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theirbbygirl · 6 months

Text

Bus Boy ; YJN

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Fluff

Tags: afab!reader, kindergartenteacher!jeongin, a small moment of stress and overworking but nothing too intense, small mention of reader's mean boss, barely edited i'm so sorry

You had never thought that something more than just a "good morning" could bloom between you and the cute boy on the bus.

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Every morning you took the bus to your work at 8 am and at 6 pm going home, and every morning and evening you would see the cute fox-eyed boy on the same bus as you. The two of you were friendly strangers, always sitting just a few seats apart every morning and evening and exchanging smiles or soft “good mornings” and “good evenings.”

Neither of you had spoken to each other more than that however, it was like an unspoken rule, try not to ruin what you have now. And to be completely honest, you were okay with that. You were perfectly content with seeing his cute smile in the mornings and the same in the evenings.

Over the year you had continuously encountered the bus boy you presumed that he probably worked at the kindergarten down the street from your office. He wore the same blue lanyard you’d seen the teachers there wear when you went down to interview a couple of the faculty for an article you were assigned. He seemed young, probably right out of grad school, but still held that air of capability around him despite his young features.

You worked as a journalist up the street right next to your favorite cafe, so when you both got off at the same stop he would go down to the school while you went up to get your morning coffee.

When the night came around, you’d run into him on the same bus, looking more tired than you had seen him in the morning, but that was understandable considering he worked with kids for hours on end. At times, you caught yourself mindlessly smiling thinking about how he would look like trying to teach a classroom of young, rowdy kids. The thought wouldn’t leave your brain, and you probably looked like an idiot smiling at nothing on the night bus home.

You saw Fox Boy again today, he was wearing black slacks with a light blue button-up, and a delicate pair of white glasses set atop his nose. His hair was cut differently and black now, compared to the light brown you had last seen. Somehow the look made him look so much more mature, and you almost tripped over yourself making your way to a seat towards the back of the bus. You went past him like you usually did, brightly smiling at him while he returned the action, adding a “good morning” to it.

For whatever reason, you were feeling bolder today, and took the seat next to him across the aisle. He didn’t seem fazed by your change of seating, so you relaxed into your seat and watched the buildings pass by through the windows.

“Are you heading to your work?” He asks, cautiously breaking the silence.

You’re left speechless for a moment, surprised he even asked you a question first. “Uh, yeah, I work at the Media company just up the street.”

“Ah, so that’s where you’re headed every morning.” He chuckles for a second. “I think I saw you around one time, you were taking an interview for one of my colleagues, back in August?”

“Yeah! I was,” You chuckle with him. “It was for a simple piece. I take it you work as a teacher?”

“Mhmm.” He hums. “Got hired pretty early, but working with the kids is always something I’ve wanted to do.”

You both laugh together for a few moments, talking about your jobs and what goes on during your days. It was nice to talk to him–really talk to him–for the first time.

“Jeongin.” He says and holds out his hand for a shake as he sees your shared stop come into view, and you realize we had been talking all this time without knowing each other’s name. “Yang Jeongin.”

“Y/n, Lee Y/n.” You respond with a smile and shake his hand. “It’s nice to formally meet you Yang Jeongin.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lee Y/n.” His bright smile felt like it shined brighter than the morning sun.

You both step off the bus and say “See you later” before heading to your respective occupations. You looked forward to being more friendly with the Bus Boy you now have a name for, Yang Jeongin.

Two weeks had passed of you talking to Jeongin daily, and you couldn’t be happier. He was relatively easy to talk to, about his family life, his brother, and how he finished school in Busan and transferred to Gimpo for work. You shared your own backstory, how you were the eldest child of two and your hometown was Ilsan. There was something that made it so easy to talk to Jeongin, and you laughed a lot more often when you were around him.

Soon enough it came to a point where the highlight of your days was seeing him on the buses to work and back. Your feelings were getting dangerously serious, but you couldn’t really stop them so you didn’t try.

This evening, you were almost late to the bus, thanking the driver for waiting up for you when he saw you sprinting down the street. Work had kept you a little later because your supervisor wasn’t exactly happy with the quality of your work recently.

When you walked down the aisle, you saw a very tired Jeongin sitting towards the back of the bus, instead of the middle where he usually was. He was already passed out with his head leaning against the window. You chuckled and sat next to him, making yourself comfortable as the bus made its usual route.

The movement of the bus made Jeongin’s head sway back and forth and hit the window a few times and it looked uncomfortable if the frown on Jeongin’s half-asleep face was anything to go by. Carefully, you led his head to rest on your shoulder and let him stay there. A second later he snuggles further, finally comfortable.

You were glad he was asleep so that he couldn’t notice the blush evident on your cheeks. Had he awoken when you moved his head to your shoulder you would’ve died of embarrassment on the spot.

The whole ride to your stop he was asleep on your shoulder. He’s probably had a long day of teaching, you thought. When your stop was the upcoming one you reached over and pressed the buzzer to alert the driver that you were getting off next, and you didn’t wake Jeongin until the bus actually stopped.

“Pst, Jeongin.” You tap his shoulder a few times, and when that doesn’t work you brush your hand through his hair. Luckily, that does the trick. “This is our stop.”

“Hm?” He groans groggily, confused for a moment, then scared as his eyes go wide. “Oh my god did I fall asleep on your shoulder? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for that to happen I just-“

“Hey hey hey, no worries alright? You were asleep by the time I got on and your head was moving around so I let you rest on my shoulder for a bit, thought you had a long day.” You smile sweetly as the both of you step off the bus.

“You could say that, I’m so so sorry Y/n I was really looking forward to talking with you tonight. I was gonna ask you something…” He trails off and pouts as if disappointed in himself.

“Don’t sweat it Jeongin, we all have those days. Besides, there’s always tomorrow, right?” You say, smiling up at him again.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, I won’t keep you here much longer, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/n!” He says as he begins to walk away.

“See you tomorrow Jeongin!”

Four days later, it’s your turn to be dead tired on your way back from work.

The day after Jeongin fell asleep on your shoulder on that bus ride home, you had gotten an earful from your boss. He was infuriated that none of you articles that you were writing were up to his standards and he sent you away telling you that if you didn’t get it together by the end of the week you would be risking your position. Not wanting to lose your job, you spend the next 2 nights and 3 days working, even later into the night at home. You were relieved that the article you turned in today was good enough for him, but by the time it was time to go home, you were absolutely beat.

You felt like one of those zombies from Train to Busan when you walked to the bus, and you felt a pang of disappointment when you got on and saw Jeongin wasn’t there. You took a seat and rested your head on the window, missing the rush of footsteps as you easily slipped off to sleep.

An incomprehensible amount of time later you wake up with a groan, realizing that you were definitely not rested against the window like when you first dozed off. Instead, you were on a firm but weirdly comfortable shoulder and a chuckle rings in your sleepy ears as you sit up properly.

Meeting eyes with the man who allowed you such comfort, Jeongin, you quickly melt into a pile of embarrassment.

“Sleep well?” He asks.

“Jeongin oh my gosh I’m so sorry I-“ You gulp. “Oh god, I’m so humiliated I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your shoulder. Were you uncomfortable? I’m so sorry-“

“Y/n, relax, you did the same for me the other day and you looked basically dead and I thought you’d be much more comfortable if you put your head on my shoulder instead of hitting it against the window over and over.” He smiles sweetly.

“You didn’t have to do that…” I say softly.

“But I wanted to, come on, let's get off the bus before the driver gets mad.”

You both walk out of the bus together after thanking the driver who had a knowing smile on his face as you exited. You stand in front of each other awkwardly when under the bus stop’s shelter, an uncomfortable silence wafting between you two.

“So…”

“I...” You speak at the same time and your eyes flick to each other, chuckling awkwardly.

“You go first.” You say.

“Okay, uh, well, I’m not entirely sure how to do this but I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day, I don’t think I formally thanked you for that. So, thank you.” He rubs a hand behind his neck, embarrassed.

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me for that. That’s what friends are for, right?” For whatever reason the mention of friends pangs your heart unknowingly, and you regret even mentioning the word.

“Yeah, friends…” He trails off.

There’s a beat of silence, and when you think neither of you has anything else to say you speak up.

“Well, I should probably get going…”

“Yeah, yeah, you probably should. Get home safe, yeah?”

“I will.” You smile at his concern and wave before turning around and walking away.

You only get about half a block away before you hear your name being called and fast footsteps coming from behind. You turn around and see Jeongin running up to you, slowing to a jog when he gets closer until he slows to a full stop in front of you.

“Jeongin?”

“What if…” He pants. “What if I don’t want to be your friend?”

You can feel yourself physically deflate at his words. “Oh, I’m so sorry then I assumed that-“

“Wait, no no no that’s not what I meant I-“ Another heavy exhale. “I meant that I want to be more than just friends, with you.”

This time your heart soars and you’re at a loss for words.

“Unless, you know, you don’t feel the same which I would totally understand I-“

You step forward to where you’re almost chest-to-chest with Jeongin, and he stops in the middle of his sentence.

“Can I kiss you?” You whisper out.

“Uhm, yes?” He says more like a question, to which you raise your eyebrows, like another question if he really wanted it. “Yes, please.” He says this time, and you lean forward, connecting your lips.

The kiss wasn’t anything grand, it was more like two high school students sharing their first kiss, awkward and unmoving. But when you separated from Jeongin he leaned forward a bit, chasing your lips. You smile at the action and peck his lips again.

“What if there was a way for you to thank me for letting you sleep on my shoulder?” You say.

“Oh really, and what would that be?” He asks.

“Get lunch with me, this weekend, when we’re both off.”

“Hmm,” He pulls a face like he’s thinking and you giggle “I like the sound of that.” He chuckles.

“But,” you point a finger at his face. “I pay.”

“Hm?” He hums confused.

“To thank you for letting me sleep on your shoulder.”

“We’ll see about that.” He says mischievously, knowing there was no way in hell he was letting you pay on your first date with him.

notes from nyx:

so this is definitely something that has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year 😭 i can’t really tell if my writing has changed much from where i was when i wrote this but i tried editing it a little bit so it’s a little better, but i’m not sure how well i did with that 😅

i hope you enjoyed reading this and please feel free to reply/reblog what you enjoyed/what you want to see more of!! even a small comment is the highlight of a writer’s day ☺️

#skz #stray kids #skz ff #stray kids ff #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fic #stray kids fic #Yang Jeongin #Jeongin #I.N.#skz imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #skz x reader #i.n. imagines

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angelltheninth · 2 years

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Morning Bird

Pairing: Keigo Takami/Hawks x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, morning fluff, domestic fluff, naked cuddles, gentle kisses, teasing, flirting, suggestive content, soft Keigo Takami

Word count: 0.7k

Ao3

A/N: I was so happy to get this commission! Hawks fluff!

“Keigo, that tickles.” Your laughter is half muffled by your pillow. You hear Keigo chuckle beside you, a feather still trailing up your naked back. You’re about to say something to him again when you feel the feather replaced by the delicious pressure of lips.

“Better?” He asks between kisses.

“Much.” You sigh and melt into the bed, letting yourself be woken up by more kisses.

When Keigo reaches your neck he bites you playfully, smirking against your skin as you squirm beside him.

He gently takes hold of your wrist and pulls you over on your back. You feel him parting your thighs to slide between them, his lips still on your neck, “Good morning my love.”

“Good morning to me indeed.” You trail your fingers over his hips, up his back to his wings, “I see someone got their wings back.” You slowly blink your eyes open.

Keigo is starting down at you, his head slightly tilted to the side, a big smile on his face before he dives in for a kiss. You sigh against his mouth as his tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip.

“I feel much better this morning.” His mouth trails lower across your neck, “All thanks to you. Last night was amazing.”

Your cheeks heat up as you remember the events, Keigo’s mouth and hands all over you, legs wrapped tight around his hips as he thrust into you without mercy, the things he said to you, how you moaned each other’s name as you both reached your peak over and over.

“I’m still sore.”

“Aww, sweetheart. Want me to kiss it better?” He moves back to wink at you, his eyes traveling lower down your body. You gulp as you feel a familiar heat pooling between your thighs.

“I don’t think it would help.” You squeeze your thighs together, your lips parting in a moan, “You’d make it worse.”

“Too bad.”

You can’t help but chuckle at Keigo’s pout.

“Maybe later.” He smile returns, even brighter than before.

“You can’t resist me can you babe?” Keigo moves away from you, swinging his legs off the bed and stretching his arms above his head, his wings following, spreading behind him, sending a few stray feathers flying around the room. “I can feel you ogling me. Not that I mind.”

You don’t respond. Instead you sit up and scoot close to him, leaning in and kissing the little expanse of bare back between his wings. Keigo yelps and flinches. He gets up abruptly, not letting you see his face, which you full well know is completely red by now.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish. You know that’s my weak spot.” He grumbles, picking up his boxers from the floor and putting them on. “You want my shirt or?”

“Sure.” Keigo bends goes over to the closet and pulls out a blue, short-sleeved shirt. He tosses it to you. “What do you want for breakfast today love?”

“You know what? Surprise me?” Keigo turns back to look at you, his blush mostly gone by now. He runs his hand through his messy hair, “Of course... I could just eat you. That’s my favorite breakfast.” He makes a V shape with his fingers and swipes his tongue through the middle.

Now it was your turn to blush bright red, “You’re terrible.”

“And yet you married me anyway.”

“Well you do have a few good traits.” You put his shirt on and make your way to him, one hand on his chest as you plant a kiss on his jaw.

“Do I? And what are they?”

You smirk, “You’ll find out if you follow me to the bathroom.” You walk away, glancing back at him as you close the bathroom door. You don’t even get the shirt off again before Keigo burst through the door, arms wrapping around you, kissing you with all he has. You giggle against him as you let him carry you to the shower.

“I guess you’ll be sore for the whole day huh? Don’t worry, I did promise to kiss it better and I’m a man of my word.” He kisses you again, and again and again.

“I know. That’s reason number one.” You tangle your hands into his hair, leaning your head back, offering your neck for him to kiss, “And there’s many more where that came from.” But you didn’t get to list them until an hour later.

#hawks #keigo takami #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x you #keigo takami x you #hawks fanfic #bnha #bnha fluff #boku no hero academia #hawks fluff #keigo takami fluff #hawks smut #keigo takami smut #keigo smut #bnha fic #bnha smut

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the-daily-multi-fandom-post · 2 years

Text

Glenns lover girl

Part 2 of ?

rate: pg-13

word count: 2,618

Taglist: @kaitebugg03

ask to be on a tag list for Glenn Rhee :)

warnings: Mentions of racism, death, Weapons, weed, affairs, sex jokes, almost sex, drugs, drinking, I don't know of any other warnings. cussing?

Summary: Y/n is the younger sister of Daryl Dixon. Y/n was more like her brother Daryl than she was her brother merle. Well, that is unless she's angry. Then she has the mouth and anger of Merle Dixon himself. Y/n first met Gleen at the quarry. That's where there friendship first grew and continued to grow through the post-apocolypes.

Y/n woke up to the sound of the birds singing and the sound of a few people moving around in the camp early in the morning. Y/n was usually one of the first to wake up. Y/n quietly striped out of her pajamas (an oversize t-shirt and booty shorts) she put on her white spaghetti strap tank top on and her light wash blue jeans and her steel toe boots. Fixing her belt through the loops and then her gun holster.

Y/n walked out of her tent. Daryl already awake poking the fire keeping the embers going. "Morning." Y/n says as she streches her hands over head. "Morning, did ya sleep good?" Daryl asks as he points to her horrible bed head. "I guess as much as one can during the apocolypse." Y/n says as she tries to calm her unruly hair. Running her hands through it wasn't doing much so she just pulled into a bun to deal with it later on.

"You need a shower." Y/n says as she gets a whiff of Daryl as she leans down to give him a hug. "Dirty balls Daryl you need a bath." Y/n jokes using his nickname Y/n gave him at the start of the apocolpyse. "speak for yourself, I smelt you when you rolled over this morning. When's the last time you showered?" Y/n giggled at him, and smacked him playfully on the back. "I took a bath in the quarry yesterday. And I plan on getting another one later on. I found some good smelling soaps on a run the other day. I also found some "manly" smelling soaps so that your ass would smell better. I suggest you use them." Y/n says as she walks off up the hill away from their spot from the quarry up to the group.

Y/n looks around to see Carol starting on breakfast. Grits and oatmeal enough for the whole group to have a good serving size.

"Good mornin' miss carol." Y/n greets the older woman with a warm smile. "How did you sleep?" Y/n asks as carol continued to hold her head down. "Carol?" Y/n repeats as she lowers herself to try to meet carols eyes. "Did he hurt you again?" Y/n asks as she sees the purple bruises appearing on her face and eye. "I'll kill him. Carol, you don't deserve no man beating up on you. Nobody deserves anyone beating up on 'em." Y/n says as she watches Carol start crying. "You can't he'll kill me. He'll hurt my baby girl." Carol begs Y/n not to do anything. Y/n shakes her but respects Carol. "Carol, I respect you, but if I ever see with my own eyes that man lay a hand on you.. He will meet his maker." Y/n promises Carol.

It was triggering for Y/n to see the bruises on Carol. Y/n and her brothers knew all too well about abusive people. Y/n just felt the anger she felt for her abusive father for Carols husband.

"Carol, it wouldn't be the first time I killed someone for being abusive." She says lowly just for carol to hear.

Carol looked up at Y/n shocked. "My father, he use to beat us. Me and my brothers." Y/n started and immediately carol felt horrible.

"Now, I ain't telling you this to feel horrible about this. I don't see myself as a victim. I am a survivor and so are you Carol! You don't have to stand by an abusive man Ever! The first time he laid hands on you, you should've cracked him over the head with a baseball bat." Y/n continues her little rant. Trying to give Carol the hope of a brighter future.

"If he hits me again." She nods, telling Y/n it would be okay. "You have to do it humainly. Don't make him suffer." Y/n shakes her head at carol. "After all these times he has beat you, darlin. And you still are loyal to him? Enough to have him die peacfully? You are one hell of a woman." Y/n says with a smile.

Y/n finishes the conversation as Sofia and Carl walks up to the two of them. Y/n says a polite good morning as she leaves them to it. Walking over to the laundry line grabbing her and her brother clothes. Folding them and placing them in a basket to take down to their camp. Folding the rest of the clothes that were on the line and putting them in piles on a picnic table.

"Good morning, beautiful." Glenn says as he kisses the back of Y/ns head. Y/n smiles as she turns to greet her boyfriend. "Mornin'" She greets back giving him a peck on the lips quickly, not one for much PDA.

"What do you have plan for the day?" Y/n asks as she continues to fold laundry. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to go on a run today. We're a little low on our medical supplies and there is a pharmacy in the next town over about 20 miles from here. I figured since you were a nurse you would know what the best stuff to get would be." Glenn explains as he helps her fold clothes.

"Sure, it's a date." She says kissing him and then walking off to deliever everyones clothes to their tents. Glenn smiles as he watches Y/n walk away a little more pep in her step. Happy she gets to be alone with her boyfriend for the day.

"Daryl!" Y/n calls out as she puts their clothes away in their bags. Daryl was long gone to hunt. And Y/n shook her head with a smile. Daryl the one who was to himself all the time proclaimed he didn't care much about the group, but he always was providing for them. Y/n looks in her book bag grabbing pen and paper leaving a note that she will be back this evening that she was going on a run with Glenn. It's probably a good thing that Daryl and merle were gone hunting. They'd be picking at Y/n saying that she won't going on no run. Probably just going to fuck once they're gone out of sight of the camp. Which was kinda sorta true. But they always get what they need before they do it. (lol)

Y/n grabbed her knives. looping one through her belt the other slipped into her boot. Y/n grabbed an empty book bag and started making her way back towards where Glenn was waiting at the jeep looking at the map remembering the routes they were going to take.

"You two love birds be careful. We can't lose our best runners." Shane says with a teasing smile. "You ain't gonna lose us. We are just going to a pharmacy and picking up a few things the camp needs. There is a grocery store right beside the pharmacy we can hit up. Find can goods, flour, sugar, rice, penut butter. Anything we can find for the camp." Y/n explains as she looks at the map. "Hey, Y/n make sure you find condoms." Shane jokes as he playfully slaps glenns back. "Why for you?" Y/n says quietly with a smirk on her face. Glenn snorts at the shocked look on Shanes face. "Y'all ain't as sneaky as ya thought."

After that Y/n and Glenn got into a '98 chevrolet pick up truck. Y/n riding shot gun and glenn driving. Y/n held the map and told glenn where to turn.

Y/n loved to get out of the camp and go exploring the outside world. "Do you really think Lori and Shane are fucking?" Glenn says after they drive away from the camp. Y/n giggled as she looked at glenn with a funny look. "Why else would the two never be around at the same time? I mean when Lori leave shanes following like a horny dog right behind after a few minutes. They're aren't very discreet." Y/n says with a giggle in her voice. She lays her head on Gleens shoulder. Glenn throws his arm around her shoulder allowing her to scoot closer.

"Yeah, I guess i just thought they would be more discreet. You know, not doing it in the middle of the day, but maybe sneak out at night time and do it when nobdy was awake." Glenn says with a laugh following behind it.

They drive went smoothly, not running into many walkers on the road. It seemed like an average day. The only things on the road were abandon cars and a few stray cats.

Y/n enjoyed looking at the window. The summer sun beating down on the Green chevy truck. "Maybe we can find the kids some toys while were out. Carl lost one of them the other week. I bet you he lost it down at the quarry when Shane was trying to help him catch frogs." Y/n says as she studies the map. "Yeah that would be nice. They always seem to get board of the same toys and books." Glenn agrees.

Eventually, they pull up outside of the pharmacy. It looked untouched from the outside. None of the windows broken the door still standing shut and locked. Y/n grabbed her lock picking kit from her bag and they jumped out the truck.

Y/n picked the lock as glenn rounded the building looking for any creepy crawlies. "I think the coast is clear. Must be our lucky day." Glenn says as he comes around the building back to Y/n. Y/n pushes the door open. Putting the lock picking kit in her back pocket. "Well, lets hope there's no alarm in here." Y/n says as they walk in. Both of them guns drawed with a knife in the other hand.

Y/n went right Glenn went left both sweeping through the pharmacy. "Clear." Y/n says as they meet at the back of the store. "Alright, grab anything you see. Bandaids, gauze, disinfected products. Anything to deal with wounds. I'll go in behind the desk and get the pharmaceuticals."

"What size condoms do you think Shane needs. Extra small?" Glenn jokes. Y/n bellows out a laugh and says "maybe an extra extra small." Glenn and Y/n loved to joke around.

It seemed like Glenns optimism has rubbed off on Y/n. Ever since the two of the got together they have become so close and Y/n finally has hope in the world. Y/n has become more free spirited.

Y/n packs the bags full of antibiotics and other medicines. She was thankful at the time to have gone into nursing. She's glad that she has the education to know what to get and what's needed. Y/n grabbed all that she knew they could use she bagged.

"Hey, babe! I'm done did you get what we needed?" Y/n asks as she climbs over the desk to get back over to glenn. "Yeah, I'm just trying to get female products for the women at camp." Y/n looks at the shelf grabbing a diffrent variety of tampons, pads, and diffrent menstrual products. "We really hit the jackpot. This place literally hasn't been touched." Glenn says as he looks at both of their bags full to the brim.

Y/n and glenn left the pharmacy on their way to the grocery store next to it. This Y/n didn't have much hope of what they'd find. She didn't know if it would be walker infested or not. But she tried to stay hopeful.

"Alright, I think the best way to go through this one is to stay together. We shouldn't seperate. This store is a lot bigger then the pharmacy." Glenn says. Grabbing a duffle bag. Y/n nodded as she grabbed another bag as well.

Y/n and glenn got out the truck quietly. The waited at the door and banged on the window. waiting for the walkers to come up to the door. Y/n grabbed her knife. They opened the door. Letting one out at the time killing them and continuing doing that until all the walkers were dead.

Y/n and glenn carefully enter the store. Y/n grabs a shopping cart and they start to walk through the store. They grab all the food they can find. They grab all the can food and non perishables they could find.

Y/n found a few kid toys on one else. Not big toys just some small fidget stuff that just entertain kids. Y/n and Glenn were about to walk out of the store when they heard something or someone come in.

"Do you hear that?" Y/n asks quietly trying to figure out whether it was human or not. Glenn holds up his gun placing a finger over his lips silently telling Y/n to stay quiet. He walked to the end of the isle to see a group of walkers making their way in. At least twenty of them. Y/n sees them and starts to get nervous. 20 vs 2. What are the odds?

"We can handle them we just kill them with knives until it gets too much." Glenn says as calmly as he can.

Y/n pulls out her large hunting knife. The first few walker rounds the corner and Y/n and Glenn stab them quickly. Continuing their little rhythm together.

Y/n and Glenn finished off the walkers one at a time. Y/n and Glenn were bloody and gross. "Can I be weird for a second?" Y/n asks looking at Glenn with loving eyes.

He nodded wiping his knife off on a walkers clothes. "You look hot killing Walkers." She says with a smirk. He smirks back as he puts his knife away. Leaning in giving her a kiss. Y/n smiled into the kiss deepening it. Glenn taps Y/ns hip telling her to jump. Y/n does as told wrapping her legs around his waist as he holds her up. Walking over to the counter letting y/n sit there as they continue to make out.

"You know we did get those pack of condoms." Y/n mumbles as she continues kissing his neck as he starts to take her shirt off along with his.

Glenn smiles as he reaches into his pocket holding up a golden wrapper. "Already prepared." He smirks. Glenn create hickeys and love bites down her neck and chest.

"Glenn." Y/n moans quietly looking through her eyelashes up to Glenn. Y/n works on his belt as he does the same to her. you know what happens after that.

---

Y/n and Glenn put their clothes back on. Fixing themselves and grabbing their stuff and headed to the truck. Y/n puts all the shopping items into the bed of the truck emptying the shopping cart.

Y/n and glenn drive back to camp. Everyone was happy to see the truck full of groceries and medicine.

"I can't believe you found all this food and medicine." Carol and lori say at the same time. "We really hit the jackpot." Y/n says with a smile. Y/n grabs a special bag and gave it to shane. "Don't want no little ones running around." She smirks saying the same thing the group has said to Y/n and Glenn when they first got together.

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spicyspiders · 1 year

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even your cup of coffee is closer than me

Tyler Galpin x male reader. I was a barista for two years, so they’ve got a soft spot in my heart.

“Here you go,” the barista said.

You looked up from where you were just staring at the table with wide eyes, “were you just calling my name to come get my order?”

“Yeah,” he smiled down softly at you, “when it’s slow I like to bring customers their orders.”

“That makes sense,” you shook your head softly, trying to gather your thoughts, “sorry for looking up like that,” you said sheepishly, “it’s been a long day.”

The barista laughed softly. You snuck a quick peek at his name tag, “it’s only nine in the morning,” Tyler said.

You let out a chuckle of your own, “exactly,” you took a slow sip of the drink in front of you.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Tyler asked, a hopeful glint in his tone.

“It’s embarrassing,” you said, pulling your eyes away from Tyler’s.

“You can tell me,” he plopped down into the seat across from you in the booth you sat at.

“I used the last bit of the coffee I had to try and make a cup of coffee,” you glanced down at your hand, a bitter smile on your face, “I spilled a little bit of it on my hand and ended up dropping my mug on the ground.” When you glanced back up at Tyler, his eyes were filled with worry.

“Is your hand okay?” He asked.

You held up your hand, it looked completely normal, even if earlier it did hurt like a bitch. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

To your surprise, Tyler reached over to grab your hand to inspect it further. After nearly a minute of intensely observing it, he spoke, “I think you’ll live.”

You pulled your hand back and wrapped it around your drink, “are you a doctor as well as a barista?” You asked sarcastically.

I’m not, but that steamer over there,” he pointed with his thumb back to the counter where you had ordered earlier, “is no joke. I burn myself on it all the time.”

Now it was your turn to look at him with a worried expression, “did that machine come with burn ointment?” You asked.

Tyler let out a loud laugh, and you took in how his blue eyes would seemingly turn an even brighter shade of blue when his smile would reach his eyes. “My manager bought a box of bandaids, but I went through them pretty quickly.”

“So you don’t have one for me?” You asked.

“No,” Tyler grabbed at your hand again, pulling it away from your drink. He held it in both hands, running his thumbs along the back of your hand, “I don’t have a bandaid, but I could kiss it better,” he said quietly.

Before you could answer, the bell on the door chimed. You both looked over and watched as the customer walked inside and then looked back at each other.

“Shit,” Tyler said under his breath, “I gotta,” he pointed at the counter.

You smiled softly at him, “be careful with the steamer.”

Tyler gave you one last look before heading to the counter. You let out a sigh when you heard the bell chime again. You finished your drink quickly and got up to place your mug in the bus tub by the trashcan.

When you headed to the bathroom, you looked over at Tyler when you passed the counter, smiling when you glanced over at the register and noticed Tyler looking at you.

You had to force yourself to wipe the smile from your face when you left the bathroom. It would be pretty weird to walk out of the bathroom with a smile on your face, even if it meant you were excited that you were about to walk by Tyler again.

Too busy with another customer, Tyler wasn’t able to watch you as you passed by. You were almost sad until you noticed the small scrap of paper on the table. On closer inspection when you picked it up, it was Tyler’s name and number with a small message on the bottom:

I think I owe you a box of bandaids and a kiss

#x male reader #tyler galpin x male reader

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holdmytesseract · 2 years

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Fate Can Be A Lousy Traitor

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: All you wanted to do was search for Daryl - and then you and the rest of the group find themselves in a seemingly hopeless situation. You’d die now. You were sure of that. Negan and the Saviors were going to kill you all. But before that happened, you wanted to tell Darly something very important...

Set in Season 6/7!

Warnings: Negan? A lot of angst, I'd say, TWD stuff, fluff, mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 2,3k

a/n: I promised y'all another Daryl oneshot, didn't? 😅 Well, here it is! I'm so sorry I didn't make it to post it earlier... 🙈 As compensation, you get a second part of this oneshot! 😁 I hope you like this one here! I just LOVE the drama! 😊

Here's Part Two!

Daryl sat on the stairs to the porch of the house we shared, staring at his feet, hands clasped together. The events of the previous days had left its mark on him. Especially the death of Denise. I watched him from the window, cup of tea in my hands with furrowed brows. I felt incredibly sorry for him, wished I could take the pain and those oppressive thoughts ghosting through his mind away. With a sigh, I emptied the cup and placed it on the sink, before I decided to join him.

Gently, I closed the main door behind me and stepped cautiously over to him, slowly sitting down beside him. "Hey..." I whispered, placing a hand on his forearm. Daryl lifted shortly his head to look at me, before he continued to stare at his feet. I stayed silent for a few moments, just watching him with a compassionate expression. "It's not your fault." My words caused Daryl to snort out a breath. "Yeah, isn' it?" I shook my head. "Yes. It isn't." I saw how he clenched his hands into fists. "It always isn' my fault, right? You all say this every damn time - but it's a lie." He started, swallowing hard. "It is my fault. Always has been..." Denise would still be alive, ya know... All I shoulda done was kill that prick when I had the chance." Daryl snorted out a sarcastic laugh. "But what did I do, instead? I was so stupid and helped 'em. I bloody saved 'em..." I sighed, hated how he took all the blame – again. It was an accident. It was not his fault. "Come 'ere." I mumbled and opened my arms. The archer looked at me with his troubled, desperate blue eyes, fiddling nervously with his fingers. "C'mon." I gently urged him on again to just give in and hug me. I know that he needed it. He swallowed, hesitated for another moment, but then gave in and literally fell into my arms. I hugged him close against my body, held him for a while, before I spoke up again. "It was an accident, Daryl. Maybe you should've killed him, yes. Maybe not. Maybe it would've happened anyway. We don't know... But what I sure know is, that it wasn't your fault. They hurt you, punched you, shackled you - but you decided to let them live. You helped them, did what you think is right. You're a good man, Daryl Dixon - and Denise knew that." I heard him taking a deep breath, before he retreated from the hug. "Okay?" The archer nodded meekly. I gave him a small smile and a soft kiss on his lips, then stood up again, ready to go back into the house, but he held me back. "Y/N?" I turned to face him once again. "Yes?" "I love ya." An even brighter smile darted over my face. "I know... And I love you, too." With a last look at him, I went back into the house.

What I didn't see, was that Daryl had reached into his trousers pockets and fished out the little metal name plate, Denise had gotten in the small shop they were, before she got shot. He clenched his jaw, gripped the name tag tightly and stood up, heading straight for his bike. I realised way too late, that the sounds coming from the street was his motorcycle. When I realised it, I ran out of the house and down the street - but it was too late. "Daryl!" He was already gone... I knew, of course exactly what was on his mind and where he wanted to go - and I didn't like it one bit. It was headless. It was dangerous, but it was also a thing Daryl would do. "Shit!" I cursed, knew very well how much was on the line. So much more than Daryl knew. So much more than the group knew. I couldn't lose him. I just couldn't. And that fear of losing the man I loved, caused my emotions to run wild. In that very moment, I made a decision. Without hesitation, I packed my backpack, stocked up on weapons and headed straight for the gate of Alexandria. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one who noticed what had happened and where Daryl went...

"Y/N!" Rick yelled after me. "Y/N!" I didn't stop, neither turned to face him, just walked strictly straight ahead. "Y/N, stop!" Unfortunately, was Rick quicker than I was... He caught up to me and grabbed me by my arm. "Wait!" "No!" I tried to free myself from his grasp. "Let me go! You won't stop me!" But Rick didn't budge, of course, held me in a death grip. "I have to! I won't let you go out there alone! I won't let ya walk straight into a death trap!" "I don't care! I have to find Daryl! I need to find Daryl! I won't let him die out there!" Rick shook quickly his head. "And we won't. We are goin' to find him, I promise, but you are not goin' out before we didn't come up with a plan - and you are certainly not going out there alone." I clenched my jaw and gripped the gun in my hand tighter. "You can't boss me around, Rick! I do what I want to do! Not what you want me to do! You're not my dad!" "That's right - but you are my family!" I looked him deep in the eyes, staring at him without blinking. "And so's Daryl." I hissed, before I ripped my arm out of his grasp and turned my back to walk away again. Rick was like frozen to the ground for a moment, before he came back to his senses and followed me once again. "Daryl is my family, too! And I swear to you, we will find him! We can't just act headless now and you know it!" "He may be your family, but he is so much more for me!" I spat back, looking over my shoulder. Rick ran after me, came to walk beside me. "I know, Y/N! He is your boyfriend, but-" I stopped abruptly in my tracks and pinned the former sheriff harshly against the metal wall, taking him by surprise. The adrenaline coursing through my veins made this possible. Nevertheless was I quite a bit surprised that I made to do this. "He isn't just that, Rick! He is so much more!" For the second time I stared in the man's eyes opposite me, who swallowed hard. I felt how tears pooled in my eyes, before a single one ran down my cheek. "He is..." I inhaled a shaky breath and glanced shortly down. "He is the father of my baby, for God's sake!" I let him go again. "Do you understand now?!" Rick's jaw slackened, mouth falling agape. "Y-You're..." He moved his lips, but no words came out, so he pointed at my stomach. "Yes." I breathed out, trying to prevent even more tears from falling. "That's why I need to find him." Rick stared at me for another second, "Alright..." before he started to nod. "Alright. But you won't go alone. Take somebody with you." "I'll go with her." Michonne's voice suddenly sounded from behind us. "Me too." Glenn came to stand beside her. "I am going with you, too. I know where he went." Rosita stated, crossing her arms over her chest. Rick looked at me. "Okay?" I nodded. "Good. Take care. You all." He sent me a last look, before he passed us by. So, the four of us took a car and started to search for Daryl.

To that point in time, we all didn't have a single clue that each and every one of us ran straight into a trap, set by the Saviors. We already slept with one open at night, after everything that happened... But none of us didn't see that coming. None of us awaited to look the death himself straight in the eyes on that very night...

My whole body was shaking, when we were all told to kneel down by a man with a moustache. We were surrounded by the Saviors with not a single chance to escape. To my sheer horror, wasn't it just me, Glenn, Rosita and Michonne... Oh no... It was almost the whole group. I didn't see Daryl, but I couldn't point out if that was a good sign or a bad sign. We had no other choice, knelt down on the cold, dirty forest ground. I was at the end of line, with Rosita to my left. "Get that other asshole as well!" The man with the moustache shouted. Two Saviors went immediately to one of the cars - and dragged out a man I knew so very well… "Daryl..." I gasped in relief. But then I saw the crimson red stained blanket around him; saw how his shoulder was completely covered in the red liquid. There was still blood trickling down his arm. My eyes went wide, tears starting to immediately build up inside them. He was hurt... Badly. "Daryl!" I literally screamed, wanted to jump up, but one of the men reacted quickly and held me back, pushed me harshly back on the ground. "Daryl!" I cried out, hands trying to reach for him. He got harshly dragged over to me by another man, who threw him to the ground beside me. "Y/N..." The archer breathed out relieved, but weakly. I scrambled the last few inches separating us over to him and quickly threw my arms around him. He returned the hug with a painful groan. Only then I noticed how weak he actually was - and how pale. He must've lost a lot blood. My eyes fell immediately to his blood-smeared shoulder. "Daryl... oh god..." Tears ran down my cheek, while I reached out a shaky hand to softly touch his shoulder and examine the wound. He had been shot. "S okay, Y/N. 'S okay..." He almost slurred. "Main point is that you are alright." I nodded quickly, taking his hand in mine. "I am... I am." I would've loved to hold him again - longer, and kiss him, but one of the Saviors pulled him a bit away from me, making him kneel, too. But I didn't let go of him. Our hands stayed intertwined. We all knew something bad was about to happen, when the man with the moustache announced with a shit-eating grin, "Let's meet the man!" before he knocked his fist against the side of a trailer. I felt another shiver run down my spine; how my heart hammered rapidly against my ribcage, causing my breath to get laboured. Never ever in my life before had I been this afraid. Never. Not even when the dead took over the living. Daryl seemed to sense my fear. He gave my hand a soft squeeze. I looked over to him - straight into his loving eyes. That was the moment, I decided that it was time to tell him. This was probably the last chance I got. It was now or never. Whatever Negan would do with us, it certainly wasn't going to be a coffee party. Who was I kidding? We were most certainly going to die. So, before I was going to more than likely lose Daryl, I wanted to make sure that he knew.

"D-Daryl..." I whispered, voice on the verge of cracking. His eyes met mine once again - and time seemed to froze. This was it. "B-Before we are going to d-die, I-I want to tell you s-something." The archer shook his head immediately. "Don' say somethin' like that, Y/N. We ain't goin' to die. Not 'ere, not now. 'S gonna be alright." I felt how the tear started to blur my vision once again. "We don't know that." "Y/N, I-" Now I was the one shaking my head. "Please, shut up and listen to me." I interrupted him, pleading. "This is important!" I sobbed in a hushed tone. "I will never forgive myself, if I didn't make it to tell you!" Daryl clearly didn't have the strength to argue with me, so he gave in and nodded, squeezing my hand for the third time. "Daryl..." I started again, with a small smile. "Baby... I-I'm pregnant." I could literally see almost in slow motion, how his face fell in surprise and... shock? His mouth opened and closed, but no words escaped his lips. He needed a moment to find his voice again. My words had left him speechless - understandably. "Y-Yer w-wha'? P-Pregnant?" I nodded, hot tears rolling down my face. "I-Imma be a daddy?" He choked out, visibly trying to fight his own tears. "Y-Yes, you are." A strangled, but happy gasp left his lips, followed by a small smile. He leaned over with a wince, wanted to kiss me - but just before our lips could meet, the door of the trailer sprung open with a squeal, revealing a man with short black hair, a leather jacket and a baseball bat in his hands. "Pissing our pants yet?" He asked with a grin on his face. One look at him was enough for me to know, that this was going to get painful for us. Negan would make us pay and suffer to the bones - and I couldn't even share a last kiss with the man I loved. "I love you." I whispered towards Daryl. "I love ya, too. 'N I promise, I won't let him hurt ya. I'd die for ya - 'n the baby." I smiled softly at his words and gripped his hand even tighter, ready to accept my fate.

#daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #norman reedus x reader #twd #daryl dixon x pregnant!reader

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kisha-myers · 1 year

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Fem!reader - Ghost x König x reader fanfiction titled 'My Anxious Mouse'

Disclaimer: I do NOT own call of duty nor its characters/operators - I only own the plot.

If you want to be on the tag list for this series PLEASE comment on either chapter 1 or chapter 4 and let me know!

Chapter Five: Cinnamon and Clove

Your stomach continued to churn as you stood outside of Captain Prices' office, hushed voices within the only noises you heard above the faint buzzing of the fluorescent light that flickered every so often. You shifted on your feet slightly, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. The tangy yet sweet metallic taste that coated your tongue only served to make your nausea worse, making you pull deep steady breaths in through your nose to try and help ease it. The erratic beats of your heart made your head swim, eyesight going slightly foggy before you forced your right hand to form a fist and tap against the glass portion of the door.

You waited, the voices behind the door quieting for a moment before the sound of heavy boot clad feet made their path towards you. It was ironic, you thought, that those standard issued combat boots would unnerve you so bad. Your fathers steps, you recollected, sounded eerily similar - a revelation that made your heart pound so viscerally inside your chest it would surely burst forth and splatter onto the ground. A shiver of apprehensive dread ran through your body as the brass door knob twisted, your eyes zeroing in on the movement as you bit down harder onto your already bloodied cheek. Calloused scarred fingers housed in fingerless gloves were the first things you saw once the door swung open with a rusted hinge squeak. Slightly tanned skin almost the same coloration of fresh summer honey greeted your eyes as they trailed up his bare arm. The blue-green hue of thick veins visible from years of intensive physical movement and prominent muscle strain stood out to you, likening the way they weaved a trail up the arm similar to the little rivers marked on a topographical map.

Broad, strong shoulders filled your vision next, his collarbone prominent and bare, catching the fluorescent light just right to give them a subtle shine. You didn't let your eyes linger for too long, this was Johnny's Captain after all - you had far more respect for this man - you would not let yourself ogle his delightfully strong physique… no matter how much you wanted to.

"I was told you wished to speak to me, Captain Price?" Your voice broke the silence, the anxiousness in your tone alerting the Captain that you were nervous. He simply wanted to know if you were okay - he had taken a liking to you, a strong willed and stubborn young woman, you were a force to be reckoned with and you always knew just what to say to get Soap back in his place. Some days he had wished you were one of his soldiers, your competence was far brighter than some of the generals he'd worked with and under. You were observant almost painfully so, eyes always scanning the area for potential threats, back always against a wall and body positioned towards the nearest reachable exit. If he didn't know you better he'd assume you have some form of military training under your belt. You didn't however, have such training, but your father did and he was nothing if not consistent on training you like he did his own men whilst deployed overseas.

"Just wanting to see if you were alright, y/n. Ghost briefed me on what happened - those kinds of things can be stressful." He replied, his voice low and gentle, soothing almost like the smooth burn of finely aged wine. Your muscles relaxed almost instantaneously, a miniscule huff of air slipping from between your lips in relief that you weren't in trouble. You took a deep breath in, forcing your lungs to expand and accommodate such a large quantity of oxygen. The lingering spiced notes of cinnamon, freshly ground cloves and the metallic twang of gunpowder filled your nostrils. Cigars, your brain deduced within seconds, freshly smoked - perhaps even a few minutes before you arrived. There were subdued notes of nuttiness, slightly sweetened you gathered, reminding you vaguely of pistachio macarons - this you decided, was the smell that had been lingering inside the humvee you could quite place.

You offered a timid smile, giving him a little nod in agreement, "Having König practically breaking my door down was a wee bit stressful I'd say - didn't know what was happening until we got outside. He'd just hefted me up like I weighed nothing and took off like Usain Bolt down the stairs." You replied, a grimace overtaking your features as you recalled how ready you were to give the man a harsh tongue lashing for disturbing your sleep at such an ungodly hour. You'd be sure to Thank them both when you could find the time - even though they were still technically strangers, they did help you out and show you kindness when they didn't need to. A thickly rich baritone laugh catapulted its way into your ears, causing your heart to be a fluttering mess of endorphins. Captain Price simply shook his head, his chest practically vibrating with his laughter as he carefully moved aside, waving you inside his office.

"He's a gentle giant when he needs to be, don't pay him any mind - he's hefted a few people up like that, Doll, and he's surely gonna keep doin' it." His tone was so sure and so nonchalant you wondered how often this feat occurred. Nevertheless, you carefully crossed the threshold, subsequently entering into the private space occupied by one other being.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick lounged leisurely on the Captains desk, deep umber eyes watching your every movement as you entered. His stare unsettled you only slightly, hints of playfulness swirling within their vivacious depths. He wore the same shirt as Price though he was clad in a simple pair of tan tactical pants, he still wore the standard issued combat boots, his laces tied to perfection with his pants tucked into them. The muscles of his arms bulged delightfully as he crossed them over his chest, his smooth caramelized gingerbread skin contrasted beautifully against the hunter green. It brought out different hues of clove and cinnamon, a few honeyed highlights casted here or there whenever he adjusted his position slightly. The tantalizingly sinful toothy smile that broke across his face sent a shiver of delight down your spine. You equated that look with the ones from the playboys in college, going that extra mile just to get into any and all panties they could. You decided you'd steer clear of Gaz for the most part - you weren't that kind of woman - never had been and never will be. A prude they had called you, but in reality you were just inherently cautious.

You pushed those salacious thoughts from your mind, scolding yourself for being so promiscuous - typically you would reign in your hormones but perhaps the stress of everything was starting to grate on you. You unceremoniously flopped into the only free chair in the room, leaning back against its scruffy fabric as you e/c orbs took in the room. Subconsciously you angled your chair so you could have a better viewpoint of the door that remained open, the faint buzzing from the lights just outside in the hallway the only noise save for the collective breathing of the three of you.

The room itself was pretty simple, a decent sized metal desk sat off closer to the wall adjacent the door, a basic (and albeit cheap) office chair sat behind it, Captain Price perched in it as he sipped on what you'd assume was tea. The walls were a light cream color, fitting nicely with the dark faux wood floors. There was a row of six drawer filing cabinets to the right of the desk, each one labeled in alphabetical order - of what was housed inside you didn't know, nor did you want to. You'd rather remain ignorant to the ins and outs of covert military operations for as long as you could, not that you would be privy to that information anyways - you weren't a part of that world anymore as far as you were concerned. The moment your brother Dante died, you were no longer interested in military life. Sure, you kept up with Johnny, sending him letters and pictures often - even a few care packages for him and the team, but aside from that you didn't want to know what went on behind metaphorical closed doors.

"How often is he picking people up like a measly bag of flour? Is it like a workout thing?" You asked absentmindedly, your eyes focusing on the framed picture of the entire task force on his desk, taking note that König wasn't present when it was taken. You assumed he was a new addition, which would make sense considering it wasn't until recently that Johnny had even spoken about him. Gaz snickered, attempting and failing to cover it by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip. The action confused you though you remained quiet, opting to return your gaze to the other photos that were scattered across Price's desk.

It was a compound, that much you knew and from the looks of it it didn't look like it was a friendly one at that. You quickly averted your gaze, opting to return it to the opened door of the office, taking in the stark contrast between the two spaces. While his office was generic at best, there was a slight familiarity about it - you'd seen plenty of offices like this from the photos you got from Dante - but this was different. Perhaps it was the way the task force acted like a dysfunctional family, that persuaded you that you were in a safe enough space to let your guard down slightly, or maybe it was just because you knew neither one of them wished to hurt you. Regardless you stretched out your legs, crossing them at the ankles as you shivered from the faint draft that wafted in through the open door.

Price shrugged his broad shoulders, opening one of his desk drawers and pulling free a cigar. The metal scraping amongst metal made you squirm, you hated the noise immensely. Your father, you recalled, had owned a similar desk, one of which housed his SW1911TA E-Series .45 pistol. The stainless steel body and hand carved wooden handled weapon was his pride and joy, one of the first 'major' purchases he'd done the moment he was integrated back into civilian life. You never liked it, it felt heavy in your tiny hands and indescribably cold. Every bullet that you fired into a target made your body tingle, a sensation you utterly despised.

'Better to know how to use one and actually be able to hit the target, then not know how to use one and end up dead. You may not like it now, y/n, but you'll thank me one day.' Though you were sure he was wrong, looking back on it you were thankful to some degree. His teachings and strict parenting style helped shape you into the disciplined woman that you were. You'd never outright admit to that discovery, but you were aware of it nonetheless.

"Part of the job is all I will say - it comes in handy having someone that big and quiet a part of the team. He's pretty good with a sniper too - just hard to be one when you're that big." Price relents, cutting the end of the cigar off before placing it between his lips and lighting it. You watched as he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he reveled in the subtly sweet flavor that coated his tongue, and the deliciously warm burn that sizzles on the back of his throat. Your eyes became transfixed on the cherry hued foot of the cigar, the sweet spiced cinnamon and clove with those undertones of pistachio and almonds enveloped you.

"I see." You murmured, eyes beginning to feel heavy as exhaustion swept through your body like a wildfire. You tried your best to suppress a yawn though you failed, a small squeaky hum passing from your lips as you drew your legs up and into your arms, trying to find some semblance of warmth as your heavy eyelids drooped. Through the haze of your tired mind you felt familiar hands lift you into the air, a soft though heavily accented voice cooing to you softly, coaxing you further into the dreamless sleep you so desperately longed for.

Everything, you hoped, would work out for the better.

Tag List

@lianyanhongcheng @treehuggingzealot

@ofmenanduhhhmen @lovefallingtopieces

@grizzersmamma @kdkj122920

#ghost x konig #vampire #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #captain price #ghost x könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig cod #fanfic #x reader #polyamory #secret

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lunarsands · 1 year

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ALSMP Fanfic: Who’s The Unfairest Of Us All

Characters: actual!angel!Sausage, starborne!Scott, cursed!angel!Myth, human!Smajor, goddess!PearlescentMoon

Relationships: MythicalSausage/Scott Smajor

Tags: fictional religion, It’s the return of: Crossover between two Afterlife fic universes and What If The In-Love Versions Met The Murderous Versions?

WARNINGS: Violence, Injury, Bleeding, PTSD, threats of death, and well yes actual (temporary) death this time

Summary: Scott and Sausage find themselves transported to the parallel universe of their rivalrous versions, and end up stumbling across Myth and Smajor in their final sorry states. Myth, however, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, so Sausage has a fight on his hands far unlike the last one.

Sequel to Mirror Mirror, Break Our Fall. Takes place sometime after the events of Hellbent and Wherever These Flowers May Grow.

(Also available on Ao3!)

[A/N: I had zero plans to make a sequel to Mirror Mirror but sometimes when you’re doing some cathartic writing an idea emerges that is too good to pass up. So here we are: the crossover is now canon to both universes, barring mentions in the Soul Liminality 2: I Would Die For You universe. I did kind of have a feeling I shouldn’t have labeled Soul Liminality (1) as Complete…]

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“Have a nice trip around the skies, my starlight,” Sausage said, giving Scott a peck on the cheek as they stood amid the drifting motes of gold emitted by the dark blue flowers in the garden. Right after dusk was their favorite time to pause and have a few minutes between just the two of them, when Sausage’s daily duties had ended and Scott’s nightly work was about to begin.

“Have a good night,” Scott replied, smiling softly in return. “I’ll see you in the morn— Or, not? Sausage,” he questioned with a gently chiding tone, “Were you ignoring a summons just to say goodbye? That’s sweet and all, but you could simply say it right away then go to Pearl.”

“I… wasn’t? What do you mean?”

“You’re glowing.”

Sausage gave a sappy grin. “Well, that’s because I’m so happy to be with you right now.”

“No, I mean literally glowing! Don’t you feel that??”

Sausage looked down at himself at the same time that Scott grabbed him by the arm. His body was limned in silvery light, reminiscent of when Pearl had turned him into a flame to travel out of the celestial realm into the mortal world. “W-Wait, I. I don’t know what’s happening!”

“So, it’s not Pearl?” Scott hastily looked around in case they managed to summon her for an explanation.

“No, I don’t hear anything. Wait…you’re glowing, too. And not like normal.”

Scott checked his own arms. The new glow outshined the violet sparkles on his skin. Then he felt a tug like when he was passing the edge of a planet’s gravitational field. He gripped Sausage tighter as the seraph’s form wavered into that flamelike shape from the last time they had left home. “Don’t let go of me!”

Sausage responded by clasping Scott in a half-hug with his free arm and wrapping his wings around the starborne as the light around both of them flared even brighter.

When the light faded out, they found themselves standing in complete darkness; even the glittering of Scott’s skin and the tiny constellation around his head were engulfed by it. Sausage cautiously folded his wings back but kept a hand on Scott so they stayed together. He whispered, “Where are we?”

“Somewhere underground. Very far underground.”

“How do you know? And how come you’re not sparkling like usual?”

“My powers have been cut off. No sky, no starlight – not even any radiating from me. The further down, the weaker I get. So, we’re… close to bedrock by my reckoning.”

“Oh… That makes sense, but isn’t great news.” Sausage went quiet, then made a sound like he was straining to do something. “Um, nope. My holy aura isn’t working, either. Is this magical darkness?”

“Both maybe. I still wouldn’t have much power underground, even if this was only magic.”

“Let me try something else.” This time the blackness was pierced by a sliver of pale yellow light as he pulled his flaming sword from thin air. It was unnervingly dim, however. “Well, it’s something.” Sausage held the sword up high to get a glimpse of their surroundings, although he maintained a grip on Scott’s hand for the moment.

They appeared to be in a cave made of deepslate, netherbrick, and blackstone. Scott frowned, puzzled. “That’s not normal. I’m pretty sure I could also tell if we were in the Nether.”

“Let’s… have a look around,” Sausage said, tone cautious. “There has to be more caves and tunnels somewhere, and there’s got to be a way up to the surface. The sooner we get you out to open sky, the better.”

Scott chuckled. “Don’t count me out completely. Can you summon more than one sword at a time? I can still use a weapon, it doesn’t have to be my own.”

“You know, I never really thought to try!” Sausage handed the flaming sword to Scott; as soon as it cleared his fingers, the flames disappeared, but the sword itself remained solid. Stuck in total darkness again, Sausage held his arm up high to not potentially pull out another sword right in front of Scott’s face.

What he pulled out of the air instead was a wedge-shaped shield dusted in muted flames. It featured a pair of simplified feathered wings and a sunflower in the middle toward the top. “Huh! Learn something new every day! It never occurred to me that would happen!” He added in a mutter, “No one ever told me, either.”

“You’re too busy using your own body as a shield,” Scott pointed out with another chuckle.

“My swordsmanship is so good I don’t need one – come on, now!”

“All right, then. We’ll switch. You get the flaming sword, and run offense, I’ll take the shield and be defense.” As the items changed hands, the flames along the shield went out while the sword flared back up, yet still not as bright as they should have been. Scott settled the shield against his forearm, hefting it a few times to get a sense of its weight, then joined Sausage in checking along the walls for openings or the sound of bats that could lead them to another cave.

~*~

Smajor lazily played floor hockey with the clock Myth had so generously given him after he had whined long enough about at least letting him know what time it was, if not what day. Of course, it did immediately break when Myth dropped it between the bars of the window in the iron door, but it gave Smajor something to do other than stare up at the ceiling or occasionally toss the discarded arm guard, which Myth had once used to keep a tally of Smajor’s deaths, against the door just to hear it clang.

He had no idea what Myth was doing with his time. He always seemed to just be sitting out there, cloaked in his ichor-soaked wings and staring at a soul lantern on the barely discernible table beside a wall of sculk. The entire chamber that the cell was situated in seemed to be made entirely of sculk. He figured that was intentional so Myth could mislead him into believing they were where a Warden could spawn, discouraging Smajor from trying to escape since a Warden could effortlessly pummel him when he had absolutely nothing to use to try to get away from it. However, he had never heard a shrieker or a sensor go off despite the clangs and scrapes, and he was certain he was being loud enough to trigger one if they existed nearby.

Smajor had also entertained the thought of throwing the clock at Myth to make a noise, but he both didn’t want to lose it nor risk Myth deciding to alleviate boredom by taking the sword that was lying beside the lantern and running him through a few dozen times.

It's not like there was any danger of the helpless Smajor suddenly reviving with new powers. But he was glad Myth hadn’t made it a hobby to kill him on a regular basis just for the fun of it. He also wouldn’t admit that he was glad the clock partially worked – ticking quietly every so often, but never changing time, as if the mechanism that counted the seconds was still trying to do its job.

With a sigh, he lightly whacked the clock with the side of his foot so that it slid under the bed. Then he turned to the door and stuck his arms out between the bars, letting them hang down as he leaned on the door. There was Myth, only visible by the light of the blue lantern and flickers of sculk, jet black wings held partially unfolded and moving ever-so-slightly as the cursed angel breathed.

Unable to see Myth’s face at that angle, Smajor wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not. Well, he wasn’t sure if he ever actually slept at all, but since he himself fell asleep regularly, those were the times he couldn’t exactly check to find out.

He debated whether to try counting the specks of pulsing turquoise in the wall again. Then something new caught his eye. Somewhere on the far end of the chamber seemed to be something bright that was reflecting off of… whatever was over there. He couldn’t see that far in the rest of the darkness to be sure. “Hey, what’s that?”

Myth shifted but didn’t turn. “Oh, stop. That didn’t work the first two hundred times, it isn’t going to work now.”

“No, I’m serious! There’s a – a light! Yeah, it’s a light, I’m pretty sure. There’s never anything else bright down here. You should know that.”

Myth grunted in annoyance and continued to not look.

“Have you gone blind, too?” Smajor made a noise of disgust. “Not that it would surprise me if you’re going off some freakish angel senses at this point. I—” His breath caught in his throat. He recognized that particular color and type of flickering light. He swore and backed away from the bars. “Hey, uh. You don’t think one of your brethren would come to check on how good of a job you’re doing keeping me locked up, do you?”

Myth finally moved to stand up, hands leaning on the table. “What nonsense are you on about? It’s probably some idiot spelunker who just made the worst mistake of their life by managing to find their way down here.”

Smajor edged forward enough to see Myth start to move away toward the other end of the chamber. He backed up again, then cast his gaze around the tiny, obsidian-lined cell. He snatched up the meager piece of armor laying on the floor and slipped it on. It didn’t fit too well, but it could serve as some shred of defense.

~*~

As Sausage and Scott entered a spacious cavern, they felt a little more hope that one of the shelves at the higher reaches would contain a passage leading upwards. So far, the tunnels and caves had been mostly flat and sealed on top.

Sausage pointed between two dripstone pillars toward a large lake. A lavafall higher up lent some light to the far side of the water, but was barely enough to reach the section they stood in. He whispered, “Someone has been down here, at one time anyway.” They saw several discarded buckets on the shore of the lake.

“Maybe someone collecting obsidian,” Scott suggested, also keeping his voice quiet.

“They don’t seem to have left a trail out of there, unfortunately.”

“That might mean they flew in. Which means they also flew out. Let’s look around over here more, just in case, then figure out how to get over there. Although this does seem to be another dead end…”

“And that’s a lot of sculk,” Sausage griped. “I don’t see any sensors anywhere yet, but they could be on the other side. I’m not particularly interested in trying to fight a Warden without knowing if there’s another exit nearby. I mean, we could hide out up top until it goes away, but we might trigger another one when we come back down to, uh. Retrace our steps.”

“We’ll have to check eventually,” Scott whispered back. “I think the question is whether you go up alone or take me with you. …Wait, hold on – I think there’s a passage over there.” He was sneaking closer to the wall of sculk that had spread nearly halfway across the floor.

Sausage stood still for a second, muttering, “Yeah, um, I don’t think going through more sculk is going to lead out.” He tiptoed after him anyway, holding his sword up to give Scott more light, although he even more reluctantly followed him into the passageway.

…Right up until the starborne stopped and uttered a string of awkward noises. “Um. Hehn. Uh. Sorry, I don’t think we’re supposed to be here. We’ll just, um, be… leaving…”

Sausage heard him draw a sharp breath, then saw what he was staring at.

…Who he was staring at.

Sausage’s hand unconsciously went up to touch his right cheek. “It… can’t be…” He was looking at himself, but with jet black wings, ragged and torn clothes, with sculk vein running along the side of his face and across the top wing on that side, and also down his arm – and four horizontal scars to go with the one over his eye.

What were the odds of another version of him having the exact same scars as…

“Myth?” Sausage asked in horrified wonder.

“You,” the other responded, voice low and yet oddly calm.

Scott raised the shield. Myth had changed since the last time they had seen him; there was no telling if his feelings toward them had, as well.

Smajor attempted to get a view of what was happening, but Myth’s stupid multiple pairs of wings were blocking everything. What he heard, however, was a voice just like Myth’s but less gravelly. His hands squeezed the bars until his knuckles turned white. “It can’t be… It cannot be. H-How? Why?” He growled quietly. Those two…

Myth then uttered a dry laugh and turned with an arm extended like a host inviting guests into the parlor. “Oh, do come in. Welcome to our little home. It’s less comfortable than the limbo dimension was, but neither of you look like you need water or room to change gravity.”

“Yeah, welcome!” Smajor called out. “Don’t be scared – you’re not the ones on the wrong side of the bars!” He added darkly, “Or are you…”

“We’ll settle for the exit,” Scott replied, although he snuck a glance past Myth to try to see what state his own double was in.

Myth put a hand on the top edge of the shield and pushed it downward. “I’d like to insist. Maybe you could at least explain how you got here, never mind what you’re doing here in the first place. The ancient city is miles away. You can’t tell me you went through your side, got through that entire maze again, and came through our portal for no reason.” There was an edge to his voice and Scott didn’t like the way he was staring at Sausage – or maybe it was just that the flaming sword was making Myth nervous.

If his powers had been working, he would have let off a burst of sparks to blind the two who were apparently used to living in the sculk-infested darkness. He sorely wished he and Sausage had investigated the top of the neighboring cavern right away.

Meanwhile, Sausage lowered his sword. “We didn’t do anything. One minute we were standing around at home, then there was a bright light, and then we were here! Well, several caves and tunnels back that way, technically.”

“Just out of the blue?” Myth questioned. He moved into the chamber and leaned against the table, appearing to sound genuinely curious.

Smajor snickered at how out of place the attempt at a casual attitude looked. “Very good, Myth, you seem so normal right now.” He then flicked a hand at Scott. “So, what even are you? I didn’t turn into anything that looked like that. Not that I remember everything I was before this. You’ll have to ask him if I ever turned purple and… fancy, or whatever it is you’ve got going on. What type of powers do you have? I’m starved for knowledge of the outside world – tell me, tell me.”

Scott shook his head. “That’s for me to know and you not to find out.” He then looked at Myth. “So… this was your solution? You brought him back and put him in a cell…?”

“Oh, there were a few altercations after we got back. You know, since it didn’t take long for him to find a way to kill me. But that first one he did to me after getting back, well…” Myth took a step forward and stretched out his wings, forcing Scott and Sausage to move clear in opposite directions, with the starborne ending up uncomfortably close to his depowered double.

Sausage noticed the black spatters of ichor on the ground and raised a finger to ask something, but Myth turned his attention back to Scott and said, “Now, see, you don’t know! You didn’t get the honor of looking into my soul and my private memories! This is what’s called poetic irony. You see, when he was a vampire, he imprisoned me in a little dungeon and had himself angel blood on tap until he finally drained me enough times that I became a wither.” Myth smiled sardonically. “And you thought ‘accidentally’ killing your angel was the worst thing you ever did!”

Scott darted a pained look at Sausage; the seraph mouthed the words, ‘I didn’t tell him about that,’ in a hasty defense.

Myth swung a lazy glance between the two. “The soul thing went both ways, by the way. So, I got a glimpse of your past. And now look at you.” Here he turned toward Sausage, spreading his wings just enough to block Scott. “All shining silver and holy fire still at your call. Of course this would happen – it makes perfect sense we ended up as opposites. How is life in the celestial realm? As you can see…” Here his voice went from a casual conversational tone to completely flat, “I’m two steps from hell.”

Sausage gazed back at his double with nothing but sympathy. “Myth… What happened to you? You obviously became a seraph, too, but… what’s wrong with your wings? Why are they dripping like… you’ve got a permanent wound?”

“Oh, you should have seen them when they were red! It was even more ghastly!”

Sausage’s eyes widened. “Wait – red, like blood? But that only happens if—” He stopped himself as realization hit. “Right. Of course.” He bowed his head, then cast a sad look toward where the cell sat beyond Myth’s wings.

“So, you do know the stories,” Myth said dispassionately.

“I… Well, I had a nightmare about that once.”

“Lucky you! Only a nightmare!” Myth flapped his bottom wings once, sending ichor splattering onto the ground. “Well, this is the reality of what happens when an angel kills someone, hmm, how many was it, Smajor?”

The reply came in a feigned weary tone. “One hundred and three.” Smajor surreptitiously clutched the arm guard he now wore.

“That was it,” Myth confirmed with a nod. “Kill someone over a hundred times, you get a cursed angel.”

“Myth…” Sausage’s voice was full of sorrow. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I… I don’t know what can be done. But maybe we can find a way to help—”

Myth suddenly closed his hand around the hilt of the sword on the table, although it was his empty hand that he lashed out with to shove Sausage backward. His face twisted into a snarl. “You don’t get to just show up now and try to redeem me again! It didn’t really work the first time! It gave me the power I needed, but I was doomed from the start!!” He swung the sword. Its darkly-stained blade clashed with the bright edge of Sausage’s sword as the seraph answered with a blocking maneuver.

“Sausage!” Scott cried, about to leap over to help, but was yanked back when something snagged the collar of his overcoat. Rage crossed his own face; he had ended up too close to Smajor, which was something he had wanted to avoid. He spun around, ripping the fabric free from the other’s hand.

Smajor let his arm hang down outside the window; the other arm, with the guard on it, he kept snug between his chest and the door. “Oh, relax. I can’t do anything. I don’t have any powers at all anymore. But, hear me out – let’s just have a little entertainment! Yours has got to be more powerful than mine, still being holy and all. Let him wipe the floor with Myth, then we’ll see about this ‘help’ you might be able to offer. And figure out whatever mysterious force brought you here, of all places.”

Scott regarded him with exasperation. “So, you didn’t learn anything from all this?”

“Was I supposed to? I still want to wring his neck, given the chance.” Smajor smirked then licked his lips. “He’s so convinced he was destined to be my jailer. I could at least make it worth his time.”

Scott rolled his eyes then said dryly, “I see Sausage fixed it so you weren’t an unhinged psychopath anymore. Now you’re just a regular one.”

The clash of steel drew his attention back to the two angels as Myth forced Sausage into the passageway. Scott felt like he had missed his window to be defense like he had proposed. This is just like the last time. I couldn’t do much before as a fish out of water, all I had was a trident. He looked at the shield. I don’t know if I could even throw this effectively since I haven’t gotten used to it yet… And I doubt I’m suddenly going to start getting any of my other powers back.

Smajor let out an exaggerated groan. “Aww, I can’t see what’s going on if they leave! Hey – purple me. Snap out of it and let me out of here so I can watch! You can be my new guard. I promise I’ll behave.” He grinned with a look that was everything the complete opposite of innocence.

“I think you’ll be fine for a few minutes without supervision.” Scott eyed the numerous locks on the door that only now were noticeable in the unhindered light from the soul lantern. It hadn’t sounded like Myth had that many keys on him when he moved, which meant they were hidden somewhere. Smajor was the least of his concerns, anyway. The sound of Sausage crying out in pain was the immediate one, so he ran toward the passage. He would figure out how to aid his partner when he got there.

Smajor gripped the bars with both hands and growled again. “I hate all of you…”

Sausage did his best to meet every swing and made some attempts to push back, sweeping his wings out of the way and dodging as Myth struck at him relentlessly – wild yet controlled enough to land hits; the cursed angel was eerily precise. He was enraged, yes, but clearly more sane than Smajor had been back in the limbo dimension. Surely Sausage could try to reason with him. “Myth! Please! We don’t have to fight! Let me hel—”

“THAT’S why!” Myth shouted. “Stop looking at me like I’m someone to be saved! You can’t save everyone, Sausage! Someone has to fall through the cracks sometime! You can hold out your hand all you want but that doesn’t mean you’re going to catch them!” As if to emphasize the point, he yanked his sword away and beat his wings, lifting up just enough to perform a kick that sent Sausage stumbling backward.

Sausage quickly caught his balance, although he clutched his chest plate where the kick had landed. “But... But you’re me! How do I give up on myself??”

“Easy.” Myth shifted his wings and dived forward, whipping his sword to the side to slash Sausage’s arm between the edges of his armor plates. “You stop caring.”

Sausage stumbled again, crying out in pain. The bite of the cursed angel’s blade hurt much more than he was expecting.

Myth kept in step with him, slashing again and again before Sausage could recover, slicing into his wings and hitting spots the gleaming silver armor didn’t cover. “Just shut it off,” he continued coldly. “Shut off the part of you that cares. It’s the only way to survive. The. Only. Way.”

He kicked Sausage again to send the seraph to his knees. Clutching at one of the wounds on his arm, Sausage found himself out of words for the moment. He looked at the palm of his hand as he drew it away. It wasn’t blood there, but black ichor, as if Myth’s sword had bled into him. The slashes across his wings were similarly staining his feathers black, with the color spreading as it dripped through the layers of silvery white.

Myth stared down at him with bitterness. “I could have gone an eternity without ever seeing either of you again. I didn’t need to be reminded of everything I can’t have.” He brought his blade up, but Sausage got a foot under himself and was able to brace his sword in time to block the strike, then he forced his body upward to push Myth back and then throw the cursed angel’s arms wide, with Myth needing to catch his own balance, which involved spreading his wings and sending droplets of ichor flying.

The effort brought a fresh wave of pain from each one of Sausage’s wounds and he had to back off, hand clamped over one of the gashes on his sword arm. “A-And if I don’t want to do that?” he weakly protested.

“Then you had better hope whatever brought you here decides to step in and take you back, because I can’t stand to keep looking at you.” Myth’s expression was once more all cold and bitterness as he raised his sword. Sausage gripped the hilt of his blade with both hands, but wasn’t sure he had the strength to block again. He folded one of his top wings across his face to act as a meager barrier.

Mercy didn’t register for even the briefest second as Myth started to bring the sword down. He would have no qualms about slicing through those pure, bright feathers.

Then Scott ploughed into him from the side, shield leading. He continued the charge until the ground turned into dripstone and he nearly shoved the cursed angel past the columns into the next part of the cavern. Myth flailed his wings, battering at Scott from around the shield. Scott tried to keep his head down behind it, but the feeling of the thick, wet ichor on his neck made him balk from revulsion.

He whipped the shield to the side, knocking Myth’s wings away, then he turned and ran back to where Sausage had dropped to his knees with a hand braced on the ground. Scott took a defiant stance over him. “Sausage, can you get up? What’s happening with those wounds? You… aren’t bleeding, but…”

“His – His sword. It’s become an unholy weapon. It’s hurting me differently than a normal one would.”

Scott glanced down with concern, although he didn’t want to take his eyes off Myth for too long; the cursed angel did seem to be weighing what to do with a fresh combatant that might not be affected by his weapon in the same way, and hadn’t moved yet. “Then you need to heal yourself quickly! Don’t worry about him attacking, I’ll protect you.”

“B-But, if you get hit, you can’t heal like me!”

“Focus on yourself first.” Scott flicked a glance at Myth, then looked squarely at Sausage and said grimly, “Because I need you to get back in this fight so I can do something to get us out of here. I have one power I can use…”

The seraph struggled to his feet, silver light now dancing over his wounds, although the stains on his feathers persisted. “But we don’t even know if there is a way out up there!” He nodded upward once, thinking Scott meant he had an energy reserve enough for an emergency boost to the rocky shelf above.

“I’ll make one,” Scott replied. He adjusted his feet and braced himself when it looked like Myth might be about to rush at them.

Instead, Sausage grabbed the shield from him and shot forward in a flurry of wings and fading silver light as his healing ability finished its work. With a beat of his wings, he leapt upward to lend more force to his attack. Myth launched himself to meet him halfway, taking the fight to the air. The cursed blade clashed with the now blazing shield. Myth didn’t seem concerned about his own lack of such defense, relying on his long-honed agility in flight to dodge Sausage’s strikes while attempting to land hits on the seraph once again, showing no hesitation in the face of the holy flames.

While they fought above, Scott walked to the center of the cavern and raised one hand, closing his eyes as he concentrated on cosmic wavelengths far beyond the reach of stone and soil. He grasped hold with his command of planetary gravity and urged it to answer his call.

One of the tiny stars orbiting his head winked out. He felt one of the many taut threads of local gravity slacken. It seemed to have worked, yet now he could only wait in anticipation to see if the meteor strike would actually arrive.

He smiled in satisfaction at the sound of rumbling. When chips of stone began to drop from the ceiling, he took off running in the direction opposite of the sculk passageway. “Sausage! Get clear of the middle!!”

With large pieces of stone starting to fall around them, Sausage made one last, powerful sweep of his wings while at the same time drawing his legs up to plant his feet on Myth’s chest. Then he punted him downward, subsequently sending him away from the center as well. Sausage hastily swooped after Scott as massive cracks spread overhead.

The ceiling gave way as a nine-meter-wide meteorite crashed through, opening the underground to the night sky.

As he flew clear, Myth stared over his shoulder in disbelief. He couldn’t even fathom whatever powers it was that Scott had, since he hadn’t manifested any other type of offense until that moment. Myth then had to shield his body with his top and bottom wings as the meteorite’s impact with the floor threw more debris everywhere, the shockwave sending chunks of deepslate on a horizontal axis into every available opening in the walls.

Through the clouds of dust, Myth saw the white flash of Sausage’s wings as he sped upward to the brand-new exit to the surface, and he assumed the seraph was carrying Scott with him. He was incensed by their escape, but he knew there was a possibility that the impact could have damaged the cell, so he glided down to check.

He completely missed the streak of bright violet sparkles that followed after Sausage.

The sculk in the passageway had been scored by one piece of large debris that had been flung into the chamber; that piece now rested up against the iron door, which had been rammed directly in the middle, buckling it inward and tearing the hinges clean off at the top and bottom. Smajor was in the process of wiggling out through the gap close to the floor. He had cut his hip on the edge of the broken door, but wasn’t letting that stop him as he pulled himself along far enough to get his legs free of the cell.

Then he looked up and saw Myth.

He swore.

Myth strode over and grabbed him by one arm to haul him to his feet. “We’ll have to find a new place to put you later. Let me show you why you wouldn’t have gotten very far anyway.” He dragged Smajor out to the main cavern and then let him just stare at the hunk of space rock embedded in the middle. “Only way out now is up,” Myth declared, with heavy emphasis on the last word.

Smajor could only stutter in response. “Whu – What did this??”

“Well, I know angels can’t call down huge meteors. The other me would have used holy fire, even though it would have taken a while for it to blast through this deep. Whatever your double is did this.” Myth squeezed Smajor’s arm. “Maybe you should ask him yourself.” With a beat of his wings and spray of ichor, he launched upward, taking Smajor with him via a painful wrenching of his shoulder.

He hadn’t seemed to have noticed that Smajor was wearing the arm guard, although Smajor himself doubted it was going to serve any purpose.

Sausage landed a meter or two from the edge of the giant hole, taking a moment to assess his new wounds. He knelt on one knee to put down his sword and shield so he could have both hands free to get a better look at his still-stained feathers – but still be able to grab them again if Myth should happen to come shooting out of the hole in pursuit.

He smiled instead when he saw a trail of purple sparkles arcing up into the air before Scott came back down, his body completely aglow then fading into his regular form – now with his skin glittering once again and the constellation around his head twinkling in the moonlight.

Scott smiled at him in return, then leaned to pick up the sword and shield to hold them for him. “How are the wounds? Are you feeling all right?”

“They still kind of sting. Maybe a little more time and they’ll feel better, but I could go for a regen potion right about now.”

“Since we have a moment, do you have any ideas for what we should even do here? This is their world, not the limbo dimension, and even if we stand a better chance at defeating Myth now that I can use all my powers, that doesn’t necessarily solve things.”

“I’m not sure,” Sausage admitted fretfully. “If he’s gone beyond a fallen angel, there isn’t much that can be done. He had a point… Redemption for angels only goes so far depending on their deeds.”

They didn’t get a chance to discuss the matter further, because right then Myth rose out of the pit with Smajor dangling from his hold. The cursed angel landed a mere ten steps away, and kept a grip on Smajor’s arm. Smajor gawked at Scott but didn’t comment on his now glittery appearance.

Sausage took his sword and shield from Scott, reigniting the flames on them, and held them at the ready, eyeing the sword in Myth’s other hand.

Scott raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Myth, we never meant you any harm. We don’t know why we’re here, but the fact that we did end up in your vicinity must mean the reason is connected to you. Maybe you weren’t meant to save yourself, but an outside perspective could make a difference.”

“If you’re going to start with your forgiveness nonsense again, don’t bother. And don’t you start pitying me, too,” Myth spat. “I don’t need both of you acting like saviors. And I didn’t need to be reminded that there was a happier option out there, or that it was destined to be exactly opposite of my life! I don’t want what you have, but I didn’t ask for this, either! Yet all I could do was accept it. Don’t try to change it now. You’re far too late for that.”

He jerked on Smajor’s arm, causing him to stumble in front of him. Then Myth drew back his other hand—

And then the point of his sword was sticking out of Smajor’s chest.

Smajor looked down, emitting a choked noise. “Yep… That… That still hurts…”

Myth yanked the sword out then threw him to the ground, where he curled up to quietly bleed out. Sausage and Scott stared grimly; a tense stalemate followed. Sausage’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, but he was in no hurry to engage the cursed angel again.

After another minute, Smajor gasped in a breath. He didn’t move, although he did groan out, “Oh, I did not miss that happening…”

Scott and Sausage now traded looks, both realizing Smajor hadn’t changed before reviving. The starborne questioned warily, “Wait, so, he wasn’t just a plain human on that life? What have you done to him?”

“This is what I meant,” Myth replied. “This is it for us. The end result. We go no further, we get no other chances, we’re like this forever.”

Sausage thought back to what he had told Scott moments ago about redemption. “Then… why are we here??” he despaired.

“Maybe,” Myth said in a bland tone as he picked Smajor up by the arm again, “You were sent simply to learn to temper that hero complex of yours. I’ll say it again: you can’t save everyone.” He stepped over to the pit, and the two thought that he was planning to take his leave and lock Smajor up again, and that had been his final word.

Instead, he shoved Smajor over the edge – dropping him to another certain death.

Sausage dismissed his weapons back to thin air and dived toward the rim of the pit, the thought in his mind of this has to stop! not making it to his lips.

“WHAT did I just SAY?!” Myth yelled, darting after him with sword leading to intercept him. “Are you just compelled to rescue people?!” He slashed one of Sausage’s middle wings, sending him off-kilter toward the wall of the pit.

Before Myth could follow, a dazzling burst of purple light exploded in front of him. He dashed a fist across his eyes in reaction.

Scott approached him, a sparking sphere of starlight held in reserve at his side. “Well, then what are you? Compelled to murder?” He would have to hope Sausage had been able to stabilize his flight, if not catch Smajor on the way down. He didn’t hear any sounds from the pit yet, but didn’t want to try to rush directly past Myth, either. Of course, now that he was out in the open, he could call down a star strike almost instantaneously to deal with the cursed angel.

“From pity to judging, here we go.” Myth pointed his sword at Scott. “I guess you’ve never once had the thought in your sparkly head to pay back someone for an injustice done to you. Lucky you.”

Scott decided to try sidling around for a better position to get past him. “Not unless you count an injustice I committed myself, that one day put me in a position to take the revenge another could have enacted upon me, and I was ready to remain locked in limbo to atone for it.”

Myth sneered. “Yes, I already know about the guilt trip you gave yourself, no need to go on about it.”

“Actually, this was something else that came later, but facing it freed me to become this.” Clenching his fist around the sphere, Scott then held his hand outward. From the sky came a shower of twinkling violet, nearly landing on Myth’s head; the sparks danced across his wings, causing him to growl in pain and attempt to dodge out from under the star strike. Scott moved his hand to follow him and maintained the strike until Myth charged toward him. Then he conjured another sphere in one hand and reached into it with the other, pulling out a sword made of the same glowing purple starstuff.

“Of course,” Myth muttered. The sight didn’t stop him; all the glittering light and shining gold of Scott’s overcoat only increased his resentment, and soon he was caught up in a duel with the more nimble starborne.

Out of reflex, Sausage pulled in his freshly injured wing as the pain caused by the cursed blade flared. He had just enough time to tuck his top pair of wings against his neck to cushion it as well as the back of his head before he crashed into the wall. Pain spiked along his back but faded as he dropped downward. He forced both of his middle wings to spread enough to soften his landing, but then he let all six hang limply after he was on his feet. He didn’t know why he had bothered going in to try to catch Smajor; he had fought him before when they were both gravitals, and Smajor had done whatever he could to make Sausage miserable, along with attempting to slash his throat toward the end.

Maybe Myth was right.

Smajor lay in a crooked sprawl against the side of the meteorite. From the looks of things, it might take a little longer than the earlier stabbing for him to revive. Sausage wasn’t sure what to do with him this time. It wasn’t like he could purify his soul or… anything, really. Was there even anywhere safe he could put him? Because it seemed like the only option was to go back up to the surface, and it wasn’t like Sausage could deposit him somewhere else in the world and ask him to go live a peaceful life without trying to get revenge on Myth for, well, everything, all over again.

Sausage sat down, leaning on the other side of the meteorite to try to think while keeping a feathery ear out for when Smajor revived. Yet not two seconds later he realized with resignation that the safest thing would be to secure Smajor before he woke up. Sausage doubted he would have anything constructive to offer.

By the time he got back over to Smajor, the regenerative magic of the world had knitted him back together to a point where Sausage could pick him up without a leg hanging oddly; his ribcage wasn’t doing so well, however. The seraph tried not to think about how this could just as easily be his Scott, roughed up and grimy… with an arm guard identical to his own but severely damaged, countless lines grouped by five scratched into the metal.

Not countless, he corrected himself. One hundred and three. Or one hundred and five now, he supposed.

Sausage made his way through the sculk-filled passageway. He surveyed the destruction within and set Smajor down on the floor, hoping he stayed unconscious a little longer. He studied the iron door, then drew out his sword and focused on making the flames burn hotter. He made short work of the remaining hinge, then pulled the buckled metal out of the way. He carried Smajor into the cell. He sighed at the futility and placed him on the bed.

What to do about the open doorway, though…

Sausage took a quick look around outside. Under the table was a well-camouflaged black shulker box with sculk vein all over it. He grimaced but pulled enough of the pulsating substance off to get the box open. Inside were a dozen keys, a diamond pickaxe, and ten pieces of obsidian.

Well, two would do.

He gave another resigned look at Smajor before placing the first block in front of the cell doorway rather than directly inside it. He would let Myth worry about uncovering him later.

Smajor suddenly bolted up and lunged at the doorway, shoving his right arm in the way of the block Sausage had been about to place. “Don’t cut me off from everything!” he protested, then coughed, which resulted in a bit of blood flecking the corner of his mouth. “Leave me a little window or something, so I can at least see Myth coming when he comes back down here to murder me again!”

Sausage gazed back at him with an empty expression, then said softly, “Maybe don’t give him a reason to.”

“You saw what he did up there! I wasn’t even moving!”

Sausage began to lower the second piece of obsidian. “I can’t do anything to help you. All I can do is put things back in their place.”

Smajor tried to fake a hurt look, but then his face hardened. He slid his arm back and clutched the arm guard. He glanced from it to the one that Sausage wore, but said nothing else.

The seraph sighed; well, at least he had moved his arm out of the way and didn’t try to keep Sausage stuck there in some moral quandary of whether or not to drop the obsidian on him to finishing sealing him in.

He turned away with another sigh. As he exited the passageway and had the moonlight to see by, he pulled one of his wings forward to look at the ichor-damaged feathers. He plucked out one that was almost fully gray and turned it over in his hand. It didn’t look like a stain that could be washed off, and the healing light hadn’t fixed them, either. He would have to hope they molted over time. Until then, maybe they would be a reminder of Myth’s words.

He directed his healing ability to the slash on his middle wing so he could fly out of the pit again.

Myth was finding it to be a lot harder to fight Scott. There was less surface area to strike at – no extra appendages, and at times it seemed the starborne’s limbs were only made of ethereal light that his blade passed right through before Scott twisted to strike back at him. There was now red mixing with the black from cuts on the cursed angel’s wings; Scott wasn’t pulling punches, whereas Sausage had been distracted by trying to talk things out.

Finally, Myth resorted to sweeping his wings to carry him backward away from Scott. He then threw his middle ones upward to cover the area over his head against another star strike.

Scott held his free hand up with a sphere of light on his palm again to keep that threat hanging over the cursed angel. “So, where does it end, Myth? When do you consider the never-ending cycle of revenge to be over? How much more hate and death do you want to have weighing on your soul? You don’t want me to repeat things, but I know very well how past failings over even just nine lives can keep someone from their true potential.”

“Potential? Have you been paying attention? O p p o s i t e s. We weren’t meant for this chivalry and glory that you two have! You achieved it, so someone else wasn’t supposed to! Our lives were sacrificed for yours! Now take that guilt and shove it up your pretentious, sparkly—”

At that moment Sausage soared up out of the pit and flew over Myth’s head, almost grazing the upheld wings, but went on to land next to Scott. He put a hand on Scott’s arm and made him lower it. “We’re going.”

“Saus—what? Going where?” Scott shot him a bewildered look before returning a watchful gaze to Myth in case the cursed angel pounced.

“We’re not here to change their fates.” He tugged on Scott’s arm to pull him away from continuing the fight.

Myth snorted. “Thanks for finally catching on! Just going to walk away, then? No last speech to tell me if I believe in myself enough, I’ll become pretty and shiny, too?”

“No,” Sausage called back over his shoulder. “I’m done talking. You’ve reminded me that I once heard someone say ‘No one can save all the world, but we should save who we can.’ You don’t want to be saved, so I’ll find someone who does.”

“Yeah?” Myth clenched his teeth then shouted, “And you DIDN’T HAVE TO COME REMIND ME THAT ANY HOPE WAS OUT THERE!”

Sausage turned his face away from him and instead scooped Scott up in his arms to wash off the memory of having so recently held Smajor the same way. Scott didn’t question it; Sausage didn’t seem about to give a destination, and Scott wasn’t going to go bounding off without knowing where they were headed, first. He draped his arms around Sausage’s neck as the seraph flapped his wings to take off. He didn’t bother to even just circle the pit one last time, only flew off in a vaguely eastern direction. He held Scott tightly against him.

Myth stared after them but didn’t pursue. “Gone, just like that?” He spat out the words. “Where do they even think they’re going? Would they actually go through the limbo dimension again?” He then looked directly up and raised the point of his sword to threaten an invisible adversary. “And to what end was this all really for?! You can’t just let me lie in the dark in peace?! You know there is no hope left here! Or was this meant as a wake up call for them? Why would they need the reminder? They’ve got their happy ever after! They didn’t have the misery of a hundred lifetimes! They—”

Myth stopped. Only ten. Their doubles only had to go through ten lives.

…Had Scott been right?

~*~

“What are you looking for?” Scott asked softly when he noticed Sausage had begun scanning along the horizon.

“Anything familiar,” Sausage murmured, his tone bleak.

Scott chanced a look at the ground. There were a few scattered structures, but everything appeared to be closed up against the night. Zombies wandered here and there, but the two of them were high enough that they didn’t draw the attention of any regular monsters which might have been out.

When Sausage banked to start following a river, Scott realized what he might be looking for. He gently hugged the seraph’s neck in silent solidarity. Then he started keeping an eye out, as well.

However, they both remembered what Myth had said way back in the labyrinth about things being destroyed in this world.

“There.” Scott pointed to an overgrown mountaintop with a crumbling stone staircase cut into the side that led up from the river. The dock was nonexistent. He patted Sausage’s shoulder then shifted into his starlight form to take flight on his own, arcing down out of the seraph’s arms to land on the ground while Sausage made a loop around the area to have a more thorough look.

There were a lot fewer buildings than in their version of Heaven’s Reach, and certainly no scenic gardens or ponds. The church seemed to have been reduced to a crumbling foundation, whereas the rest had only fallen into disrepair. Sausage landed in the rampant tall grass beside where the door would have been.

He sighed as Scott walked over. “I thought maybe we could reach Pearl – our Pearl, I guess? – if we could find this world’s Heaven’s Reach. But I guess it got destroyed like everything else, thanks to those two.” He looked around, despair back in his voice. “I don’t even see any sunflowers growing around it. How did things go so wrong here?”

Scott debated telling him what Myth had said about fated opposites. “Maybe unlike you, he got cut off from his Pearl when he arrived here, and… forgot much faster, or gave up more easily. You shook off that first death pretty quickly, you know? From what Myth said, it seemed the… situation dragged out for too long. And then it escalated into back-and-forth revenge, where we just kind of… moved on, and… you didn’t resent the fact that I became an angel. You and I went down one path, they went down the opposite. I don’t know if that fact itself was destined to happen, but Myth seemed to think so.”

“Hmm,” Sausage agreed listlessly. He stood there for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought, then he headed for the remains of the cemetery. It was equally overgrown, but there was something odd about one of the back corners – starting with an old, dead sunflower.

He hadn’t noticed it at first since its stalk blended in with the rest of the yellowed grass, and its head was bowed with only shriveled, dull petals left clinging to it that he only now saw as he approached. Scott followed him, curious.

There were objects strewn under the lanky, dry grass. Some had begun to disintegrate, clearly made of materials not meant to be left out in the elements long term. But the ones made of metal, or fired clay…

Sausage uttered a mournful whimper as he knelt to pick up a terracotta figurine that very much resembled himself with only one pair of wings. He glanced at the headstone. The carving was weathered but the shape of a sunflower with sun rays around it were still visible. He set down the figurine. “Well… he was remembered for starting out like me. I assume this means he was kind and helpful at one point.”

Scott rested a hand on the seraph’s shoulder. “It wasn’t a pleasant route, but he sort of ended up protecting the rest of the world from a me who didn’t learn that darkness wasn’t the only path to follow.”

“And here we are, all bright and shining.” Sausage cast a glance over the items, then plucked one made of gold out of the grass. He was about to comment when they heard a sort of crystalline tinkling noise, followed by the reversed sound of shattering glass.

A pale glow fell upon them from the middle of the cemetery. Sausage gave a cry of relief and put down the gold figurine, then grabbed Scott’s hand as he stood up. Scott smiled, as well, and they both gazed through the Aether portal that had appeared, seeing the familiar sight of the royal gazebo in Pearl’s realm. Sausage stopped just short of entering it, however, and squeezed Scott’s hand to stop him from going through. “What if it isn’t ours? What if it’s a parallel version?”

His doubts were set aside as Pearl stepped into view, a tearful look of relief on her face as she held out her arms and, even though they couldn’t hear her, she was obviously saying the words, ‘My boys!’

Sausage’s heart soared and he hurried through, still holding tight to Scott.

The portal shuddered behind them, then imploded in on itself, although from their side it merely winked out of existence. They were too busy being engulfed in a goddess-sized hug to notice.

“There you two are! Where have you been? I couldn’t find you anywhere! How in the world did you end up back in the mortal realm?”

Sausage drew back from her embrace. “Wait, you didn’t send us?? Like you did with that floran project??”

Pearl looked at him with confusion. “No? I had no idea you were even gone until you didn’t answer when I tried to summon you! I was looking all over but there was no sign of either of you! What happened?”

Scott gave a somewhat pained smile. “Pearl, do you remember ever losing track of Sausage before in the other world, around the time he was a gravital? We took a little trip through a limbo dimension and met an… interesting pair of people…”

~*~

When Myth broke through the top piece of obsidian covering the cell doorway, he found Smajor scratching at the arm guard with a sharp chip of deepslate that had been part of the debris from earlier. The cursed angel eyed him warily.

Smajor merely held up the arm guard to show him what he had been doing. “I’m adding the count for you. Had to finish off that last set of tallies, huh?” He grinned.

Myth wasn’t amused. “I need to put a new door on, so get ready for number one hundred and six.”

“How about I just sit here and behave, and we not do the stabbing. Here! I’ll even do this…” Smajor gingerly set the arm guard down in the middle of the floor along with the slate chip – then he pushed the small pile of other bits of debris that he had gathered next to it. Lastly, he nudged the clock over as well to show he had nothing else at his disposal. Then he sat down on the bed with his hands pinned under his legs. “There, see? I’ll be good.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Smajor shrugged and looked off to the side with a blank expression. Myth watched him for a few seconds, then worked on removing the second one. Smajor heard him throw down the pickaxe as soon as the block was out of the way, and looked over to see him pointing his sword into the cell. He uttered an exasperated noise. “Hey, Myth? Maybe I’m TIRED OF DYING. So just put the stupid door on and we’ll go back to what we were doing before. You want to stay stuck in this dark chamber forever? Then fine, we’ll do that.”

“Actually, this is temporary, now that there’s a giant hole to the surface directly outside and some other idiots could stumble in here at any moment. But since you want to stay alive, you get a new door until I figure out where to go.”

“Oh, very good point. Wouldn’t want to start adding anyone else to your body count. Or was it only your double that you wanted to see dead? Bit of a reflection you weren’t happy to look into, hmm?”

“How about you also sit silently before I change my mind about killing you again.”

Smajor adjusted his legs while smiling, keeping his hands where they were. Who needed a physical weapon when he had delicious irony as a means of pouring salt into wounds?

~*~

Later, when she was alone, Pearl paced around the perimeter of the gazebo, her mind abuzz with thoughts of parallel versions of people. She stopped at one point to wave a hand over the reflecting pool, bringing up a sepia-tone vision of a world from the past.

She watched it for a moment, then let out a distressed sigh and began to pace around again, hands clasped tightly behind her back.

An unfamiliar voice called out from the direction of the pool. “Goddess PearlescentMoon, we need to have words with you.”

Pearl froze, then pivoted on her heel. Rising out of the pool was a bipedal figure made of jittering static. When they fully emerged, they stepped onto the floor, remaining indistinguishable, although Pearl thought she could make out the shape of a pair of closed eyes. “Well, that’s quite an entrance,” she said stiffly. “But – I’m sorry? Who are you?”

“We are one of the higher deities, responsible for matters of the spirit which are involved with all living things. That includes souls. You have something to answer for…”

Behind them, the pool returned to the image of the sepia-washed world just as a figure with a crown of red and gold stepped into view.

~ The End ~

#alsmp #alsmp fanfic #alsmpshipping #mythicalsausage #scott smajor #this AU is purely self indulgent at this point sorry #soul liminality #soul liminality 2 #actual!angel!sausage #starborne!scott #goddess!pearlescentmoon #lunar yarns #look I found some spoons!

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queenharumiura · 9 months

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Making dragons bc why not

I remembered this from all the way in 2018, but I went to take another look and there are more options now- oho. [x]

Primary color is chocolate because it made the ear fins dark and the body a lighter brown color which I felt suited Haru with her hair color and the like. I feel most comfortable with giving her a more neutral down to earth color as a base. Some of the other brown options gave odd patterns and I wasn't having it.

Of the species, I chose Fae because it looks like it knows how to have a fun time just playing around. Agile and energetic. There is a breed called 'guardian' which by title would suit Haru-- but it's a lil--- too imposing for my tastes;;;;;; I considered Pearlcatcher because of the way it protectively holds a pearl but--- CUTE AND SMALL DRAGON IS JUSTICE!!!!!

Primary gene being Ribbon because I like the lil line it has going along the body, and also- gymnastics ribbon. It's also a reference to her using a ribbon in some verses. That's also why I chose butterfly as the secondary gene, a reference to her using butterflies in some verses.

Secondary color being blush because I thought the splash of pink is nice. Haru is often seen drawn in green/blue colors or pinks. I wanted a some brighter colors for her palette.

Tertiary gene is lace because-- she likes to make costumes or make little outfits, so 'Lace' made sense for her and it looks nice! It's the lil decorated edge on the wings. I chose 'Spring' for the lace pattern because I gotta put her namesake in here somewhere! It is a bit too bright of a color for my tastes for it to be the main body color, so I chose to use it for the wing accents.

So anyways element-wise I was going to go for 'Earth' because it offers a color closest to her eye color, but then I was like- I don't have any green elements yet to refer to her lightning element. I caved and gave her green eyes. Innocent eye type because- it was the cutest style lol and she has a pretty innocent flair to her.

Partially the reason why I wanted to go for a mainly brown color palette for her is because it's not a very eye catching color and it blends in well with trees and the earth. I like how the ear fins being a dark brown kinda make it feel like it represents her hair which is very fun.

The agile and compact design of the Fae is just really cute and just feels like Haru. Look at the smol, look at how cute. Look at how 'omg I will protecc' it is. The earfins KILL ME bc I LOVE THAT kinda design element.

I will take ANY chance I can to give a design element where you can cover your face when flustered. I saw my chance. (did I choose blush out of the many pink colors bc I find her cute when she blushes? Yes)

I think for a 'Spring' dragon, earthy colors work best. The pink adds the liveliness to her. The dash of green in the eyes is nice too. Brings attention to the eyes.

I like to think that she likes to fly around doing little aerial stunts, collecting tiny lil shiny things that catch the eye (like a bird, yes). She'll crawl into tiny crevices to sleep so she can be safe from bigger dragons.

She may be small and she may look like the sweetest lil thing there is, but if she wants to she will zap you with lightning. Definition of small but mighty. As a smol, she likes even smoller things, and will watch over them. It's not often you find something smaller than you, so she'll protecc!

Look at how long the tail is though, it coils behind her head and I like to think if she's annoyed, she'll use it like a whip and smack! When she's bored, she'll use it to anchor herself to a tree and just hang or swing around. Much like how Haru is practicing her balance on top of walls, this dragon likes to play around and practice her tail dexterity.

As a bonus:

LOOK AT THE HATCHLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tell me that isn't cute, I'll suddenly go deaf and not hear your lies.

Tagged by: I tagged myself

Tagging: I don't tag but I can start if you want me to

#Tagged meme #((Me playing around with a dragon maker instead of finishing up a reply? More likely than you'd think))#((I'll try to finish now))#((Y'all should also make thing so I can see it))#((Also say why you chose certain elements bc i'm nosey like that))

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spinelesswrites · 1 year

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wip wednesday 😳

i tag myself and everyone else. unfortunately my star trek!endeavour fic is slow going because i am so sleepy lately. but i've been having so much fun imagining morse as an even more repressed half Vulcan so i know i will finish this at some point. untitled as of yet sadly ! probably won't be more than 5k in the end

Morse’s typical Vulcan formality is amplified like he’s visiting an Admiral or a prince instead of just Max down in sickbay. His hands are clasped behind his back, head and shoulders high and straight, and even his blue shirt seems brighter, or perhaps more heavily starched than usual. Something thrums below his tautness. His face is carefully neutral, but this far into their journey Max can see the tension in the lines around his eyes and forehead. He looks tired, if Vulcans ever can. Well. Half-Vulcans. But he otherwise looks unharmed. No blood or bones. “And hello there.” Max puts the report aside again. “Lieutenant Commander.”

He can’t help himself. Any other Starfleet officer and Max would’ve applauded when he walked in. Instead he gestures to the chair preceding his desk. “Coming or going?" Morse’s mouth thins nearly imperceptibly. Maybe three other men on the ship besides Max would've caught it. He surveys the banks of empty beds before stopping before the desk. He inclines his head. “Doctor.” And hesitates, again. "I came to inquire that if you were undisposed. Would you find it agreeable to have a drink at this time." “You would be pressed to find a time where I am not free to have a drink, Morse, especially when such congratulations are in order.” He makes for his glasses and bottle. “Come now, let’s see them.” Morse gives him the cool look he always uses when humans are acting a little too human around him, but when he reaches for the glass all is revealed anyway: a new dotted line has joined his braid of gold on the end of his sleeves, the two of them now matching. Max resists the urge to whistle. He resists the urge to grab Morse’s hand and shake it violently, to grip his arm or smack his back or hold him by the shoulders and shout, “You did it, you sonuvabitch!” Instead he grins and nods admiringly and settles on holding up his glass. “To you, Morse. Congratulations - a job well done.” Morse puts his glass down without drinking. It thunks against the desk, like the new embroidery weighs more than fabric and thread.

there will be more on ao3 eventually! it will be slight h/c as usual. jakes will be there as a petty and jealous and crushing first officer and obv thursday is captain and it will be so good

thanks for reading <3

#wip wednesday #itv endeavour #and so what if i do have a whole star trek endeavour au i've thought about for 9 years. maybe so.#my writing #my fic #ummm what else #long post #?#ig

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scuttling · 3 years

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Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?�� Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #paper rings #inspired by #taylor swift

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baroquebucky · 3 years

Text

embrace

soulmate au where when you touch your soulmate you see glimpses of your future with them; the winter soldier touches you and realizes there’s so much more out there

series masterlist // previous // next

part three

word count: 2.3k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs !!! here is the third installment for my soulmate au !! i think I’ll make one or two more parts and then end it ! let me know what you guys think i love reading your thoughts !! <3 (bonus points if u find all the parallels heh)

You didn’t hesitate throwing your arms around him, tears flowing down your cheeks as you held onto him tightly. Bucky held you just as tight, burrowing his face in your shoulder and a smile on his face.

Bucky felt home. He felt the way he imagined the smell of freshly baked cookies would feel, he felt warm and fuzzy. Bucky felt happy.

“i- where have you been what happened i thought- we all- oh my god steve he’s been going crazy and-” you rambled, a smile on your face. You looked at bucky, he was just as tall as your remembered, his eyes a bit brighter and you felt your heart flutter.

“oh come in!” You chuckled, pulling him by his metal arm into your home, a smile on your face as you led him to your living room.

“i never introduced myself” he spoke, eyes on the ground as you prepared two cups of hot chocolate. You looked at him, laughing lightly.

“guess you didn’t huh” you replied, taking out the cups and putting in some marshmallows before walking back over to the couch, setting the two cups on the table and turning to face him.

“I’m y/n” you smiled brightly, extending your hand out. Bucky grinned, shaking your hand and introducing himself.

“I’m bucky” you felt your face heat up as he smiled at you, much different from the last time when you looked at each other.

“does Steve know you’re here? that you’re you?” you questioned, eyeing him to try and get read on his body language. He shifted slightly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

“not really no, i-” he hesitated before fiddling with his hands and speaking up again, “ive been laying low, i just couldn’t stop thinking about you and the visions i saw” he spoke, blushing and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face.

“i couldn’t either” you replied, looking at him before looking at the way the marshmallows melted into the hot chocolate. “I was so worried these past couple of months, i tried helping steve and Sam but it was so much and we were getting no where” you mumbled, heart falling as you thought of all your fruitless efforts.

Bucky noticed the way your voice trembled as you spoke and how you grilled the mug a little tighter. He felt his chest tighten.

“I’m here now doll” he spoke softly, moving to put your mug down and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You relaxed into his touch, tears welling in your eyes once more, you let yourself lean into him, closing your eyes for a second and enjoying his embrace.

“i missed you so much, can’t believe i could miss someone i didn’t even know that much” you laughed, sniffling lightly as you pulled away

“we’re soulmates dollface, we’re meant to be” he smiled softly at you and you nodded, a small smile as you wiped away a couple stray tears.

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation with each other. All laughs and giggles as you spoke, the sun high in the sky already and the city wide awake despite it being early in the morning.

You so happy to have bucky with you, a smile on your face as you started to think of all you had to show him, thoughts of the future you had seen made you giddy with excitement.

“oh you have to meet Sam! The two of you would be so funny together bickering all the time- oh also there’s this coffee shop i really like, very quaint but-” you rambled, trying to fit in everything you wanted to tell bucky.

“I’m moving” bucky cut you off, a frown on his face as he glanced over at you. He focused his gaze on you, stomach dropping when you stared at him with a confused expression.

“like here? to New York?” You were quiet, knowing that’s not what he meant. Bucky but his bottom lip in frustration before turning to you with sad eyes.

“romania, i cant be here- not while HYDRA is still out there and I’m wanted for everything I’ve done” bucky frowned. Your heart broke in your chest, you wanted to curl up and cry.

You just got him back. You had lost him twice already, you weren’t sure if you could handle a third.

“you can’t- i just got you back you can’t go” you shook your head, eyes watery already. You held his hand tightly and bucky wanted to badly to stay.

“i have to” he whispered, “you know i do.”

And you did, you knew this was his best chance and you had to let him go. You knew how painful it would be and how much you would miss him. You thought about the amount of time you had cried at night, wishing you could get to the future already.

But you also knew you would get your happy ending, you knew at some point in your life you would be happily in love and laughing in a meadow of flowers watching a sunset with him. And that’s what you held onto.

“promise me you’ll come back to me” you whispered, scooting closer to him, his hands still in yours.

“I always will doll” he smiled, slipping his hand out of yours and placing it softly under your chin, tilting your head so you could look at him. Your watery eyes met his baby blue ones, you swore they sparkled slightly.

“don’t worry your pretty head doll, we still have forever to be happy” he smiled, leaning in slightly. Bucky stopped centimeters away from your lips, your heart racing at his actions, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

“may i?” He whispered. You didn’t reply, instead you crashed your lips onto him. It was needy and rough, your teeth hitting each other at one point but you didn’t care. It felt like your heart were beating in sync, you felt whole.

You both pulled away, breathless before laughing lightly, your hair messy from his hands tugging at it. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, a charming smile on his face as you two regained your composure.

“if you kiss me like that again i don’t think I’ll let you go” you teased, heart heavy as he frowned slightly.

“what if i kiss you like this” he mumbled, softly placing his lips back onto yours. It was much gentler, softer and sweet. Your hand easily finding its way to his hair, fingers cascading through his soft hair. Bucky smiled into the kiss, giving you a soft peck before pulling away.

“you’re gonna be the death of me” you whispered, heart thumping in your ears. Bucky smiled at you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and holding you.

You wiggled a bit, laying your head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat, your eyes closing and falling asleep before you could even fight to stay awake.

Bucky woke you up at around 1 pm, shaking you gently. Your eyes opened slowly and you realized you were back in your bed, tucked in under your blanket.

“i waited a bit before bringing you back to bed, didn’t wanna wake you again” bucky smiled and you laughed, sitting up and yawning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“i got some food for us, figured you’d be hungry” bucky spoke, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as you walked out of your room when you finished brushing your teeth and changing out of your pajamas.

You looked at bucky with a smile on your face, bounding over to him and tackling him with a hug, kissing his cheek. You silently thanked the universe for giving you bucky as your soulmate as the two of you talked while you ate.

Bucky had never felt so at ease, he wasn’t worried about someone kicking his door down or having to keep running. All he could focus on was the way you would smile anytime he laughed and the way you blushed when your eyes would meet.

The two of you spent the day together, cuddled up on the couch and watching a movie, just like you had seen the first time the two of you ever touched. You smiled to yourself while bucky focused on the movie, his hand mindlessly drawing circles on your arm as he held you. This was how it was meant to be, your soulmate by your side and the feeling of home.

But nothing ever seems to go as it should. By the time night came you were saying goodbye, both of you teary eyed as he held you tightly, not wanting to go but know he had to.

It had taken an hour to move from the couch to halfway to the door, both of you crying messes with soft giggles trying to cheer each other up.

Finally you had reached the door, both of you going through too many tissues and looking at each other with teary eyes and matching pink noses.

“before i go” bucky turned, pulling away from the handle and into his jacket pocket, you could hear the jingling of metal. “I want you to have these, until we can be together again” he smiled, holding out his dog tags.

You didn’t know what to say, tears flowing down your cheeks again as you looked at him. Bucky hugged you, letting you cry into his chest for a moment before you calmed down.

“are you sure buck? I mean they must mean so much to you” you looked at him and he smiled, nodding before easily putting them on you, his heart fluttering as he took in the sight of them on you.

“I’ll see you soon dollface” Bucky smiled, kissing your temple and you nodded, hands clutching his dog tags.

“see you soon lovebug, I’ll be waiting here for you” you smiled, loving the way he blushed at the new nickname.

When you found out about steve finding him in Romania you acted surprised, guilt washing over you for hiding the information from your friend but you knew it’s what bucky wanted.

You offered to go help him and Sam on the rescue mission but they stopped you, telling you it was best for you to stay out of this one. You wanted to argue but you couldn’t blame them, you had been a wreck after bucky left, barely sleeping and crying over your soulmate.

You didn’t expect the bombing at the UN, bucky being framed and the whole team falling out. You had been in New York the whole time, skipping out on the meeting with the accords because you just so happened to have the flu that week.

“oh yeah stay home i can’t afford you getting everyone sick” tony has spoken over the phone, hanging up on you, a frown on your face. Not ten minutes later did you get a notification saying food was being delivered to your house, nice warm soup along with some medicine to help you feel better.

You least expected steve flying you out to wakanda, eyes wide as you took in all the technology, heart thumping in your chest knowing bucky would be right around the corner.

You felt your heart stop as you saw him in a white tank top, running up to him and wrapping your arms around him. Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling and bucky held you tightly with his right arm, leaning into your touch.

“oh doll I’ve missed you so damn much” he mumbled, a smile on his face as the two of you held each other for the first time in months.

“missed you so much more james” you spoke breathless, pulling away before placing a gentle kiss on his lips, the two of you smiling and resting your foreheads against each other.

“y/n-” you pressed your lips to his, quieting him. Pulling away you looked at him with love in your eyes, heart racing as he smiled at you softly.

“Steve already told me” you explained, knowing how much it would pain him to tell you. Bucky nodded, his lips curling into a gentle smile as he looked at you. His eyes landed on the outline of his dog tags under your shirt.

“you still have ‘em on” he whispered his eyes soft and his heart melting as you nodded.

“I never take them off lovebug” you replied, holding his hand in your as he smiled up at you. Steve placed a hand on your shoulder signaling it was time.

You stepped away from bucky, his hand holding onto yours tighter, not wanting to let go. You made sure you kept his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers.

“You sure about this?” Steve spoke up and bucky nodded, a tight smile on his face as his eyes flickered between the two of you.

“i cant trust my own mind,” he chuckled dryly, “until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head i think going back under is the best thing” he looked at you with a soft smile, “for everybody.”

You squeezed his hand, nodding your head softly. “don’t worry lovebug, I’m yours forever” you whispered, a smile on your face as he recognized the phrase as the same on you had spoke to him in the flashes when you first touched.

“I’m yours forever, doll” Bucky spoke, kissing your temple before slipping his hand out of yours, and stepping into the machine.

You stood next to Steve as the machine whirred, looking away as it froze over. Steve put his arm around you, leading you away.

You held onto the memories you had made months ago in your apartment. You held onto the flashes you had gotten of the two of you having a picnic in the meadow, giggling with the sunset in the background.

You held onto bucky, your hope.

taglist !

@felicityofbakerstreet @newyork47 @classygirlything @ebxny27 @hhaydenn @miaangel24 @shawnie--jo @quinnmaddie @mugscraps @bucky-32557038 @marvelfansworld @hey-there-angels @buckys2thicc @groovyvalentine

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littlemisslipbalm · 3 years

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I live in the neighbourhood

When Y/N moved to Hampstead she was unaware of the implications the decision would have on the course of the rest of her life.

Harry is Y/N’s eccentric neighbour who sweeps her up in the whirlwind that is his life

this gif bc its maybe my favorite clip of him EVER holy fuck - this is the harry of my dreams this is the harry of i live in the neighbourhood

HEY YALL it’s been a minute and I missed yall so much and I’m just about to be on break so maybe i’ll be back to posting writing regularly but with school its so hard and I think I’ve been working on this for months so yeah <3 lol PLS PLS PLS leave me feedback and reblogs and that stuff bc otherwise my writing just feels...empty and you have no idea the smile i get when even just the tags say like “god this was everything” it can be anything honestly but it keeps my passion up. Thank you again and hope you enjoy.

Word Count: ~10k | Warnings: swearing probably? no smut (yet), rich and famous harry - mentions of Taylor Swif

She considered herself an average young woman in her mid twenties. She liked screaming Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion songs alone in her car and thrifting on weekends. She hated cable because of commercials and when doordash didn’t deliver all of her order. She had asthma when she worked out or the air quality was bad. She had dumb celebrity crushes that her friends and her still laughed over with every new instagram post. She had hopes and dreams she had yet to achieve and she had past trauma that many would never know about, especially at first glance.

Sure, she was successful. She would admit that. How else would she be able to afford even the modest little house she had found in Hampstead? She had studied international business in college and hopped on a plane to London the first chance she got. After a few years of a more than decent paycheck and an advantageous stimulus check from her kind parents, she was able to move out of her starter flat into the suburbs. The definitive push for the move was two-fold. Her parents wanted her to take her dog and her apartment complex was strict on no pets. Then her promotion at work - which included a pay raise - made it hard to wave off taking full ownership of her childhood ten-pound best friend.

So with life happening as it usually does, Y/N first found herself scouring Zillow, then touring homes in the area, and finally standing outside a three bedroom, two bath, two-story cream house in Hampstead. Her house.

The little moving truck she had rented sat beside her as she stared at her future. The realtor had told her they would be there in ten minutes. For the next ten minutes all Y/N had to do was keep herself from combusting, or worse, sobbing.

She felt overwhelmed already. Renting a flat in London was one way to describe herself as independent. Owning a home in Hampstead seemed like a whole new level of adulthood she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, Y/N walked up to the gate that kept her front yard narrowly separated from the sidewalk. She lifted one hand from beneath the box she clutched tightly to her chest to push past the iron-rod gateway. The garden was cute, a little bland, and she thought to herself that maybe she’d develop some gardening skills now that she had her own front yard. The thought made her smile a little, refraining from laughing aloud while on her lonesome, since she had never taken interest in gardening before. But this house. This house. It was a new beginning. It was a fucking unwritten journal. Blank film. Unknown territory. She could be anyone in this house.

She gently placed the cardboard box on the first step up to the front door. There was no porch, but she couldn’t complain. It was gorgeous and she was lucky to get it at the price she did. The house was cream with dark blue accents and a grey shingled roof. Lots of windows. It was classic and it was hers.

After the realtor came with her keys and made sure everything seemed alright, Y/N’s couple of friends, Amélie and Daniel, arrived with their cars filled with items she had needed picking up from various stores. They helped her move her stuff into the house. Thankfully it was already half furnished, meaning she didn’t have to go out and buy beds or couches or any of those big items that are both expensive and a hassle to deal with.

By the time the evening had rolled around, everything was in the house and it actually seemed semi put together. Y/N looked around, sweat apparent on her face and hands on her hips, proud of what she had accomplished. The nerves from earlier had been drowned by pride.

The next day, she woke up from her first night in the house. It felt like a dream even though she was sure she was awake.

She had to navigate her way to the airport today to pick up her dog from his long flight and then mainly settle into the house. Her house sat on Sherwood Avenue, one of the many streets in Hampstead. It’s neighboring houses were much larger. The ones directly next to and across from her weren’t drastically bigger but what she had yet to learn was that next to the house across from her there were two houses that had been joined together by their slightly eccentric owner. A man who would be the match that ignited the flame that was the rest of her life.

This unknown fact quickly became known after Y/N’s first few weeks in her new neighbourhood. The eccentric - more so absurdly rich - neighbor who conjoined the houses was Harry Styles.

The first time they crossed paths she wasn’t even aware of it. It was the day she moved in. He had been out for his usual morning run and was rounding the corner when she had pulled up in her moving van. Once inside his home, he snoopily watched on as his neighbour began to move in. He hadn’t taken note of much about her, just that she was new and that she had a nice pair of jeans on that day.

The second time, Y/N was convinced she needed to get her eyes checked because there was no way that she had just seen Harry Styles key himself into the house across the way from her. There was no way that she had moved into the same area as him, let alone the same street. It seemed far more plausible that she needed a psych evaluation or a strong glasses prescription.

But the third instance of them crossing paths, she was proven wrong. She was on her way back from the neighbourhood park when she saw a guy jogging towards her. With a yellow beanie and a black Columbia sweatshirt paired with running shorts and shoes, he was hard to ignore running straight towards her. The iconic curls, strong jawline, and soft green eyes were dead giveaways this time. After making brief eye contact as their paths literally crossed, she felt herself make a little face of odd interest. Her head quirked and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed with slight confusion. That was definitely him.

After that, she found herself seeing Harry around the neighbourhood a relatively good amount. She’d see him at the park, at the coffee shop, on their street, and more. They didn’t speak. She really didn’t think he would want to be bothered by his neighbours and she certainly wasn’t willing to test the theory. They sometimes gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing really friendly. Just ‘you exist and I know that’.

Fridays are Y/N’s favorite day. It’s the beginning of the weekend, she never has to go into work and it’s simply a nice day. People are happier, they smile brighter and it just seems like the world is a little better than usual.

Friday was especially amazing today because her childhood best friend, Cate, was arriving at London Heathrow in the evening. Y/N had begged Cate to fly out to see the new house in person and Cate had finally found the time to run away to England for a week.

She shut her front door carefully behind her and placed her headphones in her ears. Rori, that little terrier, who had made a similar flight to see Y/N’s place not too long ago, scampered out the door with her and jumped happily at her legs as she fiddled with her phone. Her coat ruffles around her disturbed from the morning air. It’s blanket-like fabric that consisted of a deep blue backdrop with felt giraffes sewn on it, kept her warm while she walked. With her mind racing with weekend plans and ideas for her and Cate to do both in Hampstead and the city, she crossed the street like usual and began to walk with her dog to the coffee shop for her morning tea.

Unlike usual, she fumbled just as she was putting her phone in her pocket and bumped into something large and definitely not sedentary.

“I’m so sorry!” She blushed and moved backwards from the man who had just been shutting his own front gate to head somewhere.

“S’alright. No harm, no foul.” He looks down at her and her dog. Rori seems excited by the stranger and sniffs him eagerly. A single paw prodding at the man’s long leg.

She grimaces, hearing the voice and stepping back allows her to fully recognize who she had just bumped into. Her neighbour. The runner. Harry Styles.

“Sorry.” She mutters again as Rori continues to prod at Harry’s leg.

She tries to coax Rori away, but Harry simply smiles and leans down to the small dog.

“Hi there buddy,” he coos and rubs the top of the fluffy dogs head, in between his pointy ears, “What’s your name?”

“Rori.” She states easily, Harry’s eyes flickering to her smoothly. Rori makes a smile babbling noise that sounds a bit like a tiny roar - hence the name - and Harry chuckles to himself.

“He’s really adorable,” he finally says and straightens up from his admiring of the dog.

The grimace becomes more of a smile on her face and she mumbles a “Thank You”.

As her neighbour - who hasn’t introduced himself (which wasn’t necessary, but still) or bothered to ask for her introduction - seems to be about to say something new when his phone begins to vibrate obnoxiously. He twitches, his large hands immediately going to his pockets for the important device. He checks the message and looks back at her face.

“Sorry, I have to run...um,” he’s not sure what to say. He really does have to go, but he doesn’t even know his neighbour’s name. He’ll have to make sure to get it at some point in the near future. Especially now that he’s acquainted with her dog.

“No worries,” she smiles completely this time, relieved for the whole interaction to be over. She felt like she was going to explode with each passing moment. In the presence of a legendary musician, c’mon, who wouldn’t be freaking out. All she could think about was how Harry Styles now knew her dog’s name. What the fuck!

Upon arriving at the airport, she waited patiently for Cate to walk out of the customs area.

When she did, the two young women began jumping up and down excitedly, Y/N squealing only slightly. They hugged and began chattering intensely, catching up on lost time that generally occurs when you live an ocean apart.

Finally, one comment rings through the constant back and forth and Cate stops.

“Wait, what did you just say,” she questions as they begin walking to catch an uber back to Hampstead.

“I think my house might be haunted?” Y/N’s voice raising because she’s unsure if that’s what Cate was talking about.

“No, no, the thing after that. I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“Harry Styles is my neighbour?” Y/N’s brows raise as she looks over at her best friend, curious to know what she will say.

“Yes! Explain. Now!”

“It’s not really a big deal. It’s a nice neighbourhood, it makes sense that celebrities of his caliber want to live there.”

“That is not explaining. You have to introduce us!”

As they climb into their uber and settle in for the short ride back to Hampstead, Y/N sighs and tells Cate everything she knows.

“We’ve only just spoken today and I’ve been here for a couple weeks. He lives across the street and down one, I guess. I just see him around, it’s not like he knows who I am. He didn’t even get my name today, just Rori’s.” She laughs lightly, still finding it funny that Harry knows her dog’s name.

Cate nods, leaning in slightly to her best friend, hardly able to contain her awestruckness from the story and baffledness at Y/N’s calmness. “So, like, when do I get to meet him?”

“Girl, I don’t fucking know. Never, if you’re going to act wild. I don’t want the neighbourhood to think I’m not chill.”

“Sometimes…” Cate starts and leans away from Y/N jokingly, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They both smile, bumping elbows silently. The song on the radio fading in louder as their words die out.

The next day, Y/N took Cate to the local park. It was expansive and connected to the football fields that local teams would play at. The park section was a luscious green that was maintained with copious amounts of watering by the township.

She and Cate settled on a patch of grass near a slender tree that would offer some shade if the sun’s rays became too harsh. The quilt they sat on was something her grandmother had made her when she was maybe 8 years old, meaning it was torn in places and completely worn in a different shade of pink than it had been initially.

They set up their picnic and played music, enjoying the sunny day. Something rare and fleeting as the fall began to creep up on Hampstead.

They eat and catch up on life for about an hour. Basking in the sunlight, Y/N had laid on her back and was staring up at the clouds passing along the sky. Cate was carefully watching their surroundings, simply taking in her friend’s new home, but possibly for another reason too.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Cate trails off, trying to subtly nod in the direction of an approaching figure.

Y/N sits up, her hands holding her up from behind her. Her hair fails in front of her shoulders slightly and it’s a little disheveled from being mused in the grass. She looks discreetly in the direction of Cate’s nodding and then looks at her friend and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say anything, he might not even notice me and I’m certainly not calling out to him.”

‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift is playing off her speaker and as she’s about to change it, Cate turns it up slightly. They share a glare with one another before trying to act casual again, even though both of their eyes kept flickering to the man who seemed to be continuing closer and closer to their set up.

It became clear that Harry was approaching them after all and Y/N tried to carry on an unbothered conversation with Cate, which was hard with the constant nudging of Cate’s foot on her shin.

He stops a mere foot away from their blanket, beaming at the two young women lounging on the ground. He makes an attempt at a casual wave, his large hand splaying his fingers quickly, before opening his mouth to speak.

Cate beats him to the punch. “Hello there!”

“Erm, hi!” He says nicely to her and then looks at Y/N.

“No Rori today?” He inquires.

“No,” she smiles, slightly blushing at the fact that he remembered her and her dog. “He’s napping.”

“Ah, I see,” He pauses, “I feel like I need to apologize.” He continues.

“For what?” She questions and Cate watches on anxiously, mesmerized by Harry and dying to see what happens next.

“I ran off before I could even ask for your name or introduce myself. It was terribly rude.”

“Oh,” she can’t stop smiling, “It’s nothing to apologize for, I’m sure you’re busy. Besides I had to get my day started, otherwise I would’ve been late picking her up.” She points to Cate who smiles sheepishly, still internally screaming over the fact that her friend is able to talk so easily to a celebrity.

Harry nods and looks at Cate again, “Just visiting I take it then?”

She nods quickly, words escaping her. Y/N chuckles under her breath and swoops in to save her friend any embarrassment. “Cate’s my best friend and she’s been kind enough to take time out of her extremely busy life to come look at my new house.”

He hums, still standing a respectful distance from their set-up. “Nice to meet you, Cate,” he says very kindly. Then he laughs, but in a way that is like he’s beside himself. The two women both quirk their heads at him. Y/N squints her eyes slightly, trying to understand the guy she is talking to and connecting him with the man that is all over the news all of the time for his musical genius.

“Now I know your dog and best friend’s names but still not yours. At this point, I’m begging you to tell me.”

They all laugh and Y/N feels nervous for the first time since Harry had walked up.

“You first,” she smiles slyly.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then go back to normal. Harry was very smart, she likely knew his name, but one, she was trying to be funny and two, she was also trying to be courteous. He preferred to introduce himself rather than just be told who he is, even if people already knew. It allowed him to maintain some normalcy.

“‘M Harry,” He says with a smile.

“Alright.” She says and then remains quiet.

Harry’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, amused at her expression.

“I thought it was a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ type of situation or was I mistaken?” He finally asks when she remains silent still.

The two young women laugh and Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, both feeling flustered and completely in control at the same time.

“You weren’t mistaken, I was just thinking.” Then she pauses again and Cate thinks Harry is about to combust and Harry thinks he’s going to as well with all the anticipation that has been built up over his neighbor’s name, even though he was pretty sure he’d heard it in passing at one point or another but had forgotten quickly afterwards.

“It’s Y/N.”

Harry releases a facetious sigh of relief, “Oh thank god! Finally!” His words quickly turn into an infectious laugh that is paired with a shining smile and she feels like she’s swooning right then and there. The control has gone out the window and she’s taken with her neighbor. He’s wonderful in that moment and she forgets about Cate or the park or anything. It’s just Harry and how it seems like he’s smiling just for her.

“Now that I’ve gotten your name,” he smiles pointedly at her after his laughter has faded away. The smile doesn’t leave his face though, his eyes still crinkled, his dimples still showing.

She nods, encouraging him to continue. Cate feels like she’s watching a movie unfold in front of her and she wishes she could record the entire interaction.

“I can finally ask you, Y/N, where did you get that fabulous coat I saw you wearing yesterday?”

She twitches further upright, eyes bringing themselves directly inline with Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” she inhales, “The giraffe one, yeah?”

He nods.

“I got it from a Goodwill years ago. It’s some vintage company that used to only make sleepwear. I looked up the tag one time and it doesn’t exist anymore. Super cool, though. Wish I could buy more.”

“Yeah,” Harry says eagerly, even taking a step towards the women, “It was so intriguing. Maybe, if you didn’t mind of course -” he falters, losing his courage for a moment, “you could bring it over and my stylist could check it out. I would love something similar and I’m sure he could figure it out.”

She shrugs. It wasn’t crazy, especially not for Harry - she assumed. She was certain he often found things he liked but there was only one of them so he would just order his own. She couldn’t help the pride that was swelling inside her though it that moment. Harry Styles liking her jacket so much he asked where it was from and then wanting his stylist to look at it. She’d jump for joy when she was in the safety of her private home later tonight with Cate.

“One condition,” she says and Harry’s brows quirk amusedly at her.

“You are a very tit for tat person,” he muses.

“Fair’s fair,” she shrugs again and then looks around her quickly, “It’s simple so don’t get too worked up over it, buddy.”

He laughs slightly again and tries to figure out what she’s looking for. When she extends a scratched up, sticker-covered point and shoot film camera he smiles.

“Can you take a picture of Cate and I? It’s always just the two of us so we never have anyone to take pictures of us together.”

Harry grins at this and her sincere face. Cate is a little taken aback, because while it’s technically true, it’s not entirely factual. They have plenty of film pictures of them - maybe not recently though. And she wasn’t going to question Y/N right now. It seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Harry takes the camera and begins to look through the viewfinder. The women scoot closer together and Cate wraps her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She leans in to press her cheek against her best friend. They smile up at the camera and Harry crouches slightly to get a better angle.

“Alright,” he mumbles, “Ready?...Cheese!”

Their smiles stay hung on their face as they listen for the click and when the faint sound befalls their ears, Cate laughs and Y/N pulls away. She reaches forward for the camera, her hand easily brushing Harry’s large one.

Their smiles meet each other and Cate can’t help but notice how they grow as the two of them look at one another.

“Thank you,” Y/N says sweetly and pulls back to retake her seat on the blanket.

Harry straightens up, his grin falling back into that signature smirk. “No problem.”

“So-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He clears his throat, feeling thrown off. “Yeah, sure. I guess next time I see you we can talk about when a good time would be for your jacket to come over?”

His voice raises at the end of his question a little more than usual, he’s trying to get her to bite, but she doesn’t seem like someone who is easily thrown off. He is trying to read her and she’s been completely cool the entire time. It’s intriguing. Even more so than the jacket, even though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, it wasn’t really his focus when he walked across the park to her and Cate.

“Yep! It was nice finally meeting you Harry.”

He feels the cue to walk off and says his farewells. As he walks off, back on course to his intended destination, his head is filled with questions. Most important of them being when he would see her again.

Cate and Y/N watch him walk towards the football fields. They see him meet with a group of men and it seems like they’re there to practice or play a game. Y/N couldn’t be sure.

“He likes you!” Cate finally bursts out.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to make me take the piss. That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

“It’s not! He likes you and you obviously like him, I mean, but we been knew.”

“Having a crush on the famous Harry Styles when you’re 17 is different than me liking my neighbour Harry.”

“But you like him don’t you? He’s even better than he was when he was 19. Now he’s all grown up and established and more your style anyway.”

“Shut up! He could hear you.”

“He really couldn't, he's yards away, you’re just paranoid.” Cate continues to tease and ridicule her best friend over Harry and Y/N is just about ready to up and leave, but she also can’t help but laugh it off.

“I’m literally gonna kick you out if you keep talking,” Y/N says between laughs and the women feel like they’re back in high school losing their minds over the stupidest joke ever.

“Okay, fine. But all I have to say is I will hold this over you when you end up together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Just be prepared to wait forever because I can promise you Harry Styles and I are never ending up together.”

Two Weeks Later

Y/N walked to her door after hearing the doorbell ring and opened it to find her neighbour standing with his arm raised ready to knock.

“Hey, Harry,” She greeted easily, but not entirely sure why he was here.

They hadn’t really seen each other since their official meeting in the park. It hadn’t bothered her and it hadn’t really bothered Harry either. It seemed like they both had extremely busy lives that they didn’t plan on throwing out the window because they had said they would meet up at some point. She liked that.

Harry had come over because he finally had a break in his schedule and was hoping to talk about the jacket and anything else really. He was interested in getting to know her and he didn’t care to hide it.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee or something?” He asked, leaning himself against her door frame now.

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen a little bit, not completely sure she heard him correctly.

“Right now?!” She asked incredulously.

She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and black bike shorts that peaked out from underneath the sweatshirt hem. One of her socks was shoved around her ankle while the other was pulled up flat to touch the base of her calf. She didn’t think she was looking the most presentable at the moment. She had been basking in her day off by simply laying on the couch watching hours of Netflix.

He nods, his smile growing on his face. Her flustered expression only made him happier. She was always so nonchalant with him, he wanted to see her a little more antsy.

“Unless you’re busy,” he adds seriously, not wanting to bother her, just wanting to spend time with her.

“No, no. I’m not...I’m not busy. I just wasn’t expecting any plans where I would be required to go out in public. Let me just...um, come inside and then give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles again as he steps into her home.

Her smile is sheepish and much less genuine then the one Harry holds on his face as he takes in her abode. She tells him to make himself comfortable and then runs to her room to try and possibly fix her state in under five minutes.

She tears around her room, heaving off the frumpy sweatshirt and grabbing a long sleeve striped v-neck top she had hanging out half out of her hamper, a sign known to her that while it was clean enough to wear, if she happened to do laundry she should wash it. Slipping it over her head, she walks to her dresser and leans over to open the bottom drawer and unfolds a pair of dark wash oversized jeans. There’s no holes in them and she throws them on the bed so that she can slip out of her current pants. Next, onto the socks, she swaps out the current ones for a fresh black pair and finds her tortoise print boots to flick on. As she just about runs into her en suite bathroom, she zips the two boots up between steps. A quick comb through her hair, deodorant, two spritz of perfume, her eyelash curler and mascara and she’s running back to where Harry is waiting in her living room.

He blinks surprisedly at her promptness, usually giving people more time then what they say they need. She had indeed gotten ready in five minutes. He thought she looked breathtaking. And she felt like she was at a lack for breath in any case.

“It’s a bit cold out,” he glances to the window.

“Isn’t it always?” She smiles, finally catching her breath.

He chuckles and then nods, a smile appearing on his face as he feels a warmth in his chest at her wit.

“Ready?” He checks in.

She nods, grabbing a coat she kept hung by the door.

“Just the coffee shop down the way?” She inquires as they exit the house and she locks the door behind her.

Harry hums, waiting down a step for her to turn around and walk beside him. It was so strange to her, this felt all too normal with him. Like he was just a friend who had come to pick her up for coffee, her neighbor, nothing more.

“Did you hear the new season of the Crown is coming out soon?” Harry asks as they walk shoulder to shoulder (technically since her shoulder wasn’t in line with his).

“Really?” She looks at him, “I love that show!”

“Me too,” He looks at her and smiles happily.

“That’s amazing,” she breathes mostly to herself, half about the show and half about how Harry watches television and that he watches one of her favorite shows.

There’s silence. The brisk air pricking their cheeks as they walk down their street. Their puffs of breath create a slight mist of white ahead of them and then quickly dissipates.

Her eyes flit up to Harry’s chiseled jaw and face and she watches him as his eyes carefully and meaningfully take in his surroundings. Was it her turn to take a stab at conversation? It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but she just wasn’t sure what was going on.

“You play football right?” She says finally as they turn onto the next street that would bring them closer to the café they both frequented.

She remembered seeing him there on several occasions. The tips he left were always overly generous, which she assumed you could do when you were exorbitantly rich. He always smiled when he ordered and knew the baristas by name. His order rarely differed and she hated to admit but she knew his two regulars. His actual “regular” was a 12 ounce black coffee, dark roast, no cream and no sugar. The other, his “I’ll actually have”, was a 16 ounce iced green tea, no cream and no sugar.

She couldn’t help that she was observant and that when ‘H’ was called at the bar she looked at what was pushed out, patiently waiting for him to come snatch it up with a smile and nod to the workers before he left. Sometimes he’d even smile at her over the lid of his drink as he exited the establishment. It was warm and inviting and she felt good about the twinkle in his eye that never seemed to waver no matter the day.

Now they were going there together and she’d have to pretend like she’d never noticed what he got as a drink.

He responds to her question with another glance at her and a simple “yes”. His hands shove into his pockets and one side of his pink lips quirk up. He continues, “I’m on a local team with some mates. We’re in a little competition with our league. The final match is coming up this Sunday actually...You should come.”

He says it so casually it almost doesn’t catch her off guard. Harry inviting her to his football game, maybe this was going to be her life now. Going to her neighbours football match. Going to Harry Styles’ football match.

“Sunday…” She sounds out, choosing to look out into the distance instead of at him. “What time?”

“Eight.”

“P.M. right?” She responds quickly, worried since she never wakes up that early and rarely before 10 a.m. on the weekends for that matter.

“Of course,” he chuckles.

They’ve come upon the café and he’s quick to grab the handle to open the door and let her go before him. She can’t stop the blush and smile that spread on her face as she ducks her head into the warm and cozy shop. Men had opened doors for her before and she really thought of herself as a strong woman who didn’t need a man for anything, but something about Harry’s action felt especially, and specifically, chivalrous. Why, she had no idea.

Neither of them stop to look at the menu. They were regulars and they both knew that about each other as well. He gestures for her to go first and she mutters her thanks before turning to the patiently waiting barista. She orders and is about to hand over her card when Harry suavely steps in and says, “Don’t worry about it. I invited you with me, I’ll pay.”

It was both completely unexpected and expected at the same time. Knowing she’d never win this fight, she thanked him again, glanced at the man taking her order and then stepped aside. Harry orders his own drink and then pays for both. Today he leaves double the amount he usually leaves for tip, she assumes since it’s two drinks he was paying for.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” She says quietly to him once they’re in a corner of the café waiting for their drinks.

He stands slightly slumped against the wall, closer to her height right now. He only shrugs, his good natured smile not once leaving his face since he entered this place.

“I wanted to,” he said simply right as the drinks were ready since it wasn’t particularly busy on this random Friday afternoon.

They glance outside and see that it’s begun to drizzle while they’ve been inside. She sighs, having hoped to walk around a little after being inside all day.

Instead, they sit at the corner table in the café, across from each other. She moves on from the paying thing, knowing it was simply how this guy probably operated most of his life.

He got a black coffee today, the cold and rain likely contributing to that choice.

As one pop song fades out, slightly under the sound of the coffee machines, she’s about to tell Harry she’s pretty sure she can make his final football match when ‘Cardigan’ fades in. It’s the second time a Taylor Swift song has been playing while she’s been in the presence of Harry and they were conversing. She tries to ignore one of her favorite songs at the moment. Harry doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. His foot is tapping against his other, but it’s been tapping like that since they sat down.

“I think I could probably make it to your game,” she says finally after a pause and a sip of her own drink.

Harry grins at the response and launches into how great it will be if they win and how happy everyone will be. She smiles along and doesn’t notice the slight head swaying to the song that she’s begun.

“Fan of Taylor?” Harry inquires and Y/N’s face drops, eyes widening cartoonishly.

She stutters, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth before she can actually say something. How does she respond about liking Taylor Swift to a man who counts her as an ex. She’s at a loss.

“Yeah, uh,” she finally starts.

Harry watches her curiously, obviously noticing her discomfort as his question.

“I used to not really consider myself a fan. I don’t really follow her just because I don’t really follow...um...musicians,” she chokes out the last word realizing Harry fits that category. “But, after folklore, I don’t know, this album really spoke to me. I also really like Lover and...uh” she pauses again, sticking on 1989, an album she has argued with her friends about how it’s basically a tell all of the man before her and Taylor’s relationship.

He nods, hoping she’ll continue. He wanted to get to know her and he kind of liked seeing her squirm. “1989?” He finally supplies.

Her blush isn’t able to be covered this time. If her hair didn’t fall in front of her ears she was sure they’d be flushed with blood.

Then she draws out of her own self stress and looks at the smooth man before her and grows calm. He was amazing at winding her up and she didn’t want to seem like some young, impressionable fangirl to him. So, she squared her shoulders and straightened up in her chair.

“Yes, it was pop perfection as one of my college friends liked to say. I’d always listen to it at the gym.” Then she pauses, taking a measured breath, gaining her confidence back. Her eyes meet his, “Is there any songs off it that you particularly enjoy, Mr. Styles.”

He chuckles, mostly because of her emphasis on ‘Style’.

“Shake it off?” He asks.

“Oh fuck off!” She laughs and he joins in with her.

When they catch their breaths from laughing, they simultaneously take sips of their drinks and settle their eyes back on one another. Exes and songs written about oneself weren’t exactly the topics Harry had in mind for the coffee outing he had asked Y/N out on, but talks of exes had never been this funny with anyone else. He was grateful for her playfulness, her demeanor.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks quietly and seriously.

“I think we’re past that question, love,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pauses and just about whispers, “Pretty much all of them are about you right?”

He shrugs again, his felt coat rustling around his seat. “We never really talked about every single song.”

She leans forward at the ‘we’ Harry is using about himself and Taylor Swift.

“But when I listen to the songs, I hear us in just about every one but a few.”

“Wow,” she breathes and sips her drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lived through something that intense and then someone commemorated in a masterpiece.”

“Do you have a favorite on that album?” He asks, moving on from her revelation.

“I love ‘I know places’, it has a cool sound. But I also really love ‘Wonderland’. They both have kind of dark sounds, yet it still is like what you have is so special that the bad bits are worth it. I don’t know, it just seems like a tv show. I don’t think my life could ever be that crazy or dramatic.” She doesn’t notice her use of ‘you’ because she had meant it as a form of analyzing the song theoretically as she had done hundreds of times with her friends, but this time the ‘you’ is literally the ‘you’ the song is talking about.

“Love can turn anyone’s life chaotic.” Harry muses.

The green eye’s that flashed at Taylor throughout that album look at Y/N from across the table and she feels a flip in her stomach at his tone.

Maybe he notices her mild discomfort, maybe that’s just who he is. But after a beat, Harry’s onto the next topic on his mind. He launches into how he’s just returned from Scotland for a shoot for something so undercover he can’t even divulge to her, much to his dismay. She’s taken aback since she didn’t consider her someone Harry would divulge any of his private matters to, but it seemed like he already considered her a confidant. Just not for that. He wants it to be a surprise.

She smiles and listens attentively. She wonders as he goes on about his interesting yet absurdly lavish life whether he even knows what regular life is like anymore. Or if he’d even enjoy it if he experienced it.

Sure, coffee and football were plenty part of regular life . But the football league was something novel to Harry. He had just gotten to do it and he was thrilled by its normalcy.

She regarded him carefully, unsure what the next step was in this budding friendship. Was it dangerous to get involved with someone’s life which seemed to be filled with whirlwind rigor and constant change.

She liked her chaos, don’t get her wrong. She felt like she often was the odd one out in life. Always thinking differently than the ones around her. She often was the one to suggest spontaneous late night trips around town or exploration of an abandoned building known for spooky stories. She liked inviting friends over for themed parties for no specific occasions and she liked taking film pictures of friends like they were models even though it was only for her and her memories. She thought of herself as silly and fun, but what Harry described as his chaotic fun actually was regimented tight schedules of constant travel and work. Interesting experiences came out of that constant travel and work, but didn’t seem like something she necessarily wanted to get herself wrapped up in.

After coffee, they leave the café and it’s pouring now. Instead of going home, Harry insists on walking her to her place. She relents, realizing, once again, that Harry wasn’t someone who took ‘no’ for an answer. She then invites him in because it’s the polite thing to do. And Harry being Harry accepts.

“Want a dry sweatshirt while you wait?” She asks as she slips off her wet shoes and jacket in the entryway. Harry follows suit, his knit sweater being pelted with rain for the last eight minutes left him feeling cold and shivery.

He nods as he toes off his shoes and ventures back to the living room she had him wait in a few hours ago.

“Here,” She says as she tosses a grey sweatshirt in his direction. She believes it's her one from earlier, an innocuous pullover with ‘London’ in collegiate lettering on the front. He catches it as she rounds the corner to turn up the heater.

Her mistake was being so careless to not look at the sweatshirt before handing it over to her neighbor. Anyone else, maybe they wouldn’t have questioned it. But Harry, how could he not.

“What’s this?”

“A sweatshirt,” she doesn’t spare him a glance on the coach as she fiddles with the thermostat.

“It’s one of my sweatshirts,” Harry says and she can hear the smile on his face.

“That’s impossible, I’ve never borrowed-” Her brows had raised at what he said but now her words fall short.

He didn’t mean one of his personal sweatshirts that she possibly borrowed if they were better friends. No. He meant his merchandise.

“It was a gift,” she sighs as she turns to face him. He’s now wearing the sweatshirt proudly and grinning up at her smugly.

She rolls her eyes when he gives her a knowing smile.

“I didn’t know that it was the one I was handing you. Honest!”

“I thought you didn’t “keep up” with musicians,” Harry says playfully, his fingers making quotes appropriately.

“I don’t.” Her tone is serious as she plops on the couch beside Harry.

“I enjoy your music from time to time. Is that a crime?!” She finally exclaims when she can’t handle Harry’s knowing smirk.

“No it’s not, you could have just told me you were a fan!” She tries to stop him and protest that she wouldn’t consider herself a fan, but he continues, “I still would have wanted to have been friends.You’re one of the liveliest neighbors I’ve got. Everyone else on the street is rather dull.”

She chuckles, remembering finding out quickly that the street wasn’t a lively bunch.

“I just wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” she presses and sits across from him.

He continues smiling like he knows the truth.

“I don’t think you’ve met an average person in awhile, Harry.” She finally says after they sat in silence for a few minutes because they were both too stubborn to be the first to talk.

“I would hardly call you average if that’s what you’re implying, Y/N.” He nods her way and he shifts on her plush couch, his legs adjusting themselves on their own accord. “And I know plenty of average people,” he adds huffily.

“I normally wouldn’t either, but compared to who you seem to surround yourself, I very much am. And that’s not meant to be a jab at anyone involved.”

His right hand sneaks up to his head to scratch at the base of a particularly perfect curl. His eyes squint a bit as his mind processes her claim.

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m just curious to see if you’d actually like me in your life. It seems like you want to be friends with me and that’s great, but realistically I don’t know how much I would fit into it.”

Harry scoffs, “That’s literally bullshit, just relax. I’m so chill you won’t even know what to do with me.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “Chill?!” She asks incredulously. Harry nods with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before.

“When’s the next time you’re flying off to another country for work?”

Harry pauses, “Um...the day after the final match. I’m beginning to film a movie, so I’ll be there for a month.”

“Busy bee,” she muses and they both chuckle.

There’s something about the somber look Harry is giving her. His eyes twinkled in the coffee shop and with playful winks she was excited to be in his presence. But after she mentions when his next trip is, he seems saddened. There’s skepticism behind his eyes and maybe he doesn’t like being challenged about who he is from other people, especially those who are new in his life.

But that’s who Y/N is, she’s straightforward and doesn’t lie to someone. If Harry was now her friend, she was going to tell it like it is to him. That personality trait she worried wouldn’t make her long for his world.

“So the cardigan? Do you have it here?” Harry changes the subject, clearly not wanting to actually consider a realistic friendship together instead just charging ahead with no hesitation. Whatever happened they would deal with it as it came. Maybe she should just go with the flow, let herself be swept up into his madness. Maybe it would be easier than fighting it.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I do, I was joking. Where else would it be?” Her tone is light, trying to get back the shine she had seen Harry exhibit before it had vanished.

Maybe that was Harry’s effect on people. He was vibrant and like an Elton John song. You never wanted that shine to go away, never wanted the song to end. Never wanted him to stop shining his light on you. She felt this happening in just a few hours with him. When he was happy so was she and when he wasn’t entirely shining she wanted to do whatever she could to get it back.

A smile curls on his face and his green eyes narrow slightly. He’s trying to figure her out, know what she’s all about.

“Do you want to go and grab it?” His voice sweetening, almost like a tease. Maybe he means to bite his lip, maybe he doesn’t, but the effect on her is nonetheless earthshaking.

She pops up and smiles back, happy to have made him happy. As she walks out of the room to go get the cardigan that had started this all, her head tilts and she furrows her brow wondering why she felt such a sense of pride just for making him happy.

Would this man cause her to finally put someone else’s wishes ahead of hers?

“Are you on your way?”

She listens to Harry’s slightly worried voice crackle over the speaker of her phone as she shuts her door with the hand not holding her phone to her ear. His voice is raspy and muffled. She assumes it’s from the cold air of London at night and the scarf he is likely got wrapped around his neck.

“Yes! Jeez, I’m on my way. Walking over right now.”

It’s the final match for Harry’s football team and if they win the game then they get a trophy and it’s all Harry has been talking about since they got coffee and she handed over her cardigan.

Harry huffed an “alright” on the other side of the line and she called a “see you soon” before hanging up.

He was both eager for Y/N to come and possibly meet some of his teammates and a few of his close friends who he had invited and for her to arrive so that she wasn’t walking out late at night alone. He hadn’t known her for long, but he felt a certain protectiveness over her. She was relatively alone here, only two friends at work that she had mentioned and everyone else lived far away. She said she didn’t mind it, but Harry had a hard time understanding it since he surrounded himself with his friends as much as he could and was constantly either traveling or having them travel to see him.

He had even contemplated inviting her to come to Los Angeles with him for a month, but knew she would remind him of her ever important job that she couldn’t just randomly take a month off.

He’d have to ask her what exactly she did because every time he tried to remember, it always slipped his mind.

When her figure came into sight below the fluorescent lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. A grin spread on his face as she beamed at him and waved a bit. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see how special she was. Every time he saw her he felt himself straighten up and feel a bubbling in his chest. Her smile was infectious and the way her eyes glittered when she looked away quickly and then returned eye contact made him want to stay in her presence forever.

“You made it!” Harry said and scooped her up in his arms, not realizing just how happy he was to see her, swinging her around in a half circle.

She laughs in surprise, but appreciates the warmth Harry’s hug offers her. She’s not quite sure they had ever touched each other before this moment beside shoulder brushes and hand touches. Nothing so...purposeful.

“I made it,” she confirms and pats him on his broad shoulders.

Questions in her mind raced as she questioned whether it was normal for friendships to happen like this. She knew in college friendships could happen this quickly. And that’s when it dawned on her, she really hadn’t made a new friend since college and that was why everything with Harry was so odd to her. She had forgotten what new friendship was. She needed to stop questioning everything and just live in the moment with a person she really liked being with.

Harry’s hands move from her waist and one stays to lead her forward so he can introduce her to some of his mates, as he had promised.

She felt at home in that moment. His hand on the small of her back, his heat radiating off of him and her hair swept behind her ears and her cheek pressed to his shoulder staring up at him sweetly.

She meets Charlotte, a member of Harry’s band who lives in London, her boyfriend, Mitch (who had just happened to find himself in Hampstead this weekend), Ben, and a few more people she couldn’t remember all the names of.

Harry’s team wins the game and Y/N’s not sure if she’s ever seen someone so happy to win an adult league football match. There wasn’t any official trophy except the one Harry had made himself and said he would even give to the other team if they won. It was engraved with the words “The World’s Greatest Football Team of Stars Ever. October 22, 2020”. It doesn’t even make sense but she’d been holding it for the entire night as he played.

He goes down the line of his friends who have been watching and gives them all jubilant kisses on the lips. When he reaches Y/N she holds out the trophy and he grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek. His lips are surprisingly soft and his scratchy stubble tickles her and she swiftly pulls back, a smile on her face and blush on her cheeks nonetheless.

Charlotte and Mitch share a look between the two of them and Ben’s eyes narrow slightly at the interaction. His eyes narrow just as they had when Harry had strutted over to the group with Y/N before the game. He had happily named everyone and she had shaken all of their hands with a warm smile on her lips. Ben had regarded her warily and she had shaken it off as the chill of the night air. But there it was again, not quite trusting of the neighbour girl Harry had just randomly befriended a few days ago.

The team and the friends of the team decide they deserve to celebrate this win, mostly at the request of Harry.

Y/N tries to find a time to leave, to return to her place so she can prepare for her day at work tomorrow. But no excuses will be heard from Harry and she has a hard time saying no to his sparkling eyes and gorgeous grin that she’s growing far too accustomed to.

She’s ushered down to the closest pub with the rest of them and finds herself chatting with Charlotte’s boyfriend. He’s the most...normal. She’s not sure how to explain it, but he doesn’t seem to be regarding her as different, unlike every other one of Harry’s friends. They were all perfectly nice and cordial with her, but she just felt like she wasn’t a part of their group, their world and she didn’t know how to explain it.

Charlotte and Mitch are rather nice too, but they’re more reserved with her. They’re musicians, like Harry, and they somewhat have that air of awareness around them that Harry sometimes gets. She thinks it’s from the fame, having to constantly be wary of who is around you, what everyone is doing, what is happening next. She doesn’t mind it, it’s just not something she’s used to.

She wishes she could just throw back some drinks and she could allow herself to be more...well just be more. More of a presence, more of herself, but she has a job she has to get to bright and early. Tomorrow was Monday and for her that meant work. So she sips a beer that Harry insisted be on his tab and she makes small talk with Charlotte’s boyfriend about how he’s been helping her produce her first EP. Charlotte occasionally pops in when she hears her name, but mostly is conversing with Mitch over something silly. Y/N knows because they keep laughing.

Harry is going around to just about everyone in the party and she watches as he happily talks with every one of his friends. He’s ecstatic and she wonders if she’s ever experienced happiness like he has.

At midnight she attempts to make a French exit, as her mother always called it, and slip away with little to no farewells, but Harry spots her before she can.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks loudly, the euphoria of winning his silly little game and drinking a fair amount of pints has him at his peak boisterity.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says warily, slumping slightly from the weight of Harry’s arm slinging around her shoulder.

He turns serious and straightens up slightly, his green eyes looking especially dark in the pubs dim lighting as they look her dead in the eye. “Let me walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she laughs, shrugging off his hold. “Plus, the host can’t leave his own celebration.” She gestures to everyone else happily celebrating on a Sunday, somehow not bothered by the beginning of the average week.

He steps closer, his brow furrowing for the first time that night. One of his large hands raises to his tousled hair and he runs it through the tresses. He even nibbles at his lower lip as he contemplates his decision. Then quickly and suddenly, he makes up his mind,

“No, I’ll escort you. Can’t have my neighbour walk home this late alone. I’ll just leave my card with Mitch. He’ll settle up the tab.” He smiles at his perfect plan and she grimaces feeling slightly embarrassed that he would leave his friends to walk her home. “Won’t you Mitch?” Harry calls as he grabs his coat from the wall next to the door. Mitch simply nods and Harry yells his farewells, Y/N waves meekly.

“That was...interesting,” she mulls over her words as they walk through the cold night air outside of the pub.

“Amazing, right?” Harry speaks over her less enthusiastic voice.

“You have a lot of friends,” she mused, trying to sound less disheartened than she had in her last statement.

Harry only hums and shivers slightly from the cold. His breath comes clearly out in puffs in the cold night air. Y/N’s is muffled by her scarf wrapped tightly up to her chin. She’s tucked his face as far into it as possible but her nose won’t stop from freezing as they walk.

Her hand goes up to it and she rests her palm to the tip of it. The motion grabs Harry’s attention and he looks directly at her curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing,” she muffles out, “This helps my cold nose not be so..cold.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder and she easily folds into him, welcoming any warmth right now.

After another moment of silence and them enjoying each other’s warmth and slight smell of whatever perfumes they had chosen earlier that night as well as beer and wood of the pub, Harry nuzzles his head above hers and then asks her something.

“Was that overwhelming for you?”

She’s quiet, thankful his eyes can’t reach hers right now. He was too powerful with those things.

“I, um, a little. I just...I just realized today that I haven’t made a new friend since college outside of work and it was overwhelming just hanging out with you. So all of your friends as well, yeah, it was a bit much for me.”

Harry looks out at the empty street ahead of them and sighs in realization. In his excitement, he hadn’t accounted how she might have felt tonight until just now. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of her feelings, but other’s feelings slipped his mind so easily sometimes.

They round their street corner and she nuzzles back into his side.

“I’m sorry, love.” He rubs at her outer arm, “I didn’t think about it like that. I was just so excited for my plan to come together. Maybe next time, it’ll just be a couple of them rather than so many?”

“Sure,” she says quickly, wanting to make him happy, knowing how much he cared about his friends. “I feel like we need to hang out more with just you before I osmos into your friend group though if I’m being honest.”

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” he says and reluctantly lets go of her body. They’ve arrived at her door.

“I also want to see the inside of your house at some point.” She tugs at one of his hands before it can disappear into his warm coat pocket. “Houses,” she corrects.

“That can also be arranged,” Harry smiles with his lips closed. Pink lips and rosy cheeks extra bright from the cold. He plays with her fingers as the two stand close to one another, happy for the alone time and chalking the proximity up to heat sharing.

“You leave tomorrow right?” She finally asks.

His head falls and he sighs.

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a month,” she smiles, trying to stop Harry from being so dramatic. Especially when there was no logical reason for him to be so upset over not seeing his neighbour - she keeps telling herself.

“Are you sure you can’t quit your job and just fly out with me?” He pleads.

She throws her head back in laughter and shifts closer to him, her front porch light illuminating and shadowing every perfect place on Harry’s gorgeous face.

“Not even a chance.”

“That is a shame,” he takes an experimental step closer and she feels his breath fan across her cheeks at his last word.

She wrinkles his nose at the smell of his last beer, even though coming from him it was endearing.

Just as she feels him being to shift his head closer, she steps forward and gives him a tight hug.

“Goodnight Harry,” she whispers into his ear, “Safe travels.”

Then she’s stepping back and swiftly unlocking her door. She moves it slowly so as to not wake Rori and then Harry’s left alone and dumbfounded on her doorstep.

He definitely preferred being with her alone, but now he didn’t even have that chance until next month. And nonetheless she had just sidestepped his kiss with such ease he’s not even sure if he meant to kiss her. It had felt right, but why? Because it was cold and picture perfect? Or because he was enchanted by her and liked her as more than a new friend?

She slumps in her kitchen and fixes an Emergen-C to stave off the chill of the night and any germs that might have been lurking around the pub. She hopes when she walks to her bedroom she can check the front porch and see that Harry has gone home because she would hate to turn the light off on him.

How could he have expected her to kiss him just then? They’ve only just met each other a few weeks ago? And he’s Harry Styles and she just lives in the neighbourhood. What the actual fuck had happened to her life?

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