#and it’s not like he did anything to make harry understand why he must be careful. didn’t have one meaningful convo with him did he? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryjuiceblues · 11 months

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𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐊 𝐀𝐓

➯ HARRY’S GROWN IN SOME PLACES AND Y/N IS MORE THAN OBSESSED. ✰ sexual content. size kink. daddy kink. degradation. creampie. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5k

Harry was changing.

And he had been for a while. Slowly but surely—bit by bit—and all Y/N could do was sit back and watch.

Y/N thinks (and she knows she’s biased because, well, she loves him more than life itself, but still thinks) that Harry will always be the most beautiful man in any room. No matter his age, or the clothes he wears, or the facial expressions his features are presenting, he will be pretty personified to her.

And she never thought he could look better. Because he always looked like he’d been handcrafted, slaved away at for hours to achieve the sharp line of his jaw or the divine slope of his nose.

But now he was changing.

And Y/N was wrong.

Another thing she believes (or had believed) is that being with Harry removed any and all of her preferences when it comes to attraction. No matter the way he looked, Y/N loved it—would never change a thing—would never think that maybe that shirt would look better if his chest hair was thicker or that those trousers would be sexier if his thighs were bigger, or that that suit would be more impressive if he was taller.

Because Harry was visually stunning, always. And even if in the past, Y/N might have been more attracted to a rugged beard, or a different hairstyle, or a specific type of dress sense, then all of that went out of the window when she met Harry.

But now, Y/N was being proven wrong.

She supposes it was a small change at first, so subtle that she didn’t even notice—because Harry had always been strong, even if it didn’t necessarily show and he’d never hesitated to throw Y/N about whichever way he pleased (which could tend to be an insecurity of hers at times).

When she did start to notice though… Nothing else could catch her attention. Whenever he walked into the room her eyes would drift, and whenever she was looking at him whilst he spoke, she’d be itching to lower her gaze and feel her pupils dilate.

Harry didn’t understand at first. He had picked up on her recent lack of concentration, and of course he had, he was attentive—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was distracting her so much.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It’s when the weather starts to warm up enough to get his arms out that it clicks.

And that’s what he’s smiling about now, as he hauls patio furniture about and potters around—in a black tank and highlighter yellow short shorts—doing all the garden jobs that had been ignored during the winter and spring. Admittedly with much more flexing than is necessary—after his minx of a girlfriend reacts far too excitedly at the delivery of a new pod chair, and squeezes her thighs together in anticipation, before proceeding to lounge around in her shortest of sundresses with the horniest of gazes as she watches him work.

Harry’s trying to be subtle about his amusement, wanting to play with her for as long as he can now that he knows why she’s been drooling for him more than usual. But his tummy is fluttering with excitement as he schemes the best way to rile her up.

He thinks she’s probably already wet, if the clenching of her thighs is anything to go by as she sits in the pod chair she watched him assemble; her naked legs swinging gently. And he’s worked up quite the sweat, out in the sun for a while already—droplets starting to trickle down his back.

So he thinks it only natural to remove his shirt, biceps straining as he reaches behind him to tug the material over his head.

Y/N’s breath hitches. No matter how many times she sees Harry’s body, it makes her go all silly without fail. And the same happens now as his glistening, tanned, ink-covered torso is revealed and her eyes start to fight over which part of him to gawk at first.

He’s big. Bigger than he’s ever been—and Y/N must send his PT some flowers or something because she’s sure she’s never been so turned on in her life and that deserves a thank you, doesn’t it?

Harry’s chest rises and falls gently, pecs dusted in sweat-soaked hair that Y/N has never wanted to lick more. She knows she can stare; is well past the point in their relationship to care about being caught—wants to get caught even, to aid his teasing that does so much to her insides. A drop of sweat trickles in between his abs and Y/N always swore she didn’t care for the definition of those muscles, but on Harry… he looks like the posterboy for all pornstars. Everyone’s wet dream, everyone’s type, everyone’s secret fantasy.

Yet, it’s still his arms that stun her the most. She’s not sure why—if it’s solely because of some undiscovered size kink or how obviously he could overpower her—there might not be any deeper meaning other than looking sexy and strong. Maybe it’s because they’re so big that they bulge with every movement, muscles contracting and golden, tattooed skin stretching. Maybe it’s the fine hair that covers his forearms—that have also become considerably thick and meaty. Y/N has lost count of the amount of times she’s wished to sink her teeth into them. Especially when a particular vein or tendon makes itself prominent. Paired with the fact that she has always been undeniably turned on by his hands and Y/N doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s like the man she’s known, who was already completely and utterly everything she could ever want, has been multiplied by ten. And now Y/N is left to try and function as a normal human being with this Greek god of a man who has arms bigger than her head.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“—I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Y/N flinches, eyes shooting up to Harry’s and away from his body.

“Oh, so now you listen to me,” he rolls his eyes, smirk obvious.

“That’s not funny, Harry.” Y/N frowns, heart going a million beats a second. “Why would you say that, you dick.” She hoists herself out of the chair and storms towards the patio doors. With no way she’d ever make it very far, as Harry drops the tools he was using to assemble a coffee table and hastily swoops in behind Y/N—wrapping her up in the things that got her into this position in the first place.

Her back meets his chest. His bare chest. And his face meets her neck, stubble tickling her skin. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He’s smiling. Y/N feels his arms tighten around her waist. “You weren’t listening t’me, were you?”

She huffs and says, “No,” in a tone that Harry never appreciates.

“You know I don’t like it when you ignore me. I’m far too needy, aren’t I?”

Y/N hums something incomprehensible, ashamed by her pathetic reaction to such a basic body part.

“C’mon, come back. Y’givin’ me something pretty to look at whilst I work.” Harry pinches her waist and she can’t help but shriek a laugh, body betraying her when his fingers dig in.

“You weren’t even looking at me,” Y/N scoffs, reluctantly making her way back to her chair as Harry finishes up on the floor.

“How would you know?” His arms bulge as he screws the table together. “Weren’t exactly staring at m’face, were you, love?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, fluffing up her dress around her thighs.

“I’ve noticed something recently,” Harry starts, admiring his handiwork before getting to his feet and making his way over to Y/N. He picks up a previously ignored bottle of sun tan lotion on his way. “Or, you’ve noticed something, I suppose.”

He kneels before her, hands steadying the gentle swaying of the chair before he smooths them down her legs and props her foot up on his thigh. Y/N pretends to not have a clue. It makes her belly tingle with juvenile excitement.

“What do you mean?”

Harry pops the bottle open and generously squeezes the lotion into his palm. It’s cold as it meets Y/N’s calf, and she twitches a little. But Harry’s hands are warm; he already knows that thirty seconds of this will have her melting into him.

“You think I don’t see the way you’ve been looking at me lately?” He massages the muscle in his palms and Y/N sighs blissfully.

“I always look at you the same, my love,” she exhales.

“Hm? And how’s that?”

“Like you’re the only man in the world.”

Harry pinches her thigh and Y/N yelps. “Don’t get all soppy on me now. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” and like the sadist that he is, Harry subtly flexes his arms—covertly enough that it looks like a completely involuntary twitch of the muscles. But Y/N’s eyes snap there regardless, and Harry smiles, vast palms moving up higher on her leg as he applies more lotion and starts on her thigh.

“I don’t know, Harry. Why would I look at you different? What’s different about you?” Her voice holds the tiniest of inflections that only Harry would notice means she’s being playful. And it riles him up some.

“Okay, baby. If that’s how you wanna play.” Harry switches legs. He’s much less slow and tender, digging his fingers into her calf and holding firmly when she tries to pull away. The strength he exhibits only has Y/N’s eyes even more trained to his body. When he gets to her thigh he pushes her dress up until her underwear peeks out and delivers a harsh, unexpected slap to the inside—purposely where it hurts a little. Y/N gasps and her hips push up. Harry pays her no mind, applying more lotion before rubbing it in—far too high under her dress where no sun is reaching—and Y/N can see where this is going. Which Harry is coming out.

It all happens so quickly; Harry’s hand pushing against her collarbones to angle her awkwardly against the deep back of the chair, slumping her body surely unattractively, before flipping her dress up higher and tugging her to the edge. His breath fans against her warmth, cruel eyes looking up at Y/N in her stunned state. He leans down and his arms curl under her thighs, hands resting atop and squeezing them tauntingly. God, she can feel his biceps tensing against her.

He’s right there. Lips ghosting across where she needs him. Close enough to barely peek his tongue out and have it meet. Right there. And then he’s gone. Shrugging her legs off his arms and standing up, making some comment about how they need to buy some more sun tan lotion as he goes to walk inside.

Y/N is scrambling off the chair. “Fuck you!” Her hand shoots out and grabs Harry’s wrist. Immediately he spins and flinches away from her, replacing her grip with his own and twisting her arm behind her back. Her chest pushes into him as he leans down.

“You think I haven’t noticed how much of a brat you’ve become?” His voice slicks down her thighs. Oh. “Never fucking listen to me anymore,” she tries to reach for his waist but he twists that arm behind her as well until he’s holding both of her wrists in one of his hands. He leans down further so it’s even harder for her to balance as she bends back. “Just drool over me like a needy slut, don’t you?” Y/N whimpers, the only thing she can do is look up at him. “You’ve been treating me like a piece of meat—staring until your pretty cunt is dripping, right? I can treat you like a piece of meat too, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” she pouts, before whining, “want—you,” neck aching from the angle she’s bent at. Harry laughs, pulling her hair a little for being a brat, before ghosting his mouth across hers.

“I know. Made that pretty fucking obvious, you silly girl.” He plucks at her bottom lip with his thumb. “You don’t need my cock to be fucked dumb, do you, baby? That little head of yours is always empty.” He squeezes her cheeks together with his fingers. Harry smiles down at his girl’s wide doe eyes staring up at him, completely at his disposal. “Speak.”

“I’m empty,” Y/N nods, giving up her attitude, “need you.” And that’s not what Harry meant but it’s close enough.

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he whispers into her mouth—and then he’s standing behind her, wrists still firmly in his grasp as he shuffles them closer to the windows. The sun glares down, casting a clear reflection of the both of them. Of Harry wrapping his forearm around Y/N’s collarbones, forcing her back to arch. “You haven’t been honest with me,” the entirety of his body is pressed against the back of her. It has her mind scrambling. “You’re not good.”

It’s a low blow. One assured to have Y/N begging and pleading in no time; desperate to make him happy, and desperate to be pleasured.

“I’m…sorry,” she frowns, eyes fixated on the reflection of their bodies. “Wanna be good f’you.” Harry squeezes her wrists as a warning to keep them behind her back before letting go to wrap his other arm around her waist—excited himself by the way he engulfs her. He bends down, causing Y/N to go with him, and the weight in his shorts is growing heavier by the second as they just look at themselves.

Y/N stops herself from wiggling back; doesn’t want to misbehave for a second—not anymore. “Please. All I think about is you, Harry. A-all the time,” her breathing is laboured and her underwear is suffocating.

And this is how he gets her. “What do you think about?” He turns his face into her shoulder, nudging her sleeve off with his nose before dotting distracting kisses along her skin.

Y/N hesitates. This is what the game was all about. Pretending there was no reason for her gawking. She’s stubborn. But so is Harry. The arm around her collarbones shifts until his large hand is cupping her throat. Y/N’s knees nearly buckle right then and there. Her head tips back a little against him but he squeezes the sides of her neck, right where the blood is fighting to flow, and forces her to look back at the reflection.

“Tell me.” His voice is so deep, so low; the vibrations spread through her like treacle. “Look at me,” he squeezes again, “and tell me.”

He doesn’t ease up around her throat so her words are tight. His arm moves down to her hips. “You’ve got…so…big,” she whimpers. “Everywhere.” Harry’s hips twitch, dying to rut against her ass. But instead, with teasing fingers he lifts the hem of her dress. Up and up until he can stuff it between his hand and her throat, obsessed with the way her bare stomach rises and falls at a rapid pace.

Y/N’s flimsy panties don’t stand a chance—the once pale pink now a much darker hue in the place she needs him most. But Harry wouldn’t be so kind. He makes her think he’s going to rub on her like she wants, middle finger trailing over her clit with a feather-light touch. Barely there but still enough to make her twitch. He does it again—a small circle—before dipping lower, pushing in her underwear and feeling it slick against her.

And then he rears his hand back, too quickly for Y/N to realise, and brings it back down to her clit in a harsh, tight slap. She buckles and writhes, held up solely by the hand around her throat as Harry trails his fingers along the inside of her thigh. His smirk tickles against her shoulder.

“Har—Harry!” she gasps, unable to stop her body from moving against him now, not whilst she’s thrumming.

“I’m big, yeah? Too big for you, surely. Look at the way I swallow you up.” Oh, and she is. With half-lidded eyes and shallow breaths.

“Yes, I love it, Harry. I love it,” her hips search for his hand and he pushes her against him, spanning across her mound.

“That’s not everything though, is it?” Another squeeze around her throat. “Be good.”

She tries—so hard—as Harry starts to suck and bite marks into her skin. “Arms, it’s your arms,” she breathes, head foggier and foggier by the second. He eases up a little when she starts to slump, tracing his thumb across her lips.

“What about them?” Fingers slip inside her underwear; a reward for using her words. Even as he starts rubbing small circles, he knows she’ll cum quickly.

“So hot, Harry. And big.”

He laughs, “Y’already said that. Just so hot and big, aren’t I?” The narcissist in him goes wild, cock twitching in his shorts. And he allows himself one rut against her, just to take the edge off. But Y/N wants more—of course she does—and she’s starting to make all sorts of pretty noises as he rubs her clit. So Harry keeps moving, sure that the feel of him against her is propelling her towards her orgasm whilst he’s barely teasing himself.

“You’ve got a slutty pussy, Y/N,” he tightens his hand around her throat once more, lips brushing her ear. “Drenched because your boyfriend can manhandle you, yeah? I could do anything to you ‘n’ you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Because you’re so desperate for it.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N nods shakily. She’s trying to keep her eyes on their reflection, to see Harry’s muscles work as his fingers hide in her underwear, and the way his hips push into her ass.

“Tell me.”

“Want you to—manhandle me…use me—need t’cum.” She’s building up, can feel as Harry smears her arousal around in a mess before rubbing harder on her clit. And faster.

“You g’na cum?” Faster.

“Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He lets her throw her head back, lets her reach the edge, whimpering and whining just as she starts to let go.

And then he’s gone. Harry rips his hand from her pussy and shoves his glistening fingers in her mouth before she can talk. Y/N cries around them, shaking her head in a desperate plea.

“Mmph—no!—Please,” she tries, but how could Harry ever understand what she wants?

He takes hold of her wrists again and bends her forward by her waist, kicking her legs open wider. She’s completely held up by him; if he were to let go, she would topple straight over, no doubt about it.

With a heavy hand, Harry pushes her dress up and over her ass and delivers a well-connecting smack to the rounded flesh. Y/N mewls, legs shaking in surprise. It’s harder to maintain her eye contact with the window at this angle, especially when all she wants is to lull her head like she’s weightless. Harry wastes no time in tugging her underwear halfway down her thighs. Finds it satisfying to keep her somewhat immobilised.

And Y/N couldn’t care less, as soon as she feels Harry pulling himself out and sinking into her—she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if their house was burning.

He barely lets her adjust, and no matter how wet she is Harry’s always a stretch. A deep inhale, body stilling kind of stretch. And once she’s full and his pelvis pushes against her bum and they both allow for a second of joint ecstasy at being as close as possible once again, Harry is quick to treat her the way she so desperately wants.

His other hand comes up to her hair, pulling it sharply so Y/N’s neck bends back. “Look. Watch as I fuck you.” Incomprehensible noises are forced from her throat, jaw hanging looser with each inch that Harry invades. She’s never been more grateful to have a secluded garden.

The sight before her rivals one from a porn film—fitting for her sex god of a boyfriend; she could only hope to look pretty enough next to him. Her body bent forward, neck stretched and inviting, back arching with the force of her arms behind her back. Thighs open just enough to fit Harry’s cock into her weepy hole, flesh threatening to rip the underwear that controls their freedom.

Occasionally the sun will reflect just right and Y/N will notice the glistening of her wetness spread across her mound. Though her eyes soon fall shut with the strength of Harry’s thrusts, unrelenting and point-proving.

“Fuck. Can feel you squeezin’ already.” His words shoot straight to her clit, tingling and buzzing. “So easy, aren’t you, pet?” Y/N nods fruitlessly. “I shouldn’t let you finish,” he threatens against her ear. “Should fill you up with my cum, have you serve your purpose and then thank me for it.”

She pulsates at the thought, at the warmth of feeling him drip down her thighs. Sometimes dripping around the sides of his prick if Harry’s particularly wound up and has a few rounds in him.

“Please,” Y/N cries, sweat beading at her hairline.

Harry groans into her jaw, hips meeting her ass bruisingly. “Yeah? Filthy girl, jus’ my hole, aren’t you?”

“Mhm! Please cum in me, please,” Y/N tries to turn her head, nose bumping into his cheek. She wants a kiss but her brain cannot possibly communicate that to her mouth as it hangs open.

The sounds of skin meeting skin ring in her ears and her throat threatens to cry perfectly timed noises with each thrust. And she’s not sure when it happened but her tits are out of her dress and Harry’s letting go of her hair to palm one roughly as he starts to breathe heavier and heavier.

Body leaden, Y/N’s head falls back to his shoulder and her eyes peel open slightly, watching Harry’s face contort beautifully from above her. She wants it so bad—knows that he’ll always make her finish regardless—needs to walk around in her summer dress and cum-soaked panties. “Please, Daddy. Cum in me.”

The name has Harry groaning, hips stuttering and stilling against her as he paints long, thick stripes inside Y/N. “Thank you!” She cries, his release stimulating her like nothing else. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Despite Harry being the one with orgasm heavy bones, Y/N crumbles, knees buckling as she takes them both to the floor. He braces her fall, arm strong around her waist. His cock stays twitching inside of her, still hard, and he angles her ass into the air as he stands on his knees astride her legs.

“You good, baby?” Harry smooths a hand up her back, pushing her dress out of the way.

Y/N’s arms stretch above her, content to be lying on the hard floor. “Yeah, really good. Thank you, Daddy.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, she’s under. “You wanna cum?”

“Am I allowed? I said some bad things to you.”

“That’s okay. I want you to squeeze on my cock ‘n’ let me fuck my cum into you. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods nastily, head turned to the side on the concrete. He’d take care of her later.

“Good girl, nice ‘n’ tight, f’me.”

The noise of their arousal mixing together, probed by Harry’s cock is one he’ll replay in desperate moments alone. Squelching and slicking as he starts up his rough pace once again. Y/N contracts around him in quick, spasming motions—hips attempting to push back from her awkward position. Her tummy is hot and her clit is painfully untouched; she’s sure she’d grind it on the floor if she could reach but Harry’s hands are firm on her hips, angling her just the way he likes as he pounds into her tight hole.

Harry wishes he had his phone to hand—would take enough pictures of the sight before him to last forever. His cum is starting to leak out the sides, dripping down to Y/N’s clit and slicking up his cock. The mess of it all has his eyes rolling back.

“God, y’just perfect. Wanna keep you like this forever. Make you sticky with my cum, then maybe take you out and watch you try to ignore the feeling of it dripping out of you.” Harry slaps her ass and moans as she spasms around him, hands pulling her cheeks apart to reveal her other hole. “Wanna mark you everywhere. Especially here.” He thumbs over the puckered skin. “Fill you up and push in every drop, then give you a pretty plug so it stays inside all day.” Y/N’s shaking, eyes clenched shut and pussy quivering. All Harry has to do is reach around and start rubbing tight circles into her clit and she’s gone.

“Harry! I’m cumming, I’m cumming—D-daddy, thank you.” Harry leans over her back, kissing the side of her face and not slowing down for a second.

“Gimme another,” he whispers, speeding up his thrusts and slapping her clit one, two, three times, vibrations elongating her orgasm and sending her straight into her second one. Harry pulls back, regretfully pulling out for a moment to flip Y/N over and tug her flush against him. He wraps her thighs around his waist and guides her arms around his neck, endeared by her fucked out expression. “Doing so good, honey.” She smiles, eyes closing and nuzzling her face into his neck. Harry thinks if he wasn’t already hard, that smile alone would’ve given him a love boner.

“Jus’ sit all pretty, Daddy’s got you.”

He holds her hips securely, palms encompassing miles of skin, and lifts her just enough to start fucking up into her cunt. Their cum will surely make a mess in their laps but he minds none—goes faster at the very thought, even. Thinks about scooping it up with his fingers and feeding it to Y/N, and then leaning in to get a taste of them together, moaning into her mouth and suckling at her lips like a starved man.

As if she can read his mind, Y/N starts nibbling at his skin, laving her tongue over the drops of sweat that trickle down his neck. Then she pulls back just enough to wilt against his mouth, lips barely responsive but Harry kisses her with all he’s got. And she’s close again, when her heavy hand trails down to start rubbing at her swollen, cum-drenched clit much daintier than Harry had.

“F-feels so good,” she whines against his mouth, happy to let Harry lick against her tongue, “love you.”

Harry whimpers, “G-god, I love you too. So much, you’re so good, I love you.” Y/N rubs harder, pussy tightening—and Harry fucks harder as they both rest their foreheads on eachother’s shoulders. With her other hand, Y/N holds his bicep, squeezing and scratching as much as she pleases. She barely covers the muscle and Harry can’t help but smile as his orgasm rushes closer.

It’s when she whispers, words garbled and strained, that Harry tips over the edge. “F-fuck me so good, s-so good. G’na make me pregnant—‘n’ full of you.” And it’s his warm spurts that have Y/N cumming as well, pulsating around Harry as she milks him dry. He cums a lot, and the more he does, the longer Y/N’s orgasm lasts—they melt against one another in a mess of moans and gentle rutting, sweaty skin sticking them together.

Y/N peels her hand from Harry’s arm, seeing the crescent moons she’s left behind and looking up at him guiltily. He smiles, pushing her hair away from her face and leaning down to kiss her nose.

“Felt good,” he promises. “Now I know how much you like them, you can do whatever you want.”

Y/N whines, biting his shoulder playfully. “Shower now, please. We’re gross.”

Harry hums, staying tucked inside and holding her tight to him as he stands on nearly wobbly legs. “Just so you know, if we shower together, I will be naked. Will you be able to contain yourself at the sight of my big, sexy arms?”

She sinks her fingers into the hair on the back of his head and tugs. “Shut up. They’re not even that big.”

“Okay, my love. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #dom!harry #domrry #daddy!harry #harry styles x reader #writing

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finelinevogue · 2 months

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okay what about something with fiancerry about wedding planning? like putting stuff together/looking at inspo/etc ??

a/n - again… something small <3

word count - ~1k

wedding planning mahem

.’•*,.’>*,~<\*•,.-:’•.~_,*^;-.•*

“I hate that colour.” You frowned at the potential colour of napkins.

“It’s beige. How is that not good?” Your fiancé, Harry, asked.

You were both sitting on the lounge floor, binders, folders, photos and bits of paper laid out everywhere in front of you. No space on the floor was untouched.

“It’s just.. bleh. I’m thinking sage green, to match the bridesmaids dresses.”

“Ooh that reminds me. Gem said her dress needs altering again.”

“Again?” You ran a stressed hand after your forehead and back over your head. “Anything else I should know?”

“Aunty Carole isn’t sitting on the same table as Uncle Graham, she said. Actually, she kind of threatened me to make sure it didn’t happen.” Harry gulped.

“Oh.. for fu– okay, okay.”

You take out a piece of paper from a binder and add these tasks to your never ending list. There were currently 67 tasks on your list to do and increasing in length too.

“And I should probably let you know that the cake decorator cancelled this morning saying the design was too complicated.”

Your eyes felt like they bugged out of their sockets. “Too complicated? Are you kidding me? It’s a bloody white cake with some green ivy on it.”

You groaned and collapsed on your back. You covered your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“C’mon, baby. It’ll all be okay.” Harry said, rustling with some paper.

You shook your head. You breathed out a deep breath, knowing what was coming next. Your shoulders and chest started to shake as you started to cry.

Your hands stayed over your eyes as the tears flowed down onto your cheeks.

Harry must have noticed, even though you weren’t being vocal about crying, because the next thing you knew he was on his way over to you.

“Woah, baby. Hey, hey. What’s up?” Harry pulled your hands away from your eyes and just let you cry without restraint. He stayed sat by your side, holding one of your hands with his.

“This is so shit.” You tried to talk through your sobs.

“What is? The wedding? The planning?”

“Everything!” You exclaimed, but Harry knew you didn’t mean it.

“Talk to me. What’s actually wrong?”

Harry pulled on your arms to sit you up. He sat with manspread legs and you sat in between them, sitting sideways to his body.

“I just.. I just wanted this wedding to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect and now everything’s falling apart left, right and centre.” You blew out a deep breath as you tried to calm your tears.

“Why does it need to be perfect? It’s not worth being perfect if you’re this upset, honey.” Harry explained, which you understood.

“For you.” You said softly.

“For me? Wha– baby…” Harry struggled to understand.

“You have done and still do so much for me, H. I just can’t even begin to explain just how much. This was supposed to be my way of showing you how much it all meant to me.. how much you loving me has meant to me.”

Harry pulled your chin so your face faced his. “Baby, hey. I know how much I mean to you. I see it everyday, from the little moments to the big. Like, this morning, you knew I wanted a green tea instead of a breakfast tea. I don’t know how you did, but you did. Or last week, I asked you if I could go out and see some friends and next thing I know you’ve organised a barbecue for me and them here. I-I don’t know how you could ever think that you don’t already show me how much you love me.”

“I know, I know. M’sorry.”

“It’s okay, lovie. It’s all going to work out, I promise.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fiance #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic rec

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transdimensional-void · 11 months

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jon, sansa, and “my half brother”

i’ve noticed that this particular jon quote is something of a rorschach test wherein your reading of the line is colored by your view of sansa:

He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. – AGOT, Jon III

those who assume the worst of sansa read this as “once sansa learned i was a bastard, she changed how she referred to me in order to constantly remind me of my inferior status.” a slightly more charitable reading would be something more like, “once sansa learned i was a bastard, she stopped seeing me as equal to her other brothers.” both assume that sansa originally called jon “brother” and changed to “half brother” once she learned he was a bastard.

those who are more inclined to a favorable view of sansa, though, might instead read it as “once sansa learned what the word bastard meant, she chose to call me something else.” this reading assumes that a younger, more ignorant sansa called jon a bastard without understanding what she was saying--but changed what she called jon to “half brother” once she did understand.

i tend to believe the second reading is the correct one because it better fits both the context of the quote and the evidence presented by sansa’s own words and actions throughout the series. in terms of evidence, we never witness her calling jon a bastard to his face, whether in her memories, his or anyone else’s--and we do witness her conscious care for courtesy and kindness toward those she interacts with no matter what she thinks of them inwardly. as for the context of the quote, jon thinks this about sansa in the midst of a chapter where people at the wall are repeatedly calling him bastard derisively, as well as the mocking “lord snow.” but the section where the line about sansa appears is a section where he is thinking nostalgically about his siblings back at winterfell. it makes sense that he is missing sansa’s courtesy of not calling him bastard to his face right at that moment.

but i noticed that the pre-released alayne chapter from twow actually subtly gives us sansa’s perspective on the above agot jon quote.

in the chapter, she meets harry hardyng for the first time, and the very first thing he does is call her “littlefinger’s bastard”:

“If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself.” This time her eyes met Harry’s. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn’t need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now.

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. “Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger’s bastard?”

All three Waynwoods looked at him askance. “You are a guest here, Harry,” Lady Anya reminded him, in a frosty voice. “See that you remember that.”

sansa blushes in embarrassment and has to work hard to hold back her tears. she finds his treatment of her hurtful. but why? because a boy she wanted to like her was mean to her?

well, fortunately for us, sansa herself tells us what is most upsetting her about the interaction, later when she is able to discuss it in private with littlefinger:

“And how was your first meeting with Harry the Heir?”

“He’s horrible.”

“The world is full of horrors, sweet. By now you ought to know that. You’ve seen enough of them.”

“Yes,” she said, “but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.”

sansa isn’t upset merely because harry was mean to her. what she is fixated on the most is the cruelty of his calling her bastard to her face in public. she is shocked that someone would be so callously cruel. keep in mind that this is a post-KL arc sansa who, as littlefinger helpfully points out in the same scene, has already experienced many of the world’s horrors. and yet, harry’s behavior here still shocks her.

jon tells us that at a young age, sansa learned what people meant when they called him a bastard, and that changed how she spoke to him. thirteen-year-old sansa tells us she thinks it’s shockingly cruel for a nobleman like harry to publicly call a bastard a bastard. with these two facts in mind, what sense does it make to conclude that younger sansa was going around intentionally reminding jon of his bastard status through her choice of language?

once again, someone inclined to assume the worst of sansa might choose to read her response in the twow chapter as “she can dish it out, but she can’t take it” and see it as her finally learning how her treatment made jon feel. however, in jon’s quote above, he explicitly says that she “never called him anything but ‘my half-brother.’”

in other words, jon himself tells us that he never heard her call him “bastard,” at least not once she had learned what the word meant. in other words, even if you are assuming the worst of sansa, based on jon’s own testimony, her treatment of him (always calling him “my half-brother”) was better than harry’s treatment of her in the twow scene (calling her a bastard to her face in public). it is also, importantly, better than the treatment jon is receiving from many of his “brothers” at the wall in the scene his quote comes from him.

if we interpret sansa’s decision to call jon “half-brother” through the lens of her twow alayne chapter, i believe it becomes abundantly clear that in the jon scene, he is reminiscing nostalgically about sansa’s kindness in choosing not to call him a bastard. sansa’s choice of “half-brother” was a reflection of her understanding that calling him bastard was shockingly cruel behavior.

#asoiaf #sansa stark #just a little literary analysis #perhaps someone else has already pointed this out and i've missed it #if so please let me know so that i can link your post!

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theresthesnitch · 1 year

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wolfstar raising harry au where harry goes to muggle pre-k and keeps trying to correct the other kids/teacher when they say “mommy/mama” and “daddy” because doesn’t everyone have a “moony/moomoo” and “paddy”

“Hello, you must be Harry’s father. I’m Katie McCoy, his teacher. Won’t you have a seat?” Ms. McCoy smiles kindly at them, so Sirius doesn’t bother to correct her that he’s not Harry’s father. They’ll have to eventually, but he lets it pass, for now.

“Thank you, Ms. McCoy.” Sirius sits next to her. “Harry adores your class. He tells us all about circle time and—what is it, foam paint?.”

She laughs. “Yes. it's just shaving cream and food dye, but the kids love it.” She crosses her hands over her knees. “Are we waiting for--?”

“My partner will be a few minutes late.” Sirius glanced at the clock on the wall, knowing Remus was hurrying from work to be here on time. “We can start now.”

“Alright, though I don’t mind waiting.” Sirius waives her on, and she begins. “Harry is really a wonderful boy. So inquisitive and funny. You’ve done a great job with him.”

Sirius smiles, trying not think of the fact that Harry is inquisitive like his mother and funny like his father. Their loss still hurts. Instead, he says, “We think so too. He’s a great kid.”

“He is.” Her face clouds for a moment, and Sirius wonders what could possibly be coming next. “I do have some concerns though.”

Any number of things rush through Sirius’s head as to what could bring on that comment. Harry is still mourning the loss of his parents, not really understanding why he can see his mum and dad the way other kids could. It’s possible he said something a bit darker than expected for a child.

Or, perhaps he’s had some accidental magic that the school hadn’t reported to them. They’d so far managed to keep Harry’s peculiar abilities under control, but it was possible that things were slipping by. Merlin, he didn’t want to call the Ministry tonight.

“Concerns? What is wrong?” Sirius tries to keep his voice light.

“Well, we’re concerned he may have a bit of a speech impediment.”

That makes Sirius pull back. In the entire world of problems he has, the talkative, exuberant little boy having a speech impediment was not one of them. His diction was impeccable, and Remus was always saying he’d be a natural at Transfiguration because of it. Just like James.

“I don’t think we’ve noticed that.” He says slowly, not sure what else to say.

“Well, it’s a very subtle difference, and I don’t think that we’d have noticed so much, except he keeps correcting the other kids to his pronunciations as well.” Her brows crease, and she gives her head a small shake. “On correction, he insists that he is correct.”

“What words is he getting wrong?” Sirius asks.

“Daddy and Mummy. He says it like—”

Before she can finish, the door opens and Remus sweeps in, a kind smile on his face. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare getting here.” Sirius nearly snorts, knowing Remus apparated directly there. “What have I missed?”

Sirius looked at him as he sat down in the seat next to him. “Apparently, Harry might have a speech impediment.”

Remus looked surprised. “I certainly haven’t noticed anything like that.”

Ms. McCoy looked between them. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Sirius bristles at the question. “This is Remus. We’re Harry’s guardians.”

“His guardians?” She looks more confused. “But he talks about going home with Mummy and Daddy?”

Sirius tilts his head as she asks the question. “I thought you said he was saying Mummy and Daddy wrong?”

“Yes, well.” She squares her shoulders, clearly thrown off. “Well, he’s been saying it something like Paddy and—”

“And Moony?” Remus finishes with a smile. “Yes, that’s what he calls us. Not Mummy and Daddy, but Moony and Paddy.”

Her face rounds out into an O. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Bit of unusual names for his—did you say guardians?”

Sirius nods, unable to speak, and Remus squeezes his hand. “Yes. Harry’s parents are—” he clears his throat “—were James and Lily. They were our friends, and now we are Harry’s guardians.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, and for Harry’s. I had no idea.” She begins flipping through pages in front of her making notes. “His file didn’t mention anything about it.”

“We didn’t mention it when we enrolled him,” Remus says, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “We didn’t want him to have to answer a lot of questions on it, and we still don’t.”

“Of course,” she looks up from her notes, meeting both of their eyes. “I’ll keep it quiet.”

“Thank you.” Remus smiles, with a raised eyebrow. “So no speech impediment then?”

“No, no I think that clears that up.” She looks at her notes again. “Let’s see what else I have on Harry.”

***

When they arrive home, Remus handles seeing Mary out while Sirius heads back to the kitchen where Harry is coloring. Sirius pulls up a chair next to him, grabbing his own piece of paper and a purple crayon. “Heya, Haz.”

“Hi, Paddy.” Harry doesn’t look up from his coloring. “Did you see my teacher?”

“I did, buddy.” Sirius draws the outline of an elephant, which he starts coloring in. “Do you know that not every kid in your class has a Paddy and a Moony?”

Harry looks up and beams brightly at him. “I know. I think I’m the luckiest boy in the world.”

Sirius chokes out a laugh, and mostly manages to hold back a tear. Harry looks down at his page, coloring again, and Sirius catches Remus’s eye as he walks in the room again, leaning against the door frame. “You know, I think you just might be.”

#wolfstar #wolfstar raising harry #sirius black #remus lupin #dadfoot

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thecagedsong · 8 months

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So one take on TOTK’s ending I’ve seen quite a bit of is the idea that it deprived all dramatic weight from Zelda’s sacrifice and that she should have suffered the consequences of her choice (I.e. stay a dragon forever or come back as a dragon human hybrid). This strikes me as a shallow reading of the text and another example of how some people think punishment (or in this case “dying for a cause”) is the only viable ending for someone who made the choice Zelda made. It really rubs me the wrong way given all the development and tragedy she faced in both games. What are your thoughts?

There is something beautiful and tragic and meaningful about the stories etched upon our skin by powers beyond our control. I don't think the people that wish for Amputee Link or Dragon Zelda think that 'dying for a cause' is the only reward for sacrifice. It comes from the truth that most of us don't get to recover from the consequences of our actions the way characters in a story can. Which I absolutely get (one of my earliest fics was written to call out anime fanservice). To escape with no scars or signs that anything awful happened can feel unrealistic or like cheating in a world where we must bear the consequences of our actions. But is that really what happened?

First off is the Doyalist framework the story has to exist within. This is a video game for a major franchise that, while they are excellent at re-writing and ignoring their own canon, still needs to be available for future stories to be told through it. After all the emphasis botw placed on the 'goddess bloodline', if they were to kill Zelda, or even render her sterile, that puts a huge shadow over any future games they could make. You don't kill Harry in the Order of the Phoenix. The stories of Hyrule are far from over, even if this would be a satisfying end point for the timeline. Heck, there's no guarantee Link's not going to wake up in his underwear in a damp cave a third time, tbh. That's the reality of why Zelda had to return to her old body.

But does that mean that totk is a bad story? Does it render Zelda's sacrifices meaningless? Do these sacrifices only have meaning if she came back visibly changed?

I don't think so. Because the sacrifice was never about her body, it was always about her sense of self. "To become an immortal dragon is to lose ones' self" was the sacrifice that was demanded and that Zelda offered.

Guess what? She did have to leave Link to face Ganondorf without her. Zelda did lose all sense of herself for uncountable years. Zelda's memories, her sense of self, was stripped away from her and scattered across all of Hyrule.

It was only because Link loved her enough to collect the pieces of who Zelda was, only because he was able to understand them through the gift of Rauru's arm, and only because both Sonia and Rauru consigned themselves to living as spirits for as long as Zelda was a dragon, that Zelda's sense of self was returned.

It may feel like cheating, or maybe unearned, that Zelda got her body and sense of self back with no visible changes. But how many times have other people stepped in to help shoulder the consequences of your actions? How many times did your parents step in when you made a mistake, to give you another chance?

You ever leave the fridge open as a kid, and accidentally spoil all your food? In a family where money is tight, Mom and Dad might have to sacrifice eating full meals for a while so that their children can eat. That sacrifice is a form of love. If the neighbor hears about it (thin walls) and brings over some casseroles they took from their food stores, that took a few hours to make, does that diminish the parent's sacrifice for their kids? The consequences of that sacrifice, going hungry, have gone away because someone else stepped in.

The mistake was Rauru and Sonia's, letting Ganondorf in and not being strong enough to stop him. The sacrifice was Zelda's, her mind/memories/self. The intercessors are Rauru, Sonia, and Link, unwilling to let Zelda bear the full weight of her sacrifice.

Yes, we live in a world where we often do not get to walk away from the consequences of our sacrifices/choices unscathed. But we also live in a world where, every once and a while, we do get to walk away with only internal changes. Almost always because other people were willing to sacrifice too. Your parents? your siblings? Your friends? Your god?

Zelda's hylian body is a reflection of the sense of self she regained. Of her agency as a character instead of as a mindless dragon/a living sacred site. Zelda's character arc ends with her accepting the sacrifice demanded of her by reclaiming her responsibility towards the people of her Hyrule, taking up the mantle of power and leadership once again. The fact that other people step in to blunt the weight of that sacrifice does not degrade how Zelda changed to get there or what she went through.

It's actually the conclusion of Rauru, Sonia's, and Link's arcs that they also sacrificed to support Zelda. Her arc pulls all the others to their conclusions. Zelda is the narrative gravity of totk. I can't call that bad writing.

#ask thecagedsong #totk meta #totk spoilers #loz #loz totk #Zelink #light dragon #tears of the kingdom #totk zelink

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jarofstyles · 6 months

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FICTOBER DAY 19- Let Me Worry

HERE IS OUR LONE WOLF BABIES!!!

FICTOBER

Patreon

Warnings- werewolves, mention of death, murder, violence, blood, wounds, etc

WC- 1.7k

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“Harry, please.” Her hand ran over his clammy forehead, wincing at the state of her mate. “Let me take care of you. Let me worry about you.” She whispered, feeling him huff as her fingers brushed his hair out of his eyes. They were bloodshot and the splatters of blood that wasn’t his own was yet to be wiped off his pretty face. Y/N hated seeing him in pain, despite his best efforts to continue his stoic demeanor.

The lodge was bustling with people, injuries, while not as many as they inflicted on others, enough to make Y/N squirm. She was the alpha’s mate and had been in charge when they’d gone on a run to the perimeter, doing the weekly check of stores at the northeast guard shelter, only to find him dead. It had been an ambush, a nasty one, one that had a bloody wound on his stomach that made her own twist in both disgust and nerves.

“My love, I will heal quickly.” His good hand reached to her, holding her hand as it caressed his face. “You shouldn’t worry too much. It’s not good for you. I will be alright. I have a good outcome. Damien did not.” Y/N could feel his hurt, seeing the shadow cross his eyes. However ruthless and merciless as Harry could be, he loved his pack. He hated any loss they had, and knowing that there must have been some sort of infiltration they’d missed had him reeling. It was too close to comfort. He had his mate, his packs, dozens of pups that played openly in the fields that the pack members trusted his lead to keep safe.

He felt like he failed.

“I know.” His mate whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I know it pains you, Alpha. It hurts, but it isn’t your fault and I won’t have you blaming yourself for such a tragedy. I will not.” She kept her voice soft but the tone firm. Y/N knew that his defenses were nearly foolproof and it had to be someone else's error. She sat in his office with him often as he went over the perimeter cameras, as he made plans, sometimes falling asleep in the crook of his neck as he typed with one hand and used the other to keep her steady in his lap. He was hard working and dedicated to his pack and the safety of al of them. That much was never doubted within them.

“I don’t know how someone could have bypassed anything without getting caught.” He mumbled to her, watching as she took a cloth and dipped it into the warm water before stroking it over his cheek. When it was pulled away he saw the stain, confirming it was indeed blood he had spilled. While the inner beast in him had been satisfied in ripping the throats of the enemy, it was still pacing back and forth with the unease that someone had dared infringe on his territory. “If anyone hurt you, if anyone got to you….” He closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight as the muscles of his neck pulled. “I would burn down the world for you, my love. You were my first thought.”

Ah. That was the reason she was having a harder time calming him down. In the past when he had gotten angry, it was easy to soothe him and lower his hackles with a sweet kiss, a stroke, a little distraction. But having a fear driven by the idea of his one and only soulmate being harmed? That was enough to make any wolf crazy, let alone Harry. He admitted himself he was extremely protective of her.

“I see.” She continued cleaning his face. “Well, I understand. I feel the same way about you. I wanted to cry the moment they brought me the news, but I already knew you were injured. No one knew why.” Her brows pulled as Harry pulled her hand away to kiss the back of it, softening up her face again. “But you’d never allow anyone to hurt me. It will be impossible to penetrate the barriers after this, but even more so? I know. The fates have told me even in my dreams, you’re my protector.” Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, looking into his eyes. They were still dark, the animal in him far from settled, but she knew she was starting to get through to him.

“Of course I will.” He puffed his chest, voice strong despite the exhaustion lacing it. “I told you, I would make everything and everyone burn if it meant I could keep you safe. I’d slaughter an entire pack if they posed a threat to you.” The man was serious and she knew that all too well. There was no way of denying how much he loved her. If it felt as all encompassing and intense to Harry as it did to her, she could understand his unease over not fully knowing if there was anyone else out there targeting not only him, but his pack. “No one will harm you. No one will touch a single hair on your precious head.” His snarl made her lean back over, seeing now he was getting a bit too worked up as she gently sushed him.

“I know, my love. I know. Don’t work yourself up all the way now. You’ve got to focus your energy on healing quickly. The faster you heal, the faster you can go to work on finding out who the hostages are.” Fingers dipped into the salve, wiping it across a scrape on his cheek. He healed faster than most, the one on his face sure to be gone by tomorrow, but the salve will prevent scarring. “I’m worried. I don’t like this gash on your side, and I don’t like that you keep trying to get up.” She had been asked by the pack healer to get him to calm down, his irrational anger making him try to limp out of the room to continue the fight. Her gentle rubbing moved over his skin, making a bit of a purr erupt from his throat.

“There we go.” She praised him. “No one is here right now but me. You’re safe, you’ve protected your pack and your mate. You are a fierce wolf, but right now I need you to let me fuss over you and ensure your face is kept pretty and you keep your body laying down for as long as possible.”

The wound had been cleaned by the healer and bandaged, though she warned there was likely scarring. Y/N had taken care of the rest. Harry sat quietly as he stewed in his own head, working through cleaning the rest of the blood and dirt from his skin. He wasn’t in the condition to shower just yet, so a washcloth clean up was the best she could do. Her touched seemed to slowly relax him, his body sinking further into the bed as she hummed under her breath and the fire roared in their fireplace opposite their bed.

“You need to drink.” Y/N coaxed, placing the straw at his mouth and watching as he took sips of water. It wasn’t often that Harry took this sort of treatment, especially because he was the one tending to Y/N with his vulnerability that he hid from everyone else, so she was relieved he actually allowed himself to sit still so she could. “You’re all clean now. I will run downstairs and fill in the people who need to know and get you some food. The door will be guarded. Is that alright?”

Harry grumbled, pulling her hand closer to him to lay on his chest. He was clean now, but his warmth made him sweat a little as he frowned up at his mate. “No. Stay with me, please. I want them to come up to me and ask.” Y/N wanted to sigh, but she knew this was about as good as it was going to get. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight and he wanted to be kept in the loop. She had gotten lucky with him sitting in the bed without trying to escape from her. “Now lay in bed with me, my love. Let them come up to us when they finish tending to the rest. If I talk now, I won’t be able to stop myself from going out to the prison and…”

Y/N could fill in the gaps. She knew damn well that Harry’s infamous temper would erupt on the few captives they did take. She just needed to keep him down and relaxed until most of the gash had closed up, and that was going to be her goal now that she had met his limit.

“Alright.” She sighed, moving around the bed and going to crawl in before he rose up a hand.

“What?”

“Naked. Have you forgotten my rules?” His little smirk made her want to roll her eyes. Even in pain, he was open to being a little pervert. Instead, she did as he requested, letting the clothing fall to the floor before crawling inside of the sheets and allowing him to wrap his good arm around her shoulders. She was careful not to jostle him or put any strain on his body as she relaxed into his chest, eyes closing when she took a big inhale.

“I think if you stay with me like this.. I will heal much faster.” Harry murmured, turning his head to brush his lips against her forehead. “Gives me motivation so I can take you again. Because I know you won’t let me tonight.”

“You are such a boy.” Y/N laughed, patting his chest. “You’re correct in that assumption. I have a strict no open wounds during sex policy, sorry.”

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rockingrobin69 · 9 months

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Beast of a thing

“What can I get you?” asked a loud voice, and Harry rubbed his face till his eyes burned.

“Hmm?” was clearly not the right answer.

“Coffee? Seems like you might need one. And something to nibble on. Sweet or savoury?”

“I,” Harry said, which wasn’t that much better. The—person?—who kept pestering him was smiley and extremely bright-eyed. Leaned down to him over a dark-blue apron, half-conspiratorial, half amused.

“Sweet, I should think.”

How rude. Harry crawled in here to die peacefully, not be badgered about fucking coffee. But a few seconds—minutes?—later there was more bustling, and someone placed a cup right next to where he was holding his head. It smelled hot. It smelled good.

Before he could even make the decision, Harry’s hands grabbed it and—oops—spilled a little, never mind. Yeah, it burned. Yeah, whatever. Harry raised the cup with a shaky fist and sipped something horrible and scalding hot. He felt, absurdly, and for the first time in—he felt a little bit like a person again. How fucking embarrassing. How fucking inaccurate.

“There you go, darling,” this time armed with a scone. The smell of clotted cream made Harry’s eyes roll back, made him choke. The jam was even worse, so sweet he nearly gagged. “This should cheer you right up.”

He nearly, nearly laughed. Was too busy growling, rubbing his pointy teeth against his inner lip. Something in his expression must have finally registered with the perky waiter, since they hurried back, tray cluttering as they hit something. Harry could finally go back to his—

“What now?” to the movement from the corner of his eye, but—the smell hit him first, hit harder. Lemon zest and evergreen forest. Something so pleasant it made Harry whimper, made him close his eyes. The newcomer used this reprieve to sneak into the seat next to Harry, so close their knees were touching.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, or whined. It hurt behind his molars, it hurt in the pit of his stomach. The touch, the unbelievable pressure coming from deep, deep inside.

“Hello to you too, Potter. You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Not an easy man,” Harry managed.

“Not a man,” Malfoy countered.

“Not,” Harry, “interested. Go back to the Ministry and—”

“So you really haven’t heard? I quit.” When Harry chanced a look, Malfoy was busy examining his fingernails. He looked—he smelled—he—was an onslaught Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t withstand.

Instead of whimpering again, of being pathetic: “So what do you want? Why come all this way if it wasn’t some…”

“Scheme?” Malfoy uncrossed his legs, leaned back. Too fucking much; Harry’s mouth watered already. “Plot? Who said it wasn’t. Maybe I’m hunting you down all for myself now.”

“Why,” Harry growled.

“Maybe I didn’t like the way you left.” A rustle: Harry didn’t need to look to know what that sound was. “Dear Malfoy, I hope you’ll understand—”

“Enough.”

Malfoy’s gaze burned on his skin. Malfoy’s everything burned. “—there’s nothing else I can do—”

“Enough. Please.”

A bang, too loud; his fist on the table. The coffee cup trembled, didn’t spill. “Oh, is that too much? Hearing your own stupid words? You can take it, sweetheart. We’ve not even got to the good part yet.”

Harry tried to take cover behind his hand. “Please, it’s—”

“I think you might be my mate,” Malfoy quoted in the iciest tone Harry’s ever heard, “Which is exactly why I have to go—”

“I did!” hiding, hiding. “How could I stay, how could I do anything when I knew I’d be putting you at risk? The Ministry won’t stop. And even if—even if they did,” in this horrible, shaky voice. “What I’ve become—”

“A fucking idiot, you mean?”

Harry looked up.

Malfoy’s lips were so thin. “I don’t care what you are. I don’t care what they tried to make you into. You think I might be your mate and then you run? Sentence yourself to, what, a miserable, lonely existence just because you’re scared?”

The shudder took him so hard he nearly fell. “I can’t hurt you,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I won’t.”

“You have, arsehole,” with exasperation that seemed oddly fond. “Come on, Potter. You didn’t even do me the courtesy of asking.”

“Asking?”

“Veelas have mates too. You’d know if you bothered to stick around.”

“They have—” something whirled in his belly, in his chest. Something sickening and bright. “Wait. Are you saying—what are you saying?”

“You can’t hurt me.” Malfoy bent closer. “Not in the way you imagine. Not if you stay and work it out like an adult. I won’t let the Ministry use you as a weapon. I won’t let anything—I’m saying you’re an idiot, and I’m an even bigger one, and that if you’d run from me again, you’ll regret it.”

A smile burst, baffled and hot between his cheeks. “You… are you serious?”

“You think I came all this way for a joke? I only commit to things that are worth my while.” His grey eyes, burning. “Are you worth my while?”

Helpless, he grabbed Malfoy’s hand. The scent of him in Harry’s nose, heavenly and far too strong: everything he could hope for, that he tried to escape. “Please,” Harry croaked.

Malfoy hummed, leaned back. Used his free hand to steal Harry’s scone. “I’m staying across the road. When you’re quite done—”

On his feet. “Done.” The edges of Malfoy’s lips twitched.

“Very well.” He got up, cast a look from under his endless lashes. “Potter. If you leave again—”

“I won’t,” Harry promised, and meant it. Won’t be able to, now that he had Malfoy back in his arms, smelling and looking and being like that. Now that Harry felt alive, and like a person, and also not. Better than any treat, sweet or savoury. Bitter and sour, lemon zest and evergreens: his Malfoy. His mate.

For my dear @generalpizzaengineer and their prompt 💖

#drarry fic #1k #creature fic #Us-Against-The-Ministry but vague #running away #break up/make up #light angst with a happy ending #rockingrobin69 #werewolf harry #veela draco #mates #(wow i don't even mean the friend kind OR the flat/house kind! who even am i?)

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xjustakay · 9 months

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(8/13) prompt: snow cone — 771 words (jegulus dads + harry)

Regulus sighs and runs a hand down his face, pressing over his eyes in irritation. This stupid fucking novel is going to kill him, he’s convinced. Either that or Dorcas will when he tries to plead for any possibility of an extension on his deadline again. Before he can resort to smashing his laptop to pieces on the patio table —real productive, that— he hears the familiar patter of little feet running on cement, coming up the side of the house to the backyard.

Easily, a gentle smile slips onto Regulus’ face as Harry comes into view. He hurries over to where Regulus is sitting, slurping from a paper cone in his hand. A little bit of the remaining neon green liquid in it dribbles onto Harry’s shirt and Regulus clicks his tongue.

“My darling, you’re making a bit of a mess there.”

Uncaring of trivial things like a stain right in the center of Buzz Lightyear’s face, Harry doesn’t even look down, instead grinning brightly at him as he gets closer. “Papa, look!”

Harry proceeds to hold his mouth wide open, tongue stuck all the way out for Regulus to see. It’s obvious why he’s done it in an instant; his tongue has turned the same bright green as the treat in his hand. Exhaling a laugh, Regulus shakes his head.

“Hold on, let me take a picture for your mums and Luna.” He picks up his phone from beside his laptop and turns the camera on the five year old. As soon as he’s taken it, he sends it off in the group chat he and James have with Lily and Pandora, then returns his attention to Harry.

“Luna’s at gymnastics, they won’t see it,” Harry points out.

“They can look at it after, can’t they?”

“Oh, yeah, duh.”

Regulus snorts, nothing but fondness in his gaze as his brows lift. “Now, riddle me this, if you and daddy were meant to be rollerskating round the block, how did you end up with a green tongue?”

“The ice cream truck came by us.” Harry sucks in a big breath like there’s more he wants to add, but James finally joining them in the backyard causes him to pause.

James has a package of wet wipes in hand and the partial roll of paper towels from the kitchen under his arm to get Harry cleaned up. It never ceases to amaze Regulus how attractive it is to watch James be so in his element as a father, even down to such simple details.

Still, Regulus manages to shoot him a sharp look. The unhelpable curl of his mouth makes the silent reprimand for treats before dinner entirely lacking, though.

“Sour apple snow cone did that, didn’t it, mate?” James says; Harry nodding quickly in confirmation.

“And you didn’t bring me anything, huh?” He looks back at Harry to ask.

“Daddy said you don’t like the ice cream truck because all the stuff’s too sugary,” Harry replies.

“Well.” Regulus gives a tilted nod of his head; can’t argue with that.

Harry leans his head back to look up at James expectantly when he slows to a stop beside him. Harry takes a held out wipe from him and wipes his face and hands after James takes the sticky paper cone from him.

Once he’s finished, James nods in Regulus’ direction in some wordless communication with Harry. He must understand immediately, because then there’s a mirrored playfulness on both of their faces when Harry swivels back to Regulus again, bouncing excitedly on his feet.

It’s half-giggled, wholly proud of himself as Harry announces, “Also, he said you’re sweet enough without it.”

A surprised laugh slips out, Regulus shaking his head as he looks incredulously at James. “Did you just use our son to flirt with me?”

“That depends.” He smirks, wagging a finger at him.

James sets the trash collected from Harry on the table’s edge, then wipes off his own hands. Harry, now cleaned up, has bolted to the trampoline in the corner of the yard, his job here clearly done.

“And what, pray tell, does it depend on?” Regulus asks, leaning back in his seat to gaze up at his husband.

James moves in front of where Regulus sits, nudging his knees apart gently to stand as close as possible. Both of his hands lift, cradling Regulus’ jaw between his warm palms and staring down at him adoringly.

Brushing a thumb over his cheek, James wrinkles his nose subtly. “Did it work?”

Regulus’ responding laugh ends up muffled into the kiss that James leans down to press to his lips.

#jegulus #starchaser #baby harry #somehow screaming and giggling at the same time over this one #they make me so happy #love them so so much #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing #jeggy dads series

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resident-gay-bitch · 11 months

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“oh, look, you were still a filthy little shit as a child too, my love.” remus said with a doting smile, holding up a picture frame with an image of sirius and regulus as small children. in it, regulus looked like the perfect angel child, and sirius was picking his nose.

“you are so good to me, moony.” sirius glanced at him, “such a kind soul.”

“i do try.” remus grinned and set the picture down.

they were cleaning out the bedrooms in the old black estate so there would be beds for the weasleys, and harry, and the granger girl, and whoever else needed shelter here. it was the first time since azkaban that sirius had been able to step foot in regulus’s room. its the first time he’s stepped foot in it since he left for the potters whilst still in school.

that seemed like a lifetime and a half ago now.

“how are you feeling with all this, padfoot?” remus asked, tossing more junk into the box he had under his arm.

“alright, considering…” he shrugged, because he really was doing the best he could. it was hard, being in here, still grieving the loss of his brother. never getting the closure he needed. he still grieved for everyone, even remus, “the abnormally romantically desperate poetry is keeping me sane- you know, if regulus was here right now, he’d actually cut off my hand and gouge out my eyes for reading his journals.”

remus laughed.

sirius held up one of the journals, an old one, “i remember when we were boys, regulus had just started to write and he’d left his page open on his desk and i… i started to read, and he stabbed my hand with his pen.”

remus just looked at him.

“you can laugh, you know? it’s funny.”

remus tried his best not to laugh.

“he was an aggressive little creiten.” sirius said with a smile, “you know, i’m wishing more than anything that he just… pop up out of thin air and stab me with his pen again for reading all these.”

remus let a little laugh out at that.

“i shouldn’t snoop, i know i shouldn’t, but…” he sighed and slapped the book down into the box he had beside him, “it’s all i have left of him, and so, i think it might be the closure i need.”

“i’m sure he’ll understand, sirius.” remus offered and then pondered the thought for a moment, “he might still have a violent outburst about it, but he’d understand.”

sirius laughed and nodded his head, “you’re right, moony. why must you always be right?”

remus tapped his noggin, “old and wise.”

“old, perhaps.” siris muttered under his breath, and remus threw an old little velvet box at him in retaliation.

sirius laughed before opening it, inspecting the insides. there lay a ring, one with regulus’s initials. sirius had a matching one, all the blacks did. a signet ring gifted to them before departing on the hogwarts express. an expectation to make the family name proud and grow into a fine young man with poise and prejudice.

fuck that.

sirius wore his ring for a total of seven hours before he’d removed it after getting sorted into gryffindor and got that horrid letter from his mother. he’d thrown it into the black lake the day he found out regulus had become like them, when his skin had been marked and his fate was sealed.

if only he knew, back then, that regulus wasn’t like them after all. that he just wanted to be seen, the same as sirius did.

sirius slid the ring onto his finger and hoped that wearing it would be enough.

he sighed and reached under the bed for another box. this one was smaller, a chest of sorts. he opened it to find a collection of letters.

sirius opened the one on top, it had the most wear and tear, and he smiled when he read the first line.

“oh, remus… have a look at this.” sirius laughed, holding up the letter, “regulus has love letters.”

“absolutely he did not.” remus shook his head.

“a whole box of them.” sirius nodded and held the paper back out to read again, “look, it says, dear regulus, my love.”

“who’s it from?” remus asked, leaning up against the counter.

“i’m not sure,” he shrugged, “it’s signed from his sun.”

remus squinted, “we’ll go on, read it out.”

“sorry, brother.” sirius said and cleared his throat, “dear regulus, my love, i hope this letter finds you well. i can’t bear to be without you. this summer break has been most painful, i miss you dearly. as you told me before we parted ways, you will look to the sun to find me, but i’ve noticed the sun has hidden away these past few days, so i am writing to you so you may find me like this instead. i still look to the sky every night and blow a kiss to your star. i think of you as i lay awake at night. i dream of you when sleep finally takes me, but it always comes easier with you in my arms- oh, remus. whoever this sun is, they’re a bloody sap.”

remus laughed, “yes, almost as sappy as you, sirius.” he smiled, “reminds me of james, a bit… he was such a romantic with lily.”

“don’t remind me.” sirius glared at him, “i had to hear every musing of that love fest.”

“i think i’ve heard enough, have you?” remus sighed, “you don’t want to invade their privacy any longer.”

“oh, but he was in love, moony.” sirius sighed, “there is no name! and i’ll only read this one.”

“i really don’t think you should-“

“sometimes, when i miss you so much it hurts my heart, i hold my hands up to block out your brothers face and pretend his smile is yours. it’s not quite the same, but it’s close enough. i find you everywhere, reg- wait, oh, they- they blocked out my smile?” sirius glanced up.

remus swallowed, “you should really put that down, sirius.”

“you know something.” sirius glared at him.

“i don’t.” remus pressed, averting his eyes.

“you do. you are a terrible liar!” he gasped, “you can’t lie to me, moony- what do you know?”

“it’s none of your business, sirius.” remus huffed, “your brothers' relationships are no matter to you.”

“but he was in love!” sirius pressed, “my little brother was in love, remus! he was in love with one of my- oh my goodness, is it you? did you write these-“

“oh, sirius, shut up.” remus sighed and glared at him, “your brother was a very handsome boy back in school, but i prefer long haired shit heads.”

sirius smiled with a little pout, “you are such a romantic, moony… and speaking of romantics-“

“sirius.” remus pressed.

“it’s torture not telling sirius about this, i tell him everything, but for you i’ll keep this safe. for you i would do anything, my love. i hope you don’t mind, but i may have told remus- you do know!” sirius gasped, “what do you know!”

“i made a vow to never tell you, sirius.” remus shook his head out, “i made a vow to the both of them, and even though he’s dead, i do not intend on breaking a vow with regulus black.”

sirius hummed, “you’re probably right to do that. he’s slimy. he’ll find a way to harm you for it.”

remus nodded.

sirius sighed and looked back at the letter, “i’m going to keep reading.”

“okay.” remus groaned, “but you can’t get mad.”

“why would i get mad?”

“you just would.” remus said.

“oh, it was lily.” sirius nodded, and the way that remus scrunched up his face told sirius that it certainly wasn’t lily, “peter? that… bastard-“

“not peter.” remus shook his head and got back to cleaning.

sirius sighed and read the letter again, “i just couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. he vowed to never tell a soul, and promised to make the same vow to you if you’d like. i have to tell someone about you, my love, about your letters. about your poetry. about your love. you are my everything, and i hold you so dear in my heart. i love you, regulus, more than all the stars in the galaxy. enjoy your solace, bask in it, i have to go listen to sirius talk about david bowie for another three hours, and then we’re going shopping with mum, so- wait!” sirius froze and read the last part out again, he could see remus tense up out of the corner of his eye, “shopping with mum, so pray for me. i’m kidding, i do love your brother very much. i hope we can tell him about this soon, i hope he will be happy for us. love, your sun. oh remus…”

“yes?” remus asked.

“it’s james… isn’t it?” he swallowed, “james was the one in love with my brother?”

“i can neither confirm nor deny.”

sirius dove back into the box of letters and kept searching until he found one with an address written on it, as well as a bedroom- james room. it was james. james had been writing his brother. james was in love with his brother. james was- “what the fuck?!” sirius shouted, waving the letters out and looking up to the sky, “you filthy, lying, brother-fucker! james- oh! i’ll- when i get up there, you’re dead! how could you lie for… for so long- oh, james… you- i’m so sorry.”

remus swallowed, “he wanted to tell you… after regulus died. he- he couldn’t bring himself to after he was marked, james felt completely betrayed. but… when he died, it hurt you so deeply, he didn’t want to risk angering you or hurting you more. and then after that, he just… he never found the time.”

sirius’s heart clenched for his best friend. he loved him. he loved his brother, and he braved the pain of losing him alone. he let sirius cry to him day in and day out about the pain and loss of regulus, and he was feeling the same. he was feeling it too. but he put on a brave face just so sirius wouldn’t hurt so much. so sirius had a stoic shoulder to cry on.

oh james.

you beautiful mess.

sirius prayed he had peace there, in the afterlife, wherever it may be. he hoped he had lily close by, and regulus too. he hoped james was happy again, and he’d be there soon. and the very first thing sirius plans to do when he meets his fate, is hold james just as tightly as james had held him all those years ago, and then he’d hold his brother the same.

sirius sighed and looked down at the letter in his hand, “we’re they… they were happy?”

“very.” remus nodded, “from what i know, james loved him very much.”

“oh, james.” sirius sniffled, holding back some tears, “my brother, why didn’t you tell me? you were- you were hurting just the same as i was- you- you let yourself go through all of that alone?”

“he wasn’t alone, sirius.”

sirius looked up at remus with a weak smile and nodded, “thank you, remus… for looking after us both.”

remus walked over and crouched down in front of sirius, swept some of his hair back behind his ear, “is that not what love is for? caring for one another?”

“it is.” sirius clutched the letter to his chest and let out a tear, “i’m glad regulus had love, remus… before he died- both of them. they both deserve so much love.”

“and they have it.” remus whispered and kissed sirius between his brows, “as do you. i love you. they love you, even in death.”

“i miss them.” sirius sobbed, “oh, i miss them so much.”

“me too, my love.” remus let himself cry too, “me too.”

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concreteburialplot · 6 months

Text

Intertwined // 04

04 - Snapped Neck

pairing: noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlists: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 5.1k

warnings; VERY SAD 🥲, mild yelling/verbal abuse?, hints at past abuse, reference to past character death, noah is a devastated horrible depressed mess, short time skips, don’t say i didn’t warn you - sorry in advance, don’t hate me 🥲

reminder; THIS IS AU, nothing is meant to be accurate, including family history/events/dynamics/members/names !!

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

i’d like to offer a small playlist for this chapter:

seven - taylor swift

matilda - harry styles

winner - conan gray

hard times - ethel cain

anything 4 u - LANY

if it keeps you up at night - the swoons

-NOAH-

After much-needed water bottles, I’m finally starting to feel somewhat normal again. Folio’s asleep in bed next to me while I lay on a laughably thin blanket on the floor. My eyes fully adjusted to the darkness and all I’m focused on is the popcorn ceiling and counting each plaster peak.

The party rages on the other side of the room and I wonder if anyone out there is sober enough to take me home. It’s almost 1 am and the party hasn’t slowed down. I sigh roughly and roll over to wrap the thin pillow around my head to cover both ears. Even through the cotton I can still vaguely hear the music and a song starts that Nicholas and I were obsessed with a couple months ago.

I chuckle quietly at the lyrics,

“That’s my best friend, she a real bad bitch…”

Such a silly song, even though it’s nothing like what we play or what we regularly listen to – we somehow always get the same pop-y songs stuck in our heads at the same time, then end up loving them unironically.

I shake my head with a stupid grin, thinking about the time we were in the kitchen doing a proper, ridiculous performance while we blasted it through a Google speaker. It started with that song but then snowballed into an entire concert at 2 am – all while his little sister just made fun of us, until she eventually caved in and joined our set.

We were all mic-ed up: me a dustpan, Nicholas a broom, and Stella a spatula.

I dig my front teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a laugh that would definitely wake up Folio.

The memory makes the ground below me that much more rigid.

I’ve already tried sleeping every which way on this god-forsaken carpet, but I can’t seem to get comfy.

The hard floor must be the reason I can’t fall asleep.

I flip back to lay flat.

I don’t really understand why Nick got so upset, but it’s been a long night, so I guess I get it. I’m sure he wasn’t thrilled about getting in the lake. Fucking Folio.

And I know he doesn’t like parties.

I don’t really like them either. I think? Maybe I do now? I don’t know.

But I didn’t want to do this without him.

And I just let him leave like that…

God why did I let him leave.

I want to go home.

I need to go home.

There’s a sharp twist in my stomach when I unlock my dying phone and find no texts from him.

I open my bank app to check my balance. $33.87.

I exit and click on the Uber app, put in our address to see the price. $27.59.

I hit request.

I get home after an Uber ride from a questionable middle-aged man with ridiculous combover.

I fumble with my keys at the front door only to find that it’s not locked. I press my weight against the creaky wooden door to push it open. The house is quiet, if Nick’s car wasn’t in the driveway, I’d think the house was completely empty.

I quietly set my keys down on the wooden dining table across from the kitchen. The bedroom door in the hallway is closed, which I expected. I cross the linoleum and very gently twist the doorknob to peer inside. The small room is illuminated solely by moonlight beaming in through the large window by the bed. I step into the room and click the door closed behind me. When I walk over to the bed, the shimmering white light acts like a spotlight on his face and what I notice churns something deep in my chest. Dried streaks coat his face and look almost like rivers from puffy red eyes.

Surely, he didn’t come home that upset because of the argument we had, right?

I tug at my lip and very gently slip into bed beside him beneath the puffy duvet. The movement causes Nicholas to stir and turn away from me. I stay completely still, not even moving a muscle until he’s completely settled then turn in the same direction as him, just inches away from his back.

If he’s that upset with me, would he even want me here?

Am I intruding?

Is it really intruding if I live here too?

Maybe I should’ve stayed on Folio’s floor.

It’s only then that it really sets in that I really moved out, well more like kicked out, and I live here now. Mostly anyway.

But just because you live somewhere doesn’t mean it’s your home. While I love living with my best friend, and I love his family, and they feel like family – they’re not. As much as they try to not make me feel like one, I am an outsider here.

Even Folio in his frat house, sure he just got hazed and whatever, but he belongs there.

I don’t belong anywhere.

The closest thing I’ve gotten to what I imagine belonging feels like, is with Nicholas. But again, he has no tie to me. We’re friends of course, but if I pissed him off and he wanted me gone… well I’d have nothing. I’d have nowhere to go.

I hate this feeling, this feeling of relying on people.

It’s weird taking up space somewhere you have to walk on eggshells because it’s not yours. Because you don’t belong.

It’s not like I felt like I belonged at home either, not after Mom passed.

So here is better than there at least.

At least there’s no yelling or slamming doors here.

My eyes drift through the moonlit darkness to the small pile of my belongings in the corner of the room. The sight sends a chill up my spine and my heart rate noticeably rises. I’m reminded that there are still some things waiting for me at my stepdad’s.

I want the ability to truly get on my own, if I don’t want to rely on people, I need to get my stuff so that I can actually make something of myself.

I need to at least try.

And to do that, I need my guitar and my keyboard. I’m nothing without them – and I won’t be able to be anything without them.

-NICHOLAS-

My eyes shoot open when shrill screams fill my eardrums. I nearly jump out of my skin at the noise, especially since I had gone to bed alone.

I don’t have the luxury of trying to figure out how Noah got home, just that he is and he’s having another night terror.

“Fuck.” I mutter.

Because I did such a great fucking job dealing with this last time.

I tug at his freezing cold arm and shake him vigorously but of course, it didn’t do much the first time, why would it have a different result now.

I replicate what I did the last time and straddle his lap, grabbing his wrists and pinning them at his sides to restrain his jerky movements.

“NOAH!” I repeat his name with increasing volume.

He wakes up slowly after a couple times of calling his name.

“Nicholas?” He asks groggily, with furrowed brows and squinted eyes.

I sigh, “Night terror.” I state curtly and pull off him, landing beside him with my back towards him.

“Oh.” He says softly and his eyes falter. “Sorry.”

There’s a twist of guilt in my gut because I should be softer with him after his terror, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. The teary soreness in my eyes reminds me just how much I don’t have it in me. I tug the sheets closer to my body.

He rustles around a bit trying to get comfortable, but I fall back asleep quickly. For a bit.

It’s not long after, maybe an hour or two, that I’m awoken once again but this time to a bunch of noise and the overhead light on at full brightness.

“What the fuck.” I mumble, sitting up and rubbing one eye while keeping the other mostly shut.

I turn to find Noah sitting on folded knees, manically rummaging through the couple bags he moved in with. He’s ripping through each one, tossing pieces of clothing out left and right, shaking out the empty bags as if they have hidden compartments.

“What the fuck are you doing Noah.” I ask, my tone soaked in annoyance, exhaustion, and anger.

“I can’t find some of my shirts. I need to get the rest of my shit out. Today.” He replies, his words rushed.

My brows knit together at his sudden – and poorly timed – bout of bravery and motivation. He’d been putting this off and avoiding it for weeks. And now he’s tearing apart his stuff, throwing shit all over our room at 4:30 in the morning… after a night of drinking?

I yawn and shake my head in confusion, “Wait, wait, wait, how did you even get home?”

“Uber.” He replies simply, his gaze still focused on his third bag not even looking up at me.

“You took an Uber home?” I ask somewhat skeptically, “Why didn’t you just call me?”

His rummaging movements pause with a bundle of shirts in hand, “Didn’t wanna bother you.” Then continues digging through the bag.

Normally I would go on a tangent about how I’d rather call me to pick him up instead of doing something stupid like possibly be driven home by someone inebriated – but I’m much too depleted, both physically and emotionally to do so.

“Well, you should’ve called me.” I tug the cotton sheets closer to my body and bunch the material to my chest. “What is this really about? You’re acting so strange.”

I reach over to the light switch and turn the knob to dim the white-yellow hue of the light above us.

“I just need to get my shit, Nicholas.” He huffs, seeming aggravated by my questions.

“Well, you’re gonna go alone if you keep snapping at me like that.” I retort, even though I’d never let him go alone.

He exhales and deflates with a balled-up band tee in his hands. “I just need to do it today. If I don’t do it today, I might not ever be able to.”

Honestly, this is the last thing I fucking needed after earlier tonight. I just wanted to fucking sleep. And not be around Noah.

Yet here I am, awake, around too much Noah.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Fine, we can go today – but only if you fucking wrap up whatever the fuck you’re doing and come to bed. If we’re really doing this today, you don’t need to be sleep-deprived for it.”

“Fine.” He agrees reluctantly and begins gathering the clothes to shove back into the bags. “But I probably won’t be able to sleep.”

“Well, you should at least try.” I scoot back into my left side to make room for him.

The box spring squeaks under the weight of him when slides in and immediately turns away from me. Normally I would be a tad offended, but tonight, I’m grateful.

Surprisingly, small snoozy noises escape him not long after his head hit the pillow. I lay facing him, watching the rise and fall of his ribcage like a metronome.

Concern and fear suddenly flood my bloodstream like a bad drug. Getting most of his stuff out the first time was no picnic and I just know this last time is going to be even worse. Frankly, I’m a tad worried about the things he’d left behind, I wouldn’t put it past his stepdad to throw them out.

I shake my head and try to focus on my breathing to calm me down. When that doesn’t work, I try counting.

I drift off to sleep before 30.

My faux-leather steering wheel cover cracks under my fidgeting fingers. Noah can’t seem to sit still, running his hands up and down his thighs probably to self soothe. The anxiety is thick and tangible in the car. He would never admit it to me, but I know he’s scared shitless about going back home. Noah always tried to hide it from me, but I’m not stupid. It doesn’t matter how “anemic” or thin you are, you don’t amass that many bruises that frequently. I always wondered if that’s why he started wanting so many tattoos so suddenly. Maybe, on some level, that’s what made me want to start tattooing in the first place.

The normally 20-minute-long car ride felt like three hours, but when we arrived, I could’ve sworn it had only been 3 minutes.

I park on the curb at the end of the driveway and shut off the car. Just being on the tiny patch of lawn has my heart thumping through my chest and it’s not even my battle.

But I guess if I’m here with him,

If it’s his, it’s mine too.

As much as he wasn’t prepared to do this, neither was I. My gaze lands on the rectangular windows of the small yellow house. From the outside, it looks so normal, so happy even. It’s almost eerie how far from the truth that is.

I look over at him, just now realizing he hadn’t said a word the whole ride. He’s slumped in the passenger seat, one lanky arm wrapped around his own waist and the other stationed at his mouth. His eyes glued to the house behind me as he chews on his thumbnail.

“We can still go back home, Noah. We don’t have to do this today if you’re not ready.” I offer gently, mostly because I don’t think either of us are fully equipped to do this.

“No. I have to do this.” His eyes finally falter away from the house and land on me.

“Okay. You sure you’re ready?” I ask quietly.

His teeth dig into his bottom lip. “No. But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’m gonna be with you the whole time, okay?” I hold out my pinky. “Always, remember?”

He nods and hooks onto my pinky. “Always.”

As expected, I’ve landed myself in the middle of a brawl between Noah and his stepdad. I feel guilty and useless standing there as a bystander not interfering, but my feet can’t seem to move and my vocal cords have ceased to function.

Noah started off strong, full of adrenaline and blind bravery, but it didn’t take long for George to wear him down.

My heart beats loud in my ears and I can’t hear a word they’re saying. All I see is him waving around Noah’s guitar like it’s a toy, using it as an extension of his exaggerated furious expressions. Noah’s tall, but George is much taller and stronger than him, so Noah just looks like a mouse running around an elephant, scrambling trying to snatch the instrument back.

I’m not sure what they’re even screaming about but the argument escalates further than I ever expected it to. My eyes round as I witness each of George’s hands slide to either end of the guitar’s neck.

He wouldn’t

As if in slow motion, I watch the light pale from Noah’s face. His eyes wide and teary, and his brows curled up. I can see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes in real time as he watches his stepdad easily snap the neck of his beloved guitar.

The break is quick and sharp and fills the room with the sound of cords plucking and wood splintering. The noise after is even louder though, just jarring silence.

Until George opens his mouth again. “Get your sad, pathetic little toys and your little boyfriend out of my goddamn house.” Rasps his deep Western accent.

He forcefully tosses the broken instrument at Noah, hitting him so hard it knocks him backwards. The livid man storms across the house and slams the master bedroom door behind him.

Noah’s knees buckle and land harshly on the carpeted floor, holding the guitar in his arms as if it’s a wounded soldier in battle. His face scrunches up around his eyes and tears just begin pouring from him. His chest hiccups with each sob that escapes. He curls the wooden pieces in his arms into his chest and rests his forehead against the curve of the guitar. His cries heave his entire body.

I’m frozen where I stand. What I just witnessed might as well have been a murder. I’ve seen Noah cry, of course, but this is something I’ve only ever seen once before. Besides that one time, I’ve never seen him this bad. At least, he’s never letme see him this bad.

I gently meet him on the floor. For some reason, I feel hesitant to touch him, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

I don’t dare even touch the arms that are gripped onto his guitar so, I rest my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even react to my touch at all, as if he can’t even feel it.

“Noah…” I say cautiously. “Let’s just get you out of here, okay? We just need to grab your stuff and get out. We can figure this out later… later when we’re not here.”

He doesn’t respond and when I try to nudge him even a little bit, he’s solid like concrete where he’s kneeled.

“C’mon Noah we gotta go.” I stretch up to double-check that the bedroom door is still closed. “I’ll get the rest of your stuff. We just need to get you out of here.” I urge and squeeze his shoulder a bit.

His fingers dig into the instrument as he takes a deep sniffle and screws his eyes shut tight, shoving the salty tears out. He just gives me a little nod against the guitar, letting me know that he understands but doesn’t move.

“Please, Noah.” I beg and try pulling at his arm again. “Please get up. I need you to get up for me.”

He gives a little of his arm to me and not much more. But I take what I can get and use both of my arms to weakly lift him up from the floor by his underarms. I basically carry him out of the house, his body limp as I drag him backwards across the overgrown lawn. Shards of dying grass cling to our clothes and dust kicks up all over the back of his jeans.

I feebly open my back door and let him crawl into the backseat with the guitar tight in his grip. He immediately lays with it across the cushions and some boxes.

Luckily, we had gotten most of his belongings already so there was just the final sweep left to do.

Thankfully, George is still holed up in his room, though that doesn’t ease my panicked heart-pounding in my ears. Noah’s room is completely bare except for a half-filled trash bag of miscellaneous belongings. I drag the heavy bag across the stained beige carpet, but I stop at something that catches my eye.

In one cubicle of many that make up a huge bookshelf are a couple of photo albums in chronological order spanning over a few years. From the peek-through covers I can tell that they’re filled with pictures of his parents, or maybe at least his mom.

My head snaps at a stir that comes from behind the bedroom door and in a split-second decision, I scoop all the photo albums and throw them into the black trash bag. I use all my strength to heave the now extra bulky bag across the yard as I run towards the car.

I toss the bag into the trunk and slam the door before rounding the car, throwing myself so hard into the driver’s seat that I nearly tip the car over. I take a glance in my rear-view to check on Noah and find his body tightly curled around the instrument sobbing even worse than how I left him. Seeing him like this… gives me an ache in my chest that I didn’t even know could hurt so much. It’s so excruciating that I could almost vomit from it.

I quickly shift the car into drive and speed off so fast that my wheels squeal.

I’m unsure what to do or what to say. It feels like saying anything would only make things worse at risk of saying something wrong. I always feel guilty when situations like this happen with his family because I can’t imagine what he feels. I don’t know what I’d do without my family, and I can’t even fathom someone treating their child like that, especially him. Noah is the last person on earth that deserves that.

I bite my nail as I walk back and forth in the living room lost in my thoughts.

“Honey, why don’t you come sit down?” My mom suggests patting the couch cushion next to her. “Pacing around the living room isn’t going to help anything.”

I sigh and meet her on the couch, “You should’ve seen him, Mamá.” I run my fingers through my sweat-coated roots. “Oh my god, it was horrible.”

She begins rubbing small circles into my back, “I know Gatito.” She tries to soothe, using her Spanish nickname for me – she always told me I resembled a small cat. “But we know what his family is like, I’m surprised something like this hadn’t happened sooner.”

“Yeah…” I trail off, biting down hard on my thumbnail thinking of all the things we never told her his stepdad had done. If she knew the things he’d done to him – especially in front of me – who knows what she’d do. She’s a Hispanic single mother, nothing would be able to stop her – and a George vs. Mom battle royal is the last thing we need.

“I’ve just never seen anyone that… defeated before. That guitar was everything to him.” I hang my head and use both hands to cover my face.

“Well, you know, maybe we could pull together some extra money by Christmas?” She offers. “I could pick up some extra shifts at the hospital.”

“No, no, Mom, you don’t understand.” I sigh and turn my head to her against my propped palm. “His mom gave him that guitar.”

“Oh.” She replies solemnly in understanding.

“There’s a music store in town where I get my vinyls, they do repairs there.” My sister speaks up from across the room, resting on the column that separates the living room from the kitchen. “Maybe you could see if they could fix it?”

I blink blankly as I process her words and it’s like a lightbulb illuminates above my head. “You actually might have a good idea for once Stell.”

She rolls her eyes, “I’m trying to be helpful, you don’t have to be rude.”

“I’m your brother, it’s kind of my job to be rude.”

“Whatever.” She takes a sip from her obnoxiously sized water bottle. “There’s a really cute guy that works there, I think he does most of the repairs. His name is Jolly, tell him Stella sent you.” She winks.

“Augh.” I groan in disgust and wave her boy craze away. “I’ll be sure to do that.” I add sarcastically.

A serious stillness falls over the room like everyone is equally unsure of how to proceed.

“What are you gonna do about Noah?” Stella asks softly, her voice laced with concern.

My leg bounces in anxious uncertainty as my eyes drift over to my closed bedroom door.

“I don’t know.”

I gently knock on my door and slowly creek it open. The room is pitch black with just Noah on the bed curled up around his guitar, his shoulder length hair splayed across the pillows, and the duvet wrapped around him like a cocoon. He’d been hidden away in my room like this since we got home.

“You awake?” I question timidly, readjusting the tray in my hands.

It takes a moment, but he replies with a tiny, short groan.

“I brought you soup. You know, the chicken noodle my mom makes that you like so much?”

Another brief pause followed by a slightly more intrigued grumble.

I take it as permission to enter and precariously make my way over to him. There’s a sliver of mattress left behind him, and I fit half my ass on it.

I allow him the space to be quiet with me for a bit.

“How are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s an asinine question.

He just sniffles.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I sigh quietly. “Is there anything I can do?”

He sniffles again and scooches further into the bed, onto my side.

I silently tap my index finger on the plastic tray, pondering what that could mean before I speak. “You want me to lay with you?”

He gives a small ‘mhm’ groan.

“Okay, I can do that. But can you eat for me?”

He replies with a ‘nuh-uh’ whine.

I exhale knowing this was going to be an uphill battle. “Noah, you’ve gotta eat.”

He shakes his head in resistance again.

“C’mon, just a couple bites…for me?”

A pause before he lets out a defiant but agreeing sigh.

“You’re not gonna move, are you?”

He shakes his head.

I breathe out trying not to sound annoyed because I should be grateful that he even cooperated this much.

Maneuvering around him from behind, I hold the bowl in one hand and the spoon in the other. Thankfully, the soup had cooled down to just a bit warmer than room temperature. I scoop a spoonful of it, making sure to get a little bit of everything: noodle, chicken, and carrot – if he’s only going to take a couple bites, I have to make sure they count. I carefully bring the spoon over to his lips, he lifts his head just a bit and takes the spoonful into his mouth. He let me give him 4 or 5 bites, which was more than I expected, before rejecting the rest.

I set the bowl on the nightstand, lift the sheets, and nestle into the space he made for me.

“Thanks for eating.” I say quietly. “I know you didn’t want to.”

He nods mutely.

I press my lips together. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”

He’s silent. Slowly but surely sniffles and sobs begin to pour from him again. I immediately feel the twist of guilt in my stomach for being the one to trigger his tears again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-I can leave if you want some priv–“

His hand reaches behind him and firmly captures my wrist.

“Stay.” He begs in a coarse whisper, the first thing he’s said since we came home. “Please?”

His voice is so cracked and hoarse, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was sick.

I falter a second to respond but he must’ve felt the hesitation.

“It helps.” He croaks. “Remember?”

The churn in my chest returns and there’s an ache in my heart that accompanies it. If I could somehow magically take all of this away, I would, even if it meant trading places with him. Even if it meant I’d be the one hurting instead.

I feel so fucking useless, not being able to do much for him.

But at least I can do this.

“Okay.” I respond cautiously and settle further into the bed, now essentially spooned around his body.

His grip on my wrist never left so I let our joined arms rest on his hip. I can’t seem to gather with the right words to say to him, I mean what can you really say after something like that?

So, I offer him the only words that feel suitable.

“I’m not going anywhere, Noah. You know that right?”

There’s a long quiet, so long that I think he may have fallen asleep.

But then he squeezes my wrist.

“Thank you.”

I sense the urge to do something, but I’m not sure how he’ll react. I don’t know, maybe it would help?

I tug at where his hand meets mine and he gives me an upset grumble, like he doesn’t want me to leave.

“I just… is it okay if - can I try something?” I ask shyly, suddenly very nervous, nervous enough to have my heart racing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his brows furrowing. I can tell he wants to be stubborn and keep me latched there, but curiosity always gets the best of him. He slowly loosens his grip on my wrist.

I didn’t notice that my palms were sweating until I’ve retrieved my hand. I press my lips flat and feel like my ribcage could burst open at any minute from how hard my heart beats against it.

My body is screaming at me to do it and as much as I want to fight it, I can’t.

Maybe it would help

I let my arm go where it wants to go. It slithers beneath the covers and through the space between Noah’s arm and his side. I wrap my arm around his waist and pull flush against him.

We both freeze. My ears grow warm as the hour-long seconds pass.

Maybe he’s uncomfortable

Maybe he thinks this is weird

Maybe it is weird?

Is this weird?

Maybe he doesn’t like it

Maybe I’m making it worse

Maybe–

Unexpectedly, he just melts into me. His body molds into my arms like they were made just for him.

He finds my arm and brings it to his face, pressing his damp, swollen eyes against it. Small sobs fall into my arm and his grip on me is so tight I could turn blue.

Maybe he feels safe, and maybe he just needed to feel safe to let the rest out.

My own eyes well up at the sound of him, at the feeling of his body heaving in my arms. I press my forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m always gonna be here.” I reassure him again through my own held-back tears.

He wipes his tears off with the collar of his shirt before pulling my arm back around his chest. He nuzzles into me, and I feel my heart swell so big it fills my entire chest.

I think I already know the answer, but I wanna hear it anyway.

“Does this help?”

He lets out a sleepy sigh as he nestles his back into my chest.

“You always help, Nicholas.”

Next Chapter -> 05 - Girl Crush*

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @cryingabtab @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @kingdomof-omens @the-hell-i-overcame @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

a/n; I know this was a heavy one 😅 i'm sorry, i hope you were able to enjoy it regardless.

Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

#sorry i know this was sad 😬#or maybe not idk #noah cries a lot im sorry #he won’t always be such a crybaby i promise #i have edited this so many fucking times bro so sorry if it sucks 🥲#intertwined series #concreteburialplot works #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo #noah sebastian fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #noah sebastian fic #noah x nicholas #noah x nick #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo fanfic #noah x nick fanfic

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elenasalvatore666 · 18 days

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unpopular opinion about HP canon.

I know that my opinion is unpopular but I really hate hinny ship. And I hate Ginny from books. She is rude ( Fleur, Ron, Luna ( Ginny was the firs who called her Loony)). She used other boys when she still has feelings for Harry. And when these boys aren’t necessary to Ginny as she has a chance with Potter she threw boys away. Her jokes aren’t funny. And I don’t believe in her deep feelings to Harry. They met only few weeks ( only one chapter in six book). She didn’t try to find way to go for hunting and to be with Harry in his dangerous adventure (what will do every girl who is in love). She told that Harry will be not happy if he doesn’t fight with Volan-de-Mort. That’s why she likes him. And I think she doesn’t understand Harry because he doesn’t want to fight but he must do it. And I hate her for the phrase - I like for this desire to take part in the war and be hero. I am sure that people love other people without any reasons and conditions, just because these people are ( girl should love Harry just because he is Harry). And she even didn’t worry that Harry could die during their hunting, but she was upset with the fact Harry had broken with her. She thought only about herself. So in my opinion, Ginny is little spoiled rude girl who wants boy from her dreams.

As for pairings…

Frankly speaking, I think that in the books there are not any good love story lines. I see really good potential love stories Harry/Hermione and Ginny/Neville. Harry and Hermione have the long story. Their relations are based on loyalty, respect, friendship and love. Sometimes it looks like they could speak with each other without any words. In the canon they were together for long period time. The Weasleys were far away, Ron had gone off and abandoned them. So they were alone in the whole world and can rely only on each other. The motto of their relations is you and I against the whole world. And really like dance scene in the film as it was definitely strong emotional moment- Let s be happy today cause tomorrow maybe not come. Their characters are good compatible - impulsive Harry and logical Hermione. They already had deep feelings between them. They just needed little romantic chemistry that would appear if Rowling did not insisted on the idea of big Weasley family. The same I can say about Neville and Ginny they are like Harry and Hermione (but opposite) where Ginny is fem Harry and Neville is male Hermione. And they can have their own story during the last year of Hog. Neville became a brave leader and he can become Ginny s own hero, and their story will not be founded on childish desire and dream. But as for Harry and Ginny they did not have anything common except quidditch. They do not have strong foundation for future relations and it was obvious that they even did not talk to each other a lot during books 1-5. and here Rowling started to make nonsense . She decided that all should marry with Weasley (I find this idea annoying. I suggest that Weasleys are good persons but they are not perfect and they have problems. Opposite, when I was reading Books i was tired from this family as they WERE EVERYWHERE as cockroaches). And because there was not anything between Harry and Ginny (well Ginny had obsession of Harry) Rowling started to create perfect Ginny that would suits Harry. And she failed with it it and spoiled Ginny as protagonist. It would be much better if she was simple girl who was in the shadow of her brothers but before the battle she showed her strengh and confronted her mother - No! I have grown up and i will stay and fight. And she would go with Neville to blow up the bridge. Insted of it in the books she is just rude spoiled girl who bullies her brother, Fleur. She can cursed everyone just because he or she have bothered her. Her jokes are not funny. She used boys and when she had chance with Harry she threw Dean away as a rubbish without any thought. And their relations with Harry continued only few weeks so there cannot be any deep feelings (JUST A CHEST MONSTER). That is why I think that canon ships are unrealistic and they are the worst thing that was with Harry Potter world. So… I prefer Harry and Hermione

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watermelonlovershigh · 2 years

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"M' Scared You're Gonna Leave Me" /blurb/

AN: this is sorta based on part of the Rolling Stone interview Harry did a few days ago. where he talks about how hard it is for him to be in relationships. hope you enjoy and feedback is welcome.

This story contains: mentions of sex, sorta sad harry, mild angst ?, comfort, bit of crying, happy ending

{ fiance!harry - softrry - current harry era }

word count: 1,142

Harry has been acting more clingy towards you as well as his sudden boost in sex drive and when you finally ask him why the sudden behavior, he admits the heartbreaking truth.

Harry's been acting different these past few weeks. You can't exactly understand what may have triggered this but you do know Harry has been so much more clingier with you. As well as the change in your sex life.

Before your fiances' strange behavior, you and him had sex a normal amount. Usually at least every other day, sometimes everyday if you were feeling up for it. And on the week of your period, you'd skip five to seven days. But now it's like Harry wants sex all the time. You're not complaining but you do find his sudden sex drive increase strange.

And it's not just the frequent sex, it's the type of sex. You've never been too kinky during sex but by no means did you make love every time. Now it's like every time you have sex with Harry it's super vulnerable and emotions are running high. As if he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers in a blink of an eye.

Harry gives extra love to every inch of your body, taking his time to cherish you properly. He'll sticks to missionary due to the fact he feels more close to you in that position. He's constantly telling you he loves you during sex, as if he thinks you'll forget one day.

------------------------

Harry hasn't told you yet but the reason he's been acting so different lately is because your relationship together is getting longer then any of his previous relationships and it scares him. Not that he fears he'll fall out of love with you but he's scared you'll leave him. They always leave.

The paparazzi constantly tracking his and whoever he's withs every move, the rumors of cheating and speculations of his sexuality, the criticism of just about anything he or anyone close to him does. It's just too much for most to handle and Harry knows that. His past partners have made that clear after each one broke his heart. But if he loses you, his fiancee that he proposed to three months ago, he doesn't think he'd survive.

------------------------

Currently, Harry is in one of his clingy moods. You're sat on the couch, leaning against the arm, watching a film, and he's practically in your lap. Though you don't mind, you know something in his behavior has changed and you know you must ask him what the cause is. Just for some clarification to calm your mind a bit.

"Harry babe," you mutter in the ear that's not currently pressed into your shoulder, "can I ask you something?"

He shifts a bit in your lap and replies cluelessly to what you're about to ask, "Course, love. Anythin'."

Rubbing your hand gently down Harry's back, you calmly question, "Is everything alright? You've been acting a bit different lately. Always wanting me to hold you or how our sex is only what I'd considered traditional 'love making'. I'm not complaining because..... well I love our intimacy, during sex or how we are now, on the couch watching a movie, cuddling. Just want to know if there are any reasons that may be causing these things."

Harry hearing you ask this was something he thought may come up eventually, but he wasn't sure when. He tried to be subtle about his clinginess or the want to be as physically close to you at all times as possible, but he must have failed in doing so.

Sitting up off your chest, Harry heaves a nervous breath before admitting, "M' scared you're gonna leave me. They always do. I know we're engaged and I've never been engaged to anyone before but still...... you could always back out. I know some of my fans can be a bit rude to my partners and...... and the fame status I hold can be alot for some people. It's not my fault. I wanted to be a singer. Not someone who is constantly in the media, good or bad, and gets shit on and their partners gets shit on all the time. I love you so much. Can't lose you."

In the last sentence Harry spoke, you could hear his voice crack as he tried to hold in his emotions. His confession is heartbreaking. You've had many chances to run away from this chaotic life you have that comes along with being with Harry. But the love you feel for this man in your lap right now outweighs all the negatives. There will never be anything that triggers you to the point you feel you must leave him. Never, ever, ever.

"Babe, look at me," you instruct Harry in a voice just shy of a whisper, "I will never leave you. I love you so much. I said yes when you proposed when I could have said no. I said yes because I truly want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't give two shits what the media says about our relationship. Our relationship isn't for them. It's for us, me and you. You don't need to worry that I'm gonna leave because it's not happening."

The intense eye contact mixed with your sincere words makes Harry finally let silent tears roll down his soft cheeks. You lean forward and give him a gentle kiss on his lips and Harry is imidiantly leaning into your touch. This kiss stays simple and only lasts a few seconds before Harry is wrapping his arms around your shoulders and buries his wet face in your warm neck.

He clings to you tightly but not out of fear you'll leave this time, just out of his love for you. The comfort you bring to him is something he'll never be able to express enough. His life is chaotic for not only those around him but for he himself and he's the one living it. So it's even harder on him and he's thankful you understand that.

After a few minutes of holding Harry to your chest, the movie long forgotten about, you whisper, "Just because you know I won't leave you now doesn't mean you have to stop being clingy towards me or stop our frequent love making. I still love all that you know."

Without moving from his position, Harry replies back with a small smile on is face, "Don't worry, love. I'll always be clingy towards you. As long as you're okay with it of course. You make me feel safe. And there is nothing more I'd rather do then make love to you any chance I get. Love you lots."

------------------------

After a while of holding Harry on the couch, you both migrate to your shared bedroom where you do your nightly routines together and get in bed. You decide on spooning Harry because you feel he needs it tonight. Then with Harry in your arms, the two of you fall soundly asleep.

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witchcraftandgeeknes · 4 months

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Gift

Just a silly little fluffy story, Mikaelsons celebrating winter holiday. As I don't celebrate Christmas and it's way too late for it anyway, it's not specified which holiday it takes place in. You can think of whichever you celebrate yourself.

Dedicated to: @fitzs-trained-monkey who persuaded me to post it despite this fic being silly and my English being bad. Love you, marshmallow

Word count: 1900 approximately

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Elijah rarely received any gifts.

This might be connected to complicated family bonds, or maybe to the fact that mostly his family was separated by a cold steel of a dagger plunged in someone's chest or their father making them fly in separate ways to avoid him catching any of them. Because of the latter, infinity of things that were precious to their hearts were indiscriminately left in the race against Mikael: their beloved ones, favourite places in the world, many houses they were foolish enough to declare their permanent homes, and tremendous amount of belongings that limited time or need made them leave behind.

That way or another, Elijah rarely received gifts from anyone, including his siblings. But when he did, Elijah treasured each and every of small mementos in his heart if he cannot garner all of them in his current adobe. The most rare name on the gift boxes Elijah saw was Kol's.

To say that they didn't see eye to eye on thing would be an understatement of a century. Kol was vicious and was fond of all the nefarious activities that repelled Elijah. Despite everything, Elijah loved Kol, and small signs of his little brother's affection were just as dear to his heart as ones from Niklaus or Rebekah.

Nevertheless, Elijah must admit that the gift was quite... puzzling, to put it best. It was not like Kol completely missed with his guess, Elijah always adored a pristine atlas tie as a gift but.. The colours.

Indeed, the colours were of quite peculiar choice. His newest tie was made of excellent quality and smooth texture, but the black-and-yellow stripes.... Though Kol's everyday attire was much different from Elijah's, the youngest Mikaelson's sense of fashion was never questioned. Keeping that in mind, it was hard to explain how on Earth he might have chose such a tie to give as a genuine present.

Maybe Kol's mischievous nature is involved in this case, or perhaps a huge difference in their styles. Whichever it is, Elijah could not hurt his brother's feelings. Absolutely not and especially not now, when their home finally finessed the most cordial atmosphere in many centuries. Obviously, this... tie is not to be worn on an official visit or in a wide public. Home celebrations in a close family circle, on the other hand, Elijah could bear. Even such a bright, bright yellow tie with evidently contrasting ink-black stripes.

He and Kol had reached temporal understanding and there is no saying how long peace will last, and as long as it does, Elijah shall do anything to keep it this way. Even if that means to step on the common fashion senses. After all, it is without a doubt not the worst thing he had to endure for the sake of his siblings` wellbeing. Elijah had to admit, that even so odd, the gift elated him.

***

*an hour earlier*

Kol loves Harry Potter books. Reading them made him feel a very special kind of way – as if for a few hours of devoted reading he traveled back in time, to the period of it that he was still alive and human and full of mischievous energy that danced in his veins, asking for permission to break free and promising a lot of fun.

And when Klaus announced that they will all together celebrate impending winter holiday, Kol decided to choose the gifts for that day based on his own little obsession. Why the hell not? Klaus gave them all a lot of art throughout their lives, ignoring the fact that Kol, for example, could not care less about anything connected to it.

Regardless of his reasoning, Kol heard they say that it's the attention that matters, and not the gift itself. If that's true, it means that Kol's choice was splendid. Or at least so he thought.

As an official expert on this matter, Kol was the only one capable of sorting his dear relatives into their respective houses of Hogwarts school. That was probably stupid, Kol knew that. But these silly decisions he took with whole seriousness he could muster.

Klaus, undoubtedly, was the one hell of a Slytherin. Kol doubted any explanation was required for this choice, but if one would need it, he contemplated it with all details elaborated in this mental essay (deep down, he actually wished that someone would ask and he would get to explain his decision, even thought it's unlikely). Therefore, Kol packed a pair of green socks with a prominent snake emblem for dearly beloved Nik, and attached short note that conveyed his hopes that dear brother will abstain from chewing his gift during full moons – Kol wrote this with a huge grin. One day he will pay for all those dog jokes. Today is not this day. Kol was fairly sure that killing (or daggering, for that matter) family members is officially against holiday traditions.

For Rebekah, his favourite sibling, and his fellow fan of magical world, Kol prepared the whole suit of Gryffindor uniform. Her warm smile and hug and possibly a thank-you kiss planted on his cheek will be worth all the collecting and packing he went through for this.

Elijah was the hardest one. Firstly, Kol was postponing choosing the gift for Elijah till last moment, and when he finally did select Elijah in his corresponding Hogwarts house (Hufflepuff, as Kol deduced), packed it in a box and wrapped it in a paper decorated with images of dozens Rudolfs, he couldn't bring himself to actually put it under a tree like all the other gifts.

It was silly, after all. And Elijah never approves of silly things. The elder brother was always dead serious and restrained, the perfect image of the head of the family. More of a father figure than a sibling like Nik and Bekah. And while Kol could act silly and joke around with the latter, Elijah seemed unaffected by their ideas of fun.

But what's the alternative, anyway? Thanks to procrastinating, it's the big day today, and there's literally no time to think of something more serious or appropriate. Damn it.

It seems like he has to do it no matter how ludicrous this gift is.

To avoid embarrassment, Kol decided to put the gift box near Elijah's bedroom door. At least this way he doesn't have to witness big brother's dissapointment. Again. Nevermind. What happens happens. It's too late to change his mind.

Kol rushed away to avoid getting caught as if he did something wrong. Perhaps the life of mischiefmaker made him a bit paranoied. Like Nik. What a nightmare.

***

*later*

Kol has to say. The only reason he let Rebekah do this to him was a bribe. The bribe was a box full of chocolate and other candies. At least, it was good enough of a reason at first thought. Kol now doubts his decision. Perhaps it was a bad impulse.

"Ouch!"

"Hush, sit still," Rebekah hisses at him from the couch while braiding his hair in tenth tiny braid. Kol shifted at her legs unhappily and pouting.

Klaus tried to muffle his cackling but failed miserably.

"You never looked better in your life, Kol."

Kol sent the remote control flying across the room and it hit Nik in the forehead.

"HEY!"

"At least I don't have a stupid ass sweater with chihuahua!"

Klaus blushed, embarassed. The poor idiot lost a bet with Rebekah (and to place bets with Rebekah was always rather risky activity) and was forced into this sweater. Maybe Kol won't be the number one target for dog jokes as soon as holiday is over after all.

"Shut up, both of you," their sister chided and tugged Kol's hair especially roughly. If that's what she had to endure each day Mother was braiding her hair then maybe he was too harsh on her all that time.

Kol relaxed and pressed his back to her legs, surrendering to his cruel fate. Until...

"Well, at least it's not as dumb as your Ravenclaw sweater," Klaus said, a minute too late with his comeback.

"You take that bac– AW, BEKAH!" Sister dearest hit him with the Dickens book across his head when Kol abruptly tried to stand up. "That was uncalled for!"

"I told you to sit still," she said, tugging him down on the floor by the hem of his beautiful Ravenclaw sweater. "And I told you to shut up, Nik. Elijah! Tell them!"

To the brothers' surprise, Elijah chuckled from the threshold. Neither of them noticed how the eldest brother entered. He was in his suit, like always. Kol resumed to his place on the floor and let Rebekah continue her work.

"Gentlemen, behave," Elijah commanded and made his way to the table and took one mandarin.

"Can you be nice to each other at least at a family holiday, mhm?" Elijah didn't stop berating them even as he proceed to peel mandarin. "You look wonderful today, Rebekah."

"Thank you, 'Lijah!"

He was right, Rebekah looked like she's posing for the holiday edition of some fashionable magazine. What can't be said about Klaus and Kol himself.

"Why, brother, you look quite dashing yourself. Where did you get your tie, on a masquarade?" Klaus laughed. Kol looked up at Elijah. He didn't notice at first, but Elijah wore his gift. The Hufflepuff tie looked out of place on Elijah, like Kol predicted. His stomach sank.

"Thank you for your insight, Niklaus," Elijah said, glaring at the middle brother sternly. Then he looked down, and straightened his already perfectly fastened tie. "In fact, I quite like your gift, Kol. It's probably my favourite this year."

Kol felt his cheeks getting hot. He rarely heard nice words from his family and it felt... very strange but he loved the feeling.

"Really?" Kol muttered under his breath. Elijah smiled at him.

"Of course. Thank you for this, I'll wear it whenever an opportunity presents itself, like today. Now, does anybody want hot chocolate?"

Kol and Rebekah didn't let him finish the sentence and agreed immeadiately and loudly, and when Elijah matter-of-factly asked if Klaus wants a cup too, the hybrid rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, he didn't refuse the offer either.

"He looks stupid though," Klaus whispered quitely so Elijah's ear won't catch it but loud enough for his younger siblings to hear. Kol snorted. Klaus was petty and didn't like the fact that Elijah scolded him but complimented Kol's gift.

He didn't notice how Rebekah finished braiding his hair – Kol couldn't imagine how much he looked like a hedgehog right now – and suddenly leaned down and hugged Kol by his neck.

"You're the best brother, Kol. You're my favourite, you know."

"You tell that to each of us, don't you?" Kol rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a smile spreading across his face. He loved his family with all his heart. Even grumpy Nik. The idea of being his only sister's favourite brother was quite amusing too.

From the kitchen Elijah announced that their hot chocolate with marshmallows is ready and waiting for them.

Rebekah was the first to get on her feet.

"Race you!" and just like that, Rebekah sped up towards kitchen. Kol and Klaus didn't have to be asked twice and they swiftly followed her.

From the kitchen, Elijah's voice could be heard: "Oh come on, you all, how old are you, ten?"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

You made it that far? Good job, I guess

#kol mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the originals fanfiction #i guess??#tvd #tvdu #mikaelson nonsense #my first fic in english

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furiyama · 8 months

Text

I have something to say to certain people in this fandom and I've had these thoughts and feelings for a while. I won't name names for the sake of what I'm about to say. It's important that I say it, and explain it, and tell you firstly

I am absolutely disgusted, on a soul level, on a heart level, by your beloved Snarry ship and I must call you out on what you are doing to Severus (and also to Harry, though Severus has been with me since I was read the first book at 4 years old. From that age on, I knew and felt he was more, he was onto something, so he is the main focus of this)

I don't know you are, and I can't quantify and analyze each one of your lives to understand why you like Severus, but I know within my soul, you do not understand the gravity of what he gave up for Lily, the amount of self will it took, the knowledge that even if he would never make things right with Lily, he must do the right thing (which we can debate on if he actually made this emotional decision but I have a following more important point)

I have dealt with the strength of love towards a friend after the world that birthed you shatters you soul with abuse, you have no one truly supporting you in this world, you don't know what geniune love looks or feels like, but yet, you meet somebody who makes your soul glimmer, like you are actually alive and not dead inside. I have been down many schools of thought about these types of love, having them for a handful of different people I met throughout my journey. On one hand there is geniune pyschological phenomanoms when it comes to loving and connections after abuse, that some of us develop unhealthy attachment styles, some of us encounter limerance (unwanted, obsessive love for somebody else you cannot get out of), all of these schools of thoughts are valid and in appropriate medical settings and pyschology study, are useful for helping us understands how humans work and potentially helping us guide us to a patch of healing.

But what I'm going to say is different , because I experienced different, thought different.

I had to validate that love I held for those people because it made me want to continue to exist - and so what if is excerbated or partially caused by my trauma and/or mental illness. It was the most real feeling I had ever felt, those feelings eventually lead me to this moment now, where I can finally stand up and tell you how disrespectful you are to Severus and his journey by shipping him with Harry. I trusted those feelings and they lead me to the healing I needed for many years.

Severus's journey mirrored my own, I was the child with a terrible temper, getting kicked out of schools early on in childhood, group homes. But why did me and him continue to exist in a world that made it clear it didn't want us?

I found that answer out as I grew into a teenager and experienced love for my friends and my limerance objects (the object of ones affection while under limerance effects), that I wanted to keep existing so I could do good for them.

I had no idea how to do that, at this point I shipped literal Armstrongcest from full metal alchimist, my entirely way of being, and thinking, was fucked up. I hurt people left and right even though the feelings I had - and for certain people I didn't realize until I used and hurt them so much, that they weren't my emotional priority, I liked the companionship, somebody who talked about things you knew and were interested in.

Severus made friends with terrible people because they were the only ones that really gave that to him. And nobody stepped in to teach him straight or differently, he only knew the world as it was for him. I'm not condoning being a wizard racist or anything, I simply understand when you are in that much pain, as my friend says often to me 'if you aren't given appropriate love you will learn to lick it off a knife'

Something in him for Lily always stirred, and unhealthy as it was for him to have that, I truly believe it was the only geniune relationship he ever had growing up. And knowing personally still grief after 8 years of the person my heart chose simply ghosting and refusing all contact, sometimes that pain, that longing, it never goes away. You remember it because it spoke to your soul at that time in your life in a way you have never encountered since.

I am absolutely... just, offended, that as somebody who has gone through this emotional journeys, who understands now the appropriate space that must be given to this person, it is beyond words of absolute recoiling of the soul to think that after all that happens, your person never returns to you

That you go and fuck their child

all the self work you've done on yourself to achieve a sense of self you now can find yourself be proud you climbed that mluntain for them

That you go and think their kid is an appropriate partner

Part of this is understanding you need to leave their circle alone (even if it was never involved their circle before), it is a level of respect you come to and understand for this person. that from afar, mayhaps now and again you can send a blessing or help in some way, but to want to change your behavior from what you did that hurt them to run (which is the level of emotional decision i want to write for severus but that's another topic)

you understand your behaviors and your way of connecting with people isn't good, and the first thing you can do to make it right within your soul is going and trying to exude the exact opposite energy

which means respectfully at the end leaving her kid the fuck alone

i could go on rants for many of the other severus ships but i don't care to. none of them are more annoying to a mosquito to me. but this one, stirs a specifc part of my soul that i need you to hear when i say

When you fucking ship him with harry, you are completely opposite of that energy, you don't want what's best for him, otherwise you'd know the grief and such goes through stages and you's eventually want him to learn how to respect his own emotions and experiences

to see you snarry shippers say dumb shit like i love his smile, i love a happy snape, i love him, i am disgusted beyond words

you don't actually fucking care at all if you want him to go down that dark ass road

i geniunely had to ask myself at a point of thinking about this, what if it was me, and i was the person who was diddling that persons child?

i said to my friend, if that ever happens, please just shoot me. end it. clearly something has gone wrong, very wrong, and it can't be fixed when you get to that level, it's all already fucked. my friend, understanding he said to me 'i definitely wouldnt want to but i hear you... it'd be painful but i know where you are coming from when you talk about severus and m(person). if it gets that bad, i know you don't want it to go on'

of course this is a hypothetical question so of course it won't happen but that parallel is the Foundation of the understanding. without my feelings for all those people that eventually coalesced into my now many year long grief over just 1 and has held steady, I wouldn't have this personal context to give you but it's important I give it to you

so you can understand now how the very ship is an anti-thesis to severus's soul and how dare you say you care about him while doing that shit

how fuckin ass dare you disrespect him and his journey like that

how dare you try to stand with him while pushing him back into a similiar kind of darkness he was born in!

fuck you and fuck your snarry.

respect severus, don't you ass fucking dare act like you understand what it's living it because you clearly fucking don't if you can't give him the basic respect of not pushing him backwards

i hope y'all learn how to swim because i'm the goddamn severus snape goddess and your ship is creepier than flying dutchman, like he's not gonna even be willing to raise your sunken ship, that's how bad it is

#snarry #severus x harry #snape x harry #memento.txt #severus snape #snapedom #snape #professor snape #harry potter

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