#the fourth is a middle finger emoji

[thecherrygod]

how long does it take you to figure it out

132 votes • poll ends in 23 hours 27 minutes

#my posts #one option is longer than it should #the other is it doesnt work like that on desktop sadly #the third is if i cant make my own polls then ill chose violence #the fourth is a middle finger emoji #polls #sad i cant make it work on desktop but i feel a lot of you are more mobile users than desktop users anyways #also idk if anyones done this before lmao if so im sorry but i wanted to make this #also the question could have been better but all i can think is of that fake poll thats like 'do you like polls?' so #sorta inspired by that one #anyways im sorry but also im not

[solitary-traveler]

Charisma Etched on Strings

You despised being near Scaramouche. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

Electric guitarist!Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

Notes: I swear this one has no set pov. It switches between Scara and the reader so I apologize for that. Also, I'm not that good at wiriting x readers *insert crying emoji*

Warning: Slight cursing

It was supposed to be a harmless guitar lesson.

So how the fuck did you end up sitting on this shithead’s lap?

“Easy sweetheart. Stop squirming," Scaramouche’s grating voice reverberated throughout the otherwise empty room. The words he spouts are pestiferous, enough to ensure a fist will land on his face if he doesn’t shut up soon. You merely asked him for a guitar lesson, not to be manhandled and subjectively humiliated by this sick bastard of a friend. “Get me off your lap!" you protest, writhing against his arms. 

You want nothing to do with this. 

Yet he cages you with that god-forbidden instrument of his, propping the black, electric guitar in front of you. You were effectively sandwiched between that handsome son of a bitch and his prized musical instrument. “You said you wanted to learn right?" he mused, his calloused hand cascading down your wrist to seize it securely, "This is the fastest way." 

Lies. 

You scoff at his pathetic excuse to justify himself. He’s just so full of bull. You know he was amused at your predicament, your thrashing and twisting igniting a twinge of sadistic pleasure within him. Scara shifts slightly, a lock of your hair twirled around his index finger, “Now stop moving so we can start our lesson.”

Without much of a choice, you reluctantly compelled to his demands. Your tantrums ceased, much to Scara's entertainment. He knows how much you detest your current dilemma and he couldn't help but take advantage of it. He wants to mess with you. To increasingly rile you up every passing second. He presses his chest completely against your back, wanting to see those cute little veins of yours pop out. His lips twitched upwards as he made sure there wouldn't be any space left between you two. He could hear your pretty lips part and verbalize a gasp. 

A sweet, sweet treat for his ears. 

He couldn't be bothered to give you a chance to retaliate. It was way more fun toying with you when he rendered you helpless. Leaning closer and letting his breath fan against the tip of your ears, his fruity voice resounds through your brain and into your spine in the form of shivers. "Let's learn some basic chords first," he murmurs as he slinks his fingers towards yours, hovering over them. Scara felt the smirk on his face expand, you sure do have a warm set of hands. He surely wouldn't mind if it was pressed with his all the time. Stuck in his wishful thinking, he absentmindedly squeezed your thumb lightly. He blinks. Ah, he was getting distracted. He clears his throat and he proceeds, "Just like in every lesson, we start with C". 

He adjusts your index finger to pin the second string on the first fret. He does the same with your middle and ring finger, stationing them on the second fret of the fourth string and the third fret of the fifth string respectively. His loitering fingers aid in pushing down the strings as he's aware that you're probably not pressing down hard enough. It also helped restrain any movements that may disrupt the sound when plucked. You, on the other hand, verbalized a protest. 

“Hey, that hurts," you hissed as you tried to lift your finger off. Even just slightly. But Scara wouldn't let you. He remains unfazed, unbothered by the fact that your fingers are possibly bruising underneath his. “It’s supposed to idiot, it's your first time,” Scara rolls his eyes and his resolve to keep your finger position doesn't falter. 

You'll definitely punch him after this. 

“Now strum,” he instructs and you've got half the mind to not follow through. Curse your curiosity though, washing away each and every one of your senses, dulling them and allowing it to control your other hand to strum the strings. It made a tune, not akin to those voice cracks of teenagers going through puberty or screeching bats when viciously searching for their next meal. It was a pleasant melody, a fine sound that signifies a correct mark. Scara smiles, watching in delight how taken aback you looked. "Good. Next chord," he was ready to shift the position of your fingers once more. Your fingers wouldn't budge though. You've reached your limit.

You've certainly had enough. 

Your heart's been racing since the beginning and you were sure you won't be able to take it anymore. Not with him being this close. You catch a whiff of his perfume, a woody fragrance with a base of leather that never fails to drive you insane. You want to smash your head against the wall so badly.

You despised being near him. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

"This is stupid", you scoffed before he could move your fingers. Scara tilts his head in your direction. Oh? Were you going to object to him again? How cute. He chuckles and raises his brow, “What is?” 

“Your way of teaching.” With a groan, you go back to your squirming strategy to try and break loose from his predatorial hold, “Can't we do this without being an inch away from each other?” 

Scara merely laughs at you. ‘Why? Does the closeness bother you?" he teases. He would get closer to you if he could, but there's literally no more space left between you and him. So he opts to angle his lips adjacent to your neck and let out a drag of air. His breath brushes against your skin, parallel to a gentle caress from a lover. He was so sure he just heard your breathing hitch. Adorable.

“Is this better?” he smirks, heaving a drawn-out breath once more. You shake your head and writhe, flailing your arms wildly in a fit of fulmination. Scara can't help but grin at your antics. He doesn't back down, reinforcing his hold over you. He won’t let go. I mean, why would he? When you fit perfectly in his arms?  

Your scuffle abated for a second and he caught the way your face turned into a stunning shade of red. “Aw, you're even blushing for me," he remarks, prompting you to resume your thrashing.

“Of course not! Why would I be!?” 

Scara chuckles, his gaze never leaving you. "Why the denial? Anyone with eyes can see how red you've gotten because of me."

You wanted to wipe that smug expression plastered on his face. He knows that. He's just reveling in the fact that you couldn't. 

He elevated his head to meet your twitching ears, ready to grace them with an assortment of breathy words bound to hit that sore spot in your heart. "There's nothing to deny you know? Not when I'm right here. Mindful and observant of how you feel towards me."

His fingers dragged from your jaw to your cheek, leaving a touch so sensual it's flabbergasting at most. He rested his hands along your cheek as he spoke with an allure that was sure to keep you on the edge, subconsciously thirsting for more. "I know you like me. You like it when we're this close," he continues, cocking your head up and exposing more of that tempting throat of yours. Not that he can see it from his point of view, but from the front? It would certainly be a sensual sight that would drive every inch of his self-control onto the edge of a cliff. 

"I don't mind it though. I don't mind watching your pathetic descent into the abyss of my heart," he chuckles, hands falling towards your lips. It was quite the contrast, his rough fingers kneading against your soft and plump lips. 

"So just fall for me, yeah?" his thumb rubs your upper lip in a circular motion. Honestly, he's tempted to shove his finger in your mouth. He wants to hear your feeble whines as he occasionally toys with your tongue, your erotic whimpers that deluges his entire sensibility. But he doesn't. At least not now.

"I'll be sure to catch you"

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fanfic #scaramouche #the balladeer #genshin scara #scara x reader #scara x y/n #scaramouche x reader #gender nuetral reader #genshin x reader #wanderer genshin #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer #wanderer x y/n #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #scaramouche fanfic #wanderer fanfic #scara fanfic #guitarist scara fr #scaramouche brainrot

[alwaysonf1]

lewis is doing what?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 3k

Warning: Changes in the timeline for the sake of the story.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: This is my first F1 fic, which makes me nervous so why not start with a series.

Many Drive to Survive haters like to pretend everything that comes from the show and what it’s about are beneath them. That they couldn’t possibly care, and that the only important thing is the race on Sunday. And yet the day after the latest season drops you can find them amongst the chaos trying to figure out what the hell were all those hints about a new form of content that F1 plans to release. 

Interwoven with the usual storylines and mild dramatics there was a lot of talk about how drivers show their families the support they’re given. How they show up for them in their careers and bits of their lives. It was weird at first, but then it sent off alarm bells when an almost fourth wall breaking moment happened where the Netflix team was blatantly dismissed. 

“I think we have this one Netflix, but thanks for the help.” Those were the exact words spoken by the head of marketing as she closed the door to a room where you get a glimpse of team paraphernalia but see no faces. 

Every social platform that you can find an F1 fan on has it trending and the conversations (and screams into the void) are fast paced. But Twitter is where the real unhinged and brain cell losing behavior is happening. 

And the most accurate guessing.

Almost everyone within the community is discussing what that snippet could mean. Is it the end of DTS as they know it? The end of it completely? Are F1 and Netflix severing ties? Will F1 be taking over? Is this some little game they're playing with their viewers to keep them tuned in? Is it something completely different? What the actual fuck is going on?

In the middle of those questions are those who think themselves a genius or are delusional enough that they can’t help but form some wild ideas of what’s to come.

Someone must be retiring. Multiple people are retiring. There’s going to be a reality show ala Keeping Up with the Verstappens, where everyone learns that Max’s little trauma dumpy memories with Jos are just the surface level of how insane that man is. Someone is getting married. Someone is getting married to another driver. A nepo baby is going to become the “voice of the fandom” and host a show about the drivers during race weekends and it’s going to be all the wrong things. A dating show for all the singles. A behind the scenes at the lives of drivers and their families, but like Family Feud. And the penultimate dude bro dream of them getting to spend the season hanging out with drivers and get confirmation that their toxic thoughts that alienate most of the fan base is true.

After about twenty-four hours it all dies down. Everyone is still wondering, but they don’t feel like they’re losing their minds while they try to be the one who can say they were right when they news drops.

As if timed, the second that F1 drops in trends the F1 admin drops a graphic with the faces of six people who are clearly positioned like the thinking face emoji on every platform that they use. In the captions it says: Week in the Life - Sibling Edition.

If Twitter was home to the first wave of screaming, it belongs to Tumblr the second go round. Everyone is so excited for the content that someone must have thrown up from how aggressively happy they feel. Everyone is talking about who they want it to be and what content they’d love to see from which sibling. Those who make gifs are especially excited to get everything they can, though they won’t be outdone by those whose brains and fingers will be entities on their own once they get hold of a singular moment that will inspire the fic of everyone’s dreams.

Those who always have something negative to say are there as usual, but they aren’t as loud or upset as they often are. Being nosy doesn’t stop just because you want to pretend that you only care about the race, as if someone doesn’t have a file of screenshots from all the times, they’ve attacked the character of a driver for something not race related at all.

The reaction to this is the kind that instills faith in what is being done. The kind of thing that tells all the upper management who didn’t like it that it was a good idea, but also puts a certain bit of weight on the content team. They need this to deliver. Need to keep the hype, especially since the first episode doesn’t drop until the start of December and they’ve already recorded half the series so a failure could stop the rest.

So once the Singapore GP ends, Daniel Ricciardo’s face is no longer gray. You get to see that goofy smile and wink. You’d think they told everyone he was getting a permanent seat with a three year contract with the reception to it.

It’s Charles Leclerc for Japan. 

Lance Stroll for Qatar.

Carlos Sainz for COTA.

Alex Albon for Mexico.

And coming off his first P1 of the season, Lewis Hamilton for Brazil.

For the next week or so if a tweet isn’t about excitement, disdain, or shock in regard to this new F1 exclusive content, it has a certain main character at its center.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x black!reader #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fan fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fan fiction #f1 imagine

[headphonegrl]

There’s a folder in Jude’s phone dedicated to you. It's a day shy of your first anniversary when you find out about it, stumbling upon it when he asks you to look for a screenshot of the recipe he’s using to bake biscuits. The exact one your grandma sent him, one of your favorite foods of all time since you were learning to walk and speaking gibberish in the hopes of forming a sentence.

Its title is a plain red heart, sitting above the number three hundred and forty-eight. You stare at it for a moment to make sure it’s right, you swipe out of the app and click back onto it as if to make sure it won’t disappear suddenly. Though it’s still there, the number and symbol staring back at you. There’s a funny lurch in your stomach when you tap the screen with the pad of your thumb, clicking on a random photo when they all show up in neat little rows of three.

There’s one of an arcade machine. The big display screen a cartoony shade of blue with cheesy racing cars and checkered flag graphics, with two grainy photos in the middle. One of Jude sticking his tongue out, his eyes squeezed completely shut. The other of you smiling cutely with all your teeth showing, Jude’s hand appearing from off-screen to give you bunny ears with his fingers. It was your fourth official date and you both spent it collecting as many arcade tickets as possible, only to just end up with glittery bouncy balls and pencils when you traded them all in.

Another one is of you standing by the sink in his bathroom, your hair clipped away from your face. There’s foamy face wash all over your cheeks and on the tops of your fingers, you hold your hands out to display them to the camera. You had promised to spend the night at his place for the very first time, and getting ready for bed had already taken nearly an hour due to all the talking. Jude sat on the edge of the bath wearing one of your fuffy toweling headbands, watching you endearingly as he fiddled with the lid of your moisturizer

One sticks out like a sore thumb, a screenshot from your childhood Instagram account that makes your toes curl with cringe. A heavily filtered selfie of you pouting with a caption that’s a variation of unrelated emojis. After a night out drinking overpriced cocktails, you both ended up sitting in bed scrolling through embarrassing photos. Looking back it might have been the extra tequila shot, but Jude found it so funny he struggled to gasp for air. He set it as his home screen as a joke and forgot to change it back for almost a month.

Further down there’s one from when you both went on holiday. A photo of you sitting on a wooden dining chair, your elbow leaning against the table with your cheek squished against the palm of your hand. You’re wearing the strappy sundress you bought earlier that week in a little boutique owned by an enthusiastic Italian lady. At dinner the strap keeps falling off your shoulder, and when no one is looking Jude plants a kiss exactly where it should sit. 

“Darl, have you found it?” Jude speaks up from the kitchen. Shortening the pet name ‘darling’ into just one syllable, as if the other one will ruin the flow of his sentence. Looking up you’re greeted by him standing next to the mixer, the flour down his front making the text on his shirt unintelligible.

“Yeah.” You click the arrow on the top left to take you back. Scrolling past some selfies and a bunch of pictures of the same sunset, until you find the recipe sitting next to a funny photo of his brother. When you get up to rest it against the shiny countertop so he can read it, your heart feels a little fuller. “Here you go.”

#cute idea #idk abt the result #football imagines #my writing #footballer x reader #footballer fluff #footballer x you #footballer imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fanfic

[morganbritton132]

I love the idea that while eddie is away the 'kids' take up the tik toking mantle. For 2 express purposes, firstly to reassure eddie that Steve is fine. But secondly, and most importantly, to bully Steve (affectionately).

Also I love this series!! I spend far too much time at work checking ur page to see if you've thought of something new:DD I always find myself smiling when I'm reading it, and I haven't even watched stranger things lol!

I love this idea so much! It’s cute and entirely on brand. They make it a competition on who can distract Steve the best (because the only thing worse than Eddie and Steve being lovey together is how mopey they get when they’re apart). Steve kind of knows that they’re distracting him (or worse, babysitting him) but now that everybody is grown up, it’s hard to see each other as often so he’s fine with it.

Dustin posts the first Tiktok of the competition. He actually posts multiple videos. The first one, he picks Steve up from work and bullies him into letting Dustin stay at his house.

The second one, they’re in Steve’s favorite rinky-dink pizza shop. They’re arguing about if Steve’s phone is working or not because Eddie hasn’t called, and then Dustin steals his phone and says he won’t give it back until Steve beats him at ski-ball. The third one is after Dustin helps Steve set up for his zoom study session because his students really do have a test this week.

The fourth video is Dustin locking downs his win and calling Eddie so him and Steve can FaceTime. They fall asleep on the phone together. It’s disgustingly cute.

Lucas posts the next one. Him and Steve are playing a round of Whores (It’s Horse but Eddie misheard the name once and no one has called it horse since) in the drive way since Steve installed a barely used basketball hoop. Lucas argues that this places him above Dustin because Steve wasn’t checking his phone.

Max and El take Steve and Robin out for drinks and karaoke that same night and Lucas accepts his loss. Steve and Robin give a tipsy but surprisingly good rendition of Somebody That I Used To Know. Eddie stitches this and rants about how he’s been trying to get Steve to sing on one of his songs for years and he refuses.

Will takes Steve out for lunch. It’s not going to win him the competition just it’s a nice afternoon.

Mike destroys everybody in the competition with very little effort. He gives Steve the keys to his car and takes him to do donuts in an empty parking lot. Eddie stitches this one and tells Mike to count his days. Mike replies in the comments a series of middle finger emojis.

Mike thinks he’s got the win in the bag but Robin - who is not even in the competition- destroys all of them by getting Steve what he actually wants… a plane ticket to Vegas for Friday night and a backstage pass to Eddie’s show.

<- Last Post | Next Post ->

#Erica is too busy dealing with the shit in DC to compete but otherwise she would have won #Ozzy the entire time Steve is spinning this around a parking lot: sir. you are no supposed to do this. #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson tiktok saga

[kitspeech]

Politics and Human Rights symbols: IOF/IDF and Fuck the IOF/IDF

[ ID: Four emojis of a soldier with a helmet, shirt and vest, all in green tones. First is plain. Second has Israel flag next to them. Third is same as first but with red cancel symbol over it. Fourth is the same as second but with red cancel symbol over it. /End ID ]

emoji/aac symbol for Israeli Defense Forces (IDF)/Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) and the phrase "Fuck the IDF/IOF". added flag to look different. will make version with middle finger too later.

#kit.makes #idf #israel defense forces #iof #israel occupation forces #fuck the idf #fuck the iof #army #soldier #palestine #free palestine #swearing tw #swearing #phrases #politics #human rights #aac symbol #emojis #emoji

[petrichoremojis]

[image IDs: two emojis of someone giving the middle finger, and two emojis of someone angrily saying something to someone else. all are emoji yellow. the first two emojis depict the middle finger; the first emoji is simple with the only detailing being fingernails, while the second emoji also depicts knuckle details. the third and fourth emojis both show two minimally-featured people; the one on the left looks angry, and is saying a speech bubble to the one on the right. in the third emoji, the speech bubble contains a light pink arrow pointing away, while the speech bubble in the fourth emoji contains a light pink X. end IDs]

emojis for "fuck off", in two different versions, each with two different variants. hope this works for you!!

#emojis #custom emojis #requests #AAC emojis #petrichoremojis #phrases #Cecil's tag

[isawthe-sign]

sorry i spam your blog 😭

feel free to let me know if you want anything changed as to your content on my blog but i really like how pretty they are. i by no means want people to use tumblr to learn asl but i just Love having them all in one place after being part of the community for so long

thank you for sharing your pretty art!

- @asl-emojis

Like, Share, Happy

Sources

Like: SigningSavvy, Lifeprint, ASLDeafined

Share: SigningSavvy, Lifeprint, ASLDeafined

Happy: SigningSavvy, Lifeprint, ASLDeafined

[Image ID:

Image 1: like, as in enjoy or the opposite of dislike, in American Sign Language. Hand in open 8 handshape touches chest with thumb and middle finger then moves away and closes into 8 handshape. Movement is illustrated by arms that are translucent green and blue in different stages of the sign.

Image 2: share in American Sign Language. Both hands in open B handshape. Base hand palm faces signer with thumb up. Dominant hand sweeps back and fourth across base hand next to thumb and along pointer finger. Movement is illustrated by arms that are translucent green and blue in different stages of the sign.

Image 3: happy in American Sign Language. Both hands in open B handshape brush upward against chest. Movement is illustrated by arms that are translucent green, blue, and purple in different stages of the sign. Smiley face emoticon is blue.

End ID]

#like #share #happy #american sign language #asl #asl art #art #image id #im really happy people like my stuff #i hope they are using the sources to because that and the descriptions are the hardest part but i think theyre important

[your-dietician]

Dunkin’ drinkers in uproar after coffee giant alters rewards program

New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/dunkin-drinkers-in-uproar-after-coffee-giant-alters-rewards-program/

Dunkin’ drinkers in uproar after coffee giant alters rewards program

Dunkin’ Donuts fans are in uproar Monday after the coffee giant altered its rewards program to devalue points and remove free birthday drinks.

Dunkin’ rolled out its new rewards program nationwide last week, claiming in a press release that users would get “more food and beverage rewards.” Users on the company’s subreddit say the new program does exactly the opposite, requiring them to spend far more money to get the same rewards bonuses. The new program nixes free drinks for birthdays, instead granting users a 3x boost to their points on the special day.

While Dunkin’ states that they increased the rate at which customers earn rewards points from 5 per $1 spent to 10 per $1 spent, users are saying the company drastically raised the reward prices.

“As someone who almost exclusively orders cold brew at Dunkin, I find that my free drink goes from 200 points to 700 points,” one user wrote. “Of course, we all know this new rewards program was done to cut costs. So, a big thank you to Dunkin – I’ll now save $300/month not buying your coffee anymore! Cost cutting successful!”

Another user complained that they would be receiving fewer points relative to the new costs even when in the system’s “boost mode.”

there is drama in the Dunkin world right now… daily Dunkin drinkers are boycotting because they revamped their app rewards program and devalued points. the Dunkin subreddit is fuming! I fear the brand is no longer the people’s coffee. pic.twitter.com/CCWhpiX4e8

— Magdalene J. Taylor (@magdajtaylor) October 10, 2022

“This pissed me off. What idiot do you think I am, Dunkin? I did that [sic] math. Even while ‘boosted’ I’m earning 30% less points compared to the old system. I’m making less points and unlocking less rewards thanks to this new stingy system,” another user wrote, followed by a middle-finger emoji.

“I no longer run on Dunkin,” declared a third user. “I officially uninstall the app after 6 years of consistent use. I knew I needed to cut down on how much I was spending on coffee, considering I have  a great coffee machine at home, but the new rewards system was the final nail in the coffin. My go-to was always an iced latte, the signature ones when I was feeling extra, and spending $90 to get a free on is an absolute NOPE from me.”

“And no more birthday drinks?!? Good thing I live 5 min from a [Starbucks],” the post continued.

A fourth user got sick of reading all the negative posts about Dunkin’s new program, despite agreeing with the criticism.

“Please, do we really need 10000 posts saying how you’re going to boycott Dunkin? Do you really think a greedy corporation like Dunkin who pays their employees like dog s**t would keep a reward system like that forever? They want ALL their moneyzzzz. Every. Single. Last. Penny. Whether it’s paying their employees like crap or a downgrading the reward system. They have to find a way to save some more of those precious moneyzzz, duh,” the user wrote.

“Plus most of you will be back anyways lmao,” the post concluded.

Read full article here

[windows-kinhelp]

GEIGGTLLORRR GRG🦭🦭🦭🦭🦭🦭 ITS OKAY ITS OKAY!!! I WOULD OREFER MIXING “N” AND “YOU” BECAUSE ,,,YKNOW COMFY,BUT ITS TOTALLY OKAY,I ALSO HAVE ABSOLUTLY NO CLUE HOW TUMBLR WORKS AND IM SIMPLY HYOERFIXATED ON POKÉMON B/W AND LIKE FUNNY LITTLE POKÉMON TALK MAN

aaaa thank uu!! I personally know nothing about pokémon b&w2 but i googled what he looks like and i have so many stim ideas so here ya go! (SORRY ME TOO BRO I JOINED A WHILE AGO BECAUSE OF MY GF)

ALSO I CAN ADD THE SEAL EMOJI TO OUR ANON LIST IF YOU WANT :D

When you get bored or stressed you drum your fingers on your pokéball, yourself, or whatever surface is closest to you

N will constantly take his hat off and twirl it around with Ns fingers (also throwing it up into the air and catching it)

You rock back and fourth in the middle of boring/easy battles

Whenever N gets hungry N runs his tongue over his teeth

You will often zone out just staring at your hands and it looks like your in a dramatic movie

If theres ever a clicking noise around N, he will try to blink at the same time as the clicks (I do this lol)

You will always just mindlessly fidget with your necklace

#itz kurts world! #Uploading Request.png from Unfinished.net… [Finished request!]

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part Three

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Morgan, various characters in other chapters

Warnings: language, sexual innuendos and implications

Chapter Summary: Reader has dinner with her family and gets grilled even harder than her food. But she’s turned to a light simmer when Bucky takes her out for their first date.

Author’s Note: This chapter is fucking monstrous lol. I did not expect it to be this long so it might be a couple extra days before the next chapter so I can catch up! I’m also not sure if my Italian is accurate so I apologize in advance. I used to work for a man named Gennaro from Naples and he called me “bella” so hopefully I’m sort of right? If you like the story so far, feel free to buy me a coffee!

Part One • Part Two

Tags: @kennedywxlsh

Dinner that night was tense, to say the least. It was nice to have your dad, step-mom, sister, and uncles Happy and Rhodey over again, but your dad wasn’t quick to forget what he saw earlier.

“What was that with Barnes today?” Tony asked as you all sat around the dining room table in your midtown flat, poking away at the remnants of your meals.

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently.

Your dad just gave you an incredulous look. “You know what I mean.”

You sighed and avoided meeting his eyes. “I was just working on his arm, dad. I didn’t wanna make him lie down on a hard lab table while I poked around to do what you wanted and quiet his arm,” you explained.

“Wait, Barnes as in Bucky Barnes?” Uncle Rhodey clarified.

“Yeah,” your dad confirmed, not taking his eyes off of you. “I found her kneeling between his legs while he sat shirtless on the couch.”

“You’re sleeping with Bucky?!” Rhodey asked.

“I’m not sleeping with anyone!” you defended, dropping your fork onto your plate. “I’ve known him for a month.”

“That’s never stopped your father,” Pepper mumbled under her breath, making you huff out a laugh despite your current grilling.

“Listen, when I said ‘no fraternizing with coworkers,’ I meant it,” your dad said.

“Please stop saying ‘fraternizing.’ It’s weird.”

Tony sighed and crossed his arms. “No ‘slumber parties’ with coworkers,” he rephrased.

This made Morgan perk up in her seat, having spent the past couple minutes confusedly watching you and your dad bicker.

“Can we have a slumber party, [Y/N]?” she asked.

“Yes, honey, we can have a slumber party,” you responded.

“Tonight?” she continued.

At this, you pointedly looked at your dad and raised your eyebrows as a way of saying ‘are we done now?’ You could tell he didn’t want to end the conversation, but you were grateful for the sudden change of topic. Tony uncrossed his arms and leaned against the table as he replied to your sister.

“If your big sister says it’s okay, you can have a slumber party tonight.”

Morgan lit up like the Fourth of July, quickly listing off all the movies she wanted to watch even though you knew she’d fall asleep halfway through the first movie.

As your family packed up to leave, leaving Morgan since she had a drawer of clothes for the impromptu sleepovers you’ve had before, you calmed your racing heart before saying the words that would either make your father more suspicious or completely quash his suspicions.

“You’ll have to pick her up by four tomorrow. I have a date.”

All of the adults turned to face you. Pepper had a huge smile on her face, clearly excited for you, but your dad and Rhodey looked ready to fight. Happy looked curious, maybe even worried, but he played a big role in raising you so while Tony was the overprotective parent, Happy was the comforting parent (not that he’d ever let anyone know that).

“A date?” The tone of your dad’s voice made you roll your eyes at him.

“I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to go on dates.”

Your dad let out a quiet harumph at that, but understood where you were coming from. “I know, sweetheart. Forgive me for being a bit overprotective of my little girl.”

“I get it. I appreciate your concern,” you said with a smile, “but this is good for me. You want grandkids eventually, right?”

“Oh god,” your dad groaned, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m not old enough to be a grandpa but I’m old enough to have a heart attack at the mention of it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“So what’s this person’s name?” Pepper piped up. You visibly tensed and internally panicked. You couldn’t just admit it was Bucky after denying anything there. But his name was technically pretty common...

“His name is James.”

Rhodey snapped his fingers and pointed at you as he said, “I like him already.”

‘Yeah, sure you do,’ you thought. The sight of your dad narrowing his eyes at you and crossing his arms as he stood in the entryway of your apartment made you nervous. Maybe James wasn’t good enough to get him off your trail (probably because he was right).

“How did you meet this guy?” Tony asked.

If anyone else had asked, you would’ve said ‘work,’ but that’s the last place you could say to your dad — with whom you worked.

“Uhh, at the grocery store. We accidentally followed each other and got a lot of the same food so he jokingly accused me of stalking him and we just hit it off,” you rattled off. It’s a good thing he didn’t know how your friend Monique met her girlfriend or he’d know you were lying.

“That’s so cute,” Pepper cooed. She was definitely the more relaxed of your parents, possibly because she wasn’t your biological mom. She had been raising you since you were ten though, so she played a big part in your upbringing.

“Text me his last name so I can run a background check,” your dad said. You’d love to think he was joking, but you knew he was serious.

And as much as you knew you’d regret it, you had to make a joke…

“His last name is Barnes,” you said, keeping your face as serious as possible. “James Barnes. I actually know his middle name too: Buchanan.”

“[Y/N] [Y/M/N] [Y/L/N], you better be joking right now,” Tony said. He was already getting red in the face, clearly unenthused at the prospect of you dating the man who, admittedly, killed his parents — your grandparents. Yeah, understandable.

“I’m obviously kidding,” you said, forcing a laugh. “It’s just funny that they have the same first name and you’re so anti-Bucky.”

“You’re gonna send me to an early grave,” he muttered. “I’m going home before I actually have a heart attack.”

You said your goodbyes and ‘I love you’s before you and Morgan put on your pajamas and set up a pillow fort in the middle of your living room to watch her favorite sleepover movie: “Shrek.”

As the movie went on, you leaned back in the fort to take a photo of Morgan with the movie in the background. Well, the back of Morgan’s head as she was engrossed in the movie she’d seen a million times.

[Image attached] She’s got her teddy bear but where’s my Bucky Bear? 🥺

Across the city, Bucky’s phone buzzed from its spot on the kitchen counter as he made himself a late dinner. He didn’t recognize the number, but smiled when he saw the picture of who he assumed was your sister or niece.

I never got an invite. Looks like more fun than my night.

You smiled to yourself when you saw his reply, rolling your eyes at the lack of exclamation points and emojis. Typical man.

What does your night look like?

Eating a late dinner and talking to you.

Talking to me isn’t fun?! I’m hurt 😢

Not as fun as actually being with you.

Even though he wasn’t there and didn’t say it verbally, you could feel your cheeks get hot at his words.

There’s no way sweet talk like that didn’t get you in more than four beds.

You’re still on that? I swear doll, I have the same number as you.

Whatever you say! 🙄

There was a lull in conversation after that, giving you time to move your sister to lie on her back with pillows and blankets in the fort so she could sleep more comfortably.

Are we still going out tomorrow?

You let the next Shrek movie start automatically, but you didn’t pay any attention as you texted Bucky.

I’m still down if you are 👀

You sent him your address and let him know you’d wait on the front steps for him so he didn’t have to come all the way up. With the exchange of ‘good night’ messages, you drifted asleep to the sounds of Shrek 2.

•

The next morning, you somehow managed to wake up before your sister, then brought her back to the land of the living with the smell of French toast.

You spent your day watching another movie with Morgan before fixing lunch and taking her to a park down the road. Morgan’s childhood was definitely different from yours. Happy was the one who took you to parks and shopping, but Tony parented at home. Morgan would have the same early experiences, but the world knew Tony and Pepper had a daughter. They kept her identity hidden for now, waiting until she could decide if she wanted to reveal herself later in life. The world never knew about you.

And you had to be somewhat grateful for that. You still got all the perks of being a Stark — the money, the Tower, meeting the Avengers (and having James Rhodes as your godfather) — without the stress of fame. But part of you still wished you could talk about your father without keeping his occupation vague and referring to him as “Anthony” when telling stories instead of Tony.

Morgan also got to know her mom. You only spent the first seven years of your life with your mom before she was killed in a drive-by shooting. The police investigated it like crazy because everyone thought since it was Tony Stark’s wife, it had to be a targeted hit. But since she never took the same jogging route twice, all they came up with was an unplanned drive-by. You cherished the memories you had with her, but still openly welcomed Pepper when she came into the picture. She may not have played the same type of role in your life, but she helped shape your middle and high school years.

By the time you and Morgan got back to your place, she was exhausted, climbing back into the still-intact blanket fort to take a nap. When your dad and Pepper stopped by to pick her up, she was still knocked out.

“We’ll get out of your hair so you can get ready for your date,” your dad said with Morgan in his arms. “Send me this James guy’s last name. I still want to run a background check.”

“Dad,” you grumbled. “I already did my research. He’s clear.” Kind of. He technically has murdered hundreds of people, including your grandparents, but he’s reformed and fighting for the good guys now. Not that your dad would let it slide if you told him that.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. “Let me know if you need to hide any bodies, okay?”

“You got it,” you said with a laugh as they headed out. You had two hours to get ready for Bucky, giving you plenty of time to look extra cute.

By the time six rolled around, you were all dolled up and ready to go. The autumn weather had you in a jacket and boots, but that just pulled your outfit together.

Your doorman Matt was standing inside the lobby when you ran downstairs, tossing him a small wave as you left.

“Have a good night, Miss [Y/L/N],” he said with a nod.

“See you later, Matt!”

You stood at the bottom of your building’s front steps, checking your phone and looking up and down the block for Bucky. It was six on the dot, so you figured he’d be there soon.

“Hey!” You looked up from your phone to see Bucky jogging toward you, a black leather jacket covering his arms and a black glove hiding his left hand. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get away from Sam. Had to tell him I was gonna check out my old stomping grounds in Brooklyn.”

“You’re, like, 30 seconds late. I’m just glad you’re here,” you said with a smile. “So what are we doing tonight?”

Bucky’s smile faltered as he looked down at you. Your boots gave you a bit of a height bump, but Bucky still stood taller than you.

“I, uh, I kinda thought you had something planned,” he said softly.

“Oh, oops,” you laughed. “Well… what about those Brooklyn stomping grounds of yours? Care to show me around?”

Bucky lit up at the recommendation and started leading the way to the nearest subway stop. Before you started down the stairs, he paused and turned to you with a sour expression.

“I probably should’ve asked if you’d rather get a cab,” he said.

“Bucky, I take the subway to work every day. It’s fine.”

“Why do you take the train? You don’t live too far away.” You two made your way down the steps to the bustling station.

“It’s just easier. Less work for me,” you explained. “I didn’t take the train much as a kid so I like taking the opportunity now that I can.”

“Most people don’t willingly take the subway,” he laughed. “Steve and I always used to talk about how we’d be rich enough to have a car someday. But now that I could get any car I wanted, I don’t think I want one. I like the subway.”

“Even though it’s smelly and dirty?” you joked.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “It’s one of the things that still reminds me of home.”

The gentleness in his voice nearly brought you to tears. This man had been through so much and was still the sweetest soul you’d ever met. Forced into a war he didn’t want to join, experimented on, tortured and brainwashed, hunted by every government in the world, captured, frozen, and forced into another war and more battles he shouldn’t have to join. He just couldn’t catch a break.

“Well I’m excited to see what else reminds you of home,” you replied.

The trains to and through Brooklyn were relatively busy so you and Bucky couldn’t really talk much, but it was a Saturday night so you couldn’t blame people for getting out. It was tough to find seats, but Bucky was willing to stand to make sure you could have a seat. Ever the gentleman.

When you made it to Bucky’s Brooklyn stop of choice, he started telling you more stories from the ‘40s, like when Steve couldn’t get off the train in time and accidentally went down another stop so Bucky ran to the next stop and found Steve heading his way anyway. And how he and Steve followed his sister Rebecca on a date “to watch out for her,” he said, and her date thought they were stalking her and tried to beat them up. And all the fights he pulled Steve out of.

“Punk was a chihuahua who thought he was a Rottweiler.”

For a while, you two walked around the streets of Brooklyn just telling each other stories. You were careful about names you used, often just calling Happy “Uncle Harry” and Rhodey “Uncle James.”

Bucky showed you the movie theater he and Steve used to go to, which was surprisingly still in business. You walked past what used to be a diner Bucky frequented but was converted into a bridal shop.

“This used to be a magic store Steve loved,” he said, looking up at the bank on the corner of the street. “Things have changed a lot.”

You heard the nostalgia in his voice, clearly missing the New York he grew up to love. He had a soft smile on his lips as he reminisced, though.

“What about where you lived?” you asked. “Do you remember where that is?”

“Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “I could never forget that.”

Everything was within a fifteen minute walk of where you got off the subway so even though your feet were getting tired, you followed alongside Bucky as he led the way up and down the streets. Before too long, you strode up to a large brick building that had clearly been remodeled recently, if the fresh windows and front doors were any indication.

“It’s… a lot nicer than when I lived here,” Bucky said with a sigh. “But it’s been nearly 100 years so I can’t blame them for updating things.”

“Brooklyn is kind of booming now, too,” you added. “More people to appeal to, ya know?”

You stared up at him again, seeing that same lost look as before, like he wished to turn back time and show you the Brooklyn he knew. So you decided since he couldn’t do that, you’d show him the Brooklyn you knew.

“Come here. My turn to show you around,” you said, holding your hand out to him. He gave you a small smile before grabbing your hand in his and letting you pull him back to the subway.

Ten minutes later, you hopped off the train with Bucky in tow and headed to the little Italian restaurant you found while exploring the city a couple years before. It wasn’t anything elaborate; it was honestly more of a little hole-in-the-wall, but you liked the quiet atmosphere.

“Bella!” the owner shouted as you walked in.

“Hey Genny,” you smiled at him.

“Who’s this?” he asked as he approached you, raising his eyebrows when he saw Bucky.

“This is James,” you said. You opted against using his more common nickname to avoid any recognition.

“James, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Gennaro, but you can call me Genny. Welcome to my restaurant.” The two men shook hands before Genny ushered you two to a table and handed you menus. “Would you like to start with focaccia?”

“Yes please!”

“Con formaggi?”

“Si! Grazie!”

Gennaro left you and Bucky while he started your appetizer.

“You speak Italian?” Bucky asked.

“Definitely not,” you laughed. “I’ve just been coming here for a while and have picked up on some things Genny says. Like ‘bella’ means ‘beautiful,’ this pizza,” you pointed to your favorite pizza on the menu, “‘cinque formaggi’ means ‘five cheese.’ But I could never hold a conversation.”

“Un peccato,” Bucky sighed before flashing a smile at you.

“You speak Italian?!” you nearly shrieked. “No way! Don’t talk shit with Gennaro behind my back.” You pouted at Bucky, but knew he wouldn’t say anything bad about you. Maybe an embarrassing moment or two — like your dad walking in on you between his knees — but nothing negative.

“I picked it up pretty quickly back in the day,” Bucky explained. “Before I was sent to Germany, I was stationed in a small town in Italy for a while. The locals didn’t mind having us there because we kept the Nazis out, so they taught us some Italian when we were in town.”

“Maybe I should take Gennaro up on his offer to learn Italian,” you mused.

“Or you could learn from me,” Bucky was quick to offer. “I’ll teach you some stuff when you’re working on my arm.”

Your server arrived with the focaccia and water for both of you, before giving you more time to actually look at the menus instead of talking. You decided to split a bottle of red wine and two pizzas, one of your choice and one of Bucky’s. As the night went on, you and Bucky both opened up to each other even more than before. You could easily blame the buzz from a couple glasses of wine, but Bucky’s super soldier serum made you confused. His cheeks were flushed and he had more than half the bottle, so you wondered if maybe...

“Can you still get drunk?”

“Unlike Steve, yes. It takes more than this,” he said, lifting the nearly empty bottle of wine, “but since Steve and I received different serums, they work a little differently. I can definitely get drunk. Marijuana admittedly hits harder.”

You paused as you stared back at him, his elbows perched on the table and his clasped hands propped under his chin.

“Are you drunk now?”

“No,” he laughed quietly. “A little tipsy, sure, but not drunk by a long shot.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully, reluctantly accepting that he was just as buzzed as you but not quite drunk.

Before long, your server brought over your tab and you realized how empty the restaurant had gotten. Then you noticed the broom and mop the server had brought out to the floor, then the dark ‘open’ sign, and finally the clock on the wall.

“You closed 20 minutes ago and didn’t kick us out?” you shouted at Gennaro. “Genny, you can always kick me out! I feel bad!”

Gennaro walked over to your table as you scrambled for your wallet and handed the server your card to run.

“I can’t kick you out, bella. You and your moroso are welcome any time.”

“I think this poor girl would beg to differ,” you said as the server handed your card and signature slip back. She just laughed at your comment, agreeing without saying it outright.

You left a hefty tip and hugged Genny before you and Bucky, both still a bit tipsy, shuffled outside.

“Thanks for buying dinner,” Bucky said. “This means I get to pay next time, though.”

He said it so casually and you already planned on another date, but it still kind of caught you off guard.

“Next time?” You smiled up at him and took a step closer until you were almost toe-to-toe. “There’s gonna be a ‘next time’?”

“I sure hope there is,” he said quietly, his smirk sending a rush up your spine.

“If you insist,” you sighed. He knew better than to believe you weren’t excited for your future plans. “I’m cold. Care to get an Uber with me?”

He gently grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, pulling the loose opening of his jacket over your arms and wrapping his arms around you to help keep you warm.

“Well, yeah. I need to make sure you get home safe so ‘next time’ can happen,” Bucky said as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“You know, I don’t usually let men spoon me on the first date,” you joked as you tapped away to order an Uber.

“I can stop, if you want,” he teased.

You gripped his arm as he started to pull away. “I never said that.”

Bucky rode back to your place with you, keeping conversation casual as you both avoided the controversy you were about to face: to kiss on the first date or not. You never really had any issues with it before, but you already really liked Bucky. You didn’t want to risk messing it up by moving too fast. But what grown man would think a kiss on a first date was too fast? Well… maybe one born in the early 1900s…

Before your thoughts could throw you into a downward spiral, the driver pulled up outside your apartment complex. Bucky stepped out first and held the door open for you to scoot out after him. As you stood at the bottom of the stairs to your building, you felt those nerves creeping up on you again. God, you hadn’t felt this nervous about a date since high school.

“I had fun tonight,” Bucky said first, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Me too,” you smiled back. “I’m excited for what you plan for next time.”

Bucky laughed at this, the crinkle of his nose making your own smile grow. God, you wanted to invite him inside already. In your defense, you’ve known him for a full month and spent even longer getting heart-eyes over him in college.

But you reined in your hormones and just took a step closer to him to rest your hands on his chest. His right hand came up to rest on your waist, but he kept the metal hand in his pocket. With your hand placement, you could feel the thrum of his heartbeat and judging by the pace, you knew you were both on the same page. As you were trying to shove your nerves aside, Bucky asked the one question you were hoping for.

“Can I kiss you?”

Knowing he wanted this as much as you did relieved some of your nerves, but also made the moment that much more real. You smiled up at him and nodded your head.

“Yes, please do.”

You perched up on your toes to meet him halfway, letting his lips mold to yours. His hold on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer; you gripped the lapel of his jacket in your fists. Suddenly the cold of the night no longer existed. All you could feel was the warmth radiating off of him as he held you close. He pulled back for a second before diving right back in, this time nipping at your bottom lip. You giggled against him, but didn’t stop him from taking the innocent kiss a step further. Your hands slid from his chest to the nape of his neck before tangling into his long hair. The vibration from his moan as you tugged on his hair ran straight down your spine, making it even harder to leave the date alone.

Reluctantly, you both pulled apart just enough for your noses to brush against each other, the stubble of his beard still tickling your nose. You opened your eyes enough to see the smile on his lips as he pulled back a bit more to see your face.

“I’ll see you Monday?” you said quietly, as if speaking any louder would break you two out of your bubble.

“See you Monday, [Y/N],” Bucky replied just as quietly. His hand slipped from your waist as you backed away, biting your lip at him before you turned and scurried up the steps. Bucky stood on the sidewalk until he could see the light in your apartment flick on, just to make sure you were safe.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x Stark!reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #Stark!reader #dad!tony #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic

[calamitykaty]

The Wedding Date Owen x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3248

Requested: NO

Warnings: Like one swear word, mention of crime, mention of alcohol

Y/N tapped the RSVP for her college roommate’s wedding on the table several times before grabbing the red pen that sat to her left and quickly checking the plus one box. She quickly stuffed the embossed card back into the pre-stamped envelope and pushed her chair back from the table. 

She darted out to her mailbox, her bare feet slapping against the cool concrete of her driveway. Y/N slid the envelope into her mailbox and lifted the red plastic flag on the side. 

“Are...are you mailing something?” Her neighbor and best friend, Owen, laughed as he crossed the street and made his way over to her. 

“Yes, I am mailing something, what’s it to ya?”

“What’s next? Gonna take your horse and carriage to town?”

Y/N stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed at the blonde boy, “I honestly don’t know why I am friends with you.” 

Owen threw his left arm around her shoulders and used his right hand to ruffle her hair, “you’d be much more believable if you could actually hold your poker face.” 

Y/N ducked down so that Owen’s arm fell from her shoulders as they reached her front door.

“You wanna come in?” She lifted her right eyebrow. 

Owen let his gaze fall to the welcome mat as he chewed on his bottom lip before he shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Nah, I should get back to mine… a lot of interviews today.” 

“What a shame, I have an unopened bottle of Jameson that had your name on it.” Y/N teased as she stood in her doorway, cracking a smile at Owen before she let the door fall shut. 

Owen stared at the bright red door for a moment before spinning on his right foot and heading back towards the street. He passed her mailbox and hesitated, his head turned to glance at her house before he took a few steps backwards and quickly pulled the mailbox open. He grabbed the small maroon envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie before darting back across the street to his house. 

Several hours and three interviews later and Owen found himself sitting in the middle of his bed, his legs crossed under him and the envelope twirling in his fingers. He tossed the envelope onto the surface of the bed in front of him and rested his elbows on his knees while his hands cradled his face. He stared at it for several minutes and chewed at the inside of his left cheek before taking a deep breath and letting the air exhale in one steady stream from his lips. 

“Fuck it,” Owen muttered to himself and picked the envelope up, his pointer finger ran along the seam of the seal, tearing the red paper. He hastily pulled out the small embossed card that was nestled inside and furrowed his brows as he brought it closer to his face to read. His eyes immediately fell to the small red checkmark on the plus one box, the corners of his lips falling as he frowned. 

He tossed the card back onto his bed with a huff and fell backwards until his head crashed down softly onto his pillows. He stared at the ceiling, confused as to why he was so upset about Y/N having a plus one to a wedding he didn’t care about. 

Owen was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his cellphone chirping at him. His right hand smoothed across the bed until it found his phone. He held the phone above his face, wincing as he dropped it, the corner smacking his forehead. He sat up, his left hand rubbing his forehead as he looked down at his phone. His lips tugged up into a smile at Y/n’s simple text. 

“Dinner?”

Y/N had only lived on her own for about a year and still hadn’t grown accustomed to only making enough food for herself and Owen was always happy to oblige her invitations to eat with her. He let his thumb click on the thumbs up emoji and clicked send before rolling out of the bed and shoving the phone in his back pocket.

He grabbed the torn envelope from the foot of his bed and wandered over to his desk where he tore a small sliver of tape from the tape dispenser and re-sealed the envelope. He slipped on his shoes and darted out of his house, making sure to drop the envelope back into her mailbox before he jogged up to her door. 

“Is that garlic bread that I smell?” Owen asked as he let himself into her house and made his way to the kitchen where Y/N was pulling out two plates from the cabinet. 

“Y/n!” Owen laughed, peering over her shoulder at the mountain of pasta that was sitting in the pot on the stove, “you made enough pasta to feed a small village.” 

Y/N placed the plates down on the counter and turned around with a smirk on her face. She jabbed Owen in the chest with her pointer finger “well, then I guess it’s a good thing that you’re practically a human garbage disposal.” 

Owen let laughter erupt from his chest as Y/N’s smirk spread into a smile and she stared up at him with a playful gleam in her eyes. He let his eyes scan the details of her face before briefly staring at her lips. Owen cleared his throat and stepped around her to grab a plate, the tops of his ears burned red as he piled the spaghetti noodles onto his plate. 

“So,” Owen slurped the noddle from his fork, “Have Mercy is coming to the Opolis on the 21st, you wanna go?” 

Y/N crinkled her nose and pursed her lips “21st of?” 

Owen twirled his fork around his pasta, collecting noodles before he looked up to catch her eye, “December 21st.” 

“Ah, I can’t,” Y/n pulled her lips into a thin line before letting her bottom lip poke out, “Ashton’s wedding is that same day, I’m sorry.” Of course, Owen had already known that. 

Owen dropped his fork and pushed his plate towards the middle of the table as he shook his head, “no worries, you gotta date to this wedding or you going stag?” Owen let his eyes fall to his discarded plate as the question left his mouth, hoping that his snooping wasn’t as obvious as he had felt it was.

Y/N looked past Owen, her eyes focusing on the vineyard painting that hung on the wall behind him, “oh, ummmm….I actually needed to talk to you about that.” She let her eyes move to the left, meeting Owen’s expectant eyes. 

“Oh?”

Y/N nervously grabbed her glass of water and sipped it through the straw before placing the glass back down on the table. She cleared her throat and let her eyes fall to her hands before looking back up, “I need you to go with me a-as my date.”  

Owen rolled his lips into his mouth in an attempt to stop the smile that was threatening to pull at the corner of his mouth, a sense of relief washed over him at the news that she didn’t have a date. 

“Like a date-date? Or...like a wingman?” Owen quizzed, trying his best to keep his voice neutral while his heart raced in anticipation of her answer. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at the blonde boy, “please don’t make me embarrass myself even more than I already am right now.”

“I wasn’t...I just want to know my role.” Owen held his hands up by his head in defense.

Y/N eyed the boy nervously and chewed on her bottom lip. Her eyes scanned over his face slowly before she decided that he truly wasn’t making fun of her. She released her lip from the torturous grasp of her teeth and met Owen’s waiting eyes, “a date-date…” she exhaled. 

Owen let the smile he had been holding back spread across his face, his eyes crinkled at the corners, “okay, just don’t accidentally fall in love with me after I swoon you by being the best date.” He said cooly, in direct contrast to the way his palms were nervously sweating. 

The 21st of December snuck up on Y/N and she wasn’t sure why she was so nervous as her doorbell rang, a welcome change to Owen’s typical move of just letting himself into her house. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, taking one last glance at herself in the full length mirror. She smoothed out the fabric of the royal blue dress that fell from her hips and checked her teeth to make sure there was no lipstick on them.

“Good to go.” She muttered quietly to herself and made her way to the front door. She pulled the door open, Owen stood on the other side in a tight fitting maroon suit with a black button up and black bow tie. 

“You look dapper!” Y/N exclaimed at the same time that Owen let out a breathy “wow…” 

Y/N blushed as she felt Owen’s eyes trail across her body before he extended his elbow to her. She loosely wrapped her arm around his and let him lead her to the car. 

Owen’s fingers lightly tapped against the steering wheel as they drove to the wedding venue. 

“Did you tell anyone about me? I-is there anything I should know?” He glanced over at Y/N.

“Nope! We get to improvise! Good luck!” Y/N joked, her laughter drowning out the song on the radio and Owen let his eyes linger on her face for a moment longer than necessary. 

He pulled into a parking space near the front of the venue and put the car in park before pulling the key from the ignition. 

“Just a sec…” he murmured and got out of the car before quickly making his way around to her door. He pulled the door open for Y/N and offered his hand to her.

‘What a gentleman,” she playfully teased as she placed her right hand into his waiting hand.

They piled into the venue, hushed apologies and knees bumping strangers as they carefully made their way to two open seats in the middle of the fourth row. Owen’s knee bounced anxiously and Y/N found herself placing her left hand on his knee, lightly squeezing it. Owen subconsciously placed his hand on top of hers and neither of them dared to make eye contact through the intimate exchange. 

Y/N’s heart filled with pride as she watched Ashton stand at the alter with Matthew. 

“She looks like a dream..” Y/N quietly whispered. 

Owen turned his head to stare at Y/N, a smile gracing his face at the tears that were welling in her eyes as she watched her friend exchange vows. 

“Yeah...a dream.” He whispered back to her, his heart racing as her eyes met his before the moment broken by clapping as the pastor announced the newlyweds for the first time. 

Owen intertwined his hand with hers as they stood up and slowly followed the rest of the wedding guests to the reception hall. Y/N tugged him over to the guest book and signed their names before dropping the wedding card filled with various gift cards into the card box. 

Owen’s eyes scanned the seating chart until he found Y/N’s name +1, “we’re at table seven.” He informed her and proceeded to let himself be pulled behind her until they reached their table. 

Owen’s eyes widened as she dropped his hand and began squealing alongside three other girls, their dates sporting the same bewildered look as Owen.

“I’ve missed you”

“No! I’ve missed you!”

“You look fantastic!”

‘You have a date!” 

“I do have a date!” 

Owen’s eyes bounced between each of then as they spoke quickly and with enthusiasm and before he knew it, Y/N was back at his side. Her lips tugged into a smile as she introduced him to their table mates, whose names he had already forgotten. 

They sat around the table and Owen tried his best to keep up with the small talk while dinner was served. Owen lifted his glass of water to his lips and nearly choked at the question that the girl with the shoulder length red hair asked him. 

“She didn’t pick you up from a jail cell did she?”

“I’m sorry, w-what?” Owen sputtered. 

‘Oh! You don’t know about Y/N’s illegal activities! This is fun!” The girl that was across the table from Y/N squealed. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at her friends, Jennifer and Chelsea. “I have never been arrested.” She assured Owen. 

Owen raised his eyebrows at her before turning to her her friends, “please, do continue” 

“Okay! Picture this, it was sophomore year and these two,” Leigh pointed to Jennifer and Chelsea, “ had gone home for the weekend.” 

Owen nodded, not sure why that information was pertinent. 

“Okay! Then this one,” she gave Y/N a pointed look, “comes into my room and says that she is bored. So i’m like, well what do you want to do? And do you know what this one says?” Leigh stopped for dramatic effect. 

“She says, I dunno let’s commit a crime!” Leigh is on the edge of tears as she laughs at the memory. 

“Oh? You never told me I was getting involved with a criminal” Owen teased Y/N. 

Y/N rolled her eyes but the smile that her lips curled into gave her away, “it was nothing, I just stole a mailbox.” 

“Nu-uh! You made us steal a street sign first and when we bailed on you then you made us steal a mailbox!” 

“Semantics…” 

Owen slipped his hand into her left hand and brought her knuckles up to his lips, “I don’t know, finding out that you’re a bad girl...is kinda hot.” He kissed her knuckles and let her hand fall back with his down to his knee. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Leigh tutted, “she’s not that bad...she made us bake cookies after committing two federal crimes.” 

Y/N broke out into giggles “oh my god, and I painted the mailbox and use to leave letters for them to find!” 

Owen couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she laughed at the memory. He wasn’t sure when exactly he started looking at her through different eyes but he so badly wanted to kiss her. His train of thought was broken when Y/N pulled her hand from from his and squealed with the other girls as “their” song started to blast from the speakers at the dance floor. She leaned down and kissed Owen’s cheek before making a dash to the dance floor with Chelsea, Jennifer and Leigh. 

Owen watched as Y/N glided around the dance floor while she danced with her friends. He was mesmerized by the joyful way she threw her head back, her curls cascaded down her back and her laughter floated through the air like a melody to a song that only she knew. His chin was resting on his hand, being propped up by his elbow on the red fabric covered round table. 

“I remember looking just like you when I realized I loved my lady.” 

Owen was brought out of his thoughts by the raspy voice of the elderly gentleman that sat at the table across from his. 

“Oh, no..i’m not--it’s not--” Owen sputtered and the elderly man chuckled as he got up from his table and pulled out the chair next to Owen’s, slowly lowering himself into it. 

“Don’t try that with me son,” he patted Owen on the shoulder, “you are completely smitten.” 

Owen’s cheeks were glowing pink at the man's words. He let his eyes travel back to the dance floor, Y/N smiling at him as his eyes landed on hers. Before he had even registered what he was doing, his chair was sliding back against the hardwood floor and he was walking towards Y/N. The opening piano notes of Haley Reinhart's rendition of Can’t Help Falling In Love rang out through the speakers as Owen reached her. 

“Hi, jailbird” he breathed out and placed her hands on his shoulders, his own falling to her hips. His thumbs rubbed circles into the fabric of her dress as they gently swayed to the music. 

Owen grabbed her right hand from his shoulder and spun her around before pulling her back to his chest.

 Y/N smiled up at Owen, her red painted lips parting to show her white teeth and her eyes creasing at the corners, “who knew you could dance, Joyner?” Her breath hitched in her throat as Owen leaned forward and she could feel his breath fanning across her cheek. She swallowed, her eyes following his as they moved from her lips and back up. She moved her right hand to the back of his neck, their lips centimeters apart. She closed her eyes as his lips barely ghosted across hers. 

“Ladies and gentleman, if you could please turn your attention to the newly weds, Mr. and Mrs. Corbin for the newlywed shoe game.”

“I’m sorry, I-i was caught up in the moment.” Owen pulled back, his face flushed red and his left hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

Y/N’s heart sank at Owen’s words. She had never given the idea of Owen kissing her much thought but after it almost happening, she suddenly wanted to experience it. 

“Oh...ummm y-yeah.” Y/N took a step back from Owen and turned her attention to the newlyweds who were sat in the middle of the dance floor on two chairs with their backs to each other. They each had a shoe in one hand and took turns lifting it as the DJ rattled of questions like “who was the first to make the first move” and “who is more likely to wake up grumpy.”

Y/N’s eyes shifted back to Owen, her right hand lifted to her face where her fingertips gently brushed across her lips. Owen watched the girls motion out of the corner of his eye, her nervously chewed on his bottom lip and glanced back to his table where the elderly man was still sitting. The man shot a wink at Owen and lifted his hand in a shooing motion. 

Owen shook his hands out and crossed the small distance between them. Y/N’s brows furrowed for a moment before Owen’s hands cupped her cheeks and his lips gently connected with hers. Her right hand slid up his chest and curled at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling back. Their short breaths mixed with each others, their lips slightly brushing as they composed themselves. 

“Owen?” Y/N’s searched his eyes for an answer, her cheeks flushed. 

Owen’s thumbs careers her cheeks before his hands fell to grab both of hers, “I don’t know what this is but I wan’t to be your date to every wedding, Y/N. I...I want to try this...try us.” 

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, “you were right,” she looked up at Owen through her eyelashes, “you did swoon me.” 

@straywonpil ​ @siennanoelle01​ @choppedhoundsludgeclod​ @cool-ultra-nerd ​ @hxney-bunches-x​ @crybabyddl​ @sorryyoureoutofmyleague​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x ​ @kcd15 ​ @all-in-fangirl ​ @ifilwtmfc​ @onlygetaway​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody ​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​​ @jazzyhales​​ @bathtimejish​​ @lanasfandoms ​​ @miranda0102​ ​​ @emotionalbruv​​ @aliandthephantoms​ ​​ @multifandombabies @kinda-really-lost​ @5sosmukefan​ @alexpjoyner​ @mo-d3ans​ @hannahhistorian92​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​ @i-should-be-writing-my-own-fic​ @sunflowerbecca​ @n0wornever @cherrymaybank 

#owen joyner x reader #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #owen jatp #owen joyner fic #jatp fanfic #jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms fic #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos

[bribe-the-door]

Don’t Blame the Drunk Calling [1]

the one where you’re harry’s roommate and you both have messy dating lives

a/n: hello sweetest babes!!! it’s han -- i know i haven’t been writing much fo anything for ... like a year now? but we’re BACK! we are back and kicking!!! this is the beginning of something i’d like to continue so ... stay tuned :) ily! <3

____________________________________________________

“What are you smiling about?” you asked, sarcasm lingering in the tone of your voice.

Harry sat opposite of you, legs curled up under himself. His face glowed from both the light of his phone screen and the words being sent his way. Watching his lips twitch into a smile made your own stomach churn.

He remained quiet as he typed; the clicks of his keyboard and the whoosh! of a sent text served as a response to your question.

“Well?” you pressed.

Your second attempt hung in the air between you two. He chuckled under his breath and continued to scroll through his phone, probably looking for an emoji of somesort.

“Hm?” Harry’s eyes never left his phone.

You sighed, voice quiet. “Nevermind.”

He looked up at the change in cadence, shaking his head as if to refocus himself. His phone was then turned over on its face, a silent promise of ‘I’m listening’.

“What is it?”

It was your turn to bite at your lip now, except this wasn’t in a flirty way. Or a smirking way. There was nothing cute about the jealousy you so fervently tried to hide on a daily basis, living with the boy who stole your heart last summer.

And then promptly stomped it into the ground.

“Y/n,” he interrupted your self-spiral. “What?”

You shrugged it off as if you hadn’t been the one to press in the first place. “I don’t know, it’s just my job as your best friend to pester you about the new girl in your life.”

Harry’s eyes widened, a nervous laugh following in suit. “The new what?”

“Isn’t that why you’re smirking at your phone?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You narrowed your eyes in his direction, wishing for laser-vision or something of the like.

He pursed his lips, pondering. “Her name’s Elise, not that you’d care to know.”

Elise.

The pounding of your heart sped up and simultaneously grew quiet as it fell into your stomach.

She wasn’t the first, after the both of you… you know.

There was Brie, Anna, the girl you only saw once because she snuck out in the middle of the night, then Sage, most recently Elisabeth.

And now Elise.

“Y/n?” He asked again.

“What?”

He paused, holding onto your gaze for mere seconds too long. “Are you jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous? Of a girl I haven’t met? That you’ll probably bring here for a few dates and then hook up?” The words steamrolled from your lips. “Not everything is about sex, you know.”

Harry bit back a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Sounds exactly like someone who needs to get laid would say.”

Your mouth fell open with a spread of embarrassment across your cheeks. “What the hell--!”

Harry stood quickly, throwing another taunting smirk in your direction. “I’ll leave you with that to ponder. I, on the other hand, have a date.”

You muttered a string of curse words under your breath, bidding him farewell and silently hoping he’d stub his toe on the way out.

“We’ll try to be quiet tonight, you know, when I’m getting laid.”

“Oh fuck off!” A throw pillow was, accurately named, and launched in his direction. His laughter could be heard even once he was down the hall to his room.

Maybe he was right.

*** It had been a while since… you know. It had happened. And you wished that period of absence was lesser than, but given the way things were working these days, it wasn’t something to depend on. Your own relationship with hookups and casual dating wasn’t anything to boast aboutーthey were few and far between (when they did happen).

You preferred to keep to yourself; nights spent alone with a good show and a glass of wine far more filled your fancy than any night with a stranger, but lately, you’d been feeling rather lonely. Like you wanted to be needed.

Desired.

Even if just for a moment (or hour, or so).

Harry had long since left the living room and you sat in silence, pondering. The buzz of an earlier glass of wine lingered in your head and only encouraged your decision to open the dreaded app on your phone.

Your profile, carefully curated with pictures of you laughing with friends, moody mirror selfies, and a screenshot of a fuckboy’s attempt to slide in your DMs (as a warning of what not to do), sat vacant for a few months now. There were a few unread messages in your inbox and you deleted them all. It was time to start over.

All to prove Harry wrong.

Swiping like it was a video game, you matched and matched and super-liked anyone to your liking. Bryan, Timothy, a few Chrises, some guy named “T”, they all piled up somewhere on the internet as your next potential fling. It only took a few minutes on this dull Saturday night for Chris #3 to message you.

“Hey cutie” was all that you earned from your search, and you played along, wine helping your case.

Chris didn’t keep your attention long, though, and you continued swiping out of boredom. It was then that you swiped to Aly’s profile.

It was a curious feeling, the way your heart rushed to a rapid beat in your chest. Pausing, you studied over her face in the first picture. Then the second. And the third, fourth, and fifth, too.

How did…

You tapped to the settings of your Tinder app, confused. Indeed, it was set to “Everyone”. When this happened, you were unsure. Maybe Harry had gotten a hold of your phone one Wine Wednesday and changed it as a prank. (Not that it really was a prank…).

You peered over your phone sheepishly, as if you were expecting Harry to jump out from behind the couch and cause a scene. Like you were somehow 13 again, hiding from your parents and reading Seventeen magazine. A slow burn flourished over your cheeks, ignited by the juvenile sparks in your chest.

You pressed the settings button again, biting your lip as you did so. It wasn’t as ceremonious as you were making it out to be, but your body had other plans.

Women only.

The checkmark sealed the deal, and that was that.

A new kind of rush filled your ribcage, holding back the beating of your heart that very likely could be heard from across the room. You swiped back to the main screen, Aly’s profile still front and center. Carefully hovering over the picture of her face, you paused before swiping right.

To your surprise, it highlighted in blue and showed your pictures together.

“Matched!” it said in a celebratory font.

Your phone hung in your hand absent-mindedly as you sat, sinking further into the couch. Does this mean something? You wondered. Am Iー?

Before you could answer, your phone vibrated in your hand.

A single “1” shone like a beacon over the Messages tab in the app. Something told you it wasn’t Chris #3 trying to redeem himself from earlier.

Aly’s name was illuminated at the top of your screen, her profile picture shrunk down to fit the small space but her smile was still just as friendly. Your heart picked up in its cadence, thudding prominently in your chest.

It’s just a girl, y/n, you thought to yourself. It’s just a girl, on a dating app, that I matched with.

Aly: Hi :)

Okay, simple. Concise. Not a lot to work with but certainly not a lot to get worked up over, either. Your fingers danced over the screen, going back and forth between the “Hey” with a smiley or a “What’s up?” and a wink. Was a wink too forward? What if you responded with the same thing she sent. Would she think you’re an amateur? That you don’t know how to talk to girls?

Aly: Are you from around here? Your third picture is from the Firefly, right?

You paused again, rethinking everything.

You: Hey! I am, the Firefly is my go-to. You?

Send.

It was almost instantly Aly sent a response, excited someone else was familiar with her favorite spot, too.

Had you ever crossed paths?

The conversation flowed between the two of you seamlessly, your anxiety fading away as Aly provided most of the questions and seemed eager to talk. Before you knew it, an hour had gone by and you’d ignored a few other texts to talk to this random stranger.

Harry had sent a few, one was the link to a tiktok, one of those “the person who sent you this…” (it was about food; how typical) and a text reminding you he’d be bringing Elise home tonight. He made sure to remind you that he ‘apologized in advance for the noise’ and that he’d ‘make it up to you’.

Aly sent another message, the banner across the top of your screen pulling your attention from Harry’s attempt at pushing your buttons.

Aly: You down to get drinks sometime?

The butterflies started their rampage in your belly all over again, this time much more intensely than the last.

She wanted to get drinks? Already?

You weighed your options: one; drinks with a hot girl at Firefly or two; get wine and bring it back to your apartment while Harry had this Elise girl over.

There was nothing to lose with your offer, so you swiftly typed out a suggestion and hit send without second thought.

You: Wanna come to mine and drink some wine? I just baked banana bread :)

Her response was immediate, a quality you quite admired about Aly: she was bold and brave, exactly the opposite of yourself.

Aly: Red or white? ;)

***

The moments before Aly was slated to arrive were the longest of your life. If you’d thought your heart was beating quickly before, this was overdrive. You shared your address, along with the promise of baked goods, and waited.

A soft knock at your door sent your feet flying to the entryway. You brushed the hair from your forehead and fidgeted with the buttons on your flannel, and with one more deep breath, you unlocked the deadbolt.

Aly was shorter than you, only by a few inches, but her bold eyes drew you right in. She smiled, sly and curious, offering the black plastic bag of wine before greeting you.

“Hi.”

Her salutation hung in the air between you as you took her in. She was just like her pictures and she drew you in all the same as she had on Tinder.

“Hey,” you answered, taking the bag from her outstretched hand. “Come in?”

You stepped back to allow her to shuffle past you, her coat already coming off before the door shut behind the two of you.

“This is cozy,” she said. “Just you?”

“No, I have a roommate. He’s bringing someone home tonight, supposedly.”

She chuckled, “Interesting living with a guy, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

You took her coat and tossed it over a dining table chair. Aly had already made herself at home on the couch, opposite of the corner you normally staked out as your own. She continued to look around, biting back a smile every so often.

The string lights around the crown molding illuminated her face with a soft orange glow as she took everything in. She tossed her phone aside, arms outstretched across the sofa behind her. Her smile was everything, and you almost forgot why she was even here.

“Do you, uh, want me to open this?” You nodded toward the bag in your hand, its weight bringing you back into the moment.

Aly nodded, “Want me to come with?”

“Sure.”

She pushed off of the couch to follow you into the small kitchen, finding a spot in front of the sink. It was comfortable having her here, the way she just ‘fit’ in without even trying. Like it wasn’t new territory for her.

Her arms were folded in front of her chest and she watched you intently.

Aly had bought both red and white, taking your answer of “depends on the day” a bit literally.

“So…,” she started, stepping in closer. “What’s your story?”

“Hm?”

“You know,” Aly laughed, “Why’re you on Tinder?”

Luckily you were searching through the silverware drawer when she asked, intent set on finding the corkscrew. “Just a 24-year-old thing to do, isn’t it?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you sighed, turning to face her. “My roommate and I have a bit of a bet going.”

Aly raised an eyebrow, asking you to continue. You found the corkscrew and shut to the drawer with your hip, shyly turning back toward the counter with the wine to divert the attention from yourself.

“It’s stupid. He’s … he’s a bit of a player.”

“Okay, and?”

So she wasn’t going to let this go. “He brings a lot of girls home, and I don’t bring many guys home.”

The bottle of red popped! open and you set the corkscrew aside. You felt Aly step in closer behind you, offering a glass from the counter.

“I’m not a guy, though.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, feeling the warmth returning to your cheeks. Your tone shifts, voice getting quieter. “You’re not.”

“So what does that mean?”

You hand her a glass, generously full of the deep red alcohol, and shrug. “I’m not sure. What does that mean?”

She cocks her head to the side and smirks again. You’re painfully aware of how she licks her lips before speaking, and watched intently as she took a sip of the wine.

“Do you want it to mean something?”

“Well I mean,” you stammer over your words, “If you want it to mean something?”

Aly stepped toward you, closing in on the space between the lot of you. Her glass is raised, she nods in your direction, and you tap your glass to hers. You both take another sip and she waits to respond.

“I think it would be fun, you know. For it to mean something,” she shrugged. “I mean, isn’t that why you invited me over?”

Your eyes grew wide and you laughed nervously. “I didn’t think it would actually work.”

“Wouldn’t work? Oh, baby,” Aly shook her head, “I knew from the moment I saw your picture that I wasn’t going to just let you go.”

Baby. Your head swirled with thoughts, overwhelmed to say the least. “Sorry, I, uh,” you giggled to yourself again, flustered. The sip you intended to take was more of a gulp, and then another.

Aly joined your laughter, touching your shoulder in efforts to console you. “Was that too forward of me? I’m sorry, I forget that this is new for some people.”

“How’d you know?”

“You’ve been picking at your nails since the moment I got here and talking at the speed of light,” Aly leaned back against the sink. “You’re an open book, y/n.”

She took a long drink from her glass, now half empty, and stood silently.

“An open book, hm?”

“Yep. Totally.”

You paused for a second, the wine in-hand going down much faster than you anticipated. “What else do you know about me then?”

Aly’s eyes widened, a smile creeping up on her face. “Let me see.”

It was your turn to lean back against the counter and wait for what she had to say. Her eyes sized you up and down, and she hummed a “hmm…” just for good measure.

“Shy. But only when you don’t know her well. Confident, but that’s mostly with the help of wine. This roommate? You like him, at least a little. But you’re on Tinder… matching with women? Interesting character development in my book at least.”

You shook your head, embarrassed at the impressive correctness that she boasted in her assumptions. “Mostly right.”

“Only mostly?”

“Yeah,” you hid behind another sip of wine, “You forgot about the part where I’m really into you.”

“Oh,” Aly reached behind her to place the now-empty glass on the counter, stepping closer to you once more. “You’re really into me?”

You nodded.

She took another step in. “How much?” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

You could hardly hear her, over the hammering of your heart, but your brain was busy working up a witty response.

“How much, baby?” Aly pressed.

She was dangerously close to you now, only inches from your face. The mention of you being ‘confident’ but ‘mostly with the help of wine’ was no truer than in this moment, and you didn’t answer her with words. But instead, a kiss.

Aly didn’t hesitate to kiss back, hardly leaving you the time to place your wine glass (empty, too) on the counter. She leaned into you and wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you closer. She knew exactly what she was doing.

It was just like kissing boys, you quickly realized, except this felt better. Aly led, moving her lips in synchrony with yours that, once you two found a balance that worked, made your head spin. The butterflies in your stomach morphed into something more; less about the nerves and more about the want.

You didn’t care about anything in this momentー

ーWhich was exactly when you heard the front door slam shut.

“Y/n!” Harry called out from the entryway. You heard his keys hit the table, along with another thud and the low murmurs of another voice.

Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Y/n!” He called again, “Are you evenー?”

He rounded the corner as you pushed out from behind Aly’s grasp, her own surprise catching up with her.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, quickly changing directions to face Harry. “Hi, yes, I’m here.”

Harry eyed you, clearly seeing the person behind you. “Hi…”

“Um, Harry,” you paused, stepping aside to bring Aly into view. “This is Aly.”

Aly spoke up from behind you: “Yeah, I know.”

You turned on your heel. “What?”

Harry hadn’t said anything since seeing Aly and remained quiet in the doorway of the kitchen. He raked a hand through his curls and stared at the ground.

“Hi, Harry.” Aly said, her tone laced with awkwardness.

Oh.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, Aly.”

Oh, no.

“Do you…?”

“Yeah,” they both answered in unison.”

“...know each other.”

________________________________________________

part two coming soon!

#i'm so nervous about this lmao #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #harry styles reader insert #fan fic #lgbtq #fanfic #original writing #one direction fan fic #one direction imagine #writing

[maybedefinitely404]

Not Your Typical

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort (kind of?)

Pairings: romantic Demus, Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: some language, autistic character, sensory overload, mentions of losing friends in the past, anxiety, unintentional self harm, Roman is kind of a jerk but he regrets it, food mentions, unable to eat certain consistencies, beach/water/swimming, Janus being a disaster gay, ASL, selective mutism.

Word count: 6k

Comments: Like always, I don’t intend for these to be so long. Holy cow.

Janus is written based mostly on my experiences as someone with autism, and how it’s affected my childhood/relationships/daily life. No one’s experience is the same.

Janus was always alone. Alone, not lonely. 

Most of the time, that is. 

His whole childhood was an endless cycle of make a friend, weird them out, be alone. Find another friend, weird them out, be alone. And sometimes it hurt, yeah, but he got used to it. At home, he spent the entire day in his room, assembling structures out of legos before tearing them down and starting over. Sometimes he’d build something really cool, and that would stay up for a long time. He didn’t have any siblings, and his parents didn’t give a whoop as long as the floor was generally clear, so no one ever bothered the space ships or towers or just really long lines that stretched from one wall to the other. He liked those. 

Things changed when he got to middle school. Life started getting real, people became more than just recess friends, and that unsettled him. He made a couple close friends, friends that he really opened up to only for them to leave him when he became too much. He just couldn’t help it though; he couldn’t help the way he bounced when he got so excited he couldn’t breathe, or how he couldn’t use words when he got overwhelmed by the touch and the noise, or how he couldn’t stop talking about his favorite shows or books. He was labeled as childish. It was like a label had been stuck to his chest that read “avoid at all costs”, and people did. 

So he relearned how to be alone. He put a lava lamp next to his bed for when he needed something constant to look at, he got a collection of chewy necklaces and stim toys that never left his room. After a lot of research, he convinced his parents to buy him a weighted blanket for when every touch was too light, too agonizingly light, and he needed something firm to ground him. At school, or really around anyone, he learned to control his more obvious stimming and touch sensitivity by staying in oversized sweaters and jeans. He taught himself basic sign language for when he couldn’t talk, even though he knew his parents wouldn’t understand him. They took forever to learn basic signs, for ‘water’ or ‘quiet’ or ‘no’, and both eventually got frustrated and gave up. As if their frustration was anything compared to his. 

It was going great, not perfect but better than before, until he graduated high school. Suddenly he realized he was about to move halfway across the country, to a new environment with new triggers and new people who didn’t understand that he wasn’t frowning because he was pissed, but because smiling when you didn’t understand the reasoning was exhausting. Why do people smile and greet you when they enter the room? Why couldn’t that be more of an… understood thing? I’m here, you’re here now, we both know that, so why bring so much attention to it? For once his parents were kind enough to help him out, taking him to the campus during the summer to get acquainted with the surroundings and learn the map by heart. He talked to the admission’s counselor, explaining his disability and why that meant he couldn’t be on the side of campus near the highway, because the constant noise and common sirens would make him explode. They were eventually able to move him to one of the other buildings, one with apartments instead of dorms, even though that was generally only for third and fourth years. It took a load off his shoulders; less noise, less people. The one thing he couldn’t do was meet his roommates before the year started. 

The school got them into contact, and since he was the last to be assigned to the six person pod, they added him into their pre-established group chat. The other five already had nicknames, ranging from ‘Dad’ to ‘Rat Bastard’, and he immediately felt like an outsider. Not like that was new to him, though. Except, he didn’t stay like that. When one of the group, ‘Nerdy Mcnerd’ on the chat (he’d long forgotten their actual names), asked him what he liked and he immediately sent a list of special interests and hyperfixations, the top being snakes, it was like a door had been opened. Nerdy Mcnerd was a fan of space as well, and the two stayed up until all hours of night on their own chat discussing space and their place in the universe. Rat Bastard had an affinity for what people would categorize as “creepy animals”; octopi and squid, spiders, star-nosed moles, and most importantly, snakes. Their conversations mostly involved dopey pictures of snakes and unintelligible key smashes and emojis. Emo Disaster shared his love of darker themed TV shows, and they started a couple new ones at the same time, constantly updating each other with theories. When he mentioned his major was psychology, Dad was immediately overjoyed to be sharing the major with someone, and offered to help him study for the harder classes. He didn’t hit it off quite so well with Princey, who was put off by Janus’ so called “moodiness” and didn’t trust him. 

When they finally met, it was supposed to be great. Janus knew the environment, somewhat knew his roommates, and was surprisingly excited for the new year. His joy was suddenly vanquished, however, as meeting these people face to face took a turn for the worse. Dad, Patton, immediately tried to go for the hug when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and was slightly taken aback when Janus reared back so hard he hit his head on the wall. The glee disappeared and he apologized profusely, and that’s when Nerdy Mcnerd, Logan walked in, explaining that Patton was very physical. They were over it rather quickly, but Janus shuddered as soon as the other two turned to each other. They had already claimed one of the three rooms for themselves, so Janus chose the one furthest into the apartment. He dropped his suitcases next to one of the two beds with a deep sigh. The thought of a hug… no. It unsettled him greatly, made his skin crawl. Maybe one day, but not now. 

Emo Disaster and Princey, Virgil and Roman, arrived later in the day, hand in hand, bickering animatedly when they walked into the apartment. They were greeted with a huge hug from Patton and a side hug from Logan, and that’s when Janus recalled that they had all been roommates the year prior and again, felt a small tinge of pain. He was still the odd one out. Virgil gave a two finger salute to where Janus was sitting curled up on one of the bar stools, knees pulled to his chest and for the first time, Janus didn’t feel compelled to give a forced smile in greeting. It was a relief. The small nod was all that was needed. Roman however, was a different story. When they happened to make eye contact for the first time, the taller man still standing in the doorway, Janus flinched. Hard. The man’s eyes burned through him, as if scouring through his brain, eyes so full of passion that Janus had to look away. Eye contact was only an issue for him sometimes, but with Roman, it physically hurt. Which only made the theatre major more suspicious of him. As he passed him on the way to get a glass of water, the taller man blurted out, “You’re a first year, why are you in a third year building?”, earning him a gentle smack from Virgil. He answered with a lame shrug and rushed back to his room, conceding to just go to sleep, regretting leaving his drink on the counter. 

No one besides Janus was surprised when the door burst open at three am and a loud voice screamed, “I’M BACK, FUCKERS!” He was frozen in place, woken with such an adrenaline rush that he couldn’t move. Outside, the other four exited their rooms with varying levels of annoyance and delight, greeting the final member of the group. Remus, as Janus heard them proclaim, was his roommate, the only two dwellers not in a relationship. The gremlin burst into the room, a deranged smile on his face, and Janus wanted to cry. Why did he have to be stuck in a room with the loud one? But Remus saw the mismatched eyes poking out from under the blanket and with no hesitation, sunk to the floor next to the bed, still smiling but a million decimals softer. 

“Hey, Snakey. Sorry to scare ya. I’m Remus, but you can still call me Rat Bastard if you want. Call me whatever, I don’t really get offended. You go back to sleep, I’m gonna get settled in. We can talk in the morning.”

Janus wasn’t planning to fall asleep, not with this new person in his room, but Remus was shockingly silent as he unloaded his things (he packed a bunch of garbage bags, not even a suitcase or box), and he couldn’t help the way his eyes slipped shut. 

First semester came to a close, and he was equally delighted and horrified that everyone was staying on campus for break. It had become harder and harder for him to avoid movie nights, or family dinners (as Patton called them), or days they all went into town together. In the beginning, he put it off to being tired. Then, studying for exams. Now with school halted for nearly a month, he was out of excuses. It was getting to the point where he could feel the frustration from his roommates, and he wanted to admit how much he wanted to spend time with them, until his drawer full of secret stim toys and chewy necklaces called him back. At times, he let himself spend time with them. Baked something with Patton, talked about the stars with Logan, sat with Virgil as they studied, and it was good. He never was able to escape Roman’s cynical glares that made him absolutely shudder, but he got on much better with his twin. 

Remus never minded if Janus only greeted him with a raised eyebrow, and he was okay to have more one sided conversations while Janus drew, or after a few weeks, stared unapologetically. Because god, there was so much about Remus that Janus couldn’t help but watch, even if a normal person would get uncomfortable by his wide and unblinking eyes. Luckily, Remus was no ordinary person. But the younger still kept the drawer to himself, only allowing himself to nom on the plastic or squeeze the orbeez filled squishy snake with intense fascination when he was alone. So every time he was with the others and felt the need to stim or infodump or was about to have a stress induced meltdown, he would excuse himself and leave without so much of a goodbye. He couldn’t, not in front of them. Every time he left, he could hear Roman’s quiet remarks about him that stung more than he wanted to admit. 

He’d had so many people leave, people he allowed himself to get close to, only for them to see the side of himself he tried to hide. In his heart, he knew that part of him wasn’t bad. It was just him. Other people didn’t understand that, though. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that no one would judge him, or laugh at him because they weren’t like that, he was scared. The effort was wearing him thin, and it came to the point where he realized he had to tell them. He had to, or he would burst, and that would be way worse.

It was just three little words: I. Am. Autistic. And he’d explain everything, tell them about his stims and limits and how he needed space sometimes and hugs others, and spill everything about himself, and they’d accept him. They’d have to, right? Only, the night he was planning to blurt out the truth, something stopped him. 

They were eating dinner, one of the only ones he’d attended in a while. Patton kept glancing at him from across the table as he picked half heartedly at his lasagna, distracted from the lively conversation between the twins and Virgil. The whole thing was speckled with bite sized pieces of mushrooms and zucchini, two of the foods that he couldn’t eat to save his life. The texture made him want to recoil into himself and scream and yank at his hair, and he’d learned early in life that that wasn’t a normal response to food. He wanted to explain to Patton that it wasn’t the meal itself he was avoiding, that it wasn’t Patton’s cooking that he didn’t like, it was just the texture of those two things. 

Well, maybe that was a good gateway into his big announcement, if you could even call it that. It felt almost as scary as his coming out to his parents had been. If they didn’t take this well, he might be exiled from the group. If they tried to put up with them, they’d get irritated so quickly and slowly freeze him out. He really didn’t want that. It needed to happen though, he realized. How much worse would it be if one of them walked in on him having a meltdown, holding a pillow over his mouth to block his screams, biting almost animalistically on a necklace? How unsettled would they be if they saw him hitting his blanket pile out of repulsion of the feeling of his textbook pages? Better to warn them ahead of time. It was only luck that had gotten him this far.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Logan hit the table with the heel of his hand and let out an almost guttural scream before storming into his and Patton’s room, slamming the door behind him. Janus nearly fell backwards off his chair, matching Virgil’s surprised expression. Roman went silent, wincing slightly.

“What…” It was the first word he’d said the entire meal. Patton whipped his head towards him as if he’d forgotten he was there, a sudden sympathetic look on his face. He gave a weak smile.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Logan has autism, sometimes he can’t handle the stimulus around him. Or maybe he just had a rougher day than I thought. I’ll check on him after dinner, give him some alone time.”

Logan has autism.

Logan has autism. 

Oh my god.

It was like everything clicked into place. His passionate talk about topics he was interested in that could rival Janus’ (if he would ever let himself infodump like he wanted). His mannerisms, his occasional emotional outbursts, his rigorous unbreakable schedule, it all made sense. For a brief second, Janus was elated. Someone like him, someone who understood! And if they accepted Logan, maybe they would be able to understand him, even if they presented different areas of the spectrum. 

But… how would that look? Janus had hidden away his neurodivergent traits for so long, repressed them until he felt like he would literally explode… what if they thought he was faking it? It’s not like they knew him well, not with the amount of time he avoided being around them. They might think he was lying to get attention, didn’t want to be left out. Wanted to be special.

Patton seemed to be waiting for a response, he noted. He gave a curt nod, hoping it displayed that he was unbothered by Logan’s disability, before giving a stupid excuse about some reading to finish over break and darting back to his room. Remus joined him later, saying nothing about the fact that Janus was huddled under his weighted blanket, no book in sight. He sat down in front of the bed, a common habit of his now, and began to quietly talk about some new dark fantasy story he was designing, his lilting voice soothing Janus to sleep.

Time passed, winter came and went, and the end of second semester was drawing near. Janus was still careful with the way he presented to the others. They had picked up that he didn’t like physical contact, and though they never said a word about it, Patton’s lasagna recipe shifted, kept changing, until it no longer included mushrooms and zucchini. Janus refused to believe it was for his sake, though. He tried to join them for a couple movie nights, but the constant fear of stimming made his anxiety spike, therefore finding the need to stim more compelling, until he had to leave. It was getting harder, however, now that it was that pleasant in-between time where he understood how his new profs worked but it wasn’t exam season yet. His excuses were dwindling. Like always, Roman made his stupid quips that hurt him more than was probably intended, and he’d finally had enough. 

Maybe that’s why he was staring out at the open lake in front of him, hands playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt as Patton and Remus squealed, sprinting into the water without a second thought. One of their shirts had landed on Janus’ sandaled foot, and he quickly kicked it off as the light touch began to irritate him. Logan stood to his side, watching his boyfriend with an almost imperceivable smile. 

“You guys could have helped carry stuff if you were just going to stand there!” Roman’s indignant voice carried over the lawn, muffled slightly by the pile of towels he was carrying. Virgil snorted, whether in agreement or at Princey’s expense, Janus didn’t know. Either way, he dumped his handful of lawn chairs unceremoniously onto the lawn at their feet. 

“You two set these up then. I’m hot, I’m going swimming.”

“Damn right, you are,” Roman grinned. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Damn right I’m hot, or I’m going swimming?”

“Yes.” He didn’t give any of them a second to retort, scooping up a shrieking Virgil before sprinting them both into the water. 

“They didn’t even take their shirts off,” Logan commented, picking up a chair from the pile and unfolding it. Janus quickly joined in, helping him set the four chairs into a line and placing the towels down in front of them. “Did you want to go swimming?”

Admittedly, Janus hadn’t actually gone swimming, much less to the beach, since he was a kid. He was lucky to have even found a swimsuit amongst his other barely worn clothing; how it had snuck into his suitcase, he didn’t know. The water looked inviting and it was hot, but right now he was exhausted from the long ride over in Remus’ truck, having to refrain from plugging his ear when it got too loud or maintain his breathing carefully when a leg touched his.

“Maybe in a bit. I’m kind of tired.”

Logan turned to look at him, dare he say scrutinizingly? He washed the expression away quickly, asking, “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Janus mumbled, “You go have fun. I’ll be fine, I like the quiet.” As if to punctuate his point, a child screamed from the playground, making them both flinch.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. Go enjoy yourself, Logan.”

He nodded curtly, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluent motion and walking towards the waves professionally, as if he were walking towards a lecture. Patton cheered from the water.

Janus didn’t concern himself with the time as it passed, instead letting his mind wander while he focused on a line of ants that were crawling up a tree next to him. It wasn’t until a fast approaching form caught his attention did he tear his eyes away, hearing him give a shout of “Be right back!”.

Remus plopped himself onto the towel next to him, still panting from the run, but grinning from ear to ear. As he ripped open a water bottle and drank greedily, Janus couldn’t help but stare. Water glistened on his skin like jewels in the afternoon sun, plastering his hair down over his jaw and eyes. His eyelashes were barely fluttering against his cheekbones as he guzzled nearly half of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The jut of his shoulder, almost touching his throat, taking his weight as he leaned back on his arm… the whole thing was fascinating. People interested Janus as a whole; the way they functioned, how they seamlessly picked up on little cues from others that Janus was still in the process of figuring out, even down to intricate biology of cells was incredibly captivating. But Remus was so much more than that. His voice when he spoke him to sleep, never mentioning it the next day, the way his dark eyes glimmered with hope when Janus agreed to eat with them, the twitch of his moustache as he covered a laugh at Patton’s corny jokes. 

He was art, plain and simple. 

Janus didn’t know if what he felt was romantic attraction. It sure felt like it, except it had never felt quite like this before. It wasn’t that he was asexual or anything, he was actually decently far from it. It was just how uncomfortable most physical contact made him that gave him the idea he might never have a partner in the way that he wanted. He wanted to hold hands, to cuddle, to kiss… but at the same time, he didn’t. That is, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. Sure, he’d had crushes in the past, cute boys from his classes or celebrities in the shows he hyperfixated on, and still the feeling of uncertainty had stayed. With Remus, something was different though. Never before had a crush ever felt so breath stealing, chest clenching, awe inspiring-

“Like what you see?” 

Janus flinched, realizing Remus had finished drinking and was beaming at him with that stupid gorgeous gleam in his eyes. He looked at his lap immediately, feeling his face heat up. 

“Sorry.” 

“Not a problem,” Remus smirked, having the audacity to wink at him before standing up. “I’m going back in. Coming?” He reached out his hand, hopeful. Janus took a breath, acknowledging that this was his first time initiating contact since he’d arrived, and grabbed Remus’ hand. The surprise on the other’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. He pulled the younger to his feet, keeping a firm hold in Janus’ hand. And… that was okay. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The second his feet touched the sand, it was like alarm bells exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt wrong. It gave in too much, light sprinkles of sand covered the top of his feet and instantly every nerve was on high alert. He ripped his hand from Remus’, stumbling backwards onto the grass again. The elder spun to him with concern.

“Snakey? What happened?”

“I- hmm, no. I can’t. Nope. No no no. Wrong. It… hmmmm. Can’t.” The last word dragged out as his brain seemed to disconnect from his mouth. His mind didn’t work, so focused on how every blade of grass was swiping along his soles too softly, too gentle, too much. His hands had curled into fists and he was fighting against everything inside him to scream bloody murder, because oh god the wind was brushing the hair onto the back of his neck and it tickled and make it stop make it stop!

Janus could vaguely hear someone shout, and the loudness floored him. Get away, get away, it’s too much it’s too much. The feeling of the grass was gone, and he was sitting on his beach towel, but the wind was still brushing his hair too much, so he grabbed at it uselessly, begging it to stop, stop, stop. 

“What’s happening?” Roman.

“Is he okay?” Patton.

“Does he look okay?” Virgil.

“Janus, breathe. You’re safe.” Logan.

 Yeah, he knew that. He knew, objectively, that the wind isn’t out to get him and grass doesn’t hurt and sand isn’t supposed to fry your nerves. That didn’t change the fact that it did for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it connected that they were seeing him have a meltdown, finally. But he couldn’t focus on that, not when someone was touching his arm why are they touching my arm LET GO! 

He screamed now, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His breaths were ragged and gaspy, hands ripping at his hair to try and stop the fluttering strands. Then there was a new sound, an engine, a boat, and with it came the deep bass of some terrible music and there were people shouting and his head was hurting, why was it hurting so bad?! New hands grabbed his wrists and he writhed, pulling back from the grip that was pulling his fists away from where they’d been hitting his skull, over and over, trying to just get his stupid brain to work. Come back to the present, ground yourself, do SOMETHING!

And then something was in his hands. 

His eyes peeled open (when had he shut them?) and he saw the dark blue stress ball, almost crushed between his fingers. The hands were gone from his wrist, and he took a deep breath, relaxing his hand and watching the slime filled toy slowly return to its natural shape. It was just like one from his drawer, the first stim toy he’d ever gotten. Familiarity. He kneaded it under his fingers, enjoying the comforting texture, the color soothing to his sensitive eyes. Bit by bit he felt himself relax, still holding the toy inches from his face between stiff hands, letting his legs unfurl. Without thinking, he raised a shaking hand to his chin and did the sign for ‘water’, and immediately regretted it. It was just such a habit around his parents, the only other people who had seen him break down to this extent, how could he be so-

He flinched as a water bottle was pressed into his raised hand, the lid already taken off. The water was so good, settling his senses and grounding him, like he’d been in hyperfocus before and it was dulled now. He gave the stress ball another squeeze, captivated by the way the slime moved, not even flinching as someone snapped in front of him.

Looking up for the first time, his first instinct was to crawl into a hole and die. Logan was sitting in front of him, slowly putting the cap back on his water bottle before handing it back to Patton, who was standing just behind him. Roman and Virgil had begun packing the chairs and bags agonizingly slowly and quietly. Impressive; they were almost done and he hadn’t noticed until now. He turned to his left and his heart completely shattered. Remus was sitting statue still, a few feet away, with a look of pure fear in his eyes. He sat on the edge of his knees, like he wanted to pounce forward and hug him but was holding himself back. He appreciated that. 

Logan snapped again and Janus turned back.

‘Better?’ He signed slowly. 

‘You know sign?’ Janus responded weakly, confused. 

‘Patton too. I go nonverbal as well. Are you okay?’

The younger nodded, returning his hands to the stim toy on his lap. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

“Is he okay?” Remus whispered suddenly, drawing their attention. He looked so scared, like anything could break Janus and he was scared he would cause it. Oh. Did he think he caused this?

‘Not his fault.’

Logan looked between the two, a look of confusion settling in his face. “What?”

‘Not. His. Fault.’ He signed sharply, a frustrated hum emitting from the back of his throat. ‘Not his fault!’

“Remus, he’s saying it’s not your fault. What does that mean?”

“I- I took his hand, and then this happened…” Remus started, leaning back onto his feet ashamedly, “If that wasn’t the cause, what was?” 

‘Sand.’

Logan’s eyes filled with understanding, and he responded, ‘Sand?’ as if to double check that he got the right sign. Janus nodded again, slightly thankful for the mute state he was in. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as well as Logan would. 

“If I’m understanding right, then my first assumptions were correct. Janus, did you just experience a sensory overload?”

Janus could only nod, meeting his eyes shakily. This is the moment. Now is his segway. If Logan wasn’t already suspicious, he surely was now. And he’d rather not have to explain, or come up with some half assed excuse if he was confronted later on why sinking his foot into sand had made him break. 

 ‘I’m autistic.’ He fingerspelled it, not knowing what the sign was, or if there even was one. There was a beat of silence, the twins and Virgil exchanging puzzled looks, and Janus couldn’t even bear to look at the two people who would have understood. All his fears came rushing back. Would they think he was lying, or seeking attention, or or or-

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton crooned, sitting cross legged beside Logan, “We thought maybe… well, the possibility came up in conversation before. Lo was the one who brought it up.”

“Yes. Though our experiences differ, you seemed to exhibit symptoms that are common to the ASD spectrum. I thought it feasible, but did not wish to offend or frighten you by mentioning it.”

“We thought that if you were autistic, it would be yours to tell us,” Patton smiled softly. 

“Wait,” Remus interrupted, “Janus, you have autism?”

Janus’ nervous glance up must have been enough to clue the rest of the group in, because Roman sighed and ducked his head into Virgil’s shoulder while Logan messily signed something which roughly translated to ‘how dense can someone be’. Jan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he cracked a smile anyways.

“Shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Roman murmured into Virgil’s shirt, “All the times I made fun of you for not joining us or anything, that was way out of line. I truly apologize.”

The youngest gave him the worldwide gesture for ‘it’s okay’; not exactly ASL, but it got his point across. Everything was packed up now, and Janus realized the implications.

‘Home?’ He asked Logan, eyebrows scrunched together.

‘Yes. You need to rest.’ He was right, he was exhausted. Getting to his feet along with Patton and Logan, he reached down to grab his towel, only for it to be promptly swooped up by Roman.

“I… I got it. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

As soon as Roman turned his back, Janus couldn’t help his heavy sigh. This was another reason he had refrained from telling anyone. He didn’t want to be seen as a burden, or worse, a child. He didn’t need help with menial tasks like grabbing a towel. Virgil and him lifted all the belongings again, with less complaining this time, and began the short trek to the truck.

‘He’s not babying you,’ Logan signed, as if reading his mind, ‘He’s just guilty. If you want my advice, get as much out of it as you can.’

“Logan!” Patton chastised, failing miserably at hiding a smirk.                            

“Guys?” Remus’ uncharacteristically timid voice prompted them to turn back, “Could I talk to Janus for a sec?”

“You understand he is unable to speak at the moment, correct?” Logan raised an eyebrow, probably coming off more harsh than he meant to. 

“I know. Just… please?”

The other two shared a knowing look that Janus didn’t understand, before Logan turned to Janus. “Is that okay?”

The youngest nodded, watching over his shoulder as the lovebirds joined hands, leaving him and Remus alone. When he met his eyes again, he was standing much closer, eyes searching nervously.

“Maybe this will actually be easier since you can’t talk,” he laughed, before his face fell dramatically, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean-”

Janus held up a hand quickly, as if to say ‘it’s fine, settle down’, holding back a snicker. He’d understand if someone was upset by the comment, but he’d learn to take Remus’ jokes lightly. He never meant to actually offend, sometimes he just… blurted without intending to. He rolled his finger in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“Shit. Okay,” He’d never seen Remus blush, or stumble over his words before. Not like this, at least, “Now, don’t feel obligated to say you feel the same or anything, okay? This is just, my feelings, and mine alone,” A deep breath, “I like you, Snakey. I like you a lot. More than… more than a friend.”

Oh.

Oh.

Janus was ninety percent sure he died right then and there. But Remus kept going, tripping over his words in a way that was so unlike him, and yet so perfect.

“I have for a while. I never said anything because I thought, maybe you disliked me? After today though, I think… well, maybe I was misinterpreting those signals. Like I misinterpreted today. That you didn’t want to be around me, no matter how hard I tried.”

Okay, Janus took it back. He wanted to be able to talk now, but his voice came out as another low hum, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Remus pressed on, unfazed. 

“Snakey, I swear to you, that you having autism doesn’t change those feelings at all. It’s not a bad thing, or a flaw, it’s just you. And everything about you is amazing, and perfect, and this is just another thing I get to learn about you. Any fears you had around telling us, telling me, you don’t need to have them.”

He’d never felt this kind of feeling before. In that second, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t a crush that he had on Remus. That wasn’t possible, because a crush had never made him want to break his social barriers like this. A crush had never made him want to make an exception, to stand on his tip toes and kiss him, even if the thought of a new touch usually caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Because he felt so safe, so blissfully numb, so comfortable with Remus, that he’d be willing to give it a try.

This wasn’t a crush. This was-

“I love you,” Remus whispered, his statement accompanied by a large shaky breath.

He couldn’t say it back, not right now. Later, he would. For sure. Maybe a hundred times. So he did what he’d never thought possible and took that step forward, breaking his bubble that he’d always thought to be unbreakable. 

It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay. 

For once, he actually believed it.

Janus reached a hand up, slowly, and rested it on Remus’ face. It wasn’t light, he couldn’t do half touches. It was solid, warm, real. Not a tickling touch that made him twitch, or a brush by that stole the very breath from his lungs. The positive response affirmed his will power, and he leaned up onto his tip toes. Remus looked absolutely stunned, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t if he tried. His breath caught in his throat as the elder glanced down, an unmistakable look to his lips.

Had Remus always had those green flecks in his eyes?

And he kissed him. Janus surged forward, pressing their lips together harsher than he’s intended, pulling a small gasp out of Remus. There was a whoop from the vague direction of where they’d parked, followed by a loud smack, and Janus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Remus’ hands were clasped at his chest, unmoving, probably afraid that if he touched Janus wrong, this would all be over. He’d have to explain half touches later. For now, he took one of his hands in his free one and guided it around, pushing it into the small of his back until Remus got the message to keep that pressure. He let out a small sigh through his nose, an action that sent a new round of butterflies exploding in the younger’s stomach.

This is okay. 

This is all going to be okay.

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #demus #prinxiety #logicality #autistic janus #sanders sides college au

[theladyofdeath]

The Ranch {12}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

The Ranch Masterlist

Nesta looked around at all she had done in the last few months. She had taken the run down B&B and turned it into something polished and classy - ranch chic, she kept referring to it, which only made Cassian roll his eyes every time she described the ranch in his presence.

But she liked to think that he secretly liked the term.

After making sure all the rooms that were being used that day were organized as they should be, she wandered into the kitchen, where the caterers were setting up, and peeked out the back window. Chairs were being lined up with the help of Cassian and Azriel in a long semi-circle, all facing the wooden arch draped with flowers and greenery.

When Feyre and Rhysand’s venue had to cancel weeks before their wedding due to bad flooding from the bad storm the month before, Nesta had suggested the ranch before the panic could settle in. She and Elain promised they would take care of everything. It was the least Nesta could do after being a shit sister for a decade.

Now, the big day was here and everything was going smoothly. Perhaps it was the nerves of having so many people on the land or the fact that the grand opening of the B&B was quickly approaching, but Nesta had been nauseous and nervous all morning.

Damned anxiety.

“Nesta!”

Her sister’s frantic voice sent her running back up the stairs, coffee mug in hand.

Feyre sat at the vanity in her old bedroom, while Mor curled, pinned and perfected her hair. She was drinking a mimosa through a straw, careful not to mess up her lipstick.

“Everything alright?” She asked, setting the cup in front of Mor who mouthed thank you, before continuing to work.

“I forgot my hairpins at the apartment.” She could see Feyre’s eyes welling up with tears and knew Mor would go ballistic if Feyre’s makeup was messed up for a second time, even though the bouquet of roses Rhys had sent as a surprise were gorgeous.

“Don’t cry,” Nesta said, voice calm. “Let me see what I can do.”

Feyre sipped from the straw and nodded, blue-gray eyes wide and teary.

Nesta opened the door to the master bedroom, the one room she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do anything to, and entered the large walk-in closet. She’d decided she wasn’t going to rent the room out, would keep it for family and in case she needed to stay in the house for any reason. Or if she and Cassian just couldn’t make it to one of the other houses.

She blushed, thinking about how he’d taken her against the banister the night before while they were cleaning. Sometimes the man just couldn’t be stopped. Not that she was complaining.

She located the jewelry box tucked in the back of a shelf, and opened it. She knew what she was looking for, but wasn’t even sure if they were in the box, much less if they were even still in the family. But nestled in the bottom, she found the intricate, jeweled pins.

Their mother was a rancher’s wife through and through, but she was never able to give up her love of beauty. A former pageant queen, her hair and makeup were always pristine, even when she was helping breach a calf or roll out a bale of hay. And Nesta has always loved these pins.

She locked the bedroom door as she left and hurried across the hall.

“How about these?” She held them out for Feyre and Mor to see.

Mor nodded and looked at Feyre for confirmation. Feyre didn’t notice though, as her eyes were locked onto Nesta’s outstretched hand.

“Are those...mom’s?” She asked, voice soft.

Nesta nodded. “I found them in her jewelry box. If you don’t like them, I can-.”

She shook her and cleared her throat. “No, they’re perfect.”

Nesta couldn’t place the emotion in Feyre’s voice. She’d been young when their mother passed, didn’t have as many memories with her, and none were particularly fond.

Nesta set down the pins on the vanity so Mor could continue to work her magic.

“Anything else?” Nesta asked, still trying to gauge Feyre’s emotions she slowly backed out of the room.

“No,” Feyre said, downing the rest of her drink. “Actually, another mimosa sounds nice.”

“Okay,” Nesta said, hesitantly, but she wouldn’t argue with the bride. But when she got to the kitchen, Cassian had stepped inside and was standing on the rug, staring longingly at the fridge.

Nesta blinked, crossing her arms as she entered the room. “Problem?”

“Beer,” he said, pointing to the fridge. “My boots are dirty.”

Considered they had spent the entire day before scrubbing the house, Nesta had to admire the fact that he thought about such things.

Laughing under her breath, she went to the fridge, retrieved a cold beer, and walked in back to him on the mat.

“You could’ve just taken your shoes off,” Nesta said, handing it to him.

“I could’ve,” he agreed, voice light, as he pulled her into him by her outstretched hand. He kissed her, softly. “You look tense.”

She shrugged one shoulder, resting her head against his chest, careful not to mess up her hair which had been intricately braided off her face. “I wouldn’t say tense. I just…” She glanced out the window again, to where everything was coming together now that Elain was adding greenery and flowers on every spare surface. “I want everything to be perfect. It’s the least I can do after-.”

“Hey.” He interrupted her, but his voice was gentle, the words were firm. It was a conversation they’d had dozens of times by this point. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Your sisters love you. They have forgiven you for leaving, even though you were doing what was best for you at the time. You don’t have to keep atoning for it.”

She nodded and Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. He pulled back and looked at her, resting the back of his fingers on her cheek. “Are you okay? You feel clammy, baby.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay. Just nervous for...everything.”

He smiled softly and nodded, understanding immediately.

The B&B would be officially re-opening in two weeks and they were booked all the way through the holidays. Nesta was worried she was getting in over her head, but on the nights when she awoke in a panicked, cold sweat, Cassian would pull her into his arms until she could breathe again.

He’d sleepily ask her what her “stupid ten step process for success” was and he’d listen quietly while she listed them. Then he’d ask her what she was specifically worried about. Sometimes she had a reason and they’d talk it through. But more often not, when she admitted that she didn’t know, he’d kiss her and rub her back until she dozed back off.

No one had ever loved her the way Cassian Nazari loved her.

Instead of making her feel like a burden for her anxieties, he wanted to help her work through them. When she’d snap at him after a long day, he’d make some smart ass response, often angering her further, but she’d soon realize he was just trying to distract her. She’d find him and wouldn’t even have to say anything before he’d wrap her in his arms and press a kiss to the top of her head.

He embraced all of the things she hated about herself and he loved them for her.

“Have a drink,” he suggested, cracking open his beer. He grinned as she rolled her eyes, and kissed her one last time before taking his can with him back out onto the porch.

“I’ve got to get ready,” he said, looking back at her as he meandered back into the warm sunlight. “Or else the bride will have my balls.”

“True,” Nesta laughed, leaning against the doorframe as she watched him walk away. “Use the lavender soap, you stink.”

“It’s my natural musk,” he protested, boots thudding down the porch steps.

Nesta chuckled, watching him jog while chugging his beer, heading down the long dirt path to his cabin.

She sighed, as a cool breeze kissed her face and she smiled. She never stopped being amazed that someone like Cassian could be hers, that he chose her over everyone else. 

Her phone vibrated in her back pocket and she checked it.

You were looking at my butt, weren’t you?

She looked down the path, where he had disappeared before replying. Obviously.

She had taken a step back into the kitchen, where the caterers had vacated. She had told Feyre that she’d love to cater, but she hadn’t had enough hands for the 150 guests they had invited. Besides, Feyre had protested, claiming that she wanted her sister to not have to worry about a thing, as she was now a very important part of the bridal party. 

Which she really had to finish getting ready for. Mor had already done Nesta’s hair but she was going to do her own makeup alongside Elain, who would be back any second with the bouquets. 

Her phone vibrated, once more, just as she was about to get Feyre’s mimosa refill. 

Well now I’m turned on, damn it, come shower with me.

Nesta snorted at the words on her screen. She sent him the middle finger emoji as the image of him in the shower flashed through her mind. She let that image linger as she filled her sister’s mimosa request.

“Sorry I’m late, I’m here!” Elain blew through the backdoor, a whirlwind of white lilies and lavender cosmos, scaring the shit out of Nesta and making her jump, sloshing orange juice across the counter.

Elain set the vases holding their bouquets on the table and asked, “How’s Feyre holding up?”

Nesta was wiping everything down with a damp paper towel, and held out the glass. Elain took it from her as she said, “This is her fourth mimosa.”

Elain sighed, “Oh, that’s not so bad-.”

“Since lunch,” Nesta added, pulling two more champagne flutes from the cabinet.

Elain muttered, “Oh, gods.”

“Exactly, so,” Nesta said, pouring two more glasses of champagne, and topping them with orange juice. “Go give that to Future Mrs. Lunasa and then come meet me in the bathroom so I can do your makeup while Mor finishes her hair.”

“Deal,” Elain said, and followed her sister’s directions. Nesta took one more quick look around the grounds, making sure everything was going as it should, before meeting Elain in the bathroom. While Nesta did Elain’s makeup, she confessed that she thought Azriel would be proposing any day. He’d been dropping little hints, so Elain thought, and Nesta had to admit that she saw it, too.

It was nice to see her sister so happy, being loved by such a gentle, genuine soul. 

“And if he does propose?” Nesta asked, finishing the pink stain on Elain’s plump lips. “Do you already have it all planned out? Your wedding?”

“Of course,” Elain said, smiling brightly. “Same wedding I planned when I was ten.”

Nesta laughed as Elain looked in the mirror and beamed. She turned, fishing through her makeup bag for her concealer.

“What about Cassian?” Elain asked.

The question brought Nesta up short. She froze, blinking a few times as she processed what she’d just been asked. “What about him?” She asked, applying the concealer and blending it.

“Things have been going well,” Elain prodded, wanting Nesta to give her the saucy details like Feyre was so prone to. “Have you thought about whether he might…”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, raising her glass to her lips. She needed something stronger than champagne. “Might what?”

“Might ask you to marry him, of course.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Nesta nearly sprayed orange juice and champagne all over the bathroom. “We’ve only been together for three months!”

“Officially three months,” Elain corrected. “You’ve been sleeping together for four.”

Nesta rolled her eyes as she mixed highlighter into the concealer and dabbed it onto her cheekbone. “So romantic.” Elain stared at her in the mirror. “It’s only been three months. We’re not talking about this.”

“And?” She said, crossing her arms. “You’re perfect for each other.”

“That doesn’t mean we should rush into a marriage!”

Elain’s smile was soft but her eyes were full of mischief as she said, “Whatever you say.”

“Whatever I say?” Nesta repeated. “You better not bring this subject up to him.”

“Why is that?” Elain asked, looking at herself in the mirror one final time. “And that isn’t something I’d do at all.”

“That’s exactly something you’d do,” Nesta muttered. “And I’m fully aware that he calls you for every little thing, so don’t be getting any ideas of trying to persuade him into a proposal.”

“Oh, Nesta,” Elain sighed, shaking her head as she picked up a blending sponge to assist her older sister. “It’s cute how you think he needs persuading.”

Nesta closed her eyes and sighed, fully intending to say something snarky back that Cassian would have been proud of, but when she opened her eyes, she clamped a hand over her mouth, and rushed to the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach.

“Oh shit,” Elain cried, rushing over and pulling the length of Nesta’s hair over her shoulder, and holding it back. After she heaved another two times, and was clear there wouldn’t be a third, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Nesta nodded, grabbing some toilet paper and wiping her mouth and flushing the toilet. “I’m fine, I just need to brush my teeth. I’ve been a wreck over the opening and knowing everyone will be here today…”

Elain’s face softened. “Oh, honey. You should have told us you were nervous. We’ve been available to help with whatever you need.”

Nesta shook her head. “You’ve been so busy with Feyre’s florals and she’s been busy with everything else, Cass and I have taken care of it all.” She made her way to the sink and quickly brushed her teeth. After rinsing her mouth and making sure she hadn’t somehow wrecked her hair, Nesta continued, “Besides, there’s nothing I’m specifically worried about. It’s just me, overthinking things, as always.”

Elain’s eyes softened. Nesta could tell she wanted to say something more, but she just nodded. “Well, let me get you some water, at least, and when I come back I’ll finish your makeup. Okay?”

“Thanks,” Nesta breathed, and when Elain left, she fell down in the chair they had brought into the middle of the bathroom floor. She closed her eyes to try and tame her racing heart, but it did no good. She pulled out her phone to see if Cassian had texted, which he had, but there were no words.

Instead it was a picture of Beau, the ring bearer, wearing a bow tie hooked to his collar. Nesta chuckled to herself before putting her phone on the counter. Once Elain came back, she tentatively sipped from the water bottle she’d brought as Elain finished up her makeup.

Then, the announcement came.

“Alright, bridesmaids!” Mor called from down the hall. “Come see the bride!”

They hurried back into her bedroom, where Mor was pinning Feyre’s veil into place.

“Feyre,” Elain breathed, a hand over her mouth. “You look so beautiful.”

And she did, with her smokey eye and loose waves, her dress shimmering like the stars with every movement she made.

She was about to cry and Feyre, emotions fueled by the mimosas, bless her heart, was already tearing up.

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. “I’m about to get married.”

Mor pressed a kiss to Feyre’s cheek and quietly left the room, giving the sisters a moment of privacy.

Nesta watched as Elain moved and embraced their sister. Feyre hugged her, but her eyes lifted and connected with Nesta’s identical pair. She smiled softly, and Nesta returned it, stepping closer.

“Sort of makes us look bad, you know,” she said, gesturing to Elain and herself, sitting on the foot of the bed. “The youngest getting married first.” She winked and Feyre laughed, while Elain hurried down to the kitchen where she’d left their bouquets.

She came back a moment later, bouquets in hand.

“Here,” she said to Feyre, handing her the most extravagant one.

For a moment, as Feyre turned to the mirror, once more, they all just stared in awe and wonder. Then, Nesta looked at the clock.

“Thirty minutes,” she announced, quietly.

Feyre bounced impatiently in front of the mirror as Nesta and Elain put the finishing touches on themselves and slipped into their midnight blue dresses. Thirty minutes later, the three of them were standing in the kitchen, Feyre and her bridesmaids.

“Ready?” Nesta whispered.

“Yeah,” Feyre breathed.

Elain and Nesta would walk down the aisle on their own, since Cassian would be walking with Feyre.

Nesta glanced out the window, watching for Rhys to step out of the stable door and stand next to Kallias, who would be officiating the ceremony. When he appeared, she looked over to Feyre and said, “It’s time.”

Nesta was the first one down the aisle, and though this day was not for her, she enjoyed seeing the faces of old friends and people from her childhood and high school days she had all but forgotten about. But there were also some unexpected faces in the crowd.

That of Tamlin, for instance, the one serious boyfriend Feyre had had aside from Rhysand. As far as she had known, they’re split was less than amicable, so his presence today was shocking.

Elain followed, smiling at Azriel, who stood next to Rhysand, the entire way down. Then they all stood and turned to face the main house, where Cassian waited just outside of the kitchen door. He held out his hand, and Feyre stepped out, her long, lace train trailing behind her as she walked out onto the back porch and looped her arm through Cassian’s.

The sight made Nesta breathless. 

He looked so proud, so happy for Feyre as he walked her forward, down the aisle. Their parents couldn’t be there. Their father couldn’t walk her down the aisle. But Cassian loved Feyre like she was family, of that she had no doubt, and was honored to fill the position.

The ceremony was short, but it was personal and exactly what Feyre and Rhys had always wanted. They cared more about the fact that they were finally, finally married, and that it was time to celebrate with their friends and family.

The stables had just been completed a couple weeks beforehand, and rather than immediately moving the horses in, they decided to use it to house the reception. The doors were opened to reveal long tables set for an elegant feast. Lights were strung around, and it looked like something from an ethereal garden.

Nesta stood just outside as the guests milled about, mingling in small and large groups, dancing and laughing, finally able to let out a breath after hearing their praises.

Cassian met her there, just outside of the doors as the sun sunk low behind the distant hills.

“Hey,” he smiled, softly. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how beautiful you look.”

Nesta shook her head as he took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, I know,” he crooned, nodding politely to those who greeted him in passing. “You did great, you know. This place looks amazing. I’ve been hearing people talk about it all night and there’s a lot of night left.”

“I did great?” She laughed, gesturing to the building in front of them. “I decorated and bought some overpriced furniture. You… Cassian, you built this.”

“For you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I built this for you, for us.”

“I love you,” she said, leaning back into him.

 He pressed a kiss to the hollow of her neck. “I love you too.” They quietly observed as their friends and family celebrated Rhys and Feyre and their love for each other. They watched as he spun her around the dance floor, Elain and Azriel swaying slowly off to the side. His lips were by her ear when he asked, “Do you want to go in?”

She just wrapped his arms around her tighter and said, “I think I’m fine right here for now.”

They waited outside the open doors, watching the guests flow in and get comfortable, then get served. She was certain Cassian was starving, but he never strayed from her said, and Nesta’s day had been so anxiety-filled that the nausea from earlier lingered and food was not yet her friend. So they remained until the cake was cut and they were called in for speeches. Cassian made one, making everyone laugh, which was no surprise. Then Elain made one, making Feyre cry, which also wasn’t a surprise. And while everyone finished up their desserts and sipped from their alcohol-filled glasses, Feyre and Rhysand were called to the dance floor to begin the festivities with their official first dance, though they’d already been dancing together all night.

Rhysand took his bride into his arms and planted a kiss on her mouth as the slow song began to play. They swayed back and forth, and it was such an intimate moment that Nesta could hardly contain the whirlwind of emotions that swept throughout her body. She leaned back into Cassian's solid frame as they watched.

Until a figure appeared on the edge of the parquet floor, looking for all the world like he would run at the happy couple. The fact that he slowly strolled to them in the center of the floor was almost more unsettling, so casual and cool. Rhysand’s back was to him, and Feyre was so focused on the way Rhys was looking at her that she didn’t notice him until his hand was gripping her elbow.

Cassian stiffened, his arms tightening around Nesta protectively. “What the hell is O’Brien doing here?”

There wasn’t time to answer, though, because Tamlin had pulled Feyre out of Rhysand’s arms and had sloppily pressed his mouth to Feyre’s. The older guests were appalled while everyone else was generally confused. 

Cassian was moving toward the dance floor, as was Azriel, but there was no need because Rhysand had grabbed Tamlin by the collar and was hauling him off his wife.

Then Rhysand’s fist met Tamlin’s jaw.

It was a whirlwind of shouts and insults, Cassian grabbing Rhys, while Lucien appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of his friend, disappointment written all over his face. Azriel had put Feyre behind him, blocking Tamlin from making another move, but also keeping Feyre hidden from his sight.

“She was mine!” Tamlin’s raised voice was slurred and the way he leaned on Lucien left no doubt that he was plastered, no doubt thanks to the open bar they had provided. “You couldn’t stand me having her, so you took her from me! You’ve always taken everything!”

“Tamlin, this isn’t the time,” Lucien mumbled, trying to steer him away from the commotion, but he was too strong.

“You wore my ring first!” He said, a finger pointed at Feyre, who’d run to Rhys, clinging to his arm. “This was supposed to be our day.”

The words were sad, empty. There was no anger on the faces of their family, only pity.

“I left, Tamlin,” she said, her voice small, but firm. “He didn’t take me, I left. Just like you need to leave now.”

“Fuck you!” His words were like a lance to her heart, even after all these years, but the cold chill that went down her spine replaced the anguish at his next action.

Tamlin pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at Rhys.

Everyone in the room stilled.

Nesta felt like she was going to vomit. Cassian’s hand still rested on Rhysand’s shoulder. She could tell by the look in his damned hazel eyes that he wanted to jump in front of his friend, but he didn’t move, no one did, scared that any sudden movement would set Tamlin off.

But Tamlin was set off, anyway.

With a shaky hand, he pulled the trigger, and the shot went off. The loud bang rang out through the stables, and Feyre cried out with a miserable, horrid scream. 

But Rhysand hadn’t been hit.

Tamlin had missed as the gun fell from his hand, unexpected recoil jarring him. Lucien quickly scooped up the weapon as Tamlin stared wide-eyed at his shaking hands, as if he was surprised he had really done such a thing.

It took Nesta a second to realize, though, that the bullet hadn't missed everyone.

Cassian’s knees hit the floor, breathing already shallow as he pressed a hand to the red splotch blossoming from his chest, stark against the white of his shirt.

Nesta didn’t realize the cry she heard had come from her until Elain was wrapping her arms around her, supporting her as she tried to run for the dance floor.

Azriel took off after Tamlin’s retreating form, already half obscured in the darkness of the woods surrounding the property. Rhys helped flip Cassian over on his back and he was trying to keep him talking while tending to his wound, ripping the shirt away, his EMT training kicking in.

Nesta was frozen in place. She pushed Elain off of her and went to Cassian’s side, kneeling beside his head.

“Hey,” she breathed, taking his face into her hands. He looked up at her with wide, frantic eyes. “You’re okay, just talk to me.”

“Ambulance is on their way,” Feyre announced, phone held up to her ear. 

“Doesn’t hurt that bad,” he muttered. “Do I look tough?”

Nesta tried to laugh, but she just started crying harder. His eyes were shimmery, focus fading in and out.

“Cass, don’t you dare go to sleep,” Rhys said, tearing the shirt to pieces and pressing it into the wound. Cassian swore as Rhys applied pressure, and when red started coating the fresh fabric, he cursed as well.

Cassian’s eyes started to flutter closed as Rhys breathed, “It's so close to his heart, I don’t know if it hit an artery or-.”

Azriel burst back through the crowd. “I lost him. I think he left the property.”

“I’ll go with you to the police station,” Elain said, softly, face pale as she watched Cassian.

Azriel nodded and they were off. 

An ambulance pulled onto the property a moment later.

Helion was out the door, a crazed look in his eye. He and his partner ran over to where Cassian and Rhys were on the ground, the former nearly unconscious.

“Man, when I said I wished I could come to your wedding, this isn’t what I meant,” Helion said, barely registering Nesta’s presence as he felt for Cassian’s vitals.

Rhys' hair was falling into his eyes, but his hands were coated in his best friend’s blood, so he shook it away. “I figured you’d need a dramatic entrance.”

“Is this really the time?” Feyre asked, kneeling next to her sister, dirt and blood soaking into her pristine wedding dress. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Just trying to keep it light,” Helion mumbled. He raised his voice. “Cass. Hey, man, need you to stay with me.”

Cassian’s eyes fluttered open, hazily looking around him. They settled on Nesta and he tried to say something but his eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone.

“Cassian!” Nesta cried, feeling so utterly helpless, she didn’t know what to do.

Helion glanced at Rhys. “I can’t tell if the bullet grazed his heart or if it’s in an artery, but he’s lost a lot of blood.” He looked around at the wedding guests. “We need to clear these people out, to wait for the police, but we have to get him to the hospital. Now.”

Cassian was loaded into the ambulance, Rhysand going inside with him, but Nesta was still frozen in place, sitting in her blood-soaked gown on the ground. 

“Come on,” Feyre whispered, helping Nesta to her feet. “I’ll drive.”

They hadn’t driven for more than ten minutes, but the ride from the ranch to the hospital felt like it took forever. The entire time, Nesta’s heart was racing, her hands shaking as the worst case scenario constantly flew through her mind.

“Did you…” Nesta’s voice sounded far away, even to herself. “Did you invite him?”

Feyre cleared her throat. “No, of course not. I know you weren’t around, but I’m sure Elain filled you in on the details.”

Nesta shook her head. “We didn’t talk much.”

Feyre glanced over at her. “It...wasn’t pretty.”

Nesta knew she should be asking Feyre how she was doing. Nesta’s boyfriend may have been shot, but the gun was pointed at Feyre’s husband, on her wedding day. And yet, as her mouth opened, nothing more came out. So Nesta reached across the middle console and took her sister’s hand. Feyre’s fingers wrapped around Nesta’s, tightly.

After that, neither of them said a word.

Once they parked, Nesta and Feyre were hurrying across the parking lot. They saw Rhysand outside of the ER once they arrived.

His suit was drenched in Cassian’s blood.

Feyre ran into his arms as Nesta blurted, “How is he?”

“Breathing,” Rhysand answered, but his face was pale. “They’re doing what they can. They just rushed him back.”

“How did he-.” A sob finally broke from Feyre, cutting off any other words, after she’d been so strong on the way. Rhys just wrapped her up in his arms and held his new wife as she began to cry into his chest. He buried his face in her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Nesta quietly entered the hospital, giving them the private moment they needed. She hadn’t realized she lost her shoes until she felt the cold tile under her feet. She didn’t know how much of Cassian’s blood was on her, hadn’t had a chance to look in a mirror, but it must have been a lot. The second she entered the waiting room, two nurses rushed to her, asking if she was okay, if she was injured, if the blood was hers.

She shook her head and when she said, “Cassian Nazari,” recognition dawned.

“He’s in surgery,” the younger of the two said, keeping her voice gentle. “It could be a little while before we know anything.”

Nesta silently nodded and walked to the chairs in the corner, her long gown swishing as it skimmed the floor. She sat down, letting her head fall into her hands.

When she pulled them away, she noticed they were still coated in Cassian’s blood.

Nesta could no longer stop the sob that broke from her. She stared at her hands as she cried, caught the tears that had streamed down her face, peppering the dried, crimson blood that coated her skin with wet, light pink spots. She knew she was a mess, knew she looked like she had lived through a horror movie, but she didn’t care. She would stay in that chair until he woke up. 

And he would wake up.

Because if he didn’t…

No, she wouldn’t think of the alternative.

Nesta cried until the nausea brewing in her stomach overtook her, and she dropped to her knees by the closest wastebasket and hurled, the heaves wracking her body.

“Are you okay?” She glanced up and found the same sweet nurse a few feet away. She nodded, but heaved again. The nurse hurried away, returning with a water bottle and a few wet paper towels. She gave her the water bottle and when Nesta took it, the nurse took her hand and began to wipe it down with the warm rag. “What’s your name, honey?”

She cleared her throat and answered, “Nesta, ma’am.”

She smiled at the manners, and reached for the other hand, which Nesta willingly handed it over. After a moment, all that remained of Cassian’s blood was under her nails. “Nesta Nazari or…?”

She shook her head. “Archeron. Cassian is my boyfriend.”

She gently patted the back of Nesta’s hand. “You’re Feyre’s sister.” At Nesta’s surprised blink, she said, “I’m Viviane. Kallias is my husband. He’s in good hands, honey. I promise.” She reached for the small trash can, seeing it was empty, despite Nesta retching in it multiple times. “Have you eaten today?”

The thought of food nearly had her ripping the can out of her hands and heaving again. She shook her head and without another word, Viviane was heading for the desk.

She came back a moment later with a consent form and a pack of crackers. 

“I know you’ve been through a lot,” Vivian said. “And tell me to mind my own business if you wish, but I think you may be dehydrated and I’d like to bring you back and get you fluids. You’ll still be waiting, and I’ll still let you know as soon as there is word on your boyfriend...but, if you haven’t eaten all day and you’ve been getting sick...I’d like to help.”

Nesta nodded, jaw locked. It had been a long day of nausea, and if Nesta passed out when Cassian woke up...she didn’t want to miss it. “Okay.”

Viviane asked her a few questions before escorting her back to a room. She helped Nesta out of her bloody bridesmaid dress and into a hospital gown. After Nesta sat on the cot, she was hooked up to an IV machine and getting fluids pumped into her. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Viviane said. “Press the button on the remote. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

She nodded, unsure of her voice and stared at her bare legs hanging over the edge of the bed. She heard the door click shut and sat there in the silence. She glanced over at her IV, watching the slow drip. She wondered if they’d given her some sort of sedative as well, because she knew she must have been hysterical in the waiting room.

All at once, she realized she didn’t have anything. She didn’t have her purse, her phone, her keys. She needed to call Elain, needed to let her know where she was.

She turned, seeing the remote attached to the back of the bed. Swinging her legs up and laying back, she reached for the remote in its cradle. The IV tugged and Nesta sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. She couldn’t reach the remote, not without possibly blowing her IV. She sighed and settled back into the pillows, waiting for Viviane to return so she could ask her to let Feyre know where she was.

As she laid there, her eyelids became heavier and she let out a soft, quiet sob as the day's events dragged her into a fitful sleep.

Nesta woke hours later in a panic, but she wasn’t alone. Elain laid on the couch, sleeping soundly on Azriel’s lap, who was using the back of the couch as a pillow.

Nesta pulled herself up and whispered her name. “Lainy?”

Elain was instantly alert, eyes wide as she saw her sister. “Thank goodness.”

But Nesta was shaking her head. “Cass?”

Elain hesitated. “Out of surgery, but still not awake. Rhysand and Feyre are sitting with him now.”

“I want to see him,” Nesta said, feeling her eyes well up with tears, once again. She threw the thin blanket that was covering her - Viviane, no doubt, bless her heart - and moved to get off the bed.

Elain was up, gently grabbing Nesta’s shoulders and making her sit back down. “Nes, wait, you need to rest.”

“I need to see Cassian,” Nesta said, a little louder than before. “Let me go see him.”

“Just wait a few minutes, okay?” Elain said, attempting to reason with her. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Nesta shook her head, trying to stop the tears from running down her face. “I don’t care what time it is, he needs me.”

“We need to tell you something, Nes.”

Both women stopped struggling to look over at Azriel, his head tipped back, voice still deep from sleep.

“What?” Nesta asked, voice full of panic. “What happened? What’s wrong with Cass?”

Elain’s eyes softened as she took her sister’s hands in her own. “Nothing. I told you, he’s unconscious, but steady.”

“Then what is it?” Nesta asked, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I’m not following, I don’t understand. Is it Tamlin?”

“Just…” Elain’s words trailed off as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Azriel was watching them both wearily. “They took tests when they first brought you back here, right?”

Nesta nodded, slowly.

“Well, the results came in while you were asleep,” Elain said, words coming out quickly as she nibbled on her bottom lip. “Nesta, you’re pregnant.” 

#sharacollab #theranchnessian #nessian #fanfic #fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm #modern au #ranch au

[bread--quest]

[IDs: Each of the images consists of a colored background, a colored rectangle at the top, a logo in the rectangle, some text under the rectangle, and three emojis at the bottom. First Image: Background is brick red, rectangle is light orange. The logo is a stylized orange fire with a spark shape in the middle of it. The words “Chicago Firefighters Blaseball Club” are below it. Next to the logo is written “logo by Wirspringen on Discord” Dark red text reads: “Location: Chicago (where you are from). Size: Medium-large. Championships Won: 1. Welcome to Chicago! You are from Chicago now. Do not contest this. They have maps. The Chicago Firefighters (team) have a shared oath to the city of Chicago and to fighting fires, and the Chicago Firefighters (fans) have a shared agreement to keep things chill (there’s a fire pun in there somewhere and share responsibility for maintaining that chillness. Also, no pizza discourse.” The emojis are fires.

Second: Dark reddish background, orange rectangle. Logo is a dinosaur head with fire behind it and the words “Mexico City” written in green, white, and red above it, and the words “Wild Wings” written in a orange, Western-y font below. Next to the logo is written “logo by @thr33h3ad3ddrag” The text is green and reads: “Location: Mexico City. Size: Small. Championships Won: 1. The Wild Wings are a fairly small team, and, despite their name, often a calmer presence in the hectic world of Blaseball. However, they once sued the Gods over being put in the Mild league (making them the Mild Wings), so they’ve definitely got some spice to them as well.” The emojis are meat.

Third: Dark red background, orange rectangle. The logo is a drawing of a tiger roaring, surrounded by a circle with the words “Hades Tigers” over it and “Never Look Back” under it, and a baseball and pomegranate on either side. Next to the logo is written “logo by @jrfbz on twitter” The text is yellow and reads: “Location: Hades (specifically Tartarus). Championships Won: 3. Size: Large. The Tigers are a large and very active team with three championships won and plans to win more, but they’re also very friendly, willing to welcome visitors from other teams over to eat popcorn and watch blaseball. Tigers fans can be a bit dramatic at times (Greek tragedies and all), and have been known to participate in Discourse (gasp), but in general they’re a very nice and surprisingly non-intimidating team (aside from, y’know, all the hellfire.” The emojis are tigers.

Fourth: Bright pink background, bright blue rectangle. Logo is three lines (yellow, pink, and blue) pointing up and merging into one bright pink arrow, with the words “Tokyo (kanji for Tokyo) Lift) over it. Next to the logo is written “Logo by jrfbz on Twitter”. The text is black and reads “Location: Tokyo. Championships Won: 0. Size: Medium-small. The Tokyo Lift and their fans aren’t focused on success on a splort-wide scale as much as they are focused on personal gain. Encouraging others towards self-improvement is the name of the game, although that’s not to say Lift fans aren’t also down to cause some good-hearted chaos every so often.” The emojis are weightlifters.

Fifth: Pastel blue background, darker blue rectangle. Logo is a pair of yellow hands facing outwards, thumbs placed together, with the lines between the fingers drawn to resemble music notes, and “Breckenridge Jazz Hands” written underneath it. Next to the logo is written “Logo by Skootles on Discord”. Text is yellow and reads “Location: Breckenridge. Championships Won: 0. Size: Medium-large. The Jazz Hands have a lot of theater kids and band people, although being one of those isn’t a requirement to join. The community is loose, but welcoming, and they have a tradition of making a jazz hand tower with emojis for good luck. Expect puns. Lots of puns.” Emojis are hands, touching at the thumb, facing outwards.

Sixth: Bright blue background, dark blue rectangle. In place of the logo is a stock photo of the ocean with the word “GEORGIAS” written on it in blue. Next to the logo is written “they don’t have a logo yet so here’s the ocean”. Text is yellow and reads: “Location: Atlantis. Championships Won: 4 (none since joining the ILB.) Size: Small. The Georgias only showed up recently, but they’ve already established themselves as a chill, easygoing team who did, in fact, come to make friends (and do research.) They’ve got a heck ton of cool lore, which I highly recommend checking out regardless of which team you end up on!” Emojis are tridents. End IDs.]

WOO second division done!!!!! for context, i’m trying to collect and sort information on fan cultures in the blaseball discord, to make choosing a team a little easier on newcomers. i’m very much enjoying this project, everyone has been very nice to me :)

Wild High (you are here!)

Wild Low

Mild High

Mild Low

#blaseball #chicago firefighters #mexico city wild wings #hades tigers #tokyo lift #breckenridge jazz hands #atlantis georgias #fan: gnym!! #<-- my blaseball tag lol #sondart