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writingsbychlo · 3 years

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mistletoe magic | stiles stilinski

word count; 10,490

summary; stiles learns that his cute neighbour might be a witch after accidentally getting her spellbooks delivered to him instead.

notes; I know a witch!au isn’t a huge au for stiles, because he’s had evident races of magic throughout the series anyway, but just enjoy it!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, use of magic

It had been a pretty regular Monday morning for Stiles.

At six sharp, he’d been up and awake, barely functional but stumbling through his apartment and clicking on the coffee machine, before hopping into the shower for a quick wash. When he’d emerged, the machine had just finished grinding, as always, his routine functioning like a well-oiled machine now, and he’d moved it all across into a to-go cup and left it on the counter before going to get dressed.

He’d stumbled around to find his school books and shove them into a bag, eaten two cinnamon pop tarts that had burned the tips of his fingers when he’d grabbed them straight from the toaster, and had still been chewing as he shoved his keys in his pocket and sipped at his coffee, straight into the elevator at twenty to seven.

It was a fifteen-minute walk across campus to his early morning lecture on a Monday, leaving him with a few minutes to spare, in case he saw the sweet older lady from two floors down and wanted to say ‘hi’, or the cute neighbour who lived across the hall that always made him fall over his own feet, or maybe even the kid who delivers newspapers and is always falling off of his bike. He made it on time, took some great notes, and was feeling a little more alive and welcome into his day.

At exactly ten past one, he’d been home, having gone to the library to get some study in and find his new books, and get lunch at the diner he always ate at after classes, a cheeseburger and curly fries, and grabbed his letters and a parcel from the mail slot with his housing number printed on, tucking the package under his arm and heading upstairs and back to his flat, ready to flick through his bills.

All according to plan. One year and four months away at university and he knew every day like he’d been doing it for a decade, so he was only half-way to the kitchen when he remembered the package he was clutching under his arm, coming to a complete halt, throwing the usual assortment of envelopes away to the counter, and producing the neatly wrapped bundle.

He didn’t question it, not even bothering to look at the front, figuring it was just an early delivery on the textbooks that he wasn’t expecting to get here for another three weeks, finger slipping under the folds of the brown paper and tearing it away, fingers dancing over the covers of the books, before his brows were furrowing once again.

These were definitely not his ‘intro to psychological profiling’ textbooks.

Beautiful swirls in gold, carved into dark leather across the front, Latin words he didn’t understand before he was opening the cover, brushing off a layer of dust and letting one brow arch up. The text inside was English - though, no modern - and paper that he was cautious to take care of, simply from what appeared to be the age of it, stained and worn, finger marks clear on the corner from being passed down through generations. It was handwritten, drawings in old ink that had leaked onto the paper a little, rough and coarse, and labelled doodles with names he had never heard of before.

At a glance, he would assume it to be some kind of witchcraft.

He felt on edge, suddenly. He’d left Beacon Hills to come to somewhere that no supernatural would follow, where things like werewolves were still a myth, something to be laughed at, and he swallowed thickly, looking around his apartment as though someone was going to jump out. He loved his friends, he really did, and he didn’t so much mind the supernatural when he was with them all because they protected him, but alone out here, he and his bat didn’t stand a chance.

Now, it was Christmas, he knew this from the poor excuse of a tree up in his living room, and the snow outside, and the fact that for the last six weeks, his usual mochas had been a gingerbread-spiced mocha, on the insistence of the barista who served him whenever he ventured into the little coffee shop joint, and he was growing find of it. So, he tried to be optimistic, in the spirit of festivities and all that, and texted the group chat, waiting to see if any of them had sent him the books as a present, maybe even his father or Melissa. He even texted Parrish.

Except, they all said no, and now, he was stumped. Then, as he was being extra nosey and flicking through the book, he came across a page marked with a small slip of card, the item falling out, and he cursed, having no idea which page it came from, but as he picked up the piece of paper, one of the questions in his puzzle finally gained another piece towards the jigsaw.

‘(Y/N), the spell you’re looking for is here, but be careful, it’s a strong one.’

So, the books are for his hot neighbour, the next number up from his, and it now made sense as to why he had these books - they were a mistake. It opened a new question, however, as to why you would be getting them.

He had absolutely no patience, barley remembering to flick the catch on his door so that he’d be able to get back inside, before he was striding across the hall in one, two steps, and knocking on the wood. He could hear you shuffling around inside, the soft and muffled notes of the classic rock music you’d been listening to getting turned right down to low. It only took you a further few seconds until you were opening the door, but it felt like years to him with his impatience, fingers tapping against the books agitatedly, biting the nail of the other thumb, and his foot was tapping against the floor.

When you opened the door, though, he felt like it was too soon, like he wasn’t prepared for what to say, his breath hitching in his throat as his heart leapt in his chest, eyes sweeping down along your body and widening at your bare legs, only a t-shirt hanging on your frame, rising up to reveal the edge of a pair of white lace panties as you opened the door, and he forced his eyes back up to yours, wincing as he bit down a little too harshly on his nail, and pulled it from his mouth, shaking it as his dropped to his side.

“Hey, neighbour.”

“H-Hi. Hello. Yes, hi.” He already wanted to die a little bit, he hadn't stuttered this much in front of a pretty girl since junior year in high school, even Lydia had lost this effect on him, and college really had been a growing experience for him. He’d had a fair few hook-ups, and experimented, and he wasn’t shy about flirting when he wanted to, but you always through hi right back through loops, like he was still that kid with a buzzcut.

“What can I do for you, four-A?”

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.” He waited for the usual reaction, the cringe, the eyebrows shooting up, the scowl, something to indicate that you had actually heard the pronunciation, but you only smiled a little wider.

“I know. After I introduced myself and you fell over and didn’t give me your name, I checked the mail in your post-slot. I was curious. There was a lot addressed to Mieczysłav, but then one with a handwritten address to Stiles.” You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, and crossing your arms, and while you might seem casual, at least his degree was coming in useful for something, as your body language read an entirely different reaction, insecurity and worry rolling off of you in invisible waves of tells.

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, laughing slightly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

Silence fell between you both for a second, and he couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail of your face, the way your lower lip was a little reddened, and he figured you must have been nibbling on it while working, and your hair was messy, an attempt to pin it back that seemed to have come loose and entirely ineffective, presumably from dancing, because you looked a little flushed. When you raised your brows at him a little, he realised you were waiting for him to explain himself, why he was on your doorstep, and he flushed with embarrassment shaking his head clear.

“I got your spellbooks by mistake.” He held them out, eyes widening even more, before his jaw was dropping open. “Book. Regular books. Not spell books, because that would imply magic, right? And, that’s dumb. Just regular books. I didn’t look at them, at all, not even a little bit, I promise.”

“You don’t believe in magic, then?” You took them from him, a coy smile on your lips, and you placed them down on the counter beside the door, pushing a bowl of potpourri getting pushed aside, along with your car keys and what looked like an incense burner.

“Do you?”

He was testing the water, seeing where your mind was at, and as a whistling came from your kitchen, you glanced back over to the kettle on the hob, and he thought this conversation might be about to come to an end. “Well, I think there’s always a little magic in life, even if people don’t notice it. You have to believe in magic to be able to see it. It’s like the supernatural that way.”

“And, you believe in the supernatural, huh?” He felt bad for the way he said it, because it was mocking, but he had to be sure that you weren’t messing with him, or spying on him, he had to try and find out who you were, but you only looked away as the whistling got louder, opening the door a little more and waving him inside as you walked away, and he stumbled after you and closed the door before his mind had even caught up with the movement of his feet.

Your apartment was littered with plants. The windowsills were lined with them, all brought green and blooming, even though he was sure it wasn’t the right season, and there was even a set of cactuses along a shelf near the corridor. There was a homey feel to your place, almost earthy, neutral tones and soft accents, a smell that was so calming he felt his own muscles begin to relax, and the music had changed from classic rock to some country song he was sure he’d heard in a movie somewhere but couldn't quite place it, and he followed you to the kitchen.

Rows of cookbooks and recipe folders stacked up on top of a lower cupboard, and he swallowed thickly, averting his gaze from the way your lace panties hugged your ass deliciously as you reached up for a mug, bringing back two, and pouring them both full of the herbal concoction you’d been making. On a mismatching saucer, you offered it to him, and he sniffed it carefully, but remembered his manners, mumbling a ‘thank you’, because his mother raised his right, even if he was a little suspicious of you.

“Relax, Stiles, if I was going to poison you, I wouldn’t be giving you tea made of Valerian and Lemon Balm. Do you want any honey, honey?” You grinned a little at your joke, but he shook his head, watching as you stirred a spoonful of the sticky sweetener into your own, and taking a tentative sip after blowing on the surface. It wasn’t all that bad, he had to admit, and he found his tensions slipping away a little. “It’s for relaxing, and helping with sleep.”

“It’s good.” You smiled, blowing lightly on your own, and he decided that he could busy himself by checking out your posters. An interesting arrangement, one was a band poster, the other was a chart with the phases of the moon, a third with diagrams of plants and little facts underneath, and the fourth, with symbols and drawing he didn’t quite understand. “So, you’re really embracing that whole witch thing, then?”

“Well, seeing as I am a witch, I would think it’s only appropriate.” He tried to hide his grin behind his mug, shaking his head a little, not believing that they really existed, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes, clearly, because there was a playful kind of offence flashing across your face. “You can’t tell me you think I’m insane, not when there’s so much of the supernatural all over you, Stiles.”

“The supernatural? Really?”

“So, you’re not the emissary to a pack of werewolves?” You challenged, his jaw dropping at the accuracy of it, and it was your turn to laugh at him. “It’s literally stitched into your aura, I sensed another supernatural the second you walked into the building.”

“I just associate with a lot of ‘em, but I’m not supernatural myself.”

“You sure about that?” He stilled, memories flashing behind his eyes of a time when he once was, and you seemed to pick up on the slightly sour mood he’d taken on, then again, he wasn’t really sure where your abilities lay, being that Scott or Derek would have simply sniffed it out on him. Your hand on his arm snapped him back to the moment, fingers squeezing lightly at his bicep. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“There was a possibility, once, but it’s gone. There’s a dark chapter in my past, and the spark I was told I once had disappeared when I got through it.”

It went quiet again after that, your fingers slipping down from his arm to take his, and you placed your cup down, the steaming brew barely touched, but he followed suit, letting himself be pulled along as you directed him back to the living room. You were distracting him, it was an obvious ploy, but he was excited to learn, and he let the sadness of remembering his possession fade away as the thrill of new knowledge took over. “I can tell you have a lot of questions, so, what do you want to know first?”

He rubbed at his chin, settling down onto the couch at the edge of the room, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and you were busying yourself around him, a little water jug in your hand as you nurtured the abundance of houseplants you owned. “How did you know about my pack? And how much do you know about them?”

“It’s in your aura, I suppose. I can just pick up hints of different things when you’re around. The wolves are obvious, I’ve been around a lot of wolves. I also get death, and I've never met a banshee, but I assume that’s what it is. I knew you were the emissary because you’re the only magic in there, I would sense other traces on you, and there’s something else I can’t quite place.” Your face screwed up a little bit as you thought about it, nose wrinkling adorably before shrugging. “Like a werewolf, but not quite. I can’t get it.”

“She’s a werecoyote.”

You paused your pouring, turning to look at him, eyes flicking lightly around his being, before smiling slightly to yourself, and going back to your task. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Have you been a witch your whole life?”

“Since the day I was born, but I didn’t know or start practising until I was older. It just kinda’ happens, comes out of nowhere at a certain age, you start to realise you have abilities.” You had moved onto using a dropper to give little drips of water to cacti and succulents, standing on a small step stool as you did.

“Do you have to go to a school, like Harry Potter? Do you have a wand?”

You laughed at that, a genuine and hearty laugh, and you finished up your tasks, legs folding underneath yourself and you smirked a little at him as you sat down and got comfortable. “You wish, Stilinski. It’s not like that, it's more of an earthly connection than magic. It’s why my plants are so healthy. I can brew stuff, make little potions-” You motioned a hand over the jars lining the shelves on the walls, his eyes scanning over each one, picking out the neatly written titles across the fronts. “-I can cast very light spells, but it’s not the sort of thing where you can curse people, or teleport.”

“So, you can’t curse people to turn into frogs?”

“No, unfortunately not.” He was sure your giggle was the sweetest he’d ever heard, and he dared to twist himself around a little more, inching slightly closer to you across the couch. “I can do some stuff, like make your skin break out or give you a rash that won’t go away until I let it, and I can even give you headaches and such, but I don’t like to dabble in that sort of stuff. I much prefer protection charms.”

“Protection charms?” His heart skipped a little beat at the way your face lit up as you nodded, and he was intrigued, interest piqued. “I could use one of those, y’know, I’m incredibly clumsy and often get into supernatural trouble when I’m home. Hasn’t been so bad since I got here. Will you make me one?”

Your eyes left him, bottom lip nibbled between your teeth, and for a second he had worried he’d messed up, unsure on how witch spellcasting etiquette worked, but then you were moving across the room, opening up the cabinet on the other side of the room, and inside the doors and wooden frame hung what must be close to a thirty different decorative charms. Some were dreamcatchers or garlands hanging on the inside of the door, others were handcrafted little ornaments sitting on the shelves and filling them up, and your fingers were flittering over them all.

When you found what you were looking for, you lifted it out, a dream catcher that was bright and colourful and a little odd-looking, before bringing it back over to him, and presenting him with it cautiously. “You already made me one?”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let the cute guy from across the hall get any more injuries. I watched you fall over five times in your first week living here. You’re really clumsy.”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks, and yet he couldn't help the goofy grin that travelled across his features, not mentioning the fact that he noticed you sitting considerably closer to home when you took your seat once again. He was embarrassed for two reasons, the first being that you had noticed his innate penchant for ridiculous injuries, but more overwhelmingly, the second being that you still thought he was cute. College might have helped him bloom a little, but when he had a crush, he was still a bumbling mess, and he didn’t know quite how to respond.

He busied himself with taking in the details of the dreamcatcher. Somehow, despite this being the first real conversation that the two of you had ever had, passing and fleeting chats in the halls and elevator not counting, you had managed to capture his entire essence, he could already tell. The strings were made of wool, chunky and all different colours, a mix of yellows and blues, woven in together and tangled in strange patterns, but beautiful nonetheless, and the little accents were what made it complete.

A button that had fallen off of one of his flannels, he recognised the distinctive wooden piece, and it was woven into the design, along with a blue ribbon in the same colour of the jeep that was tied in a bow, and a wooden twig tangled in it. Dangling on more pieces of wool from the bottom was a keyring he was sure he’d lost after leaving it downstairs overnight, the Yoda on it looking cleaner than he remembered, and you must've cleaned it. There was also a black feather, and a sprig of some kind of dried herb that he didn't recognise, but enjoyed the smell anyway.

It was intricate and personal, and he felt chuffed just to know that you’d made one for him, a little security and peace washing over him to know that someone was out here looking after him, completely unmaliciously, simply because you wanted to.

“This is incredible.” You let out a breath of relief, he recognised it in the way your body slumped a little, and he placed it down carefully on the coffee table beside you both, reaching out to take your hand in his, and daring to lace your fingers together and squeeze in gratitude, and you held onto him yourself, gaze dropping down to your connected hands. In a bold move of your own, you lifted your other hand, holding onto his with both of yours, and his thumb lifted out to brush lightly over your skin. “You’re the reason I don’t get papercuts and splinters anymore.”

“And you are very welcome for that.” You teased him back, and an easy kind of harmony fell between you both, your presence being more comfortable simply having only just really begun to meet you than he ever had been with someone new. It was strange, to feel so relaxed and at home with you, the way you put his fears at ease and soothed every worry without even trying, making him feel welcome and accepted, like he’d known you for years, not just shy of an hour. “Will you tell me about your pack?”

“You really want to know?” He couldn’t mask his surprise, and you nodded, excitement gleaming in your eyes, and he felt a surge of pride swell up in his system at the idea of getting to boast about his friends completely honestly for the first time in his life. There was no threat, he wasn’t showing off their skills as a way to try and ward off a threat or intimidate someone, but he simply wanted everyone else to be as awed by them as he was, and he didn’t have to hide any supernatural secrets from you. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

“Is it a long story?”

“Very long.” He confirmed, a shy laugh leaving you, before you were shifting again.

“How about I go and make us some fresh tea, then?” You were on your feet, wandering away to the kitchen as soon as he’d offered his affirmations of the idea, and he decided to follow after you, already beginning to blather about Peter Hale.

Hours seemed to pass by, as he spoke to you, two more pots of tea being made, and you’d broken out your snack-store for him, before the two of you had ordered pizza. He’d made himself at home, too, keys and phone sitting abandoned on the table, shoes kicked off on the floor, and feet stretched out along the couch. You were sitting at the opposite end, your legs stretched out in his direction, and one of his hands was sitting on your ankle, fingers drawing patterns on the soft skin there absentmindedly as his other hand was used to gesture wildly around himself.

He told you it all, confessing right from the beginning as he encountered Derek Hale, who liked to lurk in the woods, which had made you crack up as he told you about how the man was basically now the alpha, even if Scott was officially the alpha, and he’d told you about Jackson’s kanima phase, which had made you crack up even more as you claimed he deserved it.

You’d been shocked by his homicidal English teacher, and comforted him when he spilled his heart to you over the nogitsune incident he hated to think about, accepting your hush happily, and revelling in the smell of your hair when you’d pressed in close to him, before retreating to your seat.

He told you all about the benefactor and the dread doctors, and about Allison’s death, which he still blamed himself for when he was on a low day, and you’d used your thumb to clear away the tear that had fallen from his cheek, leaving him blushing and breathless for a second when you’d pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone just after.

You had scooted closer to him and stayed there near the end of his tales, tucked under his arm, playing with his fingers over your shoulders as he rambled about how alone he’d felt while taken by the Wild Hunt, thoughts that he’d always kept locked up in his own mind, never having shared with another person before.

“You really got the short end of the ‘supernatural encounters’ stick then, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart, that is the understatement of the century.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, your feet nudging together on the coffee table, the reindeer themed fluffy socks on your feet playing with the patchy and worn door knitted socks he’d had for years, worn to keep warm during the winter, even though your apartment was nice and toasty, the heaters running and the radiators on, and it was much cosier than his place had ever been.

The Christmas lights on a timer had come on, flickering around the place once the light had started fading, hours flashing by in the blink of an eye, a hazy glow cast over the apartment and creating a whole new range of shadows. “Do you want me to make charms for your friends?”

He watched you for a moment longer, trying to discern whether you were serious, and when he caught no gesture of ill-will, or hesitation, or hidden-motives, he smiled. “You’d do that?”

“Seems like you all need it.”

He shrugged a little, smiling when you rested your forehead against his, fingers playing together still, but feet stilling in their game of footsie. “I can’t believe I waited this long to get to know you. You’re, like, the coolest chick I’ve ever met.”

His eyes fluttered closed, he couldn't’ help it, noses bumping together as you both simply drowned in the moment, in what the moment was leading up to, where you both knew this was going but were revelling in the simple but exhilarating tension that was crackling with electricity in the millimetres of space between your lips and his. You were so close to him that he could feel it more than hear it when you whispered some words he didn’t quite understand, your breath fanning over his face in a dreamy sigh, and it took his hazed brain a second to catch up, before he was pulling back just enough to catch your eyes, one hand coming up to rest over your cheek as he turned to face you fully.

“Oh, my God. Did you just cast a spell?”

“Look up.” He was hesitant to pull back much further, but did so anyway, and he chuckled slightly as he spotted the little green plant beginning to sprout from the ceiling. Vines were still strengthening along the beam, and the leaves were beginning to form right before his eyes, white berries hanging between the green stems, and Stiles shook his head, in complete awe as he looked at it.

You were staring up to, eyes focused on the plant as it bloomed and he assumed you were concentrating on its development, but he couldn't hold back anymore, two hands on your cheeks, pulling your face back to his, and your lips barely parted to speak before his mouth was colliding with your own. A squeak left you, and he wanted to grin at being able illicit such a sound from you, but the temptation to kiss was just enough for him to contain himself. When your mind finally caught up, you were kissing him back just as eagerly, a soft sigh leaving you. “You are fucking adorable.”

The words were whispered into your mouth, he felt you shake with a soft laugh under his hold, before you were holding onto him just as tightly in return. One of your hands wrapped around his wrists, the other sliding over his bicep to his shoulder, before slipping down underneath, and smoothing over the front of his chest. He puffed out a little under your touch, pulling away for a quick breath, groaning slightly at the way your nails dug into his skin as he did, and then, he was diving right back into you.

Your hand slipped down to rest over his heart, the organ thudding under your hand, and he felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest, but as he pressed a little further into you, a shock like an electrocution was racing right through his body, a kind of jolt that was thoroughly exhilarating, and he pulled away, eyes wide as he stared at you.

You looked just as shocked as he expected he did too, his hands dropped down as he watched sparks and electricity crackle between your fingers and his, your brows raising at him. “Thought you said you had no magic left after.. y’know..”

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from it, your fingers weaving with his, a loud snapping sounding as a particularly bright flare went off, and he flinched a little, jaw dropping and a whine slipping from him as you contained it all the sight disappeared before his eyes. “So, there really are sparks flying between us, huh?”

He regretted the words the moment he’d said them, expecting to see on your face the same kind he’d always gotten from Malia or Lydia when he made those kinds of cheesy puns that only he enjoyed, even Scott daring to fix him with a bored or blank look, and Derek would simply glare, but much to his surprise, you laughed. It was fond, with a roll of your eyes and a huff to preempt it, but you laughed nonetheless, and he felt himself somehow manage to brighten even further. “That was cheesy.”

“I know.” He beamed, shifting a little, hands sinking down to your hips to pull you closer to himself as he settled back into the couch, and your hand pressed to the cushions beside his head, the other one coming up to weave into his hair lightly.

“I loved it. I am quite a fan of puns.”

“That’s good, because I usually have a lot of them.” He leaned up, daring himself to be bold enough to close that gap once again, and he could feel your lashes tickling his cheeks as you nuzzled into him a little more. “If I kiss you again, will those sparks happen this time, too?”

“If I stop controlling it, they will.”

“Stop controlling it, sweetheart.” He felt you move to nod your affirmations, but dipped his head in time, proud of his own reflexes as he caught your lips, feeling the hand in his hair tighten, and he was so glad he’d decided to grow it out all those years ago, because right now, he was losing all sense of himself in the way your nails would scratch across his scalp, or the delicious burning that flared over his skin for a split second when you pulled on his hair, before you were rubbing it softly, fingers working in tandem timing with your lips, teasing over his own.

That same feeling took up, a sparking that felt like fireworks, like energy surging through him, escaping at his fingertips in every place that he touched you, one palm smoothing along your back to somewhere that was definitely too lose to be respectable, as the other held onto your cheek still. You were taking control, your tongue darting out to trace over his lower lip, bribing him to part them but he needed no convincing, letting your tongue meet his own only a second after you’d made the request, equally breathy and needy noises escaping you both at the slow and wet drag of the muscles over one another.

His lungs were burning, lips beginning to sting as his assault on your mouth continued, his neck straining to hold this angle, and yet the more you kissed him, the more that the hazy feeling of getting to be with you like this raced through his body was the more he became addicted to needing more, chasing a high that he didn’t even know he wanted until now, like an addict finding his next hit.

You seemed to pick up on it all, as though you’d read all of his thoughts, because the second he’d had the lingering thoughts, you were settling yourself across his lap, a leg on either side of his own as you seated yourself down, and he couldn't help the way his hips bucked up a little to meet you, or the way his hand slid down fully to rest on your ass.

After all, as much as he’d gone through the make him grow up emotionally, physically he was still a horny-teen college boy, and you were one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, sitting half-naked in his lap and sucking on his lower lap while doing something with your tongue that was making him feel like he couldn't even breathe properly for how aroused he was.

Maybe you could feel the growing erection underneath of you, maybe you couldn't, but he’d stopped caring about being embarrassed around you about three hours ago when he’d had to tell you all about the time he’d once dropped a condom in Coach’s class in front of the entire classroom, and you’d laughed so much your face had gone red and you’d hidden it form him by pressing into his shoulder.

You were something he felt like he was dreaming up, like any moment now he’d wake up in a small puddle of his own drool with his face pressed into the desk of his lecture hall, the lights turned out and another note left by his kind professor to get more sleep at home, and to lock up when he left, before you were giggling a little at him, pulling away and stealing a few more pecks as you did, and he wondered if you really could read his mind, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Are you reading my mind or something?”

He felt stupid even as he mumbled te words, especially when it only seemed to heighten your entertainment, but you shook your head. “I can’t read your mind, I can just kinda’ sense your mood, I guess. It’s the connection, you were clearly thinking something funny, and I don’t know what it was, but I got a sudden rush of amusement.”

“That’s pretty fucking incredible.” He whispered, letting you peck his mouth a few more times, simply sitting there with puckered lips as he tried not to smile too much, before he was tucking hair away behind your ears and finally you were opening your eyes, and at this point, he really should learn to stop being surprised by new developments with you. “Holy shit, your eyes are glowing!”

“So are yours.” You winked, the bright purple being a shade that was so captivating and beautiful on you that he couldn’t look away, even when you leaned away from him to grab his phone, raising it up to snap a picture for him, and forcing his gaze down to it. Much like you’d said, his eyes were beginning to hint in with a faint purple, the neon shading beginning to drip into his irises and take over from the usual golden-brown that resided there. “You never made out with another witch before?”

He pinched at your ass for your cheeky comment, taking his phone and throwing it away to the side, grinning when you yelped at his painless attack. “I didn’t even know witches really existed before today. Besides, what makes you think I'm one? I had a spark once, but as I said, that died out. Nothing truly magical.”

“I don’t know, you’re having a pretty strong connection with me right now, aren’t you?” Your arms looped around his neck, snuggling in a little closer to him, and he bit back a groan as you shuffled in his lap. “I think you’re underestimating yourself, you just don’t know how to tap into your magic, you have to believe in it to see it.”

“You really think so?”

He was vulnerable and he knew it showed, he’d gone his entire life being unsure as to where all his energy and twitching came from, as to why he’d always felt a draw to the earth; the preserve and the woods, and justice and balance, and why he’d somehow fit into a supernatural world with far more elegance and ease than he ever had the normal one, and maybe this was the explanation. “I really do, Stiles.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I would love to.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then to the spot below your ear, before flicking his tongue out a little to drag over the sensitive patch that lay there, before moving down your neck. He didn’t want to mark you without your consent, he wasn’t sure what was going to come of all of this and where it would go, but he was more than happy to lick and bite lightly at your skin, finding the sweet spot that made your hips roll down into his own and a sound of need and desperation to leave you that was like music to his ears, before his hips were bucking up to meet you once again.

“Y’know when you said that you could feel what I was feeling?”

“Uh-huh?” You were distracted, your reply seeming somewhat faded and distant, and he chuckled lightly, before making his way back up to your mouth now that you’d both had a chance to catch your breaths once again.

“Does that mean everything?”

“Are you asking if I know just how much you want to fuck me right now? Because yes, I do know.” He choked a little on his breath, your hand in his hair pulling his head back so that you could meet his gaze, your lower lip held between you teeth, flesh going a darker pink, and he longed to be the one biting that lip for you. “Trust me, the sentiment is returned.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah.” He wasn’t used to women being so confident with wanting him, being so unashamed of it, or of even wanting him at all. Most of his hook-ups had been slightly drunk make-outs and sloppy grinding, or booty calls and meetings in closets at parties. He got more action than he ever did in high school, he’d finally grown into his limbs and his looks, but that didn’t take away the surprise that still happened every time someone as pretty as you even offered him the time of day.

“Like, right here? Right now?”

“Been thinking about how much I want to ride you on my couch for like an hour and a half, now.” Stiles couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up in his throat, lips parting as you ran a finger over his swollen lips, a cheeky glint flashing over purple eyes as you looked at him.

“You might just be perfect for me.”

“I like the sound of that.”

A toothy smile was offered to you, before he was pulling you back in towards him, hands slipping down to lay resting on your thighs as soon as your lips had found his once again. The heat seemed to have passed, and while the kiss was still completely intoxicating, there was something a little more tender about it, too. It wasn’t nearly as rushed and frantic, the sloppy kisses you’d shared as you learned one another’s ticks had passed, and as your lips worked slowly with his own, Stiles found that he much preferred this kind of kiss.

This was the kind of kiss that he could picture himself sharing with you in many settings. A sleepy, early morning kiss, when you were still between the land of consciousness and the realm of unconsciousness. Or, late nights, when he’d fall asleep while studying, and he would let you drag him to his feet and to bed. Or, simply when he would finish a lecture, or get you coffee, or meet you for dinner. The point was, Stiles already knew he wanted to kiss you at all times of the day, and to hold onto you, and to watch you brew little spells at the stove while holding onto you from behind.

Your lips were wet when you pulled away, eyes sparkling as you looked at him, a bright shade of royal purple, like silk and rich violet on flower petals, and you looked utterly ethereal. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?”

“You’re sweet-talking me.” You teased, bumping the tip of your nose against his, and he shook his head.

“No, I’m not, I’m just being honest with you. I’ve been into you for a long time, even if I didn’t quite have my mind in the right place to actually say it.” You huffed out a little laugh, your eyes averting from his own so that you could try and hide your bashful little expression, but he didn’t miss it.

“Well, I’ve been admiring you a little, too. I should’ve had my deliveries sent to you sooner, if I knew it was going to end like this.” As if to punctuate your words, you rolled your hips down into his, reminding him of the solid erection pressing into his jeans, his fingers digging a little firmer into your skin, and he pushed your shirt up higher, the soft cotton of your panties revealed to him.

“These are just fucking sinful. Do you normally wander around your house in underwear and band-tees?” He tugged at it a little, before daring to tuck his hand underneath the fabric, trailing up, and a poorly-concealed groan left him as he found no further obstructions, fingers closing over one of your breasts, squeezing lightly as he palmed at your chest. “Well, clearly not all of your underwear.”

“I tend to, I keep it warm in here, for all the plants.” Your back arched up into his hand, one of your own closing over his outside of your shirt, as your other held onto his shoulder, fingers leaving crescent-moon shaped marks he was sure, and the rocking of your hips into his own only seemed to increase.

“I’d love to see you in one of my flannels sometime, just like this.”

“Give me your shirt and you’ll see it sooner than you think.” You teased, his brows raising, before he was pulling his hands back just long enough to lean into you, stripping the garment off as best as he could, leaving him in a thin black t-shirt as you took the item from him. He wanted to whine out as you stood up, choosing instead to replace the pressure of your core over his with his hand instead, palming at his cock through the thick denim, and you grinned as you watched him, yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

You stood before him, draping his shirt across his spread knees as he slumped further into the cushions, getting himself comfortable and popping the button on his jeans, swollen lower lip being nibbled as you played with the hem of your shirt. Your hips were swinging to the beat of the song, and then, you raised the garment up and over your head, letting it drop away to the carpet, his jaw dropping as he looked at you.

You picked up his flannel, pulling it up your arms, and leaving it open at the front, just barely covering your tits. You were an angel and also the devil, tempting him to do so many wrong things. Stretching his hands out toward you, he beckoned you back into his lap, an act you were more than happy to take as you bounded over to him, a pep on your few short steps, before you were settling back into his lap.

“Perfect.”

He let his hands find the flaps of the flannel, pulling it open wide enough to be able to admire your tits fully, letting you push your hair back away from your shoulders for his unobstructed view. Sealing one hand around your waist, he dragged you up closer, until you were almost pressed to him fully, before dipping his head down. His tongue dragged over a hardened nipple, taking the taut peak into his mouth and sucking harshly, as your hand wound into his hair. You tugged, roughly, a groan that vibrated along your entire body leaving him and making you shiver, and you made the prettiest little noises above him.

He switches sides, making sure to give the other half of your chest that same kind of attention, leaving wet marks and stinging watches along your skin that would become bright purple marks in the morning to match the colour of your eyes, and he just hoped you kept him around long enough to see them when they did become beautiful and prominent. He wanted to see his good work, he wanted to see the way he got to mark you up and leave his touch all over your body.

“Stiles..”

“I do love how you sound moaning my name, princess, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last when you're making noises like that and grinding yourself all over my cock like this.” You grinned, letting him kiss his way back up your chest and throat until he was taking your lips with his own. Your hands were moving down, tugging at his zipper as far as it would go, hid hips bucking up into his hand as he felt you drag a nail along his covered erection, breathy sounds between you both when you pulled away.

He only had to lift himself up for a moment, before you were tugging at his jeans, helping him to get them just far enough down his thighs for his boxers to be able to follow. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard and desperate for you, leaking precum along his skin, and he gave himself some form of relief. You were watching him, eyes wide as he pumped his length in one hand, the other dipping under your skirt rubbing over your core, and you bundled up your shirt for him.

“Y’know, all those times I thought about us, a quick fuck on your couch wasn’t how I had wanted our first time to be, but then again, I didn’t expect the cute chick across the hall to be a witch, wither, so..”

He used his thumb to drag your panties to the side, your sodden folds revealed to him, and he slipped two fingers into your dripping core with ease. “I’ll let you take it slow next time, I swear, but right now, I’d really like it if you’d fuck me.”

He could only nod, heart skipping a beat at the promise of another time. Your legs shifted, muscles clenching as he forced himself to take his touch away from your core and bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your sweet essence from the thin digits. As you leaned over him, he was sure to line himself up, and then, you were sinking down onto him, your forehead flailing to his as your mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispered the words, a little breathless and hanging on the edge of his orgasm already, and you seemed just as close, because as you finally sank all the way down and settled into his lap again, he could feel every pulse within your walls as you hugged around him.

It took him a moment, staving off his climax so that he didn’t come just from getting to feel you like this, and you looped your arms around his neck gently to find your purchase. Your nails were scratching lightly at the hairs at the base of his neck, his flannel once again flapping around you, panties pushed to the side to let him have access to your centre, and it was deliciously filthy.

Once you were settled, you circled your hips, a test movement, pleasure spiking in both of your systems and it felt like the temperature in the room was shooting upwards. Stiles could already feel sweat beginning to bead along his skin in a thin layer, and you pressed yourself in closer to him. Each time you shifted your hips you were moving a little more, every rock of your body into his, you were pulling yourself up just a little higher to be able to drop yourself back down onto his cock, stretching and squeezing around him.

You felt like velvet, slick and warm as you sheathed around him. You were precise and deliberate, and he couldn't help the wonton sounds that were leaving you with every drop down onto his cock, before you were taking him up to see stars every time, leaving the both of you resting in the clouds. Panted breaths, a scream in the back of your throat that tried to break out each time as you gave him broken moans of his name, picking up your pace further and further each time.

Once you were stable above him, you were moving with purpose, fast and quick as you rode him, gaining more confidence each time, and he was gripping you so tightly that there would be fingerprints all over your hips in the morning. He helped you go, lifting you up each time, only to pull you back down into his lap, thrusting up with a weak effort to meet you, but feeling you go wild each time. That same energy was back, crackling with more force, surging through him like nothing he had ever felt.

Stiles was in college, he was away from home and the weight of being the Sheriff’s kid for the first time, and he had experimented. He’d gotten drunk, and high, and hungover, but this was a whole new kind of thrill; it was like lighting up with fireworks and adrenaline all at once, like creating a bond with another person, and a tingling spread throughout his entire body as your magic bonded with his own. He hadn't felt this kind of singing in his blood since the day he’d managed to finish the circle with the mountain ash back when he was only sixteen, or breaking through the wild hunt barrier at almost eighteen.

These kind of thrills were rare for him, but they’d never been this strong, and as the two of you moved as one in the most intimate way that two people could, your mouth coming up to claim his as you silenced yourself and him, growing louder and more desperate as you went, he felt that final high beginning to build.

“‘M so close, honey.” His voice had taken on that same kind of scratchy rasp that he had in the mornings before he even broke into his day, “Oh, God, keep goin’.”

He knew his words were beginning to grow slurred, and he could barely buck his hips up into you. As everything within his body began to light up, he felt like all of his muscles were going lifeless, his body going boneless, because the heat was consuming him. He couldn't hold it back, he’d been waiting for so long to feel you this way, and his lips could barely even move back against your own as he went slack-jawed, exploding within your tight heat.

The send that he was shooting over the edge, you were following right after him, crying out his name into his mouth as you kept going against him, until you couldn't clumping down into his body as you trembled, and Stiles felt as though you’d milked absolutely everything from him that he had to offer. There was a crackling along his skin from everywhere that your fingertips smoothed over, sliding down from his shoulders so that you could press your cheek to the spot instead, fanning breaths rushing over his neck as you tried to catch your breath, racing heart just like his was.

You didn’t even bother to move from him, letting him throb within your walls with each flutter you made and each shift, and if you kept it up, he was sure he’d be ready for a second round, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he had that in him. Resting his head back against the edge of the couch, he let you lift yourself up and off of him finally, your legs shaking as you stood, offering him a weak smile as he took in your through fucked out state, before taking wobbly steps away from him, and disappearing down the hall.

He heard a door close, assuming you’d gone to the bathroom, and he leaned over to the coffee table to snatch up a few tissues, to clean himself up with, before sorting himself out too. He did the bare minimum, not even bothering to do up his jeans once he had them pulled back up, but he stretched out along the length of the couch to lay down, an arm popped under his head, and a little laugh on his lips as he did.

He took a moment to glance around, not missing the way that the plants all seemed to be blooming particularly beautifully, seeming more alive than ever. As he lifted up a hand before his face, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together, a spark travelled between the tips, and he felt a little in awe just at the sight of it.

“It's pretty incredible, right?”

He startled, jumping a little, before turning to look at you and propping himself up on his elbows as you lingered in the doorway. You had changed, your hair pulled back and out of your face, missing a few odd strands and you’d buttoned up his flannel along your body, mismatched and hanging unevenly, but still adorable. You took slower steps over to him, waiting for a second as you stood beside him, before he was lifting his arms and making it clear to you that you could lay with him, a smile gracing both of your faces as you flattened yourself along him, cheek pressed over his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You like feeling your magic, then?”

He lifted his palm, holding it to yours and admiring the final dying flares he saw, as the energy began to dissipate and absorb into his body and yours fully. “I’m not used to feeling special myself. I’ve always been a behind the scenes, research, kinda’ guy. I’m not used to being one of the main players.”

“Oh, hush. You told me your story, you were most definitely a key player, Stiles.” He shrugged under you, letting you cross your arms over his chest and prop your chin on them.

“Yeah, but I never really felt that way, and now I feel like I have something to offer.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his jaw with a sweet kiss, and he felt like he could most definitely get used to this feeling. Can I meet them?”

“My pack?”

You nodded, seeming a little shy now, and joy raced through him at the fact that you saw enough of a future with him to want to meet his friends an get to know them, and to once again be able to be completely open and honest with everyone, never having to hide anything from anyone, and being able to let you fully and wholly into his life. It was a surprise, because the more he’d thought about his future late at night when lying alone in his bed, he was so sure he’d never be able to really settle down, because he could never let someone in on his life in every single way, but with you, that wasn’t a problem.

“I would absolutely love that.”

“Really?” You were studying him carefully, trying to ensure that he was telling the truth, and he gave you the most honey look that he possibly could, before lifting his head to meet your lips as he leaned in.

Soft and delicate, like a kiss that was shared between deep romance and longtime lovers, and he rested a hand on your cheek, holding you to him, and rolling you to the side, to sandwich you between the couch and his body Your thigh came up to rest over his legs, his palm slipping from your face to rest on your leg, drawing patterns on the skin until you pulled away to breathe, lips detaching from his as you whined a little. You stayed close, though, a soft look etched onto your features;

“I just want to meet a few more supernatural people, and get to know others who I don’t have to hide from.”

“Well, you definitely don’t have to hide from them, and you’ll love them, just as much as they’ll love you. We’re a pretty odd group, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right about that ‘odd bunch’ thing. I’ve never met a banshee, or a - what did you call it? - werecoyote.” That was an undeniable truth, your head coming back down to rest on his chest as he shrugged, unable to deny that you were right. “Your wolves sound nice, too. All the other wolves I’ve met have been overly territorial and closed off.”

“Well, Derek used to be like that, but we’ve pulled him around a little. He is still broody, though.” You laughed at his joke, a sound that made his heart burst open slightly and bleed with affection, all for you, as you continued to take more and more pieces of his heart with every act, and he was falling in love with you faster than he’d ever known was possible. “Don’t take notice of any of his lurking, by the way, it’s his twisted way of showing concern and care.”

“I’ll remember that, and if I ever catch him hiding behind a tree, I’ll know that it’s real friendship.”

“He does that, I’m serious, don’t underestimate him. I think my dad arrested him for stalking, once.”

“I think your dad would be who I am most scared to meet.” A fond tone in your voice, before he was pressing a kiss to your forehead, humming under his breath.

“He’ll love you the most, don’t worry.”

Silence fell between you both then, and he busied himself with tracing illegible drawings into your skin, simply enjoying feeling so close to you. It was irrationally domestic, and you were the final piece in his college life and college experience that was missing. Despite not being a wolf, he was unequivocally part of a wolf pack, and being surrounded so closely by such a tight-knit group of friends for those years had made him dependent on company and reliability, and he had been feeling so alone since leaving for college.

Scott had Malia, Lydia had rekindled things with Jordan, and even Derek had been (begrudgingly, to begin) hooked up with a deputy by his father, and they’d been on a few dates.

The last time he’d been home, he’d felt like a fifth, seventh, or was it ninth wheel, when Liam and Hayden were taken into account? He had been feeling awfully lonely lately, and he was glad to finally find someone that fit him perfectly, matching him like a glove.

“When I do introduce you to my friends, my pack, y’know, and my dad..”

You lifted your head, a little crease across your cheek from the fold in his shirt, and he rubbed the spot with his thumb gently, an attempt to remove the mark. “Yeah?”

“What should I introduce you as?”

“A witch.” You deadpanned, and he knew immediately that you’d clearly know exactly what he meant, but were playing with him, and he pouted, fixing you with a mock glare, before you were laughing to yourself over your joke, something so undeniably cute that he couldn't even pretend to be mad about it. “What do you want to introduce me as?”

Nudging your jaw a little with his, he puckered his lips, tempting you down to kiss him, and you were more than happy to press a series of sweet and short kisses to his lips. “I’d really like to formally claim you to be my girlfriend?”

He mumbled the words into your mouth, feeling your lips flick up at the edges in a smile as you gave him a kiss that was a little more firm, a little more loving and powerful, before whispering your reply; “Then we’re on the same page, because I’d like to introduce you to my coven back home as my boyfriend.”

“You have a coven?” He pulled back, a gasp of shock, and you giggled at him.

“That I do. Maybe I should tell you about them?”

“You absolutely should.” He insisted, his craving for knowledge taking over, and he couldn't have been more glad to whatever deity was watching over benevolently that he’d taken the choice to stay the first time knowledge had been offered, because it had led him to where he was now.

“It might take all night, maybe you should go and get a change of clothes. Get comfortable.”

“Is that an invitation to stay the night?” You only nodded, letting him roll you back over onto your back as he kissed at your neck. “I’ll buy you take out if you cuddle me later?”

“Cuddling and dinner? Glad I get to call you my boyfriend, now.”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to call you my girlfriend. My little witch.” His lips sealed over yours, silencing your laughs against his mouth as you teased him for the nickname, and he pinched a little at your sides. The mistletoe overhead grew a little more, a few of the berries dropping away and bouncing off of his back as the plant became bolder, just like the rest, that energy beginning to grow once again, as you got lost in each other’s touch.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x reader smut #stiles stilinski/reader #stiles stilinski/reader smut #stiles stilinski teen wolf #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #dylan obrien teen wolf #dylan obrien stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 5)

uh ohh, part 5 baby! im quite enjoying this story so far and i have some fun things planned for it, so i hope you’ll stay with me for them! in today’s part, our fav new celeb couple takes it all the way, though i chose not to include the actual sex part, however im still treating you all with some dirty stuff so enjoy!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 4.6k

warning: NSFW content

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

New couple alert?

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N have been spotted having lunch and grabbing coffee several times in the course of the past few weeks. All the outings looked casual and friendly, they gladly stopped for fans that approached them and the word has it that they’ve been getting closer to each other, though neither of them confirmed anything.

Harry Styles has been known to be single for a while now, only faint rumors swirling up sometimes, but none of them were proven to be true, the young actress is the first woman he has been linked to in a long time. Y/N Y/L/N has been focusing on her blooming career and has been single since her split from long time exboyfriend and fellow actor, Levi Hudson. The pair dated all through 2018, splitting in the beginning of 2019. Hudson has admitted their hectic schedules made it impossible to maintain their relationship while Y/N did not confirm anything.

Styles is going on his world-wide tour soon, while Y/L/N is currently between two projects. The young celebs seem to be enjoying each other’s company and fans have been quick to jump into speculations about their alleged romance, however there is no evidence as of right now.

“Thank you so much for your time, it was a pleasure to talk to you,” the young interviewer smiles at you, holding her hand out and you shake it with a warm smile.

“Thank you for having me! And I really like your shoes, by the way,” you point down at her electric blue pumps that you’ve been eyeing since the start of the interview.

“Oh, thank you! Got them from a vintage store,” she beams, a slight blush playing on her cheeks clearly a little starstruck from your compliment.

“Love those little stores.”

“Me too,” she giggles collecting her papers and notes. “Someone will contact you and your team soon about the photoshoot and I’ll email you a draft of the interview in about a week.”

“That’s perfect, thank you so much,” you nod at her grabbing your purse from the side table next to you. Grabbing your phone from the depth of it you smile to yourself upon seeing the text from Harry.

“Call me when you’re done with the interview Xx.”

You say your goodbye to everyone before heading out of the building. Lawrence is at the front waiting for you in the car and he greets you with a warm smile when you sit into the backseat. As he starts the car and heads back to your home, you call Harry, who picks it up after the second ring.

“Hey! How was the interview?” he beams brightly, his voice immediately making you smile.

“Great! This young girl did it and she had some exciting questions.”

“Sounds lovely. Can’t wait to buy a Cosmopolitan with you on the cover soon,” he says and you can hear the grin through his voice.

“Will look good in your hands for sure,” you chuckle.

“Right. So I have a question for you.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m doing this very small show at Beacon Theater this weekend, kind of a practice before the real tour begins and I was wondering if you’d be up to come. Would love to have you there.”

“When is it exactly?”

“Saturday at nine. I know it’s a short notice and I get it if you have something else going on, just wanted to ask.”

“I think I can make it work,” you smile, thinking back at what your day looks like on Saturday. “Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! Just let me know how many people so I can have the tickets sent over to you.”

“Thank you. It’s sweet of you to think about me.”

“You know I always think about you,” he murmurs and his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Crazy to think how much he can affect you with just his words, he just has a special spell on you, it seems.

“Still such a flirt, I see,” you chuckle, feeling your cheeks heating up as you hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“For you, always.”

“Alright. I’ll text you about the tickets and thank you again. Can’t wait to see you perform finally.”

“It’s been due for a while now, right? Kind of promised you some tickets on Ellen, if I remember correctly.”

“You did!” you laugh thinking back at the time you met him. How funny that just one short game on a talk show led the two of you here. You have to thank Ellen though.

“Now I’m finally keeping my promise. Talk to you later then, Love. Have a great day.”

“You too, Harry.”

You manage to convince Sydney to join you for the concert, she sounds excited when you ask if she had anything to do on Saturday. Seeing Harry perform before his tour kicks off is a thrill for her she wouldn’t pass on for anything, so she is really grateful that you thought of her as your plus one.

Harry has your passes sent over to your place on Friday and it comes with a bouquet of flowers as well as a card.

“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. What’s your favorite song? I’ll make sure to perform it just for you. –H”

He never fails to make you feel like the only woman on the planet and you can definitely see why so many fall for him even without meeting him. The man has all the power to charm anyone with just a smile.

You put the flowers into a vase and leave them on your dining table before grabbing your phone and sending him a quick text.

“It’s Only Angel,” you simply write, hoping he’ll get it why you just wrote that. Luckily, he does.

“Straight to the setlist. Dedicated to You.”

Finishing up the last touches to your makeup you bop your head to the song blasting through the stereo. It’s Only Angel, of course. You’ve had it on repeat all afternoon and now you can’t wait to actually see Harry perform it live.

Just as you are about to get changed, Syd arrives so you let her in with a beaming smile and when she hears the music upon walking into your place she cheers in excitement.

“Yes! This is such a jam!” she smirks, doing a little dance as you lock the door behind her.

“You look fantastic, Syd,” you tell her. The black short dress looks amazing paired with the lilac oversized blazer. Her makeup matches the same color and you are obsessed with the fishnet tights. She will surely make men wish she was into them.

“Thank you! Spent two hours figuring out what to wear, so I hope I look fantastic,” she giggles.

She helps you put together your outfit as well. Wide legged flaming red pants that make your waist look snatched, a black sheer top tucked into it with just a black bralette underneath. You already know Harry will be a fan of the skin you’re showing, you can’t wait to see his face when he finally spots you.

You quickly pack your essentials into a black Chanel purse along with stuff you need for a possible sleepover if things might take a pleasant turn, and you finish with everything just when the doorman calls up through the intercom that Lawrence has arrived.

“So, what’s the deal with you and him, if I may ask?” Syd questions in the car, not in a nosy way, more like a curious, friendly way.

“We are… getting close,” you say, tasting the word on your tongue. You haven’t labeled whatever you have going on with Harry, nor do you really know what it should be called. You’ve been trying hard to make time for each other as much as possible, making small lunch and coffee dates a regular thing. He came over to your place one evening for a movie and that’s the only time you were able to be alone with him, though nothing sexual happened. Yet. The real deal is yet to happen and if you are being honest you are running short on patience. It’s getting harder to hold yourself back and keep your hands to yourself as well when you are out with him, but you agreed to keep it lowkey out in the public.

Tonight, however, you have a feeling what you’ve been waiting for so long might actually happen and you can only hope Harry is planning the same thing. You are absolutely ready to bluntly ask if he wants to spend the night at your place.

“But you’re heading… somewhere, right?”

“I hope so,” you smile shyly.

“That’s amazing. I think you two are a match,” Syd smirks at you.

By the time you arrive to the venue the gates have been opened so people are busy getting inside, giving you the chance to walk inside through the backdoors without any fuss.

“Miss, Harry requested me to usher you to his dressing room when you arrive,” the girl at the door smiles at you with a clipboard in her hands and a headset covering her ears.

“Oh, alright,” you nod, turning to Syd. “You go ahead and get us a good place,” you tell her and she nods walking away with a wave as she heads up to the second floor that’s fully reserved for friends and family.

Following the girl down the hallway you are led to a room that has Harry’s name on it. She gently knocks on the door and a few moments later it flies open, revealing Harry in a colorful suit and a simple white button-down shirt. He looks breathtaking, hair fixed perfectly and the wide grin stretching across his lips when he sees you standing there.

“You’re here!” he breathes out, grabbing your hand and pulling inside, snatching you away from the preying eyes. Once the door clicks closed behind you, he is quick to press his lips to yours in a sweet welcoming kiss. Ever since your first official date he hasn’t passed on any chance to kiss you whenever you had the luxury of privacy to yourselves, which hasn’t happened too much, leaving you both with a growing hunger for each other every time you meet.

“Mm of course I am,” you smile against his lips before pecking them one last time and leaning back. “Looking great, Mr. Styles,” you grin, taking your time to wander your eyes down on him.

“Yeah? Like the suit?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I love your outfit as well. M’gonna have a hard time not thinking about you on the stage.”

“Please think about me,” you breathe out with a coy smile.

“Don’t fucking say that to me, you are giving me a hard time,” he groans and you just chuckle at the tortured look on his face.

“Sorry,” you mumble, but your face doesn’t meet your words. He squeezes your waist gently, pecking your lips in a rush before he lets go of you.

“I need to go over a few things before we start, so just go ahead and join Syd. Meet me here after the show?”

“Yeah, perfect,” you nod smiling. “Good luck out there,” you wink and he grins at you with bright eyes. His hands grab onto yours before you head out, pulling you in for one last kiss before you leave.

You feel flustered and you take a few deep breaths on your way up to the gallery to find Syd who managed to get an amazing spot at the front on the left side.

They offer everyone up on the gallery some champagne before the show starts and looking around you see a few familiar faces, but no one you specifically know. You stick with Sydney who is over the moon about the show and you are kind of sharing her excitement.

When the lights go down and the music finally starts, you can’t help but join in with the screams that fill the theater.

You’ve seen videos of him performing, in One Direction and solo as well. You’ve seen pictures and you’ve heard the words about how amazing he is on stage, but none of those live up to the actual experience. The sensation that takes over you just by seeing him appear on the stage as the whole theater chants his name as one, it completely sweeps you off your feet and for a second you wonder how you could live a life without this experience.

When his voice starts to flow through the massive speakers you need to take a deep breath, a shiver runs down your spine and you chug down the rest of your champagne so you could get rid of the glass and hold onto the railing with both hands because you feel like you need to ground yourself before you shoot into the sky.

Song after song, he performs perfectly, bringing every single person in the audience to that euphoric state they’ve been probably seeking their whole life. The experience is surely one of a kind, something you’ll definitely be thinking about for a long time.

Time seems to stop, though it cruelly carries on even when you forget about it completely. The concert is nearing its end and Harry takes a breather as he places his guitar to the stand behind him. You watch his every move as he walks back to the microphone, his gaze moving up to the gallery, roaming through the people until they find you.

“This last song is dedicated… to my Only Angel,” he murmurs into the microphone as the audience erupts, blows up at once and your heart skips a beat when his eyes linger over you for a little longer before the music starts to play.

You faintly hear Syd screaming next to you, probably aware that the dedication was addressed to you, but you can’t tear your eyes off of the man on the stage.

He nails it perfectly, looking like an absolute rockstar that he truly is and for a moment you can’t believe you have his attention and interest. How can such a precious and unbelievably talented man be in your reach?

Because I deserve great things in life, you tell yourself, a little mantra you’ve gotten around to repeat every time you found yourself doubting your success and happiness.

The concert eventually ends and though no one in the room desires the end of it, Harry leaves and you are abruptly brought back to reality.

“That was… something else truly,” Syd breathes out as the two of you linger around a little longer, trying to come down from the high you just experienced.

“Yeah. He is so fucking talented it’s almost unfair,” you chuckle running a hand through your hair.

“This tour will kill thousands of people all around the world,” she muses and for a moment, reality sets in and you realize that Harry will leave for his worldwide tour very soon, leaving you behind.

You get rid of the thought, not wanting to stress over something that’s not relevant just yet and you don’t want to ruin the evening either. Fears and stress can wait a little longer.

The two of you make your way backstage, walking into a bit of a chaos as all close friends and family want to congratulate to Harry and the band as well. Standing at the side you let everyone have their time, barely even seeing Harry in the sea of people in the spacious green room. Syd keeps you company as you wait and about thirty minutes later it seems like the crowd is starting to loosen up.

Harry spots you and excuses himself immediately from his conversation with a couple, heading in your direction with the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his pretty face.

“Congrats, that was mind-blowing,” you smirk as he reaches you, a hand curling around your waist as he leans down and places a kiss to your cheek, keeping it as moderate as possible, though you both just want to jump at each other.

“Thank you, Love,” he nods, a blush tinting his cheeks from your words. “Hello Sydney, so great to see you again,” he greets the girl next to you and they share a short hug.

“Hi! Loved the show so much!” she giggles in excitement.

“Thank you for coming.”

The three of you chat for a while before Sydney says she is gonna call herself an Uber, so after saying her goodbye she leaves you alone with Harry, as much as you can be alone with a bunch of other people around.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he clears his throat as his hand finds its way back to the small of your back.

“Go for it.”

“We are gonna grab a drink at some bar, but nothing over the top and I wanted to ask if you would want to join.”

“Sounds good,” you smile, feeling a little disappointed. This is not exactly what you wanted him to ask. Luckily, he is not done with his questions.

“Also… I-If it’s cool by you, I thought that… maybe you could come over?”

“Mmm, go over and do what?” you tease him, your smile stretching wider with each passing moment.

“I have plenty of ideas, Love,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “We could drop by your place if you need anything to stay over.”

“No need. Packed a bag,” you slyly grin at him, taking him by surprise clearly, but it’s surely a pleasant one.

“Always a step ahead of me, huh?” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

It takes some time to actually leave the venue and head off to the bar with a close group of friends of him and the band. A secluded area was already reserved for you that has its own bar, so you could enjoy the evening without worrying about preying eyes of strangers or fans. You really weren’t in the mood to keep your distance from Harry, this way at least you were able to touch each other in a more intimate way without speculations swirling up immediately.

You get to know his band and some of his friends, they are all genuinely amazing people, but you weren’t expecting anything else. You figured he only surrounds himself with people like him. His hands often find your waist and he doesn’t shy away from kissing your cheek or giving your hips a gentle squeeze, just letting you know you have his attention and he appreciates that you’re there.

It’s nearing one am when the guests start leaving and soon enough you find yourself in the back of your car with Harry, heading to his place, while you try your best to keep your hands away from him. You wouldn’t put Lawrence through the trauma of having to see or hear something he shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop you from kissing, something you’ve been dying to do all night. Your hand rests on his thigh while he has an arm curled around your shoulders, keeping you tight by his side, delicately brushing his nose against your hair every time your lips are not connected.

“Thank you, Lawrence. I’ll call myself a taxi in the morning, have the day off,” you tell your driver who smiles in your way thankfully while Harry grabs your and his bags from the back of the car.

“Thank you, Miss. Enjoy your night,” he nods in your way as you shut the door closed.

You try to take your duffel bag from Harry, but he insists to carry it as the two of you walk inside his house.

“Want something to drink? Water, tea or something?” he asks, setting the bags down near his giant, comfortable looking couch. Your thoughts immediately wander to a dirty field, picturing him sitting on that very couch as you kneel in front of him, pleasuring him so good that his eyes roll back…

“Yeah, water please,” you say clearing your throat. Some hydration will come handy after the drinks you chugged down at the bar.

You follow him as he shuffles into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and a bottled water from the fridge for you, pouring some into the glass before handing it to you.

“Thank you. You have a nice place for yourself,” you tell him, looking around in his home.

“Thanks. Been working on it for a while,” he chuckles softly. “Feels a bit too big for just myself though.”

You finish the water and set your eyes at him, feeling your hunger for him grow with each passing moment. Placing the empty glass to the marble counter you take a step closer to him.

“You feel lonely often?” you question in a low voice. His eyes return to you and you are happy to see the same lust in them.

“Would say so, yes,” he nods, running his tongue over his pink lips before he reaches out and grabbing you by your hips, he draws you close to him. Leaning down his lips brush against the shell of your ear, a shiver runs down your spine when you hear his whisper in it. “Hope it’ll change soon.”

At a loss of patience, you grab his face and angle it perfectly so you can kiss him hard. And by hard, you mean real hard. He stumbles back from the force, but manages to keep his balance, returning the kiss just as vehemently as he receives it, a tug of war starting between the two of you.

His hands work fast on the sheer fabric of your shirt, pulling it out from the waistband of your pants, getting rid of it eagerly as his lips wander down on your neck, collarbones and chest. He easily turns the two of you around so you are pushed against the edge of the countertop, his hips pushed against you and it’s clearer that daylight just how excited he is to have you here tonight. Your eyes flicker over to the couch again and the desire to please him with your mouth just bursts, you can’t hold yourself back anymore.

So you push him away from you, grabbing his wrist and yanking him after you, heading towards the couch. You push him down and his lustful eyes follow every move of yours as you kneel in front of him and he realizes what you are about to do. He doesn’t stop you when you work to unbutton his pants, but his hand finds your chin and he pulls you up for a swift, but passionate kiss.

Once you successfully undid his pants he lifts his hips and you spare some time and energy, pulling them down along with his underwear, leaving him only in his vintage printed t-shirt as his cock springs free. You push your thighs together just at the sight of him, the way his eyes burn down on you, how his lips part when your gazes meet and the way he sucks on his breath when your fingers dig into his thighs near his crotch as you situate yourself closer.

“I believe I owe you an orgasm, don’t I?” you ask with a cheeky smirk before wrapping your left hand around the base of his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get him even more excited. A whimpered moan slips from his lips and you lean closer, giving his cock a lick from bottom to top, wrapping your lips around the head as you swirl your tongue around it.

“Fuck hell!” he breathes out, clearly enjoying himself, hands fisting the cushion next to him, but you bet they’ll be buried in your hair soon.

You’re not an expert in the field of blowjobs, but it’s been your thing to come barging right through the door and jump the easy teasing whenever you were on your knees for a man. So with your hands fixed on his beautiful face, you sink down on him, his cock gliding into your mouth right until the tip reaches the back of your throat, earning the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. Shutting your eyes closed you keep him like that for a second until the urge to gag starts to set in, so you slide him out, your saliva dripping down his erection as your eyes meet his and you can tell you shocked him with your bold first move.

“Do that one more time and I won’t last for a minute,” he warns breathing heavily and you just smirk up at him before going into action again, this time only taking a smaller portion of him, pumping the base to make up for the lack of deep throating, but it appears that he enjoys just the simple part of it equally. As you keep bobbing your head, taking as much of him as you can without gagging, his right hand flies to your hair, taking a handful of it as he gently guides your head, keeping it in the rhythm that works the best for him and you happily let him do whatever makes him feel good.

When your free hand goes to gently massage his balls your name erupts from him in the most voluptuous way you’ve heard him call out for you. As if he just cried out for God himself.

“Y/N, fuck, I won’t last long,” he warns you, but that’s all you want. You need to see him come undone under your touch, you want to be the reason his breath hitches. Picking up your pace you see him whimper some more, head falling backwards to the back of the couch. It’s a heavenly view and you wish you could take a picture of his beauty as he enjoys himself on this intimate level. You’ve never wanted to please a man more than him and just seeing him in this blissful state makes you wet through your underwear.

When his breathing starts to get uneven, chest heaving wildly, you take all of him again, his head poking the back of your throat and you push your tongue against his length as you slide him out, picking up the same pace that you kept before, both hands working hard on him.

“Fuck! I-I’m gonna cum!” he warns again and just a few seconds later, you feel the evidence of his satisfaction spurt into the back of your throat, eyes falling on you as you give him one last lick before swallowing everything that’s in your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out pulling you up, eagerly kissing you without a second thought, his hands cupping your cheeks to keep you in place. “You surely know how to kill a man, yea?” he huffs making you chuckle.

“Think you can go for a second one?” you sheepishly ask, blinking up at him from under your long lashes.

“I’ll have enough time to recover while I eat you out like you’re my last meal,” he bluntly replies, and a moan almost slips from your lips.

“Show me what you got, Styles,” you challenge him and he doesn’t need more, he easily picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he heads straight to the bedroom.

“As you wish, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, peppering your neck and shoulder with featherlike kisses along his way until he throws you to his bed, ruthlessly tearing the remaining of your clothes off your body.

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kohanayaki · 3 years

Text

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 3

Continuing the story of how you and Sirius became friends; as James and Remus grow closer to you, Sirius continues to treat you coldly until a late night encounter makes him question everything.

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 3 .:Resistance and Reconciliation:.

~Previously~

“I'm not going to bother making friends with someone whose family is so wrapped up in blood politics they forget to be human beings first. Trust me, I've met their mother enough times to know.”

“Did you ever ask them about it?” Remus pressed.

“I don't really need to, do I? They're a (L/n). Open your eyes, Moony!”

Remus' brow furrowed, a shine in his eyes akin to sympathy as he regarded Sirius.

“Perhaps it's you that needs to clear your vision, friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1974 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius sat on the stone ledge on the window of his dorm room, looking out towards the Black Lake. He could see the push and pull of the wind as the thin branches of the ash trees bowed gently with the rhythm. In the reflection of the glass he could see James and Peter behind him experimenting with an altered set of wizard's chess, complete with fire-breathing knights and bishops that threw daggers, while one of Remus' records spun in the background.

Despite everything he could have been thinking about at the moment, his thoughts, irritatingly enough, drifted to you. He frowned slightly as he leaned his shoulder against the window, annoyed that you occupied even a portion of his mind. He just couldn't understand you. Somehow you had turned James, who had once openly proclaimed you his sworn enemy, into something close to a friend in the span of a year. You had no qualms with pranks pulled on you, yet you were fiercely protective when they were directed at others. You were always smiling, yet your temper took no prisoners. If you weren't a Slytherin you might even be attractive.

The thought made him bolt upright. Where the hell did that come from? He almost laughed. No. Absolutely not. He was Sirius Black, he could get anyone he wanted in this bloody school, and he certainly wasn't going to busy his mind with you. What the hell was wrong with him? It's not like he noticed the way you smiled to yourself when you were reading, or the fact that the sound of your laugh got stuck in his head like a song—

No. Stop it. Get your head straight, they're evil.

Sirius exhaled deeply, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. For some reason that thought didn't sit right in his brain, and the longer he sat with it he came to a horrifying conclusion:

Maybe Remus was right.

The only time you'd really been nasty to them was when they'd instigated it first, or whenever they had a go at Snivelus, which had become less and less frequent; Sirius suspected because of your tentative friendship with James. He'd always just assumed you were like the other Slytherins he'd come to know. There's been hearsay circulating around you, especially given your family's reputation, but you yourself hadn't really done anything to prove the rumors. Maybe you really weren't like your family at all. Maybe you were like him. . .

Suddenly, he caught movement in the corner of his eye, not from his friend's reflections but from outside the window itself. A figure emerged from the lamplight of the castle gate, making their way towards the edge of the forest. If the green lining of your school robes and (h/c) hair didn't peak his interest, the flash that he saw of your face as you shot a quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it was you.

Sirius' mind began racing as he watched you disappear into the foliage, and suddenly every thought that had given you the benefit of the doubt vanished. He'd heard the rumors about the gatherings in the forest, everyone had. He'd even caught Snape practicing dark magic there himself one of the first nights they'd used the Shrieking Shack passageway.

He jumped off his perch by the window and grabbed a sheet of parchment and a quill, drawing a rough outline of the perimeter of the forest. He labeled the Black Lake so his spell would have a going off point and pressed his wand to the still drying ink.

“Revelare Popularis,”

The enchantment was a work in progress— a technique he'd learned from a seventh year. It wasn't exact, but it was enough to tell him if anyone else was in the forest right now. His eyes darted across the paper as he scanned his makeshift map, and the color drained from his face as he saw names suddenly appear in a cluster by the lake: Mulciber, Wilkes, Avery, and Malfoy.

Was this it? Were you really one of them?

James looked up from his game as he saw Sirius grab his leather jacket off where it hung from his bedpost.

“Going somewhere?”

“(L/n) just went into the forest,” Sirius said, “I'm following them.”

“Why, Sirius?” Remus said sardonically, having had enough of his unusual grudge against you, “We're not really ones to talk when it comes to sneaking around the forest at night, now are we?”

“He's got a point,” James said, “I mean, what do you think you're going to see?”

“What do I think?” Sirius scoffed, pushing the paper into Jame's hands, “what does it look like?”

James looked down at the parchment blankly.

“What am I looking at?”

“A variation on Revelio,” Sirius explained quickly, “if you have a location in mind it shows you who's there, but only at the time the charm is cast.”

“Are you kidding me?” James' jaw nearly dropped, “You're just now showing this to us? We could have been taking advantage of this spell to dodge Filch this whole time!”

“I'm serious.”

James had to fight hard not to make a joke out of that one.

“If (L/n)'s meeting up with those guys it can't be for anything good,” Sirius continued, “and I'm gonna find out exactly why.”

Before any of the boys could get another word in, Sirius took off running down the corridor. James groaned, rebelling against the urge to slam his head into the wall.

“I've got to stop him before he does something stupid,” he said, pulling a coat on over his shoulders, “You with me, Remus?”

“Probably not the best idea,” Lupin reminded him, “the moon's full tomorrow. I won't turn, but in the direct moonlight I may get a bit. . . well, you know.”

“Right,” James sighed, running a hand through his hair in distress, “Peter?”

The boy jolted as he was addressed, his eyes quickly cast down to his twiddling fingers.

“I. . . w-well. . .”

“Fine,” James said, waving them off in annoyance, “I'll go at him alone.”

___________________________________________________

You took a grateful breath of the crisp night air, letting the wind whistle through your hair and clothes. You loved your common room, but it could feel constricting at times, especially when there were nights as beautiful as this taking place.

Your eyes drifted up to the moon, smiling at the sight of it. It was nearly full, only a sliver of white missing from the very edge of the sphere. The sight alone was enough to make you feel more at home in your own skin, an inexplicable sense of comfort washing over you. You hadn't been able to really let loose and just run in so long. You'd made doubly sure no one had followed you into the forest, but you still gave your surroundings a quick once over. You jumped as the sound of leaves crunching suddenly asserted itself behind you and you lit your wand quickly, turning to see who it was.

“. . . Black?”

“Sorry, were you expecting someone else? One of your pureblood friends, maybe?”

The confused look on your face only made his anger flare.

“Don't act coy,” he asked harshly, “just what are you playing at?”

Your back straightened in surprise, taken aback by his words.

“Excuse me?”

“I've seen you talking to my brother, Rosier, Snivelus, and all those other Slytherins. Don't think I don't know what you're doing,” the words flew out of his mouth before they had time to pass through his brain, every irrational irritation he had regarding you spewing out of him at once, “I've had to sit through it, you know. All those dinners where my parents talk blood politics with all the fanatics who think just like them. I've listened to your mother brag all about your pure blood line and how her child is 'so eager to carry on the family traditions'. So whatever you're planning by getting close to James, I'm not going to let it happen.”

You felt like you were frozen in place, staring at him as your throat tightened into knots.

“My mom?” you said, voice suddenly small, “Sirius. . . my mom passed away when I was little.”

Your words hit the Gryffindor like a truck.

“. . . what?” he asked dumbly, his brain delaying slightly in processing what you'd just said.

“She got sick. . . an experimental spell gone wrong. If you met someone with my family's name that spoke like that, it was probably my aunt. My cousin goes to Ilvermorny. That's the child she's talking about, not me. The divide between purebloods and muggleborns is even more severe in America, if you can believe it. . . ”

Sirius faltered, this new information going against everything he'd heard and thought he knew about you and your family.

“But,” he hesitated, “your father—”

“Put up the image he had to in order to keep me safe,” you said. You knew he was documented as being very open about his pureblood pride and distaste towards muggles, but it was a cover more than anything, “Since he stopped speaking with my aunt and moved us both away from the estate, she's acted as the new head of the (L/n) House, and that was years ago. . .”

You trailed off awkwardly, not feeling very self-righteous in your explanation.

“I know my family doesn't have the best reputation. . . that's probably why you hate me, huh?” you chuckled humorlessly, wincing at how harsh the words came out. But if you were honest, you were hurt that out of everyone in their group, Sirius was the one that didn't even seem to want to give you a chance. You were the one who had extended the olive branch in the first place on the condition that they ease up on Severus.

“Hate you?” Sirius echoed hollowly, feeling guilt creep up on him like a shadow, “that's. . . shit, no, that's not—”

“Everte Statum!”

You gasped as Sirius was suddenly shot backwards, his body flipping wildly through the air from the force before being slammed against the trunk of a nearby tree. His head spun, heavily disoriented as his vision shifted in shades.

You had drawn your wand on instinct, looking around for your attackers when you saw a black-clad figure lift their hood, revealing a long mane of white hair that stood out starkly in the night.

Malfoy.

“Well, looky here,” Mulciber taunted, revealing himself behind you, “we've caught the two biggest blood traitors of the last century having a touching little moment together.”

Laughter echoed from the trees, Wilkes emerging from the shadows. You took up a defensive position as their group surrounded you.

“Now, let's not be hasty, Mulciber,” Lucius said, “their father may have disgraced their house, yes, but they didn't have a choice. It's not too late for them to make the right one now.” His lips turned up into a snarl as he regarded Sirius, “get away from that blood traitor, (L/n), he'll rub off on you.”

You grit your teeth hard, preparing to cast a spell when Malfoy put his hand up in a silencing gesture, the pretentious little prat.

“Ah, you don't want to make any rash moves either, (L/n),” he said, looking to your left. You followed his gaze to see Avery coming out of the foliage, grappling with someone under his arm.

“Potter?!”

James smiled weakly as Avery held him in a choke hold, a bit of blood dripping down the side of his head.

“Hey,” he said, humor still light in his voice, “So, this didn't exactly work out as planned.” He groaned as Avery's elbow was driven into his stomach, effectively silencing him.

As soon as you tried to move towards him, Lucius had his wand pointed at you.

“Let him go and get lost, Malfoy,” you said lowly, “you've taken this far enough.”

“You've been avoiding us, (L/n),” Lucius said, ignoring you entirely, “Snape may have come up with some rubbish excuses for you earlier, but you can't keep running from this.”

“If practicing curses on first years and terrorizing other people is how you plan on using magic, then I don't want any part of your little cult,” you spat, “face it, Malfoy— you lot need me, but I don't need you.”

Lucius exhaled sharply, his genuine surprise at your resistance replaced quickly with anger.

“Think about what you're doing, (L/n),” he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously, “don't be a fool like your father.”

That did it.

With a growl you unleashed an orange bolt of energy from your wand, your Stupefy hitting Lucius square in the chest. Mulciber was quick to retaliate with a jinx of his own, which you quickly nullified with a shield charm. Shock flashed across his expression at your casual use of nonverbal magic, and he recovered one second too late.

Sirius was back on his feet, petrifying Mulciber and swatting Wilkes away like a fly with the knockback jinx before either could cast a spell at you. You and Sirius found yourselves back to back, fending off Lucius as he continued to direct a steady stream of curses in your direction. Sirius managed to create an opening for you and you turned to where James was being held.

“Evanossa!”

A flash of blue hit Avery, who shrieked in horror when he saw that the arm he was using to hold Potter had turned gelatinous, fingers drooping down like melting ice cream. James wasted no time paying him back in kind for roughing him up earlier, sending him flying into the oak tree and using the water from the Black Lake to freeze him there before joining you in the fray.

“Expelliarmus!” he called out, sending Wilke's wand spinning out of his reach and leaving only Malfoy against the three of you.

Lucius faltered for a moment as he stared down your group of three, but held fast.

“Leave it, Malfoy,” you said, “it's over.”

He growled under his breath, taking up an obvious offensive stance, but you were too quick.

“Ebublio!”

Lucius gasped as he suddenly found himself encased in a giant bubble, his knockback jinx ricocheting off the inside and hitting him in the back of the head. He pounded against the bubble in frustration but found it to be thick as Plexiglas and just as strong, unable to pop it. Suddenly, he was hoisted into the air as you raised your wand higher, directing him farther and farther away until he was hovering directly over the Black Lake.

“Let me go this instant!” he growled.

A devilish smile graced your features.

“You got it.”

“No, wait, don't you dar—AHH!!”

You turned your back on him, your breaking eye contact promptly bursting the bubble and sending him flailing into the water a few feet below.

You chuckled as you sent a few quick counter-jinxes out from your wand, restoring Mulciber's range of motion and liquefying the ice that trapped Avery.

As soon as Mulciber was unpetrified he took off running towards the Lake where Lucius was furiously treading water, tripping over his feet as he dragged Wilkes along with him. Avery limped after them, defrosted but still chilled to his bones (which you had been so kind to also restore).

“I'd fish him out quickly if I were you,” you called after them, “the giant squid is more active at night.”

“You're out of your mind, (L/n)!” Avery turned around and yelled, but with fear evident in his eyes, “You'll live to regret this, mark my words. The Headmaster—”

“Would love to know who cast the first spell, I'm sure,” you said darkly.

Avery stammered out some lame response under his breath before turning around and running after the rest of group, retreating.

Sirius turned to look at you, awestruck and chocked full of adrenaline. Maybe you really weren't so bad after all.

“That was. . .” James trailed off, grasping for the words and blurting them out as soon as he found them, “Brilliant, (Y/n). You're bloody brilliant.”

You felt your face heat up, not expecting that. You and James had stopped trading insults and threats (serious ones, anyways) and your teasing had become well meant, but neither of you had crossed the threshold of actually paying the other a compliment before.

“Thanks, Potter,” you said, unable to fight the smile on your face. You turned to Sirius briefly. “I hope this cleared some things up for us,” you said, “I'd really like to try and be friends, so. . .”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, wanting to kick himself at the way you turned him into a monosyllabic neanderthal with just a look. You gave him a small smile before turning back to James who was trying desperately to hide his limp and aching rib cage.

“Alright, let's get you to the hospital wing, Potter,” you sighed, “you look like a cheap action star in a muggle movie.”

“Uh,” James said nervously, “better we not. If I go to Madame Pomfrey three times in one day she'll never let me hear the end of it.”

“And who's fault is that?” You huffed, slinging an arm over his shoulder and helping him walk, “at least let me patch you up, then.”

Sirius followed some distance behind you, watching as you walked James back towards the castle and laughed at his occasional jokes. This one night had just turned everything upside down for Sirius. This whole time he was sure that he didn't like you because you were a blood-purist Slytherin and he was jealous that you were taking his best friend away from him; but the way you had stood up to Lucius and his goons made your position on blood politics very clear, and the tight feeling that struck Sirius' chest as he watched you cozy up with James made him reevaluate just which one of you he was jealous of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sirius?”

The man blinked, slowly coming back to reality. You were looking up at him in concern, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. It took an embarrassing amount of his willpower to keep from leaning forward just a few inches and kissing you.

Could you pick a worse time, you numbskull? He thought, mentally smacking himself for even thinking about it.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly after he stayed silent.

“I'm alright,” he insisted, giving you a reassuring smile, “just. . . thinking about how far we've come.”

His answer surprised you, though not in a bad way.

“I suppose we have,” you smiled back, “this is a far cry from you scowling at me from across the Great Hall over your breakfast.”

“I did not scowl,” Sirius scoffed playfully, nudging you away with his shoulder.

“Right,” you grinned, “scowling, glaring, glowering, whichever you prefer.”

“I said I was sorry,” he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender, although you both knew you weren't really upset about it. You'd long since forgiven him for his initial misjudgment.

When your light laughter died down, your head found itself lulling to the side again, tiredness taking over your mind as you rested against Sirius once more. When you tilted your head up to look at him he had a surprisingly pensive look on his face. Your eyes traveled across his expression, his gray eyes almost taking on a deep shade of blue in the shadows of his room. You noticed how much younger he looked when he was smiling; it was in moments like these when it really set in how long you had known each other, because you could see the years in his eyes.

Your own flickered down to his lips in spite of yourself and Sirius' heart skipped a beat, fearing you could feel it racing in his rib cage. When had you turned him so soft? He chuckled inwardly. Long before he had fully come to terms with how he felt about you was the answer. Even when he was in Azkaban, with two of his closest friends dead and the world convinced he was at fault, even if he had to live with the fact that he would never see you again, he still thought of you, and that kept him alive, sane— himself. But now you were here in front of him, and he was terrified that at any moment you would vanish into thin air and he would find himself back in that horrible cinder block cell, face to face with a dementor as it took his last memories of you away from him.

Your hand squeezed his, almost as if you had read his thoughts— as if you were assuring him that you were real, and you weren't going anywhere. You noticed him leaning in closer, even if he didn't, possessed by some invisible force. You were nearly about to meet him halfway when you were suddenly startled apart by the sound of quick, heavy-footed steps bounding down the stairs.

You both looked at each other as if you had just awoken from some sort of trance, instinctively putting some distance between yourselves as you shifted away awkwardly.

“I. . . I should probably get to bed,” you said, your face warm.

“Right,” Sirius said, reluctantly getting up from his seat at the edge of his bed, “I've kept you up long enough, I'm sure you're tired. . .”

Before you left his room you turned over your shoulder, a small smile on your face.

“It's really good to see you again, Sirius,” you said earnestly, “we should catch up for real later.”

“Definitely,” he said, a bit of his old self reflected in that smirk of his, albeit forced.

You steeled yourself, turning the doorknob and closing the door behind you gently before you did something to ruin the friendship you had just gotten back after over a decade. You shook the thought aside, your head hurting. You really did need to sleep after today.

You were about to head into your room, but something in you didn't feel quite right. You'd definitely heard someone go down the stairs, but you hadn't heard the front door open or close. Dread pooled in your stomach at your gut feeling, and you found yourself inexplicably making your way back down the stairs.

The house was eerily silent now that its residents had either gone off to bed or disapparated until the next meeting in a few days time. You'd left Sirius upstairs, and you knew Harry was staying here for the time being until school began, but everyone else had gone home. So then why did you still feel someone else's presence so acutely?

You stared at the empty hallway leading to the front door, taking a cautious step forward; the image in front of you didn't feel real. The colors were too saturated, the edges too sharp, and the surfaces too smooth. And that's when it hit you. The smell of rain. Leather-bound books. Lavender.

You froze, staring at the seemingly empty space in front of you.

“Severus?”

The potions master didn't dare make a sound, thinly veiled behind his invisibility charm but clearly not well enough. He was standing not three feet in front of you, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last thing he would ever see.

He panicked slightly as he felt you reach out to him with your mind, shutting himself off expertly. Your hurt expression as you were unable to detect anything pained him, but he wouldn't dare think that he deserved to say anything to you. What was there to say after everything he'd done?

Your gaze roamed the empty hall, and for a moment he could have sworn you stared him right in the eyes.

You knew he was there.

The moment lasted no longer than a second before you looked away, turning to go back up the stairs. As soon as your back was facing the front door you heard it open then close gently, and the tears you had been fighting to hold back finally spilled over.

Read chapter 4 here !

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi

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sebstanseabass · 3 years

Text

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 17

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

One of the advantages of being a photographer — or a self-taught photographer in your case — is having the ability to acquire an eidetic memory. You remembered the hat that the little bitch (a four-year old) was wearing when she pushed you off the swings in daycare, or the little stain on your father's doctor's lab coat when your family had to rush him to the hospital, or what Peter was wearing the day you guys first met (some oversized flannel he borrowed from Bucky), or the look on your ex-boyfriend's face when you punched him in the face for cheating on you.

The attention to every pretty little detail is, and always will be, a must, and so not remembering where you had seen Bucky before killed you, or rather, was killing you.

It was a normal morning, well, better than your normal mornings to say the least, with Bucky spending the night in your bed. This time, you woke up first, all wrapped in nothing but sheets and Bucky's arms just like yesterday. You rolled over to his side and admired him in his sleep. Then, sudden flashes of Bucky's face from before flooded your memory. You didn't know when exactly was before. It felt like a kind of a deja vu moment.

While eating Bucky's homemade breakfast, in your mind, you listed all the possible places where you could've seen him before: a café, a bar you once went to in college, a bookstore, a museum, a convivial gathering, a convenience store, and any other places you could've bumped into him.

The morning grew unusually quiet and clouded, eliciting concern from Bucky.

"You seem awfully quiet this morning." He observed. "Are you alright, doll?"

"Y-yes, I am."

"Uh-oh, was the sex not great last night?" He joked, nudging his elbow against yours.

You shook your head, trying to smile a little. Thankful that Bucky was trying to keep everything light. "No, no, it was great. You were great. It's just... I'm just quite anxious for today."

Today, you were going to Sam's office and to his store on Fifth Street, to discuss the details about the project. It wasn't what you had in your mind this morning but as you told Bucky about it, you realized you really were getting a bit nervous about the meeting. It was a big deal, after all.

Sam's business, The Falcons, was getting more recognition than you thought. He was now in near competition with Nike and Adidas, especially with the rumors of him releasing brand-new footwear, that could — and you quote one of the articles you read while on break — “overthrow the big leagues.” That alone, already put you in the spotlight. So, whatever you put out there should only be a success, and not a flop; because if it were a failure, you wouldn't only be humiliating yourself, but Bucky as well.

"You're gonna do great!" He assured you. "Plus, it's just a meeting. You two already seem to have a grasp on the project, anyway."

"Yeah." You sighed. "You're right."

You wanted to ask Bucky if you had ever, ever, met each other before — perhaps during a party where you’ve rescued Peter before? — but you bit your tongue to stop yourself. You already did when you met, anyway. And everything was going great between the two of you — whatever the hell this was; besides, labels are overrated nowadays — and you didn't want to say anything or do anything that could potentially ruin it. You were beyond happy in your little bubble, and you could tell Bucky was, too.

You brushed all those thoughts at the back of your mind as you and Bucky strolled through Sam's building's hallways, ironically telling yourself it was all just in your head, that you were just quite edgy about this damn meeting, that you were just thinking about Bucky all the damn time; and the more you told these things to yourself, the more you believed it, and the more you hoped you would never have these thoughts again.

Today, you wore something a bit different than what you usually wore down at the bar. A blazer and pants set, adorned with black and white stripes, a tube top inside, and a white belt that kept the blazer on your sides. You got the set when you and Bucky were out shopping on Monday, of course, Bucky paid for it no matter how many times you refused. Your hair was let down, all the ends flowing down your shoulders until the bottom of your breasts. Lips painted bright red (which Bucky really, really liked). A bit of shimmer on your eyelids as well.

Today was a huge deal and you wanted to look your best.

Bucky kept his hand on the small of your back the whole time you walked, giving a sense of comfort and familiarity you now learned to be fond of. He told the story of how he met Sam (at a bar, where else?), how he had seen him grow in the industry (all the ups and downs), and also how they've always supported each other — the three of them.

"Wait, the three of you?" You asked. "There's another one?"

Bucky almost wanted to stop in his tracks but decided against it. He avoided your gaze, his eyes straight down the hallway. "Yes, but we've fallen apart." He said. "He has his own thing now. Anyway, let's not talk about it. We have more important things to deal with today."

Before you could even ask what the name of this third friend was, Sam appeared at the end of the hallway, with his arms wide open, like a king opening his arms to his heir. Bucky, without leaving your side, proceeded to hug Sam only using his free arm, "Hey, man," he said, and retreated back afterwards.

On the other hand, you shook Sam's hand and gave him a smile.

"Hi, Sam." You greeted. "Nice to see you again."

"You too... y/n." Sam replied, hiding a smirk you knew he was itching to show, hiding the fact that he wanted to mock Bucky by calling you "babydoll."

"You guys made it in time." He said. "Come with me to the conference hall."

Sam led you to his right where a white long table stood in the middle with a bunch of vacant office chairs around. A projector sat on the center of the table, a series of displays of sports apparel lying around, perfectly organized by color. A blonde woman had her back on you, flipping papers on a clipboard. Once she heard you come in, she swiveled around and put the clipboard on the table.

"Y/n, this is Sharon Carter, my assistant and the project manager assigned for this new release." Sam spoke. "She knows everything there is to know about how my business works, all the ins and outs. And if in any case I won't be around, you can always rely on her."

"Hi, nice to meet you." You said.

Sharon Carter, instead of answering verbally, just offered you a smile and a small nod. Her gaze shifted towards Bucky, and then Sam. "Mr. Wilson, does he need to be here?"

"Always a pleasure to see you, Sharon." Bucky chuckled.

Sharon ignored him and continued to talk to Sam; well, tried to. "All the details in today's meeting are confidential and he — "

"He's good, Sharon." Sam cut her off. "I doubt he'll be interested in this, anyway. He's just here for his... doll." Sam chortled and Bucky winked and clicked his tongue in response. "Besides, he's the one who introduced me to y/n."

Sharon sighed in defeat and tried to smile at her boss. "Very well then."

"Please, take a seat." Sam offered, leading you towards the vacant chairs.

While walking towards the chairs, Bucky bent over on your side and whispered: "Don't worry, she's usually like that" which gave you relief.

"Good," you whispered back, "for a moment there, I thought she hated my guts."

"To be fair, she usually hates everyone's guts. Especially mine." Then, he placed a small kiss on your temple before pulling out a chair for you. "You'll do great, doll."

"Alright," Sharon started, glaring at Bucky, "shall we begin?"

The meeting lasted longer than you had liked it to be, and for a little while, it suddenly became an understanding of the difference between working with small, independent businesses and big businesses such as Sam's. Usually, you had a lot of artistic upper hand when it came to the small ones, seeing as they were still starting — and it was also where your college degree came in handy. You would talk to them about advertising, and marketing strategies through product photography. And that was that. But Sam's business already had something to start with.

Something already big.

In the middle of the presentation, Bucky reached for your hand under the table (which took you by surprise), hooking his pinky into yours.

"Just hold my pinky like this if this is too overwhelming for you." He whispered.

"Why the pinky?"

He just shrugged in response, a smile playing on his lips.

Sharon walked you all the way through it, careful not to miss any kind of detail, small or big: from the moment the business started (Sam working in retail, then reselling clothes, then making streetwear designs of his own until he landed on sporting apparels), and to what made the business grow what it is right now.

"Inclusivity." She continued, clicking on the next slide, "This is what The Falcons is going to be all about. Plus-size workout clothes, a huge array of colors suited for every skin tone — literally any color you can think of. We also have workout clothes and streetwear in one which means new designs and new materials. And of course, the new footwear. Bringing the light in speed, bringing new comfort, a new aesthetic, footwear for all. Again, inclusivity. Right in front of you," she pointed to all the sports apparel lying on the table, "are the new designs. We just received the first batch yesterday and we're expecting the second and last one hopefully this weekend just in time for the photoshoots any day next week."

"Me and the marketing team haven't actually discussed the photoshoot details, but they've had that with Sharon, seeing as she's the project head. All I have to do is approve it," Sam said, looking at you, "with you here, of course."

You nodded in agreement, then looked at Sharon. "Will we discuss, perhaps, half of it today?"

"Oh, I can discuss all of it." Sharon smugly replied. "I have a very promising proposal right here." She clicked the next slide, showing photos of various known models. "Let's start with the models. The new faces of the Falcons — "

"Hi, sorry. Can I weigh in on this one?" You interrupted as you scanned the faces of the models in front.

"I haven't finished yet."

You looked at Sam, who had his finger on his chin (assessing the situation), pleading with him with your eyes. "Go ahead, y/n." He said, nodding.

"Thank you, Sam." You replied then went back to the screen. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Kendall Jenner."

"Yes, it is."

"That's not exactly a new face." You argued. "And isn't she already an ambassador for Adidas?"

"It is a new face of The Falcons." She answered. "And she's actually ending her contract with Adidas. Something about breach of contract or some sort that I cannot legally discuss with outsiders."

"Where are the plus-size models?" You asked.

"I was actually getting to it." She clicked the next slide.

"Ashley Graham?"

"Yes, her. She's the perfect candidate."

You bit your lip, leaning forward on the table and unhooking your pinky with Bucky's. "Look, all of these models are gorgeous and handsome and good models but they're faces you see every single day on billboards — "

"Exactly. They're faces you see every single day." She repeated. "That means that these faces sell. And that's what we want for this release."

"I thought what you wanted was inclusivity." You frowned. "We should get people who are real athletes and models from different races, colors, and sizes. Real people, not these people you see every day on your phone or everywhere you go. These models are overrated, anyways." You faced Sam, who was listening intently. "Let's not get faces but stories instead. I believe that's what will separate The Falcons from these huge brands. It's a new release, right? Might as well make everything new."

Your words hung in the air, rendering the whole conference room quiet. Until Sharon broke it off. "Business doesn't work that way. I went to business school. I know how the system works."

You chuckled. "I majored in business and finance. Trust me, I know everything there is to know about business, not just you."

She was dumbfounded but tried to hide it, anyway. "But this is my proposal. You don't have a say on who we should get. You don't work for The Falcons."

"I know." You sighed. "But I'm working with you, and I have a say in this as much as you do." You glanced at Sam who was deep in thought. "But of course, Sam will always have the last say."

You leaned back in your chair, your chest heaving. With your eyes straight ahead, you grabbed Bucky's hand and hooked your pinky with his.

"Sharon," Sam started, "that was an excellent presentation and I humbly appreciate it but y/n does have a point. I wouldn't want these people representing The Falcons. I want people like me, people with stories to tell. Inclusivity isn't a marketing strategy, or a statement. It's what I believe in. And you," he swiveled his chair in your direction, "made a good case out of it."

You broke out in a smile, glancing at Bucky who also did the same. He now intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand three times.

"Sharon, find new models and athletes and have their profiles by next week. Let's think of it like... Kind of like a casting call." Sam said, standing up. "Now, let's dismiss this meeting 'cause I am starving."

"You have got to get a new assistant, Sam." Bucky groaned as you got inside Bucky's limo. You had lunch at some fancy restaurant in Manhattan before Sam showed you around the main store down Fifth Street.

You laughed, greeting Howard who gave you a smile through the rearview mirror. "She's the best assistant I could ever get."

"Please." Bucky said. "You could have better. She's just, ugh, I don't know, what's the word for someone who thinks she's better than everyone else in the room? Who hates practically everyone but goes to great, great lengths just to kiss your ass — "

"Alright, alright!" Sam cut him off, laughing. "I get it, man. But y'know I can't afford to lose her. It took me months to get a loyal and honest assistant."

"Ugh, fine."

"You just want her out because you're protecting your little babydoll."

"Jesus, Sam." Bucky said. "Stop calling her that."

"Yeah, stop calling me that." You frowned, leaning on Bucky's side and wrapping your hand around his muscular arm. "Only he gets to call me that."

"You guys make me sick." Sam joked.

You turned towards Bucky who had the end of his eyes, crinkled, and nose, scrunched. "Hey," you said, grabbing his attention, "did you get a text from Parker last night?"

His expression became relaxed, and looked at you. "Yes, actually. Something about a kid named Schmidt."

You chuckled. "Yeah, he's kind of a bully. Remind me to beat his ass when he comes to the bar. You won't miss him. He's got way too much gel in his hair, and too much of a know-it-all, kind of like, Ross Geller."

"Oh, I'd like to watch you beat someone up." Sam nodded, smirking. "You know what, I'd pay you to punch Parker."

"Oh come on, Sam." Bucky laughed.

"Nah, I'm kidding. I love that little kid. Speaking of Peter," Sam cleared his throat, "what are you guys gonna do when he gets back?"

You and Bucky fell silent, hooking your pinky with his once more. "We, uh," you glanced at Bucky who had his eyes on his shoes, "we haven't talked about it yet. But we will tell him, that's for sure. Right, James?"

His eyes shot up to yours, then at Sam. "Yes, yes, of course. I mean it's Peter. Of course, we'll tell him. Just not right away."

"What do you mean not right away?" You frowned.

"Well, we can't flat out tell the guy we're dating the moment he comes back. I don't want him to have a heart attack." Then, he bent down a little, leveling his mouth on your ear. "We are dating, right?"

"Well, we haven't talked about it and we're certainly not talking about it in front of Sam." You replied, glancing at Sam who was just staring at the both of you.

"We're here, Mr. Barnes." The partition pulled open, revealing Howard's voice. The three of you got out of the limo, the bar right just right in front. Before we even got to enter the bar, Sam tapped your shoulder and called out to Bucky.

"Do you mind if I borrow your girl for a moment? I'll just have to discuss something work-related."

Bucky turned around and glanced at the both of us. "Yes, sure." He pecked you on the lips then turned around to enter the bar.

"This is actually about Bucky." Sam said.

"Oh." You said. "Okay. What about Bucky?"

"I have to say, I haven't seen him that happy."

"Uh, isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

"It is, it is! And I'm glad he has you."

"But?"

He sighed. "But just be careful with him. Look, y/n, he's a good guy and all; we're practically brothers... But he's a child. I've known him since we were teenagers. He's almost forty and not once has he had a serious relationship."

"What are you trying to say, Sam?"

"You've only known him for, what, a couple of weeks? Don't you think this is going a little too fast?"

"I like Bucky." You replied. "I genuinely do and what we do or how we do is honestly none of your business. It doesn't matter how long I've known him. I appreciate you looking out for Bucky, but Bucky's an adult. We're all adults here. We can handle ourselves."

"Just promise me one thing."

"Sure."

"Don't hurt my friend." He said. "He may act like this rich bitch just parading around town, getting by with his manly looks and shit, but he's a child. He doesn't know what he wants. If you hurt him, you'll also end up hurting yourself. So, be careful, alright? Think this through, and talk with him."

Silence.

"Promise me, y/n."

You nodded. "Yeah, I promise."

"Good. Now let's head in there, I need a drink."

"Wait, Sam." You said, making Sam stop in his tracks. "Do you think Bucky likes me as much as I do?"

"I can't say for sure." Sam replied before walking inside.

You leaned your back against the brick wall, hitting the back of your head. You closed your eyes, letting all your thoughts rush in.

Still feeling a little bit light-headed, you went inside (which was still empty except for Nat, Sam, and Bucky) and as soon as Nat's eyes landed on your figure, she whistled. "Oh wow, Mrs. Fancypants!"

You chuckled, removing your blazer, revealing the tight black tube top as it was getting a bit hot. "Shut up, Nat."

"Woah, somebody call the fire department 'cause it's getting hoooot in here!" Nat continued then tilted her head towards Bucky. "Hey big guy, if you're not gonna hit that, I will."

You rolled your eyes, chucking the blazer to her face. You turned to Bucky who was sitting in the usual booth with Sam. "She said the same thing to me about you."

"Don't expose me like that, y/n. Not. Cool."

You giggled, sliding in the booth and greeting Bucky with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, you."

"Hey, doll." He smiled, placing his hand on your thigh and pulling you closer. "We were just talking about you."

You glanced at Sam, who was smiling at you. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Don't worry, it's all good. And, y/n... That thing we talked about earlier."

"What about it?" You asked.

"We're good." He answered. "And to answer that last question, he does."

You beamed. "Really? He does?" You asked, as if Bucky wasn't even in the room.

"Yes, he really does."

"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Bucky asked out of curiosity.

You glanced at Sam, smiling, "Oh, just this model I want for the shoot," and then you looked back at Bucky, "I was kind of having doubts for a hot minute over there about him, but, everything's fine. Everything's good."

"Good." He kissed your temple softly, making your heart flutter. "It should be."

#bucky barnes story #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky #James Buchanan Barnes #Bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky story #marvel #bucky x female reader

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Fish

For @whump-advent-calendar‘s day 4-6, Burn/Candles

CW: Referenced medical whump and dehumanization, light burn (accidental), captivity, muzzling, drugging reference, reluctant whumper turned caretaker

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BAHRAM’S NOTES NOTE TO SELF - SAVE IN EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE. DO NOT LET DR. L SEE.

October 22nd, 20XX 3:45 am Mer in Residence: 19 Days

It’s time to admit I’m more or less keeping a diary at this point as I get to understanding him. So far I’ve written separate notes to myself… for ten or so straight days of the nineteen we’ve had him here, and it’s getting harder to write the official transcriptions the way Dr. L wants me to.

Dr. Lachlan insists I call the mer ‘it’, that it’s to help me distance myself emotionally since it’s such a good mimic of humanity, but I don’t think it’s a damn mimic, I think it’s just… human.

I mean, obviously it’s not HUMAN, but… Miah spelled it out for me, we had an argument about this when he first got here. She gets so angry that he’s getting hurt and you know, I guess I believed Dr. L - mer aren’t my specialty field, I’m a snake man really, I don’t know the first bloody thing about fucking cetaceans.

Anyway, I said to her at the time, “It’s not human.”

She told me, “Maybe not H-U-M-A-N, but P-E-R-S-O-N,” just like jabbing me in the chest afterward. Also, Miah can fingerspell in a way that really makes you feel like a six year old getting yelled at by your mother, for the record. I can’t describe it any other way. I was ready to just melt away from personal embarrassment before she even finished signing “person.”

That’s not the point of this.

I didn’t start a diary just to tell myself how right Miah is about all of this, but hey, here we are.

I need some days off so badly.

Miah wasn’t around today, it’s really just been me and the mer - I’m off for four days coming up here, after 20 days of work, and she’s going to come in and do 24-hour watch until I’m back. It’s not so bad - I don’t really know anyone here, and the bed’s comfortable enough. Dr. L’s paying rent on my apartment so I won’t lose it while I’m working, anyway.

I still feel like some low-level henchman, though. Like any moment some asshole in a tank top is going to show up with guns and I’ll just be a faceless evil stepping stone before the boss fight with Dr. L.

I mean, we all know that Dr. L’s going to be the boss fight, right? Anders would just like lay down or throw Miah in front of himself or something.

No, that’s not fair, he really does love her.

Bahram this is all hypotheticals about a video game. Get back on track, man.

So Miah must have gone shopping or something. She came back with a bag full of these candles from this bookstore she really likes. I mean she came back with an insane amount of books, too, but she had this candle she pulled out and put down on my desk.

She set down the candle - it’s this really nice deep blue and has some kind of like ocean scene painted on the label, like, isn’t that thematic - and smiled at me. “This one reminded me of what we’re doing,” She told me, and her signs were… softer. Her expressions were softer alongside them.

Does that mean… anything? I don’t know. She just put it on my desk and then wandered off. I thanked her but I had to take her shoulder and get her to look at me, first. Maybe her face was a little red.

Maybe not.

We keep the tank room pretty warm, I’m sort of cold-natured and the mer seems more active when we keep the lights really warm, so…

I don’t get why she bought me a candle and why she looked away before I could thank her for it. I don’t get it, and I feel like I should, but I don’t. Is she not looking because it wasn’t a big deal, or because it was a big deal, or… what?

I really WOULD sink into the floor if Dr. L or Miah ever saw that I wrote this. Get it together, Bahram. You are not writing a diary about Miah fucking Kirsse.

It’s been just me and the mer, all day. Dr. L was gone, too, meeting with whoever’s funding this whole thing. She’ll be gone until next week, so there’s no real work getting done, for now. Just blood draws.

She’s showing them its claws she took off. I don’t know why. Honestly, I have such a bad feeling about this, but I needed the cash and nowhere else was hiring for a job that would give me room and board and still time to work on my own research. Not that I’ve done a bit of THAT in a week.

I get too distracted by the mer.

He swims in circles. He stares at nothing, or pokes the plastic coral and ferns we got him, or hides in his cave. I can switch the screens over to watch the camera feed from inside the cave, but he doesn’t do much in there, either. I caught him picking at his scales, and I need to ask Dr. L about that. She took three scales off his tail, which for the record I had nothing to do with (whose record? I’m writing this to myself, and what the fuck does it matter about scales when I’m the one sticking the damn needle in his elbow twice a week), and I caught him sort of whistling sadly and picking at the empty spaces.

They’ll grow back, Dr. L says. She’s not worried.

I am.

A little.

I’m starting to think Dr. L is lying about a lot of things, and I’m not sure what to do about that. If anything. This is a job, and I get paid better than I’ve ever been paid in my life. So… what do I do?

I could call the hotline and report him. It’s anonymous.

She’d know I did it.

I don’t know why, but… I don’t want her to know it was me. Cowardice, I guess. Pure bloody cowardice.

But Miah hasn’t emailed the hotline, either. We can’t both be cowards, right?

Anyway.

Tonight was tank cleaning, which is a bloody fucking chore. Anders was around long enough to help me get the mer tranq’d and into the lift and then the rolling tank where he can just sit until I get my work done. Poor thing just lolls around when he’s tranq’d up. Barely blinks.

Doesn’t stop its fucking crying, though.

We took a lot of blood from him today, too, so he was very weak. Barely moved, just curled himself up small so he was totally in the water and watched me work after Anders left. We’ve got a scrubber machine that does the hard work, I just have to hose some things down and then make sure its filter is still operating correctly. Watch the scrubber. Whole process takes about three hours from start to tank totally refilled, as long as I do it weekly. It’ll take much longer if I let it slide.

Double-checked the camera in the cave, and when I walked out of it I saw the mer’s head was up, watching everything I was doing. He dropped right back down under the water when he saw me looking at him. The muzzle looks so monstrous on him, but more than that, it makes him look like a monster.

Maybe Dr. L doesn’t muzzle him to keep us safe, but to keep me from seeing his expressions while I’m here with him all day.

No, that’s stupid. She doesn’t even think he’s sentient, right?

I finished up, and when I came to roll him back to the lift, I saw he’d popped his head up out of the rolling tank and was looking around the room itself. He hasn’t really looked around at all before this, and he was still tranq’d but maybe I fucked up the dosage? Because he was pretty alert, kind of whistling to himself and giving little chirps and clicks. He sounds like some weird mix of killer whale and fucking otters or something. When he saw me, he flinched back down under the water, but I had this idea.

Dr. L took his claws, and he’s still muzzled except when he’s on the table or when he eats, so like, it’s not like he can hurt me, right?

His eyes had gone to my desk, looking at… I guess all my books and papers and my laptop and everything. Maybe the candle. I waved my hand around until I saw that he was watching me again. With those big eyes it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s looking at, but when I clapped my hands he blinked at me, so I know he can hear it, can see me.

Then - and I swear I’m not lying - he moved himself up out of the water, and put his palms together. His earfins twitched out and back against his scalp, and his white hair dripped water all down his shoulders.

He cocked his head at me. Then he put his hands together, harder this time. He clapped, and then… he clicked.

I KNEW it. I KNEW clicks were questions. Dr. L said their brains don’t work that way, but I bet they do. Who’s even considered how their brains work? Maybe they’re just like us. All the studying I’ve been doing shows that the scans we’ve done of dead ones are pretty similar in overall size and placement of their center of language. They’ve shown that mer populations have their own dialects if they don’t interact with each other, like the Atlantic transients sound totally different than the Pacific transients, which sound different than the residents that stick close to the coastlines up by Alaska...

Making my own head hurt. I don’t even care about fucking mammals, but I guess I do now.

“That’s right,” I said when he clapped, not like he can understand but still. I said it, and I clapped again, and he clapped back. “Can you give me your head? I’ll take your muzzle off, yeah? If you don’t bite.”

Dumbest fucking idea ever, but hey.

I think maybe he knows the word muzzle, because he whistled and shrunk down again, lowering his hands. His ear flaps flattened again. I saw the deep red marks around his neck, from how we have to use the catch-pole to get him out, and I just. I just felt like shit, you know?

I’m shit, that’s what I am, we’re torturing a child, more or less, who hasn’t done a thing to anyone but be by himself because he lost his bloody fucking family. I can’t keep telling myself I’m not the bad guy, you know?

I’m going to jail if I report him, aren’t I? I helped bring him in, after all. There’s my whole career down the drain.

Is this how it felt when everyone was being shit to monkeys in the 70′s and calling it psychology? Did some of them just go along with it because they thought they had to?

This is not helpful, Bahram.

I sat down at my desk and tried to figure it out. His eyes were on me the whole time. I looked over at Miah’s candle, and looked at the label. Like I said, ocean scene. Fronds and ferns and…

I turned the label to face the mer, and tapped on the image with my finger. “Fish,” I said, feeling dumb as hell. I told myself, it’s a bloody animal, Dr. L would roll around laughing at you for this.

But he came back up out of the water. There was a long moment, and I heard him click, and then a soft, “Sssshhhhhh,” sound came from behind his muzzle. They have lips like ours, although their way of communicating is basically whalesong and relies heavily on underwater acoustics. He’s louder in the tank than out of it, although I guess fear might make him quiet, too.

The recordings I found on youtube they get in the ocean are deafening loud. Their voices travel so well underwater, it’s amazing. People sell fucking CDs with mersong over piano to fall asleep to.

I poked at the ocean scene on the label again. “Fish,” I said firmly. “Do you want fish?”

He knows fish.

I KNOW he knows fish because he sat up, held out his right arm, and tapped his elbow with a blunt-edged, broken-off claw before he looked back at me, trembling with fear. He clicked again, twice.

I can’t even tell you how shit I feel, realizing he was asking if I was going to take his blood first. That’s what he meant, it has to be. He poked at the exact spot where he’s bruised up from the needle.

But it makes sense, right?

He’s been here twenty days, more or less. Every couple of days, when he’s hungry enough, we bribe him with fish to get the pole on him, take blood or whatever else, and then he eats.

No, WE don’t take his blood. I take his blood.

He thinks - and he’s fucking thinking, I know he is - that he only eats if we stick a needle in him.

I’m hurting a child.

I’m teaching a child to be hurt.

I’m not religious but this feels like the sort of thing you ask for forgiveness for, doesn’t it? I should call Maman and ask her who I could talk to. I’m going to call Maman or Baba tomorrow.

No I’m not.

What would I tell them I need to speak to someone about?

What if whoever I speak to calls and reports him, and Dr. L knows it was because of me?

I need to stop thinking about this.

“No, NOT draw blood,” I said, and he whimpered again, held out his arm further, closer to me, tapped his elbow again. I knew he could still hurt me - their strength is prodigious, the first time we got him out of the tank he nearly pulled Dr. L down into the water with him - but I decided it was worth the risk.

I kept thinking, he’s more scared of me than I am of him, but you know, of course he is. He’s the one with bruises.

I stretched my own arm out and showed it to him. He flinched back a little, and then leaned forward again, sitting in the little rolling tank that’s barely big enough to hold him. His blunt claws touched my arm, delicate as a feather, clicking as he poked at the sleeve of my sweater.

“No draw blood,” I said. “Just fish. Eat.” I mimed chewing.

He looked at me and clicked twice, cocking his head, then looked at my candle from Miah, pointing at the ocean scene. “Ffff-sshhhh,” he said, muffled.

“No, that’s a candle, it just has fish painted on it. Candle. Fire. Yes?”

Blank stare.

Then, repeated, “Ffff-sssshhh.”

I sighed and pulled out my little lighter. I don’t smoke or anything, but I hate the way matches smell, so I have a lighter on me basically all the time. Plus, having lighters was a pretty good way to make friends back in undergrad when I gave a fuck about that.

I flicked on the lighter, and the mer chirped, curiously.

Has it never seen fire before?

Why would it, it lives in the ocean. Don’t be a dumbshit, Bahram.

“Fire,” I said, and held it out a little for a closer look. “Fire.” I tilted it and lit the candle, and the mer leaned forward, rapt, as the wick sparked up to flame and I blew the smaller flame on the lighter out.

“FFfffff,” The mer said, barely audible. It clicked and held out its hand, and I wasn’t fast enough.

“No, wait stop-”

The mer’s fingertips touched the flame and it let out a deafening loud cry of pain and jerked its hand back down into the water, whimpering at the new kind of hurt, looking at me like it was MY fault, and maybe it was. Eyebrows furrowed, little crease in its forehead, big sad eyes.

The big sad eyes are wrecking me.

“Well, don’t touch fire and you won’t burn,” I said, shaking my head. “No touch fire. Fire bad. Fire burn.”

He held out his hand to show me. “Ffff-rrrrr.” It was a plaintive little breath of air, not quite a real sound.

The ends of two fingers were a little dark, that’s all. I could explain that by saying he’d hurt himself in the tank, maybe. I shook my head and pointed at the water, and it put its hand back in there, huffing a little breath of relief, I think. The water probably helped with the sting.

“Right. Fire bad. No fire.”

“Ffff-rrr... buh-ddd.”

“Right. Fire bad.” I stood up and walked over behind him, and he tried to turn and watch me but I shook my head and pointed back at the candle and he sort of huffed again and looked away. I felt him tense when my fingers touched the back of his head, but he sat still.

Probably because if he struggles when she goes to take the muzzle off or gets her fingers near his mouth, Dr. L has this electricity stick thing…

I’m not supposed to mention that in the transcripts.

I’m not supposed to mention how he screams, and he doesn’t sound like a whale or an otter, then. He doesn’t sound like an animal.

He sounds like a child.

He IS a child

He’s just

I’m a fucking

No. I need to focus. This is stuff I can’t tell Dr. L, I need to write it down here where it’s safe.

The muzzle is easy to get off, you just need to be looking right at it, and I unbuckled and pulled it free, feeling a little resistance from how well it stuck to his face. Without it on, there are deep red lines along his cheeks and jaw, not open or bleeding, just irritated.

He didn't grab at me, or bite. Just watched me with his big eyes as I laid it down on my desk. For a second we were both just quiet, looking at each other.

Then he pointed at the candle again. “Ffff-sssshh.”

“No,” I said. “Candle. Fire.”

The mer’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head, echoing what I did earlier. His hair slapped around. His teeth look like shark’s teeth up close, only there’s a lot less of them. “Nnnn-nnnuh,” He tried, shaking his head again.” Nnn-uh. Ffff-sssshhh.” Then he pointed at his mouth, opening wide, showing me the tongue behind his teeth. “Fffff-sssshhh. Ffff-ssshhh.”

I laughed, covering my mouth - he seems to be scared when we show too much teeth, probably in the ocean it’s a threat and they don’t smile like we do. Which, why would they?

But, see, I realized that he wasn’t pointing at the candle at all, but at the fish painted on it. Then he moved to look at the bucket of fish he gets as a reward for obedience, and pointed at that, then looked back at me to see if I was paying attention.

Of course I was. I was barely fucking breathing. This is signs of abstract thought process, recognizing that the image of a thing isn’t the thing itself. That he can point at it to represent what he wants. “You want fish? Is that it? You’re hungry? Want to eat some fish?”

The mer blinked and made a sound like a chirp, clapped his hands together. “Rrrrr. Fff-sssshhh.” He pointed at his mouth again. “Ffff-ssshhh. Buh-rrrrmm. Ffffsshh.”

“What did you say?” I whispered. My heart went cold. I can’t describe it any other way.

“Buh-rrrrmmmm. Ffff-sssshh, Buh-rrrmm.”

The bloody thing knows my fucking name.

He knows we have names and he knows mine and that means-... that means he has one, doesn’t it? If he has a name, if he has

I’m his fucking nightmare aren’t I

I’m the worst fucking thing that could happen to him, me and Miah and Dr. L and Anders and this is a job but it’s the worst thing that’s happened to him and it’s only

It’s going to get worse for him.

He’s going to die here and he’ll know all our names when he does.

Anyway, so... you know... I brought him a bucket of fish.

What else was I supposed to do?

He knows my name!

He let me put the muzzle on him again without fighting after he finished, and I got him back in the tank once the water was refreshed, and he’s sleeping off his meal now. I can see him on the feed, curled up inside the cave.

But I’m wide awake, so I thought I’d write this, because…

Because what the hell do I do now?

I can’t tell Miah.

Can I?

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumper

#whump #mer whump #nonhuman whumpee #wac2020 #fire #burns tw #burn #mer whumpee #reluctant whumper #caretaker and whumpee #reluctant caretaker #caretaker whumper #referenced torture #tail whump #referenced #captivity #muzzled #muzzle #forced drugging reference

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neonponders · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry your brain is feeling squished!

Question: what the most outlandish harringrove au/idea/ concept that crossed your mind, but you immediately dismissed because you were worried it was too 'extra/big/over the top'

🥺 😭 Thank you, Graaaaaves 💗

You know, for some reason, I tend to avoid super fantasy au's??? (so says the person in the middle of a werewolf/vampire/witch/merman fics 🙄) Like every time I see griffin/centaur/faun art of the boys I lose my mind, I love it so much. And I recently saw this pic of a pair of lions (it's not weird, it's just a picture of lions lol) and thought.........that's Harringrove. Shape shifters? Steve's hair is literally Kovu from Lion King 2...but I never go anywhere with these haha I think it's the notion of writing horse sex that scares me off LOL

BUT I got brave once and made a tiny drabble on zayacv's post here ~

Apart from these, I am ~ s l o w l y ~ but surely writing a soulmate fic where they can't see colors until they see their mate, AND they can see each other in dreams.

(more under the cut because I'm about to overshare lol)

Cue a LOT of angst because Steve forgets his dreams (like a normal person does lol) and forgets Billy's abuse, so Billy's pissed when they finally talk and he's like????????????? HELLO? You don't care???

They slowly work it out over the next several months, and finally arrange a proper date BUT Billy experiences the crash at the start of season 3, and actually knows about the Upside-Down so he runs fast and far away from Hawkins, standing Steve up, and leaving the team behind to deal with it. Steve knows he's alive because of the dreams but it's still terrifying to wonder if Billy disappeared because he's in that meat spider.

Then he and Jonathan move to NYC and for a while, it's good. Just the daily grind to pay rent and the rush of being outside of their small town. But Steve's growing more and more haunted by the dreams he shares with Billy, because Billy's off living his life and dating - like a normal person, sure, but it still feels like cheating and Steve DID get stood up. They know they're soul mates because they can see colors and Billy left.

He left Steve.

Steve falls into heavy depression, unable to hold a job, Jonathan and Nancy get engaged - rubbing salt into his wounds - he develops an eating disorder because he feels bad about eating the food Jonathan pays for, etc etc etc.

Eventually he reaches a breaking point and uses the credit card his mom pays for to land his ass in therapy. After a few sessions, the woman is like, "Okay. I'm giving you antidepressants and sleeping meds, but you need to really think about the latter because you won't have dreams of your other half anymore."

Steve just wants to stop hurting, so he takes them. And, god, he finally sleeps. The meds make him super groggy throughout the day, and he sleeps like the dead - alerting Jonathan and Nancy that something's wrong, but that's a tangent - but he's finally recovering.

This coincides with Robin getting him a job (because she's in the city too, duh) bartending at a Drag Queen club. Steve's super lost in this place lol he know's he's not straight because - again, Billy - but this whole big, vibrant world of queer culture is new and intimidating and Steve's just so so tired.

But the owner clocks his ability to see colors immediately, because he's visibly bothered by somebody's makeup job. "They're wearing green, unblended foundation but can't tell because it's all grey tones to them."

And when I say this is a club, it's a CLUB. Projected stage, the owner's partner works at a record label, like, the drag scene may be a bit underground, but they're not messing around. These Queens become Steve's fairy godmothers and get him back on his feet, demanding he take dance lessons to be a backup dancer on occasion "Because the people love you, Stevie baby, get your ass on stage."

My favorite point is when the owner tells Steve to go in the makeup room to get a particularly ornery Queen out of their mental crisis and get into costume. Steve discovers their breast plate and it's just NASTY. Covered in caked on makeup and he has his own mental snap of his own. He cleans the weird, silicone thing, and is shouting louder than the whiney Queen,

"THIS IS DISGUSTING! IF YOU CAN'T RESPECT BREASTS THAN YOU DON'T DESERVE THEM AT ALL!"

The owners just love him. "Okay, Bisexual King, you better work."

Meanwhile....

Steve taking the meds to stop his dreams has also made Billy stop having his. And Billy freaks. He thinks Steve is dead, and begins a desperate scavenger hunt to find him.

There's a lot more to this lol like Steve's psychiatrist recommends journaling, and Steve writes a poem that wins a poetry contest, which lands him a big scholarship to an NYC college. So he's colleging by day, Drag Kinging by night. His mom shows up to ask what the hell is so expensive every month on the credit card, and Steve confronts her about her ability to see colors because, "You've worn that specific coral peach shade ever since I was a kid."

So then Momma Harrington is in the mix and the two of them get a place together in the city (probably with Robin too, so that they can have a nice, swanky place and the three of them split the rent). Momma H. also reveals that Steve had night terrors as a kid because he DID see Billy’s abuse. She had to take measures so that he would sleep well and whatever hypnosis they did helped Steve sleep back then.

Steve's writing ability enables him to meet a band, so he writes for the band, and it's an added siphon to get his feelings about Billy out.

It's a very intricate story, obviously lol and it involves a lot of poetry, which isn't my strong suit. But it's very mental health-heavy, so I have to be in a certain place to write for it.

*sigh* thanks for reading lol

#ask #answered #neonponders #gravegroves #ily and hope you have a magnificent day #thanks for checking in 💗🥺#harringrove

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gauntie-o-dimm · 4 years

Text

Sadie Adler | High

Sadie is lonely and drunk, and so are you.

Word count: 2700+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, alcohol abuse

Four-and-a-half bottles of beer was all you needed to have your vision become hazy and your eyelids become heavy. At least, that was the case if your previous calculations had been correct, and dear Lord, when it came to determining your own alcohol tolerance... You had been utterly and incredibly bad at math.

You could’ve sworn your intake was not that bad until, after three bottles of alcohol, your head began to spin. Who could blame you for it? The beer in Valentine was way better than the drink you could get back at camp. And besides, Sadie had insisted.

Ladies night, she had declared it, but without Karen, Mary-Beth, Molly or Tilly. No, just the two of you, as two hard-working women that could use some unwinding for once - in another way than weaving flower crowns, as the blonde had almost mockingly said about the other girls of the gang.

It was obvious Sadie mustered some kind of unspoken respect for you. Not only in her carefully chosen words, but also in her actions, although never literally said, you declared yourself to be special in her eyes. And you wouldn’t be surprised, even. You had been right there at her side that fateful night.

The wounds of her freshly obtained widowhood were still bleeding and you knew that the desire for vengeance was brewing in her aching heart, but revenge was never an option. Perhaps that is why Sadie clung to you so much; despite your ability to fight for what you stand for, you were never one to angrily shoot everything that moves in a fit of rage.

Women of the road, Arthur had dubbed you when you were leaving camp earlier this evening, they always stick together, and even though these words were just a lighthearted comment about how Mr Morgan envisioned your close friendship, it had stuck with you, even after a few beers.

And so you sat, pondering over that comment, tipsily peeling at the label that sat upon the bottle, whilst the blonde lady in question sat across of you, nipping her sixth beer that evening. How could her tolerance be so high? Your circled your finger over the edge of your bottle, eyeing her seemingly relaxed expression. It wasn’t often you got to witness Sadie so laid-back. You wondered what was different tonight.

“Y’know, (Y/n),” Sadie suddenly began, her accent heavier because of the consumed alcohol. “Why don’t we do this more often? Way better than drinking with those loud-mouths back at camp.” You raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed at your expression. “Alright, I know I can be noisy ‘swell, but still!”

“Well, I think that is a great idea.” you replied. Taking another swig, you smiled. “It isn’t often that we get to spend quality time together. Sure, we are on some errands often enough, but when is the last time we got drunk off our asses?”

Sadie chuckled, lifting her bottle to her lips. “I can’t remember!” An almost childish pout came over her face as she noticed the dark-brown bottle being empty, gesturing for the barman to bring some more drinks.

You simply waved it off - “I don’t need more, thank you.” - but Sadie did not have peace with that. “You callin’ yourself drunk right now, (Y/n)? I’ve seen ya drunk and shit, that’s way different from the way you’re at the moment.”

A roll of your eyes was all you gave, shaking your head as you witnessed the blonde throw back another beer. The light that hung around the saloon made her look pretty, you mused to yourself. And you wondered if she was wearing anything under her shirt - dark circles were visible through her white blouse. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?

Even though you had been with men before, you always preferred girls. But it had been a while... You sighed, rubbing some hair out of your eyes. The sudden ache of your core that came with the sight of her nipples pressing against the cotton of her shirt, well, it didn’t help you keeping your mind clear.

Pondering over what she’d think if you proposed the lewd and erotic to her, you pushed your previous intentions out of the window and ordered something stronger; Sadie frowned at you when she saw you take a sip of whisky straight from the bottle, disregarding of the metal cup that came with it.

“(Y/n),” she mumbled, her words slurring as she leaned over the table. “What are you doing?” A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth as you mirrored her position, faces closer. “Taking in some courage.”

“Courage? What for? We will rent a room at Saints and sleep our intoxication off, it’s not like we need to get into a gunfight anytime soon.”

“The courage isn’t meant for that kind of stuff, Sadie...” you told the widow, sipping once more on your bottle. “I can tell you as soon as we are in the room across the street. Perhaps it will work, then.”

Sadie was never one to be truly confused about anything. However, when it came to you... She knew about your preference for women, and frankly, she was curious...

“Okay.” she shortly muttered, finishing the last of the amber liquid by pouring it down her throat. She wiped her lips before standing up, aware of the dull throbbing that had started to grow between her legs. Her eyes fixated on you whilst you arose, dusting down your attire before taking your bottle with you. It wasn’t even halfway done, but still your step slightly flailed as the two of you walked across the muddy road towards the hotel.

The room available was far from clean but you didn’t expect anything better from Valentine. After all, this settlement was full of mongrels, loudmouths and outlaws. You counted yourself among them.

Kicking off your boots and placing them by the fire was not that difficult of a task, but it was the buttons of your shirt that you had to undo that proved to be harder than you thought.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” Sadie said, her voice smaller than you’d ever heard her speak. You stood up, blouse halfway unbuttoned, pacing towards her before playfully knocking her hat off her head. A lazy smile spread over your face as you brought your face closer to hers.

Sadie’s breath hitched in her throat as she felt your hand go up to her braid, undoing the small band that held it together. “Mrs Adler,” you murmured, pressing a small kiss on her jaw. “I’ve been wanting to do something for a while now. If you will have me, that is.” Her eyes fluttered shut while your nimble fingers tugged the strands of blonde hair apart, letting it fall over her shoulders in tiny waves.

“So, what do you say?”

“I have never done such things to a woman before.”

“I know, and we can stop at any time.” Sadie seemed to think for a moment, hand rubbing her collarbones in a nervous manner. Her often confident appearance had been replaced by a woman which you barely recognized.

“Okay.” Sadie said, and it was enough to have you lean up to kiss her on the lips. She was slightly taller than you, so you took the front of her shirt and pulled her a little downwards. Tilting your head, you let your tongue slip into her mouth, enjoying the taste of beer mixed in with her saliva. Her lips were softer than you had imagined, and Sadie’s opinion was all the same;

The feel of kissing another woman was something wholly unfamiliar to the widow, but she was liking it more than she’d ever admit. You knew exactly what you were doing, from the gentle nips on her bottom lip to the way your fingers undid the buttons of her shirt - you had less trouble with those than with your own.

You pushed her blouse off her shoulders, revealing that she was indeed wearing nothing underneath, and the kerchief around her neck now fell almost adorably between her plump breasts. They weren’t big, nor small, just perfect to nuzzle your face against or suckle on when you felt the need. Speaking of which, you yearned for a taste.

Looking up at her, you moved your face down, pressing a kiss between the mounds of flesh before taking one of her nipples into your mouth. She softly gasped and for a moment you didn’t know if it was from pleasure or regret, but her eyes spoke volumes altogether, as did the hardness of the bud rolling around against your tongue now; she was loving it.

Women know how to please each other, Sadie thought to herself when you switched sides, continuing your journey of sucking on the rosy nipple. Her hands stroked through your (h/c) locks softly, much like a mother nursing a child, but you didn’t mind. You liked the way her nails softly scraped your scalp while you carefully pecked at her skin, kissing the skin of her breast intimately.

Soon enough, you pushed her back onto the bed, kneeling down between her legs to undo her of the remaining clothes she wore - a pair of tight pants. The anticipation in your bodies seemed the whole ordeal to be long and tiresome, but after a few firm tugs, it was off her legs.

Sadie was shamefully wet, her underwear not enough to conceal the moisture that stained her entrance. It had traveled to her thighs, staining the duvet she was sitting on. Flustered, she nearly let her hands wander down to cover herself, but a gentle kiss on her knee was all it took for her to let go of all her fear.

“Fuck.” she cussed quietly as you keened your face into her neck, sprawling your body next to hers in a way so she could press her back against your front. You were still very clothed, but you didn’t pay it too much attention. For now, Sadie mattered most.

You moved her leg upwards so you had a better access to her mound, which was dripping. Easing her underwear away from her entrance, you were quick to put the soaked cloth in your mouth, tasting her essence. You softly moaned at the flavor before you trailed your hand down, able to finally pry apart her folds.

For a woman that had been married for a while, she was surprisingly tight as you slipped a finger in. Perhaps it was the lack of touch in the past few months, you wondered while burying your head into her neck. A soft groan left the blonde’s throat, relishing in the feeling of another digit being added. Soon enough, you were starting to finger her in a steady, pleasurable pace. Her legs quivered at the feeling of you fondling her clit with your thumb, circling it around the bud of nerves whilst your teeth softly nibbled at her ear.

“Holy fuck, right there (Y/n)!” Sadie whined, leaning her naked body into you a bit tighter. Of course you knew what you were doing to her - the way she trembled and writhed against you and clenched around your fingers was enough to make you aware. Amidst the sweat and dull blur of your previous alcohol intake, your own mound started to throb with a lack of touch - you knew what you wanted to do, something you had rarely done before, and despite the position being slightly uncomfortable, you wanted to do it nevertheless.

You withdrew your fingers from the beautiful outlaw’s depths, causing her to whimper at the loss of touch. “Don’t touch yourself, baby.” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss upon her forehead.

It took way too long for you to take off your clothes, Sadie thought, but the constant knowledge that you would soon be back to pleasure her was enough. Your breasts bounced as they fell from your shirt and the smell that emitted from your soaked cunt was unlike something Sadie had ever witnessed before - it clouded her senses and caused her to inhale deeply. With a smile, you dangled your panties in front of her nose. “There is more where that came from,” you explained, “But for now, you can suck on these.”

She didn’t let you tell her that another time, eager to take your underwear into her mouth. The taste was amazing and your naked body was absolutely breathtaking. Sadie’s eyes widened as you moved to sit close to her, swinging one of your legs over hers, positioning yourself in such a way that the heat of your pussy warmed hers. The blonde outlaw let out a small moan, muffled by the fabric of your briefs.

Lowering yourself onto her mound, you let out a breath of relief, along with something that represented a moan. It had been too long that your cunt was aligned with someone else’s, and Sadie was gorgeous sprawled out like that, blonde hair spread over the pillow messily.

You whipped your head to the side so your (h/c) locks were over one shoulder, making you able to look at her properly. Slowly, you started to circle your pussy against hers, folds rubbing together in a way that made your entire thighs sticky within seconds. Sadie whimpered at the feeling, arching her back towards you as your clits pressed together, making her see stars.

“Fuck, (Y/n)! Damn, that feels good!” You smiled at her, increasing the pace of your movements. The heat was nice and you chewed your lip, watching her breasts bounce up and down with your motions. It was clear to Sadie that you had done this before and she loved it.

For a moment, you looked down at your pussies tangled together like that, along with the swell of your clitorises, delicious enough to nearly cum from the sight alone. But the moment wasn’t there just yet. Among the brace of your body against hers, hands wrapping around her calf to keep her leg right where it was, you increased the speed of your grinding.

Sadie shuddered underneath you, curses slipping past her lips. Why hadn’t you done this earlier, you managed to think within the haze of a building orgasm, toes curling at the sight of the blonde outlaw murmuring on the mattress, hands momentarily resting on her breasts before she put them onto you.

She was loud and wanton, but what else was new? The bed creaked under the roughness of your motions, chasing rapidly after your high and hers. Oh, this was a new kind of high, and you wondered if it would be this delightful if experienced completely sober.

“Oh, fuck me!” Sadie cried out, back arching and breath shivering in a way that indicated her nearing orgasm. You stilled the movement of your cunt against her, instead choosing to rub your clits against each other instead.

And amidst the knotting of your stomach, the jolts shooting through the pleasurable nub as it pressed against Sadie’s beautiful rosy pussy, you found your high alongside the blonde. You moaned out loud, volume high enough to be heard outside, but Sadie could even top your noise.

The squeal that left her was high pitched and dripped with lust. Her body was trembling violently, as if it was in a complete state of shock. Even when you had removed your own mound from hers, she was still shaking like a straw.

“Shit... Fuck... That was good. That was incredible.” Sadie managed to get out, hands resting on her abdomen, unfazed by the feeling of your mixed juices running down her thighs.

You laid next to her, putting an arm around the outlaw. She was the little spoon tonight, but you were sure she wouldn’t mind. In silence, you let yourselves become calm again, causing you to wonder if there would ever be another of those encounters.

You got your answer soon enough; “Thank you, (Y/n). We should definitely do that again soon.” Sadie whispered, turning around in your arms.

Even though there were no i-love-you’s, no expressed feelings of romance towards each other, no made statements if this relationship was purely meant to be friends-with-benefits, you didn’t care for now.

Right now, you just relished in the moment, inhaling the scent of the afterglow mixed in with Sadie’s personal flavor, still lingering on your tongue. The widow fell asleep next to you, and once more, you yearned for the moment that you could taste her again, but sober - perhaps.

#sadie #sadie adler #sadie adler x reader #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #sadie adler x female reader #lesbian #smut #x reader #where my sadie loving ladies at

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pebblysand · 3 years

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[the thoughts on canon-compliance you did not ask for.]

last night between 2 and 3 in the morning (look, i couldn’t sleep, got up to write, then got caught up, okay? don’t judge me for my terrible sleeping patterns please) i had a super interesting discussion with a few people on the hinny discord channel about the definition of canon-compliant-ness. i think this is fascinating because to be honest, before getting into the hp fandom, i didn’t even think this was something one could disagree about. to me there was what was canon, and what wasn’t. a very black-and-white sort of system. i’m finding that it’s not.

through the discussions that i’ve had both on my fics and other people’s fics, it seems that i can narrow down - in the hp fandom - three elements of canon.

i. the events of the books/films

now, as a general disclaimer, you can obviously argue about whether the films are ‘canon.’ you can also argue whether cursed child is canon. there’s a lot of elements which differ between those and lots of opinions about how to look at them. personally, i tend to ignore cursed child. as to the books v. films, i pick and choose what suits my story more. generally, that’ll be the books. but for instance, i’m writing a harry&hermione friendship one shot right now, and there are a lot of movie-isms in that story because that is an aspect that was more explored in the films. however, for the purposes of this post, i’m mainly considering the source material to be the seven books. nothing more or less.

having said that, to me personally, that’s what ‘canon’ is: the events of the story and the characters that gravitate around those events, as described in the source material. things like: tom riddle killing lily and james, or harry, ron and hermione rescuing the philosopher’s stone. anything departing from that is, de facto, an ‘au.’ the whole world of what-if scenarios: what if Harry was sorted into slytherin, what if dudley was a wizard, all of those, to me, are aus.

generally, both as a reader and a writer, those are not scenarios i’m particularly drawn to. my default answer to those what-if scenarios is: ‘well, if harry is sorted into slytherin, there’s no story.’ or at the very least, there’s no story as i know it, and if there’s no story as i know it, then i’d rather read/write original fiction. it’s obviously a very personal preference and there are exceptions to this preference. i loved the changeling [1] for instance, and love the self-aware style of dirgewithoutmusic’s aus [2]. but as a general rule, that is not my preferred genre.

now, aside from the what-if scenarios, there’s also the question of filling in the gaps of the story itself. like, i find it interesting that we only make tsunamis [3] is labelled as ‘canon-compliant’ because i get the feeling that a lot of people would disagree that a fic in which hermione is harry’s first kiss is canon compliant. but, by exploiting the silence sometimes left by the author and turning it to your advantage, are you writing an au? is a negative space canon? is silence canon?

again, as a matter of personal opinion, i would not push my definition of canon-compliance as including blank spaces. to me, as long as it does not contradict the letter of the text, adding in events to the books to suit your story (i’ll address character in point ii) does not make your fic an au. to give another example that was brought up to me regarding my own work, i don’t believe that the events described in chapter nine of castles [4] are au because they exist in a blank space of the books. the fact that harry didn’t notice the 1:1s between ginny and amycus doesn’t mean they didn’t happen, it just means that they’re not in the positive space described by the books.

ii. the characters/characterisation

(as a quick vocab note, please note that below, i’m using the terms ‘ooc’ to mean that the characterisation of a character in a fic is not canon-compliant. they’re synonyms to me.)

now, while the above was pretty straight forward, i believe that this is where i perhaps differ from the masses in my interpretation of what “canon-compliance” means. more i discuss with people, the more i realise that i don’t really think there’s a real ‘canon’ characterisation. or at least not in the big things. like, yeah, it’s canon that harry likes treacle tart, because that’s a fact. but anything that is down to psychology or perspective of the character is, to me, generally up for grabs.

as a human, i believe that there’s things that people do, events that they go through, that condition them to act a certain way. while there is a core to every human being, i personally believe that in life, anyone would basically be capable of doing anything, given the right circumstances. i’ve recently - rightfully - been told my writing is all about the power of choice in our life, the reasons why we make those choices and the people those choices lead us to be. for example, do i think i might murder someone tomorrow? probably not. do i think i might be capable of murdering someone in wartime? perhaps? i don’t know, that’s not the world i live in and my life choices have not lead me to find out the answer to that. however, my point is: to me, good ‘characterisation’ is down to the circumstances and choices outlined in any work of fiction. hence, good characterisation is essentially, to me, equal to good writing.

i often say that good writing could make me believe anything and i mean it. i don’t tend to gravitate towards these fics because these ships are not my personal taste but i genuinely believe that good writing could make me believe in drarry or rarry if it tried. it’s funny because over the course of the discussion yesterday on discord, this was brought up ‘well, no one tags drarry as canon compliant,’ and i’m kind of like, i don’t know whether or not they do because i don’t read it but if they did and none of it contradicted the events as detailed in the books, perhaps it could be? like, that would take really good writing (imo), but good writing has - on occasion - made me believe in dramione a couple of times, so why not? in ‘til the sirens come calling [5], good writing made me 100% believe that harry and hermione would have an affair together. in we only make tsunamis [3], it makes me believe that they had this quiet little relationship building throughout hogwarts that we never knew about.

now, though, i suppose the question isn’t: do i believe it? the question is: is it canon? and, i think that’s where i differ from most people because to me, it is. to take ‘til the sirens come calling [5] as an example, i believe the fic is an au because hermione marries victor krum in the end. that’s going against the hard fact presented by the epilogue, and thus makes it an au. but i don’t believe the concept of a harmony affair is inherently au, because nothing is inherently au, character-wise. it’s about how you write it. how those people get to that place. that’s what makes canon-compliantness, in my opinion.

for example, for that fic, truth be told, we don’t know what those nineteen years include per canon, so they could very much include an h/hr affair. and whilst i don’t believe that the characters as they are in the books would have an affair together, i believe that the characters as they are presented in the fic, with the events and hardships that they go through, definitely would. good writing, to me, is - in part - recognising that characters are moving on a spectrum and that whilst their decisions/actions might not make sense in book-verse, they make sense in fic-verse. good writing is convincingly moving your characters from book-verse to fic-verse, and it not feeling ‘off.’

if it does feel off, that is bad writing to me, and that is also ooc-ness/non-canon compliant. it means that for whatever reason, the writer has not successfully transitioned and explained said transition through the events outlined in the story. with the right prose, you could make me believe draco decided to take on a career as a ballerina dancer after the war, and it would still be ‘canon-compliant’ to me. on the other hand, i have read fics (i won’t name them because that would be shit and also i don’t keep track of my ‘bad’ reads) where harry, ginny, hermione, or ron all act according to book canon and yet, their motivations felt off to me and completely ooc because the writing didn’t successfully lure me in. specifically, there was a lack of character evolution that i found uninteresting. i read mostly post-war stuff because i want to see my characters grow up [6].

as a last, additional note on characters, i also think that the characters in a story only exist within the prism of how we view them. this means that to me, locking my own understanding of a character's personality as 'canon' is particularly difficult because my understanding of a character is unique. i believe there are as many harry-s or ginny-s or hermione-s as there are readers. so i think saying someone's interpretation of a character isn't canon-compliant is odd because i don't actually believe there's any wrong or right answer. as i said, do i believe it likely that draco would become a professional ballerina? no. but if that works within your understanding of his character as described in the books, who am i to say that is or isn't canon compliant? i'll admit, the idea makes me sort of lol though.

iii. tone

lastly, i’ve come to find (in potter particularly) that canon-compliance might include tone. as in: hp is a story that is a) written in a certain style and b) written for children/young adults.

regarding style at a), this is honestly the main reason why it took me 15 years to write potter fic, despite the fact that i’ve been a fan for even longer than that. i genuinely thought you had to write like jkr. and i, well, don’t write like jkr. i love the books, but i don’t even particularly like her style. i like: camus, and sorj chalandon, and sally rooney, and dirgewithoutmusic and copper_dust [7]. i have zero ambition to write like jkr and don’t particularly want to read stuff that is written like her stuff either. it’s a style that imo works for her, but it doesn’t work for me as written by other people. i don’t particularly think you need to stick to her style to be canon-compliant.

which brings me onto my actual point: b) hp is a story written for children. young adults perhaps, for the later books. it sometimes explores dark themes but the writing style, the tone, etc. is lighthearted enough that it appeals to a younger audience. there’s snogging but there’s no sex, there’s violence but the torture is mostly off-screen, etc. issues like sexual assault, substance abuse, etc. aren’t explicitely brought up in the books, although they would one hundred percent fit in a book about a war that wasn’t necessarily aimed at children. the question is whether this setting and tone is part of what we call ‘canon-compliance.’

honestly, i don’t know. i didn’t think so until it was brought up to me that castles might be a dark!au and i was like: maybe? like, if you want it to be? i know what i like to read in fanfic: i love the exploration of serious themes that were not explored in the books, or explored differently due to the fact that they were written for children. one thing i will say and insist on is that i don’t think castles is all dark. i actually make a point of having lighthearted moments in each and every chapter, even just a notch, because i am attached to the fact that life as a concept is a mixture of good and bad, and you could laugh at the funeral of someone you loved, again in the right circumstances. but yeah, to me the post-war world is dark. so if tone is part of canon-compliance, then yeah in that way castles (as well as most of the stuff i read, to be honest), is a dark!au.

as a last side note, i’m not sure what that means for my other, lighter stuff though. like are the wolf’s just a puppy [8] or slipped [9] more canon-compliant than castles? i never thought about it in those terms but perhaps? it really opens up a world of questions in my mind and i don’t really have the answers to them.

conclusion:

so in sum, as a reader, what i mean as ‘canon compliant’ is basically a) the events as described in the source material and b) the characterisation of characters as they are at the start of the fic. if character evolution is sufficiently justified and well-written in the following thousands of words that the fic has, then said characterisation can still be canon-compliant, even if the characters act different than they would have in the source material itself. i’m a fan of good writing and good writing can make me buy into literally anything. it takes me places that i've never been before and convinces me that those places are the ones i should be in.

as a writer, i hope that regardless of 'compliance,' whatever i write at least makes ‘sense’ to people within the universe, even if they don’t consider it canon-compliant, per se. i feel like i can’t really be the judge of that. from the discussions we had last night, i feel like there are as many versions of what is and isn't canon-compliant as there are people.

---

[1] the changeling by annerb

[2] the boy with a scar series by dirgewithoutmusic

[3] we only make tsunamis by disOrdely

[4] castles by yours truly

[5] ‘til the sirens come calling by vexmybones

[6] as a side note and to take my own stuff as an another example, i totally agree that harry in castles isn’t harry in the books. i don’t think there’s much debate to be had in that assertion. i wrote him like this frankly because every other fic i’d read didn’t. they often had him sort of continue to be perfectly himself after the war, which i felt wasn’t speaking to me on a deeper level. imo, i think the war’s done a lot of scarring and the fic is about him growing into a new version of himself. so, to me, if i get a comment that says ‘i don’t think harry would act this way but i really love your writing’ it’s somewhat flattering but also confusing because i don’t really understand how one can enjoy the writing but not the characterisation. to me, they’re so intrinsically linked. what the comment tells me is: i think you did a very poor job at explaining character evolution and justifying character x’s [harry’s] choices but i still like your writing, somehow? i suppose that’s nice, but it doesn’t particularly compute in my brain. like, if the character feels off, it means the writing feels off and thus, why are you still reading? i appreciate all and every comment that i get but it doesn’t mean they always make sense in my own brain. if i’m honest, these comments often send me into an ocean of self-doubt about how shit my writing must be.

[7] copper_dust’s work and profile.

[8] the wolf’s just a puppy (and the door’s double locked), again by yours truly

[9] slipped (and said something sort of like your name), same.

#writing #fic writing #canon compliant #the meaning of words #pebblysand goes off a tangent #also general disclaimer that these are my thoughts #there's no wrong or right answer #it's just my own thoughts about the meanings of words

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mcwriting · 3 years

Text

sweet home alabama (1)

Here’s chapter 1!!! I hope you all enjoy!

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2178

Warnings: Really mild language and mentions of alcohol consumption

∆

“Tom! Tom! Over here, Tom!”

The 23 year old actor tuned out the voices of the paparazzi and ignored lights flashing as he walked up the sidewalk.

For the first time in 5 years, he was finally headed back to where it all began: his tiny hometown in Alabama. With his private charter leaving at noon, Tom had known the paparazzi would be unavoidable, but he was still annoyed by their insistence.

When his team finally made it in the doors, he breathed a sigh of relief, but still felt a turning in his stomach at the thought of returning after all these years.

He hadn’t exactly left everyone on the best of terms.

He chose not to dwell on it though, instead saying a few goodbyes and loading up with his younger brother, Harry, who had been back and forth since his own high school graduation and knew what to expect back home.

One could tell by the way Harry’s accent stuck and Tom’s hadn’t, taking on a more neutral midwest sound to hide his roots. He wasn’t necessarily proud of it, but it sure did keep him from being typecast.

With one last sigh, he turned and waved to his agent and bodyguard, getting a quick glance at the city around him before stepping inside the cabin.

This was going to be interesting.

∆

Y/n took in a deep breath as she dug a spade into the earth, just beneath a cotton plant.

She was out in the middle of one of the hundreds of rows on this particular farm. The soil she had collected was scooped into a small plastic jar, which she then labelled with the date and location.

It was the beginning of summer, early June, and already pretty hot. Even though it was starting to become dusk, y/n guessed around 5:30, the stiff jeans and long sleeved button up she wore to protect from any excess pollen, as blooms were beginning to form, made her hot and thirsty.

She stuck a little dowel with a pink flag tied to it in the hole, filling in the dirt around it so it stood up straight before she got herself up.

When she stood, her unbuttoned shirt allowed some airflow over her tank top, but her back was still wet with sweat. Although her hair was pulled into a bun, the wispies that fell from it also stuck to her neck uncomfortably.

She began the walk back up to her truck, which was parked in the driveway of Melanie’s home, one of her childhood friends.

As she was organizing the fresh jar with the multiple others in a cardboard flat on the floorboard, Melanie stepped out onto the front porch, leaning over the railing.

“Hey, y/n!” she called. Y/n shut the door and turned around, wiping her brow as she leaned against the old pickup.

“What’s up, Mel?”

“You comin’ to Alan’s tonight? I gotta feeling you’ll want to.”

Y/n furrowed her brow. Alan’s was the town diner where everyone liked to convene on evenings, when it would transform into a bar. Friday nights were especially popular with those in their 20s and 30s. It was predictable who would show up each week, but Melanie’s tone indicated something unexpected was to happen tonight.

“Oh yeah? And why d’you say that?”

“I won’t spoil anything,” she answered, hands up in mock surrender as she stepped off the porch. “So you in or not?”

“Melanie, it’s a Friday night… I wouldn’t miss it for nothin’,” she replied with a wink, both girls laughing. “I just need to drop this box at the S.H.E.D. and clean up a little. Is 7 good?”

“I’ll see you then I guess. But don’t do too much work before you come have fun, alright? I need my pool partner to be on her A-game!”

They both laughed again as y/n waved her off, hopping into the cab. As she drove towards home, she couldn’t help but ponder on what Melanie had said.

∆

“Aw come on now, y/n! We can’t all be good at math and angles and all that!” Harrison exclaimed, annoyed that she had won yet another round of pool.

“Haz, I don’t know when you’re gonna give up. I’ve beaten you about a hundred times now and I don’t think I’m gonna stop any time soon,” she replied, earning a cheer from the crowd around her. It probably didn’t help him that she wasn’t even buzzed yet.

Once y/n had rinsed off at home, she’d changed into some skinny jeans, boots, and a tight sleeveless top to meet Melanie for dinner in. After dinner, the sun had finally set and the bar was hopping, as usual. Y/n’s friends always packed around the pool table when she went up against someone, especially Harrison.

Someone went up to a chalkboard nearby, marking another tally by her name in the record for most wins so far in the year. Harrison had the next highest number, which was still 15 behind her.

It was all in good jest, though, as the close friends clinked beer bottles and drank to officially finish the game.

Just down the street, Tom and his younger twin brothers, who’d somewhat recently turned 21, walked towards Alan’s.

“Man, the last time I was in here I was swiping a couple beers for me and…” he trailed. The happy memory ended when he remembered who it was with.

“Yeah well now we’re all legal,” Sam cut in. “And you’d be surprised at who you see around these parts.” He stepped forward and opened the door for his brothers, allowing Tom to step inside first.

Y/n, Harrison, and Melanie were laughing and talking when the usual bar chatter got louder, with a few “he’s back!” and “welcome home!” shouts ringing out.

Her friends were facing the door with eyes wide, already knowing that Tom was coming, but unprepared to see what might go down when y/n realized it.

“What the hell has gotten into you two?” she jokingly asked, but her face fell serious when the pair pointed their heads to the door and raised their brows.

When she turned around and saw his face, it was like the world stopped.

∆

The whole “we’re gonna be in love and get married” thing had worn off by the time y/n and Tom got to middle school, but they still remained closer than ever, trying to fight the new territories that came with puberty.

There was a few months’ period when the two couldn’t handle the emotions that came with growing up (and being best friends with the opposite sex), but eventually they came around and chalked any “crush” feelings up to hormones.

Who would have guessed the feelings would stick?

But it takes a long time to figure that kind of stuff out.

Instead, they began the journey of exploring what it meant to grow up with other people; new friendships and school crushes forming, awkward dances and learning what it meant to have a real “boy-girl party.”

Y/n and Tom had thought it would be just like any other hang out that they liked to have, just with more people.

Playing 7 minutes in heaven at a friend’s barn changed that.

They both acted disgusted at the idea of being shoved in a closet full of horse tack to make out, but curiosity got the best of them and they ended up being each others’ first kiss. It was only a peck, but neither could stop blushing until they got home.

It wasn’t the beginning of a story, but it definitely wasn’t the end either.

And this was only one of the hundreds of memories flashing through y/n’s head as she looked at her former best friend across the bar.

∆

Y/n gulped heavily, staring at the actor who had come in through the door.

“What is he doing here?” she asked quietly, looking between her two closest friends. They averted their eyes. “Y’all knew he was coming, didn’t you? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to skip coming tonight. It’s been five years, y/n. Maybe he’s changed?” Melanie replied gently.

“Well he’s definitely changed,” y/n added as she looked him up and down, her tone indicating a different kind of change than Melanie had implied.

Tom was looking around waving as everyone greeted him, Harrison brushing past y/n to greet his childhood pal and blocking Tom’s view from her.

“Thank you, guys. You all didn’t have to do all this!” Tom said, everyone noticeably taken aback by his accent. Sure they’d heard him in movies, but not many people in town knew he had officially dropped his southern twang. He also wore skinny jeans, an expensive brand-name tee, and most noticeably, tennis shoes rather than boots.

Y/n leaned back on the pool table’s edge and swigged on her beer, trying (and failing) not to roll her eyes.

“Oh Lord, he thinks this is a welcome home party. There’re more people here last week than tonight,” y/n commented, causing Melanie to elbow her and laugh.

“Don’t talk too loud, now,” she giggled.

Tom hugged Harrison excitedly. He had flown the guy out to a couple premieres, but now it had been over a year since the pair had seen each other. When they separated, Harrison slung an arm over Tom’s shoulder, motioning his hand around the bar.

“Miss this place?” he asked as Tom scanned the room.

Tom couldn’t answer straight away as his eyes suddenly met y/n’s. His face lit up and he smiled, y/n offering back an awkward grin and wave, turning around to answer something Melanie said.

“Uh. Yeah, you bet I did,” he finally said, eyes still trained on y/n.

“Just go talk to her,” Harrison said, knowing exactly what Tom was thinking as he pushed the actor forward a bit.

After straightening out from Haz’s shove, Tom came up to y/n.

Melanie was mid conversation with y/n when she saw Harrison’s move.

“He’s comin’ this way,” she warned y/n, who took one last deep breath, rolled her eyes, then plastered on a smile before turning around.

Tom was taken aback when y/n turned to face him, a warm smile on her face.

“Uh… h- hey,” he said apprehensively. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Hey, where else would I be on a Friday night?” she asked smoothly, chuckling. “Sooo… how’ve you been? You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself these days.”

“Yeah, yeah I have been. And what about you? What have you done for the past 5 years? I never hear anything anymore.”

Probably because you don’t care to look y/n thought.

“Oh, well. You know. Finished college last year. Been workin’ ‘round the farms in town. Pretty boring stuff, I’m sure.”

Tom nodded, eyebrows raised. Y/n could see right through his feigned interest. She always could read him like a book.

“So what are you doing back here?” she asked him after a pause.

“You haven’t heard? I got cast in a role about farming so what better way to get into the role than to come do it for real at home!?” Tom answered excitedly.

“Oh, I see. That’s great. You gonna drive your granddad’s cattle or collect eggs or something?”

Tom’s parents had never been farmers in his lifetime, his dad owning the local town grocery store and mom running a clothes boutique across the street. There were other places to buy goods, too, if you wanted to make the 45 minute drive to the nearest Walmart, of course.

Y/n’s, on the other hand, were. They raised livestock in conjunction with her mom’s parents and siblings, something that ran in the family and would one day be passed on to her cousins.

“I might help him out some, but my brothers have a lot of that handled. Maybe Haz’s fam will let me do some work on the peanut farm.”

“Doin’ what? They just planted a couple weeks ago, Harrison ‘n Charlotte just finished spreading straw, and harvest ain’t till September at the earliest. There’s nothing you could do.”

Tom’s brows furrowed.

“Oh. What about cotton?”

“If you’re lookin’ to work cotton, blooms are startin’ to form and it’s lookin like we might have an early harvest in August this year. I’m sure daddy would love some extra hands to water everything while I’m at work,” Melanie piped up. Y/n looked at her smug smile with wide eyes.

“Really? You’d do that for me? Thanks Mel. That’d be amazing. I’ll even work for free.”

“Well if you’re gonna work for free then I don’t even gotta ask him. You’re hired! We’ll see you bright Monday mornin’?” she asked, getting an affirmation in reply.

“You know, it was nice talking to you guys but I should probably visit with some other people,” Tom started to say, then turned directly to y/n. “Hey we ‘oughta catch up some time. Whaddya say?”

Y/n gave another tight-lipped grin and nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Once he stepped away towards the guys again, y/n let out a deep sigh and turned her back to him again, looking at Melanie.

“What was that! You know I’m still in the middle of research at your farm!”

“Look, he needed a job, I gave him one. Hell, he’ll probably quit after an hour of hard labor and gettin dirt on his precious little hands,” she laughed, causing y/n to crack a smile. “And what was that smile you had on your face, huh? I thought you hated him still.”

“Oh believe me I do. Can’t no one say Tom’s the only actor to come out of this town,” y/n said, causing both girls to laugh as they went back to their drinks.

∆

A/N: ahhhh here’s ch 1! Posted a little later in the day than I was hoping but I’m glad I got it out there! Hope you all enjoy!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @mortallythoughtfulgurl, @onebigolemess, @justafangirlduh

#Sweet Home Alabama #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #Harry Holland #sam holland #harrison osterfield #tom holland reader insert

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megalony · 4 years

Text

Then he was gone

This is a Harry Styles imagine that has a lot of angst in and is inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife. I hope you all like it, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Harry and (Y/n) are trying for a baby but both times they try, it doesn’t work out in their favour.

Detailed/ graphic scenes ahead.

Enjoy.

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"How are we feeling today?"

(Y/n) turned to look over at Harry sitting on her left but neither of them could find any words. Their nervous smiles were enough to convey that they were happy but anxious, but there weren't quite any words they could think of to say how they were feeling.

"Nervous." That was the only word that came to either of their minds which seemed to fit what they were thinking and feeling.

A baby had been something they had wanted since before the got married and the moment they were married, they wasted no time in trying. Now they were finally pregnant it was a mix of every emotion they could ever feel but the nervousness was the most prominent because Harry was going on tour soon but he didn't want to miss anything. The tour had been all set out and planned to the last detail and then (Y/n) got pregnant, it wasn't exactly the best timing but it was the best surprise to have.

"There's no need to be nervous. If you'll lift up your shirt honey we can take a look at your little one." Her voice was soothing and her smile was calming, but (Y/n) was still nervous.

She didn't want Harry to go away on tour in case something happened or he missed anything important. It was already being arranged that there would be a break towards the end of the tour for when the baby was born but (Y/n) knew something could happen before then whilst he was away and Harry knew it too. He wished they'd of had some foresight into the future so the tour could have happened earlier or been scheduled for next year or the end of this year at the earliest. But it was too late now to start thinking like that now.

(Y/n) rolled the end of her shirt up with one hand whilst her other hand was still tangled with Harry's who was sitting straight in the chair, his eyes constantly drifting between (Y/n) and the monitor.

Harry loved kids, he had so many god-children and was a babysitter to many of his close friend's kids. Children of his own was something he had always wanted and strived for and now it was finally going to be happening it made him feel giddy like a teenager again.

His eyes concentrated on the monitor on (Y/n)'s other side as the midwife smiled kindly, moving the wand around the gel on (Y/n)'s stomach for a few moments whilst her eyes switched between the screen and the wand. The longer the midwife spent looking at the screen without saying anything, the more Harry and (Y/n)'s nerves started to increase and spark paranoia.

Surely they should have heard a heartbeat or seen something on the screen by now? The midwife wasn't saying anything, did that indicate that there was something wrong?

"Is everything okay?" (Y/n) tried to stop her voice from wavering as she looked up at the midwife with a growing urgency to know what was happening. But the moment the midwife removed the wand from (Y/n)'s stomach and set it down told them this wasn't good news. She should be showing them their baby on the screen and letting them listen to the heartbeat and print a picture so they could have this memory. She shouldn't be sitting down next to them looking like she was very unhappy to be here.

"I would like to take a blood sample to send for testing because I believe you're experiencing an ectopic pregnancy." Her voice was again very calm and slow but her sad smile made (Y/n) coil in on herself before she dared to look over at Harry.

Neither of them knew what that meant but the way the midwife spoke made it clear that they weren't going to have a baby anytime soon.

"I- I don't... is that like a phantom pregnancy?" (Y/n) shook her head as she spoke because she didn't know what that meant. She'd had a friend suffer a phantom pregnancy before and she had taken that very hard, (Y/n) couldn't imagine how horrid it felt for her to be told her body was just mimicking a baby because she wanted one.

(Y/n) let go of Harry's hand for a brief moment so she could sit up straighter and quickly wipe the gel from her stomach when she felt the need to coil her arms to her stomach and fold in on herself.

"No, I'm afraid it's where the fetus doesn't develop in the womb, it starts to grow in the fallopian tube instead or around the tube rather than the womb. The ultrasound wasn't conclusive but I do believe that is what you're experiencing. A blood test will confirm this and then you'll need to have a small injection and be monitored for a week or two to make sure the pregnancy is ended."

"T-that's it? You can't do anything...?" (Y/n) punctured her teeth into her lower lip to try and stop herself from crying but it was useless, she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes despite her best efforts to stop them. She didn't want to sit here and cry in front of the midwife but she didn't know what to do.

That was it. This pregnancy had barely started and now it had to end so quickly like it never existed. They had been trying for over a year to have a baby and now when the chance rolled around it wasn't even going to work out for them.

"Ectopic pregnancies can't develop, I'm afraid the fetus would need to be in the womb from the start to get the nutrients it needs to grow. You're already at ten weeks so the pregnancy needs to be terminated now or else your tube could rupture. I am very sorry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) found herself brushing her thumb over one of the many rings on Harry's fingers. The pad of her thumb started to trace the outline of the golden H ring he wore on his left hand as she tried to calm herself down. The past two weeks had been horrid for both of them and it didn't feel like it was even close to being over yet.

(Y/n) didn't know if she was lucky or not. She knew that finding out like they did was much easier than her collapsing in agony and being rushed to hospital to find she was suffering a miscarriage or that her tube had ruptured when they thought everything was fine. (Y/n) also knew that a small injection was all it had taken to make this pregnancy feel like it never existed rather than having to suffer a miscarriage and wait for the baby to pass or have surgery to remove the baby. But that wasn't the kind of luck (Y/n) wanted.

It had taken them over a year to even get this pregnancy, to have it end like this was not luck.

Moving her head, (Y/n) leaned her cheek on Harry's shoulder as they sat in the rather quiet waiting room at the hospital. It only took two days for the blood tests to come back and confirm what the midwife had told them and (Y/n) had gone straight into hospital the next day for the injection like she was just getting a routine vaccination rather than destroying her baby.

When the doctor had explained everything, one thing (Y/n) and Harry both knew immediately was that they were going to still think and talk about this as their baby. They had been told that with ectopic pregnancies the embryo didn't form properly which was why it couldn't be saved so they didn't refer to it as a baby, but it was. This was their baby that they couldn't have, there was no other way to think about this other than their baby.

When their name was called out, the couple got to their feet and followed the directions down the small corridor and into the room labelled number 22, Dr Matthews. They had just gone for another scan and were now seeing the doctor to check everything was okay and that the medication had done its horrid job.

It was clear from the moment they both sat down that they weren't happy or ready for this. All (Y/n) wanted to do was sleep from both sickness and heartache and all Harry could do was stay up all day and night, strumming the strings on his guitar to keep him sane in the dead of night.

(Y/n) ran her hand through her hair before leaning her head back on Harry's shoulder when they sat down. It was hard to keep her eyes open when she felt sick and just wanted to go back home and go to sleep to try and feel better. The medication they gave her came with side effects and all it seemed to do was make her sick, lose her appetite and make her sleep but she just wanted it to stop.

"Thank you both for coming in today. I've taken a look at the scan results from today and the blood tests you're having, but I'm afraid it isn't good news."

Harry's hand tightened around (Y/n)'s as his tired eyes looked around the room but he didn't know what he was looking for. How could this not be good news? Harry knew it wasn't good in the sense that this was about losing their child but he didn't see what could be wrong. (Y/n) had had the injection, she'd had blood tests every few days since then to make sure the medication was actually working and doing its job and the scan today was only to confirm that the pregnancy was terminated. What else could be wrong?

"Why, what's wrong?"

"The methotrexate you had did end the pregnancy but I'm afraid the scan showed that your fallopian tube has already ruptured despite ending the pregnancy. We're going to have to take you for an emergency surgery to remove the ruptured tube and stop any internal haemorrhaging."

For a few moments, all (Y/n) could hear was static in her ears as she closed her eyes and buried her face into Harry's neck like she was trying to disappear. It would have been better if she'd never of been pregnant at all, all the fuss and heartache wouldn't have happened and she and Harry could have dealt with it. They could have carried on trying for a baby or put it on hold for his upcoming tour and tried later on. This shouldn't have turned out like this.

"But if you do that, w-will it make it harder to get pregnant again?" (Y/n) opened her eyes enough to look at the doctor who was staring at her in worry but she didn't care. She didn't want his worry or his pity, she didn't even want this operation if it was going to ruin or lower her chances of being able to get pregnant. Getting this baby had been hard enough and that had been for nothing, (Y/n) wanted a baby and she wasn't losing her chance.

"As far as we can tell, your other fallopian tube is healthy so you'll still be able to conceive with no problems if we remove the ruptured tube. Most women have no problems conceiving with one tube. But you've had the methotrexate so you shouldn't try for a baby for at least three or four months because that will still be in your system."

(Y/n) knew she wouldn't be able to try for a baby for a few months due to the medication and that was fine, she didn't want to try straight away to get pregnant and they couldn't really with Harry going on tour soon. But it was clearly hard for them to try and have a baby, one less tube might just make it that much harder for them to try again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is everything okay?" Harry couldn't keep the nerves out of his voice as he held (Y/n)'s hand in both of his whilst trying not to let his rings puncture into her hand from the tight force he was holding her hand with. His eyes didn't know whether to focus on the monitor or on (Y/n)'s curved stomach to pray that their baby was okay.

They were eighteen weeks and so far each scan they'd had said everything was going smoothly but it still didn't help them from feeling worried whenever they turned up.

Finding out they were pregnant again was scary despite having a blood test done early on that proved this wasn't an ectopic pregnancy like last time two years ago. There were no anomalies this time, their baby was okay and nothing suggested something was going to go wrong but they didn't count on their luck so far. They had been trying for a few months to get pregnant and now they were, they didn't want anything to go wrong.

"Everything looks perfectly fine to me, baby is big and healthy. Would you like to know the gender?" The broad smile on the midwife's face sent spirals of relief and hope swirling through (Y/n) and she couldn't stop the smile or the tears from forming. Her head turned to look at Harry to double check that they did want to find out what they were having.

"Yes please."

"You're having a bouncing baby boy."

Harry didn't know what he was coming home to.

In all the time he had been with (Y/n), she had never once called him up when he was at the studio or doing an interview or just doing some form of work and asked him to come home. She'd never called him up in such a state like this before and he couldn't understand what was the matter or what was happening. At first he thought she was at home and there was a burglary taking place or that she'd slipped or fallen and hurt herself but all he could figure out was she was in immense pain to do with the baby and she didn't know what to do about it.

When they'd gone through the ectopic pregnancy two years ago Harry kept coming home early or staying home instead of getting prepared for the tour because he didn't want to leave (Y/n). Never once did she call him up when he was preparing or in the studio and ask him to come home, not when she'd been sick or couldn't eat or could barely get out of bed. She never said anything until he came home and that bugged him a lot.

But this one time she did call him told him it was bad because she'd never done this before.

The moment he barged through the front door, Harry was scanning around the house, looking in the living room, the back room, the dining room, the kitchen, the study downstairs to try and find (Y/n) before he gave up and ventured up the stairs to try and find his wife. He had to find her and see what was wrong.

Harry decided to head straight for the bedroom and see if she was in there but the moment he opened the door he stopped on the threshold when (Y/n)'s terrifying sob hit his ears and made him coil in on himself out of instinct. "H- he's b-breathing!" There was such an urgency to (Y/n)'s tone that made Harry lean on his back foot like he was about to run out of the room after witnessing something he shouldn't like he'd uncovered an affair. His right hand wrapped around the back of the wooden chair beside him that was making his rings cut into his skin but he couldn't feel it.

He couldn't feel anything but the screams clawing their nails at the back of his throat, desperate to be released and heard by anyone who would listen.

When his body came back under his control, Harry scuffed his toes against the carpet until he was close enough to the scene that he could collapse down on their shared bed next to (Y/n).

The word 'no' passed through Harry's lips like he was a broken record only able to sing that one word like a mantra stuck in his head. The more he said it the louder it became in his head until that word was all he could decipher and work out. His head started to shake and his vision blurred with unshed tears that were desperate to coat his features and burn into his skin like tears of acid as he tried to look at his wife through the tears.

She was kneeling up on the bed but her body was hunched over like there was a huge weight settled on her upper back that was crippling her and every inch of her was visibly shaking showing she was in a state of shock. The clawing screams at the back of his throat calmed down for a second, only to let Harry choke down a gag when the stench of blood and the copper-coloured substance was all he could now see in front of his eyes. The blood was stuck all over the bed and drenched into the sheets but that wasn't the worst thing that Harry could see.

It was his baby boy that he was staring at who was here far too early for his own good. Harry had never seen a baby look like that, he'd never witnessed or seen pictures of a baby so premature like this and he didn't like it. His boy had such a small nose it was almost invisible, his eyes didn't look right somehow, even though they were closed they looked too small and scrunched up and his body had creases and crinkles like a badly folded piece of clothing. His little arms were shaking and there was next to no muscle or tissue around his limbs that were thin and fragile like rolls of paper.

Harry had the sudden wonder that if he reached out for his boy's hand, his tiny fingers would break under any kind of touch they were so small.

He fit in the palms of (Y/n)'s hands.

He was the exact size of both (Y/n)'s hands and Harry knew if he held him he wouldn't fit in his hands. There was too much blood and murky coloured fluids covering him to make him look recognisable to Harry, he was too small to look like a baby when his head was small and squishy like a foam ball. But when the tiny baby tried to breathe all he seemed to do was splutter the fluids like his underdeveloped lungs were drowning.

"Harry..." (Y/n) knew what she was asking of Harry but at the same time, she didn't. She wanted him to do something, she wanted him to help and make this better but she didn't know how on Earth he could do that. They both knew that at this stage he had a slim chance of survival in a hospital ICU but they weren't at the hospital. They were at home with no medical equipment or professionals here to help and getting to a hospital was going to take precious time that they didn't have.

He was too early.

When (Y/n) placed him into Harry's hands she didn't know what she expected him to do or say but the sob that escaped his lips shocked her. She'd seen Harry cry out of happiness each time they found out they were expecting a baby or when she said yes to marrying him or on their wedding day. She'd seen him cry out of nervousness before shows or during moments where the cameras and constant media got too much for him. (Y/n) had witnessed him crying out of sadness when someone died or when something weighed down on him far too much.

But she'd never seen him cry out of pure heartbreak before. He'd never wailed like his heart was physically being ripped out of his chest but again, he'd never felt like there was a hand wrapped around his heart trying to tear it free from his chest.

His thumb brushed against his boy's cheek, smearing away the blood like he was trying to see the skin beneath and see what colour it was but his thumb could take up the whole expanse of their baby's cheek, he was so small.

Harry didn't know what to do.

His baby boy was here now when they had only been twenty weeks pregnant and there was nothing they could do for him because they weren't doctors. Harry didn't have anything to help his baby boy breathe or even to try and clear his airways of the fluids and blood that was bubbling past his thin lips. There was no incubator here to keep him warm and snuggle him up inside so he thought he was still in the womb and protect so he could grow.

All Harry had was the heat from his hands and the love from his heart, but that would never be enough to do anything for his baby.

Harry felt like his boy was going to slip right through his fingers like he was suddenly going to dissolve into water and fall through the gaps between his fingers and be like he never really existed at all. He was slippery and slimy like a fish out of water, desperate to hop back into the sea and carry on with its life.

But he couldn't do that. He was born now, he couldn't go back into the womb and wait for when he really should make his appearance. He had come on the stage in the wrong act and he couldn't back away or take it back now.

And then he was gone.

Harry couldn't feel his small chest convulsing and beating in time with the blood rushing from his lips anymore. His body was no longer shaking in Harry's hands, his breaths were no longer spluttering from his lips and he wasn't drowning anymore.

The brief thought of CPR came to Harry's mind but he dismissed it instantly. What would be the point in that? He was already gone, trying to bring him back could hurt his tiny heart that wouldn't be able to beat on its own or break his little bones that weren't finished growing and forming yet. Harry wouldn't break his baby boy like that just to make him suffer a few more harmful breaths to then have him slip away again. He was gone and it was better to let him have his peace than to hurt and butcher him.

(Y/n)'s scream rippled through Harry and made him shake but when he felt her head falling into his neck and her hands digging into his chest, he couldn't comfort her. Harry couldn't wrap his arms around her or cradle her to his chest like he wanted to because he couldn't put their baby down. He didn't dare set him down on the bed in case he broke like a china doll or he suddenly disappeared like he never existed at all. All Harry could do to comfort (Y/n) was to turn his head enough to press his trembling lips to the back of her head.

Their baby was gone but Harry couldn't put him down. He couldn't even look over at (Y/n) whose screams had drowned out into nothing but static in Harry's ears. He had arrived too late, (Y/n) had had him on her own in fear and pain and now he was dead.

They'd lost him.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #dad! harry styles #imagine

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larryloverinfinity · 3 years

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adore you music video theory (sent in by anon)

This was sent in by someone and I really love the in depth analysis given. Not to mention it’s a very nice read as well. Personally when I first watched the adore you music video I took it as Eroda being LA and Harry being new to the scene with his new found fame and what not. I have a couple of other theories but I don’t want to talk about my opinion here because you really did a solid job, Anon. And thank you for sharing this with me!

So, I've been watching the adore you lately, and especially the extended version, because I love the way it feels like a movie and the story seems like it's got hidden attributes that I hadn't been able to fully understand.

Well, I've seen some Adore You theories about the book 'Louis the Fish' and the similarities between the book and Harry's video, but those theories made me think of some other things that would make perfect sense if it were a video based off of his relationship with L. I would have made this an ask if it wasn't so dang long, so I figured I'd submit a post to see what other's thoughts are on it.

First up, we have the island of Eroda (I find it funny that Eroda is just 'adore' spelled backwards but I digress), which I think we could compare to the fame industry or music industry? Because all of the people on Eroda are so unique and stylish and quirky, yet for some reason they're not happy.

Then Harry is born (the peculiar little boy who is inexplicably different) into Eroda, which I think could symbolize him being initiated into the world of fame and the spotlight and yet still be 'different' and not quite understanding why he wasn't like everyone else (that difference could be many things, and could possibly relate to him not being 'masculine enough' or 'straight enough' for the industry and the womanizer image he was supposed to portray, among other things, just a thought).

So Harry, the peculiar boy, goes through life feeling different and alone and he gets depressed enough to fill his pockets with rocks to try and drown himself (which breaks my heart), but instead finds this lonely little fish that also sticks out in the world.

He feels like he needs to take care of this fish, and ends up taking him home and feeling a connection with him, which could symbolize Louis coming into his life, and him finally feeling seen, feeling like he has a connection with Louis, like he finally isn't alone.

Harry takes care of the fish as it keeps growing bigger and bigger, outgrowing every container he puts it in, and I wonder if that's a symbol of his relationship with Louis, where it kept growing bigger and bigger until it couldn't be contained easily anymore, and it was getting impossible to keep under wraps. The larry rumors kept growing and growing until they couldn't 'fit' into a box and hidden away.

Then we see him and the fish passing the fisherman whacking the heads off of other fish, and Harry's fish starts freaking out in terror that it will happen to him as well. I kind of wonder if that's symbolizing Louis seeing what happened to other artists that came out as gay, or bi, or any other non-hetero label, and the consequences they might've gotten for it. And seeing negative reactions from either their own management or other people's situations, he might've been hesitant enough to decide he wasn't willing to come out, at least not now.

Honestly it could symbolize both of them feeling that way about coming out, but since Louis seems far less open or out there than Harry, I wouldn't be surprised if it was Louis more than Harry.

Once the fish breaks out of the glass (interesting that it's glass, makes me think glass closet possibly? just a thought), it lands on the ground and it's too heavy and too big now for Harry to pick up by himself and he struggles with it. Then we see all these islanders rush in to help him carry the fish, and it almost makes me think of Harry and Louis' friends possibly helping them come to terms with their relationship and how to deal with being 'different' in the industry.

I also kind of wonder if maybe the people coming to help could relate to the Larries or the fans that have been supportive of H&L all this time and have been there through all the drama but support them no matter what they choose to be.

Whoever it is, the people help Harry get the fish to the edge of the river, where I think we see the symbolization that 'Larry' had gotten too big to keep hiding and therefore had to be let go (i.e., sending the fish back to the water and letting it go).

And/or, that Louis wasn't ready to come out and Harry needed to let him go until he was ready for that, portrayed by him sending the fish into the water, where it was free to keep growing and being whatever it wanted to be.

I think the water could possibly symbolize the music industry, because first the fish goes into the water alone, which could symbolize Louis going into the music industry solo, without Harry.

And then we see Harry go sailing into the waters as well, using his pain and frustration (the scream bottled in a jar) as fuel to make his ship sail, which could honestly be a representation of him using his painful experiences or the struggles he went through throughout his life and his relationship with Louis to fuel his music career and help it set sail, putting that pain to good use through songwriting, shows, etc.

I don't quite know if it symbolizes that H and L are both still in their separate parts of the industry, since the fish stayed in the water and Harry in the boat, or if they'll come back together at some point? I remember Harry doing Adore You live once and saying that 'the fish was traveling right now' or something along those lines, so maybe it's pointing to them not being free to be open and together right now, but maybe someday.

I know this is a long-ass post and maybe I'm just reaching for clouds, but I was watching the video and it's like things just started lining up in my head, so I figured I'd share. I'd LOVE to hear thoughts about it, whether anyone thinks it might be true or has their own thoughts on the video. Thanks for reading this far! And thank you, dearie, for having the ability to submit posts, I think that's pretty golden of you ;) I've never done this before but here goes lol

#harry styles #louis tomlinson #larry stylinson #Larry #anon post #onedirection #anon ask #submission

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threads-of-trust · 3 years

Note

robot.. hooker..?

“Oh my fucking god-! Ivy! That fucking robotic bitch!” Miu spat at you, looking beyond annoyed that you needed an explanation. She walked straight over to said girl’s lab and began banging on the door with her fist as loudly as possible. “Open up, you emotionless cunt!”

Ivy was rounding a nearby corner, on the way to her lab. It was rather strange, seeing Miu banging on the door. “...since when were you so interested in seeing my lab, Miu?”

Miu turned her head, gritting her teeth at the fact she just looked like an idiot banging on the door with nobody home. “Fuck your lab! I’m looking for you.” She hissed, stomping over and practically shoving her tablet in Ivy’s face, pressing the play button as all-too-familiar images flashed over it. “What the fuck is this!? And why are you trying to hide it, huh!?” She demanded.

Ivy’s eyes went wide. “...what...? They...they got footage of Æsir-Fest?! No, there’s no way. That happened in my world! Since when could-!” Ivy cut herself off, realizing what could’ve happened. Her hands clenched into fists. “...my memories. My fucking memories. They went through them. Probably Vanessa’s, too. It’s the only explanation.” She groans in frustration, turning away from Miu, letting her hands relax. “...I hid that information because it holds no relevance in this world. Why talk about something that technically didn’t even happen?”

“I don’t care what god damn multiverse it happened in! You got a shit load of people killed, do you get that!? People died! Because of you! You-! You might as well be labeled a mass murderer!” Miu growled, her anger growing now that Ivy wasn’t looking at her. “What!? You don’t like hearing the truth? Look me in the eyes, you fucking coward!”

“You think I did that just to hurt people!? Miu, you clearly don’t know me very well. I hate hurting people. Æsir-Fest was meant to collect a large amount of data about emotions in a short amount of time. I didn’t know the side effects until it had already took place! How was I supposed to know taking memories from people in virtual reality would do that to people?!” Ivy turned back around sharply, grabbing Miu’s collar and pulling her close. “Don’t you dare call me a fucking coward. I spent years trying to save Vanessa. I broke into high-security buildings, stole highly confidential data, and gave my own life in the process. You? You’re just as broken as I am. Putting up masks to hide your own faults, your insecurities. We both did things that we regret. The only difference is: I’ve already experienced the downfall. Perhaps that’s why we both got each other’s secrets.”

“You-!!” Miu shrunk at being yanked forward by the collar, wanting to cower but pushing through. Her eyes shrunk with panic at Ivy’s last sentence, pulling herself away violently and stumbling while doing so. “You already experienced the downfall...? Meaning I haven’t, h-huh?” She forced a strained laugh out. “I went into a coma. I ruined-! I hurt... you think I don’t sit here and think about how I hurt him!? You think I don’t blame myself!? Is that not punishment enough!? I work harder than anyone else to make up for it every fucking day. Just because I don’t have blood on my hands, doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer, you stuck up bitch!” She yelled, but it’s easy to see tears forming in her eyes, just from the thought of someone knowing her secret.

Ivy tilted her head. “Oh? Are you truly without blood on your hands? Hm.” She let go of Miu’s collar, reaching into her hoodie and pulling out the video she got. Holding it out for Miu to take. “You know, I initially thought you wouldn’t remember. At least...not to the level of detail that I saw. Your reaction, however...well, let’s just say I’m not terribly sure now.” She forced a smile for a moment, before sighing, finding the effort unnecessary. “...I don’t hate you, truthfully. I never did, and I probably never will. I’ve never been able to really...stay angry at anybody for very long. Don’t really know why.”

Miu tumbled back in a huff at being released, snatching away the video and throwing it on the ground with all her might. It didn’t shatter, it hardly did anything actually, the videos were near indestructible. Which only made the inventor more angry. “It’s the only fucking thing I remember from being a kid! That it’s my fault, right!? That I caused the stupid fucking crash! W-What the fuck was I supposed to do, huh!? He was drunk! H-He handed me the keys! I-I... I was only a kid!! I didn’t know how t-to drive or what to do! It’s my fucking fault, no matter what anyone says! I could’ve p-prevented it if I was just-! If I’d-!” She shook like a leaf in a storm while yelling and trying to stomp the video into pieces. “I gotta get out of here, I have to. I-I haven’t made it up to him yet! I can’t fucking die here. I-I won’t-!” She proclaimed with a shaky voice.

Ivy watched as Miu tried to destroy the video, only to suddenly step on the tablet between her stomps and kick it backwards, away from Miu. "...Miu, I get it. I feel the same way over Æsir-Fest. We both did things we regret. Not a moment goes by without me...thinking about what I could've done differently." She turned around, moving to pick up the tablet and stow it away in her hoodie. “Grief is...a strange thing, isn’t it? The way it takes on different forms, with different causes... well, it certainly intrigues me.”

“Can you act like a normal person for five fucking seconds? I’m having a g-god damn breakdown!” Miu sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “Grief isn’t interesting, it’s miserable, you wignut! How am I supposed to trust you now? I don’t even what you are. You’ll take my m-memories for your stupid Fuck-Fest too, won’t you..?” She asked, naturally aggressive but more vulnerable with her words now.

“Miu, I have no need for that anymore. The emotion samples were for Vanessa. She’s perfectly fine now. Æsir-Fest wasn’t the goal, it was a means.” Ivy sighs, making her way towards her lab. “And honestly? I don’t expect anyone to trust me. When you’re a robot who’s been infiltrating human society for over five years, trust has a steep price. Normalcy is a luxury.” She opens the door to her lab. “...I have a sculpture to finish. If you wish to speak to me again, you can wait for me in the lobby. Unlike Aditi, I can’t exactly drown my sorrows in alcohol.”

“......” Miu looked out off by her emotions being so thoroughly dismissed. What else should expect from a robot? Even Pixel acted this way at times, despite the emotions function she added onto her. Ivy wasn’t any different. And now, the inventor looked like a fool for trying to confide in her. She glared at the ground before turning her back and huffing. “Whatever. Go carve your fucking ice, I guess. It’s fine... what the fuck ever...” She scoffed before walking off, completely red in the face and indignant.

“...” Ivy didn’t respond, softly closing the door behind her as Miu walked away. She sighed, taking off her hoodie and hanging it up on a convenient hook near the door, before leaning against the door, letting herself slide down to the floor. Something definitely struck a nerve...

#🛠miu iruma: ultimate inventor💖#❄ivy: ultimate ???💻#✉woven messages: ask🧵#🎭frayed threads: anonymous❓

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haich-slash-cee · 3 years

Text

I luv emotional comfort in books

and IDK if y’all are aware but romance books are prime for this. So, my prose reading includes: Speculative fiction, #ownvoices type books that are middle grade YA ish, and also random romance novels that are inclusive. I’m going to go over why these books are great.

Speculative fiction (ie scifi, fantasy, horror): I just like these. These are my jam. I have a whole tag of mild horror for this blog, and most of the books I talk about on this blog are spec fiction.

Middle grade books: they have happy endings, they are short, they are easy to read, they are often diverse. V good.

YA books, New Adult books: also written in an easy-to-read style. Also, MG and YA books and I think New Adult tend to be more on top of inclusive representation. Or maybe that’s what I hear about and read more of.

FYI, things get potentially more angsty in these older reader books. Sometimes I’m up for that drama-filled YA book about a trans demi-boy artschool teenager in NYC, or I want to read about the teen mom who wants to be come a chef and she gets everything she wants and it’s great and I cried. Or, sometimes I just wanna curl up with a warm and lowkey MG book about a young Syrian refugee who wants to audition for a school play. (All these books have happy endings fyi)

(Also, I know I’m about to extoll the virtues of romance books.... but if, in fact, you prefer your books to be low/null on romance and stuff: first, there is a growing # of aro ace protagonist or oriented books, whooo! Also, often MG and some YA New Adult books fall into that category of “Characters are concerned about things besides a crush or love interest”.)

Romance books: I don’t actively go looking for them, but occasionally an #ownvoices type romance book will show up in my radar and I’ll read it.

Having just actively pointed out that I appreciate ace aro ish books.... why romance books?

First, Romance book are legally required to have a happy and optimistic ending. That might not be the exact phrasing, but basically: you can’t call it a romance book if it’s not “happy ever after” or “happy for now”. So if you pickup a book with minority characters and it’s labeled “romance”? The minority characters are guaranteed to be cherished and loved and have a happy ending. Minority characters will be told “you’re amazing, you are loved, I am so happy when I am with you”. Which is revolutionary in its own way.

Also, when there’s so many books with themes of “Bury Your Gays”, “The PoC will Die for the White People”, “This Author Wants to you Connect With this Minority By Making Them Die Because That’s The only Way to Make a Minority Character Relatable?”, “Women Being Happy Is Too Weird Apparently?”, “This Gender Minority Needs to Suffer For Reasons and this Book is Written By an Outsider FYI and the Representation is Suspicious”, “While racism and pain is a part of PoC and minority day to day life that is not realized by majority groups, and minorities should speak up when they want to because they are often discouraged from speaking due to white fragility and systemic stuff -- I have questions when I see writers from a majority group writing about Minority Suffering, especially when imposed as Minorities Suffer And This Can’t Be Changed Narrative, because that is a very convenient narrative for an oppressive system, as it enforces that Things are Unchangeable and Oppressors don’t have to do the work to change a system that benefits them, and this narrative needs to be challenged", “Minority Characters Suffers, Suffers, Suffers.... Look, I need a break from reality, I just can’t read this right now”, and finally, “Did you know that ‘diverse’ books are popular, but it’s still white people making money from writing issues of PoC, while BIPOC authors are still only like 7% of the market and BIPOC writers are very aware of this gatekeeping happening in publishing?”.... Happy minority characters and also actively reading and supporting minority-author’d books is a thing to be discussed. (Link, link, link and link to publishing industry reports on the 2nd point.)

Also, romance books are generally character driven, and character driven stuff is my jam.

H/C: There’s like, sooo much emotional comfort in romance books, y’all. People are showered with love. People are vulnerable and comforted and happy. Listen, I just read “Wrapped Up in You” by Talia Hibbert and it was basically was two solid hours of this. Literally. And a few cats show up. Also, the writer put a note in the front of the book about some possible triggers in the story, assured that she handled these as lovingly as she could, and that this books was meant to be a Christmas comfort read. (It was.) I really like when published books put info like this in the front.

...Occasionally there is straight up physical h/c or whump or at least sick fic scenarios in romance? Like, I expect piles of fluff and emotional comfort from romance. It’s almost a legal requirement. I’m here for these saccharine piles for fluff. Anyway, there’s more physical h/c than I expected.

So I was reading “Let’s Talk About Love” by Claire Kann (which has a young Black woman who is Ace and falling in love in the most adorable way, fyi... so we have ace rep in romance books too!) Anyway, y’all, there was a whole section which was basically a sickfic for one character with cooing and nursing and worrying by another character. It went on for a while. Personally, I thought the illness sounded pretty dang serious here and I think these people should have just gone to the doctor or a hospital, maybe, instead of days and days of home nursing and convenient character backstory exploration through looking at photo albums. But this is fiction. (Also they are young adults and are struggling for money and maybe they’re afraid of healthcare costs, idk. It takes place in the US.)

Actually, while I have admittedly not read too many romances, I feel like half of the books I have read include a “uh oh the protagonist/love interest just got the flu, the other character has to take care of them” scene.

Also, once I was reading a romance story and someone just... fell off a cliff? And cue subsequent expressions of feelings from other character and spending time together etc. IDK why I’m laughing, it was just funny that I had a vague idea of what romance books were, then I read this book and thought, “People are just straight-up falling off cliffs and limping around and later they can’t move from a bed and someone fusses over them, wow, there is just straight up h/c in these published romance books for ladies and no one talks about it, huh”

#comfort #books #book #hurt comfort #whump #fluff #ownvoices #romance books #hea #hfn

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harlstark · 4 years

Text

here is an unpublished excerpt from my harley keener centric wip au (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889949/chapters/57432955) in which harley comes out to pepper. this is unedited.

tags: angst, fluff, coming out, irondad, ironmom, ironson

word count: 1097

———

“Don’t worry Harley. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of girls lining up for you in school.” Pepper said innocently, patting his head as she walked by to the kitchen counter.

He laughed awkwardly. Had Tony forgotten he was... That, word? As in not liking girls? Did such a large factor of his life really manage to slip through the man’s mind? Pondering over such circumstance, Harley realized that the possibility of it wasn’t something he should worry over, as the hero had quite a large amount of information—lots of which was excruciatingly stress inducing, constantly on his plate. ‘It’s not his fault. Why should he even care in the first place about who Harley finds interest in?’

Breaking his concentration, said man rested a palm on Harley’s shoulder. “Oh, PG, I forgot there was something I wanted to show you.” He said, guiding the blonde boy out of the kitchen area and down a hallway.

“PG? Where’d you come up with that one.” He asked.

“Potato Gun. That, and the fact that you are the ironic opposite of PG. You swear like a damn sailor, and please, may I remind you, to try and keep that to a minimum once the baby arrives.” Tony requested, hands moving about in the slightest of ways.

‘Right... The baby.’ Harley thought. Of course he was ecstatic for the couple which had taken him in. They were about to be parents! However, that didn’t eradicate his anxiety-riddled feelings—which were then accompanied by guilt, of remembering that as much as they felt like parental figures to him, he wasn’t really their kid. He already felt like a replacement Peter often enough, that waiting for the baby to be born felt like a time bomb ready to end Harley’s existence—at least in his mentor’s heart. That, though, was a topic for another day (never if he had any say in fate).

“So um,” he cleared his throat. “what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to get out of Pepper’s earshot. I didn’t tell her kid.”

A confused expression planted itself on Harley’s face. “Tell her what?” He asked.

“When Pep mentioned your destiny to being a lady’s man-“

“She didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Zip zip! When she said what she did, you froze. She doesn’t know you’re not interested in girls, Harls.” The mechanic explained.

‘Oh.’ The boy thought. “You... Remembered?”

It was Tony’s turn then to grow on the perplexed look. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I remember everything about you. Or, well, I try to anyways. My memory can be fuzzy at times.”

“Probably because you’re old.” He retorted, earning a playful slap at his shoulder.

“Anyways,” the man continued with harmless ice to his words, “she doesn’t know because I didn’t tell her. Not my place to. Although I do have to say that if you did tell her, she’d accept you one-hundred percent.”

“H-How do you, how... How do you kn-know?” He questioned, nervous stutter making its appearance. He inwardly cursed himself.

“Well if she did have an issue I really doubt she’d be dating me.” Tony stated.

“What?”

“You know. The whole, dating app thing?” Tony alluded to, but with no avail as Harley remained clueless.

“Men, women, non-binary whatever I could care less. I...” The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not straight either kid. Bi, pan, I-I don’t use a label but I’m not heterosexual. Pepper knows, and she legitimately couldn’t care less.” He explained to the stunned looking teenager.

“H-How come you never told me? I mean if you knew I’m...”

Tony huffed a laugh. “It’s pretty public info kiddo. Figured you already knew.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah ‘oh’.” He mimicked, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I’m not saying you have to tell her, by the way. I’m just saying that, if you want to, I promise it’d go well. It’s up to you who you tell and when. If you need help I’m here for you of course, always, but yeah. Wasn’t my place to tell your story without permission.”

At that, Harley smiled warmly at the man beside him.

“I’ll tell her.” He decided.

“Alright then. I’d wish you luck but you don’t need it.”

“I wanna tell her now.”

Oh. “Now? As in right this moment?”

The blonde nodded. “If I don’t do it now I don’t think I’d ever get the ba-“ Tony gave him a pointed look. “The courage, to do it another time. Can you be there with me?” He requested.

The man’s heart warmed at the inquiry. “Always.”

The two of them made their way back into the kitchen where Pepper had been snacking on some caramel covered raisins—a recent craving of hers.

“Hello boys, what was Tony showing you honey?” She asked, looking up from her Business Weekly magazine and bowl of raisins.

“Um...” Harley looked beside himself to Tony, who gave him a reassuring wink. “I-It’s about you said?”

The strawberry blonde gave a curious look.

“About uh, about girls being i-interested in me. It’s just t-that, I uh, I’m um... It’s just that there’s a l-l-little fact about me with that I kind of just, w...want... When people think abou-about who they see themselves with, u-usually it’s a guy and a girl or a g...girl and a g-guy but I- I’m-“ He couldn’t get the word off his tongue. The one word he had yet to say out loud even to himself. ‘Just say it Harley’ he criticized himself.

“You’re... Gay? Bisexual? Pansexual? Something el-“

“F-First one.” He confirmed, eyes watering slightly.

Pepper walked around the counter and placed her hands on Harley’s shoulders, looking at him with a soft grin before pulling him into a hug. After letting go, she spoke. “In that case, I retract my previous statement. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of boys lining up for you in school.” She said with a teasing wink.

“You can be the prime runner up for the position of genius billionaire playboy philanthropist two-point-oh.” Tony joked from where he stood.

Harley gave a light chuckle. “Ah shut up old man.”

Not even fighting back against the statement, Tony responded with “love ya too kiddo.”

It made them all freeze. Harley looked over at Tony who as staring holes in the back of his tight shut eyelids, which only opened when he felt the warmth of an embrace around his middle. There, Harley had gripped for him in a hug, his head resting upon Tony’s shoulder.

“I love you too.” He said gently. “Both of you.”

#harley keener #irondad and ironson #iron man iii #iron man 3 #iron man #iron lad #ironman #ironlad #iron mom #pepper potts #virginia potts #tony stark #ironmom #ironson #au #fic #fanfic #drabble #coming out

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years

Text

all roads lead - ch. 7

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 4,433 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8,

Chapter 7: GROWTH

The next morning, John takes Malia and Stiles down to the station.

"Can we walk?" Malia asks through a mouthful of toast over the breakfast table. "We took the fastest route to get here, and I never want to see the inside of a car or bus again."

Stiles cringes at the instantly curious glint in the rest of the table's eye - the fastest? What were they running from? - but his father just nods.

As the others leave for school, Stiles catches Isaac by the door. He's already regretting it as the taller boy regards him with suspicion, but he also knows that making peace, making friends with the people he's living with - the pack he's rivalling - can only help.

"I just, uh, wanted to say, about last night-"

"Oh, uh-" Isaac flinches back at the reminder; Stiles barrels through before the conversation can derail.

"I don't need to know what happened to you, man. I just wanted to say, if these douche twins are getting you detention for something you never did, it can't really hurt to do the things the school already thinks you're guilty of, right?"

Isaac narrows his eyes. "Are you telling me I should beat up the twins." It comes out flat, less question than deadpan statement.

Stiles kinda likes this kid. "I'm not saying anything, dude. Just something to think about."

As he ducks away to go find Malia, he swears he sees Isaac smirk.

His lighter mood doesn't last long. Whilst walking down the roads towards town, shrouded by foliage and that strangely charged forest air, seems to clear something in his lungs; walking through the centre of Beacon Hills feels like slowly peeling off his skin. With every step, the last seven years seem to flee him. He is shrinking into that scared, angry ten year old who knew nothing of the real world, and it makes him itch like ants crawling through his veins.

Everything feels so much smaller. The long walk from his or Scott's house, usually only completed with the aid of their parents' cars, now breezes by. The buildings that towered over him seem so short he could touch their roofs.

Maybe it's because he hit his crazy growth spurt just after leaving, shooting up inches overnight - at the meagre age of eleven he had already rivalled his alpha, a fact he never let Peter live down. Or maybe it's living in a city full of skyscrapers. Maybe it's just the confidence that comes with knowing he is the most dangerous thing for miles, that anything that could challenge or threaten him now would pale in comparison to- well, everything else.

But that well of confidence seems buried, far from reach as the past crawls over his skin. In a city like New York, everything faded quickly into the background. Buildings came up and down, climbing higher and higher towards the clouds. The names and contents of shops were more like revolving doors than staples of the community. Here in Beacon Hills, time seems to have frozen. There is the clock tower, still broken ten years after it ground to a halt. The ice-cream shop that never seems to have customers yet remains open, even through the winter months.

There is something aching in his heart that he refuses to label.

Stiles had hoped that the long stretch of time since he was last seen in Beacon Hills would keep the watchful eyes of a small town away from him. But while no one recognises the sheriff's son, everyone recognises the sheriff. People look up from their shopping, gaze out of cafe windows, stop in the street to watch the sheriff walking into town with two strange teenagers trailing behind him. Stiles wants to fold in on himself - his anonymity has been a weapon he's wielded for as long as he can remember.

Malia squares her shoulders, grips his hand tight in hers.

As they approach the sheriff's station, Stiles' pace slows. Even with a father in law enforcement, places and people such as these have only ever registered as a threat. Here in Beacon Hills, they are the reason Peter's family was never avenged. The reason Malia had to be broken out of Eichen House. In New York they had all been in the pockets of various supernatural groups. Being arrested had nothing to do with what you did wrong, and everything to do with who you were, or who you had pissed off.

Stiles got off relatively lucky, as a white guy. They still make his skin crawl, and the toxic scent of gunmetal and overentitlement only adds to the sickness growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Stiles?" his father asks, stood in the doorway. The light casts off-putting shadows across his face.

"I'm fine," he swallows, allowing one of his many masks to slip effortlessly over his features. Bright eyes, vageuly concerned smile. He curls one fist full of claws deep into his pocket, the other fastened firmly in Malia's grip.

"You with me?" he asks her, watching her distant expression. Her experiences here, though almost a year ago, have never led to good things.

"Mmhm," Malia nods noncomittally, as if she isn't hearing hollow screams in her ears, as if her claws haven't begun to dig painfully into Stiles' palm.

"We can wait outside," he suggests.

"No we can't. I'm just being ridiculous."

"Malia." He turns to face her, blocking vieher w of the station. "You're never being ridiculous. I would burn this whole place down in an instant if you asked me. You're allowed to find things hard, to say no to things."

"But you-"

"I am hardly the poster boy for mental health and healthy coping mechanisms. Just because I have a habit of exposing myself to my triggers doesn't mean you should force yourself into those situations."

Malia bites her lip, eyes drifting behind him to where John is waiting, no doubt confused or concerned. "I think I can do this." When Stiles doesn't move, she touches her hand to the side of his face. "Really. If I need to leave, I promise I will."

They go inside, ignoring the sheriff's expression. The Stiles who idolised his father and his career is long dead.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of paperwork and curious stares that Stiles barely registers. There's closing his and Malia's missing persons cases, filling out statements that everyone knows are little more than a patchwork of thinly connected lies, filled with more blanks than words. The deputies are all overly helpful, coming over to offer coffee, biscuits, anything that will give them a glimpse to take back for gossip.

Then comes dealing with the school - and dealing with Eichen House. The former is nothing more than a few phone calls, the scheduling of an aptitude test for the next day. An inquiry into the education the two of them have had in the past few years, to which they shrug. "Home-schooled," they say, which is sort of true - if you count home-school as learning to pick out a single voice from an entire city of noise, memorising ancient alphabets and magical herbs.

A far more useful education, in Stiles' opinion.

The latter goes suspiciously easy, Malia's claws gripped into Stiles' flesh the whole time. John leaves him and Malia in the hallway while he makes a call behind the locked door of his office. Five minutes later, he emerges with a grimacing smile.

"Everything's cleared up," John says, talking to Malia but looking at his son, and Stiles wonders just what strings his father had to pull to make this miracle happen. How worried he should be.

But the door of the sheriff's station is lined with mountain ash, so neither of them heard a thing. If he wasn't sure of his father's supernatural knowledge, he is now.

How often has the station been subject to supernatural attack?

By the time the wheels of bureaucracy have been set fully in motion, it's well into the afternoon. The autumn air is beginning to turn cold as the sun sinks towards the horizon, and Stiles feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. He's always preferred the cover of darkness, the way the world gets quieter but never quite still. It feels like a breath of fresh air after months below ground.

"I've got a lot to finish up here," John apologises, glancing out at the sky. "If you kids want to make your way home, go ahead."

"Is it okay if we wander around town a bit?" Malia asks. "We'll be back for dinner."

John hesitates before nodding - having his son back for only a day, letting him out of sight must feel like losing him all over again.

"It's okay, dad," Stiles insists. "We can look after ourselves."

"Just be safe," his father sighs. "There's been a lot of animal attacks in the past few months, even in town." The alpha pack. Of course. But what reason would they have to go after him and Malia when they're hiding their scents?

But the sheriff isn't finished. His eyes dart nervously. "And... it's possible there's a serial killer working in Beacon Hills right now."

That is not what Stiles expected. Even in a supernaturally charged town, a serial killer? That's something saved for cities like the one they just left.

"A serial killer?" Stiles asks, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

"RItual murderer as far as we can tell, yeah. So please be careful. Stay together. Come home before dark."

"Of course, yeah. Love you dad!" Stiles ushers Malia out of the station as fast as he can appear casual.

"Stiles, you're smiling." Malia looks half amused as they begin wandering aimlessly around town.

"Am I?"

"You know most people don't get excited about serial killers."

"Yeah, but a serial killer in this town, Mal. Ritual murders. That's magical nonsense if ever I heard it. Remember that guy in New York who used blood sacrifices for his healing potions?"

"Of course I remember. Their whole pack was exiled."

"Exactly. We already know there are two packs in town." He'd informed Malia of everything he overheard from Scott and Melissa at dinner, though she doesn't seem half as worried about it as he is. "And every pack has an emissary."

"We don't have an emissary."

"That's cos we have me."

He doesn't know why he's able to do magic. It's hereditary, Peter had told him, and he supposes his mother might have had a gift and never had the chance to tell him- but surely his father would have known? Whatever the reason, his power is significantly weaker than it should be, supposedly since he's no longer human.

Still, Peter had insisted on getting him training; any unexpected edge was a good one in New York. He can't handle mountain ash or mistletoe, but he can conjure a flickering light, or unlock a door. He has enough ability to sense magic in the air, enough knowledge to decipher its workings.

Enough of a spark to draw a trickster spirit like a moth to a flame.

"So you want to investigate? What happened to being normal teenagers?"

"Is that what you want?" Stiles asks, genuinely.

Malia's face twists. "Not really. Especially if there's a threat. I'd like... to find things to care about. People. A place. Something that might be a safe, even for a little while. And we're supernatural- normal was never really our thing."

"Okay then." Stiles smiles. A project, a place to call home, the lack of blood on the air (at least for now) - it's all he really needs to thrive. "First things first we've gotta steal the case files from my dad."

"You haven't even checked the newspapers yet."

Stiles is about to come up with a witty response to that, when he all but slams into someone waiting on the sidewalk by the public library. He leaps back, a mess of instinctual clumsiness and supernatural grace. "Sorry, sorry-"

"It's okay, really," the girl says, brushing herself off, already pushing away. Stiles blinks. It's been seven years, but he would recognise that strawberry blonde hair, those intelligent green eyes, anywhere.

"Lydia? Lydia Martin?"

She frowns, eyes narrowing in suspicion at him. She's grown tall in the years since he left, though the alarmingly high heels may have something to do with it. Her face is a perfectly painted canvas of makeup and confidence. Her clothes and posture are immaculate despite their run-in moments before.

Everything about this girl is practiced and careful.

"Do I know you?" she asks, dismissively, but there's a sharp wariness to her tone.

"Stiles!" The yell comes from across the street, and Stiles flinches a mile, not used to being recognised or addressed. He turns to the source of the voice and finds Scott running across the street - which is thankfully mostly empty.

"Stiles?" Lydia asks, mask breaking in shock. "Stilinski?"

"Um, yeah?" Stiles rubs the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "I just got back yesterday."

"You just 'got back'? You've been missing for seven years."

"And now I'm not?"

Scott joins them on their side of the street. "Hey, Lyds," Scott smiles to her, and that is something Stiles wasn't expecting, either. Is Scott popular now? When will he stop being surprised by this town? "I see you've met Stiles and Malia."

"You didn't think to mention the small fact that the sheriff's presumed-dead son had turned up back in town? We've been at school for a whole day and it- what, just slipped your mind? Come on, McCall."

"Sorry," Scott looks up bashfully through his eyelashes, an expression even the most heartless person would forgive instantly. He turns to look at Stiles with a stern expression. "In my defence, I was trying to do damage control all day."

"Isaac?" Stiles asks. "Good for him. I hope he made those detentions worth it."

Lydia snorts. "You put him up to that? He drove Aiden's bike into the school hallway and framed him for it."

Okay; Stiles loves this kid.

"You're just bitter cos you're sleeping with the enemy," Scott mutters, earning himself a sharp elbow in the ribs from Lydia. They dissolve into bickering - remarkably like siblings, Stiles thinks - as if he and Malia aren't even there. Their camaraderie is enough for him to do a double-take, to check the scents on the wind again.

Lydia isn't a werewolf, but there's something. Like the smell of dust and grass, the dampness of mist. It clings to her in flickers and starts, as if unsure it belongs to her.

Why does everything in this town have to be supernatural and connected?

Not that New York was much different, in his experience.

Growing up in New York had been good for Stiles, he had always liked to think. That first year had been rough, both he and Peter angry and guilty and filled with so much grief they could barely stand. But when Stiles had stumbled back into their apartment, missing for almost two weeks, with a fully grown coyote pacing at his heels, everything had changed.

He hadn't even tried to convince her to stay in the preserve - he wanted to leave her side as little as she wanted to leave him, but the bond calling him back to New York, to Peter, had been just as strong. Convincing bus drivers to let her on, that she was really just an overly large service dog, had been the real challenge.

Peter didn't even have the dignity to look surprised. His icy eyes blinked between the two of them, as if tracing the newly forged bond tying them together. "A pack of strays if ever I saw one," he smirked.

It had taken several days for Peter to figure out how to force Malia's change. She spent them basking in their attention, lying sprawled across the bed, follwing him around the apartment. She tried to play the piano with her paws - to Peter's infinite frustration - and stood on the kitchen counter while he cooked dinner, stealing slivers of meat from the frying pan.

By the time she was human again, Stiles knew Peter had fallen just as in love with this girl as he had.

Now that there were two of them, however, Peter put his foot down. Stiles had too much time on his hands, and Peter too little. And that meant school.

Forging the papers was easy enough. And in a city as large as New York, being the new kids wasn't that out of place.

But he was the boy who flinched at loud noises. Who never stopped moving or talking, too clumsy or too fast, never just right. And she was the girl who behaved more like an animal; who had missed three years of school due to a tragedy she still had yet to mention. And that made them outcasts.

Which was fine by Stiles. In Beacon Hills he'd had only two friends - Scott, and a quiet, introspective boy named Theo. He didn't thrive off large crowds. He did his school work, excelled at the sciences and utterly failed at English. He knew what he was good at, and bad at, and didn't need anyone else's approval.

Looking back, it wasn't exactly a healthy mindset. But he had been happy enough with Malia. She was funny, and brusque. She spoke her mind and didn't act like she had a care in the world, though he was witness to every flinch and nightmare, and the way she got frustrated and angry in situations that exposed how little she knew compared to her peers. She cuddled him for warmth at night, always shivering, and woke him when his dreams began to drown him.

She hated school as much as he hated the people inside it, always falling asleep in class or ditching altogether. He's sure there are more than a dozen tables covered in deep claw marks around the middle and high schools they attended. And after, she would drag him out to the woods, or to the latest restaurant she'd discovered that served deer. She was such a contradiction of animal and human, filled with a young spirit and an old heart.

Seeing the world through her eyes was as different, as wonderful, as the contrast between his human and wolf eyes.

Every Friday, Stiles managed to keep Malia's attention on school work for two hours - certainly not long enough to cover everything that made her mutilate tables, but enough to ground her, to keep her grades wavering between a C and a D. They had traded this agreement in exchange for Stiles learning how to cast warming charms from his magical tutor. He had sewn them into every piece of clothing Malia owned and she, clearly not expecting him to actually follow through, was stuck in the school library once a week.

A year before Malia left to try Beacon Hills on for size, he sat in their usual spot. Malia had bunked off their last two sessions to see her new girlfriend, whom Stiles was so sure would be out the door before long he hadn't bothered to learn her name.

Which is why he was so stunned to see Malia saunter up to the desk and throw herself into a chair, followed by an awkward-looking girl in cute black pigtails and a tartan skirt.

"What's the subject today?" Malia asked, spilling the entire contents of her locker onto the table.

"Uh, math, as usual," Stiles stumbled over his words, unsure of how to behave around this new girl. "You've been maintaining a D in that for months."

"Just because they can't find the x right there on the page doesn't mean I'm the idiot."

The girl, still hovering uncertainly, let out a laugh - cute, and genuine. Stiles felt a sudden rush of jealousy - no, just protectiveness - rise up inside him.

"Who are you?" he asked with all the force a fourteen year old could muster, not bothering to hide his feelings.

"Stiles, play nice," Malia rolled her eyes at him. "This is Kira. Yukimura. She's struggling with math as well, and since you're such a good teacher, I thought you could tutor us both." The girl gave a small wave and took a seat beside Malia.

Stiles gave Malia what he hoped was the most annoyed glare in the world. Yukimura. His magical tutor didn't talk about much outside of their lesson material, but she'd mentioned her daughter a couple times before. What was Malia thinking, mixing these two antithetical sides of their lives?

Peter had insisted on training Stiles - but their pack had no emissary to do the work. Stiles never asked him where he got his alpha power from, what happened to the pack - and the emissary - left behind. He didn't want to break the tentatively steady ground they'd all found for themselves these past few years. But their pack had been regarded with suspicion for it - new alphas didn't just appear, especially in such heavily contested territory as New York.

Maybe if they'd known his real last name was Hale, they might have been less suspicious. Or more, Stiles can't decide. Whatever the possibilities, their pack had been outsiders on that front, too; no one willing to lend their emissary to this ragtag bunch of strays.

So Peter had turned to an old kitsune, one who had given up most of her power to her child but still had the knowledge to explain the mechanisms and techniques of the craft. She was over nine hundred, after all - there was nothing she hadn't seen.

Stiles could smell the fox on this girl, when he focused. Barely more than a wisp, a spark of power that would no doubt burst into flames over the next couple of years. Was Malia hoping to add to their family? Did she seriously just like this girl?

The answer to all these questions, Stiles would later learn, was of course. Because Malia is a pack animal at heart, filled to the brim with feelings she never really learned how to voice, and a special eye for stray, wounded creatures. She wants to care, if only someone would teach her how- and neither Stiles nor Peter could do that.

But Kira could. She was kind and curious - a lot like Scott, he thinks now. And powerful.

Curiosity had won out. Kira was attentive, asking all the right questions, prompting Malia's work when she was hesitant to ask. He hated to admit it then, but it was the most productive session they'd ever had. He'd even managed to smile Kira goodbye when they left her at the bus stop.

"I knew it," Malia grinned as they made their way back to the apartment. She was practically bouncing.

"Knew what?" Stiles grumbled, more acting the part of annoyed than feeling it by now.

"You're lonely." Stiles started to scoff, but she cut him off. "I've literally never seen you that animated. More arm waving than ever. You stink of loneliness, even if you never noticed. You cut yourself off from people before they can get close to you, that way they never have the ammunition to hurt you."

"You sound like you've eaten a psychology textbook."

"I'm not wrong. Stiles, no man is an island."

"That's definitely from a textbook."

"Actually it's from trivia about The Incredibles. Doesn't make it any less true."

"So you just happened to pick the one girl at school with a known connection to the supernatural."

He doesn't think he'd seen Malia blush until that second. "She yelled at some girls who were teasing me about being stupid."

"You're not-"

"Shut up, Stiles," Malia glared at him. "The point is she's cute, and I like her, and if she's going to be in my life then she's going to be in yours, too. Might as well be friends."

"I think Noshiko could kill me and leave no trace."

"So could I. What's your point?"

And that had been that. Kira had folded seamlessly into their lives, and Stiles had been surprised by the space his heart made to fit her.

Like everything in their lives, that had collapsed several weeks ago in a rush of blood and electricity. He couldn't have know, of course he couldn't, that the nogitsune he let inside had a personal vendetta against Kira's mother.

But her horrified expression is burnt into the backs of his eyelids in the flashes of her flickering foxfire. The easy grin on his face as he drank in the chaos. The riddle he left her with.

What do liars do after death?

He had considered Kira a friend, maybe even pack, and the memories of that first meeting come rushing back to him as he watches Scott and Lydia. Scott, an alpha who has control, who is so effortlessly kind and put together that even other supernaturals flock to him. The way a fox should have made her home with them, if only Stiles hadn't ruined absolutely everything.

It takes him a moment to realise he's been staring into space, and the other three are looking at him. "Hm?" Malia gives him a knowing look that says she's going to try and make him talk about this later.

"Me and Lyds are supposed to be meeting up with Isaac and a couple others," Scott says. "If you wanted to come?"

A couple others. Stiles is pretty sure that's code for pack. Isn't this what he wanted? To ingratiate himself to the resident pack of the town, so that when their charade of normalcy inevitably comes crashing down, they might not kill him and Malia on sight?

Can he start again afresh, or is the blood doomed to follow him?

"Sounds awesome," Malia says. After all, she's always been the most forward of the two of them. The one who builds bridges whilst Stiles burns them down.

But he'd like to see Isaac again. He'd like to meet the rest of Scott McCall's pack, figure out just how much danger this boy has surrounded himself with to remain so kind. He still needs to find Derek and Laura Hale.

Beacon Hills is not New York; so far from it, no matter how tethered Stiles and the supernatural are to the both of them. The other shoe will undoubtedly drop eventually, soon - it's the one fact life has only convinced him of more as the years pass.

May as well make the best of the sunshine while it lasts.

#teen wolf #fanfiction #stiles stilinski #malia tate #scott mccall #lydia martin #sheriff stilinski #own work

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