#and has also been a good rule of thumb for when to Stop engaging with someone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 months

Text

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Feb 15, 2024

How do we argue with those who are incapable of argumentation? This is a question I’ve been grappling with for some time. If your child is demanding sweets before dinner, screaming like a banshee and committing various acts of domestic vandalism, you have few options. You might attempt to initiate a debate, outlining the pros and cons of ingesting unhealthy food in advance of a nutritious meal, but this strategy will invariably fail. In the end, you’ll just have to tell the little brat to shut up and do what he’s told. Or, better still, avoid having children in the first place.

Many of us will have experienced something similar on Twitter (or X, if you insist). Something about the platform has the effect of curdling the sweetest Dr Jekylls into the most repugnant of Mr Hydes. And when someone just bleats insults, or mischaracterises your views, or generally cannot engage in good faith, the best thing to do is to block them. You don’t owe anyone your time and attention, and you’ll only drive yourself insane trying to reason with the unreasonable. Most clever adages end up being attributed to Mark Twain whether he wrote them or not, and this one is no exception: “Never wrestle with a pig; you just get dirty and the pig enjoys it”.

One of the best things about withdrawing from Twitter is that I am no longer bombarded by complaints that my blocking people on the platform proves that my commitment to free speech is inauthentic. The typical tactic is to screenshot the cover of my book Free Speech and Why It Matters as a kind of “gotcha” to illustrate my hypocrisy. And while I am grateful for the publicity, it does get rather tedious having to explain this most common and basic of misapprehensions. The podcaster Stephen Knight put it rather succinctly: “Someone implying that being blocked on Twitter is somehow a violation of their free speech is the fastest way you can tell people you don’t understand free speech.” Instead of smugly posting images of my book, perhaps they ought to read it instead.

In a surreal twist, my blocking habits on Twitter recently made the news. Just after Christmas, an article by Pierra Willix was published in the Metro with the headline: “Confusion as GB News presenter who champions ‘free speech’ blocks critics”. In truth, I have never blocked anyone for polite criticism; I welcome it. And while it goes without saying that nobody expects factual accuracy from the Metro, we should be concerned that an individual who aspires to make a living in journalism does not appear to understand the concept of free speech.

Willix has fallen for what Helen Pluckrose and James Lindsay have called “the fallacy of demanding to be heard”. They make the point that just as freedom of religion incorporates freedom from religion, the right to speak and listen also entails the right not to speak and listen. If you’ve ever received an unwelcome phone call and hung up, you have not impeded on the caller’s rights. If you choose not to read my books, I cannot claim to have been censored. If you block someone on social media, all it means is that you’re not interested in what they’ve got to say. I’ve been blocked by hundreds of people online and, although this clearly reflects poorly on their taste and judgement, my freedom of speech remains intact.

Permit me to suggest a workable rule of thumb when it comes to blocking online. Just imagine if someone came up to you on the street and exclaimed: “You’re an evil ugly Nazi and you should be thrown into a live volcano”. (I’m paraphrasing one of my more disgruntled critics.) Now what would you do in that situation? Would you…

Stop for a moment and say: “Goodness, that’s an interesting point of view. Let’s discuss that a little more, shall we? Perhaps over a glass of crème de menthe?”

Walk away.

If you opt for the latter, that’s the equivalent of the block on social media. Blocking is not censorship. It’s the difference between choosing to cover one’s own ears or forcibly stopping someone else’s mouth.

There are many other good reasons to block. I generally block those who throw insults, post threats or libel, assume bad faith, or those who tell me that they know what I am secretly thinking. These amateur telepaths are remarkably common on social media. Total strangers have variously informed me that I am a men’s rights activist, a white nationalist, a Tory voter and a raging homophobe. All of these happen to be the precise opposite of the truth, but since my detractors speak with the certainty of Old Testament prophets, their lies tend to gain traction. I’ve even been told that I’m being funded by “dark money”. This money must be very dark indeed, given that I have never actually seen any of it.

If one wishes to avoid being drawn into endless arguments with these fantasists, many of whom seem to believe that the promotion of liberal values is some kind of “far-right dog-whistle”, blocking is a sensible option. But even if you were to block someone on a whim – for overusing emojis, or being a Sagittarius, or because they can’t spell “parallelogram” – this would be your prerogative. I have started blocking those who claim that blocking is a threat to their free speech. Not that I’m intolerant of the intellectually challenged, it’s just that I prefer to keep them off my timeline. Call it quality control.

Another option is to mute the worst offenders, but of course this does leave you open to malicious campaigns of mass reporting. In addition, there is a certain species of online troll that feels no compunction in posting libellous tweets wherever possible. Although muting them means that you will never have to see it, they are still able to use your tweets as a springboard to defame and smear. Why give them the satisfaction?

In the midst of pile-ons, I have been known to block the most sociopathic offenders and all of their followers. This instantaneously has the effect of curbing the swarm; a clipping of the winged monkeys, if you will. Of course, this does inevitably result in a degree of friendly fire, and I am always happy to unblock those who have been caught up in the melee. It’s an imperfect situation, but once you have reached a certain number of followers, Twitter becomes unsustainable without weeding out the more bizarre and abusive users. (In other words: if I’ve blocked you by accident, don’t take it personally.)

Being in favour of free speech doesn’t mean you want to listen to what every single maniac or numbskull has to say. It means that you don’t want anyone to be censored. Far from being a threat to free speech, the block function on social media is a guarantee of free speech. It means that each individual user gets to decide for themselves what they read. It means we don’t require big tech overlords, or those sinister Silicon Valley “Trust and Safety Councils”, to decide what’s best for us and ban those accounts deemed to be “offensive” or “unsafe”.

That said, we need to wary of the “echo chamber” phenomenon. I’ve never understood those who only wish to hear their own opinions repeated back to them. How can you possibly develop your ideas if you don’t leave yourself open to be challenged? Without humility, we cannot grow, and there is always something we can learn from even our bluntest critics. I have no interest in echo chambers, which is why I go out of my way to engage with those who disagree with me. I read their books and articles, I participate in public debates, I invite them on to my show on GB News. But the idea that Twitter is the best forum for these discussions is absurd.

Somehow, in the quagmire of social media, we have to find a way to restore civility when it comes to our differences. The block function is a useful tool in this regard. We should all be open to persuasion, but that does not mean we should waste our time wrestling with pigs. There is little point in attempting to defend a fictitious version of yourself that your detractors have invented. Instead, reserve your time and energy for those who are still capable of adult discussion. Leave the rest to roar away into the vacuum of cyberspace.

#Andrew Doyle #free speech #social media #freedom of speech #freedom to block #blocking #online trolls #religion is a mental illness

5 notes · View notes

allwaswell16 · 3 years

Text

This is a fic rec of One Direction fic writers who both appreciate positive, long comments and enjoy replying back to these comments! This was made in honor of an enthusiastic friend who had a few bad experiences commenting in our fandom and receiving less than kind replies. Instead of just fuming about it, I decided to do something about it. I knew that most writers would absolutely love to receive comments like the ones she leaves, so I made a post asking for writers who fit this to recommend their fics to us. And wow did you all come through for us!

Below the cut are 54 writers, each with one of their fics to recommend to us! But please be sure to check out all their other fics as well! I’ll put the fics in order of wordcount and I’ll list pairing, rating, and wordcount along with the summaries.

(Please note that there are really lovely writers out there who also very much appreciate each and every one of their comments, but are too overwhelmed or anxious to reply. I am not at all saying that writers who don’t reply are unappreciative!)

Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse / writing_practice [Louis/Harry, E, 162k]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams [Louis/Harry, M, 131k]

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

forever is in your eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same [Louis/Harry, M, 125k]

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

don’t want to fight you by @lt2soon / starryharry [Louis/Harry, M, 124k]

Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.

Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.

Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [Louis/Harry, E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

promise your whispers are mine by @lightwoodsmagic / lightswoodmagic [Louis/Harry, E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

Playin’ It Safe and Breakin’ The Rules by @local-troubled-writer / local_troubled _writer [Louis/Harry, M, 90k]

In his life, Louis Tomlinson set out to do three things: find a way to make art that he loves, make his mum proud, and have as much fun as he could reasonably fit into one lifetime.

“Hello?” Harry’s deep voice calls.

“Hi,” Louis pops his head out of his doorway, motioning Harry back. “Louis,” he holds his hand out for Harry to shake and a small grin takes over the popstar’s face. He’s taller than he seems in photographs, but his smile is just the same as the ones that used to wallpaper his sisters’ walls.

“Harry.” He seems to have just gotten off stage, still sweating in a pair of skin-tight black jeans but a soft-looking blue vest. A beige headscarf holds his long curls off his face and he has all the easy confidence of a world-famous pop sensation, but still slouches in a way that isn't unfamiliar to Louis’ own posture.

“Yeah, I know who you are, popstar.” Louis teases, pulling his hand away and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

or the One Where Maybe this Fake Relationship Gets a Little Too Real.

Consequences by @allwaswell16 [Louis/Harry, E, 78k]

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

The Sound The Leaves Make In The Heat Of The August Sun by @sleepwalk-living / anderscones [Louis/Harry, T, 76k]

Louis is an elf who lives in the Kingdom’s forest, as far away from the pompous Castle Court as he can get while staying within city limits. He’s a thief out of necessity and is happy enough to steal from the rich when they’re not looking. He notices something mysteriously dangerous happening in his forest one morning and begs for an investigation from the Court, who of course tells him he’s seeing things.

Intro a shamed knight, a runaway prince, a blacksmith, and a mage with fae blood who figure something is better than nothing. The King is all too happy to make criminals out of them and run them thinner than they already are just to prove a point to his son. With the combined powers of Captain Pla- One Direction, they figure it out.

adjudication by @bottomlinsons [Louis/Harry, T, 75k]

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

The Ground Below is Above My Feet by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche [Louis/Harry, E, 63k]

“-ouis, are you awake?”

“M’ff,” Louis manages. Slowly he remembers where he is. Who he is. His nerve endings take stock of his body, the soft sheets twisted around his legs and the warm rush of breath on his face. Harry.

“You were sleeping like the dead,” Harry muses, calloused fingers delicately brushing through Louis’ fringe. “Could barely tell if you were breathing.”

Louis' heart stutters, his throat working hard to swallow the lump of ugly truth. Blinks until Harry’s bright eyes come into focus across the pillow.

He holds back the obvious joke.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers [Harry/Louis, E, 58k]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

Live a Thousand Lifetimes by @laynefaire / Layne Faire [Zayn/Liam, E, 57k]

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight [Harry/Louis, E, 57k]

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

Or, Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

I'm On the Hunt Now (I'm After You) by @afangirlfantasy [Louis/Harry, M, 56k]

Omegas haven’t been able to shift into their wolves for two hundred years. That is, until Louis Tomlinson changes everything.

Or...an AU where Alpha Harry and Omega Louis have a lot more than falling in love to deal with after The Mating Ceremony.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright / yeah_alright [Louis/Harry, T, 50k]

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Baby, Won’t You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis / PeachBootyLou [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

dirty laundry looks good on you by @tomlinvelvetfics / tomlinvelvet [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

Passing By by @larryyouknow / Larry_you_know [Louis/Harry, E, 48k]

Sometimes, people are in each other's lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn't even know he's into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There's something more to their friendship but it ain't gonna be smooth sailing.

i kiss you (across hundreds of separating years) by @milkcurls / loveroflou [Louis/Harry, M, 44k]

He reminds Louis of the day he met him, the first day of Harry’s first year and Louis’ second, when he stood on wobbly legs beside Zayn, his cheeks flushed and hair parted to the side and tucked neatly behind his ear. He’s all dainty and soft – he’s pretty, Louis can admit that.

He’s also a rich frat boy who fucks every omega that will throw themselves at him – and they all do – so instead of pretending to be a precious little doll Louis thinks he should spend more time learning how to be a decent human being.

or, the stars and two amused boys are playing cupid, and there are one too many coded love letters and a duck plushie that smells like home

don’t want no other shade of blue by @louisisworthit / padfootyoudog [Louis/Harry, E, 43k]

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

A Thousand More by @travelingwinchester / Ot5aresoulmates [Louis/Harry, NR, 42k]

Harry wakes up one morning during the separation of April 2015 missing Louis fiercely. He wonders if they had never been on the X-Factor would they have met. Cue the weirdest "dream" he's ever had in which lessons about the course of true love are learned.

fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry [Louis/Harry, T, 41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works / runaway _train [Harry/Louis, E, 40k]

“Does she know who it is then, from the New York office?” Louis enquires.

“Yeah, some guy Henry? Henry Styles I think she said?"

“Harry.”

“What?"

“Harry. His name is Harry Styles.” His heart sank. Louis hadn’t met him, they had only shared a couple of emails back and forth, but he knew exactly who he was. And Harry hadn’t just been killing it in the Big Apple, he’s been ripping the place to absolute shreds, nailing some of the most lucrative accounts in the business.

Louis is so fucked.

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Without you it’s a season I ain’t needing by @whatevertearsyou / perfectdagger [Louis/Harry, M, 38k]

Spring was everything in '17, now I'm just cold Summer fell to fall after all November froze Without you it's a season I ain't needing, I want to go come back home The reds and all the greens don't mean a thing when you're gone Winter means nothing to me now without you.

A long distance relationship au in which Harry is away for a year and Louis is left to pick up the pieces.

take my hand, wreck my plans by @daggerandrose / amomentoflove [Harry/Louis, T, 38k,]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

I Wish, I Found Love by @slytherinzouis / friendofhayley [Louis/Harry, E, 37k]

A fandom retelling of the Maiden Without Hands.

Solace is a land of religious hypocrisy, demons, and two ostracized families. When prophets from every denomination foretell a boy of unknown origin who might change the tide of the magical world, is any place safe for him?

Harry and Louis grew up together, two pariahs among their peers. Will their love be able to overcome distance, prophecies, and the trials of finding out who you truly become under pressure?

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by @lululawrence [Harry/Louis, NR, 36k]

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

Your Wonder Under Summer Skies by @emilee1421 / Emilee_1421 [Louis/Harry, NR, 34+, wip]

Needing an escape after a particularly hectic year, Louis decides to join Harry in Italy where Harry is working on his next Gucci campaign. While in Italy the two decide to join an old friend at her county home to enjoy a much deserved break from their usually busy lives. Louis and Harry begin to see their friend in a different light and all three are forced to confront the possibility that their friendship may actually be something much deeper.

Work of Magic by @justalarryblog / Bekita [Louis/Harry, NR, 34k]

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

Swear I’ve Known You Since Forever by @louinlavender / abaddxns [Louis/Harry, T, 33k]

Harry then pats around his trouser pockets only to remember that Gemma has his phone in her bag so he can’t even call her, and he’s far too intimidated to ask a stranger if he can borrow theirs. She has his wallet, too, so all he has on his person are the stick of gum in his back pocket and his muddy wellies and a too-long scarf he’s ready to ball up and throw the ground, because he’s only sixteen and he’s just a shopboy in a bakery and he’s about to cry twenty minutes into his first music festival that he had to beg to attend, all because he lost his big sister and her uni friends, who didn’t even want him to come in the first place, and—

“Oi, y’alright, mate?” a bright voice asks, just as his eyes start to water.

Or: Harry attends his first music festival and promptly gets lost. Little does he know that the first friendly face he encounters is bound to change his life forever.

Part one of three of 'And The Sun Came Out'—a series detailing the growth of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years after meeting at Leeds Fest as teenagers.

i’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by @tomlinbuns / pixies [Louis/Harry, E, 26k]

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

Dear Diary (series) by @alwayslarry-vol28 / kikiberosski16 [Louis/Harry, E, 20k]

Life in quarantine is hard, especially if you're an arrogant son of a bitch and your husband is a stubborn little shit. Harry and Louis argue a lot, so much it affects their daily routines. Harry tries to write his feelings down in a diary, but will this cause more trouble for the couple?

The Golden Prince by @behappyhl [Harry/Louis, E, 19k]

When He arrives in London, he’s speechless.

It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place.

Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart by @louloubabys1992 / louloubaby92 [Louis/Harry, M, 17k]

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Sweet Heart by @bluecolouredlou [Niall/Louis, G, 16k]

Designing clothes, not falling in love.

That was what Niall had in mind when he first met up with Louis. He couldn't be falling in love with the other omega. Not while work as one of the few omegas at the company was getting more stressful. Not when he was supposed to find an alpha and settle down.

just one look (and i fell so hard) by @disgruntledkittenface [Harry/Louis, M, 15k]

Louis takes a small step back, breaking the moment first. “Well, I should–”

“Do you want to come up?”

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he’d even planned them, and he bites his lip.

“Oh, thank god,” Louis laughs, stepping back into Harry’s space. “I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t ready to let go of you yet,” Harry finishes quietly, glancing up at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, reaching up and twirling one of Harry’s curls in his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

Harry has wanted to go to the Shubert Theatre ever since he moved to New York and lucked into a rent-controlled apartment just outside of the Theatre District. When he finally gets his chance, he hopes the night can meet his sky-high expectations. But the last thing he could have expected was the man seated next to him.

wasting my time when it was always you by @hometothecanyonmoon / sunflower_lwt [Harry/Louis, T, 15k+, wip]

A "Married To The Maverick Millionaire" AU. Louis is the captain of Manchester United, Harry's the heir of the richest charity organization in the country as well as his best friend and they have to fake being married to save both of them from impending doom.

Sounds like love to me by @neondiamond [Louis/Harry, G, 14k]

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

The Prince and the Youtuber by @haztobegood [Louis/Harry, E, 12k]

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles [Harry/Louis, T, 12k]

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain [Harry/Louis, E, 12k]

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

my solitude ain’t the same no more by @dryourtearsaway / louisnights [Harry/Louis, M, 10k]

Louis is a traveling homicide detective who goes to the small town of Holmes Chapel to investigate the murder of a young woman.

somewhere only we know by @quelsentiment / wordsnnotes [Zayn/Louis, T, 9k]

Their eyes meet again, and the man suddenly frowns, asking: “Do we know each other?” Oh. So maybe that’s why Zayn is so intrigued with him. He’s always been pretty bad at remembering people’s faces, but there is some kind of vague familiarity to the man’s appearance. “Might help if you told me your name”, he points out. “Right. Sorry, I’m an idiot”, the man chuckles. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” And of course. With this voice, Zayn should have known. He’s actually surprised he didn’t recognize it right away. “Lou”, he says, his own voice caught in his throat. “It’s me, Zayn.” Or: Zayn and Louis grew up together, but haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Now they're both in their twenties and meet again on a flight from LA to London, with ten hours in front of them to catch up, and maybe start something new.

I'm Asking You Please, Don't Talk Dirty to Me by @larry-hiatus / larry_hiatus [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

Prompt #68: Harry’s best friend Louis is a nice, well-mannered omega, at least when it comes to sex talk. He has always been closed off and quiet... until Harry hears how Louis talks during his heat. Now, it's all Harry can think about before his upcoming rut... (Original prompt wording edited for clarity)

making me sweat by honey_beeing [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Twist the Knife by @snowjosh / jishler [Harry/Louis, E, 6k]

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

the stars are coming home by @harrystinyshorts / lsforever [Harry/Louis, G, 5k]

For years Harry has been waiting for their schedules to click just right. Finding a day where he’ll not only be available but also is the only visitor on the premises has been near impossible.

After three years together and nearly a full year of marriage, Harry has finally been permitted to sit in for one of the team’s practices. They get more than they bargained for.

My True Love Gave to Me by @ponymom-stuff / ponymom [Louis/Harry, NR, 5k]

After puzzling over a Christmas gift for Louis, Harry comes to what he believes is the ultimate gift for his true love.

Fistiana by @louandhazaf / YesIsAWorld [Zayn/Louis, NR, 2k]

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

Strawberries and Cigarettes by @hlhome28 / ThoseFookin_Avacados [Louis/Harry, T, 2k]

strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Need help there, love?" "Oh god, yes-" Harry turned around to look at the source of the voice and his heart dropped to his stomach as they caught each other's eyes.

Or on a very lonely valentines day, Harry's car breaks down in an unknown alleyway, where he bumps into a blue-eyed boy who takes him back seven years ago on the same day.

Safe Like Springtime by @beelou / cherrylarry [Louis/Harry, G, 1k]

On the way out of the park, Gabriel gasps suddenly and points across the grassy area. He starts running.

When Harry catches up to Gabe, - that boy runs fast - he's with a man and his dog and Gabe is petting the dog.

"Gabriel James. You know better than to run off like that! Did you ask to pet the dog?" Harry scolds.

"I'm sorry Uncle Harry. I saw a dog and I just wanted to see the fluffy dog! Look how fluffy!" Gabe exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the dog owner. The very attractive dog owner.

Or, the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

best hangover cure by @loulovehome [Louis/Harry, E, 1k]

"A wank will miraculously cure your hangover, honey."

Stay Till The A.M. by @flexible-racoon / goneforbooks [Harry/Louis, G, 1k]

It's 23rd July and Louis reminisces.

#fic rec #1dsource #tracksintheam #trackinghome #larry fan fic #let me know if any of the links are messed up #i've checked and double checked but who knows when its tumblr lol

133 notes · View notes

ttttaehyungie · 3 years

Text

an exercise in restraint | jjk x reader

an exercise in restraint | jeon jungkook x reader

genre | established relationship, smut, pwp

summary | Wandering hands need to be trained with self-restraint.

rating | 18+

word count | 3.7k words

warnings | subby jk, vvv slight exhibitionism (inappropriate touching in public places), no touching rule, nipple play, oral fixation, cum eating, jealousy/insecurity but they talk it out bcos we love healthy communication ✌🏻

a/n | that blonde jk selfie made me do it

When she walks into the apartment ahead of him wordlessly, he gulps. He’s in trouble.

It's not anger that emanates off her. It's not the brooding kind of silence that’s filling the atmosphere as she ignores him.

No. The aura that radiates off her is unmistakable.

It's domineering.

He calls her name, voice edged with the slightest hint of worry, but she pays him no response. In the emptiness of the silence, he has no clue what thoughts exactly her head is filled with. Trembling, he tries again, "I'm sorry."

She halts. Purposeful steps come to a stop. They're standing before his bedroom door and despite the obvious familiarity of the physical space before him, he shivers at the uncertainty that lies ahead. "Are you now?" she asks, her voice clear and unwavering. Her words grip him.

Without waiting for his response, she pushes the door open and enters the room like she owns it. She may as well have. It certainly feels like she owns him.

Standing in the center of the room, she finally turns to face him. Her expression is neutral, but her gaze is firm and pins him in place where he hesitates in the doorway.

"Come here." At her word, he obeys. He stands before her, toes scrunching against the stiffness of the hardwood floor beneath him. Despite his height advantage over her, he feels infinitely smaller, his head bowed in admonishment. "What are you sorry for?"

He chews on his lip. Shame fills him.

With a hand on his chin, she directs his gaze away from the floor to meet hers. She prompts him with a simple but expectant, "Hm?"

"I'm sor- I'm sorry for, for getting jealous," he mumbles, averting his eyes.

"Look at me." His eyes dart back to hers. But this time he finds gentleness in her gaze. "There's nothing wrong with being jealous, Jungkook. Although I wish you would have talked to me about it instead of bottling it up to yourself. It's been, what, two weeks now since I made that comment about him."

Just as the sensation of release that accompanies relief blooms in his chest as he thinks he's off the hook, her gaze hardens again as she continues, “But what is not okay is your inappropriate touches in the middle of our dinner with Namjoon."

Something within Jungkook tightens at the sound of his name. Whatever shame that had previously filled him was now singed into nothing by the flare of jealousy that bursts within him.

Tonight was not the first time the three of them had dined together. As her best friend of over a decade now, Namjoon came over to hang out together frequently enough that Jungkook was beginning to consider him his own friend. Namjoon was cool – dorky enough to be relatable, yet composed with a certain air of sophistication brought by his intellect such that he easily commanded Jungkook's respect. And Jungkook had walked into his current relationship with his eyes wide open. He'd known about the close friendship his girlfriend shared with Namjoon and didn't want to be the jealous boyfriend who broke precious friendships apart. And he had been doing well, had been genuinely chill about it.

Well, he had been, up until that little comment from two weeks ago.

It was a lighthearted remark, just an offhand comment. Mindlessly scrolling through her Facebook feed on that lazy Saturday afternoon, she came across an engagement announcement by two of her friends. The comments were filled with people gushing over how perfect their story was, being childhood best friends and all. She laughed and rolled her eyes at that. "It's all so romanticized. But what's so romantic about knowing someone before their puberty glow up? Hell, maybe we should ask Namjoon what he saw in pubescent me!"

His ears perked up at that. "What?"

"Oh, yeah, Namjoon confessed to me once when we were, like, fourteen? Can you believe it? The upper limit to my fashion sense back then was my scruffy jeans and bright magenta jacket!”

Gentle fingers pry his own out of the tight fist they had clenched themselves into, simultaneously prying him out of his reverie and back to the present. Sliding her hand into his, she frowns at him. “If you were jealous, you should have just talked to me about it.”

“But it’s so silly,” he said, immediately prompting her to shake her head.

“Your emotions are not silly, Kook,” she said. “It’s my fault, my blind spot that I didn’t expect it, and I’m sorry if I made you feel insecure about our relationship.”

Lowering his head to rest on her shoulder, he pouts as he hides his face in the warm comfort found in the crook of her neck.

“Whatever happened back then is in the past. I rejected him because I felt we were better as just friends, and it took him some time, but ultimately he agreed. And I swear, that was the one and only time. We’ve been nothing more than best friends after that,” she continues, and the words roll over him in waves of reassurance that synchronize with the slow strokes of her thumb over his knuckles. “I’m yours, and yours only, Kook.”

His free hand slides up to grip at her waist possessively. “Mine?” he asks.

“Yours,” she promises. The tight feeling in his chest begins to loosen itself. Things will be okay. They’ll work through this.

Smiling at him, she speaks again, her voice laced with mirth this time, “But what shall we do about your misbehavior tonight?”

He hadn’t been able to help himself. The worries that he left unaddressed in his refusal to talk about his jealous emotions resulted in an unpleasant dread making its home in the pit of his stomach, displacing his appetite as he sat in the cushioned bench of the restaurant. As he watched his girlfriend respond to Namjoon’s jokes with the carefree laughter that Jungkook so adored, he felt the jealousy rise in his chest, fill him, and he left his dinner half-eaten and abandoned to go cold on its plate.

The gnawing thought that she was slipping out of his hands spurred his next actions. As if needing to hold her back to him, he placed a hand on her thigh. And when she shivered at his touch – throwing him a quick questioning glance, but nothing more – her reaction further fueled him. The inane need to stake a claim on her, to remind her of whose she was, began to overtake him, and his hand slowly but steadily slid higher and higher. Watching his tattooed knuckles slither up the smooth skin of her exposed thigh was a welcome distraction from the ongoing conversation. With their legs tucked under the table, Namjoon was none the wiser from where he sat across from them. And with their table in the corner of the dimly lit room, they were adequately concealed from the danger of any wandering eyes of the other diners. Still, it all felt so illicit, but also oh so thrilling. Curiosity at just how far he could take things clouded his senses and he ignored the way she shoved his hand down when they brushed the edge of her short skirt. His hand crept up again, and this time it got to the hem of her panties and traced along the elastic. Just as he angled his hand to stroke a lone finger up where he knows her slit is, her thighs clamped shut. Under the table, she swiftly pulled his hand away before she gave his thigh a meaningful pinch.

“Sorry Namjoon,” she said, with a saccharine sweet smile on her face. But Jungkook knew better. “I think Jungkook’s had a long day. Do you mind if we head off first?”

Back in the bedroom, she steps away from him, and he whines at the loss of contact. But when she tuts at him, he falls quiet.

“My naughty boy,” she scolds, voice light but firm. “Being so dirty and trying to touch me in public. I think I need to teach you a lesson in restraint today.” Her hand runs gently down his chest and he suppresses a shiver. “Will you be good for me, Koo?” At the sound of his pet name, the name she only ever evokes in times like this, he immediately nods. She smirks. “Sit on the bed.”

He’s quick to obey, sitting attentively at the edge of his bed. She takes his hands in hers, looking them over, admiring them. “Such beautiful hands. But so, so naughty today, wandering to places they shouldn’t have been.” She places them down on the bed just by his sides. “No moving.”

Then, she backs up to stand front and center in his vision. Knowing that his eyes will be glued to her, she runs her hands over herself, tracing the curves that she knows he’s dying to touch. Arching into her own touch, she releases the buttons of her blouse one by one in a teasing fashion, letting the fabric fall open to reveal the satiny sheen of her bra. Unzipping her skirt, she shimmies her way out of the garment. A tinge of self-consciousness creeps in at the thought of her plain undergarments and how they must pale in comparison to some of the raunchier lingerie sets she’s worn in the past. But Jungkook looks at her like she’s a pin-up model all the same, slack-jawed and pupils dilated. And it gives her the boost she needs to carry on.

Shrugging her blouse off, she saunters over to him and climbs to hover just above his lap. His hands twitch but stay where they are. Her fingers comb their way through the smooth locks of his blond hair, and she watches as his eyes flutter shut under the attention. He’s so, so pretty for her as he succumbs to her touch. Tilting his head back gently to have him look back up at her, she asks, “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” His voice is petulant. “I want to touch you so bad.”

“Do you deserve to touch me after your behavior tonight?”

He shakes his head wordlessly, taking his punishment. Smirking at his obedience, she hoists herself off to sit on the bed beside him, legs crossed and leaned back, the picture of self-assured confidence.

“Strip for me,” she directs simply.

It takes him a second to process her words. But when he does, he snaps to it, whipping his shirt and slacks off. But when he makes to pull his boxer briefs down, she stops him.

“Nuh uh. Those stay on.”

She scoots back and spreads her legs, patting the space between them to get him to come sit. As he does, he can feel the smooth slide of the satin material of her bra against his back, and he longs for the warm plush feel of her breasts against him.

But before he can get too lost in his own want, she grabs his hands to place them on his thighs. “Show me you can restrain yourself,” she says.

Meanwhile, her own hands go skimming up said thighs. Up, up, up, they slide, past the tingly ticklish sides and raking with a featherlight touch between his pecs that have his nipples perking up and begging for attention, his dick twitching in his briefs.

She strokes his collarbone and leans in to whisper in his ear, warm breath puffing against the sensitive skin and her smooth voice delivered directly into his ear makes it feel like she’s everywhere, like she’s overtaken all of his senses. “Will you be good for me?”

He keens out a yes. It’s all he can ever manage when it’s her.

Then, quick as a bolt, her hand drops down to stroke his cock through the cotton material of his briefs. With a pressure that is barely there, merely ghosting over the outline of his erection, her hand pauses where his precum has created a damp spot in the heather grey material. She swipes it ever so lightly with her pointer finger and giggles. “Is this for me?”

He nods, eyes squeezing shut as she rubs her finger over the tip of his dick. He groans out his answer, “Only for you.”

Her hand resumes the torturously fleeting touches over his erection, toying with him. Her legs are hooked over his, anchoring her to him as her hands run free. The smooth skin of her legs is right there. Right there, mere inches from his hands. But he’s not allowed to touch. Jungkook thinks he just might lose his mind. But then her finger comes tapping at his lips, and presses two into the warm, wet cavern.

She knows all about his oral fixation by now. It’s hard not to notice it when, despite every post-orgasm haze, he’s latching onto something of hers, be it a tit or her fingers or sometimes an intense but slow and languorous make-out session. Well-acquainted with his preferences by now, she gives him exactly what he needs. Jungkook sucks on the two fingers she’s granted him like it’s a lifeline, and it eases the ache for him somewhat.

But very soon it becomes insufficient, and his hips begin to rut upwards, seeking more than just the gentle sweeps over his cock that she’s graced him with so far.

“Please,” he begs. “No more teasing.”

But instead of giving him more, she covers his mouth with her hand, continuing relentlessly with the excruciating lightness of her touches. The resultant whine that comes out of him is muffled underneath her palm.

“You’ll take only what I give you,” she says. But as she finishes her sentence, she adds pressure to her strokes, relieving his want just enough to entice him yet keep him on edge.

He writhes against her, but each time his hips lift for more, she pulls away. He can’t even ask for more with the way her tiny hand silences him, the hot gasps that escape him puffing against her palm.

“You need to practice self-restraint,” she coos. He whimpers, and tries his best to control himself, to be obedient for her.

Trembling in the arms that snake around him, he attempts to get a grip on himself. Taking deep, shuddering breaths for what feels like multiple eternities, he finally calms himself down. Aside from the occasional reflexive twitch, he’s gotten himself under control, abs clenched tightly as he keeps a tight rein on his desire.

“Such a good boy for me,” she murmurs her praise, and she finally releases the palm that was over his mouth, stroking his hair back affectionately to tuck it behind his ear.

Then, her hand descends onto a dusky nipple, tweaking it and running slow circles around it, and his moan is released unrestrained and bouncing off the walls of his bedroom. Her hand slips down, down, down. Delicate fingers caress his balls, and it takes all the self-control that he can possibly summon not to thrust upwards, not to move his hands to grab her tiny ones in his, not to use the physical strength he possesses that he knows will easily domineer over hers to flip her over and pin her down and have his way with her already.

Instead, his hands grip at his knees where they’ve remained all this time. His nails dig into his flesh, creating little indents of crescent moons. Seeing this, she tells him to relax. At her gentle coaxing, he begins to release the tension held within his taut muscles one by one. He lets go, eyes falling shut as he lets himself flow with the languid strokes she unhurriedly palms through his briefs.

At his display of obedience, there’s nothing but contentment in her voice as she murmurs, “So good for me.”

Hearing this, he decides to try his luck. “Please,” he begs, his voice tiny. “I’ll be good from now on. Can I please, please touch you now?”

She hums in consideration, but it’s all feigned. Completely pliant in her arms, she knows he’s restraining himself as best as he can despite the way his body trembles with pure want. And she’s ready to give him what he wants.

“Ok.”

His eyes fly open at the simple permission granted. Afraid he might have just imagined it, he asks again, “I can touch you now?”

Pulling away from him, she slides herself backwards to lie fully on his bed and he turns to watch. She unclasps her bra, but leaves it on, giving him the honor of taking it off. Hands beckoning, and voice commanding, she directs him, “Touch me, Koo.”

He crawls forward meekly and gingerly lifts her bra from her, soaking in the sight of her breasts. Slowly, reverently, he traces a finger on her areola. She giggles. “Such a patient boy for me now.” He nods, delighted that she is delighted, and rolls her nipple between his fingers with more boldness.

“Do you want them in your mouth, Koo?” she asks, but it’s less a question than it is permission. With that, he bends to take the other bud into his mouth, and sighs at the feel of it against his tongue, at the satisfaction of having something to suckle on.

With his mouth busy, his hands go running all over her, across the planes of her ribs and caressing her sides and her soft tummy and briefly dipping into her bellybutton. She lifts a leg and grabs his hand to place it on the back of her thigh. Getting the hint, he releases her from his mouth, the bud slightly red and swollen from the attention, and lifts her other leg to pin her thighs to her sides. The damp spot he spies in her underwear causes pride to swell up in him, knowing that he did that to her.

“Here, Koo,” she says, tipping her chin up and pulling him in by the shoulders for a kiss.

Their tongues intertwine and he moans. He’ll never get enough of her. The way their cores fit against each other, melding together despite the two flimsy cloth barriers that separate them, is like they’re just made for one another. The thought of their twin damp arousals rubbing up against one another as their warm, wet tongues slither against each other in this erotic tango has his head swimming in the foggy lust.

She grinds upwards with her hips, legs hooked around his waist, dragging the softness against his dick that’s been painfully hard for god knows how long now, and the thin string of his restraint very nearly snaps. But he’ll be patient. He knows that’s what she wants. And what she wants, he gives.

“I want you, Koo,” she moans out. “In me, please.”

This, he’s happy to obey.

At her word, he pulls the last article of clothing that remains on her down, the last thing that separates her from his eyes. Her folds glisten under the yellow glow of his ceiling light, and it’s a sight to behold. He has to force himself to stay focused, to keep himself from the temptation of bending down to lick a stripe up her slit, to get a taste of her arousal. No, she wants him in her. And that’s what he will give her.

He pulls his briefs down, no time to get them fully off, and they wrap around his muscular thighs as he kneels and lines himself up to her entrance. And then, slowly, steadily, he slides himself in.

As much as he wants to focus on her pleasure and her pleasure alone, the warm and viscous arousal coating him and the velveteen, pillowy feel of her is a sensation like no other and he can’t help but get lost in it for a moment. The feeling is absolutely transcendental, and he pauses, relishes in it, thanking the heavens she’s on birth control.

“Feel good?” she asks, noticing his pause. He nods meekly. “That’s good. I like it when you feel good too.” She smiles and clenches around him lightly, pulling a moan from him. “I like it when you’re a good boy for me so we can both feel good. Will you make me feel good now, Koo?”

Her words set him off and he begins rolling his hips, slow but deep at first, then speeding up as she asks him to. The way her nails rake through his scalp and then down his back drives him forward, the clapping of their flesh together rhythmical with each one of his powerful thrusts.

Soon, the tell-tale signs of her oncoming orgasm begin to show. He feels her clench around him and watches as her back bows as she arches upwards, taking in the wondrous sight of her falling apart before his eyes as she finally erupts around him and coats him in her essence. His heart fills to brim and spills over. Watching her consumed in pleasure and knowing that he was the one to give that to her, it only takes Jungkook a couple more strokes to completion, and he collapses into her chest as he whimpers into the safety of her neck, creaming her walls white.

His lips latch onto the soft skin of her shoulder and he can’t do anything else but suck gentle hickeys into the expanse of her body. He would be content to stay in her forever, feel his dick soften in her plush folds. But she squirms underneath him and he pauses to accommodate her. Gently, she slides him out, but keeps him in her arms and his head nestled in her soft chest. He watches as she slips a hand down, dips two fingers into her pussy, and scoops out their mixed arousal. And as his doe-eyed gaze remains fixated on her glistening fingers, his mouth opening instinctively as they come closer, she slips her fingers and their cum into his mouth.

Savoring the taste of their coupling, he dozes off, completely spent, her fingers still in his mouth as he suckles on them tenderly. And as she watches, the thought of clean-up occurs to her, and she knows that the wiser thing would be to temporarily relinquish her comfort and get it done. But wrapped in his embrace and watching his little blond head rise and fall in tandem with her breaths, she really can’t help herself. Instead, she decides, that’s enough restraint for now.

393 notes · View notes

xiao-cafe · 3 years

Text

money sense — zhongli oneshot

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader tags: fluff, established crush on zhongli and everyone knows except him, a little bit of crack, ambiguous ending but it’s not sad summary: funds are running low so aether dumps zhongli at your door one day and asks you to teach the man how to haggle. wc: 1.3k

It was a little past three in the afternoon when Aether arrived at your door with Paimon, screeching incessantly. Startled by the sudden intrusion, you emerged from your workroom to see a familiar trio by your door.

Your heart skips a beat when your gaze lands on Zhongli, standing beside Aether while engaging Paimon in what could only be described as a one-sided argument. You take a few seconds to calm yourself down whilst also finding amusement in the trio’s predicament.

Before you could even raise a hand in greeting, you get interrupted by Paimon.

“We have no money left!” Paimon cried, clutching dramatically at her little head. “Y/N! Please teach this guy how to haggle, you’re the only one we know who’s the best at getting discounts!” Clinging onto you, the guide points an accusatory finger at Zhongli, with an angry pout on her face.

Aether nodded along furiously, crossing his arms as he sighed heavily while looking at Zhongli who seemed to not be the least bit bothered by their lack of Mora. Certainly, being an ex-god, the man had his quirks.

One that was simply unacceptable for a group of travellers.

Lack of money sense.

“Please Y/N, we’ve seen you haggle at the harbour and getting nearly half off,” Aether said earnestly, admiration shining in his eyes. It took you less than a second to remember what he was talking about. No doubt, he was referring to the time you spent almost an hour at Xigu Antiques, bargaining as if your life depended on it.

Unsure of whether you should be embarrassed or flattered you simply put both your hands up in surrender while ignoring the subtle rise of blush on your cheeks when you meet Zhongli’s strong gaze. The man nods his head at you in greeting and you hastily nod back, hoping that you didn’t look too eager when you did so.

“I’m flattered, but are you guys sure you’d want me to teach him how to haggle?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from Zhongli’s face as you spoke directly to Aether.

“Please.” Aether and Paimon say simultaneously, in all seriousness. It was almost comical, the way Aether and his guide were absolutely in sync for once.

“I agree, I believe haggling is part and parcel of Liyue Harbor’s culture and learning such a skill would certainly become a benefit.” Zhongli’s deep voice resonated easily in your small home.

You realised that your guests had been politely standing by the entrance, save for Paimon who was always quick to break a few rules. Heat rose to your face as you gestured for them to come in.

“P-please come right in! I’ll make some tea right now!” You stumbled across your words, embarrassed that you had forgotten your manners. As you were about to make your way to the kitchen and make tea, a warm gloved hand lands on your forearm, holding you in place.

“It’s fine, Y/N. It was our fault for intruding upon you.” Zhongli assured, his sweet half-smile causing your heart to race.

You nod meekly, not trusting yourself to speak without stuttering. You rubbed at your skin where Zhongli had touched, feeling the goosebumps that emerged.

“Then I guess we’ll leave him to you then, Y/N!” Paimon announced gleefully. The little guide floats towards your face and leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Good luck!” Paimon whispers, winking secretively.

Rather than luck, you wished you’d have a stronger heart.

“I believe these tomatoes are of the highest quality. Fresh and grown with care, these tomatoes are suitable for Y/N’s diet. Farming is a skill honed with years of experience as such I will buy all your tomatoes.”

You wanted nothing more than to knock yourself unconscious with the nearest pillar.

It had been an hour since you began your shopping trip with Zhongli for groceries. It was supposed to be a simple lesson, teaching him how to pick which store to buy from and how to obtain a discount from the store.

Yet, Zhongli and his infinite knowledge were attempting to burn a hole through your wallet.

“Stop!” You throw the vendor an apologetic smile and drag Zhongli away by the arm.

“Zhongli... We’re supposed to be buying only what we need, and obtaining a discount.” You explained once more, hoping he’d understand. “I understand you hold great respect for excellent farmers but this,” You gesture to your wallet, “Has only 500 Mora.”

You hear a snicker behind your back and immediately lower your head, shoving your wallet back into your pockets.

Zhongli was quiet for a moment as he stared at you intensely. You were beginning to wonder if you had something on your face.

“I see... It was my mistake. I’ve only been seeing things in the perspective of a seller’s ideal customer. Please continue to teach me how to haggle, I am certain I will do better this time around.” He said, “So, please continue the lesson... Y/N Sensei.” Chuckling to himself, you watch Zhongli head back to the store with your face bright red and your mind short-circuiting from the witnessing Zhongli’s laugh.

An inexplicable warmth bloomed in your chest as you jogged to catch up to Zhongli.

“Pardon me, but I’d like to buy 5 tomatoes,” Zhongli said, glancing over to you. You nodded and smiled back at him, encouraging him to continue.

“That’d be 600 Mora.”

Boring your gaze onto Zhongli’s side profile, you could only hope that he had learned from his previous mistake.

“My partner here only has 500 Mora, would it be alright if you’d lower the price for them please?”

You smack your face into your hands, sinking to the floor. The mention of yourself being Zhongli’s partner barely made it through your mind as the barely-contained giggles from the vendor filled your ears.

“I-I’m sure... I can make ah... ha... an exception t-today.” The vendor managed to get out.

“Y/N, he agreed to the discount,” Zhongli stated, satisfaction practically rolling off of him in waves.

Through the gaps of your fingers, you see Zhongli turn and pause. Possibly because you were crouched on the floor and he had no idea what he had just done.

“Do you not have 500 Mora? I thought you-”

Unable to take it any longer, you stand up quickly and hand the money over, receiving your bag of tomatoes in exchange.

“Thank you...” You mumbled to the vendor, red-faced, holding on tightly to your bag of tomatoes.

“My pleasure! I wish both of you happiness!” The vendor grinned.

Before you could protest, Zhongli had intercepted.

“Thank you for your kind words.” He replied, graciously accepting the handshake offered by the vendor. Shaking your head in disbelief, you chuckled to yourself as a form of comfort and took upon the chance to gaze upon Zhongli unabashedly while he was distracted.

As the hustle and bustle of Liyue Harbor reached its evening peak, the setting sun cast a warm glow against the city, illuminating everything within reach, golden.

Yet, your focus was only on him.

Everything about him ensnared your senses and forced you to only look at him.

His dark hair that faded to ombre at the tips shone a bright gold in wisps and his eyes that seemed to hold an abundance of intellect and mysteries only made you fall for him more.

You let out an appreciative sigh, unaware that Zhongli’s conversation with the vendor had long since ended.

“Y/N?”

You blinked a few times, snapping out of your trance.

“I think we’ll end today’s lesson here.” You hastily respond, giving Zhongli a warm smile. “You did well.”

“Naturally. I was taught by the best.” He replied smoothly. “Though, I think I much prefer to call you partner rather than Sensei... I guess imitating Childe wasn’t for me.” He muttered, resting his chin between his pointer finger and thumb.

You could only laugh as he fell into deep thought.

Surely, one day you’d have the confidence to let him know about your feelings.

“Then I’ll head home first, Zhongli.”

“Of course, goodbye Y/N.”

As you waved goodbye to him, you could only think about the next time you’d see him again.

end.

This is my first genshin impact fic and it’s for geo daddy who still refuses to come home. anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one-shot and feel free to raid my inbox lol i’m looking for mutuals on here :3c

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli scenarios #zhongli imagines #aether #paimon #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin zhongli #zhongli-cafe-writes

498 notes · View notes

firewoodfigs · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Could you do "It was a hospital bed, and A slipped in carefully to lie beside B all night" for a Royai fic from that prompt list? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

hello anon!! thanks for the prompt aaaah I had a lot of fun toying with it in between work and the other shenanigans that have been cropping up this week <3 I hope you don't mind the somewhat unusual ending ahaha I dimly recall writing a few other fics indirectly responding to this prompt (here and here!) so I wanted to try something slightly different from my usual fare 👉🏻👈🏻 part of this was also originally from a two-shot I'm working on, tweaked to fit the prompt hehe. I hope you enjoy!!! 🥰

+++++

Riza can think of a million reasons why hospitals are awful.

First, the food. She’s not sure if it’s as nutritious as they make it out to be; there are times when she wonders if it’s even edible. She’s had worse, of course - hospital food isn’t as bad as ration bars - but she’s quickly getting tired of eating plain yoghurt and bland porridge every day, for every single meal.

Second, the stench. Riza hates that every inch of the place smells like a victim of obsessive cleanliness; she has to resist the urge to upchuck every time the door opens and the smell of chemicals and antiseptic filters in like an unwanted guest.

Third, the fact that she’s sharing a room with a man who, at this point, is behaving more like a cat on hot bricks than a disciplined soldier is quickly driving her insane. She’d readily agreed to be his caretaker, of course; Riza doubts there’s anyone else capable of dealing with his antics and ever-growing anxiety. But after hearing him sigh and toss and turn in his bed for the fifty-eighth time that night (she’d counted, because she was bored out of her wits, and there was nothing else she could do other than sleep or stare at the ceiling, per doctor’s orders), Riza decides she’s just about had enough.

She looks at him from her bed. He’s presently engaged with twiddling his thumbs, thinking out loud.

Riza sighs and rises from her bed quietly. She brings the IV stand along with her - an unnecessary inconvenience - and carefully slips into his bed once she’s made sure that the tubes and wires connected to them are tangle-free.

“I never pegged you as an opportunist, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, despite her best efforts to be discreet. “Sleeping with your commanding officer while he’s blind?”

“You could always court martial me later, sir,” Riza deadpans. “Now scoot over.”

Luckily, he obliges without much retort.

“Your wish is my command.”

Riza huffs. She adjusts the thin, scraggly piece of linen that the hospital justifies as a blanket - another downside of this shitty place - and makes sure he’s probably covered, warm.

“Three words,” she mutters.

“Eight letters?”

“Twelve, actually.”

Roy raises a brow. “What could it be?”

“Would you like to wager a guess, sir?”

“Not really.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Roy laughs, and it’s a tiny little sound that is so discordant with his current mood, but it’s at least genuine. “Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.”

He stops fidgeting, for a while. Riza closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep - and she actually does, for a while - at least until she hears the sheets rustling again, the movement and tension coming from beside her. She groans softly.

“You should sleep, sir.”

She feels him stiffen. Roy smiles sheepishly, looking right through her like she’s not there. It still unnerves her how this is probably going to be their new normal: him without his sight. Her as his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Riza frowns. An apology is not the answer she wants. What she wants is for him - or them both, actually - to sleep and rest and properly recuperate so that they can have a speedy recovery, so that they can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Bad dreams?” she asks, because it’s the exact same thing that’s been haunting her. (She’s lucky her throat makes it impossible for her to scream or kick up a fuss; she’d hate for Roy to stumble blindly through the room in what he probably thinks is an act of chivalry and/or heroism.)

He shrugs.

“Then and now,” he offers. His smile fades, and he lapses into an unexpected moment of vulnerability. “Hard to differentiate between day and night nowadays, too.”

And because Riza doesn’t know what to say, she simply brushes her knuckles against his.

Roy returns the gesture, drawing indiscernible patterns on the back of her hand with his bandaged one.

“Well, it’s almost midnight now, sir.”

He lets out a small laugh, but it’s painfully hollow.

Riza shifts slightly. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze - hospital beds are clearly not meant for two persons (or anything inappropriate) - but it doesn’t bother her all that much. She just wishes there’s more she can do, to comfort him. Make him feel a little less gloomy.

“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“If it helps reduce the incidents of you falling asleep during office hours, then you should get more sleep now, while you can.”

Roy turns, like he’s searching for her, even though there’s not much closer she can be at this point. He exhales shakily. She feels his hand trembling against hers, and responds with a gentle caress. (She knows he’s still feeling guilty, probably berating himself internally about their predicament, about what transpired beforehand. And to be fair, there’s a part of her that’s still angry about all that's happened underground. They’ll probably have to talk about it, at some point, but probably not now — not when they’re both still drugged up and only half-lucid.)

“Humour me, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” he confesses. Dimly, Riza notes that his voice has taken on a somewhat petulant edge — like a child complaining about their bedtime, but she doesn’t comment on it. Being nearly bedridden for a week is enough to drive her nuts, too. “I’ve tried counting sheep and all that shit, and it’s just — it’s not working.”

Riza sighs. She’s tired, yes, but she’s also aware that she’s probably not going to get any sleep at this rate. She tries to think of ways to stave off his restlessness. Reading is one — she can probably bore him into sleep with a Xingese recitation (she’s gotten pretty good at that lately), but she’s technically not supposed to be talking much. Alcohol is another, but neither of them are supposed to be drinking (and besides, the only form of alcohol available in hospitals isn’t meant for human consumption). Maybe chess, then. She’s not particularly keen on playing a game of chess, now (because she just wants to sleep), but she thinks it’ll help exhaust some of his boundless energy.

“We could play a game of chess, if you want. Breda was kind enough to drop a vinyl board here in the afternoon.”

“I can’t see —“

“I’ll tell you where I move my pieces.”

He frowns, clearly not liking the idea. “You’re not supposed to be talking much, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning to pour a cup of water for herself before continuing. “I won’t have to speak much — unless you’re being a nuisance or a cheat or a fraud.”

He laughs. “I’ll be none of those things, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

She sets up the board on his bed and helps him sit up. Riza lets him play white.

“It’s your move, sir.”

“You’ve made yours?”

“No. You’re playing white.”

“Tough. It’ll be more embarrassing if I end up losing.”

Riza smiles. “Well, we don’t know that yet, sir.”

He opens with pawn to e4. She helps him move his pieces and parrots her movements back to him. Pawn to e4, too. Pawn to d4. Same here. A closed game, not quite like his usual aggressive style of playing.

Riza watches as he frowns with intensity. It’s probably more a test of memory than strategy for him at this point. She wonders if there’s a way he can adapt to chess, to the military’s utilitarian (and frankly unsympathetic) demands now that his sight’s impaired.

(Life is so unlike chess, Riza thinks, in spite of Roy’s silly metaphors that postulate otherwise. The rules are never fixed, and the universe is always rife with uncertainty. It’s not like chess, where you can predict your opponents’ moves if you get good enough. Neither of them had expected that he’d be here right now, losing sleep and contemplating life over a chessboard while blind.)

He clucks his tongue, reciting a series of movements from memory. The Blackmar-Diemer. Riza smiles indulgently.

Still as aggressive as ever, sir.

Of course.

The game quickly becomes a round of blitz, and though he manages to open his lines and mount a rather decent attack, it’s clear that he has trouble recalling after the eighteenth move. It's still an impressive feat, though. Better than the average layperson.

“Check,” Riza announces, conversationally. Technically, she’d had the advantage, both on the board (and in real life). It shouldn’t really count, and besides, checkmate isn’t her objective — it’s to get her commanding office to sleep.

“Well-played,” Roy hums. He’s strangely still in his bed as he closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples — presumably to ease off an oncoming migraine. It happens a lot, when he’s in deep thought, when he’s over thinking. Thinking too much for his own good. “I need to work on my recall, I think.”

“I think so too, sir.”

He laughs, but the sound is again empty, foreign. It is so at odds with his usual smirks and unbridled laughter (when he’s laughing at someone else, or a joke made at somebody’s expense), like there’s an ache beneath the surface that she cannot reach.

Roy turns slightly, bumping into his dethroned king as he adjusts himself on the bed.

She blames the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to cry on her drugged-up system.

(Riza doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how uncommunicative his eyes are. He’s always regarded each and every one of his subordinates with respect and meaning and gratitude, but he’d simply looked over the unit as if taking inventory when they had come by earlier.

But she’ll make do, Riza thinks. She has to. She’s always known him in a way nobody else has, in a deeply intimate way, like a book she’s memorised by heart.)

They fall silent for a few minutes. His lips part a little - she knows he’s about to say something - but it snaps shut again, like he can’t bring himself to say the words.

Riza simply waits for him, like she always has; holding onto his held breath like it's the last thread of hope. She leans into his touch a little closer than necessary.

I’m right here, even if you can’t see me.

Roy smiles.

“I hope I won’t forget your face, Riza.”

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #sorry my lunch break is almost over so I gotta go back to work LOL but I will come back and edit this later AHAHAHAH #my new brand is 'excessive usage of chess metaphors' and man. it shows.......#lovely anon <3 #have a great week anon!!! mwahmwahmwah!!!!!!#reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

102 notes · View notes

babybluebex · 3 years

Text

the proposal [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: ceo!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 3.9k ➽ summary:your pushy boss forces you, his assitant, to marry him in order to keep his visa status and avoid deportation. ➽ warnings: forced marriage?? except not really?? ➽ a/n: this is loosely based off the sandra bullock movie of the same name which i recommend you watch bc it’s good classic rom com, but i just see tom being a dickhead and bodying this

I gasped as hot coffee spilled down my front, and I looked at the mail cart that had run into me. “Sorry,” the person steering the cart shrugged, and he continued on his way, totally unaware that he had just ruined my day. I gritted my teeth and looked down at my black-coffee stained shirt, knowing that my boss would be out of his morning coffee, had I not ordered a second. I always ordered a second coffee in case a disaster like this occurred. Mr. Holland could be just awful sometimes, and I only made the mistake of forgetting his coffee once.

The door to the office opened, and I looked to see my boss striding in. Mr. Thomas Holland was one of the foremost editor-in-chiefs in the world, and he was deserving of it. While he was a great editor-in-chief, he was the meanest man I had ever met. He expected everything to be just his way and, if they weren’t, he would work to make it that way. Past assistants had been fired for less than forgetting a coffee.

I followed him into his office for his morning briefing, and a single sculpted eyebrow lifted at the stain on my shirt. “Rough morning, Y/N?” he asked with a laugh. I kept my comments to myself and handed him his coffee, and he sat down at his desk.

“You could say that, sir,” I mumbled. “You have a meeting at eleven, and Penguin needs that manuscript by tomorrow--”

“Who is Jake?” Mr. Holland asked suddenly. “And why does he want me to call him?”

I stopped talking and noticed my boss staring at the coffee that was at first mine, and my face went pale. Written on my cup was the name of the barista that made my coffee every morning, along with his phone number. Mr. Holland looked at me, expecting an answer, and the look in his blue eyes made me want to puke. “Oh,” I stuttered. “That is-- He’s--”

“Do I want to know?” Tom asked.

“No, it’s better if you don’t,” I replied. “Um, also, you got a call from Immigration Services last night. They need you to come in and do some paperwork.”

“I sent it in last week,” Tom said cooly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Not according to them,” I said. “Umm… Can I ask a question, sir?”

“You just did,” Tom said. His dark eyes stared deep into me, and I held down my shiver.

I sighed. “You know what I mean,” I said. “I thought you were a citizen?”

“Nope,” Tom replied, popping his lips. “I’m in America on a work visa. What time do they want me to come in?”

“They said ‘at your earliest convenience’,” I told him.

Tom sighed. “Let’s go get this over with,” he mumbled. “Umm… You might want a change of clothes.”

I looked down at my stained shirt and huffed out a frustrated grunt, and Tom scoffed. “Alright, then,” he chuckled plaintively, his London accent rolling off of his tongue. I wasn’t blind, I knew that my boss was attractive— a strong jaw that was always clean shaven, brown eyes that shifted golden in the right light, and dark hair, usually styled down with just the ends showing their true curly nature. He was tall and built like a Greek god, and his wonderful accented voice would have been appealing if the words he said with it didn’t cut right through me. Some would say Mr. Thomas Holland was mean; others would say he was blunt. I would say he’s just a dick. “Don’t have to get so worked up.”

“I—“ I began and sighed. “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Tom cocked his head thoughtfully. “Have you ever seen The Bodyguard?” he asked. When I didn’t respond, he said, “It’s a show on the BBC, I should have known you wouldn’t have seen it.” With that, he pulled off his jacket and draped it against his desk chair, and he loosened his tie around his neck.

“Mr. Holland, what are you doing?” I asked quickly, jerking forward to stop him.

He looked at me with those honey eyes as he set his tie on his desk. “I am giving you the shirt off of my back,” he said. “Like the kind soul I am.”

I nearly protested, but I knew that he had a spare; I had brought it from the dry cleaners two days ago. I searched for something to say to him as he disrobed, and the sight of his bare chest made me say “Thank you. It is very kind.”

“Most would say uncharacteristic,” Tom said, handing his shirt. The hand clutching his shirt had a shining watch on the wrist, and, while the sight was enticing, it only served to remind me of how late we were going to be. The shirt was still warm from him having worn it, and he crossed the room to retrieve his spare from the storage closet.

“Most would,” I agreed. I pulled my blazer off and began to undo my shirt, but I felt as if Tom was staring at me. I looked over my shoulder to him, already doing up the buttons on his shirt, and his eyes lifted to mine.

“Do you need help, Y/N?” Tom asked, a snide bite to his words.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Can you…” I started. “Ya know, turn around?”

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Americans are so prudish,” he said. “I undressed in front of you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but it’s different,” I said. “Just close your eyes, something, please.”

Tom laughed lightly, and he made a show of covering his eyes with his hands. “Is that better?”

I rolled my eyes. It would have to be good enough. I pulled my shirt off and exchanged it for his and, once I was fully dressed again, I said, “Alright. Thank you.”

“Great,” Tom said and uncovered his eyes. “Are you ready to go now?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Sure.”

Once we arrived at the Immigration office, Tom was brought in almost immediately, and he had me come in to take notes. A secretary’s job is never done, I guess. I stood by the door as he sat before the officer, and I watched the scene unfold before me.

“Mr. Holland, you’re here on a work visa,” the officer began. “Which means you’re not allowed to leave the country.”

“Yes,” Tom said, and he raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you went to an international book fair…” the officer began as he shuffled some papers around. “In Germany, last month.”

Tom scoffed and flipped his tie in annoyance. “It was for my job,” he said. “Can’t I go to work functions?”

“Not when it violates the rules of your visa,” the officer said. “Because you violated those rules, you have to leave the country and go back to your home country for one year.”

Tom straightened in his seat suddenly and gave a laugh. “I can’t do that,” he said seriously. “I can’t work from a different country for a full year. I’d lose my job.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holland, but it’s federal law,” the officer said. “The only way you can stay in the country is if you get married by the end of this month, and--”

I had worked for Thomas Holland for a long time. I knew him well. I knew what shampoo he used, what pants size he wore, and, most importantly, I knew what he looked like when he got an idea. His chin went up, his shoulders went back, and he smiled. He rarely smiled, at least where I was concerned. “Um, yeah, w-what if I am getting married?” Tom asked. “What-What then?”

“Well, it would have to be filed appropriately and the service would need to be witnessed,” the officer said. “But, if everything was legal, you would be allowed to stay in the country.”

Tom turned around to look at me and he gestured for me to step closer. “C’mere, darling,” he said, and his honey eyes widened at me. “Don’t be shy, c’mon.” He turned back to the officer and gave a smile to him. “She’s so shy, it’s adorable.”

I stepped closer to him, and Tom stood up and wrapped his arm around my waist. I was confused as hell about what he was doing, but it clicked when he captured my chin between his forefinger and thumb and planted a quick kiss to my mouth. Oh fuck. If he was fired, I would be out of a job too. I needed Tom to stay in the country, which meant that he had to get married. And who better to marry than somebody who already knows everything about you? Fuck. That’s me. “You two?” the immigration officer asked. “Is she not your secretary?”

“She is, yes,” Tom said, and he laughed nervously. “But it wouldn’t be the first time that someone fell for their secretary, would it?” He then gave a deep laugh, and I quickly giggled to ease the tension. “Yes, no, but… Y/N and I are getting married. We were planning on a spring wedding-- you know how girls and spring weddings are-- but we could fast-track it, if it keeps me here… With her.”

The immigration officer raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said. “Where is your ring?”

I looked down at my hands, certainly missing an engagement ring. “Oh, umm…” I began. “Well, you see, we don’t want our coworkers to know yet. Seeing as I’m being promoted to editor, we thought it would be inappropriate for our relationship to be… Known to the office. I have a ring, but I don’t wear it.”

“Yes, editor…” Tom began and looked at me, a flash of annoyance crossing his face for just a moment. “Sure, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N,” the immigration officer began. “You do understand that, if you are caught in a lie, it’s five years in a federal prison?”

I nodded and gave a tight smile. “Good thing we’re not lying.”

I watched Tom as we left the building and, once we were outside, I stopped walking. “Wanna explain that?” I called.

Tom stopped and turned on his heel, his phone already pressed to his ear. “What is it?” He asked. “I’m on a call.”

I huffed and pulled his phone away. “Mr. Holland has business to attend to,” I said. “He’ll call back.” I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket, and I crossed my arms. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Tom asked, and I gestured back to the building with a huff. “Oh. It’s the only way for me to stay in the country and keep my job. We’ll get a legal marriage by the end of the month, then, when the appropriate amount of time passes, I’ll set up a quickie divorce and you can forget that this funny little thing ever happened.”

“What if I don’t want to get married?” I asked. “What about my boyfriend?”

Tom scoffed. “As if you have a boyfriend.”

“Hey!” I cried. “You don’t know that!”

“You wake up at four in the morning, every morning, in order to get ready and get my breakfast,” Tom rattled off. “You work from eight to four every day, most times until five. You are on call at all times; your phone never rings twice before you answer it, especially if I am calling you. You bring me food at one in the morning if I need it. No boyfriend would be okay with a work schedule like that. So, Y/N, unless you have any other unfounded issues with this, I suggest we start to learn things about each other that an engaged couple would know.”

“No.”

“No?” Tom repeated.

I smiled sweetly. “Ask me nicely.”

“Ask you what?” Tom asked with a grimace.

“Ask me nicely to marry you,” I said.

Tom gave me a look of boredom, and he rolled his eyes before he took my hand. “Will you please marry me?” He asked, his voice full of sarcasm.

“No, no,” I said. “Down on one knee. You’re an Englishman, Mr. Holland, have some manners, for God’s sake.”

“Y/N--” Tom began.

“I wonder what airfare is like to London,” I began. “And moving all your stuff over there, it’ll take forever.”

Tom sighed heavily, and he looked around us at the busy New York street corner. “Damn it, Y/N,” he mumbled, and he worked himself down to kneel on one knee. “Y/N, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars, my darling girl. Provider of late-night sushi and witty comebacks. Will you please marry me, with cherries on top?”

I chuckled lightly. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but yes,” I said. “I will marry you… Tom.”

“Well, thank God you’re on time.”

“I know, it’s shocking,” I chirped. “It’s almost as if I haven’t been reminding you of appointments for the past few years.”

Tom gave a shallow laugh and welcomed me into his apartment. I had been a few times-- he didn’t call me ‘provider of late-night sushi’ in his proposal for nothing-- but never long enough to take in the place. It was nice, a lot nicer than the apartment I lived in. In my apartment, I could extend my arms all the way and touch either side of my living space.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Tom said. He wore mostly the same outfit from the day, sans the jacket and tie and the first two buttons on his shirt. It yawned open to expose his chest, dusted with thin, light hair, and, under normal circumstances, I would have liked the sight. Absolutely nothing about this was normal, though. “We have to learn enough about each other to pass the questionnaire that the immigration department is giving us.”

“Won’t be hard for me to do,” I said. “It might be difficult for you, Tom.”

“Nothing is difficult for me, Y/N,” Tom laughed. “Right, we can start right there: what’s my legal name?”

“Thomas Stanley Holland,” I replied. “Son of Dominic and Nicola.”

Tom blinked in surprise a few times, and nodded slowly. “How did you know that?” He asked.

“I had to fill out paperwork for you to make an appearance at a book signing about three years ago,” I said. “One of the forms asked for a middle name, so I asked you, and you told me that exactly.”

Tom nodded. “Umm… My birthday?”

“June 1,” I said. “You’re a Gemini, even though you think astrology is fake.”

“How do you--”

“For the past couple of years, you always sneer at the horoscope section of any magazine,” I told him. “It’s not hard to figure out what you think of it.”

“You’re right,” Tom said slowly. He looked over to a pad of paper with his scribbled writing on it, and he picked it up and scanned the list. “I found this list online… A list of questions similar to what they’ll ask us. Alright, there’s no way you know this: my childhood nickname?”

“Which one, Dutchy or Billy?”

“How in the fuck do you--”

“On your last birthday, you got a letter in the mail from your mom,” I began. “It was addressed to Dutchy. That was easy; Holland, Dutch, Dutchy. Kinda cute, actually.”

“And Billy?” Tom winced. “How did you find out about that?”

“One of your old uni friends works for a publishing company in Glasgow,” I said. “You sent him a letter to catch up-- but really to get him to do something for you-- and you signed it Billy.”

“Do you know why I was called that?” Tom asked. His honey eyes were unwavering as he watched me, and he seemed to deflate when I shook my head.

“I have no idea,” I said. “If it’s anything like my college nickname, it came from a night of drinking and something unfortunate happened.”

“What was your college nickname?” Tom asked, suddenly amused.

“Oh, right, you don’t know everything about me,” I laughed. “Well… It was DongNose. My senior year, me and some friends decided to go to a-a… Ha, a male strip club. Things happened and… I ended up getting hit, on the nose, with… Yeah. It fractured my nose and my face bruised up really bad.”

“Oh, shit,” Tom chuckled. The corner of his mouth twitched, and I rolled my eyes.

“It’s alright, you can laugh,” I said. “It’s a funny story.”

“No, I’m not laughing at you,” Tom said. “Just… Thinking about you in uni. Would we have been friends, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “You would have been playing rugby or whatever Brits do at uni. I was a TA for a long time, so I hardly left my office at all.”

“Oh, that’s a question,” Tom said, looking at the list. “Where did I go to uni? Or, I guess, college, as you Yanks call it.”

“Umm, your first semester was at the BRIT School,” I began. “You still get mail from them, asking for donations. But you transferred to Cambridge and graduated from there.”

“Well, Y/N, you’re wrong,” Tom said. “I went to Oxford, not Cambridge. My little brother goes to Cambridge. I don’t usually like to tell people that, it feels too uppity to me.”

“You say as we sit in your New York City apartment,” I scoffed.

“See, that’s different,” Tom began pointedly. “I didn’t grow up with much. Me and my mum and dad and brothers lived in this little town outside of London. It was a sort-of poverty area, so we only had what we could get by with. I was young when I told myself that I was going to work to get myself out of that. And…” He gestured to the apartment. “I did. And I was able to get my parents out of that as well.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “What was the name Billy all about? You never said.”

For the first time since I knew him, I watched color rise in Tom’s cheeks. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? “Umm…” He began. He looked to the coffee table and to the shelf underneath it, and he quickly pulled out a leather-bound scrapbook. “Mum made this for me before I moved to the States. Just some pictures of home and all. But…” He opened the book and spread it out next to us on the couch, forcing me just a few inches closer to him. There were pictures of him and his family in the gray background of London, most of them stamped with the date and time. A picture from when he was in secondary school appeared on a page, taken beautifully and professionally. A black blazer and striped tie adorned his frame, an insignia for his school on the right breast of his jacket. His hair was short and done in the spiked look that was oh-so popular with young boys several years back, and he gave the camera a closed-mouth smile, probably to hide a set of braces.

“I was about twelve here,” Tom began. “This was around the time the nickname came around. I did dance all growing up-- Mum said I was too energetic and chucked me there to tire me out, but I ended up loving it. I ended up auditioning for Billy Elliot, and I got the part. I was on the fuckin’ West End when I was twelve, doing ballet every single day. It was great, but… I went to a Catholic school then, and the other boys in my class didn’t think it was all that cool.” Tom chuckled, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. “But then the nickname came around. People at school called me Billy, even after the show closed. I was tormented with it for years. It carried into college, and then uni. And, even though I’ve long since quit dancing, I still have people from uni that call me Billy.”

“Why did you quit?” I asked.

“I just lost interest.” Tom mumbled with a shrug. “I was being bullied so much that I quit enjoying it. I sometimes wish I never stopped, but what’s done is done.”

The silence was tense between us, and I lightly cleared my throat to diffuse the tension. “Billy Elliot,” I said softly. “Really?”

Tom’s flush came back, but a smile came with it. “C’mon, I was twelve! And I looked like that! What d’ya want from me, Swan Lake?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” I exclaimed. “Besides, it isn’t any worse than what I did in high school.”

“What did you do?” Tom asked.

“You’re deflecting my question, Tommy,” I pointed out.

“Answer my question, Y/N,” Tom rebutted instantly.

“Alright, alright!” I grinned. “When I was fifteen, I played Juliet in my school’s production of Romeo and Juliet. Which would have been great, but my director was so inspired by Baz Luhrmann’s movie that he made it set in the 1950s, but had us keep the dialogue. It was… Not good.”

“Say a line, won’t you?” Tom asked. “Just a few words of Juliet.”

I sighed, and tried in vain to recall even a single line from the play. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more?” Tom mused, looking down at his lap. “Or shall I speak at this? I take thee at thy word: call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

A smile slowly filled my lips. “You know Shakespeare?” I asked.

“My darling, I’m British,” Tom laughed. “I would have my citizenship revoked if I didn’t.”

I nearly didn’t catch how he called me that name. My darling. A slip of the tongue, a thought from Romeo’s mind? Or more? “I guess we’re more alike than we first thought, huh?” I chuckled. “Anyway, I don’t think Billy Elliot is anything to be ashamed of. It’s a beautiful story.”

Tom sighed. “I hope this works,” he mumbled. “I need this job. I’m sure you do too. We both get something out of it. Which, I was meaning to talk to you about that. Editor?”

“Tommy, if I get caught doing this, I could go to jail,” I said firmly. “I’m not going to commit a federal offense if I’m not going to get some benefits afterwards. You get me?”

Tom nodded slowly. “You are a lovely girl,” he said softly. “Any man would be thrilled to call you his.”

“You do,” I said. “At least, for the next few months, you do.”

Tom looked at me with those warm honey eyes. “Have you ever been kissed, Y/N?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, yeah,” I sputtered out. “Of course.”

“Who was your first kiss?” Tom asked.

“Who was yours?” I said quickly.

“Zendaya Coleman, one of my best mates from college,” Tom said quickly. “Answer my question. What was his name?”

I hesitated as I tried to come up with the name of any boy I went to high school with for me to lie about, but my hesitation was answer enough. A slow smile crept up on Tom’s pink lips, and he bit his bottom lip in amusement. “You’ve never been kissed, have you?” he chuckled. “Earlier today, when I kissed you at the office, that was your first, wasn’t it?”

“Jesus, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” I scoffed.

“It’s not,” Tom said. “It’s just hard to believe. You are smart and witty, beautiful, with a sense of humor… I can’t imagine that boys weren’t falling over themselves to catch you.”

“Well, nobody’s caught me yet,” I laughed softly.

“Thank God,” Tom said with a smile. “Or our plan wouldn’t work.”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #fanfiction #fluff #peter parker #spiderman #arvin russell #the devil all the time #tom holland x reader fluff

325 notes · View notes

sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Chapter 11

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Spark.

She watches Ethan from the couch as he pulls a tin of muffins out of the oven, arranging a few on a plate. She’s been thinking a lot about what Mulder said about not having a spark with his ex. She wonders if she and Ethan have a spark, or if they did at one point. When she thinks about her relationship with Ethan, what stands out to her is commitment, dedication, stability. And love, of course, she does love him.

When they first met through mutual friends, she wasn’t particularly interested. He was perfectly nice, and good looking enough, but struck her more as a potential friend than a boyfriend. He was steadfast, kept showing up, kept gently working to get to know her, and eventually she started to grow fond of him. They’ve joked that while his attraction to her was immediate, hers to him was more of a slow burn. This is what mature, adult relationships are like, right? Measured, practical, logical. When you’re young, wild, and free, you date whoever you have the most fun with, chasing the next exciting experience and the rush of a first kiss. But the person you marry should be someone who you know will be a dependable partner, a good parent, and a lifelong support. That has always been her belief.

Ethan returns to sit with her on the couch, setting the muffins on the coffee table to cool. He picks up her feet and puts them in his lap, casting her a brief smile before he goes to work pressing his thumbs into her arches as he watches TV.

Spark.

Is that what she feels when she’s with Mulder? A spark? Is that why her stomach goes into knots when he looks at her? Why she feels the overwhelming urge to touch him? The sensation that there is an electrical current passing between them is not one she’s ever felt with Ethan, that’s for sure. There was no adrenaline in their first kiss, only contentment. Comfort, safety, security. These are good feelings, ones you can build a life on. Can you build a life on a spark?

“You still going to try on dresses tomorrow with Missy?” he asks, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Mhmm,” she answers over her book, which she hasn’t gotten through a page of in over thirty minutes.

“Are you gonna let me see what you pick?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a surreptitious smirk.

She sets the book on her stomach and gives him a chastising smile. “Of course not, Ethan. That’s against the rules.”

“Who made that rule, anyway? I’ve already seen you naked, I should be able to see you in a fancy dress before the big day,” he says with a pointed look.

She swats him with the book.

“The fact that you’ve already seen me naked is also against the rules, so I guess we’re 0 for 2. Don’t tell my mother that,” she lectures playfully.

“I’m sure she has her suspicions, given that we live together,” he says dryly.

“Leave the woman to her ignorant bliss,” she retorts, and they hold eye contact for a moment, exchanging affectionate smiles.

Not a spark, but maybe an ember. Burning steady, carrying them through the dark nights. Sparks die out quickly. She only hopes her spark with Mulder fades soon, because right now it’s burning so bright it’s distracting her from the ember sitting right at her feet.

———

She frowns at herself in the mirror.

“This one is really pretty, Sis, you don’t like it?” Missy asks, tugging at the train to straighten it out.

“I don’t know. Maybe. No.”

She looks forlornly at the rack of dresses she’s already tried on. Every length and cut, style of bodice and neckline. They all seemed wrong.

“I mean, I know you’re generally hard to please, Dana, but this is getting ridiculous,” Missy laments.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she replies, casting Missy an apologetic look.

“Which one do you think Ethan would like? Would that help you decide?” Missy offers helpfully.

Ethan. Right. She realizes that she’s been thinking about what Mulder would make of her in a white dress. She suspects he’d go for the mermaid fit.

“Can we just try again another day, maybe? I think I’m just not in the right headspace for this,” she pleads with her big sister.

“Sure, whatever you want. Let’s go get coffee or something,” Missy says as she ushers Dana back into the changing room.

They go to her favorite local spot, finding two open armchairs near the fireplace, which is off for the summer. Dana tucks her legs under her torso, sipping at an indulgent white chocolate mocha; she feels the need for small pleasures right now. Missy eyes her appraisingly, and she can feel the third degree that is about to commence.

“So what’s up with you?” she finally asks, her tone inquisitive but not abrasive.

“What do you mean?” Dana asks in reply, avoiding her eyes.

Missy’s head drops to the side in exasperation. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you, Dana? I’m trying to be supportive of your decision to marry Ethan, but you’re making it really hard being so openly miserable all the time.”

Dana looks at her with surprise and indignation. “I am not miserable.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Missy says sarcastically.

Dana shakes her head. “I’m just...I don’t know, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to elaborate?” Missy asks with an expectant look.

She sighs and sets her shoulders. She needs to talk to someone about this, and Missy is literally her only option.

“Okay, but first I need you to promise me you’re not going to make a big deal about this, because it’s really not a big deal,” she prefaces with a stern look.

“You know me, I don’t do big deals,” Missy replies, working hard to hide her anticipation for whatever her little sister is about to reveal.

“Okay. So, I met this man at work,” she starts, and Missy’s eyes go as round as oranges. “Missy, don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Missy defends, “go on.” She’s leaning forward in her chair, creating less space between them.

“He’s an agent, he was just picking something up for a case he’s working on, but he asked me out, and we’ve kind of been...we’ve become friends,” she says hesitantly, glancing at Missy to gage her reaction. Missy is forcing a blank expression.

“So...you’re dating him?” she asks flatly.

“No! Oh god, no. I mean, he asked me out and I told him that I have a boyfriend, but now we’re just kind of friends, and….Jesus Christ.” She drops her forehead into her palm. Even describing what’s going on with Mulder is apparently impossible. “We are just friends, but...but I’m having a hard time reconciling how I feel about him.”

“How do you feel about him?” Missy asks.

Dana shakes her head. “I don’t know how to describe it, Missy. I love Ethan, I’m not having doubts about him, but this man...I feel so drawn to him. Being around him feels...almost electric.”

“Like you have a spark?” Missy asks, and Dana’s head snaps to look at her. She’s open, curious.

“Yeah...exactly like that,” she replies regretfully.

Missy nods in understanding, and it somehow makes Dana feel a little better, like she’s not totally crazy. “Tell me about him,” she requests, and Dana can’t help but smile.

“Um, he’s a criminal behavioral analyst, in the Behavioral Science Unit. Oxford educated. He’s funny, but in a dry, intellectual way. He has some pretty outlandish ideas, but he’s so passionate about what he believes in, it’s impossible not to take him seriously. He’s kind of intense, but really alluring.” She pauses, knowing she can’t go on much further without veering into gushing.

“Is he cute?” Missy asks, and Dana closes her eyes.

“SO good looking. Painfully so.” She opens them and Missy is smiling knowingly at her.

“Sounds like a real catch, Sis.”

“Yeah, but I’m engaged to someone who is also a great catch in his own right. I feel like I’m in a romcom.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Missy asks earnestly.

Dana looks at her with surprise. “What do you mean? I’m not going to do anything. It’s just distracting, but obviously nothing can or will come of it.”

Missy gives her a doubtful expression, but then raises her eyes to meet with someone over Dana’s shoulder, giving them a questioning look. Dana turns to see Mulder standing beside her, a cup in his hand and that damn boyish smile on his mouth.

“Hey, Scully, we meet again,” he says, glancing between her and Missy.

“Mulder, hi,” she stumbles, bringing her feet to the floor and squirming around as though he’d caught her in a compromised position. “Um, Mulder, this is my sister, Melissa. Missy, this is Fox Mulder.”

He steps forward and extends his hand to Missy, and she shakes it with a flirtatious smile. “Nice to meet you, Fox.”

“Oh, please call me Mulder,” he replies.

“Alright, Mulder, would you like to join us?” Missy asks, and Dana shoots her a look.

“Um, yeah, I can hang out for a minute,” he replies cautiously, pulling up a chair between the two of theirs.

“So, how do you and Dana know each other?” she asks, and Dana isn’t sure if she’s asking because she realizes who he is, or because she doesn’t.

“We work together, technically speaking. I’m a criminal behavioral analyst in the Behavioral Science Unit.” Missy gives Dana a look that tells her it was the latter. “What are you two up to today?” he asks, running his palm over a stubbled cheek. She can hear the scratch of the short hairs against his skin and it sets off a tingle at the back of her neck.

“We were just doing some wedding dress shopping,” Missy offers, watching his reaction closely.

“Ah,” he says, only moderately concealing his dissatisfaction, “sounds like a good time.” His tone is dry and not at all genuine. “So, Scully,” he says, directing his words to Dana, “Priscilla was wondering if you could stop by next weekend. She has something to show you.”

She smiles coyly. “Does she? Not a hairball, I hope?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, it’s a file, actually. Her personal favorite, she’d love to share it with you.”

“I think I might be free on Saturday,” she replies, “I just need to check, um…”

“Check with Ethan, right,” he finishes, his smile fading a bit.

“Right,” she confirms, her own smile quickly extinguishing.

Mulder stands. “I’ll email you, to confirm.” He turns to Missy, “It was nice to meet you, Melissa.”

Missy beams at him. “Likewise.”

Mulder turns to Scully and gives her a longing glance, then leaves. They watch him go, waiting until the door has closed behind him to speak.

Missy slaps Dana’s arm. “Oh. My. GOD, Sis!” she exclaims with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“What?” Dana returns.

“Spark? That is a goddamn bonfire. Even I could feel it,” she says with a look of wonder.

Dana gives her a pained expression then drops her head into her hands with a groan.

“Why does he call you Scully? And who the hell is Priscilla?” Missy adds.

Dana lifts her head, looking at her sister regretfully with a shrug.

“He said I don’t look like a Dana. Priscilla is his cat.”

Missy closes her eyes for a moment and gently shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowing like she’s trying to reconcile all this information in her brain.

“Whoa, so you’ve been to his place?” Missy asks incredulously.

Dana nods hesitantly.

“Sis, what are you doing? If you were to tell me that you’re going to break it off with Ethan and run away with that beautiful man I would honestly support you. But if you’re trying to keep things on the up and up here, a private rendezvous at his apartment seems like a really bad idea.” Missy is deeply confused, not used to being in the position to tell her sister what decisions are unwise. That is typically Dana’s role in their relationship.

Dana glares at her sister defensively. “We’re just friends, Missy. Men and women can be just friends.”

Missy shoots her a ‘do you think I was born yesterday?’ look.

“Sure they can, if they aren’t insanely attracted to each other. That man practically devoured you with his eyes, Dana. He wants to be more than your friend,” she says emphatically.

“Well, he’s not going to be. I’m with Ethan. And I’m an adult who can control myself enough to maintain boundaries with a platonic friend who happens to be an attractive man. I’m not a Neanderthal, Missy.” She’s using her professor voice, presenting the topic with supporting evidence. Only the facts, folks.

“Okay,” Missy says, acquiescing. “If you trust yourself then great, have fun with your friend. Does Ethan know you’re gallivanting around with a sexy behavioral analyst?”

The guilty look that overtakes Dana’s face is answer enough.

“Well,” Missy continues, “just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she brings levity back to the conversation with a little smirk.

“That leaves me with a lot of options, Missy,” Dana retorts, and Missy slaps her arm again.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #x files fanfic #alternate universe

43 notes · View notes

disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma.

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you.

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why? Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter.

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager! You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar - just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?”

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

346 notes · View notes

rivers-rambles21 · 3 years

Text

The one with the flipping

Part 10 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)

We’re starting to see more from The Falcon and The Winter Soldier - there are some bits taken from the show to help shape the story.

We’ll also be seeing Y/N & Bucky texting whilst he’s away

It didn’t feel right with Bucky away. Although he’d only been gone for just over a day you felt the void he left. Over the past few months you’d become inseparable, seeing each other every day - whether it be hitting the gym together, cooking or just hanging out.

After coming home from yet another terrible day at work, you wanted nothing more than to open a bottle of wine and binge watch TV with Bucky who was undoubtedly now your best friend.

You were two glasses in when you heard a banging outside your apartment door.

Stepping out into the hallway you were greeted with two cops hammering away on Bucky’s door, nearly breaking it clean off. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

Both officers quickly spun on the spot and reached for their guns, stopping when they saw you were on your own. “Do you know the man who lives here?”

“Yes, do you?”

“Ma’am do you know where he is?”

“No I don’t” You lied, not trusting the two men infront of you.

One of their radios suddenly turned on “-he’s is now in custody in Baltimore”

Both cops nodded to one another before turning back to you. “Nevermind ma’am”

You watched as they left as quickly as they arrived before running back into your apartment, grabbing your phone and frantically calling Bucky. You tried a few more times before stuffing your wallet into your purse and heading for the door.

Fortunately you managed to catch a last minute flight to Baltimore after confirming with the police precinct they were holding him in . You hadn’t thought twice about going to him, your heart ached at the thought of him being confined to a cell, trapping him like an animal.

After paying the cab driver your fare, you sprinted into the precinct heading straight for the desk.

“Hi, you’re holding my friend Bucky - I mean James Barnes.” You panted, tired from the sprint to the officer behind the desk.

“Who the hell are you?”

Turning around, you came face to face with someone you instantly recognised. “Falcon” You grinned, a little bit star struck at meeting an actual Avenger.

Sure Bucky was one too but to you he wasn’t some superhero on the evening news who fought aliens and terrorists, he was just Bucky - your friend who stole your food and listened to your never ending rants.

Realising you hadn’t answered his question, you continued. “I’m Y/N, a friend of Bucky’s.” You extended your hand out to him which he shook.

“Sam” He replied, releasing your hand from his.

“The one who believes wizards are real” You joked, trying to remove the tension.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the cyborg, a wizard is a sorcerer without a hat!”

“Uhuh” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Have they said when they’ll let him out yet?”

Sam gestured you to the seating area and sat down. “Once his therapist arrives they’ll let him out.” You sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as the busy precinct bustled around you, cops and civilians passing through constantly.

Sam was the first to break the silence.

“Do you want to watch a funny video?”

The first time you watched the video of Bucky jumping out of the plane you were worried sick he’d hurt himself with his terrible landing. But by the fifth time watching it you’d found it hysterical as you laughed along with Sam as you watched the video over and over again from different angles to kill the time.

Reluctantly, you left the waiting area and headed to the restroom to relieve yourself. When you came back you were stumped to find Sam wasn’t where you’d left him.

“Excuse me, do you know where the man that was sat there went?” You asked the officer behind the desk.

“Therapy session” She replied, pointing towards the double doors before returning back to furiously typing on her computer.

“Thanks” You muttered before returning back to your seat, patiently waiting.

You didn’t have to wait for long before Sam came back with an annoyed look etched across his face. “He’ll be out in a minute” he said as he passed by you, heading for the exit.

With a sigh of relief you stood from your seat and adjusted your clothing as you watched the door with eager eyes.

The moment you saw him through the small windows you felt all the stress and anxiety of the day seep out of you as you saw he was relatively okay.

Bucky must have been distracted as he didn’t notice you standing in front of him until his eyes landed on you, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Hey Buck”

“Doll what are you doing here?” He asked as he strode over to you, pulling you into him in a tight hug, your face pressed against his warm chest. Your arms wound around his back, pulling him in closer, his scent overwhelming your senses. He left a kiss upon your head before pulling back slightly to look down at you, searching for answers.

“Cops came to your apartment looking for you, and then I heard they’d got you and I just panicked. Are you okay?” Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hand, your thumb stroking his soft cheek.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he opened them again, suddenly aware of where you were.

“C’mon lets get out of here.” Taking your hand in his, he led you out of the station and into the fresh evening air.

A shiver ran down your spine as the cold air hit your bare arms. In your rush to go after Bucky you’d foolishly foregone a jacket.

Instantly noticing your discomfort, Bucky dropped your hand and shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders, the leather swamping your form.

“Thanks” You said shyly, Bucky merely smiled back at you in response.

“Well I feel better” Sam’s voice broke you out of the moment as he walked up to you both. Bucky opened his mouth to respond before being interrupted by the sound of a siren and flashing lights.

“Gentlemen!” You recognised the voice from the news - the Captain America knock off. “Good to see you again.”

You felt Bucky's hand slide down your arm to grasp your hand once again as he walked towards the imposter, angling you behind him.

“Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

“So what do you got?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

“Well the leaders name’s Karli Morgenthau. We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.”

“They geotagged a location then scrambled the signal. But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.”

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps.”

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip so I guess you’ll have to look real hard.” If it wasn’t for present company you’d have rolled your eyes at Bucky’s sarcasm.

“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?”

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?”

“No we don’t know Bucky. It’s only a matter of time before we find out”

“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they Walker” Your lips twitched as you fought off a smirk.

“Take it easy. Look Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kinds of authorisations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

You all turned to walk away, Bucky squeezing your hand as you did before fake Captain America stopped you in your tracks. “A word of advice then… stay the hell out of my way.” The two men turned and began to walk before Walker stopped again. “Nice to finally meet you Y/N”

You felt Bucky tense as he turned back to the two men, his eyes glaring at them. Gently, you squeezed his hand and tugged his arm, pulling him back towards Sam, not bothering to respond to dumb and dumber. Looking down at you, he sighed before complying.

With one last glance behind, you raised your hand as though to wave before smirking and flipping them both off instead - earning a chuckle from Sam.

A few blocks later, Sam hung back to give you and Bucky a moment alone.

“I can’t believe you came for me doll” Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off you, he kept switching from rubbing your arms to keep you warm and tucking pieces of hair behind your ears. After the day he’d had you was a welcome sight, reminding him that not everything in his life was terrible.

“Of course I did” You replied, confused as to why he would even doubt it. “I’d do anything for you.” Your confession came as a shock to both of you. You weren’t quite sure as to why you voiced your feelings, maybe it was the day of stress finally getting to you, or the realisation what Bucky and Sam was up to was dangerous and you feared losing him. But regardless of your reasoning, you didn’t regret saying it.

Bucky's breath hitched as his blue eyes searched yours, looking for the moment where you’d crack a smile and make a joke out of it. But that didn’t happen.

Gently, Bucky leant forward and pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “I don’t want you getting caught up in this doll.” His right hand cradled the back of your head as his eyes sought yours, trying to memorise every part of your face, committing it to memory.

“I’ll stay out of it, I promise. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you caged up again-” Your voice had become erratic as you processed the days events. Bucky pulled you into another hug, silencing you as he did, his metal hand rubbing up and down your back.

“I’ll be fine y’know that right? But I have to stop these people Y/N, the serum can’t end up in the wrong hands. I need you to trust me, to trust I know what I’m doing.”

You merely nodded in response, too caught up in the feeling of being in his arms.

Bucky pulled away from the hug and stroked your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realised had fallen. “Cmon, where’s that smile?”

You couldn’t resist his boyish charm and smiled back at him, although weakly.

“Attagirl”

__________________

If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know!

@xpurpleglitter

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #tfatws

79 notes · View notes

leia-imogen · 3 years

Text

aaron & the family he's found all by himself; vol. 1 // vol. 2

( ft. the first meeting & the first family game night )

okay, rundown of his first meeting w the vixens!

the vixens don't really like the foxes. they cheer at their games and all, but outside of that, they mostly stick with the football players

bcs, well, the foxes are,, intimidating and most of the vixens don't get how or why katelyn started dating one

especially one half of the terrifying duo that is the twinyards. like these tiny blonde angst goblins have absolutely zero chill, and this is the backliner one, the one that shattered the nose of a dude basically twice his size

they may be short as fuck but they're scary, and the vixens are worried that he might break katelyn's heart

but katelyn's sure about aaron minyard, and when cleo softly asks, "is he worth it?" she knows her answer is a yes

savannah and the rest of the girls aren't convinced tho, so she asks aaron if he'll meet them for one of the afterparties they have after games

he agrees after seeing the hopeful look on her face

and surprise, surprise, it isn't a complete disaster!!

see, aaron has a habit of mirroring the nature of the person he's with. in the book, we mostly see him as an asshole bcs it's from neil's pov, and neil, as much as i adore him, is an asshole

i think that when he's with nicky ( someone he loves and trusts ), he's like, nicer. it's not in his nature to be cheery or anything but he's less,, hostile? and way more relaxed

and katelyn's been nothing but sweet and polite to him, bcs katelyn's sweet and polite till you give her a reason not to be

so he's sweet and polite back, or at least, sweet and polite as aaron minyard can get.

yeah, he's definitely interesting enough, clever and quick-witted enough, respectful and loyal and insanely talented enough, that katelyn decides he's worth it. doubts he'll ever get boring

and yes, she knows this is a big risk, bcs she knows the foxes' rep, knows how fucked up he must to secure a place on the psu foxes, notices how aaron flinches when she makes any sudden movement

but you know what? fuck it

so when aaron tells her his strange, twisted little deal with his brother, katelyn's willing to fight for him

and after nearly 2 months of this, she drags him to the vixens with their fingers interlocked and a hope in her heart that they'd play nice like she's asked ( practically begged ) them to

aaron's buzzing a bit with nervous energy. it's very endearing, how his eyes had lit up at the sight of her, then how she felt her anxiety about the night melt away into excitement

sav tries, bless her, tries to engage aaron in half-hearted conversation about exy ( which she hates ) and aaron tries back, but that fizzles out bcs for someone on a full-ride exy scholarship, aaron doesn't like exy at all

thank god that marissa, who's been trying to be less of a bitch all night, bless her too, lets it slip that sav detests exy

"okay, i can't anymore. minyard, savannah actually hates exy and she hates the foxes too, but we're hoping that you're an exception."

aaron, holding back a laugh: honestly? same.

sav: oh thank fucking GOD we have something to talk about then

"yeah, the entire sport sucks, doesn't it? i literally play it at college level and i still have barely figured out the goddamn rules."

"exactly! and my entire family's fucking obsessed for some reason, it's so annoying! ugh and the foxes suck even more, they're all so goddamn rude for no reason. except maybe the cute goalie."

". . ."

"eww not your brother, i meant renee walker,, and maybe you're not too bad either, minyard."

"you flatter me."

katelyn watches their exchange with more than a little amusement. aaron's not smiling, but his features have softened and he's flushed from the alcohol he'd had and she can't rly believe that this is the boy who they all thought would break her heart

bcs later when aaron comes up to her with a cookie dough cupcake ( her favourite ) she didn't even know was served at the party, leans into her so his face is buried in her neck, whispers "thanks for taking me", when she takes in all her friends laughing and chatting and waving at her, when sav gives her a thumbs-up and nods to aaron, she's never felt more whole

like she was part of something bigger than herself

then aaron starts hanging around them more! yeah he saw the look on katelyn's face and he was going to TRY for her or so help him- usually just with katelyn, sav, and cleo

she invites him to the "family game night" sav is making them have, and he's like "sure why not."

he knocks on the door of sav and cleo's dorm and sav lets him in

"yo, minyard! glad you make it, katelyn's out on a donut run but she'll be back soon."

okay,, okay. so he'll,,, what? interact w people?? hell fucking no

then he realises that it's only cleo in the dorm, plugged into her headphones, playing mario kart, and thanks katelyn for ensuring there would only be ppl that like, he didn't mind

the other vixens were okay, but way too LOUD, and aaron wasn't rly up for spending a whole night w them

cleo hands him a controller, an invitation to play, and he takes it gratefully. he and cleo hadn't talked that much at the party, but she was perfectly tolerable so far, which was a good sign

and mario kart was a part of his childhood, one of the only few that nicky's parents had owned, so he and his cousin had spent hours curled up in front of tv trying to beat each other

even tho he beats nicky most of the time, cleo absolutely destroys him. he mentally tries to brush it off as him being rusty ( which he definitely is ) but damn, cleo's good. still, she brushes off the compliment when aaron blurts it out

okay so then katelyn comes back with like way too many donuts and they start playing monopoly gathered around the coffee table

sav insists on putting on some music. wannabe starts playing. she winks at aaron and aaron winks back, still not smiling. cleo snorts and katelyn kisses his cheek

listen, cleo is a monopoly master. soon, she owns over half the board and it's pretty clear she's gonna win, someone ( savannah riley jameson, everyone ) flips the board

"jameson, what the actual fuck."

"shut the hell up, minyard."

"come on, sav, i was winning!"

katelyn's trying to pick up all the pieces and aaron bends down to help her, shaking his head at sav, who pouts and joins them while cleo grins, headphones slung around her shoulders while she perches herself onto the arm of the settee and hums to wake me up before you go-go

next, sav begs them to play twister. cleo's great at most games, but she has a particular dislike for twister, so she's out quick

katelyn is super bendy, bcs she took gymnastics for years, and aaron holds his own surprisingly well, considering the fact that he's short as fuck

sav: katie, right hand red

katelyn, ending up right on top of a blushing aaron: okay, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

sav: i stopped spinning like 15 turns ago, i'm surprised you didn't notice sooner

eventually aaron collapses and katelyn is hailed as the queen of twister and they spend the next 10 minutes just calling out random spots for katelyn to try

she gets all of them, and aaron is actually smiling now and it doesn't matter that it's only a tiny quirk of his lips, it's something and katelyn cherishes it

they play some sort of surgeon simulator thingy next, and aaron "gonna be a future neurosurgeon" minyard is awesome at it, bcs duh

katelyn's not very good at this. her hands get SHAKY okay

cleo also sucks at this, bcs she keeps getting nervous and having muscle spasms. sav's just doing the dumbest shit bcs it's bringing aaron closer to the edge of cardiac arrest

aaron: jameson holy shit what are you DOING

sav, slicing open the spinal cord: okay so what if i take out the lungs through the back haha

and now sav is sulking over the fact that she hadn't absolutely murdered the others at a game

so she brings out the ultimate game. the game of bastards, one that tears families apart, sets friendships on fire, starts wars too gruesome to be started by anything other than this wretched, cursed artefact. . .

s c r a b b l e

aaron's already having war flashbacks. katelyn groans and goes to make popcorn, bcs this shit's gonna take FOREVER and she knows it. cleo, an english major, is preparing herself for battle with the force of nature that is savannah

"the fuck do you MEAN fergalicious isn't a word???"

"savannah, please."

"no, here, listen to this."

"sav, we were listening to that!" katelyn complains. sav sighs and switches the song back to her "90's bops" playlist, then changes it to "hell yeah feminism" which instantly starts playing run the world ( girls )

katelyn happily starts singing and aaron's not even reluctant to hum along

sav and cleo are still arguing. this has been going on for so long. sav looks ready to flip over the board again, so cleo does it first

katelyn: cleo what the heck

cleo, the tired mom friend: don't fucking curse

aaron is also tired, but in a good way, in kind of that soft lazy droopy way

he falls asleep leaning against the sofa and katelyn's shoulder, with god is a woman playing in the background while sav and cleo continue arguing. cleo is standing on the coffee table. it's true anarchy

he wakes up on the sofa with a blanket thrown over him and sunlight streaming in through the lacy curtains and katelyn making a complete mess of the kitchen in a futile attempt to make breakfast. sav and cleo are draped across each other on the floor

katelyn, struggling to pick up burning toast: morning babe, how did you sleep?

aaron, calmly using a pair of tongs: pretty well. who wants pancakes?

sav, instantly shooting up: DID YOU SAY PANCAKES

so he makes pancakes! nicky taught him as soon as he'd gained custody of the twins, so he's pretty much an expert. he tries to teach katelyn, but then just gives up bcs she's clearly not listening in favour of staring at him

and they all gather around the coffee table and cleo's humming along to the song on her headphones and wow these pancakes are rly good omg

while aaron is chatting to cleo about what video games they should play next, sav whispers, "kate finley, if you don't marry this boy just for his god-tier pancakes, i will."

"sav, you're a lesbian."

"not anymore, i've decided that i am pancake-sexual."

aaron hears all of this btw, bcs cleo stops when she hears them talking. he blushes, and smiles, just a little bit

( if anyone actually cares about this, tell me! shoot me an ask if there's any particular ask you want to see with these characters, or just the foxes! )

#aaron & the family he's found all by himself #yes i’m aware that no one cares #and that this is horribly written but i’m exhausted so. . .#i pinky-swear the next one will be sort of better #hopefully #aftg headcanons #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #aaron minyard headcanons #the vixens #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #twinyards #nicky hemmick #katelyn aftg #katelyn finley #sav jameson #cleo magdalene

70 notes · View notes

theficplug · 3 years

Text

l Sunflower Vol. 6 l Harry Styles l

Harry Styles x Black Reader

Warnings: none , pure fluff

[harry and reader feels like it’s just time to let the world know.]

As Harry was coming to an end of an era with the Fine Line album. Sunflower Vol. 6 was the last of the bunch to receive a visual to the groovy almost psychedelic track.

You remember when the idea of the song came up. You had explained where your nickname Sunflower came from.

-flashback-

He was sitting on the couch in your shared home with his guitar resting gently across his chest playing the same melody and humming sunflower to himself while watching the rain fall down heavily through the cracked window.

The slight breeze coming through blew his disheveled hair around. Harry had been up all night saying that he didn’t wanna forget the cords and the rhythm of the song that was still coming to him.

You quietly walked down the stairs to find him still up humming and tapping along to the beat as he tried to get into the groove.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks quietly as he sits the guitar aside and opens his arms for you.

“No, but the cold giant you shaped empty spot in the bed did. Tea?” you ask chuckling softly before handing him the mug in your other hand and kissing the top of his head.

You had also brought blankets with you and draped it over the both of you while settling onto his lap and resting your head on his shoulder. You watched as he instantly relaxed and settled back against it at the sound of your voice. Placing a gentle kiss to your forehead he accepts the pink mug.

“Thank you love.” he says quietly to you before trailing his hands up and down your leg gently as he takes small sips of the earl grey.

“I love nights like this. It reminds me of growing up back home. My mama would yell at my dad and me for dancing around in the rain.”Don’t come in here asking me for vapor rub and soup when y’all are coughing up a storm”. She would say with her face all scrunched up. But we knew it was from a place of love because every time she’d end up running out to joining even if only for a few minutes and she had an umbrella. But the deal was that I couldn’t complain about being woken up at 5am to get the hot comb before school. She knew she couldn’t resist dancing to My Girl with us. To our neighbours who were always in our business we probably looked like a bunch of maniacs just laughing and being happy to love and be loved. ” you explained to him and he would chuckle softly and tell you about how he wished he knew you when you were kids.

He swears that he would’ve known then that you were it for him.

“I was 6 years old when I got the name Sunflower. As usual it was my mother, father , and I sitting on the porch. I was just sitting eating sunflower seeds and staring out at the rain. Waiting for my father to set up the radio and put our favourite songs on. We ran out onto the grass and as he twirled me around. My father said to me “you’re my sunflower because you always grow towards the sun and bring such a light to our lives. Becoming your parents was the best day of our lives. Getting to see you grow is the small moments of magic in this life. That’s how I knew you were the one for me. Because he didn’t think anyone was good enough for me, but when he met you and you actually got him to laugh with you and say yes to proposing to me. I knew this was it.” you explain and laugh at his expression.

“Bae, are you tearing up?” you ask as he leaned over to kiss all over his face then peck his lips.

“I’ve just got something in my eye. That’s all. I just can’t wait to share how much I love you with the world. I want them to feel that when they listen to this album.”

“And they will” you reassure him

-present-

After over a year and a half of dating and being engaged you knew that it was time to share it with the world. There was only so much can take after 10 years of speculations. He was more than ready to tell everyone that there was only one woman he wanted to spend his life with.

He’d like to have a meal with a childhood friend without him being painted as a cheater on someone he wasn’t even dating in the first place.

A sigh of relief washed over you both when the video finally wrapped. You remember telling Harry that if you were going to be a part of this video you wanted the entire crew to be black or at least of colour.

“Those are my rules , Harold. I wanna put my people on, and no offense baby but can’t nobody white touch this fro. I haven’t let anyone besides my mother do my hair since I was a little girl. You got me? ” you expressed to him and he nodded because he had already had the idea in mind knowing he wanted to put his money where his mouth is with supporting black creatives.

He began searching social media for black hair stylists, videographers, directors , and everyone else that would be needed to get the project done.

Now it’s less than 24 hours before the world would know about what has been sweetly yours for a little over a year.

From what you could tell a lot of people assumed that his album was about exes or previous relationships but on the contrary he had actually written one song for closure about a past situation. The rest of the entire album was essentially about you,and how he fell in love with your kindness and how much he adored you. Some of the fans who listened closely picked up on the line in Adore You. ‘Your wonder under summer skies. Brown skin and lemon over ice’ . It was about the vacation you two took a few months before the pandemic right after he wrapped on his newest film. He swore that your mahogany skin glowed under the warm July sun and against the cerulean coverup. That man looked at you like someone told him that you were made out of pure gold. Thus sparking his first track on the album, Golden. You two were even papped together while on the beach with your families but of course most just assumed that you were a family friend. It seemed to be a trend when he’s photographed with a woman of colour before but he reassured you that he was single when he asked you on a date the day he met you at the farmers market.

-flashback-

He tumbled over his words while trying to ask you about what kind of jam you would recommend for him to bring home to his mother.

“I’m gonna be at her home for the weekend and just thought that I’d bring a few things for breakfast while I’m there. Yours caught my eye. Are these little sunflowers all over the jars?” he asks as he bends down to inspect them.

“Yeah , you like it? It’s kind of my brand. It’s been a bit of a slow day. I think it’s because it’s gonna rain. Never one to be scared of a little rain. I can tell that this is gonna taste far better than bringing home a jar of Nutella.” you say to him with a small smile on your face.

After grabbing a plastic spoon for him to try out peach, strawberry, and cherry. He ended up purchasing several jars of all 3, but the cherry jam was his favourite and blushed the entire time you scooped the spoon in his mouth.

“What’s it like to be so lonely like this? I feel like it would be difficult to not be able to be out with others because you don’t want them to have to go through all of this.I feel like even though someone’s “famous” you’ve got to at least treat people with kindness and some level of respect. ” you say to him as the people pushed their way over to your boutique once they realized who was standing there.

You didn’t even really know who he was because you hadn’t been into One Direction in their prime. So, you knew he was a big deal from the whispers and people walking up to him and asking him for pictures and practically offering him their entire supply. But you just knew him as the dorky slightly awkward and weird cutie standing in front of you in the giant sunhat and pearls that stuttered while trying to tell you about his time working in a bakery before they came over.

“It’s alright. You kind of just learn to adapt to all of it after 10 years. . I worked there for like a year but we never had anything that tasted this good!” he admitted and you would giggle softly at the complement and give him your number on the receipt. You could see him doing a little shimmy while waving the number in the air.

-present-

You think back to the conversation fondly before Harry’s low and soothing voice snapped you out of your thoughts as he peeks his head into the room to ask if you want to see the finished video.

You followed him to his little makeshift studio in your home and take a seat on his lap so that you both could see it.

Harry had come up with the concept of you being a sunflower and him being like a bee because he swore he was drawn to you from the first conversation you two had ever said.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your side. He was already trying to hide his smile as the video started with you in a canary yellow dress that flowed over your body making you look like a sun goddess as you twirled with the sunflowers in your afro.

You soaked in the sun and swayed to the music before Harry came into focus.

You remember that day his mother and your parents were on set because they were going to make a cameo at the end and both of your mothers had been behind the camera giving you both thumbs up and standing with their hands over their hearts the entire time.

Harry dances across the screen dressed in bumblebee-esque colours with the black and yellow as he danced around you and you looked over at him wide eyed before moving away from him. You followed the script and continued to dance around to the music doing your own thing as he danced around you to get your attention.

“You look so beautiful babe. Look at you! God damn I am a lucky bastard, aren’t I?” he says giddily laughing and smiling like a boy on the schoolyard with a crush.

“Oh stop, but keep going.” you say jokingly as you pat his thigh softly.

“I mean it. You could’ve gone on set just like this with no makeup and wearing this old shirt and looked like perfection itself.” he complements and it was your turn to break into a smile cause this man really was the sweetest little thing.

“Right back at you, sweet thing. I love how they cut your hair for the video. That was probably the best line up you’ve ever had. It was a game changer wasn’t it? You didn’t know black barbers are magicians.” you say giggling as you watch him prance around in the video in the yellow and black suit.

It comes to the part of the video where your parents and his mother both walk into the shot and your father takes your hand and dance with you as the mothers dance together.

Harry glides over to you and asks for your hand and your father puts yours in his.

He twirls you around as the parents look on and you both show your engagement rings to the camera and smile up at each other.

By the end of the video you and Harry blow a kiss at the camera before sharing a moment of pressing your forehead against his and the video ends.

You sniffle and dab at your eyes with a napkin from his desk and he turns to you before leaning into press kisses to your cheeks and lips.

“I love you and you know that there isn’t anyone else I would wanna tell the world about. It’s going to be just fine because I plan on making you happy for the rest of your life.” he reassures you and you nod before kissing his nose.

“What else can I say Harold? You went from being the awkward sweetheart that wrote me love letters and sung me to sleep when we couldn’t be together to someone I could not imagine life without. If people can’t see that there’s nothing but love and happiness here that’s their business. But this is ours.” you say to him knowing that it’s out of your element to feel so sappy but with him you just can’t help it.

The next day the video dropped along with the caption ‘it’s also our anniversary. So be kind or leave. All the love, H.’

The outpour of love and support from his fans and other celebrities was ridiculously overwhelming but well received as you made sure to make a small short follow up video thanking them for all of the love, well wishes, and compliments.

[ a little different for me but i hope you still enjoyed it to the lovely person who requested it !]

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #fanfic for black girls #fine line album

143 notes · View notes

annabethy · 3 years

Text

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow: day 2

Day 02/25 Days of Christmas: Character A’s best friend rigs the Secret Santa because they know Character A has a crush on Character B,, percabeth

Percy is so distracted that he almost doesn’t catch someone whispering his name across the room. When he realizes that it’s Leo calling his name, he wishes he hadn’t noticed because he knows that whatever is about to come out of that kid’s mouth is not going to be good.

“What?” Percy hisses when Leo doesn’t stop the rather obvious hissing.

Leo stands up from the table along the wall so that he can make his way across the dorm’s common room and plop down directly next to Percy. “So.”

When he says nothing else, Percy prompts, “So…?”

“You’re in love with Annabeth, yeah?”

“I’m sorry — what?”

“You, like, want to marry her.”

Percy swallows, eyes darting towards the girl that was only sitting a few feet away. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, okay big boy. Suuure you don’t want to marry her.”

“Maybe shut up, yeah?”

Leo gives his signature impish grin. “I’m just speaking the truth.”

“Yeah, well, your truth sucks.”

Percy wishes he could say that Leo was lying through his teeth like he usually does, but this one’s the painful reality. He was in love with his best friend, and Leo was shouting it out to the world, and also to Annabeth who was practically right next to him. For once, he’s glad that she can’t ever listen to people talking while she’s studying.

“Here’s the thing.” Leo pats Percy’s hand like he was consoling a child. “Secret Santa.”

“What about it?”

“You’re going to get Annabeth.”

The way that Leo whispers it is only mildly comical. It sounds more like he’s praying than telling, in Percy’s opinion. “What, are you manifesting it or something?”

“No. I’m rigging Secret Santa.”

“What!? No!”

“You want to date her, don’t you?” When Percy opens his mouth to disagree, Leo continues, “The answer is yes, you do. And to be honest, I’m sick of watching you two flounder around each other, so this is more for my benefit than yours.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You won’t be saying that when you get married, buddy.”

Percy gives him a scathing look as he pointedly turns his head away from Leo. Leo mutters something under his breath that Percy does not bother to decipher because it would probably make Percy want to stab someone in the name of Christmas spirit. He’s already mortified enough that everyone seems to know about his infatuation with his best friend, probably including Annabeth too, so he does not need Leo to rub it in even more.

“Percy,” Leo grunts as his fingers wrap around Percy’s neck and pull in an attempt to get Percy to face him again. He ends up choking for air as Leo cuts off his trachea, and Leo clambers to grab a fistful of hair instead. Percy lets out a strangled shriek as he is pulled off the couch sharply by his head.

“Stop it!”

“Listen to me,” Leo says, peering over the edge at where Percy is now laying on the floor, rubbing the back of his head. Percy ends up staying on the floor so that he’s out of Leo’s reach. “When we get together for Secret Santa, you’re going to pick first. Pick the one that has green marker on the outside.”

“And break the rules of the game?”

“It’s still a secret to her. Do it.”

Percy doesn’t plan on doing it. The few hours waiting for the rest of their friends to meet up are spent with him going back and forth in his own mind as to why he should definitely not pick her name. It defeats the whole purpose of the game, but at the same time, she won’t know that he purposely picked her. But on the other hand, if he somehow manages to win her over with whatever gift he picks out, he’ll have to admit it at some point. With his luck, they’d be married about to have a baby when he’s like oh yeah, by the way, I purposely got you because I’m a cheater, and she’ll be so offended, all oh yeah, by the way, I’m also a cheater and it’s not your baby, and his heart will shatter into a million pieces.

So perhaps he’s being a little dramatic, but he likes to think his concerns are at least somewhat legitimate. Like, maybe 43 percent valid.

In the end though, Percy catches sight of that green mark on a slip of paper, and his hand grabs it with a mind of its own. As he uncurls the paper, he traces over her writing with his finger. He swears he could pick her writing out of a line up, with the unique curves of her penmanship.

Percy pretends not to notice Leo’s mocking grin from across the circle, instead turning his attention towards Annabeth, watching her pick out his name.

For the next few days, Percy doesn’t think he’s ever been more stressed. It’s as though Percy doesn’t even know Annabeth anymore because he’s suddenly at a blank for anything that she likes. He can’t even remember her favorite color or lifelong dreams because he’s just that nervous. He’s beginning to wish that he hadn’t picked that green slip, but it was too late to go back now. He had no choice but to make an embarrassment of himself when he shows up with something awful, or nothing at all.

It comes unexpectedly when he finds the present. It’s a simple ring with a silver band and an emerald sitting in the center, and it practically has her name written on it. He imagines what it would look like sitting on her finger, the green gem gleaming in the sunlight, reminiscent of his eyes.

It’s not until after he makes the purchase that it dawns on him how much of a boyfriend thing it is to buy someone a ring. And, of course, Annabeth would say something about it being an engagement ring because that’s just what she does, and he would die on the spot. He loves her so much, but she doesn’t know that, and a ring would no doubt reveal at least some of what he was feeling if she somehow didn’t already know.

He dreads the day of Secret Santa.

All too soon, he is sitting in a circle with his friends, everyone holding a present in their hands. When it comes time to exchange the gifts, Percy hesitantly hands his to Annabeth. He can sense the shock on her face, and a warm sense fills him as he also senses the underlying excitement in her face.

“You got me something expensive, right?” she asks playfully.

“You wish,” is what he replies, but his painfully empty wallet disagrees.

Annabeth smiles at him, a cute dimple appearing on her cheek, as she pulls the tissue paper out of the present bag. She makes an offhanded comment about the Rudolph gift bag before she pulls out everything at once. He hadn’t wanted to just get her one thing, so he stuffed it with a few of her favorite snacks. Leo had called him a simp when he found out.

“Hurry up,” he chides. “Get off my ass, Percy,” she says, but she picks up the small box he knows contains the ring. The rest of the room seems to drown out as she flicks open the top. He catches sight of the ring in the box, and now he really wants to pass out, or throw up, or both.

Annabeth’s face is unreadable as she thumbs the gem. Then, her face breaks into a soft grin and he feels marginally better. “A ring?”

“I saw it and thought of you. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was paid for.” He bites his lip. “I can return it if you don’t want it. I know it might seem weird, but I just really wanted—“

Annabeth uses her socked foot to nudge his knee and get him to stop talking. “I really love it, Percy.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” she says, rolling her eyes. She slides it onto her left ring finger, holding it up for her own inspection. “It’s like an engagement ring!”

Percy cracks a grin. “I knew you’d say that.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” she adds. “I’d love being engaged to you. You’d be the world’s best husband.”

Percy’s heart nearly stops.

“God, I love you,” she groans, crawling over the floor so that she can collapse in his lap like a wet noodle. It’s not unusual for them. They’ve always been the two to cuddle platonically during a movie, or just take a nap together, but nothing more. Right now though, Percy feels like this is a lot more than usual as he wraps his arms around her in a hug.

Annabeth lifts herself back up, and he nearly whines at the loss of contact. That is quickly taken off his mind though as she turns around with a present in hand.

“Your turn,” she says, and Percy’s jaw drops open.

“You got me!” he exclaims excitedly, reaching for the present.

“I know,” she says teasingly. “I nearly gagged when I picked your name.”

“Nice to see that you care.”

She patters her feet against the floor excitedly. “Open it!”

And he does. The bag is slightly bigger than hers was, so he struggles a bit to get the item out. When he does though, he feels like crying. He’s met with a thin silver frame, but inside of it is what really gets him. It’s a painting of the two of them — a picture he thought he lost a long time ago. Her arms are thrown over his shoulders from behind as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, and Percy is staring directly into the camera, the biggest smile on his face. He remembers taking that years ago on a stranger’s polaroid. He carried it around forever, everywhere he went, until it just seemed to disappear one day. He was so distraught because it was the only copy, but he’s forgotten about it until now, and—

Percy’s eyes begin to brim with tears. “Where did you get this?”

“I took a picture of it,” she says gently. “There was someone on etsy that was painting pictures, and so I thought you’d like to have this one.”

“God.” Percy’s eyes trace over the image, trying to burn the picture into his mind, every single curve and color. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s no ring, but…”

“Annabeth,” Percy says, stopping her. “I love it.”

“And I love you.”

Something burns in Percy’s stomach. There’s something in the way that she’s looking at him that makes his breath stutter. It’s too soft and she’s too close to him. He wants so badly to pull her in close, to hug her and kiss her because she’s wearing his ring and a sweater she stole from his closet and she’s his best friend that he’s in love with.

Percy’s face is suddenly in front of Annabeth’s, and he can feel her breaths hitting his face. He doesn’t know if people are watching, but he can’t be bothered enough to check.

“Thank you,” Percy whispers. “It means a lot.”

“I’m sure it did.”

There’s a comfortable pause where Percy just looks at her, counts her eyelashes, appreciates the perfect curve of her nose before she says, “Are you going to kiss me or just stare?”

Percy smiles and takes that as an invitation. He wraps his fingers around the curve of her back, pulling her onto his lap and bringing her lips to his. It feels like he’s kissing his best friend, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not a perfect kiss because she’s tangled awkwardly in his limbs, both of them sprawled on the floor, and there are people screaming around them, but it’s still everything he’s ever thought it would be.

When he finally pulls away, she’s looking at him with something akin to love. He smiles, and so does he, and Leo makes a snarky comment, and he never wants to leave this moment.

“So,” she says, breathless and happy, “I have something to tell you.”

“You love me?”

“That, and I may have purposely picked your name.”

Percy throw his head back and laughs, and he thinks that he’s met his soulmate.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #Percy Jackson and the olympians #my writing

157 notes · View notes