..."

"That's an old wives tale Josh."

"Still... tea instead?" He'd ask clearly just wanting to care for them to the best of his ability.

"Tea."

Of course lots of soft humming and singing as he'd cuddle in closer to them as well.

I like to imagine Josh cuddled up in bed with his S/O

Their head cuddled into his neck as they listen to him read their favorite book aloud. He pausing periodically to chat a little with them about the chapter they just read over.

Any time they would show any discomfort he'd hug them close and give them soft kisses on their forehead.

“Bad cramps...?”

“Yeah...”

“Want me to grab your heating pad?”

Jake

Jake strikes me as man who would maybe keep more to his own if he knew his S/O is on their period.

Of course not in a "Stay away from that beast" way.

It's more of a he knows they probably need their space kind of way. They'll let me know if they need something.

This doesn't mean he isn't doting or just as affectionate as any of the other boys of course.

Jake would always be on the ball with snack and supplies runs, no matter the time.

"No its not a big deal! Don't worry about it at all! I can totally pick up some more pads."

"Well.... they were out of the ones you said so take all of these instead." *hands them a million other assorted products*

"The good news is that this other bag is full of the good shit."

There is so much binging on junk.

I can also picture Jake bundling his S/O up in comfy clothes and blankets.

Jake's S/O has full control of the TV when they are starting their period. They get to watch whatever they want and he's more than happy to watch with them.

I can picture him lightly rubbing their feet with furrowed brows, "what is even happening in this show?"

"She's becoming a witch!"

"....huh... I see."

I can picture him eventually sliding over and locking his arms around them so tightly, he giving small little kisses on their cheeks and neck.

"More donuts??"

Sam

Sam is an on the ball kind of guy.

“More muffins?”

He probably has a good idea when his S/O will be starting their period or at least some sort of estimate.

In preparation there is always going to be a collection of their favorite snacks. And anything they might need.

Whatever pain killers they take, whatever kinds of sanitary products they prefer.

This preparation has ulterior motives of course!

"We can't lose our cuddle time!"

*King of Don’t Get Up, I Got It*

Probably just keeps supplying liquor that he knows his S/O loves.

“Irish coffee?”

“It’s 3 am?”

“IRISH COFFEE?”

He would also take this chance to binge watch a movie series with them happily.

Sam probably also uses this time as an excuse to just get trashed, but that just makes him even more cuddly. 

“If you get to eat a whole tub of ice cream, I get to do shots.”

His S/O doesn’t need a heating pad or hot water bottle he’s warm enough as he’d be sprawled over top of them

They probably would pass out on the couch together.

Danny

I feel like I say this in every head-canon but God I truly believe that this man is just made to care for other people.

I feel like out of all of the boys, Danny is most likely to be the most... normal??? about his S/O being on their period. (Does that even make sense???)

They probably will end up both passed out on the couch.

When I say that, I just mean he would be so chill about literally everything!

As soon as the words, "I think I'm starting my period" would leave his S/O's lips he'd be on his way to go get some pain killers and a bottle of water.

Danny would encourage them to get comfy. That always included any of his clothes as well.

Actually it was preferred if they would throw on one of his sweatshirts.

It'd always be whatever his S/O wants or needs... but at the same time what's good for them as well.

He'd keep them balanced.

"Let's get ice cream then if that's what you want! But--- maybe can we eat a banana or something first?"

"Don't forget your water! Gotta stay hydrated!"

"Oh those pads are scented, let's just get rid of those---"

"You know that a hot shower will help, cmon."

Hot showers, snuggles, massages... Danny is there and ready for it all.

 “What do you think of tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner? I’m cooking. You just stay right there~” 

All the cooking and cleaning is covered by him.

My favorite thing to picture for him is that he’s sitting out on the porch with his S/O, drinking tea, cuddling and watching the sunset.

All the while keeping his S/O wrapped up in a big blanket.

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet roleplay #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fic #sam gvf #sam kiskza #danny gvf #danny wagner

[mysweetestcreature]

Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies

Words: 24.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death...smut?

Summary: Why can’t two people who are meant for each other get it right?

***

They’re fighting again. All Y/n can do is shut her eyes in the hopes that when she opens them, everything will be okay. But no amount of wishing can drown out the noise. 

“I can’t keep pretending like everything is fine! It’s not. You know it isn’t, Matt,” she hears her mother erupt between sobs. Lately, it’s been the same angry words shouted at one another over and over again. Y/n takes her baby sister, Ava, in her eight-year-old arms. She hugs the baby close. If she can’t block the screaming out, at least she can protect her sister from it.

“Grace, please.” It’s her dad’s voice. She’s never heard him sound so desperate. “What about our family? The girls need you. I need you! You can’t just walk away from us.” 

There’s a sudden silence that follows. At first, Y/n thinks that maybe her parents have reached a resolution. Her dad has always been good at negotiating. It is his job, after all. She’s seen him in action whenever he brings her to work with him. Maybe he’s managed to work that same magic on her mum. She gently lays Ava down on the bed, creating a makeshift barrier of pillows on either side of her, before exiting the room and running down the stairs. 

Before she can reach the bottom, she’s forced to a halt when she sees her daddy slouched over on the last step. His head is buried in his hands, his shoulders are shaking. He’s crying. That’s a sight she’s never seen before. He’d always been the picture of bravery and strength, but now that’s been washed away and replaced with someone who looks broken beyond repair. She doesn’t recognize him.

Where is her mum? She slips past her dad, despite wanting to throw herself in his arms for comfort. Besides his sniffling, the house is quiet. There’s no trace of her mum. It scares her.

“Where’s Mummy?” she asks meekly, turning to her father.

He doesn’t respond, but instead, he brings his hands out of his hair, and stares painfully at the door. Without thinking, she throws it open, the sun’s light momentarily blinding her for a few unhinged seconds. It’s only the screeching of wheels on road that brings her back.

“Mummy!” she cries, running as fast as her short legs can take her. Her eyes begin to swell with tears. The black taxi is still, and she’s just able to stare at her mum through its window. “Mummy, where are you going?” she pleads as she bangs on the door, but her mother doesn’t even flinch. Why won’t she look at me? 

The engine starts up, and the car begins to drive away. Y/n chases after it, crying out for her mum to come back. “Don’t go! Please don’t leave me!” It picks up speed after it turns the corner. She feels herself slowing down, but even then, she refuses to stop. The distance between herself and the car becomes too massive.  

“Mummy, come back!” 

Arms envelop around her, and now she’s running on air. “Let her go,” her dad tells her, and she can feel his own tears against her neck. Her feet stop kicking, it’s like the energy has completely drained from her body. Her mind, however, is still racing. 

***

A few days later, her daddy packs both hers and Ava’s bags, and loads them all into his car. She doesn’t ask questions, and instead busies herself with the fleeting landscape. A part of her had expected all that’s happened to be a part of some elaborate nightmare. But each morning, she wakes up to her parents’ bed left untouched, and her dad asleep on the living room couch. Ava is asleep beside her, and Y/n can’t help but think how lucky her little sister is to be living in ignorance. At three months old, she’s only just learned to hold her head up. Barely. Y/n doesn’t remember anything from that age, and maybe that’s a good thing. Had her parents always been this hostile towards one another? Had her mother done this before? What if she had? Does that mean she’ll eventually come back?

“We’re going to be staying with your grandparents for a while,” she’s taken out of her thoughts when her dad finally speaks up.

“Why?” She catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. They only ever go up to Nan and Gramps’ house during the holidays.

His fingers thump against the steering wheel, and he breathes in deeply as though to say something. It takes a moment before he answers her. “I just...I can’t do this alone.” His voice breaks, even though he tries to pass it off with a cough. “It’ll be good for us,” he says again. “You’ll see.”

When they hit a red light, he turns to look at her. He smiles weakly. No matter how much she wants to believe him, she still yearns for her mummy. It’s become especially hard in the mornings when her hair is knotted from tossing and turning in her sleep, and her dad can’t manage to tame it for the life of him. Her mum would often braid her hair, and like magic, it would remain intact all day. She always loved how gentle and soothing her mum would be as she brushed each strand with such care. That’s not to say that her dad isn’t trying, of course, but it’s just not the same.

***

Her grandparents live in a little town called Holmes Chapel. It’s pretty, she supposes. The buildings are a lot older, and the streets aren’t as busy as they are back home. She sits back and takes a deep breath. Her tummy flips a little when she thinks about how she might never see her old friends again, or her room, or even Mrs. Watson who lives next door (she would babysit Y/n and Ava whenever her mum had to run some errands). 

When she looks out the window again, she sees Nan and Gramps stood on their front porch, smiles reaching their eyes. 

“Where are my babies!” Nan exclaims, her arms stretched out. Her dad says a quick hello before opening up the back door. Y/n hops out, and her legs feel a bit unsteady from having been cramped in the car for all those hours. 

“Hi, Nana,” she greets sadly. Nan’s smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t seem to let it deter her.

The elderly woman bends down to her height and gathers her in her arms. Over Nan’s shoulder, Y/n watches as her dad whispers something in Gramps’ ear. Although she can’t hear it, she can tell by Gramps’ reaction that it can’t have been good. “A bit peaky?” Nan asks, when she finally pulls away. She cups Y/n’s cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I just took the cookies out of the oven, actually. Let’s go check on them before your grandfather gobbles them up.” 

Gramps groans behind them. “It was one time!” 

Nan waves him off, guiding her through the front door with an encouraging push. “Oh, you won’t believe all the colors I bought for you at the crafts store yesterday! I know how much you love to draw,” she says. Her voice drowns out when she hears something fall outside. “Arthur Y/l/n! If you break another one of my pots, I swear to–” It leaves Y/n to wander through the hall on her own. Her grandparents’ house is quaint and orderly and smells vaguely of warm vanilla (probably from the cookies) and jasmine. The walls are covered in framed photographs of her daddy and his older brother through the years, a few of a much younger Nan and Gramps, and finally of Y/n, Ava and all of her cousins. (They live in Nice––her Uncle Brandon married a French woman named Dominique––and only ever seem to come around for Nan and Gramps’ anniversary.) Finally, below her uncle and aunt’s wedding photo, is her parents’. She tries not to stare at it too long.

***

Y/n decides that maybe spending time with her grandparents won’t be so bad. After all, her and Ava don’t have to share a room anymore, which means that she won’t be woken up by her little sister’s 3 am wailing fits. Nan’s done an impressive job decorating on such short notice, too. The walls are still plain white, but at least there are some pretty stickers of butterflies and flowers and a few of Y/n’s favorite cartoon characters. Even the windows are nicely covered with those gel ornaments that she loves to poke. 

It’s all very nice, but she still wonders about when she’ll be able to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, under her own sheets.

“When are we going home?” she asks her dad as he tucks her in for the night. His hands stop in the middle of smoothening out her blanket, his eyes remaining glued to one of its printed ballerinas. 

“To be honest with you, love,” he sighs, “I don’t know if we’ll ever go back...at least not anytime soon.” 

“Oh.” That’s not the answer she wanted to hear. What if her mum does decide to come back? It’s still possible, right? After all, her mummy had always told her how much she loved her. She would scoop Y/n into her arms and twirl her around the room as they both laughed their hearts out. When she was sick, she’d always have her favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese. Every day after school, she’d sit down with her and help her do her homework and then give her an extra cookie if she didn’t complain. 

Then another thought pops into her head. Her mum hadn’t been able to do any of that stuff recently. It had been like living with someone who looked exactly like her mum, but without all the warmth and tenderness that once was. Y/n turns away from her dad and starts to sob silently into her pillow. 

Maybe she isn’t coming back, after all.

The dip in the bed from where her daddy had been finally reinflates. He’s about to wrap his hand around the door before she stops him. She calls out his name, sitting up with her arms around her knees. 

“We’ll be happier here?” 

His shoulders visibly relax, and for the first time in what feels like so long, he offers a sincere smile and nods affirmatively. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his smile until now. There’s something about it that she can’t quite describe, but she feels the safest she’s felt in a while.

***

Her daddy had left for the airport some hours ago. Gramps had offered to bring her along for the ride the night before, but she decided that she would rather not watch him leave. Instead, she pretended to be asleep when he came into her room and kissed her on the forehead. She knows he’ll be back in a few days, but it’s always tough when he has to go. It’s one of the other reasons they needed to move in with her grandparents, her dad has to travel a lot for work.  

As soon as he and Gramps had loaded the car and driven away, she had stepped outside and sat down on the grass. That had been before the sun had totally risen. Now, it’s up high and shining its rays on top of her head. Nan, who had been surprised to see her granddaughter sitting out on the lawn so early in the morning, had asked her if she wanted breakfast, but was told she wasn’t hungry. 

They’ve only been living here for a little over a week. She thought that they would’ve had more time to adjust before her dad had to fly off to wherever it is they’ve sent him. So far, things have been fine...or at least they’ve been as best as they can be. She tries not to think about her mum too much (she’s down to only once or twice a day). It’s a good thing that Nan and Gramps have a million ways to keep her busy.

Today is different, however. She’d had her daddy with her when she felt homesick. Now, she feels alone. 

“Hi,” her head snaps up, and there’s a boy, maybe around her age, standing above her. He has messy brown hair that curls at the ends, his pleasant smile is complete with dimples on either cheek. It’s his eyes, however, that hold her attention. They’re like spearmint, if spearmint is even considered a color. Or maybe they’re the same shade as the stems of her Nan’s petunias. She can’t quite describe it, but she can tell that she likes them. 

“Hi.” 

The boy takes her response as an invitation to sit down beside her. “I’m Harry. Do you want a Freddo?” He pulls out a chocolate frog from his pocket. “My sister always eats chocolate when she’s upset, and she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and you looked kind of sad, so...” He gives her a lopsided grin.

“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she says. 

He––Harry––rolls his eyes. “I just told you, my name’s Harry.” He shifts a bit, then points to the house on the left of hers. “That’s my house there.”

“What if I don’t want to believe you?” she challenges, but she’s failing miserably not to grin at how utterly exasperated he’s getting.

With a defeated sigh, Harry shouts towards the house. “Oi, Gem!” It takes only a few seconds for a head to peak out of an upstairs window. 

An older girl, maybe around thirteen looks like she could throttle him. “I’m on the phone, Harry! Bugger off or I swear I’ll––oh, no, no! Not you, Blake.” She disappears back into her room. 

Y/n can’t help but giggle, and Harry turns to her, a triumphant look on his face. “See. Told you.” 

Once again, he offers her the Freddo, but this time, she happily accepts it. They sit in a comfortable silence as she nibbles on the chocolate. 

“I’m Y/n,” she finally tells him. 

Harry studies her carefully. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Y/l/n your grandparents? Because I’ve been over there loads of times––she babysits me when my mum and Gem are busy––but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

She nods. “Me, my sister and my dad moved in last week.”

“And your mum?” he tilts his head.

Her teeth bite down on the inside of her cheek. She looks at him wearily before staring down into her lap. “It’s just us.”

“Oh,” is all he replies. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “My parents are separated too. My dad lives in the city, but I still see him most weekends.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see my mum again,” she frowns.

What he does next startles her, but she’s more surprised at how quickly she relaxes. He wraps an arm around her and brings her closer so she can lean on her shoulder. “Mum says hugs help a lot,” he says sheepishly, she can feel his eyes on her. She nods against him, and it encourages him to continue. “I’m sorry you can’t see your mum, but hey, you can always talk to me! I’ll be your friend.”

It’s her turn to look up. “You promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Y/n decides that she really likes living with her grandparents. Her and Harry are practically inseparable, spending the better part of the day together (and sometimes during the night when they have sleepovers). This means that she hasn’t cried in a long time, and she’s heard her daddy tell her grandparents that things are finally starting to look up. Her daddy looks better than he has been in ages, he doesn’t have that faraway look in his eyes anymore. 

Harry usually comes over after breakfast, or even earlier when he knows Nan will be making French toast just the way he likes it. They play the entire day, a variety of games that range from hopscotch to pretend, to sneaking into Gemma’s room to dig into her stash of sugary treats because the girl has enough Freddo frogs to last her until next Christmas. He even likes to draw with her, even though she knows he rather be outside running around. 

Sometimes Gramps will drive them into town, and they’ll go to the park or the ice cream parlor or their favorite Chinese restaurant. (She learns that she prefers shrimp over pork fried rice). There’s also a bakery that she thinks is the cutest place she’s ever seen. They serve all sorts of pastries and desserts that the owner, Martha, gives them for free when the rest of the customers aren’t looking. Y/n thinks that’s all to do with Harry. She’s eight, and she can already see how charming her best friend is. She’s glad that she has him by her side. He’s made her time here better than she could have ever imagined.

But soon enough, September comes along, and with it, school. Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. While she and Harry will be attending the same school, he’s a year older, which means she might not see him nearly as much as she’d like. 

“It’ll be fun! You’ll see,” he tells her as they walk to school. “And we have breaktime, too. I can introduce you to all my friends, and you can introduce me to all of your new ones!” He sounds far too excited. 

Y/n pulls on his sleeve, and he clumsily stumbles back a bit. “But Harry,” she whines, digging the toe of her shoe into the sidewalk. “What if I don’t make any friends?” 

“You?” he gasps. “You’re like the most awesome person I know! Just be yourself.”

She doesn’t say a word, instead, she drops her head to look anxiously 

“Come on.” He takes her hand in his. “I’ll be at the end of the hall if you need me.” And they walk the rest of the way hand in hand. 

***

Harry drops her off at her classroom before going to find his. He promised he’d walk down with her for lunch, so at least she has that much to look forward to. When he disappears down the hall, she finally lets herself turn around to examine the place she’ll be spending the rest of the year in. 

The desks are all perfectly aligned, with names of her classmates in bold and colorful writing on cards at the very front. She quickly looks for her name and takes a seat. On the board, her teacher’s name is artfully written in the center. Miss Ferguson. She must have been the one who had greeted Y/n at the door a few minutes earlier. 

Y/n’s curiosity gets the best of her, and she starts committing every feature of the room to memory. The pictures of letters and corresponding objects and animals along the top of the blackboard are just like the ones from her old school. From her seat, she can see the playground, and she fantasizes about all the time she and Harry had spent on the monkey bars and hidden in the tube slide. 

“Do you want to trade notebooks?” Y/n turns in her seat in the direction of the voice. Behind her is a girl with blonde pigtails and an adorable gap between her two front teeth. “My mum always forgets that I don’t like purple.”

Y/n stares down at her own notebook, which is pink with white polka dots. “I like purple.” 

The girl grins widely. “Yay! You’re nice, I like you. I’m Penelope,” but as soon as she says it, her nose scrunches up in disgust. “But I hate being called that. So, just call me P or Penny!” Y/n gives a brief introduction, and the two girls trade notebooks. 

“You’re new, right?” Penny asks.

“Yup,” Y/n confirms, fishing her pencil case out of her backpack. “I moved here at the beginning of the summer.”

“Really? I’ve never lived anywhere besides here before, but when I’m older I want to live in London!” 

“That’s where I’m from,” Y/n says sheepishly. She hasn’t thought much about it, but when she does, she still misses it a fair amount. 

Penny’s hands go to her cheeks as she gapes in astonishment. “That’s so cool! What’s it like? Have you ever met the Queen?”

Y/n giggles. “I don’t even know where the Queen lives!” 

“Ugh, I’ve got so many things to teach you, then.” She and Penny make plans to hang out during breaktime and lunch.

Maybe Harry was right after all.

***

When the bell rings for lunch, Miss Ferguson’s class files out of the room in a somewhat straight-file line. Y/n walks behind Penny, her new friend is explaining all the proper ways to curtsy in front of a prince when a hand reaches out and tugs on the back of Y/n’s collar. 

She spins around, ready to thwack the whomever it might be. “I leave you for a few hours and you’ve already forgotten about me?” Harry smirks. 

“You just surprised me, that’s all,” she says. She’s fallen to the back of the line now. Penny stays back too and walks over to the two of them. “Harry, this is Penny! She’s in the same class.” 

Penny’s eyes nearly bug out of her head and her cheeks flush a shade of pink. “Hi-hi,” she stutters. Y/n stares at her for a moment, unsure where this sense of shyness has suddenly come from. She shakes her head, it’s probably just a draft from an open window. 

“Hi, Penny,” Harry returns kindly. He then turns back to Y/n. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria. I’m starving!” 

“Yeah! Let’s go!” Penny says, sounding much more like herself. Y/n walks in between them, feeling content. 

***

By the time she’s fifteen, Y/n has all she can ever ask for. Her dad doesn’t travel as much anymore, except for trips to the London office once a month, he’s able to work from Manchester. Ava’s seven now, and therefore able to cause all sorts of mischief. In fact, just last night, she’d eaten the entire leftover cake in the fridge when the rest of the family had gone to bed. She claims it was a ghost, but the frosting smeared across her face told everyone otherwise.

Penny’s practically moved in with them. Things at home aren’t always the best for her. Her mum usually spends the days drinking, the nights clubbing, and the early hours of the morning in some stranger’s bed. As for her dad, Penny doesn’t bring him up much. He decided to reconcile with his wife when Penny was three years old, leaving her and her mother penniless and alone. And well, she hasn’t spoken to him since. 

Finally, there’s Harry. He’s still her funny, sweet, and incredibly cute best friend. He’s sixteen now, far more mature than her. While they still spend loads of time together, he has his friends, and she has hers. Although, he does still come around for breakfast on the weekends––Nan’s French toast is still his most favorite thing on the planet––and they usually spend the rest of the time catching up on homework and watching movies they’ve already seen a million times. She loves how she’s never bored when she’s around him. They could be laying on the grass outside her house (much like they usually do) for hours, talking about nothing and everything, and still never run out of things to talk about. 

Except in the last few months. The thing is, Harry’s got himself a girlfriend, Lia, and she doesn’t like Y/n. There’s no logical explanation as to why, but whenever Y/n tries to talk to Harry at school, Lia slips her arms around him, like she’s claiming what’s hers, and glares at her until she has no choice but to retreat. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry that his first serious girlfriend is a total bitch, no matter how much she wants to. 

It’s a Friday night, Penny is staying over. She’s lazily flipping through last month’s edition of Vogue on Y/n’s desk. 

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks. 

“We’re fifteen. It’s not like there’s been much opportunity,” Y/n chuckles. She glances up momentarily from her sketchbook. If there’s a punchline, it never comes. She then gives her a look. “Why, have you?”

Penny shrugs. “Sometimes I think I am, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d never see me like that.” 

Y/n doesn’t respond to this. She’s heard stories about the boy Penny’s apparently fancied for ages now, but for some reason her friend refuses to give her a name. If she had to guess, it’s probably Bobby Baker from her French class. They dated for a few months when they were fourteen, but things had ended abruptly. Sometimes she’ll see them talking between classes and while in line for lunch. Her money’s definitely on Bobby.

Not wanting to press her for details, however, Y/n changes the topic. “Harry’s probably in love with Lia. I saw them snogging at the bust stop this morning.”

Penny groans. “They’re so gross!” she pretends to gag. “Oh, Harry. You’re so handsome! Kiss me before our lips dry out! Oh, Lia, you’re so pretty. Take this flower as a sign of my undying affections!” She imitates them, doing it so flawlessly. 

They share a look, and suddenly, they’re balled over in fits of laughter.

“How do they even breathe?” Y/n wheezes into her pillow. It’s not to say that she hasn’t kissed a boy before. It’s just never been as intense––or as nauseating––as that. Besides, none of her boyfriends have last long enough. Harry says that it’s all for the best, according to him, none of them are good enough for her. 

“They’re twos, you’re a total ten,” he had said to her once. She pretended not to feel her heart leap at the compliment. “A ten can’t go any lower than maybe a seven.” She wanted to say that she thought he was a ten, too, but was too embarrassed to say it.

***

Penny leaves early the next morning, but first helping herself to some of the food Nan had just prepared before zipping out the door. She leaves Y/n half asleep and barely functional.

“So, what’s the gossip?” Nan teases her, pouring her a cup of tea. 

“Same old, same old,” she yawns. She breathes in the steam from her mug and smiles. 

Nan places a plate of French toast in front of her. “Talking about the same old things until three in the morning? If only your grandfather and I could stay up that late. Of course, we’d be doing other things that decidedly aren’t–” she pauses, and Y/n’s never been more thankful. They both turn towards the back door. “Ah, and I was just beginning to worry.” 

Harry mutters a sleepy good morning, then stumbles into the seat beside Y/n. He looks at her breakfast, then looks at her. As if they can communicate silently, Y/n pushes her plate towards him. 

“Harry, dear,” Nan starts, making up a new plate for her granddaughter. “How does your mum feel about you spending so much time here?” 

“She’s fine with it,” he says, mouth full of bread. “As long as I bring her back some food, she says I can spend as much time here as I want.” 

Nan just rolls her eyes. “Will that be banana or blueberry then?”

“Hmm...” Harry pretends to mull over the options, but Nan knows better. Y/n watches with amusement as she places both bananas and blueberries on top of the French toast, then places it on a disposable plate and wraps it with tinfoil. 

She turns to them. “I’m just going to pop next door and give this to Anne.” Just before she can slide the door open, she calls one last remark over her shoulder. “Try not to burn the house down. We just had the floors waxed.” 

Y/n continues to sip on her tea, and Harry hums happily around another delectable bite. They sit in comfortable silence. 

“I feel like we haven’t talked in a while,” he says. He looks at her curiously. “Why is that?”

She has to bite her lip in order to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret. “Well, you know. I’ve been really busy lately.” From the corner of her eye, she can see how one of his brows shoot straight up.

“Busy with?”

“You know there’s an art show happening soon. I’ve been spending all my time in the art room.” She knows she isn’t convincing anyone, let alone him. He can read her like a book.

But if Harry is thinking she’s lying, then he doesn’t say anything. “Right,” he says aloofly. Taking another bite of his––her––breakfast, he continues. “Lia’s going to have a few pieces on display.”

This catches her off guard. “Lia’s into art? Since when?” 

He gives her a noncommitted grunt. “It’s news to me too.” He takes her mug from her hands and takes a sip. “But she seemed really interested when I mentioned you were participating.”

“Huh.” She rests her chin on her fist. That’s strange. She’s never seen Lia Hall set foot anywhere near the art room. Lia’s a cheerleader and spends most of her time cheering on the school’s football team, which is how she and Harry got together. Y/n would know if they shared any common interests. At least that way, she could talk to Harry without her grumbling bloody murder under her breath. 

“What is it?” his question pulls her out of thought. She plasters a smile on her face and says it’s nothing. 

***

Her bedroom window is right across from his, and they’ve been using it to their advantage since they were kids. When they both had bedtimes that were too early to ever enjoy the night, they would look out their window and find the other looking right back. They’d spend the night trying to make the other laugh with funny faces and their own little game of charades. 

But as Y/n looks up from her half-finished essay and through the glass, she doesn’t need elaborate hand motions to know that Harry is pissed. She wonders if he realizes where he’s standing or maybe he just doesn’t care right now. He looks like he’s trying to stay calm, but Y/n knows him better than that. While he isn’t one to yell, his voice does get tight when he’s trying hard not to. 

He runs a hand through his brown locks in frustration. She feels guilty for not having the strength to turn away, but she’s just too curious for her own good. If only she could read his lips just to get an idea as to why he’s so upset, but alas, that’s never been her talent. She waits, occasionally working on her essay (occasionally), then lifting her head back up to check up on him. 

When she looks up after a stroke of genius that had promoted words to pour out onto the page, he’s gone. Her shoulders drop in disappointment. Oh, well. At least all she has to do now is proofread. 

“Did you know your nan is making pot pie for dinner?” 

She swivels in her chair, her eyebrow tilting up. “I did.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” he pretends to be hurt as he falls onto her bed. “I’m wounded you would choose to withhold such valuable information from me.”

“I’m sorry?” she chuckles. Closing her laptop, she sits on the floor right beside where his head falls of the side of the bed. 

He turns to her, his upside-down face grinning pompously at her. “Eh, you know I can never stay mad at you.” She thumps his forehead with another laugh, but he only continues to smile.

*** 

Y/n’s always loved art and how it can imitate life in the way the artist chooses. Ever since she can remember, she’s been doodling landscapes and portraits on napkins or just about any plain surface she can get her hands on. She thinks she gets it from her mum. There’s not much she can remember about her, but she does recall her mother’s love for the fine arts. And as much as she tries not to think about her, she’s happy she knows where she gets it from. 

Mrs. Cuomo, the art teacher, says she has a gift, and Y/n tries not to let it get to her head, but she can’t help it! She’s already taken to looking for art programs around England. If she wouldn’t miss her family too much, she’d consider going abroad. 

“Paris seems fabulous, don’t you think? I mean, they have some of the best fashion schools in the world.” Penny muses as they walk around the gallery. “French boys are a plus.”

“Is that where you want to go after college?” 

“Possibly. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to afford it, though.” 

Y/n nods, understanding her friend’s situation.

They continue to browse all the art on display, until stopping at Y/n’s exhibit. She has three paintings. The one on the left is an abstract portrait of Ava that she’d been working on since the last art show. It was inspired by her little sister’s fifth birthday. Dad had bought her the cutest little periwinkle dress with a grey ribbon around the waist. It’s something Y/n would’ve been over the moon for at that age. But Ava being the little rebel she was (and still is) had gotten it all dirty. Right before her party, she came trudging back into the house, a complete mess from head to toe. Y/n’s entitled the portrait Muddy Princess. On the right is a landscape of a forest with the simple name Serene Acres. Finally, the one in the middle is a sideview of a boy laying in the grass. His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed. He looks relaxed, like he’s never had a trouble in the world. As do all her paintings, this one had started off as a mere sketch born from a vision that she suddenly had just as she had woken up. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it anything more than that. But the longer she spent refining it, she just knew she had to take it all the way. There’s something comforting about him. This one in particular is Y/n’s absolute favorite. 

“Oh, you’re totally going to win this year,” Penny enthuses. “I’m not saying this because you’re my best friend and I’d literally give you a kidney, but seriously. You’re golden.” 

“I hope you’re right,” she says nervously. “Mrs. Cuomo said that the judges are going to be a lot more critical this year. I just hope they like my stuff.” 

Penny waves her off, as if she were talking nonsense. “They will.”

“Will what?” A pair of familiar hands land on her waist, and she can’t help but smile when sees him gasp at the wall in front of her. “Woah,” he’s speechless. She pats his arm as she steps away from him, afraid that his girlfriend might catch sight of them. 

“You like them?” she smiles. He nods, still unable to speak. 

“So, where’s Lia’s display?” Penny asks, but Y/n can sense the annoyance in her voice. She knows all about the girl’s hatred of Y/n.

Harry stares blankly, until finally registering the question. “Oh...um. She decided not to enter, after all.” He wraps an arm Y/n once again, and this time, Y/n doesn’t bother pushing him off.

“That seems sudden,” she says.

“Well...” Harry looks left and right, like he’s making sure no one will hear them. “I guess she realized that she didn’t stand a chance.”

This makes Penny snort. “Are we talking about the same girl here? Lia Hall does not back down. From anything. I’ve seen her at the mall fighting over jeans with University kids. She’s scary as hell.”

***

She’s laying on the grass on her front lawn when Harry comes outside and joins her. His body is oriented in the opposite direction so that their eyes are aligned if they were to face each other. He doesn’t say anything more than a hello. His hands are placed on his stomach and his nose wriggles when a cool breeze brushes past. 

“Lia and I broke up,” he suddenly says, but his voice is even and calm. 

“I’m sorry.”

He laughs loudly. “No, you’re not.” He glances at her before facing back up. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you two don’t get along.”

“At least I know you’re not dense.” She bites back a smile. Why is she so elated with the news? Does that make her a bad person? Who’s to say? “She was pretty awful.”

“She was hot, though,” Harry interjects.

“I suppose.”

Silence washes over them. If she were any more relaxed, she’s sure she could fall asleep right here, next to him. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“The clouds, Harry. Aren’t they beautiful?” She giggles when he squints at the grey canvas above them. 

“There are no clouds,” he says flatly. He turns his head, their eyes lock.

She swallows, and she’s the first to turn away. With a content sigh, she lets her eyes droop closed. Even without looking, she can feel the way his gaze lingers, like he might be waiting for something more. “You too,” it’s a gentle request, possibly an order. He’s never been able to deny her anything. 

“Alright then,” there’s an amused tone to his voice now. He breathes deeply, his own eyes closing as the air leaves his chest. 

They lay motionless for a comfortable few minutes. Things are quiet between them, and only nature’s melody that plays uninterrupted. 

The wind whistles, and the leaves on the trees dance along with crisp and breezy movements. As the air––which smells strongly of fall’s fiery allure––rubs against her skin and tickles the tip of her nose, another blissful smile leaves a pattern across her lips.

“What do you see?” she asks.

“Not much, honestly. My eyes are closed.” 

She punches his arm. “Don’t be an arse.”

He groans out in pain. “Fine then,” he concedes. “What do you see?”

The image is vivid in her head. “Purple clouds.”

He chuckles softly.

“What color is the grass?”

“Green, of course.”

“That’s boring,” he teases.

She huffs in annoyance. “Not everything needs changing, you know.” He doesn’t challenge it.

“And the sky?”

That’s her favorite part. 

“Tangerine.”

“That’s a fruit.”

“and a color.”

“Why can’t you just say orange?” 

“Because,” she starts in her best ‘you better listen to me or else’ tone. “Orange is a meh kind of color. But tangerine? It’s a bit more exciting.”

“Exciting,” he repeats slowly, as though he were testing the weight of the word on his tongue. 

When she opens her eyes, fully expecting him to be looking at her as though she had two heads, she’s surprised to see that his are still closed. She finds herself studying him. The way his chest steadily rises and falls with each even breath. He looks as calm as she feels at that moment. It’s then she can appreciate just how handsome he really is. Of course, she’s known it for a while (but she’d never tell him that).

So, she turns her head back towards the grey-washed sky and paints over its gloom with an image of their own. 

***

Right before he starts Year 13, Harry’s dad, Des, moves to Boston. Harry tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but Y/n knows that he misses him a lot. Even though his parents have been separated for a long time, he’d at least had a good relationship with both of them. He and his dad would do “manly” things like fishing and batting at the cages. He keeps telling her that he’s fine, and it’s not like he’ll never visit him, but she can sense that something is troubling him. 

It takes a bit of finesse to get him to talk, and once he does, she immediately regrets it. 

“He wants me to follow him,” Harry says, scratching the back of his head. Y/n thinks she might throw up. Boston...America...it’s just so far away. The farthest she’s ever been is Italy on vacation. 

She stares at him apprehensively. “Do you...umm...do you want to go?” 

Harry doesn’t answer her at first. It takes to the count of five for him speak. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean...it’s a lot to ask, don’t you think? He’s asking me to uproot my life here.” He gazes at her. “And I really like it here.”

She lets out the breath she’d been holding. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle being that far from him. He’ll be starting University in the fall, and him going to London already feels too much. Goodbyes aren’t easy for her, and she doesn’t think they’ll ever get easier. 

“At least both parents want you,” she doesn’t realize what she’s saying until it’s up in the air. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“No, it’s fine,” she shrugs him off. “It’s just, you’re lucky that both of them love you.”

Harry appears to think hard on this. “I love you.”

Her heart stops beating, her eyes double in size.

“What?” 

He reddens, and for once, she can’t tell what’s going through his head. His jaw juggles back and forth, and then he coughs like he’s got something stuck in his throat. He wipes a hand down his face. “I mean, you’re my best friend, of course I do.” 

Just as quickly as it had enlarged, something inside her deflates. “Oh, right,” she tries not to sound disappointed. It’s a little awkward now, but she’s at least comforted in the fact that he values her so much. She nudges her elbow against him. “Hey,” she quips.

He tilts his head.

“I love you too, doofus.” 

***

Y/n’s always thought her dad to be a kind and fair man.

Matthew Y/l/n doesn’t spoil his girls, but he also knows how to reward them for a job well done. He’s also one of those approachable dads, the ones you can talk to about a crush without him getting overly protective. From when she was eight and until now, he’s always been there for her and Ava, and for that, Y/n is forever grateful. 

Which is why she feels like she can discuss this one teensy little thing with him. Now, Y/n, she’s made up her mind about wanting to pursue a career as an artist. Some might say it’s insane! Risky! Financial suicide! But isn’t the threat of failure all the more reason to strive? She thinks so, and she just knows that her dad will too!

After dinner, which is when her dad is at his happiest. His belly is full of Nan’s roast, and he’s sitting next to Gramps on the couch while they watch sports. This is her chance. She’s already practiced on everyone else in the house, plus Penny and Harry, so she has a pretty solid plan on how to approach him.

“Hey, daddy,” she says sweetly, plopping between him and Gramps. He smiles at her and flings an arm around her shoulder. He returns his attention back to the telly. She gives Gramps a look, one so pleading that she thinks she might have just made him tear up, and he clears his throat and excuses himself. 

“I’ve, uh, got to take a shit.” And he stumbles into the hall, Nan’s snorting following closely behind. 

“So, dad, there’s something I actually want to talk about,” she starts, turning so she’s completely facing him. Matthew presses on the remote so that the screen is completely black. He prods her to continue. 

Y/n chuckles nervously. No big deal. “You know how I’m like crazy about my art? I mean, I’ve won three competitions in the last nine months!” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve been telling everyone at work that my daughter’s an artist. You should’ve seen Anthony’s face when he found out you were the one who beat his boy out for the ribbon...”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad.” She can feel herself getting excited. “And I’m so proud that I get to make you proud. I mean, you’ve given me so much, I feel like it’s the least I can do.” On her lips is her most dazzling smile. 

He eyes her suspiciously. “Okay, I’m sensing something else going on here. Spit it out.”

“Well, it’s just that next year is my last year of college, and I’ll be applying to universities soon, so I was hoping that we could talk about me pursuing art.”

“Pursuing art, as in...?”

“Dad, I want to be an artist.” That wasn’t so bad, right? She can see her dad’s face waver in emotion. At first, he looks confused, then maybe a little unsure, but then he’s just unreadable. “Thoughts?” she presses.

“No.”

Had she just heard him right? “What?”

“No.”

“But, Dad–”

“There’s little to no security. The odds of you even making a decent living out of it are practically one in a million.”

“Wait, just hear me out first...”

“I’ve heard enough, Y/n. You’re not going to throw away an education on a hobby.” He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty. “Look, I’m not telling you to never paint again. I’m just saying that you need to approach this from a more realistic point of view. How about you major in something more reliable––like business or nursing––then minor in what you want?” He continues to ramble on about different prospects, but she’s completely drowned him out by now.

There’s a spot on the rug that’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Where had she gone wrong? He’s never been so forceful with his decisions before. Had she overlooked a portion of her speech? 

“Mum loved art,” she whispers, but it’s just loud enough for him to hear.

Matthew stiffens at the mention of his estranged wife. “Your mother loved a lot of things. A lot more than she ever loved us.” And with that, he gets up and leaves.

***

“I think you should go for it,” she can always count on Harry to support her. 

She sighs, burying her face in his pillow. It smells of coconut and lavender. After her dad had walked out, she’d ran across the yard and had tackled Harry with a hug while he was taking out the trash. He’d given her some water (God knows how hysterical she’d been moments prior) before leading her up to his room so she could calm down.

“What if Dad’s right?” she mutters. “What if this really is just a hobby?” She suddenly feels herself being flipped onto her back, his legs straddling either side of her, his eyes boring into hers like lasers. Thoughts flash through her head, and it crosses her mind that he might actually kiss her. But he remains still.

“Look at me,” he says. “You’re amazing, and you know it. I know it. This whole damn town knows it. If there’s one person I know can make it as an artist, it’s you.”

While his words do encourage her, she’s far more concerned with how close he is. She nods in acknowledgement, and he flops next to her. Both of them stare at the ceiling. She wonders if he ever feels what she feels. 

“I got you something,” he says after a few minutes. He quickly turns and fishes for something under his bed.

“A present?” she doesn’t bother hiding the playfulness in her voice.

He kicks the side of her leg. “Grow up.”

“Can’t, I’m too excited.”

He pulls out a giftbag and hands it to her. “Saw this when I was out with Mum and well, it reminded me of you.” 

Peeking into the bag, she immediately smiles. “Is this...is this a frog?”

“Yeah, because remember when we first met? I gave you a–”

“Chocolate frog,” she finishes. It’s a plush toy the size of a basketball and its body is the same colors as their special world. Harry must’ve picked it out because of it. He’s always been thoughtful like that. It shouldn’t surprise her, but whenever he remembers these little things, she can’t help but feel weak at the knees. She and hugs her new frog to her chest. “It’s so cute! Oh, what should we name it?”

“Well, I feel like there’s only one appropriate name for it,” he winks.

“Kaleidoscope?” 

“That...that wasn’t even close to what I was going to say.”

She giggles, reaching over and bringing him in for a hug. “I’m just messing with you! We’ll obviously be calling him Freddo.” She sighs happily when his arms hold on to her tightly. Yeah, she likes his hugs a lot.

***

It’s the middle of March when Harry’s cousin comes to live with him. Jared is about his age, with the same shade of brown hair, only his is straight as opposed to Harry’s mess of wavy curls. Harry had told her that Jared’s mother (Anne’s sister, Sonya) had just passed away after her battle with cancer, and Y/n’s heart broke for the boy she barely knows. Similar to Penny’s situation, Jared’s dad isn’t in the picture. He’d left him and his mum before he was even born, and according to Harry, Jared’s always been very bitter about it.

Jared doesn’t leave his room much, only for school and for meals. Harry’s the only person he talks to because he wants to, not because he has to. They were practically like brothers before Jared had moved away, which Y/n is surprised to hear since she’s never heard of him before. But apparently when they were kids––way before Y/n moved in next door––Jared and his mum would always come over Harry’s house, and they’d play until one of them had to be forcibly dragged away. She had laughed when Harry had told her the story of how he and Jared had gotten stuck in the tree out back for five hours because the adults were so busy chatting inside.  

Sometimes Y/n will stop by and personally offer him some of Nan’s famous chocolate pie, and he’ll accept it only to give it to Harry once she leaves. Of course, she knows it’s nothing personal against her, it just makes her sad that she can’t help someone who is so important to her best friend. It’s hard for her to see Harry worry so much about him, and she really is trying her hardest to help him out. She doesn’t think Jared hates her, if anything, she always catches him staring at her in the halls when he thinks she doesn’t notice. That’s a promising sign, right?

“I happen to think he’s very good looking,” Penny tells her as they walk to Physics. “He kind of reminds of a young Leo.”

“You said the same thing about Harry last week,” Y/n giggles.

“They’re related, aren’t they? Maybe beautiful genes run in the family.”

Penny looks at her. “What do you think?”

She stares back at her. “About?”

“You know, Jared!” 

Y/n’s lips purse together. She hadn’t given him much thought, honestly. 

***

She’s glued to her sketchpad while sitting on the front lawn when she notices a shadow approach her. Not bothering to look up, she pats the spot beside her.

“Nan says that the pudding will be ready in ten,” she says. 

“That’s...cool.” That’s not Harry.

Tearing her eyes away from her latest drawing, she turns her head and sees the last person she expected. “Jared! Hi!” she squeaks.

He offers her a side grin. “Hey,” is all he says. He looks down into her lap. “You’re really good.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He rubs his hands on his jeans before settling them around his ankles. “Uh...do you mind if I sit here with you? You can say no, I was just feeling a little stuffed up in–”

“Of course! I love company!” she smiles broadly.

“I don’t know, you and that pencil were looking pretty cozy,” he suggests. She quirks a brow at him, but when the signs of a smirk begin to change the way his eyes gleam, she finally gets it.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting!” She doesn’t hesitate to slap him over the head. He sniggers in return but doesn’t say much more after that. Y/n continues to draw, but occasionally she’ll look up and catch him watching her. He immediately turns away, pretending to be busy with a blade of grass, or he’ll start whistling like it’s a sitcom.  

***

It doesn’t take long before Jared finally opens up to her. He’s funny––really funny, even though most of his humor is dirty––and is constantly finding ways to make Y/n laugh. She’s found that he does a nearly perfect impression of Austin Powers, and she enjoys it very much. There are also certain angles that really highlight how handsome he is. His eyes are a deep brown, almost the same shade as his hair. There are freckles evenly spread around his nose, almost as if they’d been specifically placed there. And oh, his lashes! They’re just as long as Harry’s, except maybe even fuller. She imagines what they would look like with a fresh coat of mascara. (She jokingly brought up the idea once, and to her delight, Jared says he wouldn’t mind it one bit.)

Harry seems happy that his cousin appears to be back to his old, goofball self. He’s definitely not as stressed over trying to get Jared out of his room as he had been in the immediate weeks after his Aunt Sonya’s death. Even Anne is starting to smile more. Losing her sister had been difficult for her, but Y/n admires how she had stepped up and took her nephew in without hesitance. She’s almost positive that that’s where Harry gets his selflessness from.

“Okay, real question, would you rather give up all desserts or all cheeses?” Jared asks. He always plays this game with her. She thinks it’s cute, sometimes even thought-provoking if she’s really into it. 

“Hmm, that’s a tricky one. Because what about–”

Both their eyes grow wide. “Cheesecake!”

Her head falls onto his shoulder as she laughs. She doesn’t see how Harry turns away. Although, sometimes she’ll notice how he’ll have this weird look in his eyes whenever the three of them are all hanging out together, but she thinks she’s just imagining it. 

***

When Penny tells her that Jared might like her, she doesn’t totally object to the idea.

***

A few days later, Jared kisses her. It’s one of those kisses that happen when you least expect it. She’s frozen in shock until his lips pull away. It’s strange, she likes the feeling, but something seems amiss. He looks at her nervously, like he’s afraid he’s done something completely wrong. But when she finally manages to get over that initial uncertainty, a grin slowly forms on her lips, and he’s kissing her again.

***

In two weeks’ time, she sees Harry snogging Penny outside his front door. She isn’t sure how to react, but she knows there’s this weird feeling inside of her that she doesn’t like.

***

Her and Harry haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since they started dating other people. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, in fact, she really misses him. Saturday morning breakfasts just aren’t the same without him shuffling into the kitchen in his half-asleep state. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was going out of his way to avoid her. Penny says that maybe he’s just feeling awkward because her two best friends are dating. (It turns out Harry had been the guy she’d been pining over for years.)

Maybe that’s true, but shouldn’t that make it easier for them to find themselves in the same room? She’s happy that Penny’s finally happy! Things hadn’t worked out with her last two boyfriends because all they wanted was to take advantage of her. If there’s one thing she’s sure about, it’s that Harry would never cross any lines that Penny hadn’t invited him to cross.

When they’re in Harry’s car, she’ll catch glimpse of how Harry takes Penny’s hand over the console, or how she’ll feed him fries from their takeaway. It makes her happy to see them like this. Really, it does.

Jared is just as much a gentleman, too. They haven’t done anything past snogging, and she’s okay with that. She isn’t even sure she’s ready for that type of commitment. It’s not like she has this idealized fantasy about losing her virginity. She doesn’t expect it to happen in the same way as the movies, with candles and a bed full of rose petals, or any of that romantic stuff. If the time’s right, it’s right. All she wants is to make sure her heart’s a hundred and ten percent in it before she lets anyone in. She wonders if Penny and Harry have talked about going all the way.

“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.”

“Oh,” Y/n tries not to sound surprised. “And how did that go?”

Penny gives a noncommitted answer. “He says he’s willing to wait until I’m ready. But the thing is, I’m ready now!”

***

Penny loses her virginity soon after. Y/n is the first person she calls, and it’s a bunch of squealing and bragging about how perfect it all was. How gentle and attentive he’d been, and how she can’t wait to do it again. It takes everything in her to not hang up. She loves Penny to death, but some things––at least in her opinion––are left unsaid.

***

The first time she and Harry get to spend time together, as in just the two of them, is when Jared is stuck in bed with a cold, and Penny is out with her mum. It’s not exactly planned, in fact, she had only seen him from the living room window whilst helping Nan dust the mantel. Deciding she couldn’t let the opportunity pass, she drops the feather duster and runs out the front door.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets, but she doesn’t sit. It’s only now she sees the bottle of beer hanging between his fingers. He usually only drinks when he’s got something messing with his head. 

He nods at her, and gestures to the spot beside him. She sits, but it feels to calculated for them. Usually, she’d plop down, not caring if their knees would brush together. Now, she’s careful to leave at least a few inches between them. And she hates how awkward things feel between them. In a matter of months, they’d gone from being attached at the hip, to barely acquaintances. 

“So, what’s going on?”

He takes a sip from the bottle, his face twitching with disgust as he does so, then takes a deep breath. “Do you ever feel like things should be different?”

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair over her shoulders. She doesn’t know if the goosebumps running down her spin are from that or the it’s from the magnitude of his question. “Different, how?”

His features soften when he finally looks at her. As in, really looks at her. It feels like so long since he’s done, that it takes her breath away. He doesn’t say anything yet, but she can see in his eyes that there’s something there. 

“Harry?” she whispers.

His eyes drop down to her lips, and he licks his own in reaction. Nothing seems to matter at that moment. If her mind had been juggling with thoughts before this, it isn’t now. All she can think about his him. How good it feels to be so close him, and how she wants to be closer. 

Then it hits her. Jared. She’s with Jared, and Harry’s with Penny. She’d been leaning into him, but now that she’s broken from his trance, she straightens up.

Harry brushes off his disappointment with another sip from his beer. His stare lands across the street, where a pair of children are chasing each other around a tree. He drops his head, his hand wrapping around the base of his neck.

“I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow.”

She nods slowly. “Visiting your dad?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Something like that.”

Finally, he stands up, then offers her his hand so she can too. He doesn’t let go right away, and she revels in how good it feels. She smiles down to where they’re holding each other, then stares into his green orbs. 

Pulling on her arm, she’s suddenly trapped in his embrace. She hugs him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulder blades and pinching his t-shirt between her fingers. It’s all a bit confusing, but she continues to cling to him. She feels his nose nudge the crown of her head before he lets go.

He turns around and doesn’t look back. 

She isn’t sure what just happened, but it feels a lot like goodbye.

*** Ten Years Later

“It doesn’t feel right,” she sighs. “I can’t be the only one who’s thinking it.” He shuffles in place, eyes scanning the room around them. “What do you suggest then?”

“Take this to the empty wall by the entrance, then move the Reynalda exhibit closer to the back. It’s our main attraction, we have to make people work for it.”

Angelo nods approvingly, and she calls a thank you out to him as he gets to work. Y/n watches the rest of her staff disperse into their allocated directions, and it’s then she can finally take a moment for herself. Sometimes she feels suffocated, but at the same time so hollow.

There are so many reasons why Y/n shouldn’t be feeling as empty as she does now. After all, her life is pretty damn close to perfect. She graduated university with high honors, she has a well-paying job as director of a prestigious art gallery, and she lives in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with her adoring fiancé who she’s been with for the better part of a decade. 

She can’t pinpoint when exactly she realized that something had been missing, or maybe this feeling has always existed somewhere deep inside, and she’s just been really good at hiding it. The only person who knows about this internal battle is Ava, but Y/n doesn’t like to bother her too much since she’s busy with coursework, as well as her own problems that come with being nineteen and young. 

Of course, there’s Jared. Her love. Her rock. Her other half. She doesn’t know why can’t talk about this with him. Maybe it’s too much of girl problem, or maybe it’s just guilt. The last thing she wants him to think is that he’s not enough to fill this void in her life. If anything, he’d been able to pick up all her damaged pieces when she just couldn’t. He’s great, more than. She depends on him, and he’s never let her down. 

But if that’s true. Why can’t she just be honest?

***

“Right, I’m heading out now. I’ll see you–” he pauses, and she can see the concern overtake his features from the reflection of the blank television screen. He walks around their living room and kneels in front of her, his hands rubbing her lower thighs with every intention to soothe her. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t really know,” she laughs, then shakes her head. “It’s silly, really. You go ahead. Go have fun with Sid.” It’s her best attempt at a smile, but it’s a weak one. 

He looks at her unsurely, like he’s debating if he should protest or not. She kisses him gently on the lips. 

“Go.” And she nudges him to his feet. Although she can tell he’s hesitant, he eventually concedes, leaning down for just one more peck to her forehead, then he’s out the door.

She needs to find a way to depress this strange feeling. It’s starting to affect too much of her life. A life that she enjoys, thank you very much.

Before she falls slave to her thoughts, she slumps into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cabernet. Maybe it’s a far too generous portion, but is there ever such thing as too much wine? At least for tonight, the answer is no.

The alcohol burns her throat with its bitter sweetness, and she finds comfort in how it settles at the pit of her stomach. She breathes in deeply. This is just what she needs. It’s all in her head. Stress, probably. 

Just as she’s about to rewrap herself in her blanket, the front door opens and closes with a gentle thud. She swings around, brows curling in question as Jared slips off his coat leans against the nearest wall.

“Sid will understand. You’re the one who needs me tonight.” 

She leans against the arm of the couch, a moved smile playing at her lips because, wow. How did she get so lucky?

***

“I found another grey hair this morning,” Jared says. “Is this what getting old feels like?”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-eight, Jae. And besides, silver foxes are pretty sexy.” 

“I guess I’m a bit of a Clooney.” And he wags his brows suggestively. If he’s trying to come onto her, it’s not exactly working, but she’s also not completely turned off. This is why they’re good together. After all these years he still knows how to make her laugh.

They’re about a quarter though their takeaway (and she’s so touched that Jared decided to stay home that she doesn’t even say anything about the pork fried rice) when their doorbell sounds.

“I got it, hun,” he says, placing his plate on the coffee table, and grabbing a napkin before greeting the unexpected guest.

Y/n is pleasantly surprised when Penelope falls into the seat beside her. She looks dressed for a date, but the way she blows ferociously into the air, Y/n knows that things haven’t gone her way.

Without asking, Penny helps herself to their food, moaning as she stuffs a spoonful of that same fried rice into her mouth. “If I wasn’t wearing this dress, I would a hundred percent finish this whole thing.”

“You can borrow some clothes,” Y/n offers. Her friend pretends to contemplate, but she’s the first one to stride over into the master bedroom. 

Y/n pulls out a fresh pair of pajamas, and when she turns around, her mouth quirks in a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Under Penny’s dress is the daintiest set of red lace lingerie she’s ever seen. (And she has her fair share of lingerie since she knows it drives Jared wild.)

“Looks like you were in for a sexier evening,” she muses. She tosses Penny the set.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing,” she says. Y/n isn’t quite sure what she means by it, but smirks, nonetheless.  

“Now...” Penny pulls her hair through the hem of the borrowed shirt, “let’s finish off that food, shall we?”

Jared doesn’t say anything when they get back, either too consumed with his egg rolls or not wanting to interject himself into the conversation. Y/n simply kisses him on the cheek as she settles back into her meal. 

She glances at Penny for a moment, and her curiosity becomes overpowering. “Okay, so I wasn’t going to ask, but I feel like I have to now,” she explains. Penny cocks a brow at her. “What happened tonight.”

“He cancelled last minute. I was already at the damn restaurant when he texted saying something came up.” She stabs a piece of orange chicken. “It’s a bunch of bullocks if you ask me.” Typical Penny. It wouldn’t be fair to say that her friend is prone to trust issues, but it does take a little more effort. Ever since Harry had broken up with her back when they were seventeen, she hasn’t kept a relationship for more than a few weeks because she claims she doesn’t want to risk getting her heart broken again.

Harry Styles had broken her best friend’s heart, then disappeared to another country. Y/n hates him for that. She hates that he threw away all those years of friendship without a proper explanation. She hates that he abandoned her, especially when he knew how insecure she is about goodbyes. 

But not every guy is Harry. There are good ones that will stick by you no matter what, like Jared. Y/n reaches over and brushes his bangs away from his eyes. Penny just needs to find her person, and Y/n just knows that once she does, she’ll finally feel right.

“This is that Ahmed guy from the gym, right? I don’t know, Pen. He’s a decent bloke. Maybe something really did happen.”

Penny pulls a face, like she’s just oversaturated her food with soy sauce. “Wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s got baggage, and he won’t accept that he isn’t happy to carry it anymore.”

That last bit sticks to her. 

***

Her job requires her to have both a deep appreciation for art and a mind for marketing strategy. It had been the closest compromise that she and her father had come to when she had started her plight for a degree. 

After spending the last of her year of secondary school having second thoughts about the plausibility of making it in the art world, she decided that maybe her dad was right, after all. He would tell her to be in charge, to take control of her life. That way, she’d never be blindsided by anything. She’s still around the world she loves––the canvas, the acrylics, the community of dreamers who share their passion with the world––just from a more business perspective. The more she reflects on those naïve teenage years, the more she appreciates the direction she’d took. She has the best of both worlds, in her opinion. A steady income, and a building full of paintings and sculptures and history. What more can she ask for?

“Y/n!” She looks over her shoulder, where Angelo, her assistant, waves some a sizeable file in his hands. He gives her a knowing smirk.

“Good news?” she teases.

Angelo hands her the file. “Sales report can confirm.”

She glosses it over, satisfied with the numbers. Looks like she’d inherited more from her dad than just his advice. “And they said Expressionism was dead.” Their last grand showcase had been an ode to the German Expressionism movement. They had drawn criticism in the days leading up to the event because some saw it as outdated. But that’s just ridiculous. Art is art. And while history remains in the past, it doesn’t mean that it can’t be appreciated. Y/n’s vision for the gallery is embrace both the old and the new.

“Degenerates,” Angelo rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Dax, Narsi, and I are thinking Damond’s for lunch. You in?”

She looks down at her watch, and curses under her breath. “Can’t,” she sighs. “I have to interview the new curator in a bit.”

“You work too much,” he says humorously, but they both know there’s truth stitched into his words. He gives a friendly squeeze to her elbow. “Bring you back sandwich?” 

“Please,” she smiles. He gives her a mock salute before turning on his heel. 

When he’s completely out of sight, she lets her lips fall into a frown. She examines her watch again, there’s still a few minutes until their scheduled virtual call. She uses the time to stroll the halls, something she doesn’t really get to do. Well, not for fun, at least. 

Things are currently in transition, and all of the Maximalism works are finding their way onto her walls. She stops in front of one in particular that just screams color. With its carefully planned, yet freeing mixture of patterns and textures, it’s a piece to tickle the brain. 

“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes widen. That voice. She feels everything from her body to her unsuspecting heart freeze.

Her grip on her own arm tightens painfully. She thinks she might turn blue from her inability to breathe at this moment. 

“I’ve always liked how much of the artist we can feel. It really captures the complexity of character.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I agree.” She risks all and looks up, and he’s right there waiting for her. Harry. Her arms drop to her side as she feels herself grow weak.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Hi,” he whispers, then smiles. That smile. She had tried so hard not to think about how it had once been her favorite image. His dimples have caved in deeper, if that’s even possible. And his eyes, they’re the same brilliant green she remembers. “I saw an ad in the paper and thought I’d check it out.”

Something must be strangling her vocal cords because she finds that she’s unable to make a sound. 

***

“And what did you do?” 

Y/n drops her head to the table, not even caring if it’s dirty. With the day she’s had, it’s the least of her problems. “I was in shock! I-I think I might have screamed at him.” 

Ava snorts into her drink. 

There’s not much about earlier that she can clearly recall, but she does remember how she had fled to her car and driven halfway across the city to her sister’s dorm and dragged her to the nearest pub. Why? Because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Why would he just...show up?” she questions. “It makes no sense!”

“Probably got homesick,” Ava shrugs. “Plus, Dad says it’s been in the work–”

“Wait,” Y/n’s head snaps towards her. “Dad knows?”

The younger woman looks at her as if she were insane. “Duh, he’s the one that approved the transfer.”

“But why am I only hearing about this now?” She feels herself heating up with annoyance, anger, and something else that makes her want to pull her hair out. Ava doesn’t respond right away. She looks down at her now empty drink and watches as the ice cubes into water. 

“Well,” she starts, still not bothering to meet her eyes, “ever since he left, he’s been a bit of a taboo subject for you.” 

Her jaw tenses at that, and she sits back in her chair. That’s a bit of an overstatement. Y/n had reacted the way any person would have if put in her situation. She huffs with frustration. “So, what else is everyone hiding from me?”

“This isn’t an intervention, enough with the dramatics,” Ava says.

Y/n’s lips form into a straight line. She looks over the bar and tuts her tongue. “I need another drink,” she mutters. “Where the heck is Penny? She’s supposed to be working tonight.”

***

After Ava had started going to school in the city, her dad had decided to move into the London office full-time in order to be closer to both his girls. And lucky for Y/n, he’s just close enough to get information out of. She visits her dad during her lunch break because she needs answers.

“Dad, we need to talk,” she demands, bursting through his office door without any regard for just about anything. “Explain to me why...”

Matthew Y/l/n tilts his head at her with a raised brow, and the person sitting on the opposite side of his desk has an expression to match.

“Perfect,” she sneers. “We’re all here, then.”

She nearly loses it when Harry choke down a laugh while getting up and offering her his now empty seat. She takes it, but not before she glares at him and his stupid face. 

Her dad looks like he’s been caught in a crossfire, and he calculatingly smooths down his perfectly ironed tie. Harry takes the seat beside hers, except he makes a point to pull it a few inches away.

“So...” her dad practically sings. “Harry’s back!”

“I can see that.” From the corner of her eye, she sees a smirk. “Why are you even here?” 

Harry doesn’t seem offended despite the harsh nature of her tone. He chances a glance at her dad before turning to her. “Work,” is his first answer. He bounces one leg over the other and leans back against the back the seat. His expression softens. “But I guess I just really missed home.”

She thinks that’s bullshit. No decent person would leave everything behind without a second thought. “It took you ten years?”

“I did what I had to do,” he retorts.

“And that was to just disappear?” 

“This isn’t really the place nor time...”

“Then why bother coming back!"

That manages to crack Harry’s calm demeanor. He looks at her as if she had knocked the wind from his lungs. At this point her chest is heaving, as well. She forgets where they are and that her dad is a witness to this outburst. 

“I, uh,” they both turn to Matthew as he tries to find the words to appease the situation. “I was thinking we could all go out for dinner later?” He’s joking, right? He smiles as her, but with that ‘I’m your father and you don’t have much of a say in this’ look in his eyes. “How about you and Jared meet us around...say, seven? Hey, you know what? Bring Penelope, too!”

“Pen–”

Matthew swivels in his chair and practically hops to his feet. He leans down and kisses Y/n on the head. “Got to get to a meeting. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s gone. It leaves her alone with the person she wants nothing more than to get away from.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. There are so many things she feels bombarding her all at once and there’s not one thing she can make sense of. Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s typing something on his phone. His lips are quirked up in an almost-grin, and she can’t help but feel miffed that he has the audacity to pull such a face in her presence when all she can do is glower. 

“I guess we’ll talk later?” he suddenly says. He slips his phone into his pants pocket. She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Like her dad had done, he gets up and starts towards the door. But before she can even hear it graze against the carpeting, he mutters one last thing. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

Her dress squeaks loudly against the leather of her seat because she must have turned too quickly. Their eyes meet, his are difficult to read.

***

“...and I’ve been trying to look for a flat, but the boss works me too hard,” Harry smirks over at Matthew. Her dad lets out a hearty chuckle as he finishes off the last of dessert.

“Well, if you’re really that overworked, it’s not at all obvious,” Penny says with a saucy smile. “Definitely still a catch.” She touches his arm, and Y/n digs her nails into her palm because it makes her feel sick. It’s ridiculous that she’s so bothered by how quickly conversation had flowed between Harry and Penelope. 

Jared has an arm around the back of her chair. He looks bored with the conversation. She can’t tell if he’s irked at Harry (in the same way she is) or because he sees how much her dad likes him. That’s not to say that Jared isn’t well liked by Matthew. He did get his blessing to propose, after all. Yeah, they’ve been engaged for a while now. But so, what? Long engagements are common enough, and it does allow the two participants to fully get to know one another, as well as get close to the important people in their lives. Things just aren’t as smooth between her dad and Jared as she would like, but she supposes that’ll ease over with time. 

“I wouldn’t let my current appearance fool you,” Harry snorts.

“Is that a challenge?” Penny bats her lashes at him. 

Y/n can’t take it anymore. “So!” she interrupts, “Pen, didn’t you go out with that Vogue photographer last night?

Her friend gives her an odd look, but when she sees the rest of the table’s eyes on her, she waves it off. “Oh, yeah. But it didn’t end how I would’ve liked.” She gestures between her legs. “He had a little trouble getting it up.” 

“Penelope Swanton,” Matthew warns, as if she might give him a heart attack. “Parental unit sitting right here.”

Everyone shares a laugh except for Y/n and Jared. The latter just stares at the tablecloth with vague intensity. It’s strange that he hasn’t made a quip all night. He’s usually the one who talks the most...well, besides Penny. 

“Maybe pretty girls scare him,” Harry chuckles. “It happens to the best of us.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in Penny’s eyes. “Do I scare you, Harry?” 

“COFFEE!” Y/n all but screams. “We should order coffee!” She can’t just sit there and watch her friend make the same mistakes all over again. It would be a serious miscarriage of justice is she were to let that happen. 

But she can only stall for so long, and before she knows it, they’re all making their way out of the restaurant. It’s that awkward phase of standing outside and making small talk before someone has the balls to leave. Harry offers Penny a ride, and Y/n has to watch as they get into his car, laughing like he hadn’t broken her heart all those years ago. 

Jared still seems to be in a mood as well, but he plays it off and tells her he’s got a stomachache from the scallops he had as an appetizer. She rubs his back as they wait for the valet to bring their car around, glaring at Harry’s taillights before he turns onto the road. 

***

Y/n manages to not think about Harry for a few weeks. With the newest exhibit opening up, it’s kept her body and mind busy. By the time she gets home, she’s tired and all she wants is to put her feet up and watch reruns of Downton Abbey.

The doorbell rings, and she can’t help but groan because she was just getting comfortable. She looks through the peephole, then shakes her head knowingly. She pulls the door open.

“Don’t you have work?” she asks playfully, but she wishes she could take it back when she sees the broken look painted across Penny’s face. “Oh my god, are you alright?” She guides her friend into the apartment and sits her down on the couch.

Penny suddenly bursts into tears, her face falling into her hands as though she were hiding her shame. Not wanting to distress her further, Y/n gathers her in her arms and lets her cry it out. They’ve been through a lot together, and in all their years of friendship, she’s never seen her look so somber as she does now.  

She strokes her hair, whispering her reassurance even though she’s left in the dark. Penny breaks from her hug and wipes her eyes with her knuckles before looking at her with misty eyes. “I’m...” but she starts blubbering, and nothing coherent can be understood. Y/n waits patiently until she can speak. “I’m pregnant.” 

Y/n feels the color drain from her face while her head fills worry. She can’t decide who she’s worried more about, Penny or her baby. Penny is an adult is capable of making her own decisions, but she can also be reckless. She can barely pay her rent on time and her work schedule isn’t the best either. A baby would mean growing up, but Y/n knows that Penny’s still trying to figure things out. 

Then, the inevitable question bubbles in her throat. “How far along?” Penny sniffles. “About six weeks.”

Y/n feels awful that the first thing she feels is relief. Not Harry’s. “And the father?” 

“I can’t tell him,” Penny cries, she lays her head in Y/n’s lap. “He’s...he has a...” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence for Y/n to understand.

“Penny...” her tone is every bit of disappointed. 

***

She accompanied Penny to her first appointment to the OB-GYN this morning, and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had been enough to drive both women to tears. It was beautiful, and the look in Penny’s eyes said all that they could. Sure, Y/n had worried about her when she first learned of the pregnancy, but that had immediately changed with just that one look. 

One day, Y/n hopes to have children of her own. She and Jared have opened up the topic a few times, but they never seem to be on the same page when it comes to starting a family. He claims it’s because his job’s hours are too crazy to juggle an infant. He’s the physical therapist for the National Football team, which means he has to go with them on away games. Deep down, however, Y/n thinks he’s afraid that he’ll end up the way his father did. She wants to tell him that’s ridiculous, but she always has to walk on eggshells about that. 

It’s okay, though. Until she and Jared can come to an agreement, she has no qualms over spoiling her new niece or nephew. Auntie Y/n. She likes the sound of that. So much, in fact, that she finds herself outside of a baby boutique on the high street. She wonders if Penny will be having a boy or a girl. 

“So cute!” she smiles to herself when she sees all the onesies on the mini mannequins. Would it be too early to plan Penny’s baby shower? She’s so lost in hypothetical party planning that she doesn’t notice see body before they collide, and warm liquid misses her shoes by mere centimeters. 

“I’m so sorry!” she rushes out an apology. There’s an unflattering brown stain on his otherwise perfect white button-up. She grabs for her wallet in her purse, hoping to at least pay for the damages, but stops when she gets a good look at him.

“You.” 

The world must really have it out for her. Harry looks down at his tainted shirt. “Nice seeing you too.” 

“Sorry,” she says again. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Head in the clouds?” he muses, shaking his sleeve of the last remaining drops of coffee.

She smiles tightly. “Just window shopping.”

He looks at the store in front of them, and his head snaps towards her. “Are you...?”

“No,” she replies immediately. “A friend of mine.”

For some reason, his shoulders seem to relax. He’s still incredibly handsome, though she never doubted that that would ever change. Under his wet shirt, she notices a sizeable few tattoos inked onto his chest. The sight intrigues her, and she has to stop herself from reaching out and tracing them with her finger. 

“Let me pay for your dry-cleaning,” she says, tearing her eyes away from his body. 

Harry shakes his head. “There’s no need, honestly. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” She really doesn’t want to be in his debt. “I’d feel better if I could make it up to you somehow.”

“No, really. It’s fine.” Why is he so stubborn?

“I insist.” 

He studies her for a moment. She imagines that she can see the gears turning as he thinks. 

“I’m actually on my way to a viewing, and well...I’m not really sure what to look for.”

She replays his words in her head. “So, you want me to...help you pick out an apartment?” That can’t be right.

“My car’s just over there,” he points with his chin. “What do you say?”

Alarms are sounding in her head, each one screaming a different command between her ears. A part of her is saying it’s a bad idea, that she should stand her ground and stay mad at him because of what he had done. On the other hand, the rest of her––the biggest part of her––wants to indulge in the feeling she has when she’s with him. It’s a crazy mix of fury and joy that isn’t entirely unbearable. 

“Fine,” she concedes, and she brushes past him and starts towards his car. “But only because I feel bad about the shirt.” She doesn’t dare look back. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles herself in. Her stomach is doing cartwheels beneath her high-waisted pants. 

Harry gets into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine right away. He pulls his jacket off and places it neatly on the console. What he does next makes her regret getting out of bed this morning. Her mouth dries as he undoes every button of his shirt and reveals the tattoos she’d been fantasizing about earlier.

“Do-do you mind?” She feels her cheeks heat up, and she turns to the window in hopes to find a distraction. 

“Well, I’m not going to talk business looking like I’ve just been bullied by a barista.”

“That’s completely beside the point!” 

“Well, you can look now, Mother Teresa,” he says smugly. She hesitantly cranes her neck back. He’s now sporting a similar shirt, but this time, it’s dark grey. “See?”

She huffs, then mutters something under her breath. He smiles at her, like he’s just dying to tease her, but ultimately decides not to. She just glares straight ahead.

“Just drive the damn car.”

***

“And this unit is complete with its own balcony which overlooks the Thames,” Mariette, Harry’s real-estate agent says to the both of them. “It sets the mood nicely, don’t you think? And it happens to be very popular with our younger couples.” She sends them a not-so-subtle wink. 

Y/n feels herself flush, and she ducks into the kitchen and pretends to inspect the marble countertop. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to be paying that much attention, or if he is, he’s really good at hiding his own embarrassment. Y/n wonders if he’s just humoring the over-zealous agent. After all, he was never the type to correct someone over silly little details. 

Mariette tells them to walk around, get a feel for the place, before excusing herself to make a phone call. Y/n follows Harry up the stairs where all the bedrooms are. There are three, and the master bedroom has its own ensuite toilet and bath.

“What do you think?” Harry asks her.

She glances at the view from the window. It’s beautiful, gorgeous even. The building itself is in one of the nicer parts of town, where the congested London traffic wouldn’t take away from its overall aura. She can already picture him spending the mornings on the balcony with a cup of tea and a book or passed out on a king-sized mattress in the bedroom after a long day of work.

“It’s nice,” she answers truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

Harry looks at her like she’s spewing nonsense. “I asked for your input, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But at the end of the day, it’s your home. Not mine. You might not even stay around long enough to enjoy it.” The look on his face when she lets that last part slip out makes her wish she had just shut her mouth. She leaves him in the bedroom and heads into the hall. She needs to get away. Why couldn’t she have just given him a simple answer? Why does she continue to open up old wounds that she knows she’ll never be able to close? 

Before she can get far, however, his fingers curl around her shoulder. He swallows thickly behind her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Until now, he hadn’t apologized. She hadn’t expected him to, and now she isn’t sure how to take it. This should vindicate her, but all she wants to do is curl up and close herself off from the world, even for a little while.

She looks down to her feet, and as though on cue, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her hand quickly lands on her mouth to muffle a sob.

He turns her towards him, holding her by the waist. In a split-second, she’s wrapped in his arms. She tries to pull away, but her body is too unwilling to lose his familiar warmth. 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” she whimpers against his shirt.

His chest heaves. “Because if I did, I’d never be able to leave.” His words shake her.

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “But what about me?” she asks. “Harry, you were my best friend, and you just treated me like I meant nothing to you.” It made her feel like nothing. Apparently, she’s an easy person to leave behind. First it was her mother, then the person she trusted most. She couldn’t tell you which had broken her more.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” 

Scoffing, “A bit late for that, no?”

“Then let me make it up to you,” his plea is coated with desperation. Every bit of him shines with sincerity that she wishes she could ignore. His touch burns her through her clothes like blue flames. Body and mind are rekindling, and now that she remembers what it feels like to be close to him, she can’t see a version of herself that doesn’t want him back in her life.

“I don’t know if I believe in second chances,” she says softly. His grip on her loosens substantially, and there’s a sudden fear that he’ll let go. “But,” she continues, “you’ll be my first.”

It’s a bone-crushing, heart-enlarging hug, and it leaves her feeling happier than she’s felt in a long time.

***

They’re not the same two kids who would spend every waking moment together, but this is the closest they’ll ever get in adult life.

Harry visits her on her lunch breaks and lets her bounce marketing strategies off of him whilst they walk the gallery. Just like her dad, he has a well-versed business mind. It feels good to be able to talk to him again. It’s like a part of herself has risen after years of sleep and is finally seeing the light of day. Under the fancy suits and numerous tattoos, he’s still the same guy who can listen to her talk for hours without fail.

She’s even had him over for dinner at her and Jared’s place. At first, she was afraid that things would be tense between the two of them, after all, Jared hadn’t talked much during their dinner nearly a month back. To her delight, however, they seemed to pick up where they left off, and spent majority of the night talking sports and all that ‘man’ talk that she can never be bothered to understand. 

If a month ago she had felt empty, she can proudly admit that she’s starting to fill up.

***

When Penny announces that the baby is a girl, Y/n is probably the most excited. She visits the baby boutique she’d been browsing some days ago and buys a rubber duckie onesie with a matching headband, along with four other matching sets.

“You really shouldn’t have to go through all the trouble,” Penny scolds her.

Y/n waves her off. There shouldn’t be any of that nonsense. She likes being able to spoil her best friend’s future child. “I want to. Just humor me, okay? I’m aiming for Auntie of the Year.” She lays all the rest of the outfits on Penny’s sofa.

“It’s true,” Harry adds. “She’s already had the bib made.” Y/n flips him off but is far too delighted by all the pretty patterns to come up with a proper retort. Rather, she tries to sweep Penny into conversation about a real baby shower (and not just the one she’d planned in her head), discussing potential guests and a wish list that she should start setting up on Amazon.

Jared and Penny give each other a look, and the way the former’s jaw tenses doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry but completely goes over Y/n’s head.  

***

“Why don’t you put any of your own work on display?” Harry asks her one day.

“Honestly?” she sighs, “I haven’t actually made anything in...well, almost a decade.”

His jaw drops. “I don’t think I heard you right, a decade?” 

The same amount of time you’ve been gone, she thinks to herself. Of course, now that they’re back to being friends, she would never say it out loud. 

***

Nan had called her up and asked if she and Ava would drive up to Holmes Chapel and help her sort out all the things to donate. They try to visit their grandparents every few months because they are getting to the age where they won’t be around for long. Although, Nan will tell anyone with ears that she’s stronger than she was in her twenties due to her weekly spin classes at the community center. Meanwhile, Gramps is still the same as ever. He still sits in front of the TV and watches highlights of games he’s got recorded on the DV-R, and accidentally knocks over Nan’s petunia’s when he backs the car out of the garage. 

Her childhood bedroom is also how she had left it. Sure, her teenage years had called for a bit of renovation, but underneath posters of her favorite actors and boy bands are the youthful stickers Nan had put up when they had first arrived. 

She rummages through her closet, throwing old clothes in good condition into her donation basket. There are even some that were never worn, and she debates whether she’d be able to use any of it, but ultimately decides against it.  

The top shelf is full of empty shoe boxes and other things she had carelessly thrown up there. Her old sketchbook falls open, face down, at her feet. 

She picks it up and is greeted by the same sketch that had won her first prize in the art show all those years ago when she was fifteen. Her fingers graze over the pencil lines, and it’s like being reacquainted with an old friend. She had spent months on this one drawing, and it had turned out to be her greatest piece to date (the actual painting is still being preserved at the school).

“You know, I always thought that boy looked like Anne’s boy,” Nan says nonchalantly. Y/n hadn’t even heard her come in. 

“What?” Y/n stares intently at the paper. “You think so?”

Ava practically skips in. “Oh, gossiping, are we?” She sounds just like Nan. Y/n can’t help the roll of her eyes. 

“I was just telling your sister about how that painting of hers up at the school looks a lot like Harry.”

“Is it not supposed to?” Ava seems genuinely confused. 

“I mean...it wasn’t actually based on anyone in particular,” Y/n says, feeling the need to defend herself. “It was just...something I envisioned in my head.” She turns back to her closet, leaving Nan and Ava to carry on their conversation on her bed. 

Reaching her arm up high, she feels around the shelf until she pokes something soft. When she brings it down, she can’t help but grin. Freddo. She had almost forgotten about him. After Harry had left, she had gone on a bit of a rampage, and any reminder of him had fallen victim to the trash or banishment to the top shelf.

Nan must notice her smile because she comes up and cradles her from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. “It’s funny,” she says, and Y/n looks back at her expectantly. “I also thought that you two would end up together, but I guess I was off by a bit, huh?” She kisses Y/n on the cheek and calls for Ava to follow her downstairs.

Y/n stares at the toy as though it held some sort of secret.

***

She’s lucky she’s home by herself––Jared is off at the pub for his and Sid’s weekly meet-up––because now she has time to unwind and be as antisocial as she wants. Work had been stressful, mostly because the exhibit is set to open next week. And really, all she wants is to be under her favorite blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and just be dead to the world.

Even though she thinks that, however, she can’t help but tap on her phone screen every few minutes. Sure, she likes the time alone, but she also likes being needed. Ava says it’s a control thing, but she really just prefers to be in the know. Lately, Penny’s been spamming her with messages and phone calls about the baby or sometimes it’ll be for a little reassurance. Of course, she’s more than happy to support her. It’s brave of Penny to tackle this alone. The baby’s father is completely out of bounds, so she’s told, and Penny says she’d rather her baby grow up with just a mother than in some dysfunctional setup.

Speaking of dysfunction, she hasn’t been able to properly think straight ever since her visit with Nan. What the elderly woman had told her hadn’t exactly shocked her, per say, but it did have her rethink some of the interactions between her and Harry. It’s ridiculous, really. They’d been best friends since she was eight and he was nine. They know each other’s ins and outs, likes and dislikes, what makes the other laugh and cry. They’re simply comfortable. 

Okay. Maybe there had been times where she thought that the possibility of something more was on the table, but that quickly proved to be all in her imagination. She had her boyfriends and he had his girlfriends. She fell in love with his cousin, and he dated her other best friend. Then he left town.

Then he left.

***

Abandoning her original plans for the night, Y/n finds herself at his door. 

“Hey,” he greets her, but his warm smile falters when he takes note of her appearance. “What’s with the look? Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, she’s too taken by the image of him and the way her heart feels like it might burst from her chest to comprise a full sentence. He doesn’t push her, though. He fishes into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a shapely object wrapped in purple foil. “I-uh, I don’t eat chocolate that much anymore, but they don’t have these in America, so I’ve been snacking on a few of these a week.” It lands itself in her hand. “Just like when we were kids, right?”

It’s a Freddo. A fucking Freddo. Her fingers curl around it.

“You once asked me if I thought that things should’ve been different,” she says. “What did you mean by that?”

Harry doesn’t answer. She tries again.

“Why did you leave, Harry?"

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She takes one step closer. He evades her eyes, like he’s afraid they’ll speak on their own. Her stomach tightens because it’s all starting to make sense. His words. That embrace. These feelings that have always existed between them. “You left because of me.”

It’s not a question, but a sure statement. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She slides a hand up to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. When he finally does, she’s sees it. And her gut says it’s not the first time. 

It’s heartache. 

She knows because she sees it every time she looks in the mirror. It’s taken her this long to realize it. That hollow feeling that’s been consuming her, it disappeared the day Harry Styles walked back into her life. Once the anger over what he’d done had subsided, she’s felt nothing but joy since. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She wants to scream. 

“You made him happy,” is all he says, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t take that away from him.”

“So, you didn’t even consider how I felt? Harry, I would’ve...would’ve–”

“And that’s why I had to leave!” He wipes both hands down his face in frustration. “We would’ve ended up hurting two people we cared too much about.”

“You don’t know that–”

“If I had tried to kiss you that night, would you have let me?” His gaze bores into her. 

Yes. The voice within her screams it over and over. He must already know her answer because he just smiles sadly at the floor. This is why he had done it. He knew that if he had stayed any longer, it would have only been a matter of time before they gave into each other. 

It makes her sick. 

“I figured if I just took myself out the equation, the rest of you would be spared the heartbreak.” He sighs. “And it worked. You and Jared are about to start a life together, Penny’s got her baby. You’re happy.”

She wants to counter him, but she can’t find the strength. “What about you?” she whispers instead.

He tilts his head to the side. “I came back to prove to myself that I could be happy for you.” His jaw slackens, and he doesn’t continue.

She’s toe to toe with him. “And are you?”

The next thing she knows, her back is against the wall, and her fingers are tangled in his hair. His lips feed her, makes her blood come alive like she’s never lived until now. She kisses him with everything she has. Every drop of anger and every ounce of emotion that burns through her veins. His hands keep her body as close to his as possible, yet, they feel so gentle as they caress her curves like she’s made of glass. It feels so right.

And it shouldn’t. 

Just as sudden as it had started, she pushes him away. He doesn’t fight her. Without another word, she leaves his apartment.

*** When she makes it home, Jared is about to get ready for bed. She drops her clothes to the floor, and his soon follow. They fall onto the bed, his teeth gnawing down her jaw while his hand slides down to cup her heat. He asks her if she’s ready once his member is nudged against her opening. She nods, and he pushes into her, just as he’s done many times before.

She tries her best to focus on how good this should feel to have him inside of her, but the more he moves, the more she feels like this is all a mistake. It feels all too similar to when she had given him her virginity. It happened the night after Harry had skipped town. She was upset and wanted to feel something aside from the pain he had caused her. Jared had been there, and things had soon escalated. But it didn’t feel right. Her heart wasn’t in it, and so her body couldn’t give itself the relief it had been searching for.

It hasn’t felt like that since, or maybe she had gotten better at hiding it, just as she’s done with everything else. She had hoped that sex with Jared would put her mind and her heart back into perspective, but instead, she feels even more helpless.

One kiss with Harry had meant more to her than any of this. It fills her with shame because shouldn’t want to be with anyone except Jared, especially when all he’s ever done is love her. 

She doesn’t realize it’s over until he rolls off her with a content sigh, then stumbles into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, and it’s then she feels the tears start to fill the rim of her eyes. Her thighs clasp together as her humiliation fully sets in. She turns on her side and covers her naked body with the blanket that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. Jared returns minutes later, mumbling a goodnight. If he has something else to say, he doesn’t. It takes to the count of five for him to drift to sleep. 

***

“I need to cancel the engagement,” she says. Ava gives her a circumspect shrug of the shoulders, like she’s trying not to say the wrong thing. Y/n turns to her, hands twiddling the fingers in her lap from stress. “What do you think I should do?”

Ava looks at her, the pity is obvious on her face. “I don���t know, sis.” She rubs her back. “Are you going to tell Jared about you and Harry?”

“I have to.”

***

She doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Jared until the night of the exhibit opening since he’d been in Spain on a team trip. It’s eating her up, how she hasn’t told him yet, but at least by the end of today she’ll no longer be holding on to something so big. He had promised to come straight to the gallery once he landed back at Heathrow. His flight was set to get in two hours ago, so it’s only a matter of time now. 

More and more people are starting to fill the floor. Most are patrons whom she sees frequently at these events, but there are some new faces mixed in the crowd. She’s lucky that Ava and her grandparents are here to support her, especially when she’ll probably need them afterwards. 

“Hey, don’t look so nervous,” Nan tells her. “The place looks great. You know, I overheard that guy in the red Chanel that he’s interested in buying.” Bless her, Y/n thinks. Nan’s always had a way of diffusing the tension, even when she isn’t aware of it. 

“I’m happy you guys are here,” Y/n says, and she brings her friend in for a hug. 

Nan gives her a confused smile. “Of course, we’re here. We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she proudly declares, and she elbows Gramps in the ribs when he doesn’t contribute. “Honestly, try to look a little alive.”

“I put on a tie, didn’t I?” Gramps rolls his eyes, but then he sends Y/n a wink.  

“Where’s Penelope this evening?” Nan asks, scanning the room, brows furrowing. Y/n feels a sweat break out. She just hopes that Penny will understand when she finds out about her feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It’s been years, sure, but there has to be some kind of friendship code that prohibits this sort of thing. “And where’s that fiancé of yours? He should be here with you.”

“Probably just got stuck in traffic,” Y/n says, but honestly, she’s reveling the extra time she has to prepare.

Nan hooks arms with Ava and Gramps, and they walk the floor while Y/n greets a few of her guests. Her dad is one of them, no surprise there. He pecks her on the side of the head and lets out a perplexed sound as he gazes at all the art. 

“I feel like I should understand this kind of thing by now,” he muses, gesturing to the portrait of naked man made from duct tape and spoons. “Anything after 2003 is lost to me. I just don’t get it.”

“Are you proud of me?” Y/n shocks herself with the question.

Matthew looks stunned himself. “Why would you ask something like that? You know that I am.” He pulls her aside, so they have a little more privacy. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?” There’s worry in his eyes. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she appeases, “I just wanted to hear it.” Her dad doesn’t respond but hugs her tight. They stay like that for a moment, she’s always felt safe in his arms, until she feels them loosen around her. She looks up at him, his look somewhere else. When she follows it, her heart skips a beat.

“Harry!” Matthew takes his hand and shakes it. “I haven’t seen you in a full two hours!” 

The younger man lets out a slight chuckle. “It’s been unbearable. I just can’t keep away.” He turns to her. “Congratulations.” 

A nod is all she can afford. 

Matthew looks between the two of them, and their situation feels almost familiar. He coughs into his hand and excuses himself as he chases a waiter down the west wing. 

“Can we talk?” Harry asks her. 

She purses her lips to the side. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s afraid of what she might do. 

Against her better judgement, she leads him into her office. She leaves the door open behind her in the off chance that things intensify. She doesn’t need any more guilt on her plate. (But she wishes he wasn’t wearing such a properly fit suit. It’s far too distracting for the seriousness of the situation.)

Leaning against her desk, arms crossed over her chest, she waits for him to speak. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was both our doing,” she stresses. If you asked her who had kissed who first, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. “We just...got caught up in the moment.” I let my heart dictate my actions.

He looks hurt by her words but doesn’t press her on it. “I should’ve stopped it. I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you, and when it happened, I...” He shakes his head, and she’s thankful that he’ll never finish that sentence. She’s already heard it in her mind. Hearing out loud would cause both of them too much agony.

“I know,” she rasps. “I can’t stand here and say that I didn’t want it, but–”

“you don’t want to hurt him.” She smiles appreciatively, though, sadly. In another life, maybe they would have a chance. This one doesn’t have a place for them. Even if she ends things with Jared, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’re family. She could never start anything with Harry without him getting hurt. It’s a matter of acceptance now. 

This must have been what Harry had been feeling when he had left. As much as it hurts to remember, she thinks she at least understands it better. 

“I need air,” she says, not wanting to entertain those thoughts further, “join me?” She grabs her phone from her desk. It’s getting late, and she’s starting to worry about Jared. 

They leave her office and start towards the back door that some of her staff use when they want a smoke. She usually avoids it for that reason, but it was getting too stuffy in there. Her lungs will forgive her if she takes this one moment to herself. Her screen unlocks, and just as she’s about to press on her fiancé’s name, Harry pushes the door open and she looks up as the evening breeze brushes her face and then...

“What the hell is this?” She drops her phone to the ground. 

Jared and Penny pull away from each other, but the space between them is nearly nonexistent. The latter meets her with scared eyes that soon begin to fill up. One hand covers her mouth as she chokes on a sob or maybe even fear, while the other clasps over her swollen belly. Y/n’s eyes drift down to it. It clicks. 

“Y/n...” Jared starts, he’s breathing heavily. “Let me–”

“That’s why you couldn’t tell me his name,” she says shakily. It’s directed at Penelope. “You couldn’t tell me because it was him.” The night Penelope had come over unannounced after her alleged date cancellation at the same time Jared had cancelled his own plans. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing.” And that’s exactly what she had done, and right under her nose. They’d have been sneaking around behind her back for months.

“We d-didn’t mean for it to get this far...” Penny tries to explain, she steps out from behind Jared’s shadow. The usually confident blonde has lost several inches of height. She says something else, but it’s like Y/n’s just drowned out all the noise. Her eyes still haven’t left Penelope’s stomach. 

She wants to hate her. She should hate her. But she’s just an innocent victim caught in her parents’ web of lies. Then she grits her teeth at Jared. How far he’s fallen from the pedestal she’d put him on. Now she’s certain that she had inflated his image in her spiraling guilt for having feelings for another man. To think that only minutes ago she was about to plead for his forgiveness for kissing Harry, when all this time he’d been fucking her closest friend. 

“Jared,” his name weighs like venom on her tongue, “I want you out of the apartment by tonight.”

She just runs. Down the alleyway, ignoring all the calls of her name behind her. Harry’s voice is by far the loudest. There’s a thud, followed by a scream. However tempted she is to look back, her legs have developed a mind of their own and lead her towards the busy sidewalk. The bright streetlights burn her eyes, but she doesn’t stop.

She keeps going until she finds the first empty cab. Getting in without a second to hesitate, she closes the door and tells the man behind the wheel to just go. 

“Where to?” he asks her. Her first instinct is to go home and lock herself in her room, but she realizes that she’ll probably have to confront Jared again, and that’s not going to happen. Her second and third options are still at the gallery, completely oblivious to all the night’s revelations. There’s just one other person on that list, so Y/n gives the driver the address. 

***

It takes less than twenty minutes for her to end up in front of a building with bright blue doors and window panels to match. She climbs the steps, one wobbly footstep at a time, but only hesitating once. Her knuckles curl at her sides, until lifting them up to knock against the heavy wood. Light from inside peeks through the curtains.

A woman appears in the open threshold, that faint light from inside creating a halo around her figure. She looks unreal, like something straight out of a storybook. Her ethereal face just as kind as Y/n remembers. It’s the most immaculate she’s ever been. 

Y/n feels herself lose the battle with the emotions she had managed to keep on leash from just one look from her. 

With a whimper, her mouth struggle with the words. “Hi, Mum.”

***

Grace sets her up in the guest room and supplies her with a cup of tea and biscuits. As she’s setting it down on the bedside table, Y/n can’t help but take note of her appearance. It’s been nearly twenty years since she had last seen her mother, but why is that she’s never looked younger? Her eyes no longer have the eternal vacancy that had highlighted her once slack expression. 

She looks happy. 

“Thank god I did the shopping earlier this week, huh?” Grace muses, opening up a new pack of biscuits. Each word to leave her lips feels smooth against her ears. “I’ve developed a bit of a sweet tooth in my old age.” Y/n doesn’t know if she appreciates her efforts to make conversation, but it does give her time to think about what exactly she wants to say. 

They drink their tea in hushed sips, like they’re afraid that any loud slurping might cause some offence. Y/n stares down into the contents of her cup, annoyed that it’s the perfect color. A part of her had wished that she could find something to fault her with. 

“So,” Grace hums, tapping melodically on the porcelain in her hands. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

Y/n barely lifts her head as her hands strangle the air with frustrated rigidness. “I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become you.” From her decision to follow her dad’s wishes, to keeping appearances for a relationship that she now knows was destined for destruction, she’d made every choice for everyone else. 

Grace doesn’t respond, but her mouth parts with a staggered breath. 

“I wanted to believe that I was happy. I wanted to do what you never did because I didn’t want to hurt the people I was supposed to love.” All the years she’d never confronted these feelings have ultimately resulted to this. “You broke us,” she says, staring her directly in the eyes. “You ruined every image I had of love.” The anxiousness that had put her through hell had to come from this. The truth is, she couldn’t break it off with Jared because she didn’t want to hurt him in the same way that her mother had hurt her dad. That’s it. She ignored every gut feeling that told her it wasn’t right because of the bitterness she felt towards her mother.   

“The choices we make aren’t genetic,” Grace says softly.

“Aren’t they, though?” she shrieks. She bounces to her feet and paces in front of the bed. “Penelope’s mother was the other woman, and now Penelope is pregnant with my fiancé’s baby! You ran away from your family because you couldn’t forget him.” 

By that, she means her mother’s new husband, the one she had left them for. It had been during her last year at university that Y/n had discovered the truth. He had been her professor for her art history class. She recognized him from a picture she had once seen in her mother’s jewelry box. She just hadn’t put two and two together until then. “And I...I can’t forget the person I’ve loved since I was eight. What makes us different, Mum?”

Grace holds her chin close to her body. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But tell me this. Why haven’t you planned your wedding?”

This causes Y/n’s pacing to cease. She stands at her mother’s knees, blinking rapidly. “How would you know anything that goes on with me?”

Her mother stands up as well. They’re about the same height.  

“I know it’ll make never make up for what I did but believe me. I’ve never stopped trying to be in your lives...even if it was from afar.” Her hand is shaking as she reaches up to cup Y/n’s cheek so she can wipe away her tears. “I was there when you won all your art shows back in school. I was there when you graduated university.” She’s crying her own tears now. “And I was excited for you when you got engaged three years ago.” 

Y/n doesn’t let herself give in. She pulls away. “It was supposed to be a long engagement.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Grace looks at her pointedly. Y/n’s bottom lip starts to quiver. Her mother grasps her by the shoulders. “Maybe that’s what makes you different from me. You stopped pretending before it was too late, you just hadn’t realized it.”

“Is that supposed to make me a good person?” Y/n challenges. 

“No,” Grace answers honestly, but she sighs with a small smile. “But it makes you a better person than me.”

***

She doesn’t recall ever falling asleep, but she can still feel her mother’s hand stroking her hair as she had laid her head on the pillow. The morning sun shines through the curtains of the unfamiliar room and greet her with slithers of light by her feet. Waking up here feels strange, but she’s experienced comfort that she hasn’t felt in so long.

The rug-lined steps make little to no sound as she makes her way downstairs. From the bottom, she can hear two voices talking in hushed tones from the kitchen. One is unmistakably her mothers, while the other is deep and manly. She isn’t sure how to make approach them, suddenly feeling self-conscious for having intruded. But soon enough, her mum catches sight of her and invites her to take the stool beside her. Y/n walks in, passing her mother’s husband, who smiles kindly at her. She had liked him as a professor before she had found about his private life.

“Good morning,” Grace says. “Lawrence’s just been to the bakery.” She pushes a box full of a variety of goodies. “Eat as much as you want.”

Y/n picks up a croissant and gingerly pulls it apart. She avoids how her mother and her husband gage in her every movement. 

“Did you sleep well?” It’s Lawrence who asks her. She nods. Lawrence and her mother share a look, and through their eyes they seem to converse. It reminds her a lot of how she and Harry had always been able to tell what the other was thinking without having to verbalize. Lawrence finishes up his cup of coffee, then circles around the island and kisses his wife on the cheek. “I’m just going to pop to the store,” he says. She catches the back of his head before he disappears. 

“I thought you said you had just done the shopping?” Y/n asks her mother. The older woman shrugs, continuing to pick at her breakfast. Oh. She sees that there’s apparently more to talk about. Y/n does in fact have a few more questions she wants to ask, if anything more than to talk to someone who knows what she’s going through. She takes a deep breath. “Are you happy?” The words feel awkward as they leave her mouth. Grace looks at her, questioningly. She nods towards the door. “With him?”

“Yes.” 

Y/n’s heart breaks for her father. 

“He’s my best friend,” Grace says dreamily. “I’ve known him all my life. Loved him about the same.” Y/n feels goosebumps startle her skin.

“So,” Y/n treads cautiously, “was he worth it?”

“There are things that I would have done differently when it came to you and your sister, given the chance,” her mother sighs, but when she looks at her with those eyes that are so full of light and what she guesses must only be love, Y/n gets it. “But otherwise I’d choose him all over again.”

***

She knocks impulsively on his front door, not caring if his new neighbors think she’s out of her mind insane. Her limbs are tight with anticipation, especially when she hears the scuffle of feet against well-polished hardwood. Harry stands in the open doorway dressed in a white t-shirt and black joggers, and an adorably confused look floating in his sleepy eyes. But when he registers her before him, it’s like he’d been hit by lightning and suddenly jolted awake.

“Has anything changed?” she asks, almost pleadingly. He just stares at her, frustrating her already exhausted nerves. She hadn’t come all this way after a rollercoaster of a night to not get an answer. “Am I...Am I still all that’s in...” And rests her hand where his heart is.

Her own heart leaps in her chest when his dimples emerge from his cheeks. He lays his own hand over hers, stepping towards her but also pulling her incredibly close. “It’s always been you.” 

And no words have ever made her cry out of shear joy. She laughs, or maybe it’s more of a wet giggle, before throwing her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a scorching kiss. Unlike their first kiss, this one is filled solely with everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel. He nips on her bottom lip, and her mouth parts and welcomes his tongue to explore every unchartered inch. He grasps her both her thighs and carries her to his bedroom. 

She can’t believe she’s gone this long without knowing his touch. Every movement of against her skin, and every exploration of forbidden pleasure makes her stomach coil and beg for more. He lays her down on his bed, his body hovering over hers like he’s afraid she might slip away. 

He leans in a little lower, and she gasps when she feels him hard against her hip. “We don’t have to do anything,” he gulps, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’ve been through a lot, and I just want you to know that–” but he doesn’t get to finish because she shuts him up with the fire in her eyes. She loves him for everything he is, even when he’s being selfless to a fault. 

“We’ve waited too long for this,” she breathes against his lips. “Let’s choose us.” 

A low throaty moan surges from of her as he grinds himself against her, sending currents of electrifying energy down to her aching entrance. Her mind becomes cloudier with his every caress. His hot breath against her longing flesh only intensifies her need.

“Please,” she begs, fingers working on the hem of his shirt. “I want you. God, please I want to feel you.” 

He chuckles softly as she whines, pecking her again. “Patience, love,” he teases. His lips glide down to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her inflamed body. “Show me where you want me.” 

Taking reign of his hand and guiding down the front of her front, she smirks at him. His pants become unbelievably tight as she lets him linger over her chest, her head falling back when the warmth of his hand flicks over her pebbled nipple. “You want me between your pretty little tits? Is that what my girl wants?” His girl. Nothing in this moment could sound so perfect than the words to have just left his lips. It’s enough for her to want to bring him in for another impassioned kiss, but she restrains, shaking her head mischievously as he squeezes gently on her breast. She leads him further down, his palm sliding down her abdomen. 

“Here.” She slots her fingers through the spaces between his and their tips graze the base of her dress, toying with the flimsy material until finally slipping beneath. He groans as his skin comes into contact with her pussy emanating all that delicious heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She rubs against him just enough for him to feel her center through her panties, and he swears to her that he might come then and there. Wasting no time, she pulls his shirt over her head, only breaking their kiss to appreciate all the tattoos on his sculpted chest. When she’d seen them before, it had only been for a quick few seconds, and she’d been far too flustered to take anything more than a peek. But now she can’t help herself, and she lets her fingers dance across the ink, the point of her nails tracing over the edge of every design. She spends the most time on the moth, or maybe it’s a butterfly, she couldn’t say. 

All she knows is that something about it makes her feel at peace, like she’ll always be safe as long as he's there beside her. She tears her eyes away from his chest to find him looking at her as though she were everything that’s right with the world. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she just beams, eyes looking back at him with such sincerity. 

He kisses the side of her mouth before descending along her body He takes his time, his lips pressing over every possible inch of her, leaving no surface neglected. Where his hands had been prior, he takes an erect mound in his mouth, tongue swirling around in through its covering. Each touch leaves her breathless, her back arching in intense anticipation the further down he goes. When his nose nudges at the bottom of her skirt, she lets out another frustrated whine, and he chuckles softly at how her abdomen sucks in as the stubble on his chin prickles goosebumps across her skin. 

“Please, just. . .” and the final remains of her inhibitions drain from the tips of her fingers and toes. “I want your cock inside me.” 

“Christ, you’ve got a filthy mouth.” And he tears her dress from her body and pulls her panties down her silky legs, leaving her completely bare before his eyes. From a pale green, the color of his irises darkens with a fierce and pounding desire. It sends vibrations down to her pussy and all she wants is for him to bury his face in her dripping arousal. She bites harshly on her lip once he licks between her slick folds. “So sweet,” he mutters, his lips slipping through the barriers to find her sensitive little nub. “I could just stay here forever.”

“Harry. . .” she gasps, fisting the sheets as her hips lift off the mattress. “It feels so good.” Her legs hang over his shoulders as he encourages her to ride his face until she’s begging to release all over his tongue. “Oh god, don’t stop.” 

One of his long fingers that had been drawing small little circles on the inner part of her thigh smooths over her damp skin until it forges its way into her glistening heat. The other hand moves down his own figure, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding past the waistband of his boxers. 

As the knot in her stomach twists with tremendous force, it pushes her closer and closer to the edge. He inserts another finger, the two digits piston in and out of her, working harmoniously with his skilled mouth. She screams out, her back arching to an almost impossible degree. It all becomes too much for her, bursts of light flashing behind her eyelids.  

“I’m gonna come,” she moans, cheek pressed deep into the pillow, eyes shut tightly to welcome the stars as she lets go with cacophonous convulsions. 

“That’s my good girl, come all over my tongue. That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

He climbs back up her body, a content smile awaiting him when their faces become level with each other. Another exchange of ardent kisses, and she feels herself tingle at the taste of her on his lips. Even after her orgasm, she already craves for another, but this time she wants nothing more but to feel him stuffed inside of her. She wraps a leg around his hip, the edge of her foot pressed against the side of his ass as she presses her core into his bulge. 

“I need to be inside of you.” He leaps off the bed to push off the last pieces of constrictive clothing. His cock springs free, flushed red at the tip and just desperate for her amorous touch. 

And he’s big, she had always had an inkling, but to see it in the flesh is a whole new sensation quivering between her thighs. “It’s so big,” her thoughts become vocalized. 

With his knees back onto the bed, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down lower, his elbows planking on either side of her. “Feel how hard I am for you?” He hisses as her warm hand wraps around him, her thumb swiping along a dribble of precum. She lathers him in his own arousal. “Think you can handle my cock?” 

She’s completely in awe, and her mind runs untamed with fantasies of how it would feel hitting that special spot deep in her cunt, every rigid vein carving its impression in her walls. “You know I can,” she dares him. 

“Fuck.” He kisses her deeply, his hand taking ahold of his cock and glazing it with the remnants of her last climax and gliding just between her wet folds.  “One last time–” he swallows hard as he pulls away from his lips, “–are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I...”

Their eyes meet, a wordless understanding worth more than any spoken language as she cups his cheeks. 

The entire length of him slides into her tight hole until he bottoms out, his balls pressing against her taut ass. She feels undeniably full, never having experienced such exhilaration in her life as Harry’s bare cock stretches her out completely. 

“Just slid right in,” he grunts, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. He bites down and sucks greedily on the spot until he’s made his mark. She gasps in mild pain, but it feels too good to know that she can finally be his. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in with ease, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her walls flutter around him. “It feels like you were made for me” She feels marvelously tight, squeezing him for all he’s worth. All she can do is nod, her voice caught in her throat as his thrusts become harder and faster.  “It’s all mine now, your pussy, your lips. You’re all mine.” 

“I’m yours, all yours, Harry.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders. “God, your big cock feels so good in my tight pussy.” Nails dig into his back as they run down and carve crescents into his flexed and sweaty muscles. 

They move flawlessly in sync as she rises up to greet his every thrust with just as much excitement and fervor. Both their bodies are on fire, a pressure building up at their very core and threatening to unravel at any moment. His balls tighten, and he knows he won’t last for much longer. He looks down between them, his cock completely soaked with her with the most sinful sounds resonating whenever he pushes in and out of her delightful heat. “I love you,” he breathes into her ear, his fingers indenting into the plush of her hips. He loses any sense of rhythm he might have started out with, his movements becoming more and more urgent as he chases after his high. 

“I love you.” Her second orgasm fast approaches, she feels it thrill every one of her nerves as though currents of electricity were running through her veins. She’s so close, and her hand slips between their sweaty chests to rub desperately on her clit. Her head is spinning with an aspiration to reach the brink of ecstasy. 

“Come all over my cock,” he pleads as he pushes into her with incredible force. “Want to feel you come around me.”

And that’s it for her. A wave of pleasure crashes over her and she cries out with a high-pitched moan. Her legs hugging him so tightly that he barely manages to move. She rides it out, rolling her hips to feel him continuously poke that special spot. Soon enough, her mind is on a cloud, the rest of her body soaking up the bliss of the moment.

His movements only become more erratic, and the breath leaves her body once he releases inside of her. Hot white ribbons shoot out and paint her walls with the image of a sensational love. It warms her center, her lips turning up in a lazy smile as he remains within her even after the final drop has left his tip. Once they’re heaving chests calm to a natural pace, he collapses on top of her, arms willing their way between her and the mattress to gather her into a tender embrace. She scratches the back of his head and sighs contently.  

“To think we could’ve been doing that for,” and she counts the years on each one of her fingers.

Harry chuckles in between her breasts, then reaches up and plants a quick but sweet kiss to her lips. “How long are you going to be holding onto that one?” She pretends to think, her mouth quirking to the side as her brows furrow in contemplation. “Until we make up for all that wasted time.” 

***

“I got you something.” She looks up at him, her body still wrapped in his arms as they lay naked in his bed. Memories of what feels like another life flip through her head.

“Is this what déjà vu feels like?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you want it or not?” 

Smiling, she kisses enthusiastically and nods her head. He gets up, and she has to stop herself from frowning when they lose all contact. She sinks into the sheets and waits impatiently for him to come back. Listening to him rummage through his closet, then to the growling of her tummy–and she makes a quick mental note to ask him to order something for them in a while––she tries to relive every detail from the last few hours in her head. She didn’t know that sex was supposed to feel so good.

“You told me that you hadn’t drawn in almost ten years,” he states, making his way back to the bed, but this time, with a bag clutched in his hands. He places it in her lap, then slips between her and the headboard, arms going back to their initial position. “Maybe it’s time you started back up.”

Y/n opens the enclosed wrappings. Inside the bag is a new sketchbook and a carton of 9H pencils. She carefully grazes her fingers above them. There’s a feeling in her chest, like she’s just been reunited with an old friend. 

“But what would I even draw?” She’d lost all sight of that part of her life, and it seems unlikely that those creative juices will just come trickling back to her now. 

Harry kisses the side of her head, and she leans into him easily.

“Whatever inspires you.” 

It’s just that easy. She closes her eyes and reflects on what has always made her feel any bit positive. Ava and her bluntness; her dad and his sense of duty to his family; Nan and Gramps and their playful bickering; Nan and her proclivity for gossip; Gramps and his hatred for ties. All of them had been a comfort to her, even when she hadn’t realized it. They were part of what had kept her afloat.

Feeling Harry’s heartbeat press up against her back, she knows that she’ll never have to worry about drowning. She opens her sketchbook to its first clean page and lets herself be happy. 

***

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Jared says, offering her a modest grin. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t want to.” Penny nods beside him. Jared had texted her and asked if she would meet them for lunch, so that they could talk. At first, Y/n didn’t think that necessary. What was the point when it was all out in the open now? But with some convincing from Harry, she realized that she had to confront this.

“There’s no moving on if we don’t talk about it.” Y/n takes the seat across from Penny. She looks at the girl she’d consider a sister, studying her rounded and healthier features. Pregnancy looks good on her. “You look good.” 

Penny smiles thankfully. “So do you.”

They talk about everything, even the stuff that feels like it should hurt. But it doesn’t. Clarity exists where it hadn’t before. She tells them that about Harry, and apparently it isn’t much of a shock to anyone, which shocks her. Jared then admits to having had all these doubts about their relationship but had stuck through it because of his own insecurities. That had had hit close to home for Y/n. It’s somewhat of a relief that she hadn’t been the only one who felt that what they had was temperamental. 

“You were there for me when I was at my worst, and for that, I’ll always love you,” Jared sighs, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “But...”

“That’s all we were meant to be.”

He nods sadly, pulling back. His other arm is around Penny’s chair, and Y/n can see his fingers playing with the ends of her ponytail. 

Penny must notice this, and she quickly shrugs him away. “Sorry,” she mutters.  

Y/n shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she waves it off. “This was good. At least now we can all carry on with our lives.” She gets out of her chair. “Good luck,” she says to the both of them. Then she looks directly at Penny. “I know you’re worried about making all the same mistakes as your mum, but...” she smiles, “someone said to me that mistakes aren’t genetic. I know you. And I know how much you love your baby. Just promise me you’ll be there for her.”

With that she turns towards the exit. Before she can get far, however, she feels a hand grab her own. She looks back, and it’s Penny. Her eyes are teary, and her chest lifts erratically. “Do you think that...” she swallows, “...that you’ll ever forgive me?”

“Do I still get to be called auntie?” 

Penny lets out a stifled giggle. “Yes.”

Y/n touches her comfortingly on the shoulder. “Then, one day.”

She walks out of there feeling completely at peace with herself.

***

Two Years Later

The newest exhibit proves to be a hit. It’s smaller than its predecessors, this time only containing the work from a single artist. 

She and Harry walk hand-in-hand, greeting all of guests and just enjoying each other’s company. Gramps isn’t moping as much as he usually does, and she thinks it’s because Nan’s bought him a clip-on tie that doesn’t strangle him around the neck. Ava and Nan are gossiping with some potential investors, while her dad tries to apologize on their behalf. 

On the other side, her mum and Lawrence discuss color theory in relation to one of the spotlight pieces. She catches a glimpse of the civility between her parents when they catch each other’s eyes from across the room. 

“I think it’s the gallery’s best showcase yet,” Harry tells her and kisses her on the lips. “Really, I don’t see how anything might top this.”

Y/n laughs. “You’re just trying to get laid.”

Harry wags his eyebrows. “Is it working?” She doesn’t need to give him an answer with words, so instead, she pulls him by the lapels of his jacket and their lips meet in another sweet kiss. 

They stop in front of the piece in the very back, the one that’s drawn in the most viewers. They squeeze through the polluted crowd until they’re close enough to the front. He wraps his arms around her, and they both admire its beauty. 

Two kids laid out on the grass; eyes closed with content smiles on their faces. The sky above them, a product of their combined imaginations as well as the excitement of hopes and dreams. 

Below the canvas is a placcard with the painting’s information. 

Y/n Styles, Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies.

***

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

#harry styles #harry style imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles au #one direction #writing

[dearlydecayed]

Soup for Shigaraki

Mmm yes first fic. No idea how this works, so just do whatever Tumblr users do if ya like it ig Summary: You're a member of the league when Shigaraki falls ill, and of course doesn't take care of himself. Being the good villain Samaritan you are, you do it for him.

Pre-relationship (?)

Word Count + Warnings: 1,665 - Sfw, Shiggy swears at you and is a bastard in general, and descriptions of sickness. Not beta read.

-----

It's been three whole days since you'd seen him- since anyone else had seen him for that matter.

The entire league was off doing busy work to kill time; little side-missions and personal vendettas to fulfill while they waited. While you waited. While the world waited.

Shigaraki couldn't exactly lead a revolution while bedridden.

Dabi and Toga had left the base a few minutes ago, Dabi huffing in general annoyance while the latter trailed behind cheerily. She had invited you along, but you declined. You had someone to check on.

Pushing yourself off the counter you had been leaning against, you turned to the broad and decrepit expanse of cabinets that made up the bar. The top rows were filled with glasses, cups, and bottles, so you worked off a foggy memory as you scrounged the lower levels. Sure enough, your hands made contact with a singular dusty can. Aha. Pulling it out, you grimaced at the expiration date but nonetheless cranked the lid open with the pocket knife you carried. Red liquid sloshed in the tin, and you gave it a cursory sniff. At least it still smelled like tomato soup.

Rummaging through another drawer, you found a clean-ish spoon and rinsed it off in the sink. Unable to find a pot, you made your way over to the small stove-top in the corner.

The scent of gas filled the air as the ancient device clicked to life, and you were reminded of why no one used it when Dabi was around. Placing the can directly on the burner, you couldn't help but hum to drown out the sound of metal scrapping metal as you stirred the broth; steam wafting through the air as it began to boil.

The best you could manage for a hot pad was a tattered rag as you took the tin off the stove; and let the scent of tomato soup soothe your concerns of expiration. Dipping a finger into the cooling liquid, you confirmed that it tasted about right too.

Now for the tricky part...

Same as when you'd checked it earlier, his door was locked. The hallway was as silent as it had been for days, and worry crept into your periphery as you again pulled out your pocket knife. Picking the lock was an easy feat, and you soon stepped into your leader's dark room, tin can in hand. You'd only observed the space in passing prior to this, and you took a moment to take it all in.

It was a lot more cluttered than you had anticipated, his walls lined with shelves of fandom paraphernalia and books. Dark clothes littered the floor and haphazardly hung off a hamper in the corner- interlocked with junk food wrappers and boxes.

You would've lingered longer at the sight if a pathetic sniffle hadn't caught your attention; your gaze drawn to a slumped pile on his bed.

There, your noble leader lay snot-faced and unconscious as his throat rasped with every breath. His face lacked its usual paleness, instead graced with a red flush, and you knew his temperature would be scorching by the sweat on his brow. Regardless, you set the can down on his desk, and sat yourself on edge of his bed.

Before moving further, you closed your hands on both of his wrists. Instantly, his arms relaxed, rendering his hands immobile for the near future. Benefits of a paralysis quirk included immobilizing your delirious boss, apparently.

You then confirmed your prior hunch as you placed a palm against his forehead, clammy skin shuddering at your touch. A gurgled groan escaped as he squirmed under your hand, his brow furrowing as some form of consciousness returned to him.

His eyes still closed, a croaky "Kurogiri..?" was offered as you propped him up against some pillows.

"Mm. Afraid not, boss"

In the moments it took him to process your words, you moved the soup can to in between your thighs, bringing a spoonful of liquid into the air in front of him. His bleary eyes opened a few times, clearly straining to gain some awareness and failing miserably as they fell shut again.

You shushed him, and readjusted. "Shh shh, 's just me, boss. I've got some nice, warm soup for ya." To illustrate your point, you teased the spoon to lightly rest against his chapped lips, desperately hoping he remained passive instead of really waking up and throwing a fit.

Blessedly, he did no such thing.

Rather, his lips finally parted and you were able to ease the spoon in, letting the liquid fall into his mouth. He swallowed, made a noise, and you took it as a sign to get another spoonful.

Time became irrelevant as you spoon fed him, his tense shoulders falling and his face relaxing as soup levels fell. The only sounds in the whole base were his raspy breaths and the spoon scraping against the can.

When the can was about half-way empty though, he became fussy and pursed his lips again, refusing the spoon. You also noted that his fingers were beginning to twitch, and you took it as a definite sign to bolt.

However, you didn't leave until he was laid back down and tucked in.

A cup of water left on his bedside table, you locked the door on your way out.

-----

"What the fuck are you doing."

Rather than a writhing mass on his bed, you were greeted the next day with a much more conscious Shigaraki.

Reheated soup in hand, you stood dumbly as the door clicked shut behind you.

The next few moments were tense as he stared you down, before being interrupted by a painful cough racking through him. As he tore open a lung, you let your gaze drift to his bed side table where an empty glass stood.

"Oh good, you drank some water."

His scarlet glare was again directed at you after briefly glancing at the table himself, and he sneered. "The fuck do you want."

You blinked at him, and raised the can up a bit. "Y' want more soup?"

This seemed to catch him off guard, and his bleary eyes met with the soup can for the first time since you entered. He sniffled, and moved to sit up. "Give it to me then get the fuck out." You raised your hands in surrender and stepped forward to pass the can to him. Sure enough, he snatched it like a feral animal and almost went to chug it before he noted the ragged edges were you had sawed it open, and instead went for the spoon with a petulant grumble. "D' ya need anything else or-"

"Fuck off."

"Mk."

Toga had asked later why you were buying chicken noodle soup, and you told her it was for emergencies. -----

He was sitting up and playing on a handheld device when you entered the next day.

Though sweat still clung his brow, his face had regained its normal paleness and his eyes were noticeably sharper when they snapped to you.

His gaze rather quickly re-centered on the new can of soup and glass of water your were holding however, and you stepped forward with a chuckle to set both on his side table.

Game forgotten, it was tossed down to the foot of his bed as he downed the glass you had given him. Before leaving, you glanced to the screen and recognition sparked in your gaze. "Oh, is that the newest installment?"

Now sipping at the remaining liquid, he eyed you over the rim and grunted in hesitant confirmation.

"Do you have the gold or platinum edition? I can't tell by the level you're on."

"S' gold," he croaked.

You hummed in acknowledgment, and left his room yet again.

-----

The next day, you walked right into his chest rather than his room.

"Ah," you offered after stepping back. "I guess you don't need anymore soup then?"

He stepped out into the hallway too, looming over you as you stepped back further into the wall. Red eyes clear as the night you had met him, he stared down at you while reaching for the can.

Four fingers brushed against yours as he took the soup from your hand, and he turned silently to walk down the hallway into the main gathering area.

Kurogiri took that moment to warp in, startling then quickly fussing over Shigaraki as he nonchalantly spooned the soup into his mouth.

-----

Life of course resumed after his recovery, and you quickly forgot about the night spent nursing your boss back to health as business continued as normal.

It wasn't until many nights later that you had any time to yourself, let alone him after days of making up work.

You had been sitting on a tattered couch well into the night, scrolling aimlessly on your phone when a plastic bag was thrust unceremoniously into your lap. Not looking up, you scrambled to unbag it when you saw liquid begin to cling to the plastic.

Pulling the warm container out and holding it upright, your brow furrowed at the sight. Sure enough, a styrofoam container of soup was sitting in your hands.

It was then that you looked up, and were unsurprised to see Shigaraki looming awkwardly near you. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, and his eyes seemed determined to rest anywhere but you.

Not wanting to be rude to the man who disintegrates people on a whim, you offer an "Uh, thanks?"

He tches at you, and turns to leave. "I fuckin' hate soup," Is all he offers before he disappears around the corner, and his door slams shut.

You shrug, and pop the lid off to check the damage. It had spilled a bit in the bag, but was still a hearty portion. A plastic spoon was even attached at the side, and you plucked it off as you snuggled in to the couch.

You couldn't place the flavor, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader fic #mha #bnha #sic fic

[sylvain-writes]

Cold Pizza (Raphael x Gender Neutral Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, power outage, banter, light angst and fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, Raph can cook <5k words

*

Snow falls gently upon the city outside your window, and it should be calm. You should want to listen to soft jazz or something. You should be sipping tea and enjoying the sight. But instead you're stifling a laugh at the sound of Raphael swearing behind you as he stubs his toe in the dark.

"Shit. Why the hell is that in the middle of the floor?"

"It's a coffee table, Raph. It's in front of the couch same as always." You haven't redecorated the apartment in months, but it's only Raph's second visit. You can't really blame him for not knowing the layout of the place by heart. But he's a ninja, isn't he? Shouldn't he be better at finding his way through the shadows?

The table scrapes against the hardwood floor as he drags it back into place and you snicker into the sleeve of your long-sleeve tee. The building only lost power ten minutes ago but your hands are already getting cold.

The crinkle of the last bag of potato chips gets louder as Raphael comes up behind you. "Don woulda neva let this happen."

"Really?" You huff. "Donatello wouldn't have let the blizzard get so bad that it took down the power lines?"

"Well, he woulda made sure the generator was workin', but no. That's not what I'm talkin' about." He crunched and munched in your ear.

As payback for the purposefully annoying chew, you snagged a chip out of his hand and gnashed your teeth over it hard. Crumbs fell to the ground and he snarled, shaking his head.

"You heathen. This is the last of the food! Your cupboards are bare."

"My cupboards? Ok, grandma..." You don't hide your snicker this time. "There's canned soup and, like, other stuff in the pantry, dude. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We can't turn on the stove if there's no power, genius."

"It's a gas oven, genius."

"I don't know what difference that makes, Einstein."

"It means all I need is a lighter and I can ignite the gas, Einstein."

"Well, you don't smoke, Edison."

"Valid. But I do have a lighter. It's in a drawer somewhere."

It does take another ten minutes to actually find the lighter, in your nightstand, having been tossed there after you used it to light some candles in your room forever ago. And even after you find it, you set a pot of water to boil only to have Raphael complain that he can't find the pasta you were sure was in the pantry.

"Well, what is in there?" you ask as you light a few more candles around the kitchen.

Raphael places a jar of tomato sauce on the counter, but his tone remains unimpressed. "Flour and shit."

"That's fucking gross."

"You know what I mean." Raphael opened the cabinet door wide. "Flour, sugar, salt... I don't know. Like, a thousand different jars of seasonings you've probably never used ever."

"How do you know I've never used them?"

"Probably because they've all got their plastic seals on?"

"Right. I don't really cook that much."

Raphael gestures to the otherwise empty shelves. "I'm shocked."

"Well..." You pass the jar of tomato sauce you were going to use for the pasta you actually don't have from one hand to the other as you think. "There's gotta be something. Grab the cereal, at least."

The Honey Nut Cheerios barely have a bowl left. It's hard to ignore it when Raphael's stomach growls.

"Ok, ok. Maybe we should order take out?" But as you form the question, you notice something more than hunger and frustration in the way Raphael wraps his arms around himself. "You feeling alright?"

"Sure." Raphael shrugs, and though you have to squint in the evening's fading light, you think he looks a little paler than usual.

"Raph?"

He's the master of compartmentalizing and hiding his feelings -- until they bubble over into a fiery mess -- but he's utter crap at suppressing the shiver that runs through his arms while you're staring.

"Dude… you're sick or something."

"I'm not," Raph says, relaxing his arms from around his body to his sides, but his shoulders remain tense. His arms stay tucked tight against his sides. "I'm fine. There's nothin' to say. We're stuck here. Right?"

"Call Donnie."

"He can't… he can't come out in this weather."

"The weather?" The winds had died down. And yeah, the drifts were pretty high in some parts of the city, but it was dark enough that- "Are you too cold?"

Raphael shrugs.

You move closer to him, reaching out, and his arm under your hand feels cold to the touch. "Raph…"

He leans into your touch a second longer than he wants to, chasing the heat as you pull your hand away. You're close friends, but you don't go around holding onto each other or anything. The way he chases the warmth of your hand, the small needy sound in his throat, breaks you inside.

"It’s why we got generators at the lair. They mostly run on street power Donnie got hooked up, but… don't do so well in the cold, y'know?"

"Shit. I'm sorry." You turn on another burner and fill another pot of water. "Can you, uh, get in touch with D? I know there's a way to get the oven going but I, er, don't wanna blow up the apartment in the process."

Raph nods and you notice another shiver. He hunches in on himself as he thumbs out a text to his brother.

While he's occupied, you rush over to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. You're not sure he wants to admit just how cold he is, so you don't wrap it around his shoulders yourself, but you place it on the counter with purpose and head into the bedroom to find a heavier sweater for yourself. And some socks. You definitely need to double up your socks. And shit, maybe you should offer Raph some socks too.

But what the hell socks do you have that'll fit him?

You grab the comforter from your bed and hug a pair of pillows to your chest. The way to the livingroom causes you to stumble and you know you're not looking the cutest you've ever looked when you crash into the couch with your load, but you manage to grunt like a buffoon when you bounce off the couch cushions and land hard on the floor.

"Graceful." Raphael says from the kitchen counter. He saunters over, wrapped up in the blanket, wearing it like a shawl and looking ever so much like a reptilian version of the big bad wolf pretending to be grandma.

"My, what big eyes you have." You kid, and you smirk, but color blooms high on Raphs cheeks and you watch him duck his head just a bit as he tries not to break your gaze.

"They um… they're the same as always , y'know?"

From there on the floor, you look up at him and wonder when he became so shy. He's been your best friend for ages. He's muscles and bravado. He's a ninja skill set and a heart of gold. He's fire and sugar and the kind of spicy that'll catch you on fire if you stay too close, but you always want to be close to him and you know one day you're going to get burned. It's why you don't touch. It's why you point to the blankets and pillows on the couch and you back away from the pile so he can get them himself.

You know if you get too close. If you let yourself linger near him, you'll stay too long. You'll get burned. What's between you simmers when you keep your distance. That's good. That's better. You don't want him to push you away, so it's better to keep some distance. He hasn't pulled you closer, so you think you're doing the right thing. If you were reading this wrong, there would have been some clue. Someone would have said something. Raph would have said something. He's not one to mince words about what he wants.

He's very much the guy who tells you what he wants when he wants it.

"Don says we can light the pilot and have the gas oven heat the room, but you're gonna have to do it because my hands are too big."

"Know what they say about a man with big hands?"

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, unamused. "Woulda lit the damn thing myself if my hands were smaller so it don't really matter what people say about big hands. At the moment these big hands are useless."

"Geez, Raph," you scoot around him to get at the oven. "You're not useless. Chrissake."

The oven lights and you crank it up to 500°F. "We can leave the door open a crack and let it warm the room."

"Or we can make pizza."

"Sure. Yeah." You say, dripping with sarcasm. "We could totally learn how to make pizza in the dark with no electricity or ingredients."

"We don't got no ingredients." Exasperated, Raphael throws off the blanket and gestures toward the pantry. "You got spices. Sauce. Flour."

"What about cheese?" Your hands are on your hips and your toe is tapping because you just know he's going to come after your snacks.

"I saw like 7000 Polly-O string cheese things in your crisper drawer-"

"Don't touch my string cheese!" He wouldn't dare.

"We can grate it down for-"

"You monster!"

Raphael is more snarl than laugh when he crows, "You're being ridiculous! I'm making pizza. Are you in?" His gaze narrows and you think he may be serious about tossing you out of the kitchen. "Or are you just in my way?"

As it's the only warm room in the apartment, you're ready to make all the sacrifices necessary to keep your ass in the kitchen.

Raphael and his big hands leave you at a loss as he uses his thick fingers to ever so delicately arrange his phone against the tomato sauce jar. “Sit still ya lil fucker.” With each adjustment he makes, the phone slides down the counter, unwilling to stand in place so that he can read the recipe without getting his phone dirty with sticky doughy hands.

You shouldn’t just stand there watching with a grin, but you really can’t help it. It’s adorable. You really think you may be falling in love with him just watching the way he shifts the phone inch by inch. Then when he finally has the phone in place, he throws his hands up in the air, victory writ large upon his features. His smile is open and wide and it’s such a stark contrast to see him now, his body flooded with joy and warmth as opposed to when he was near frozen, that you can’t help but smile back. You’re a little thrown by just how charming that smile can be. You lock eyes and get stuck. He’s so handsome. He’s so true to himself. He’s just real and raw and he doesn’t care that this is only a tiny victory of some phone vs man vs counter slip ridiculousness. He’s excited and he lets you join him in this celebration because it’s fun and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than fun.

You shake your head as you grab the flour from the pantry and place it on the counter. “One small step for a man, one giant leap toward making a pizza. We actually need to get some ingredients in a bowl, methinks.”

Raphael takes the flour and tears the never opened bag open from the top. He’s obviously never done it before. Flour ends up everywhere and you don’t even bother to tell him that he could have easily unfolded the flour bag and made far less mess.

As you watch his flour dusted face reemerge from the plume of flour, you’re actually glad you didn’t mention it. Or else you wouldn’t have had the chance to see him look so surprised. To surprise a ninja, now that had to be some kind of feat.

Raphael’s green eyes blink at you, stark contrast green from the white floured face around them. His mask is caked in the stuff. You laugh as you reach forward. “May I?”

He hasn’t really said yes, but he’s spoken no objection either, so you slide the mask over his head and dust it off before laying it on the counter.

Seeing him without his mask is always a pleasure. One of the small pleasures you don’t mention out loud. Like standing too close, it runs the risk of being burned. Something Raphael could take away if you make too big a deal of it. So, you try not to stare, while simultaneously trying to memorize every bump and slope of his features.

“You’re a real mess,” you say, wiping Raph’s cheek with a clean hand. “How much of this flour are we gonna lose before you whip up dinner, huh?”

Raphael has been staring at you. He hasn’t even been paying attention to your words. In fact, he’s not sure you’re speaking. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion because your hands are reaching toward him for the second and third time today and that never happens. That never happens and Raph knows for sure because he pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices when you come close because he waits for it. He wishes for it. He clocks each step you take toward him and bites back a pout each time you pull away.

When your hands reach for his mask, he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays still. And you unmask him. And the world doesn’t stop turning, but it sure feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. But you’re smiling, so he knows nothing bad has happened.

You’re smiling so the world is still spinning.

His mask is in your hands and flour is falling to the floor like weightless raindrops and he can almost make out your laughter past the sound of his own thoughts. There’s nothing Raphael loves more than his time with you. The sound of your voice. The curve of your smile. The barely visible sunburst of silver under the pigment of your iris.

He shouldn’t know about that design. He shouldn’t pay such close attention to your eyes that it would be plastered in his memory. But he has. He does. He watches you when you’re not paying attention. When you’re playing around with his brothers or working at your computer. He watches the light reflect off your eyes. He could map the lines of your irises. And that’s probably weird. He’s no artist. He knows that. He can’t do flowery words or paint a picture. But he has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything about you.

So, when you tease him about making dinner, he knows you’re probably thinking about your own lack of culinary experience. You’re worried about screwing things up and probably relieved that Raphael is a little clumsy himself.

Raph uses this to his advantage, to make things a little easier for you. With a kind smile, he points to the cabinets. “I need a mixing bowl and some measuring cups. Oil, salt, and sugar. And yeast. We need yeast.”

“Yeah. OK. Like I have fucking yeast up in this bitch.”

Raphael hums and turns. He’s pretty sure he saw something that looked suspiciously like yeast in the cabinet. And there, on the row with all of the other unused herbs and spices, was a jar of the stuff. “You really suck at this.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t I know it.” There’s no way to argue around it.

Taking orders from Raphael isn’t a turn on or anything. You’re not getting goosebumps from his praise or hanging on his every word like it’s the air that you breathe. But he’s standing close and the way his breath is warmer than the air around you makes your blood feel like it’s thrumming through your veins a little more quickly tonight than it was just minutes ago.

Standing in front of the open oven is hot work. You don’t know much about dough, but you’ve watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this rise is going to happen fast in the hot kitchen.

“We should close the oven door,” you suggest. “Get the inside temperature right and let the dough do it’s thing before we shape it and sauce it up and stuff.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta we talk. You sure you’re up to the task? Thought you were taking more of a supervisory role, here.”

“I grated the cheese, didn’t I?”

“You made more wine than cheese, sweetheart.”

“Yes, well, it was my favorite snack.”

“It’s sacrifice will be worth it.”

The pizzas only took about ten minutes in the oven before the dough was crispy, the cheese not quite burned, and the sauce was bubbly hot. Raphael moved them onto the bare countertop to cool. “So, we keepin’ the oven on or?”

“Of course we can.” You glance at the oven and then at the pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. “Can’t we?”

“I could ask Don? Seems like the power could be out all night. Not sure we should leave the oven on indefinitely.”

“Well… we’ll figure that out after we eat, I guess.”

Eating was weird. You sat close, sharing the light of a candle to make sure you weren’t dripping sauce all over yourselves. Your elbows nudged each other as you moved and you had to stop yourself from shifting further away each time. It would look suspicious. You weren’t close because you wanted to be, because you desired to be as close to Raphael as physically possible without fear of your feelings being known… you were sitting elbow to elbow with him now because you needed to. He wasn’t going to read anything into it.

“You have sauce on your chin.”

“I what?”

“Sauce,” Raphael said, quieter than you expect from him. Perhaps he worries about shouting in your face. Things do seem louder in the dark. So then why does he sound like he’s whispering?

“Oh. Yeah. The sauce is good, Raph. You, uh, know your way around that spice rack.”

“Nah, I mean…” Raphael shakes his head good naturedly and sighs before lifting his thumb to your chin. He takes your face in his hand as he drags his thumb over your chin, wiping your skin clean with a smooth drag of his thumb.

“Raph?” You suck in a breath and you catch his gaze. He’s squinting at you as you struggle to make sense of his sudden closeness.

When he pulls away, you watch as he wipes his hand on his shorts. “You had sauce. Ya know? It was uh, just there.”

“Oh!” You wipe at the spot Raph has already cleaned, your cheeks and ears growing hot. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah, no prob.” Raphael clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s still not wearing his mask, so each twitch of his eyes is out in the open. But you wonder if it’s a trick of the light, him looking embarrassed and unsure.

“The blankets and stuff. I was gonna say we should tuck under them. I don’t know about you, but that oven’s been off for a minute and I’m already feeling like-”

“The blankets are good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Raph says, swallowing hard. “The cold makes me a little tired, you know?”

You shrug. You suppose it makes sense. You feel a little tired yourself. “You could sleep. Do you mind if I share the couch with you? That’s my stuff from my room.”

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean. I don’t mind sharin’. Donatello says humans run hot?”

“Compared to you?” You know you probably shouldn’t joke about something like this when Raphael was vulnerable, but you always joke about everything. To not joke about this feels like it would make things worse, make them mean more, give the vulnerability more weight than if you treat it the same as everything else. “Yeah. I guess. We’re warm-blooded.” It feels weird to refer to humans as we and the turtles as they. You rarely think of yourself as different from them. You haven’t thought of them as other than the guys for so long. “It’s um…”

“Yeah, so, like sharing would be fine. It’s cool.”

“You wanna use my body, Raph? That what this is about? You tryin’ to steal my heat? My human fire?”

“Are you kidding?”

“About mi fuego humano?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby you can light my fire.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You wanna sleep with a stranger! For shame!”

“Don’t slut shame me. I never slut shame you.”

“Yeah ok, sure, dude.”

“What? I don’t.”

“Uh, you crap on every guy I’ve ever been out with.”

“No, I don’t. No I haven’t.”

Suddenly all the joking isn’t fun. Because if Raphael can’t see how hard you’ve tried to get over him. How hard you’ve tried to move past your feelings for him, feelings that he so very clearly does not reciprocate, then you really don’t want to play this game anymore.

You stand up and move to the couch. You won’t deny him your body heat if that’s what he needs, but you don’t think you can carry on this conversation. By the time he gets to the blankets, they’ll be warm, you think. Then maybe you can have a minute to yourself.

Raphael follows you to the living room in quiet contemplation. “I hate the guys you date.”

“Great. They were real winners anyway so, thanks for running them off. Never did stand a chance with them.”

“They weren’t good enough for you.”

“Pfft.” He doesn’t get it. None of them were good enough, yeah. Because every guy you’ve ever talked to, ever listened to talk about their hobbies and dreams and hopes and family, every guy who has ever taken an interest in you, you’ve compared to Raphael. And every one of them has come up short.

“You know how good you are? Like, a good person. Not like 'tries to be good' or 'does the right thing' kinda good…”

“Gee thanks, big guy. I’m blushing.”

Raphael turns to face you on the couch, his back braced against the arm rest and honest to god shoves you with his bare foot. You can’t help but notice his toes are ice cold. “What I’m saying is you’re the 'real' good. A good heart. You do the wrong shit for the right reasons kinda good. You hurt because you care, yet you still care.”

You let Raph ramble because you don’t know what you’d say if you stopped him, if you acknowledge the things that he says. You let Raph ramble and you pull his ice cold foot into your lap under the blankets. You warm it in your hands. Maybe it should be gross. He’s been walking around the apartment since early this afternoon barefoot. But it’s just feet. Just skin. Just flesh and bone and it’s all so cold between your palms.

Raphael scoots down against the armrest, just a little so that his foot is resting comfortably in your lap. He turns away from you to look at an alert on his phone, all the while still talking about how good you were when you tried to help Leo with his attempt to try every flavor of Pringles that you could find at the gas station mini mart. It was a valiant attempt and Leo didn’t want to do it alone. You both ended up with pretty bad indigestion, but it was fun and Raphael had seemed extra happy to see Leo making a friend and being a total idiot with you.

“Donatello says the power should be up and running again sometime tonight. There was an update on the website or something.”

“They give updates on this shit?”

“I guess?”

Your hands move to Raphael’s other foot as you nod. “I don’t really like the guys I date either,” you admit aloud. “It’s not that I set out ready to dump them, it’s just that they don’t interest me. I try to get to know them, I try to let them get to know me. But it goes nowhere. I don’t get that feeling, you know?”

Raphael’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t answer.

You think maybe he doesn’t know that feeling. Maybe he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way you do. “Raph, have you ever-”

“I don’t like it.”

You nod, thinking you’ll get more out of him if you stay silent. But when he doesn’t elaborate, you realize you have to say something. “You don’t like…”

���All those guys goin’ out with ya. They don’t know ya. They don’t treat ya the way ya should be treated.”

“Really? How do they treat me?”

“Like… like… They don’t let ya let go. I see ya going off with them and you go quiet or you laugh too loud.”

“I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. Which is it, Raph?”

“You deserve somebody who lets ya have fun. You make jokes and goof off and sometimes yeah it’s cause you’re nervous but mostly it’s cause ya have funny shit goin’ on in ya head and ya wanna let me in on the joke.”

You nod. You really do think you’re the most hilarious person on the fucking planet. It’d be a shame to keep all the good stuff to yourself. Even so, you don’t share your thoughts with just anybody. Raphael is right, it’s him who you want to let in.

“If I took ya out, it’d be like tonight.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” You say thoughtfully, sarcastically, poking fun and rubbing at your chin not caring a whit that you just had Raphael’s feet in your hands. “Like tonight. You’d cut the power to the city so we could freeze our asses off, then set up a super romantic dinner where we eat by candlelight.”

“We’d be laughing. Teasin. I’d make you dinner and if you want fucking candles I’ll light you a fucking candle.”

“And I’d rub your feet to thank you for making me such a delicious dinner.”

“Yeah. I deserve some pampering.”

“What about me? I don’t deserve to be pampered?”

“I just made you a romantic dinner with candles and all that shit.”

“Hypothetically. Yet here I am, literally rubbing your feet.”

“So what do you want, you want a foot rub for you too? Huh? You want a little shoulder rub cause you worked so hard watching me work my ass off in the kitchen?”

You pinch his ankle surprised he can feel anything when it all feels like rock solid muscle. Instead of answering with words, you give him a wry grin and move around a bit under the blankets. You relax into his chest, lying your head over his heart and settling your body between his and the pillows. “You’re a real smartass.”

Beneath you, Raphael lies still.

“This OK?”

Raph shifts a bit, you feel his hands rise and fall. “I don’t really know what to do with my hands.”

You hum and nod your head against Raphael’s chest. You reach blindly for Raph’s arms, one by one, and wrap them over your back. “Don’t have to do anything.”

Raphael relaxes a little at the news. He ducks his head low and you think you can feel him breathe you in. He rests his cheek on the top of your head before asking, “This that body heat thing?”

You nuzzle his chest, allowing yourself to slip under his arm a bit. Better position for falling asleep. “Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Raphael squeezes his arms around you, but he doesn’t say anything. You have to ask or you won’t be sure. Even if it means getting burned. Even if it means you’ve put too much meaning into things and you’re going to be pushed away, you have to know.

“This is more than a body heat thing. For me.” You bury your face in his chest as you wait for his response. At least, for a few seconds longer, you can pretend his heart is beating for you.

“When I take you on a proper date, there’s gonna be tables and napkins. And maybe something fancy to drink...”

“And then-”

“This. And then, this.”

“I like this.”

“Me too.”

#Raphael TMNT #Raphael x gender neutral reader #raphael #gender neutral reader #this was left in my drafts for a long while #i don't think i've posted it #enjoy it's got some cute shit in there especially toward the end #my writing

[echo-of-sounds]

hypersensitivities

How Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi would help and support their s/o with hypersensitivities.

While hypersensitivities can be caused by many things (both mental and physical), mine are from ADHD and anxiety. I believe I kept these as general as possible so others can relate even if their issues aren’t caused by the same things as mine.

Aizawa Shouta

Aizawa’s the least picky person out there. Come home with a different smelling shampoo for him or a new comforter made out of your preferred material and he won’t bat an eye. If it works, he’s fine with it.

Rubbing. Digging. Scruffing. Itching. Constricting. You just can’t get away from it. There’s always something touching you. It makes your entire being uncomfortable and agitated. He’ll ask if there’s anything he can do. He knows you sometimes need space to breathe and calm yourself. Those times when you want someone to help, he’s there. If you need your weighted blanket, he can find it. If you need shea butter lotion, he can apply it. If you just need some skin-to-skin contact, he can provide it. Anything to get you to stop scratching and pulling at yourself, he’ll do because he hates seeing you so visibly distraught.

Having a strong sense of taste and an aversion to textiles can lead to a difficult food life. Onions are fine if they’re in this dish, prepared this way. Tomatoes, mushrooms, and bananas? Gooey and slimy. Seafood? Beans? Never. It’s frustrating to just eat. While Aizawa’s no connoisseur or nutritionist, he can (surprisingly) cook pretty well. And he sticks to plain, easy dishes. It’s great when you’re essentially limited to bread, some kinds of pasta, and some fruits and meats. He can help with any simple soups and basic meat dishes. 

If a truck’s horn or that ridiculously high pitch buzzing finally breaks your ears down to the point you’re crying, find Shouta. He’s always willing to cuddle. Even more so when you need comforting. He’s so safe and secure. Hands will stroke circles while lips kiss your temple. If you have to play rain or ocean sounds in your earbuds or from your phone, he’ll lay in bed with you, keeping you locked to him, and press kisses all over.

Whenever you leave the house, he reminds you to bring any glasses that you need: FL-41 for light sensitivity, blue blockers for computer screens, even category 4 sunglasses if your eyes need that amount of protection. He always remembers. You’ll be at the mall, squinting from the horrible fluorescents, and he’ll pull them out of his pocket for you.

His hair is perfect for hiding in when you’re out in public. It’s thick and smells like him. And while he dislikes PDA, he does make exceptions. Whenever you need a break from the lights, just turn into him, rest against his chest, and his hair will fall over your eyes. He’ll hold you close, patiently waiting for you to be ready to continue.

Please, never feel high-maintenance. If anything, having you in his life makes him more attentive to himself. He’ll eat better from any meal plans. He’ll clean his place more often so it’s enjoyable for you. He is especially aware of what cleaning supplies and detergent he uses. He just becomes considerate of how you’re in his life and what he does because he loves you.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshi developed a love for cooking. With his injury, his nutritional needs changed, so he’s learned to cook well to avoid constantly buying expensive foods. Any aversions you have, whether it be texture, smell, or taste, he’ll avoid. Can the slightest change in the sauce throw the whole dish off? His measurements are as precise as can be. Lettuce is fine, but spinach, cabbage, and parsley? It’s basically paper in your mouth. He’ll find recipes that include just lettuce and your preferred vegetables. You’ll come home to another new dish he made to surprise you.

Textile sensitivities are difficult to deal with. And clothes shopping becomes the worst task of them all. You have to test the fabric, the seams, where the tag is, how the shoulders and neck sit, the sleeve tightness, everything. Toshi will keep a list of the exact materials you like for blankets, pillows, towels, carpets, and clothing. And it doesn’t stop there. Is stoneware and glass dinnerware too irritating on your fingers? His next investment his wooden or metal dinnerware. Is cold press and rough drawing paper uncomfortable? He’ll be on the lookout for specific hot press paper.

The only thing he uses that smells is his cologne. It’s simple and never overwhelming. But if you need a different scent, he’s more than willing to go to the store with you so you can pick out something you like. 

Any scents that calm you, candles, incense, and those air freshener crystal beads, will be that scent. Vanilla or lavender. Maybe there’s some obscure scent you can only dig up online? Oh, he’ll find it. It’s incomprehensible how much he loves you. And your comfort is vital. Because if you can’t feel comfortable in your own home, then something’s seriously wrong.

The lightbulbs in your place are always free for you to change. If incandescent bulbs are what you need in the living room, buy them and change them out. If green LED lights help with migraines and pain, put them in the lamp near your bed while you rest. Install smart lighting so you can dim and change the lights whenever you need to. Toshi doesn’t care about the expenses. If it helps and protects your eyes, then money means nothing to him.

It doesn’t help that his smile is just so darn bright.

Overstimulation takes over so suddenly. You’re sitting in the living room, reading, when all of a sudden, the TV and microwave throws your hearing off, your bra becomes a boa constrictor and it’s only tightening, the flowers, food, and candles engulfs your entire being. It’s throttling, smothering, and you can’t escape. You’re left to drown. 

The minute you’re scratching, rocking, or crying, he’s prepared. Is your dog fluffy and grounding? Toshi brings her over. Do you need a hot or cold shower? It’s already running. Is fresh air the best for you? He’s walking you to the balcony or roof for a break. He can stay with you or leave you alone.

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi is a little bit of a picky eater too. Certain vegetables and sauces like tartar, guacamole, and harissa bother him, especially if the sauces are chunky. He prefers smoother dressings/sauces. So he completely understands any food aversions you have and never makes you feel guilty for being picky. He spends extra care when choosing what restaurants to go to and what he picks up for takeout.

He loves jewelry, not just wearing it, but on his partner too: necklaces that highlight your collarbones and rings that emphasize your fingers. He wants to buy you jewelry and hates that you don’t like it. He isn’t mad at you or your preferences but at how uncomfortable you get in your own skin. He wants you to feel great. And those mornings where you change outfits nine times until you finally find something that isn’t suffocating, his heart breaks.

You can bet he’ll come home with five bras and ten shirts he found that he knows you’ll like. The shirts are soft and the exact size and shape you want with no annoying frills, buttons, or ties. The bras are cute and never have tight, prodding wires or scratchy lace. He’s like a bloodhound when he’s at the store. One whiff of a good pair of pants and he’s ransacking the isles for more like it. He wants you feeling cozy, comfortable, and sexy!

A lot of gum goes in his mouth. His breath and taste is always something. But mint is powerful. There are too many kinds- spearmint, peppermint, winter-something, sweet-whatever, polar-anything. They’re overwhelming, upset your stomach, soak into your tongue, and cling to your clothes. You’ll smell it long after he gives you a kiss. To help, Hizashi will buy literally every flavor of gum there is and let you pick the ones you like. Bubblegum? Classic. Berry Blast? He loves fruit! Apple Pie or Confetti Cake Pop? Odd choice but he can dig it!

Noise sensitivities will be a little tough to manage when living with him. And it’s not his quirk that’s the problem. He’s just a noisy guy. He’s bumping things, knocking them over. He hums, pops, and sings all the time. Music or instruments are often playing somewhere in the apartment. Sound canceling headphones would be a good investment because it’s near impossible for him to just stop making noise. It's ingrained in him. Though there will be days when he’s almost completely quiet so he can spend time with you… and press kisses all over your face.

If you need sunglasses, Hizashi is your guy. Styles, tints, frames, colors, he’ll make sure your eyes are protected and you look perfect. In your home, he’ll cover up any reflective or bright surfaces that bother you: throwing a blanket over the refrigerator and getting blackout curtains. And if you need the often dreaded eyedrops, he’ll apply them for you. He’ll reward you with chocolate and kisses.

Since he’s so in tune with his partner’s emotions, he can notice when you’re starting to get overstimulated. Your voice may get sharper. You're itching your arm till it’s red. Your squinting and tilting away from certain sounds. He’ll recommend you take a break. Go lay down with the cat. Read a book under your weighted blanket. Burn some candles while in the bath. He’ll massage lotion into your back after for extra comfort.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #all might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori #toshinori x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #yamada hizashi #hizashi x reader #aizawa headcanons #all might headcanons #present mic headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha