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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’) and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And -

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar.

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him.

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned.

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is!

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does?

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.”

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat.

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different.

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth.

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation.

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more.

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #best friend!harry styles #loose ankles #lol #one of my fav things ive written #i got carried away during the smut.... sorry

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fernweh-writes · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry this one might be a bit weird lol

Slashers with a s/o who loves fish like she has a ton of tanks at her house that she takes care of and sometimes could watch them swim for hours

You're writing is amazing! Thank you for always taking my request you do such a perfect job!

I love your requests and they are always very welcome. Also I love fishies and I’m a huge animal person so this is right up my ally!

-Fern🌿

Slashers x Fish Keeper

Michael Myers

He would find about your fish keeping hobby whilst stalking you.

At first he thinks it’s weird in all honesty. Michael doesn’t understand why you have so many fish and would believe it was just a waste of time and money.

That is until he realizes that he’s gotten so lost in watching your fish swim around their tanks that he had lost track of you. He’s an expert stalker s he then realizes that maybe it ins’t dumb.

Then he begins questioning how you ever get anything done on time with so many mesmerizing fish just floating around.

Michael is also very curious and would enjoy you rambling on about your different fish. Would even listen to you talk about pH, salinity, all the aspects of the water as well. He just thinks it’s neat.

Bo Sinclair

Bo would tease you about having so many fish. “Are you trying to make friends out of fish since you can’t seem to befriend people?”

Pretends he wasn’t staring mindlessly at the fish swimming about anytime you catch him. If there’s a tank in the living room, although you probably convince him to have multiple, you can often find him staring at the fish rather than whatever is on TV.

You may also notice that Bo is a lot calmer, there isn’t as many angry outbursts from him as they used to be. Apparently fish can manage to calm down even the angriest person in Ambrose.

Tries to give the fish dumb names. It’s on the same level as his terrible dad jokes honestly. Don’t ask him his opinion because even if you give the fish a different name he is still going to call it by the name he came up with.

Vincent Sinclair

Unlike Bo, Vincent can come up with much better names. They’re all very artsy and sophisticated.

Vincent would also like if you set up a tank just for him. Like put all his favorite fishies in there. He’ll stare at it for hours and allows for him to just zone out. I think he would appreciate it very much.

Usually, taking care of the tanks is something you have to do all on your own since Vincent stays pretty busy. However, whenever he gets the chance he’s more than happy to help you out. Knows how heavy all those tanks can be and he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself.

Finds your fish keeping hobby very cute. All your fishies are like your shared children. He makes sure to feed them whenever you’re not around. Would also replace a fish that has died before you notice if he can. However, he soon realizes you recognize your fish way better than he thought…

Brahms Heelshire

He doesn’t like animals and is very much against the fish at first. Brahms had planned on sitting and angrily staring at it until he ended up simply just staring at it. Wow, that fishy is indeed swimming.

Brahms eventually begins to want to feed the fish. He’s dramatic and would probably even add it to the daily schedule. May even feed the fish multiple times and just hope you don’t catch him.

He wouldn’t allow you to have to many tanks though. That would interfere with the amount of time you focus on him after all and he simply cannot have that.

Wants to name the fish and expects you to allow him to give it whatever dumb or dramatic name that he wants. Goes for some old fancy book inspired name. If the fish dies and you two get a new one it’s the same name just with the second, third, and so on added on to the end. You cannot change the name.

Billy Loomis

You’re obsessed with fish, he’s obsessed with murder, everyone has their fun little quirks right?

Thinks that your fish keeping hobby is kind of nerdy but still cute. He likes listening to you ramble about different kinds of fish and how to take care of them. Expects you to listen to him ramble about horror movies in return.

Horror inspired fish names? Absolutely! The crown tail beta? His name is Freddy. Goldfish? A classic, his name is Michael. Would probably even name one after himself.

Won’t help much with tank upkeep. But if he sees you struggling to lift something heavy obviously he has to use it as an opportunity to show off and swoops in to help. We get it Billy, you’re big and strong.

Stu Macher

Absolutely loves helping you with your fish keeping hobby! Especially loves helping you pick out fish. Oh, this one’s o expensive? No it’s not because he’s aging for it.

If he buys the fish he has come up with the rule that he gets to name it. This means you have a handful of rare and beautiful fish with dumb ass names.

Stu likes to just sit and watch the fish swim around with you. It gives him the perfect excuse to just cling to you while the two fo you do nothing and he enjoys it a lot.

You have more than one fish that he has started to call jr because they are his favorites so he claims them as his sons. He doesn’t care, to him all the fish are boys so.

Jesse Cromeans

Funds your fish keeping hobby and is more than okay with having tanks all over the house, whatever makes you happy. Besides, you spend more time in the house than him, you deserve something to keep you entertained.

Please talk to him about all of your different fish. He’s amazed by the fact you have so much mesmerized about all of these different fish and how to take care of them. He just thinks it’s very dorky and cute.

Just picture him sitting on the living room couch with you, working on a laptop. He looks up to find you staring at a tank and ends up getting lost as well. Just two idiots sitting on a couch staring at fish. Forgets all about his work.

Your fish are spoiled just like you. They come from the best stores, have the best supplies, and consume only the highest quality of fish food.

Asa Emory

Absolutely gets your fish keeping hobby. After all he’s obsessed with bugs and people and has a collection himself. Asa respects the hobby and finds your love for fish endearing.

Knows that it can be a lot of work to keep up with so many tanks so he will help you but reluctantly. Complains the whole time about how you shouldn’t have gotten in over your head even though he encourages you to get more fish.

Asa thinks naming your fish is stupid. After all, you have so many how do you keep up with them all. There’s no point y/n, all of them in that tank look almost identical, identity theft isn’t a joke.

Asa isn’t ashamed of staring at the fish. If you tease him about it, he’ll go on a big rant about how it’s good for you and what not. Just admit staring at the fish is fun Asa, it’s not that hard.

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years

Text

Confessions are hard

Happy New Year!

Jiang Cheng waves for Nie Huaisang when he sees him enter the diner and then he has to watch as Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open to hide his face behind.

He does that a lot lately, and it makes Jiang Cheng frown every time because what does he have to hide so badly that he doesn’t even step outside of the house without his fan anymore?

Jiang Cheng hasn’t asked him yet, but the question is on his tongue every time he sees Nie Huaisang.

But just like all the other times before, Jiang Cheng swallows his questions back and simply waves Nie Huaisang over. When he’s standing next to the booth Jiang Cheng got for them, Nie Huaisang hesitates.

“Get in here, would you,” Jiang Cheng says with a roll of his eyes and reaches out to take Nie Huaisang’s hand in his and pull him down next to him.

Nie Huaisang freezes and that, too, is something Jiang Cheng has observed a lot lately.

It’s even more worrisome than the fan in Jiang Cheng’s opinion but with this, too, he hasn’t asked. Yet.

If Jiang Cheng is being honest, he is afraid that the answer will be something he doesn’t like.

Jiang Cheng is by far not the most physically affectionate person—that title undoubtedly goes to Wei Wuxian—but with Nie Huaisang things are different. They have been friends for so long that Jiang Cheng feels entirely comfortable around him and so reaching out for Nie Huaisang and keeping him close comes as a second nature to Jiang Cheng by now.

He tried to curb that impulse when he realized that he fell in love with Nie Huaisang, but it made Nie Huaisang worry and so Jiang Cheng went back to his old ways. It’s still—good, to be able to touch Nie Huaisang like this and Jiang Cheng would never do anything to abuse his trust.

But maybe someone else did?

Nie Huaisang was blackout drunk during the last party, and maybe someone else was not quite as considerate about Nie Huaisang’s personal boundaries as Jiang Cheng. Maybe someone touched him in ways that Nie Huaisang didn’t like.

Just the thought makes Jiang Cheng’s blood boil with rage and he takes a deep breath.

“You alright?” Nie Huaisang carefully asks from his side and Jiang Cheng jerks at hearing his voice, too lost in his own thoughts.

“Yeah, sure, I’m alright,” Jiang Cheng presses out and then gives Nie Huaisang what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just wondering,” Nie Huaisang asks and then he pulls the menu closer to himself. “Did you order already?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course not,” Jiang Cheng scoffs out, even though he could.

They have been at this diner often enough that Jiang Cheng knows Nie Huaisang’s order by heart and he could have ordered for both of them.

But that would probably reveal too much about Jiang Cheng’s feelings and so he decided to simply wait for Nie Huaisang to arrive.

“Alright,” Nie Huaisang says as he catches the attention of a waiter.

He orders—for both of them—and then puts the menu back.

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng says, because while he fretted over ordering for both of them, Nie Huaisang simply did it and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do with that.

“What?” Nie Huaisang absentmindedly says, busy checking his phone, but he frowns when he finally looks up. “You did want the burger, right?”

“Hell, yes,” Jiang Cheng says with emphasis because he has been daydreaming about this damn burger all day long, but still.

Nie Huaisang knows him well enough to order for him and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

“I—oh,” Nie Huaisang says, when he finally seems to realize what he just did, but by then Jiang Cheng has himself mostly back under control so he simply flicks Nie Huaisang’s forehead.

“Now you realize,” he good-naturedly teases and watches as Nie Huaisang blushes, before he hides it behind his fan again.

“Should I apologize?” Nie Huaisang unsurely asks and Jiang Cheng frowns at him.

“We’re friends. You can know my order,” he then says and watches as Nie Huaisang slowly relaxes again.

Jiang Cheng tries very hard not to think about the lingering, dull pain in his chest that he always experiences when he brings attention to the fact that they are friends.

Friends, and nothing more.

“How was your day?” Jiang Cheng asks, in an attempt to distract himself, because he knows from experience that nothing good ever comes of those thoughts and he would much rather hear how Nie Mingjue tried and failed yet again to tell Lan Xichen that he’s in love with him.

It’s much easier than to think about the fact that Jiang Cheng is in a very similar position to Nie Mingjue.

~*~*~

“I am so fucking mad,” Jiang Cheng calls out the moment he steps inside Nie Huaisang’s apartment and Nie Huaisang pokes his head around the corner.

“About what? Do you need chips with your anger?” he asks and Jiang Cheng huffs and puffs, because of course he needs chips with his anger.

What kind of stupid question is that even.

“Alright, then,” Nie Huaisang mutters and vanishes in the kitchen. Jiang Cheng marches over to the couch, where he plops himself down. He puts his head back and takes a deep breath, trying to center himself, but the anger is still swirling in his gut, and while he knows it’s stupid—that’s just how Wei Wuxian is, after all—he can’t help himself.

“What happened?” Nie Huaisang asks when he comes back, bringing chips with him and before Jiang Cheng answers him, he makes grabby hands at them. “Alright, alright,” Nie Huaisang laughs and hands the chips over without a fight, before he sits down at the opposite end of the couch.

Jiang Cheng is not at all content with the distance between them and so he reaches out to drag Nie Huaisang’s feet into his lap.

If Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to sit close then this will have to do.

Nie Huaisang goes very still for a moment and Jiang Cheng sees how his hand moves, like it would be if he had his fan in his hand, and Jiang Cheng tries not to think about it too much.

“Wei Wuxian happened, that’s what,” Jiang Cheng says, right before he stuffs his face full of chips and it makes Nie Huaisang laugh and relax, so he counts it as a win.

As soon as Jiang Cheng’s mouth is empty he starts to retell what utter bullshit Wei Wuxian has been up to—and will no doubt get away with—when Nie Huaisang suddenly speaks up.

“Does it ever bother you?” he asks out of the blue and Jiang Cheng stills.

“Wei Wuxian? Yes, all the goddamn fucking time, did you not listen to a word I just said?” he incredulously asks but Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“No, that I’m in love with you,” he says and it’s so completely not what Jiang Cheng expected that he freezes for a good long minute.

“Because sometimes I think it does, but then things like today happen, and I get confused,” Nie Huaisang rambles when Jiang Cheng takes too long to answer and the shaky tone to his voice finally jolts Jiang Cheng out of his stupor.

“Excuse me, you’re in what now with who?” he asks, cutting Nie Huaisang off before he can say something else that doesn’t make sense and Nie Huaisang blinks at him.

“I’m in love? With you?” he asks, clearly unsure himself now as well and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“How the fuck would that bother me when I didn’t even know about that!” he then yells, because if he had known about that sooner than he wouldn’t have to pine all this damn time.

“But I confessed to you!” Nie Huaisang yells back and it’s again a sentence so stunning that Jiang Cheng goes motionless.

“You what?” he demands to know and his confusion only grows when Nie Huaisang nods at him. “When the hell was that?” Jiang Cheng asks, because he is pretty damn sure that he would remember something like his best friend, the guy he’s been in love with for close to two years now, confessing to him.

“At the party,” Nie Huaisang mumbles and he takes his feet back, curls up at the end of the couch and Jiang Cheng can tell that he’s missing his fan pretty badly right now.

“At the party,” Jiang Cheng repeats, because he was there, at the party.

He was even sober, as the designated driver for the night, and so this still doesn’t make any more sense than before.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang hisses out. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, you don’t have to play dumb like this.”

“I am not playing dumb, Huaisang, it just never happened. You didn’t confess to me!”

“But I did,” Nie Huaisang says with a small frown, clearly hurt by Jiang Cheng’s adamant answer. “I remember telling you I love you.”

“Oh no,” Jiang Cheng says and smacks his forehead, because he thinks he knows what Nie Huaisang remembers.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang says, clearly misunderstanding Jiang Cheng’s reaction and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“You didn’t confess, Huaisang,” he quickly tells him, because he cannot bear to see the heartbroken look on Nie Huaisang’s face, especially when there’s no reason for it.

“But—”

“You were drunk,” Jiang Cheng says. “Really goddamn drunk. And you came up to me, and you took my face into your hands, squished my cheeks and then said, and I quote: “I luuuuuuuuv ya, ma bro” before you leaned over and threw up on my shoes. Excuse me for misinterpreting that, but I don’t think that counts as a love confession.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him with big eyes, his entire face suddenly pale.

“That bastard,” he then hisses and Jiang Cheng raises his eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Let me guess, Wei Wuxian?”

“He said I confessed to you! He swore it up and down!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but he was maybe even more drunk than you were,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug, completely ignoring the fluttery feeling in his chest.

For now.

“And besides, do you really want to believe Wei Wuxian anything he says regarding to confessions? You do remember that he confessed to Lan Wangji by pushing a rabbit into his hands, yelling “He loves you so much, he deserves two dads” and then vanishing for almost three weeks? You’re taking that Wei Wuxian’s advice?” Jiang Cheng asks and he can’t help the small smile when Nie Huaisang groans.

“So you didn’t know?” he asks pitifully and hides his face in his hands when Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I just confessed to you in the worst way possible,” Nie Huaisang presses out and that actually startles a laugh out of Jiang Cheng.

“Did you even listen to what I just said? Do you really think anything could be worse than Wei Wuxian’s confession?” he asks, because he’s honestly curious, but then Nie Huaisang glares at him and Jiang Cheng goes serious in an instant.

“I know now,” Jiang Cheng says and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Nie Huaisang’s wrists, carefully pulling his hands away from his face. “And it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all, because I’m in love with you, too,” he then says and his voice almost doesn’t shake at all, and the nerves in his stomach feel more like butterflies than fear of rejection and this is better than Jiang Cheng ever dared to hope for.

“You what?” Nie Huaisang asks, finally looking directly at Jiang Cheng again, who smiles slightly at him.

“I luv ya, too, ma bro,” he can’t help but to say and when Nie Huaisang lets out an indignant yell, Jiang Cheng dissolves into laughter.

It’s not long before Nie Huaisang joins him—though he did take a minute or two to slap at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder—and it takes them a really long time to calm down again.

“No, but seriously, A-Cheng,” Nie Huaisang says, once they both caught their breaths.

“Seriously, A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng gives back, can’t help but to tease, just a little bit, but it’s mostly because he’s so relieved.

“Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whines and Jiang Cheng smiles as he puts his arm around Nie Huaisang and pulls him closer into his side, so that he can press a kiss to his head more easily.

“Alright, enough teasing,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “Seriously. I am in love with you. So no, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang says and then he tilts his head, looks up at Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng absolutely cannot resist.

He would have, before, but now that he knows that it’s okay if he doesn’t, there’s no reason to, anyway. Jiang Cheng leans in, until he can press his lips to Nie Huaisang’s, who makes a soft, contented noise and then kisses right back.

They lose themselves in this, for a while, and when they finally stop, it’s with Jiang Cheng flat on his back on the couch and Nie Huaisang draped all over him.

“Mh, I like this,” Nie Huaisang whispers and presses kisses to every inch of Jiang Cheng’s skin he can reach.

“Me, too,” Jiang Cheng admits and bends slightly so that he can kiss Nie Huaisang’s forehead.

They fall asleep like that, perfectly content, and Jiang Cheng never wants to sleep any other way.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #sangcheng #modern au #fluff #dumb fluff #misunderstandings #humor #getting together #love confessions #excuse me sir #they are just two dumb boys in love

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pokemoncreepypasta · 3 years

Text

Tommy Boy

[STORY SOURCE]

It was one of those sleepovers, just me and my bestie, when we got bored and had a dumb idea. Well, she got the brilliant idea anyways.

Apparently, she thought it would be “fun” to try and perform one of those summoning rituals, even though she knew anything and everything paranormal gave me nightmares for weeks. Which is why I think she wanted to do it so bad.

Of course, I wouldn’t willingly go along with the ritual, so my friend had to persuade me by offering her Darkrai plushie which I had coveted for a few weeks now. I remember wondering if the risk of eternal damnation was worth it for just a toy...

Apparently the answer was yes, since I eventually went along with this freaking idea.

The requirement for the ritual was paper, pencil, a candle, 6 random dolls, and 60 minutes of your time.

It had to be in a dark house, or in the middle of the night. We did it around midnight, after everyone else was asleep.

The first step was to put the 6 dolls in a circle.

Then draw a summoning circle on the middle of the paper and put it in the center of the circle of dolls.

After placing it on the floor, recite, “Any entity, you may enter.”

Wait for a while, around a minute, then prick your finger and put your bloody fingerprint in the middle of the summoning circle.

Recite, “By blood we are bound.”

You then turn off all the lights, if any are still left on, then light your candle and recite, “Whomever loses may never leave.”

Afterwards, you stumble around in the dark and play hide-and-seek with whatever you just summoned, if you even successfully summoned anything.

You must switch the room you’re hiding in every 10 minutes or else you will automatically be found by default. If you candle doesn’t blow out within and hour, then you win, and allegedly whatever spirit you summoned will be bound to your eternal service.

If it does blow out, then you’ve been found and you lose. Whatever happens afterwards depends on whatever spirit, peaceful or malevolent, that you summoned.

While me and my friend were huddled in the laundry room whispering and giggling about stupid things, the candle flickered out. I promptly flipped and hid in the corner with my hands over my head waiting for the worst to happen, while my friend laughed at pathetic little me.

After about five minutes of trying to convince me I wasn’t going to die, she told me she had blown out the candle herself. That made me feel a little better, even thought I still didn’t believe it.

Though, the Darkrai plushie I received the next day helped wash my worries away.

Though it wasn’t enough to wash away everything else that was about to happen.

Later on that day after my friend left, my little sister had begged me to let her play my Pokémon Emerald. I let her, since all she did was pretty much give free training to my Pokémon.

I was watching TV, and was a bit peeved when she ran into the room and started nagging me about a green Trapinch, so I waved her off. It took me a few seconds before I realized my grave mistake, so I quickly snatched my GameBoy back.

I was pleasantly surprised to see my sis had somehow managed to find a shiny Trapinch.

I told her to back off and let me handle this, since I wasn’t about to let her try to catch it. Although, things looked bad as my Pokémon were all too strong to weaken it.

But I was feeling confident with over 40 Ultra Balls in stock along with a few backups, so I kept throwing and throwing until one of them worked.

The trouble was, this stubborn Trapinch didn’t want me as its trainer.

I might not have been able to weaken it, but it still chewed through nearly every one of my PokéBalls.

I was awash with horror at the thought of failing my first ever shiny. That’s when my sister offered to catch it for me.

I didn’t want to hand it over to her, but then my mind rationalized it by thinking that if she failed it, losing the Trapinch would be her fault, not mine.

I was shocked again as she handed me back the GameBoy less than a minute later with a brand new shiny Trapinch in my party named Tommy Boy.

The only response I could think of at first was, “Tommy Boy? Why name it that?”

“Because, it’s a boy and I wanted to name it Tommy, so Tommy Boy!”

I didn’t even want to know what went on in my sister’s head, but I quickly stopped caring and all I could do was just stare at my newfound shiny.

I went to immediately test him out and see what he could do against a wild Sandshrew.

“Tommy Boy refuses to attack!”

I tried to fight, but I got this refusal instead. I tried to attack the Sandshrew again, but I just kept getting the same message.

“This is a load of crap.”

“Oh, I can make him attack!” My sister stole the GameBoy back and then proceeded to defeat the Sandshrew with no further issue.

“What the... How did you do that?!” My sister gave me a stupid grin, “He listened to me because I’m his mommy!” Sure, whatever, I thought privately to myself.

I was happy to let her train this Trapinch into a Flygon for me, anyway. I was puzzled by its behavior, to say the very least, and decided not asking anything would be better for my health and just kept watching TV.

I thought she would grow bored of training the Pokémon, but no. For the rest of the day and deep into the night, she worked tirelessly to gain experience for Tommy Boy. I wondered how someone could stand training the same Pokémon for so many hours without getting bored at all.

Finally, around 11 PM, she had to go to bed. Unwillingly, she saved the game and turned it off, but not before saying good night to Tommy Boy and kissing the GameBoy goodnight.

I was still allowed to stay up longer, so as soon as she was in bed, I quietly grabbed my GameBoy out from under her bed sheets. Emerald was already in, so I simply switched the game on.

Once the game was loaded, I saw that Tommy Boy was the only one in the party, for some reason.

But he was already evolved into a Flygon, and at level 66. Too bad she only had interest in training Tommy Boy, so much that she decided to stuff all my other team members in the PC.

I started to leave the desert where my sister had last saved when I ran into a wild Baltoy. I lovingly sighed as Tommy Boy came out sparkling. Then, my expression became a bit more serious.

That freaking pixel better listen to me this time.

I clicked on “Fight”. He had new moves: Crunch, DragonBreath, Sandstorm, and Hyper Beam.

I selected Hyper Beam, and desperately hoped that he would obey. I held my breath.

“Tommy Boy refuses to attack!”

“Dang it!!” I yelled at the screen.

Tommy Boy got hit with and attack, which didn’t do too much damage. I kept cursing at the Pokémon. I couldn’t believe I had a shiny in the palm of my hands and it wouldn’t even listen to me!

I selected DragonBreath, despite knowing he wouldn’t obey anyways.

“Tommy Boy wants his mommy!”

I gawked at this line of text. I surely hadn’t seen any Pokémon do that before. I almost wanted to laugh, the way that line was written almost sounded funny, but I was off-put and confused. Tommy Boy got hit with another attack.

“Come on, can’t you at least show some pity for your aunt?!” I spoke aloud to the game, like my sister had started doing. Tommy Boy offered me no pity and kept refusing. I didn’t want to deal with him getting knocked out, so I just turned the game off and begrudgingly went to bed.

The next morning, I found my little sister leaning back in a chair contentedly playing the GameBoy. I realized she snatched it from my room while I was asleep, which I guess was an equal exchange. I asked her if anything weird was happening with the GameBoy, but she said all was fine.

Then she asked me why I was playing on the GameBoy last night.

“Uhh... because it’s my game? I should still be able to play it too.”

She eyed me. “Just don’t mess with Tommy Boy again. Just because you’re his aunt doesn’t mean he likes you.”

She immediately changed her threatening disposition by cheerily calling out, “Oh, good boy, Tommy! You showed that Sandshrew! You make mommy so proud!”

I decided to shrug it off. I wasn’t about to get into an argument with my sister about a video game.

A few days into this, I was over her shoulder watching her play.

She was in the desert, and kept battling the Pokémon there over and over again. Tommy Boy acted like a normal Pokémon, and did nothing unusal.

“Why do you only battle Pokémon in the desert?” “Because, Tommy Boy only likes to battle Pokémon here.” She kept playing, as if everything was normal. After a moment, I thought of another question, “Why will he only obey you and not me?” “I told you, he’ll only listen to his mommy.” “It’s my game he’s on, so I should be his mommy, shouldn’t I? How does he know YOU’RE his mommy?” My sister paused for a moment. After a minute she responded, “Tommy Boy says screw you.” She giggled, while I gave up and left, fuming.

However, days turned into weeks, and my sister had been spending our entire vacation so far just sitting in her room. Apparently, she had started neglecting to eat or drink anything, and would only ever fall asleep when she passed out, GameBoy still in her hands.

It started getting so bad that my mom told me at one point she threw up blood. We’d tried taking the game way from her, but she’d screech at us like she was possessed and tear the whole house apart trying to find it.

Mom said they were arranging for her to see a therapist and get an opinion on what the heck we should do, but for the meantime she was allowed to keep the game, to make things easier for everyone until getting an appointment.

But I wasn’t satisfied with that. I needed to intervene.

One night, I decided to work up the nerve to confront her about her addiction. I found her in her room, as always. She was on the bed with the covers over her head. One would think she was sleeping, but the quiet sounds of the GameBoy gave her away.

I pulled the sheets away from her and she hissed briefly at me before continuing with her eyes glued to the screen. I hardly recognized my happy-go-lucky sister. She looked half dead. I tried holding a conversation with her, but all I got were distant “Mm-hm”s and “It’s fine.” The only way I could get her to talk to me was to attempt to take the game away, to which she immediately responded.

“NO! He’s my baby!!! He NEEDS me!” My sister screeched at me.

“IT is an inanimate object! It doesn’t NEED anything!” I yelled back at her, clutching her arm that was holding the GameBoy. I managed to rip the Emerald cartridge out of the game while it was still running, causing it to let out horrible screeching sounds. I then pretended to throw it out an open window into the darkness outside of our house, to which my sister immediately pushed me onto the floor and jumped out into the yard after it.

Picking myself up, I noticed she had dropped my GameBoy, too, so I discreetly plopped the game back into the system and stuffed it into my pocket.

I spitefully closed the window behind my sister. She could come back inside once she realized what this game was doing to her.

What... WAS this game doing to her, I wondered?

Once my sister had collapsed from exhaustion and been carried back to bed by my confused dad (to whom I lyingly explained I had no involvement in this), I decided I would find out for myself.

When I booted up the game, I was in the middle of my secret base in Route 120.

I checked my party to find only Tommy Boy, at a whopping level 100. Since it hand only taken her a day to get him to level 66, she must’ve reached 100 long ago, but she’d still been playing this all month.

Was she seriously doing the same battles over and over, despite him not being able to go any higher...?

When I exited the party screen and was back in the base though, a circle of six Pokédolls were around me that I hadn’t noticed before, which quite frankly creeped me out.

When I tried to move, a text box popped up saying, “Any entity may enter.”

“By blood we are bound.”

A strange red circle appeared in the middle of the circle of dolls, and I quickly realized I didn’t want anything to do with whatever was about to go down.

I tried to step away again, but another text box appeared.

“Whomever loses may never leave.”

I tried running for dear life out the exit, but I was stopped.

“You may never leave.”

A shiny Flygon appeared in the middle of the circle and let out what I assumed was its cry, albeit I was too horrified for my life at that moment to care much for details, and the game froze.

I shut the game off, stared at it for a second, then suddenly every memory of what I had done earlier in the summer came flooding back at once. I knew exactly what Tommy Boy was now, and I was absolutely terrified.

I wanted to hold myself, cry my eyes out and throw this game into the woods where no one would ever find it, but then I thought about my sister. I thought about how if I didn’t get rid of Tommy Boy now, things would probably get worse and soon I’d wake up to find my little sister stabbing herself to death, or me.

Through my tears, I turned the game back on.

“It’s just you and me now, Tommy. Rematch. Double or nothing.”

If he won, he could take us both. But if I won, he would take his sorry demon hide back to wherever it was he came from. He seemed keen on my offer, as the game started up with no problems.

Once the game was up and running, I found my character in the middle of a dark cave.

I instinctively went to my party to make someone use Flash, but then I remembered more than likely Tommy Boy was going to be there.

I braced myself...

But I was pleasantly surprised to find there were just some random Pokémon instead.

Of course, I didn't have the HM for Flash. Or the TM for Dig. Or any Escape Rope.

...

Wonderful.

So I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find my way out of this mess.

I kept bumping into walls and rocks, climbing up and down countless ladders, but there was no exit in sight. Or any trainers in sight, for that matter.

In fact, I hadn't run into any wild encounters either, until I came to the conclusion that there was only one Pokémon I would be running into here, and that I should avoid it like the plague.

Was spamming Super Repel going to protect me from a level 100 demonic Flygon? Probably not, but I couldn't be too careful.

After some time nowhere near an hour, I found myself in a small room that had nothing in it. I tried to go back the way I came, but I was stopped. My character wouldn't move. I started to tense up again.

The light surrounding me in-game was snuffed out, and all that could be seen was darkness. I was about to turn the game off before something happened, but before I could, something happened.

“Found you.”

The text in red popped up with a Flygon cry to accompany it, and the game froze again.

"No!" I yelled desperately, flickering the game off and on again. "One chance, give me one more chance!"

Instead, when I loaded the file, I was met with a glitchy, pixelated mess of a screen flashing multicolored lights while blaring the loudest beeping noise I'd ever heard in my life that sent my ears and eyes ringing. I quickly shut off the game and stared at the empty screen in disbelief for I don't know how long.

Had I lost the game?

I couldn't accept that. I was going to play this game all night if I had to. One of us would be leaving tonight, and it wasn't going to be me. Bracing myself, I tightly closed my eyes and powered the game on again. I expected another cacophony of buggy sounds and flashing lights, but surprisingly, I was able to boot up my save file just fine.

But, unfortunately, I didn't get the Round 3 of hide-and-seek that I had vainly asked for.

Instead, I was at the bottom of Mt. Pyre.

I still had the same team as before, unable to Fly or Surf away from this nightmarish set of circumstances that I'd been put in.

I don't know what Tommy Boy was getting at, or what he wanted from me now, but I knew the only way to understand exactly what I was dealing with would be to play along, just for now.

My only option left was to climb Mt. Pyre.

I felt a mounting suspense that kept rising each floor I went to, although I didn't know why. Maybe it was because every floor, even indoors, were all unusually foggy.

However, the wild Shuppet started to make quick work of my low leveled Pokémon.

I then got the sudden idea that maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. If my entire party fainted, I could get sent back to a Pokémon Center and escape the boundaries of Tommy Boy's "game."

When they all fainted though, I didn't get sent back. Instead, I was still trapped on Mt. Pyre.

All of the Pokémon that were protecting me were gone now.

I still ran into Shuppet, except I kept sending out a large "?" where a Pokémon should've been.

I kept whiting out, only to return to the position I'd started the battle in.

After a nerve-wracking climb though the graveyard, I reached the top.

Surrounding the pedestal at the top were six PokéBalls.

As I checked each one, a picture of a Pokémon would pop up. They seemed really familiar, and soon I realized all the Pokémon here were part of the team I was just using.

After I checked the sixth Pokémon, I found my character to be trapped in the center of the pedestal with no way out.

I frantically mashed the D-Pad in hopes of finding some way to escape.

In the midst of my panic, a glowing red circle materialized on the ground, connecting all the PokéBalls surrounding the pedestal, with me still in the center.

I remember at that moment thinking, I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die, and I wholeheartedly believed I was going to.

Then, a large text box in all red with a Flygon cry popped up...

“YOU MAY NEVER LEAVE.”

That right there sealed the deal.

I wasted no shred of time pulling out that Emerald cartridge and cutting it into an unrecognizable pile of green plastic with my scissors.

In my desperation, I brushed the remains of the cartridge into my trash can, wrapped up the trash bag, and went to the extent of escaping through my window and throwing it into the woods. Screw littering, screw the police, I didn't want that thing in my house.

And especially screw Tommy Boy. Screw his little game, screw the thought of him having any sort of control over me.

The only way to win is not to play, and I made sure no one would ever play this game again.

The next morning, my much more well-rested little sister asked where my GameBoy was, and I was about to tell her she was never allowed to touch that thing for as long as she lives, but then she asked to play Mario Party Advance on it.

I was baffled, to say the least, but found no problem in it and let her play it. She showed no signs of becoming obsessed and got bored of playing it after an hour, so I was relieved and assumed that the worst was over.

You can be sure I am not, and will never, plan on performing any more summoning rituals any time soon.

Thankfully, my little sister's gone back to being completely normal. If anything, her only sign of change is that she's getting into that "girly stage". She'll get Pokémon plushies and sit them all in a circle and play tea party with them in her room. At least, that's what I think she's doing with them.

Doesn't matter to me though, I'm busy with my own things. I'm happily content with my dear Darkrai plush that took entirely too much effort out of my life to obtain. I feel really bad for neglecting him these past few weeks, but it's okay.

I won't be giving any more of my time or attention to anyone else except my little baby.

#Pokemon Creepypasta #Pokepasta #Flygon #Tommy Boy

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welovediaaxx · 3 years

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏsᴛ ᴅɪᴀʀʏ / / azula x fem!reader

warnings : slight cursing

part four // part five // part six

a/n : you guys already know it takes me a month to write 1500 words but whatever!! enjoy this chapter the next one is gonna be jucier i promise

taglist : @888-rising @firelordazulaaaa @sighsam @theblueslytherin @halcyon-arts @the-paintedlady @sweetcici-123

send me an ask or message me to be tagged 🤍☁️

i wake up abruptly by my alarm, quickly snoozing it as i look around, taking in my surroundings. i rub my sleepy eyes as i glance at all the empty containers of the chinese food left on my poor coffee table from the night before. that’sfor sure gonna be a bitch to clean up later. speaking of last night, why am i on the couch?

my question is quickly answered as i hear a small grunt coming from under the blanket across me. “what time is it?” azula asks as she stretches her arms. i stare at her in awe, how does she look so good mere seconds after waking up? “it’s only nine-thirty, we should go back to sleep” she grunts

my eyes widen at her statement. “nine-thirty? shit, i have class at 10.” now this is when i start panicking “zuko’s supposed to drive me today”

i check my phone and there it was, 3 missed calls from zuko and approximately

17 messages. and just on queue, he calls me again.

“hey zuzu, i’m sorry. i fell asleep, i’ll be down in a minute” i say as i start running around my apartment, grabbing along everything i need. i mutter a sorry to azula who just shrugs.

“uh-okay. why is azula’s car parked in front of your building?” he asks me. i can already hear his stupid smirk over the phone.

“sorry, bad connection. gotta go!” i say as i hang up the phone, making my way over to my bedroom. i put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. i put my laptop in my bookbag and run back to the living room.

“i’m so sorry i have to leave like this,” i say to azula who’s sitting on the couch. she looks up at me “i feel really bad. but i’ll make it up to you. i swear”

“don’t worry about it. i had fun last night” she smiles at me.

“i had fun too. i’ll leave the keys on the kitchen counter. you can stay here as long as you’d like, just lock up when you leave” i return the smile “also, don’t open the door if mr chung knocks”

I simply had to ward her about mr chung. he’s a single gay man in his fifties who lives next door to me. he’s the main gossip provider of our building. now, don’t get me wrong, i love mr chung and all the hot gossip he offers. but i just wasn’t ready for all my neighbours to begin talking about ‘the new lady in my life’, as mr chung would probably put it

“uh okay, got it. i’ll just get my things and leave then.” azula says as she starts getting up from the couch.

“don’t worry about it” i bid her one last goodbye and grab my coat after i put on my shoes. i sprint down the 5 flights of stairs, deciding against going by elevator. i spot zuko’s car parked next to azulas and get in the passenger seat. i glance at my phone ‘nine-forty five’

“we can make it in fifteen minutes, right?” i ask as i glance at zuko

“it’s fine, we have mrs feng, she’s always late anyways,” zuko says as he starts backing out my driveway. “so…” zuko starts “azula’s car in your driveway? what’s that about?” he smirks

“it’s nothing you should worry about salami face,” i say as i return the smirk.

“i told you to stop calling me that! and don’t you even try to avoid the topic y/n”

“what? are you jealous i chose your sister over you? i knew that you still weren’t over me!” i tease him as i remember our pathetic eight-month relationship our freshman year of college in which we both realised we definitely don’t prefer the opposite gender. it was awkward, to say the least.

zuko rolls his eyes “no, believe it or not. i’m not jealous. so, she slept over?”

“yeah, we watched a movie and we fell asleep. that’s it.”

“hm… interesting,” he smirks and continues driving.

zuko and i enthusiastically sprinted across campus in hopes of making it on time. since luck was apparently on our side, we arrived right on time. we took a few breaths before opening the classroom door.

i quickly thank god for making it on time, before huffing and making my way through the mob of students who were chatting together. i plop down on the seat next to suki who had her head on the desk, her hair covering her face.

“hey suki” i say, putting my things on the table

suki groans as she lifts her head “hey y/n, is she here yet?”

“no, not yet.” i answer as i look around “where did zuko go?” i mutter to myself. of course the fucker escaped.

“here i am, i bought us some coffee,” zuko says as he sits on the chair by suki’s left.

“thanks zu. you’re and angel. i’ll need it too, i hate econ” suki says as she starts sipping on her coffee

“that’s exactly why literally everyone told you not to sign up for it,” zuko reminds her.

“yeah, i specifically remember us begging you not to do it. we knew you were gonna be miserable” i add.

“shut up, you know i needed the points,” suki says while grabbing her head.

“well, i know something that’s gonna cheer you up,” zuko tells her. suki immediately lifts her head, looking between us waiting for somebody to tell her what she missed. i groan and roll my eyes. of course, zuko can’t keep just one thing to himself.

“azula slept over at y/n’s house”

“you slept with azula?! i knew that the date went well, but not that good!” suki yells

“that’s not what he said!” i try to explain to her. just by my luck, mrs feng arrives just before i get a chance to explain myself. during the whole lesson, i could feel suki’s eyes piercing through my shoulder. despite that, i decided to be productive and pay attention. manly to keep my mind off of suki’s groaning and quiet complaining.

after our lesson, we all decided to go to the jasmine dragon and meet up with the rest of the group. suki, zuko and i all got into zuko’s car and drove there. the car ride was surprisingly quiet although i could feel suki’s tension radiating off of her, ready to bombard me with questions.

we made our way to our usual table, which was already occupied by sokka, aang, katara and toph. “hey guys” aang greets us as we all sit down. as soon as we sat down i could feel all eyes land on me. i knew immediately that zuko talked.

“what?” i say, deciding on playing dumb

“you slept with azula!” toph yells, thank god the whole coffee shop can hear her.

“zuko!” i yell at him. of course he can’t keep his mouth shut at any circumstance.

“hey, don’t look at me! suki texted the group chat, i thought you saw it” zuko defends himself while he lifts his hands up, trying to prove his innocence. after that, muffled arguing took over at the table. everybody voicing their opinion at the same time

“guys!” katara stands up “why don’t we let y/n speak?” she suggests

“finally!” i huff as everybody goes quiet. “i didn’t sleep with azula, she just slept over at my place” i exclaim to our table.

“yeah, right” toph snickers.

“hey!” i yell at her direction, fighting the smile coming onto my face. “you of all people should know i’m not like that”

“yeah, toph. we all know y/n’s the biggest prude here” sokka mocks

i roll my eyes “you guys are the worst friends ever.”

we were all in the middle of a heated debate about whether cereal should be considered soup or not (that sokka started, change my mind) when i felt a tap on my shoulder. when i turn around, i notice azula, wearing her usual casual clothes with a bag in her hand. i quickly excuse my self from the table, getting a few winks as i sit up.

“hey, what are you doing here?” i ask her.

“well, my uncle does own this place.” she raises her sharp eyebrows in amusment.

“right, of course. that was a stupid question” i say as i start playing with my hair. i can already feel my cheeks heating up as i look at the table behind azula for help, only getting a few thumbs up in reply.

“anyway, i brought you the clothes you borrowed me last night. i washed and dried them, don’t worry” she says as she gives me the bag.

“thank you, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble, though”

“don’t worry about it, i’ll take up any excuse i can get to see you” se says while flashing me a smile

“well, in that case, i should lend you my clothes more often” i giggled.

“maybe you should” she agreed “my friends are waiting for me, but i’ll see you around, y/n.” she said before turning around and walking back to two girls who were unfamiliar to me.

“yeah, see you around” i quietly sigh, mentally preparing for the interrogation that will take place back at the table occupied by my friends.

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla modern au #azula #azula x reader #azula x femreader #azula x fem!reader #azula modern au #azula x you

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officialwittek · 3 years

Text

pt. 4

*gif is not mine*

word count: 2,101

Ever since my little conversation with the girls I haven’t been able to really be myself around Jeff. Now I notice the side glances, the lingering touches on my thigh, the way his breath hitches when I get pushed a little too close to him at parties, and everything else I haven’t noticed before. My friends were adamant that he liked me back but I couldn’t see it. Slowly I distanced myself from them, for one my manager thought it would be a good idea to release some new music soon so I was extra busy and I can’t really be around my friends without feeling like my heart is going to explode. Of course they started noticing and not a day went by where I didn’t get texts from at least three of them asking where I was and why I stopped coming around. Even Jason and Josh dropped my apartment to make sure I was still alive.

Three weeks have gone by since my sleepover with Jeff. We still talk but not as much as before. Carly and Natalie were constantly calling and texting and I truly felt bad, but it would seem like such a bullshit excuse to say it’s because of my crush on Jeff.

“Sage, this is... this is real good work. I’m thinking we finish it up, and be set to release it in two weeks” James, my manager, said listening to to the final of three of the songs

“Thanks dad, I think today we’re recording the last song. I’ll email you our final version by the end of the day” I reply, he ruffles my hair and nods, leaving for another meeting while the producer and I talk about the last track

We record for about four hours, fine tuning every last detail. After the two of us finally felt good about it we sent the file to James who also gave the approval. We sent it in the the higher ups who also gave us the ok. All the promotional pictures were finished, we had an album cover chosen, now to put it all together and make this my first serious piece of art. After the long morning I decided to head straight to my apartment. I wasn’t particularly hungry anyways. I parked my car and took the elevator up to my apartment.

I noticed shushing and brushed it off, thinking it was just Carly and Erin messing around. I unlock the door and see all of my friends crammed into this fairly small apartment. No one had their cameras out and they all had their arms crossed I sighed and put my things down before shutting the door.

“Before you even say anything. No I’m not on drugs, I don’t hate anyone, and I actually have been working on my music. My first EP is coming out in a few weeks” I explain, their faces relax and Carly walks up to me

“Don’t you ever try to ghost us like that again. We hated it” She said, wrapping her slender arms around my shoulders and I nodded, our friends came around and we all had a sweet group hug

“Well a congratulations are in order. I think we should celebrate tonight” David says, laughing loudly

“Fine, I’m stealing a Red Bull from your fridge though” I say, we all go downstairs and I finally notice some of their cars parked there

We all head to David’s house and I grab a Red Bull. We all sit in the living room. Filming dumb bits and getting ready for tonight. David wanted to throw it at his house since he wanted to keep it relatively small. Natalie, Carly, and Erin went to stock up for the night, asking me about all my favorite things. It took about an hour and a half for them to come back. Everyone helped get things from Nat‘s car and set up. We were finally ready and decided to start drinking before everyone got here.

“May Ilya and Zane stay away from the hospital. Amen” I yell, all of them cheering in response as we take our shots

After a few rounds of shots I was already pretty tipsy. I sat down at the couch, answering a few congratulatory texts from others. I talked to a few of our friends here and there. Jeff was nowhere to be found. I frowned a bit, but who can blame him? After all, I’m the one who made the decision to not talk to him.

“Do you think we could get a sneak peak?” Jason asks, taking a set next to me but I shake my head

“I want to keep it a complete surprise. Plus I’ve been thinking about having a release party and showing everyone there” I said, Jason actually thought that was a much better idea than just playing it

We made small talk here and there, apparently Wyatt has been dying to see my new studio. I loved Jason’s kids like they were my own family, especially since Wyatt and I have such a love for music.

“I’d love to have Wyatt at the studio. He can even record some things if he wants to. I know how to produce as well” I said, Jason damn near cried at the suggestion and we set a date

“Someone looks a little sober” Zane yells from behind us, I laugh and allow him to take me to the kitchen where the others were taking shots or making their best interpretations of different cocktails

After sampling everyone’s horrible attempt at a blackberry mojito it’s safe to say I was one shot away from exiting the physical realm. Especially since Zane decided it was appropriate to just dump nearly an entire bottle of rum in the drink. After a few minutes Todd headed to the door and let someone in. I heard the familiar accent and my heart dropped to my stomach. Jeff is here.

To be fair, I’m probably the only one who really cares that much, especially since I’m drunk as hell and I have a crush on the dude. I try to run and hide in a corner but there’s a lot more people now. I finally see an opening and head straight for the backyard. Thankfully no one noticed because Zane was too busy doing something extremely dangerous. I sit in one of the chairs we reserve for smoking, hitting my puff and scrolling mindlessly through TikTok, trying to get the thoughts out of my head. I hear the sliding door open and look up to see David.

“Alright what’s wrong? You look like we threw a party because we killed your dog” David jokes, my lips spread into a light smile

“Nothing, I’ve just been so exhausted lately with everything going on.. that’s all” I lie, I mean I’m not really lying, just not telling him the whole truth

“So it has nothing to do with Jeff showing up and you’re definitely overthinking and avoiding him even more. C’mon I’ve known you for forever, you can’t lie to me” He replies, his tone suddenly being serious

And it’s true, I’ve known David since I moved out here. He was my first real L.A friend. He’s seen me at my absolute lowest moments, and someone I could always go to whenever something was wrong. I hated that he could read me like a book.

“Fine, the Jeff thing is a contributing factor. But I’m being honest about the exhaustion” I say, crossing my arms like a child

We sit and talk, something we haven’t done in forever. It felt nice to have someone listen to me. After about half an hour of just talking we decide to head back inside. I felt too sober again and took some shots with Natalie and Toddy. I could feel Jeff’s eyes glaring a hole into the side of my head, but I was too sober to deal with anything right now.

At around 1:00 am. I got hungry and ordered DoorDash for everyone. All the other guests had left so it was just our main group scattered around the house. Jeff was surprisingly still here. Todd had whispered to me earlier that the only reason he was sticking around this late was to make sure I got home alright. I smiled at the sentiment, he was always making sure my drunk ass was safe.

Our DoorDash arrived and we all ate while watching some movie David found on Netflix. Jeff took a seat next to me, the look in his eyes was telling me he was going to ask for my permission so I simply nodded and scooted over so he could be comfortable. After we ate David wanted to get some last minute bits before we left for his vlog tomorrow.

“Jeff are you attracted to Sage?” David asks, my breath hitches in my throat, making me choke on my water

“No, I’ve blocked her out. Since she’s part of the friend group I don’t want to make anything weird” He replies, I can tell the answer even made David a little upset

Jason makes a joke to lighten the mood before there’s any tension which I greatly appreciate. Although Jeff’s words struck a cord, while I sit there repeating what he said it hits me. He’s right, I can’t guarantee that if Jeff and I were together that it would be for life and I can’t lose my second family. He’s right, it would never happen. Before I know it I feel my eyes watering and Natalie gently grabs my hand before leading me to her room with the rest of the girls in tow. When she closes the door I finally let it all out

“It’s ok princess, let it out” Mariah says, the girls wrapping me in a group hug

“It’s so stupid, we’re best friends before I let this stupid ass crush ruin everything but just hearing him say that out loud made it so much more concrete that we will never be together” I cry, resting my head on her shoulder

We have a little talk and I clean myself up before we all go back outside. At that point David was done filming and was looking through the footage on his camera to pick out some clips. Jeff was waiting patiently on the couch before Corinna spoke up.

“Hey Jeff, I’m gonna take Sage home. We have some plans tomorrow and it would just be easier if I stay over” She says, it’s sort of true, Corinna has some meetings in the morning and they’re closer to my place but she isn’t staying over

“Oh ok, I should head out then. I’ll see you guys later” Jeff says, saying his goodbyes and leaving

“So was anyone else uncomfortable with Jeff’s answer or was it just me?” David asks, the group agrees, it’s definitely in his right to say that I mean no is mad

“Yea, I wasn’t mad cause it’s his own opinion and Jeff is a big boy, but he seems to sort of lead you on for him to turn around and say that he doesn’t even see you like when we ask him about Natalie and Corinna” Heath replies, everyone nods in agreement and I just sigh

“I’m not mad, I mean I have been sort of ghosting everyone these past few weeks, maybe he’s just upset” I explain, Heath and Todd give me the look

“Baby that’s bullshit and you know it” Heath laughs, Todd agrees with him and taps my leg

“To be honest, he was very stressed out while you were gone” He says, I know he’s trying to make me feel better but it doesn’t really help

Corinna and I leave shortly after we have our little group talk. We caught up during the car ride and before I know it we’re at my apartment. We say goodbye and plan to meet for lunch tomorrow before I head up to my apartment. I knew Carly was probably fast asleep so I tried to be as quiet as possible.

I get ready for bed and climb into my warm blanket, wrapping myself like a burrito. I browse TikTok on my phone for a few minutes before setting my alarm. Just before I let sleep take over my phone buzzes on my nightstand.

Jeff: I missed you.. I’m sorry for being an asshole tonight. I had no idea that I was leading you on, but I didn’t know you had a crush on me..

Fuck.

#vlog sqaud #vlog squad imagine #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years

Text

Party Jitters

Pairing: Bakugou x anxious reader

Warnings: SWORE (also some anxiety but it’s not too intense. Maybe a bit of bullying, but it’s not really directly to y/n)

Author’s Note:

So this is the first request I’ve ever completed (🎉✨✨🎇) and I’m pretty proud of it! I started out having this go in a completely different direction and I got pretty far along until I decided it wasn’t really the vibe I was going for, so I stopped and started over. I might post the original later (either I’ll finish it up or just as the wip it is) but idk. Tell me if you want it, I guess? Idk, I might just post it anyway bc I do that sometimes.

Anyway, huge thank you to @bozowrites for sending in this request! I hope it fit something along the lines of what you were thinking!

Enjoy!

-Sugar

⋘ ────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ───────── ⋙

Oh, if only you knew how you had gotten yourself into this situation now

Except you did know, and it was all your own damn fault

You hated parties. You knew you hated parties; but in a moment of unjustified courage, you had convinced yourself that it was a good idea to get out there more

A friend from your middle school was throwing a get-together for your previous grade, and you thought it might be nice to see some of the kids you’d grown up with

You’d done yourself up with a different hair style and moderately more formal clothes than you wore normally, even convincing your boyfriend to come along with you

But oh, no. This was not good. The furthest thing from a good idea, if you asked your present self

It was as if only now you remembered that there weren’t many people there that you cared to see

You were at someone’s house, music blaring and lights dimmed

Katsuki had wandered off to get you both an age-appropriate beverage, and now you were standing alone in a corner

You spotted the group of kids who used to throw rude comments at you. To be honest, they were pretty rude to everyone, yet somehow they were still considered popular

That was all a whole year ago. We’re in different schools now, it doesn’t matter

Nevertheless, it felt like they wouldn’t stop looking over at you. You swore that one of the girls leaning over to whisper something in her friend’s ear was without a doubt talking about you

What could be wrong with you? You smoothed your top, wondering if you’d somehow magically changed into something else; something out of place and stupid

It felt like any minute they would come over and try to talk to you, even though you’d barely talked to anyone at all the entire time you were here

You felt like an outsider, which was ridiculous, since this was your old class

But no, there it was; the sick, nauseous feeling you were all too unpleasantly acquainted with

You wanted to run, but you’d made all the effort to come here. Where was Bakugou? You couldn’t ditch him

You tapped your fingers against your thigh to the rhythm of the music; a song you’d never heard before

This had been a mistake; a bad idea, and now your throat was starting to close up, the distant beginnings of tears prickling in the corners of your eyes

“Oi.”

Your eyes snapped up from the floor, fearing the worst for a moment

Theywerehere, theywouldtalktoyou, theywouldteaseyou—

Bakugou stood next to you, holding two cups of lemonade

“Here.” He handed you the plastic drink container, and you took it with shaking hands

“Something wrong?” Katsuki asked, noticing

You went to shake your head, but finally thought better of it

“I don’t think I want to be here,” you admitted, sipping at your overly sugary drink

Bakugou scanned your face, setting his cup down on the floor next to the wall beside him

“Did something happen?” he asked, cupping your face in one of his large, strong hands

“No, I just . . . I’m sorry I dragged you here. This isn’t what I thought it would be.”

Bakugou shrugged, pulling you closer into him. “I’m glad I came. Otherwise you’d be here alone.”

You simply nodded, taking a deep breath to right yourself. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

Katsuki slipped his hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Wanna get going?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take you to my place and we can watch a movie or something. This party’s lame anyway.”

You chuckled. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s the truth. Now let’s go.”

He pulled you to the center of the room, nearing the crowd of popular kids you’d been watching before

“Hey, is that Bakugou Katsuki?”

“The slime monster kid?”

“No, the one from the sports festival.”

“Same person, dipshit.”

Your boyfriend froze at the sound of his name, slowly turning to glare at your former peers

“What about me?” he questioned, gruff voice easily heard over the sound of the music

“Just wondering what you were doing here,” one of the girls said, giving him an overly pretty and practiced smile. “You didn’t go to this school.”

“No, I didn’t, but I’m leaving your dumb party anyway.”

He started to walk off again, but that was when they spotted you behind him

“(Y/N)?!”

“Did you bring him here?”

“Is he supposed to be your boyfriend or something?”

You swallowed heavily, averting your eyes and walking faster, only to bump into Katsuki’s back

He had stilled in his path, a shadow crossing his eyes. You knew that look, that dangerous expression on his face. Bakugou was little more than a ticking time bomb, and your former classmates had just set him off

He slowly turned again to face them, and you could feel the palm clutching yours growing hotter in its grasp

“Have a problem with her? Or do you have a problem with me?” he asked, voice too low, too quiet

The same girl scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It’s just that someone like her? With someone like you? You know what I mean, right guys?”

She snickered, turning back to her friends, who had now turned their full attention to the both of you

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen Katsuki so angry, which was saying a lot, since he was outraged about something nearly all the time

Trying to prevent him from doing something he’d regret, you tugged at his shirtsleeve

He glanced back at you, face softening the tiniest of fractions

Balling his opposite fist, he walked back to the girl who’d called him out, pointing a finger in her face

“(Y/N) is my girlfriend and I love her, got it? I don’t need the opinions of shitty extras like you on my goddamn relationship. Just get the fuck out of my way and don’t talk to us again.”

With that, he went back to walking out, pulling you behind him in tow. He easily cleared a path for the both of you, yelling when someone wouldn’t move out of the way fast enough

When you were finally outside, he started walking you to the train station so he could take you home

“Don’t listen to those extras,” he finally said. Bakugou slowed down his pace and relaxed his grip on your hand, letting you settle comfortably into step beside him

“We do make quite the couple,” you remarked

He looked over at you, letting his face fall into the smallest of smiles. “Maybe tonight was kind of a shitshow, but you best believe that it won’t last.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m the best boyfriend there ever was, and I know how to show my girlfriend a good time.”

You grinned, hugging him from the side as you walked. “You most certainly are.” Maybe it wasn’t always a good idea to inflate the blond’s ego, but you couldn’t help but be forever grateful for how he had impacted your life

When it came down to it, Katsuki would always show how much he cared, whether it was in your defense or simply getting you through a tough day

By the time you’d gotten off the train, all your worries had slipped from your mind, walking hand in hand in the moonlit darkness to spend the night at your boyfriend’s home

⋘ ────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ───────── ⋙

Taglist: @basicaegyo @iiminibattlehero @pyrofanatic @sokkasangel @xoxopam4

#bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou bnha #katsuki bakugou bnha #bakugou katsuki bnha #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou scenario #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #sugar scen

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woodchoc-magnum · 3 years

Text

L0ne St@r 2x12 Hate Watch

DO NOT REBLOG THIS ONE - thanks, I’m trying to fly under the radar with my negative opinions here

Usual disclaimer, and I mean it this time: If you watch and love this show, that’s great and I hope you continue to enjoy it. Please don’t read this - simply go about having a lovely day.

If you do love this show and T*rlos and are braving this anyway - do not come in here. I mean it. This is not a T*rlos friendly zone. I do not ship it. Please enjoy your ship in peace and harmony. I have no intention of getting into arguments with anyone, I will simply ignore you.

I have done everything I can to avoid this showing up in the tags, whatever the LS tags are. Don’t send me hate on anon because I’ll delete them; I don’t care if you think I should stop watching the show, I’m not gonna. I like to suffer.

Eddie Diaz for calm and strength and to centre ourselves:

Hate, as always, under the cut:

Let's do this fucking thing, I've heard bad things about this episode

And I already know I'm wrong about the arsonist which is ANNOYING but maybe also too obvious so that's okay, I also know who the arsonist is and all the main plot points but I’ve still got to watch it to really appreciate the subtle nuances of the episode:

Oooh Billy

I ship it

Billwen for the win

This show is so dumb

Billy is smarter than Owen, maybe he should be the captain of the 126

I miss his lightning scars though

He's TWO HOURS LATER FOR DINNER

TK is looking as bland as always

They seriously waited for two fucking hours for this guy

Maybe should've put some deodorant on before going to dinner there Owen

You know I can't imagine the OG doing a storyline as dumb as this

So Carlos' dad thinks it's someone who works at the 126 or just a firefighter in general?

Well gosh darn it, it looks like Owen fits that profile exactly!

At least we get some Judd early in the episode and I love him

Angela Bassett is executive producer on this show as well? I hope she gets paid cash money for this

Billy is the red herring and I fell right into their trap

I just really wanted it to be him

Ooh Grace was listening

Oh it's 100% the arson investigator and Billy is 100% turning Owen in, I love him

Billy is amazing

He's my favourite character on this show

I hope he's not working with Owen to get the arson investigator? I hope he's actually this devious

I want him to be THIS DEVIOUS

Why the fuck does Owen wear that hoodie everywhere

TK is now having a little bitch fit

"they can't do that, can they?" he asks in a monotone, his face blank and devoid of expression

TK's real real dumb

Oh ho ho is this the shoving scene

IT IS

God Ronen CANNOT ACT

Okay so while I think it is wildly unbelievable that they would send TK's boyfriend to tell him that his father had been arrested by HIS father – it seems like a conflict – I would like to say that Carlos is being calm and reasonable

And TK is acting like a little BITCH

This is escalating quickly

Oh TK you so dumb

THE SHOVING

Wow

FOUR TIMES

Wow

Your fave is problematic, yo

Carlos deserves better than this whiny little piece of shit

And now, an interlude while I rant:

Let's talk about how Eddie Diaz yelled at Buck once in a supermarket and the fandom has never forgotten it; how his character has been villainised despite everything else going on in the show at the time, for that one fucking scene – let's talk about all the fics where Eddie hits Buck, or punches him, or rapes him – because you know those fics exist – let's talk about the "Eddie is violent" narrative that parts of this fandom like to push because Eddie yelled at Buck, one time, once, in a supermarket

Totally ignoring the fact that at no point at all, in any other episode he’s been in, has he been violent towards Buck, at all - let’s talk about how the street fighting arc was out of character for Eddie, because he was struggling to cope and looking for an outlet - let’s talk about how Buck and Eddie moved past that whole storyline and strengthened their relationship; how they built a family together, how they’re a team and they have each other’s backs no matter what, and how, not once in the entire show, have they ever been violent towards each other or pushed each other around in anger - NOT ONCE.

And let's talk about this scene, where TK, ya boy, ya sweet tender boy, just shoved the man he says he loved four times, violently, in front of people at the firehouse.

I betcha any money he doesn’t get tarnished with the Eddie-Diaz-is-violent brush, because he can do no wrong. He’s the fan favourite, and this is totally glossed over by the end of the episode and nothing will ever be said about it ever again.

Because wow, you guys. Wow. If this was my ship, I’d be pissed.

Back to the hate watch:

And I know that whole fight is for nothing because I know the plot twist – I know that the dads are working together in order to reveal the real arsonist, the investigator – so they've basically turned their children, who are in a relationship, against each other?

Also why is Billy allowed to be watching the interview?

Goddamn do we really have to show the gruesome burn victim photos

I really want Billy to be devious by the way, and not in on the plan

Oh here comes TK, looking like the little bitch he is

God he's a fucking awful actor

This is the dumbest plotline ever

Equating OWEN STRAND WITH THOR? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

BLASPHEMY

THOR IS THE GOD OF THUNDER

OWEN IS A DUMBASS

THE TWO ARE NOT EQUAL

Uh oh here comes the evil investigator

Do either of these men – Owen and Carlos' dad – stop to consider that what they're doing has kind of an impact on their children, who are currently in a relationship? No? Okay

Because this is one hell of an awkward situation

Does Owen genuinely think that Billy is the arsonist?

Interesting that the arson investigator wants any info Owen didn't give Carlos' dad, and he turned off the cameras/mics etc

This show is stupid

Arson investigator also knows that the sons are dating, interesting

"And you can pound sand!" oooh great comeback Owen

This episode is so BORING OMG

Why the fuck am I watching a shitty Law & Order knock-off when I should be watching a bonkers 911 episode

Oh no Judd's at Billy's

I really do think Billy Burke is good looking and it is a flaw of mine, I don't know what it is about him and he really doesn't look that good in this show but I really love Billy Burke okay

And I WANT HIM TO BE DEVIOUS

Oh Judd

Oh Judd thinks Billy is the arsonist

See this is why YOU DON'T LIE TO THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU

Oh he punched him

God damn everyone is violent in this show

Judddddddddddddd

Uh oh here comes trouble to the "vagrant's" hospital room

Oh it's the arson investigator, their little bluff worked, incredible, amazing, flawless etc

Wow how amazing

It was the ol' switcheroo

Judd punched Billy for nothing

TK and Carlos nearly came to blows for nothing

Now Owen is allowed to watch the interrogation? They'll just let anyone watch those things these days

OH MAN ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT BILLY WAS IN ON IT WITH OWEN THE WHOLE TIME?

Damn it I wanted DEVIOUS god damn it

Fucking cowards

"I assumed it was probably a trap at the hospital which is why I went there anywhere"

But why is he lighting fires

A FEW MONTHS?

A man is dead

Pure theatre

So annoyed that Billy isn't devious

But the Billwen ship sails on, clowns 🤡

Do we think the arsonist has the hots for Owen? 100% yes, right?

He's very happy to see him wink wonk

This doesn't even feel like an episode of 911, it's so goddamn dumb

"I knew you had darkness in you too" – that dude definitely wants to fuck him

Why is he lighting the fires?

They're so dumb

"And now I'm going to repay the favour" – he's talking about YOUR SONS

WHO HE KNOWS ARE TOGETHER

Wow these two dumbasses really have no fucking idea do they

OH HE'S BURNING HIMSELF ALIVE

Wow this is graphic

What the fuck is up with this show and the horribly graphic scenes lately?

That dude is dead yo

"Take away everything that's important to me" AND HE CALLS THE FIREHOUSE FIRST

THE FIREHOUSE IS THE FIRST FUCKING CALL???

Oh okay it did blow up and TK was there so I'll allow it

But hey look on the bright side – Owen gets to remodel again!

And isn't that what he's the best at?

Yo your firehouse is on fire dudes, better call the fire department

Does Judd apologise to Billy or no

Oh here we have TK and Carlos and their perfect love

And Carlos is the one apologising?

No.

Please tell me no

Carlos you are allowed to be pissed at him – ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

"nobody has to apologise?"

YOUR BOYFRIEND PUSHED YOU AROUND

Oh my god

Wow

Okay.

Look I'm just saying that to me this would be a GIGANTIC RED FLAG but wtf do I know

I'm just saying because I have to – if Carlos was a woman and TK did that? Whole different story gang

Whole completely different mother-fucking story

This show, wow

Wow.

Wow. This is bad.

Domestic violence happens to men too, just saying.

Wow I'm so annoyed that I've paused it to type furiously and rant that wow, they're just not acknowledging that TK was totally out of line? Okay. Wow.

And everyone's just fine with it?

Oh they're just figuring out that he set more than one fire

Maybe there's something else you care about other than the firehouse, Owen

Maybe?

BILLY IS THE ONE WHO FIGURES IT OUT

See this is why Billy is the best

Oh no TK and Carlos are in danger

Oh it's so romantic isn't it? They're gonna fuck now that everything is okay

Wow he left a lot of bombs in Carlos' house

Damn Carlos is hot

No smoke alarms?

That fire has really taken ahold there guys

I'm gonna assume you do have smoke alarms and he disconnected them

Wow he really covered all bases didn't he

Put the bombs in the bedroom as well

RIP Carlos' nice house

"I love you too" after I violently shoved you around today

Oh who needs a fucking fire department when you've got Owen fucking Strand right?

"Carlos" he says flatly. "How are you doing?" he asks in a monotone

"I should've had an extinguisher in the bedroom" DUDE NO ONE DOES

And if TK wanted one in there, he's the fucking firefighter, he should've checked when he moved in instead of assuming like a dumbass

God this show is dumb as fuck and I hate it so much

Billwen for the win

"just a couple of crap magnets" fucking a-men Judd

This show sucks

Oh no TOMMY OH NO

WHAT'S HAPPENING

OH MY GOD

WHAT THE FUCK

What the fuck

Is he dead?

TAKE OWEN AND TK INSTEAD

I’m going to say one more thing about this T*rlos storyline - if they’d done this to Buck & Eddie in the OG, I’d be fucking devastated. Like... if Buck or Eddie pushed the other around the way TK pushed Carlos around, I’d be absolutely gutted. It’s really horrible that they went down that path - whether it’s OOC or not, and you can probably argue that it is - they shouldn’t have included the scene like that in the show.

It just raises a whole slew of questions, like... is TK violent? Is Carlos used to being pushed around in relationships? Is the show saying that it’s okay that they got a little physical because they’re both men? Domestic violence is never okay, and this is kind of... saying that it is, in certain circumstances?

That is problematic as fuck and such bad writing.

These two are in a relationship where they are living together and supposedly love each other, and this is how the writers choose to portray it? If you’re a T*rlos shipper and you’re upset about this episode, I get it. It’s really fucking terrible that they included that scene - and I would bet cold hard cash it’ll never be addressed again.

This is why LS is a bad show. It’s shitty writing. Shitty storylines. Characters who are interesting are shoved into the background and glossed over in favour of the male white characters. The OG doesn’t have this problem - for everyone complaining that Eddie hasn’t been featured as much this season (and yeah, I hate it too) - you can’t complain that the characters of colour don’t get equal screentime.

With LS - it’s the Rob Lowe show, and everyone else is just in the background. And that’s why it’s so frustrating to watch - they have a great cast, and this could be a really good show, but it’s just not.

Do you think the LS writers patted themselves on the back after this arc and were like, "yeah we nailed it, we're amazing?"

This episode is -1,000000/10. This show should be cancelled.

Two god awful miserable fucking episodes to go.

Diaz to cleanse:

#DO NOT REBLOG #lone star hate watch #enter at your own risk

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rreeaahh · 3 years

Text

“Then I want to be sick forever” | Pansy Parkinson

pairing: pansy x reader

word count: 2,374 (unedited)

summary: even the prettiest faces have their scars, and sometimes the tears make it worst. but this time, the tears transformed into a kiss.

a/n: pansy deserved better and you can’t change my opinion.

warnings: eating disorder; smoking; swearing

Pansy Parkinson. A name known by the whole Hogwarts, worn by a black haired, quite short and most importantly, pureblood witch. Whether her name was said by a silly boy who couldn’t have her or an angry girl who couldn’t be her, Pansy continued to be the young ladylike girl her mother taught her to be. She would always smile with superiority and talk like she was better than anyone else because, in fact, she really was. She was from a wealthy and respected family, she was friend with a lot of students from families with connections and she had a thing going on with Draco Malfoy – they were the perfect pair for any Slytherin: both of them very beautiful, strong and – again – purebloods.

You, on the other hand, were a simple student – muggleborn, known by your housemates and a few other students you were friends with. The only thing you had in common with Pansy were some classes where you two were forced to stay in the same room. You didn’t really have a problem with Pansy, you just wanted to avoid her so you could also avoid her mean comments or the looks her friends would give you. She didn’t know you – not even your name – but that didn’t make her stop from making fun of you.

You filthy mudblood. Why are you looking like that? Imagining you’re one of us? I guess they don’t have decent clothes in the muggle world.

And the list could go on forever. Sometimes her words were affecting you, especially because of her the jokes about you came to life. Her friends weren’t so harsh – Draco would totally ignore you, being too busy with bullying Harry and his friends, and dear Merlin, Blaise sat besides you in Charms and he didn’t say a word; he even asked nicely for a quill and returned it at the end of the class – but as soon as she made a comment about your presence, they all started. You really wanted to ignore her, but from time to time you would find yourself crying until you would fall asleep because of her words. You did nothing to her.

But one day happened something that shocked you. Pansy arrived earlier than her friends to Potions and she sat at her table, starting to look over her notes.

“Why does she wear so much make-up?”, ask out of the sudden one of your friends, a Gryffindor girl who was just as pure as Pansy – maybe that gave her the nerve to make a comment out loud about the girl who wasn’t very far from you.

It was true that Pansy was wearing make-up everyday – dark lipstick and her eyes always highlighted by some black eyeshadow; but she was beautiful, the colors were just pointing out her features. Her pale skin was perfect and her black hair was always straightened – her whole face seemed to be painted by a skilled artist and you would be a fool to deny it.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever saw her without it, I think it’s a part of her face”, laughed a boy from your table, Gryffindor too.

You thought they wanted to keep the rivality between the houses, but when a Hufflepuff girl joined their little roast you started to have a weird feeling.

“Hey, Parkinson!”, shouted the Hufflepuff, getting her attention. “I think the circus left some weeks ago, they forgot you?”

“Very funny, Puffy”, came her answer quickly, “I think they also left their hippo behind, but maybe you can catch them up if you hurry.”

“Me?”, laughed the Hufflepuff again, “Hunny, you’re the one whose shirt is a little too tight”, and with that comment she made the entire table laugh. You started to feel a little uncomfortable with the hole conversation going on, but you just couldn’t say anything.

Draco Malfoy entered the Potions’ class followed by his friends and sat down besides Pansy, not even looking at her. He was too busy to talk with Theo about Merlin knows what. Blaise tried to start a conversation with the girl, but she was caught in her own thoughts.

“Draco”, you heard her whispering, but your tablemates heard her too.

“Pst, Pansy”, said the Gryffindor girl again, “I think your boyfriend is too busy thinking about some Mudblood Gryffindor to pay attention to you right now”, she laughed and her friends started to do so immediately after.

“Draco”, Pansy said again, this time louder, but she was interrupted by the sound of Snape’s fluttering robes.

“Not now, Pansy”, was the only answer she gained as the boy started to pay attention to Snape’s comments about how the hole class was full with incapable students, with some exceptions.

The class passed by like it usually did. When you got your head out of your notes, the Slytherin table was empty and a feeling of anxiety grew in your stomach, knowing that maybe they were waiting outside of the class to say mean things as you walk by them. But the corridor was empty, and that was the strangest thing ever.

***

Three days later, you were questioning your choices. You made a promise to yourself in your fourth year, but you demonstrated yourself again how useless are those stupid words said only in your head. You swore to never go in the Forbidden Forest with Luna to feed the Thestrals again because everytime you went you were always scared to death or slightly injured and this time wasn’t any different. While Luna was laughing and having a good time, feeding a baby Thestral – you couldn’t say if she was doing so, you saw nothing – you went to have a walk near the place where the blonde girl was. The forest was always a beautiful place, mysterious and dark even in afternoon, and it was calling for you to discover it. But the feeling of fear was calling louder than the forest, your mind playing tricks by making non-existent sounds in your head.

“Luna?”, you called her when you found yourself alone, even if you didn’t go too far from her. You screamed from the bottom of your lungs when you fell into a hollow, all your body hurting from the impact. Maybe you fell three feet or so but the falling felt like an eternity.

“What are you doing there, Y/N?”, asked Luna while looking down to you, from the place you were before falling.

“Just admiring the sky”, you said nonchalantly, “The clouds are beautiful today”, but all you could see were the trees, the tall and leafy trees.

Luna looked up too, smiling a little. “You’re right”, she agreed, “but I’m afraid we need to go back to the castle. Get up.”

You would to that if you could, but your ankle was hurting like hell and it was impossible for you to walk. Luna helped you to move, little by little, and by dinner time you were in the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey looking at your swollen ankle.

“Why did you fell, Y/N?”, asked Luna who was standing at the left of your bed.

“Why did you went to the Forbidden Forest is a better question, Miss Lovegood”, said Madam Pomfrey with a little annoyance in her voice.

Luna shrugged and smiled to you. “These are some questions that will not be answered any time soon. See you tomorrow, Y/N, goodnight Madam Pomfrey”, and she left you alone.

Madam Pomfrey took care of your ankle and suggested to have a little rest in the Hospital Wing for that night, which was a good idea. You were exhausted so a good sleep seemed to be ideal.

But the voices that started to argue after an hour or two woke you up and didn’t let you to go back to sleep.

“I told you I’m fine, it wasn’t necessary to bring me here”, the anger in the girl’s voice was more than obvious.

“You nearly fainted when you got up from the couch, Pansy”, said the one and only Draco Malfoy to his girlfriend. “Blaise told me you didn’t eat in the last three days, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

You tried to see them from your bed, but all you saw was Draco’s back and Pansy’s bare feet.

“Wrong with me?”, she asked laughing. “If Blaise wouldn’t tell you that, you wouldn’t even know that I’m still your girlfriend.”

“Don’t start that bullshit again, Pansy”, warned her the boy and you saw his hand moving. Pansy got up and she was facing the angry platinum-haired boy. “You know that’s not true, do you?” You didn’t hear Pansy’s answer, but soon Draco called her a good girl. “You look sick”, he said before getting on his feet.

“I don’t wear make-up, dumb ass”, laughed slightly the girl. You could see Draco cupping her face with a hand and a smile grew on her pale lips.

“Then get better and put back on that pretty face of yours, ok?”, he asked and pulled away, taking her smile with him. “Night, Pansy”, were the last words he said before leaving her side. He looked at you with a blank face and left the room in silence. You looked back to Pansy and she gave you a dirty look.

“What are you looking at, Mudblood?”

“Nothing”, you simply said, “I just woke up.”

“I didn’t ask you anything, did I?”

And she laid back on her bed, her back facing you. Sighing, you did the same and tried to go back to sleep. But when your sleep was sweeter, the door of the Hospital Wing was slammed closed. Pansy’s bed was empty and by the dark outside of the window the time must have been around midnight. Some time went by and Pansy didn’t came back, so your curiosity made you leave the Hospital Wing as well, walking with a little difficulty because of your ankle. You walked on the empty and dark corridor hoping to don’t see Mrs. Norris or Filch on your way. Hearing sobbings near the Clock Tower, you struggled to go there.

Standind in the front of the big windows, only her cries and the ticking of the clock being heard, Pansy Parkinson was squatted near the wall, a little could of smoke leaving her direction.

“Why aren’t you on bed, Pansy?”, she seemed scared and wanted to hide the cigarette but relaxed a little when she saw you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I asked first”, you returned the reply to her as you came closer. You sat down next to her and looked outside to the courtyard and then looked at her hand, pale and veiny, holding between her trembling fingers with painted nails the cigarette.

After firing another smoke she held out the cigarette to you and you took it a little confused.

“I didn’t know you smoke”, you told her.

“I didn’t care if you smoke or not but still gave it to you.”

You laughed and inhaled the toxic smoke.

“Yeah, you’re right”, you mumbled and gave it back to her.

You two sat in silence, smoking the cigarette together and after that one Pansy pulled out of her hoodie a packet nearly empty, handing you another one.

“I stole it from my father”, she told you like she could read your mind, knowing that was your next question. “My parents would kill me if they would see my right now.”

“They don’t want you to smoke?”, you asked even if the answer was obvious.

“They don’t want me to talk to Mudbloods”, she said smiling at you, but it wasn’t the mean smile she always gave you. It was a sad one.

“You’re parents are assholes.”

“Yes, they are”, laughed the witch again and suddenly you felt good with her. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. “The worst part is that they want me to be like them”, she continued while smoking.

“So you don’t want to be such a bitch?”, you laughed but she didn’t find your comment as funny as you did. “Sorry, I…”, you started but she laughed with anger.

“So you think you’re better than me? You’re just as bad as I am, Mudblood.”

You didn’t say anything in return.

“Why didn’t you eat, Pansy?”, you asked without looking at her. A part of you was scared by her possible reaction but a part of you felt bad for her. She was even paler than normally and her body seemed to be weaker, like she couldn’t support her weight.

“I don’t need to eat”, she simply said, “I ate before and it didn’t give me anything nice.”

“You need to eat, Pansy”, you spoke softly, suddenly concerned about her condition.

“No, I need to be pretty”, she said lighting another cigarette. “You heard Draco, I look sick, I need my pretty face back on.”

When you looked at her you saw tears running down on her face again.

“My mother is right, I need to be pretty or I’ll be worthless”, she said looking front.

“Pansy…”

“What happened to your ankle?”, she asked out of the sudden like she really cared, but she wanted to change the subject.

“Pansy, you’re not worthless”, you told her ignoring her question.

“I’m sick”, she said crying even harder. “You don’t know how it feels to be just a pretty face, good only to carry on that stupid line of purity. If I’m not beautiful, I’m sick! If I don’t have my make-up on, I’m sick!”

You cupped her face, wiping her tears away. “You’re beautiful without your make-up on, Pansy”, you whispered, your voice cracking at her pain. “You’re beautiful even if you’re sick.”

“What?”, she asked looking into your eyes. Her full lips were trembling as she wanted to say something.

“You’re beautiful even if you’re sick”, you repeated and then made the craziest shit you did in your entire life: you kissed Pansy Parkinson.

The kiss was soft, innocent and salty from her tears, but when she didn’t answer your actions, you pulled away.

“Then I want to be sick forever”, she told you before cupping your face in her tiny hands and crashing your lips together.

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Written In The Stars CXII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I know you guys hate it but I love making Mel and Harry fight, huge ‘I’m-yelling-bc-I-love-you’ energy -Danny

Words: 4,093

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Worst In Me’ -by Julia Michaels.

Chapter Ten: Growing.

Turns out Umbridge was inspecting Trelawney's class, and if Mel could've graded the experience, she would've used a massive 'D'.

The girl paired up with Neville because she would often find herself chatting over Trelawney's orders whenever she and Ron shared a table. She didn't want that this time, and so she tried her best to focus on what she was doing with Neville. She was fearing that being in a different table, she wasn't going to be able to stop Harry if he tried to do something silly, the class went by with no accidents besides the fact that Trelawney could not do a prediction for Umbridge, which clearly made her fall a few points down.

Mel walked to her D.A.D.A. class with Neville, they talked about his new discoveries in herbology, she desperately needed to speak about some common silly nothings to remain sane, so when they entered the classroom, she hesitated a moment before finally deciding to sit next to the boy. They were a few tables behind Harry, Ron and Hermione. Mel felt a bit guilty about not making any real efforts to stay close to Harry, but she was feeling in a better mood now that she was having a normal day with a normal classmate.

"Wands away," Umbridge instructed. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

Hermione raised her hand a few seats ahead, Umbridge got up from her place and walked up to hers, her usual terrifying smile plastered on her face.

"What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read chapter two."

"Well then, proceed to chapter three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

"Well," Umbridge giggled. "Then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."

"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named. He says 'counterjinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable. But I disagree."

"You disagree?"

"Yes, I do. Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, I'm afraid it is Mr Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But —"

"That is enough. Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

"What for?" Harry asked angrily. Mel could see Hermione whisper something to him.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions. I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection —"

"Why aren't we allowed to give our opinion? The teachers always encourage us to ask questions and be curious!" Mel blurted out, emboldened by the memory of her jobless uncle. "Was it really their way of working, or just your racist rubbish?"

"And Quirrell was a great teacher all right," said Harry right after her, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

There was a thick silence afterwards, Umbridge smiled a both, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter," said Umbridge sweetly. "Miss Dumbledore, you may only speak when spoken to, or when you're granted the word. Otherwise, I'd recommend you to remain quiet. Sixty points from Gryffindor."

Mel entered the Great Hall fuming, she walked up to her table and saw Angelina, Professor McGonagall and Harry all arguing about something.

"I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?" Harry asked in outrage. "Mel already lost sixty!"

"Shut up!" She hissed.

"Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!" Professor McGonagall looked at her in the same way. "Dumbledore told you to stay out of it, Miss Dumbledore, I see myself in the obligation to talk with the Headmaster about this! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team Captaincy!"

Angelina stormed out of the Hall, not without giving Harry one last nasty look.

"She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?"

"I know, mate, she's bang out of order," Ron put extra bacon on Harry's plate.

"You disloyal twat!" Mel aggressively put down a jar of murtlap essence in front of Harry. "Now Dumbledore will lecture me again because you decided to rat me out!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?" He pointed to the jar. "What's that rubbish?"

"That rubbish is for your hand," She retorted in an awful mood, "put it on your bloody hand and it should heal right away."

The girl left without waiting for a reply, wanting to hex everyone. The fact that she'd spent twenty minutes of her breakfast hour doing the stupid essence now felt like a really dumb thing to do. She wondered why was she still trying to be nice when Harry didn't care, he knew that she could feel his pain and still decided to get another detention. Maybe they were better on their own, trying to remain as a team was starting to break them further apart.

Mel clenched her fists and continued until her feet took her to the only safe haven they could remember. The library was empty, no one had urgent schoolwork to finish being the second week of the trimester. She sat down at the very end, rubbing her temples and pondering on whether she should cry a bit to release some tension or go back to the Hall and have breakfast with Ginny when she heard the soft sound of footsteps.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" asked a voice in amusement.

Erick stepped closer with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"You stood me up last Saturday. What now, you get a boyfriend and suddenly decide you no longer need friends? That's a bit–"

Mel didn't let him finish, she stood up and hugged him as tightly as she could.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you."

Erick froze, his arms hovering above her awkwardly. "I... I missed you too?"

Mel stepped back, quickly cleaning her face.

"Merlin's sake, you don't have to say it if you don't want to..."

"Sorry– it's just... That's the first time someone says that to me..." The last part came out barely above a whisper, Erick avoided her eyes.

"Well, it's true. This summer was a nightmare..."

"I know what you mean... at least a little. My grandad's been... not great," Erick glanced at the table and then her. "Every time I catch a glimpse of you, you're always grumpy..."

"It's the O.W.L.S, you know?"

"Sure, not like I've seen you argue with Potter," Erick smirked. "Want advice? Kiss him whenever he acts up, that'll shut him."

"That's out of the question," She sat down again. "We're not dating."

"What?" He exclaimed.

"Shh!" Mel looked around and then glared at him. "Sit down."

"I don't understand," Erick's frown deepened. "You two were so sickeningly happy and–"

"It was a mistake."

"What?" He asked again, this time laughing a little. "I'm sorry, but since when is dating your crush a mistake?"

"We didn't date," She retorted. "We... it blew up in our faces– Sit down, will you?"

"But what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"Okay!" He huffed. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Why don't you tell me how's your Grandad?"

Erick's face did not tense at the mention, but it certainly grew worried.

"He's well enough... stayed with him the whole summer so I didn't write to Anne, in case you were wondering."

"Don't ask about Harry and I won't ask about Anne," Mel shrugged. "Seems fair."

Erick only looked more alarmed. "Seriously, what happened?"

"Erick," She said, "leave it."

"Are you at least going to tell me why'd you stood me up the other day?"

"I invited Hermione by mistake. I wanted to talk to you in private."

"Why?"

"Because Harry– well now I don't want to," She added when she saw the way he rolled his eyes. "I don't want to do anything. I don't even want to go to my next class..."

"Let me guess, because you'll have to see him and talk to him," He finally sat down, pondering for a moment. "All right, then get rid of him. Stop being his friend."

"I can't do that. Dumbledore's orders."

"He asked you to babysit?"

Mel nodded gloomily.

"Do you really have to be near him?"

"Well," She tilted her head. "I guess not... just when Umbridge's around."

"So just during her class?"

"Probably..."

"Okay, make sure he keeps his mouth shut for an hour or two and then you have the rest of the day free."

Mel thought about it for a second, then groaned in frustration.

"Knowing Harry, he'll find a way to run into her more times a day..."

"Potter's old enough to know better, don't you think?" Erick raised a brow. "Especially after what he went through..."

Annoyance flooded over her at the way Erick so casually mentioned Harry's close call. She clenched her jaw and shrugged. She didn't want to keep talking to him, being honest, she simply didn't want to talk to anyone at all.

"I'm tired," She muttered.

"I can't help with that, go take a nap," He sighed. "I'm sorry you didn't get the prefect badge, by the way..."

Mel laughed humorlessly.

"I don't care. Guess a part of me always knew Hermione would beat me."

"I really thought you'd be it," He replied. "Not that I don't think 'Mione's not smart or anything, it made sense, you and Harry..."

"Maybe Dumbledore thinks we have too much in our hands," She started to peel the corner of the table. "Or that we're out of control..."

"He certainly has reasons to believe it..."

"Did Parkinson and Malfoy report me?" She blurted out.

Erick frowned.

"What did you do now?"

Mel quickly told him about the incident, Erick found it extremely amusing.

"Had it coming, those idiots..." He admitted. "But you really shouldn't do that. Umbridge will take any opportunity to take you to her office and see if she can force you into confessing about the Order."

"Talking about that..." She moved so she was now facing him. "Are you part of it, then?"

"Not until I'm seventeen and out of school... I'm a very active intern for now."

"But do you want to be part of it?"

Erick didn't hesitate this time.

"I do. I won't be hiding behind my mother's skirt, once I'm out, I'll be out forever. My plan hasn't changed, I'll live with my Grandad and I'll help as much as I can."

"I'm proud of you, you know?" Mel smiled, her mood lifting with the passion he was letting out in every word.

"Shut up," He muttered.

"I mean it! You've come a long way. Remember my first year? You found me crying and told me to just give up on Hermione. Look at you now..."

"I'm still trying to convince you to give up on people," He moved on his chair awkwardly. "I told you this was my plan since the beginning, I'm just finally doing something about it."

"Yeah," Mel agreed, thinking that her own plan had been obliterated and now she was stuck in place. "I'm happy for you..."

"You know what? Take my advice. Keep Potter's mouth shut during class and we'll trust that he can find his way without you for the rest of the day. You need a break," Erick stood up, grabbing her bag and picking it up for her.

"Trust me," She sighed. "I know."

Mel stayed away from her friends for the rest of the day, and Harry found a way to get an extra day of detention during their Care of Magical creatures class -Umbridge had been there– but the girl persisted, she had lunch and dinner with Ginny and her friends, and she spent her free period with the twins and their friends.

When she entered the common room, she discovered that Harry wasn't there with Ron and Hermione, which explained why her right hand was starting to feel sore. She sat with a small smile playing on her lips, her day had improved after a whole afternoon without useless bickering.

"Is there any point on asking?" Hermione sighed.

"No," Mel said calmly, tunning out the pain on her hand.

Harry arrived close to midnight with his hand bleeding profusely, Mel made sure to write in a way that the darkness could hide her own bruised hand. Hermione handed him the murtlap jar Mel had left for him during breakfast.

"I still reckon you should complain about this," said Ron.

"No," said Harry.

"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew —"

"Yeah, she probably would. And how long d'you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"

"She's an awful woman. Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in... we've got to do something about her."

"I suggested poison."

"No... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defence from her at all," said Hermione.

"Well, what can we do about that? 'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."

"Well... You know, I was thinking today... I was thinking that — maybe the time's come when we should just — just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" said Harry.

Mel's hand stopped writing but she didn't look up.

"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," said Hermione.

"Come off it! You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week? And Mel's all right but I'm sure not even her can get past the stress!"

"But this is much more important than homework!"

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," Ron teased.

"Don't be silly, of course there is! It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year —"

"We can't do much by ourselves, I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose —"

"If you're planning on reading just like you read in Umbridge class, then it won't change much," Mel said.

"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"If you're talking about Lupin..."

"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin," said Hermione. "He's to busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough."

"Who, then?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm talking about you and Mel, Harry."

"About me what?"

"What?" Mel laughed.

"I'm talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"That's an idea," Ron said calmly. "Mel could teach us, with her extra lessons and everything..."

"But... But I'm not a teacher, I can't —"

"You and Mel are the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione.

"Me?" said Harry, this time grinning. "No, I'm not, you and Mel have beaten me in every test —"

"Actually, I haven't. You beat me in our third year — the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you've done! Look at what Mel can do!"

"How d'you mean?"

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to Hermione with a smirk, then pretended to concentrate fully. "Let's think, uh... first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who–"

"But that was luck, that wasn't skill —"

"Yeah, and Quirrell smashed my skull afterwards!"

"Second year," Ron insisted, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle, Harry."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I —"

"Third year," Ron raised his voice, "Mel starts her private lessons with Dumbledore and she learns to do non-verbal spells as if they were as simple as a nap. Then you two fought off about a hundred dementors at once —"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't —"

"Last year," Ron was practically yelling now. "Mel learned to fight off the Imperio curse in her first try and saw right through Moody before anyone else. You fought off You-Know-Who again—"

"Listen to me!" Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck — I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help —"

"I had tons of help!" Mel exclaimed, finally finding her voice. "I read until I couldn't keep my eyes open– most of the things I know are all theory and no practice– don't smile at us like that! You know we're as close to being teachers as a bowtruckle!"

"Don't sit there like you know better than we do," Harry said heatedly. "I was there, wasn't I? I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right— or Mel lost control and it just happened to work out in our favour, but we just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing and Mel— STOP LAUGHING!"

Harry stood up menacingly, the jar falling off his hand and breaking into a bunch of sharp pieces. Hermione and Ron quickly lost their smiles.

"You don't know what it's like! You— neither of you— you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that, having to suck the life out of a someone in order to survive!" Mel's breath hitched, none of them had told the others what had happened last June. "And you two sit there acting like we're two clever little kids standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me if it weren't for Mel– it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me and I hadn't used Mel's—"

"Shut up!" She yelled, pulling him back because he'd gotten too close to their friends.

"We weren't saying anything like that," Ron said fearfully. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't — you've got the wrong end of the —" He stammered the rest under his breath, unable to end his sentence out of shock.

"You didn't sound understanding," Mel stated, dropping Harry's arm when he snatched it away. "It's never over, not like we lived through it and then just continued with our day... there's... we would always have..."

"Nightmares," Harry ended weakly.

"Guys," Hermione said quietly, "don't you see? This... this is exactly why we need you... We need to know what it's r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort."

Mel would've been proud of Hermione, but she was still too agitated. However, Harry did react, he sat down again, though still breathing as he'd run for hours. A cramp ran down her hand in full force and she hissed. Harry frowned, noticing right away.

"I'm an idiot."

"I'm not going to argue you that," Mel scowled, holding her hand tightly. "I thought you'd be smarter, knowing what it does to me..."

"I don't mind being punished for telling the truth... but I don't want to drag you with me– I never wanted that," Harry sentenced.

Ron and Hermione stared at the both of them without really understanding what they meant.

"Well... think about it," said Hermione, glancing between the two. "Please?"

Harry nodded quietly, Mel hid her hand in her pocket and shrugged.

"Well, I'm off to bed," Their friend continued, still shaking. "Erm... 'night."

Ron got up too, he turned to look at Harry. "Coming?"

"Yeah," He said, looking down at the shattered glass. "In... in a minute. I'll just clear this up."

"I'll help..." Mel murmured.

When it was just the two of them, Mel crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him.

"Well?" She raised a brow. "I'm tired of being the one cleaning up your messes."

"I never asked–" He looked up at her and sighed, tired of fighting. "Doesn't matter... Reparo!"

The essence was gone, and she groaned thinking of how it was up to her to get more. She also knew that Harry needed to tend his hand now if she wanted to have a good sleep, so before he could leave she added:

"Sit," Mel grabbed her wand. "I'm going to mend you."

"I don't need–"

"I'm doing this for me," She showed him the purple bruise of thin letters that were forming on her skin. "You're still trying to cut out the lifeline? It's not working."

"Like you're doing any better," He hissed when she 'accidentally' pressed his wound.

"I'm not the problematic one, am I?"

Harry remained silent.

"That's what I thought," She healed the open cuts gradually. "Unlike you, I know how to stay out of trouble and I don't get as injured..."

"Well, it's not you the one people's been attacking–"

"It's not you either," She replied sharply. "People talk about you, but you're the one picking fights. The only person being attacked here is Dumbledore and I don't see him yelling at the rest of the staff."

"I don't see him talking to anyone but you, so that must be why," He said hastily.

"That's not my fault," Mel let go of his hand, it wasn't bleeding or inflamed, which was impressive considering it was her first time healing someone.

There was something bitter about the fact that holding his hand wasn't bringing her any kind of sweet emotion like it used to. She would still feel waves of affection, but those were dying quicker as time went by, something inside her was successfully pushing him out of her system, and she was starting to get used to it.

"If you're so desperate to talk to him then why don't you visit his office?"

Harry gave her a sour look, and she let out a dry laugh.

"You do want him to ask, don't you? See if he cares?"

"I think I'll go to bed now," He stood up.

"Suit yourself," Mel shrugged. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I thought you had done it for yourself," He replied sarcastically.

"I still made you a favour by doing so," She said. "You know, if you'd show a bit of gratitude instead of ignoring everyone that offers you help, people would–"

"THANK YOU!" He said rudely, his back turned to her as he left the common room.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @sarcasticallywitty15

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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advena87 · 4 years

Text

Aiden & Lambert’s love story because we deserve more than one and we didn't get any (at least not in canon). Long Post!

check out also Kaer Morhen Shenanigans

Here is: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 and Daily Lambert

also Keira & Lambert’s love story and… this.

I love playing with incorrect quotes. The ones below are already used a few times in Kaer Morhen shenanigans, but I modified and changed them, and added a lot of new ones.

So the idea is that young witchers from the griffin and cat schools come to Kaer Morhen - including Coen and Aiden. The purpose of the visit is for aspiring witchers to learn something from each other, and in fact it’s just an excuse to play with the idea of Lambert x Aiden. Of course, Lambert’s witcher brothers will try to help him with his crush, and they will not miss the opportunity to make fun of him.

The setting is like this because the idea that Geralt, Eskel and Berengar will be Lambert's wingmen is simply priceless. I know that this configuration had no right to happen in the canon, but the canon has hurt us more than once. That's why we always have to fix everything. And that's why Berengar appears in my posts. In my opinion he deserved it and you can't change my mind. And I think he and Lambert have so much in common that it's really a shame they never met in games. I think that they would have a beautiful dynamics of the oldest and youngest brother.

Anyway I hope you enjoy it! :)

Aiden: Hi, I am-

Lambert, shaking his hand: Handsome.

Aiden: -Aiden. And you are?

Lambert: Apparently not as straight as I thought I was.

***

Lambert: Can I ask a dumb question?

Berengar: Better than anyone I know.

Lambert: Is it gay to think about your best mate in the shower?

Berengar: …

Geralt: …

Eskel: …

Lambert: Asking for a friend.

Berengar: …

Geralt: …

Eskel: …

Lambert: But now seriously: I’m not gay if I wanna date Aiden as like bros, right?

Geralt: I’m no expert but that does sound kinda gay.

Berengar: I’m an expert. That’s gay.

***

Lambert: I swing both ways.

Lambert: Violently. With a sword.

Lambert: Also, I’m bisexual.

Lambert: … promise you won’t tell anyone?

Berengar: Your secret is safe with me. I wasn’t even listening.

*later*

Eskel: The printer messed up the invitations. It was supposed to say “Lambert’ birthday”.

Geralt: What does it say instead?

Eskel: “Lambert’ bi”

Berengar: Well that could still work.

Geralt: Wait, what? No, Lambert is straight.

Berengar: Trust me, he isn’t. The only straight thing he is gonna do is that he is gonna go straight to hell.

Eskel: Wait, Berengar, isn’t this thing between Lambert and Aiden supposed to be a secret?

Berengar: Hardly. The only people who don’t know Lambert loves Aiden are Lambert and Aiden. And Geralt for some reason.

***

Eskel: You and Aiden seem very close.

Lambert: We're just friends.

Berengar: Oh please, we all know you're a heartbeat away from getting his name tattooed on your ass.

***

Lambert: You look nice, I want to kiss you.

Aiden: WHAT

Lambert: I SAID IF YOU DIED I WOULDN’T MISS YOU

Berengar, behind Lambert's back, mouthing to Aiden: LIES

***

*Aiden and Coen talking and laughing*

Lambert: *staring at them silently*

Eskel: You’re really quiet today, Lambert.

Lambert: Nobody plans a murder out loud.

***

Lambert: Why does this griffin dude keep talking to you?

Aiden: Lambert, we are friends.

Lambert: I know you two are friends but…

Aiden, deadpan: No, Lambert, I meant you and I are friends.

Lambert: Yeah, we’re friends, but I’d fuck you if you asked.

Aiden: What?

Lambert: What?

Berengar, eating popcorn: He said he’d fuck you if you asked.

***

Lambert: Fuck, Aiden, you look like hell!

Aiden: Yeah? I just got back.

Lambert: Dude, who hurt you?

Aiden: Do you want a list or something?

Lambert:

Lambert: *grabs sword* Actually, yes.

Aiden: No, wait, we can’t solve all our problems with murder.

Lambert: How about just this problem?

***

Lambert: I think I might have a crush on Aiden…

Berengar: Congratulations, you’re officially the last one to know.

Geralt: Aiden would never date a jerk like you.

Lambert: Fuck you, shouldn’t I be one of your best friends?

Gerelt: Yeah, which is how I know you’re a jerk.

Eskel: So what are you going to do?

Lambert: I don’t know, something dramatic I hope.

Berengar: Oh for fuck’s sake, just ask Aiden out! What’s the worst that could happen?

Lambert: Humiliation, embarrassment, fire, explosions, collisions, tears, nudity and death.

***

Aiden: Can you ride?

Lambert: *looks at Aiden up and down* Yes.

Aiden: I meant the horse, Lambert.

***

Lambert: How do I politely ask him to slam me against a wall and make out with me?

Geralt: Lambert, it’s four in the morning, if you want to make out with Aiden just do it quietly, I don’t care how you ask him!

*next day*

Aiden: *hands Lambert a water bottle*

Lambert: *drinking it* Thanks, what’s it for?

Aiden: Geralt says you get thirsty around me.

Lambert: *chokes on water*

***

Lambert, smirking: So when are you gonna go out with me?

Aiden, smiling back: I don’t know, when are you gonna ask me out?

Lambert, freaking out: uhhh....

*later that day*

Berengar: So you ran away like a fucking coward?

Lambert: I DIDNT EXPECT HIM TO FLIRT BACK!!

***

Eskel: Why are you ignoring Aiden?

Lambert: I’m playing hard to get.

Geralt: Why would you do that? You’re already hard to want.

***

Eskel: I shouldn’t be interfering in this but give him a chance. Lambert would throw himself in front of a speeding horse for you.

Aiden: Lambert would throw himself in front of a speeding horse for fun.

Eskel: Ok, point taken, but don’t worry, he grows on you.

Aiden: Oh, really?

Eskel:

Eskel: No, actually, he just gets worse.

***

Aiden: I’m having problems with Lambert.

Geralt: Problems like ‘his dead body won’t fit in your cupboard’ or problems like ‘you like him’?

Aiden: ...

Aiden: Problems like ‘I like him’.

Geralt: Too bad, I could have helped with the other one.

***

Aiden: I have 4 friends.

Eskel: But there are 5 of us. Me, Geralt, Berengar, Lambert and Coen.

Aiden: Lambert is my special idiot.

Aiden: That’s different.

***

Aiden: Lambert, look me in the eyes and be straight with me.

Lambert: So… Do I look at you? Or do I be straight? I can’t do both.

***

Lambert: I’m in love with you.

Aiden: That’s… a terrible idea.

Lambert: Yeah, I have a lot of those.

Aiden: ...

Aiden: Well then, let's try.

Lambert: Wait, does that mean you like me? For my personality?

Aiden: I know, I was surprised too.

***

Lambert and Aiden: *walk into the room together with happiness written on their faces*

Berengar: So who finally confessed?

Lambert: It was me, I made sure it was short and sweet.

Aiden: You yelled, “Listen here, you little shit, I have feelings for you and it’s about time you acknowledged them!” from the castle tower.

Lambert: It worked though.

Aiden: All in all, this may come as a surprise to you, but Lambert and I are dating now.

Geralt: Damn. Now I owe Eskel 20 crowns. You guys couldn’t have waited another week?

Lambert: Wait, what?

Eskel: You two just earned me 20 crowns is what, so thank you.

***

Aiden: When you're gay in your house with nobody else, you're homolone.

Lambert: When you're bi and there's nobody else around, you're biyourself.

Berengar: You're two morons.

***

Coen: So, you've already made friends with Eskel, Geralt and Berengar?

Aiden: Yeah.

Coen: Great, just a little advice - stay away from Lambert.

Aiden: ...

Aiden: Lambert is my boyfriend.

Coen: Oh...

Coen: Um...

Coen: So, what's he like?

Aiden: Have you ever met a human version of a headache?

***

Coen, pointing at Lambert: Is this guy bothering you?

Aiden: Yeah, but he’s my boyfriend, I signed up for this

***

Aiden: You’re annoying.

Lambert: But you love me >:3

Aiden: Doesn’t make you any less annoying.

***

Lambert: *spills water on his shirt* Oh, what have I done? Now my shirt is all see-through.

Geralt: *rolls his eyes* And so are you. I know what you’re doing.

AIden: So do I, but I am enjoying the show immensely.

***

Lambert: Did it hurt?

Aiden, rolling his eyes: When I fell from heaven?

Lambert: No.

Lambert: When you fell for me.

Aiden: ...

Aiden: Actually, yes. It’s hurts every day.

Berengar, from distance: BUUURN!

***

Coen: It’s so exhausting having a boyfriend! You’re lucky you don’t have one.

AIden: Actually, last time I checked I did have a boyfriend.

Coen: No, you have a Lambert. That’s not the same thing.

Aiden: What do you mean?

Coen: Well, he’s more like a puppy. Excitable, loud, always happy to see you, protective, and he bites anyone who threatens you.

Aiden: …

Aiden: Point taken.

***

Aiden: YOU’RE SO ANNOYING! I CANT BELIEVE IM DATING YOU!

Lambert: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOURE THE ONE WHO CHEATED!

Aiden: Because YOU cheated FIRST!

Lambert: YOU STUPID-

Eskel: I think we’re done playing gwent for tonight….

Geralt: Wait, no. I’m enjoying this.

Aiden: Don't you call me stupid!

Lambert: Okay, then how about 'bitch'?!

Aiden: Arrogant dick!

Lambert: Spoiled asshole!

Aiden: Fuck you!

Lambert: Fuck YOU!

Aiden: FUCK YOU!!!

Lambert: FUCK!!! YOU!!!

Aiden: ...

Aiden: My room, ten minutes.

Geralt: Okey... not what I expected.

Eskel: And we're done here.

***

Lambert: I have an idea, but I’m going to need your permission.

Aiden: Sudenly you need my permission? Why?

Lambert: Cause if I mess it up, I don’t want it to be just my fault.

Aiden: That sounds like a really risky and gay plan.

Lambert: So? You in?

Aiden: I thought it was an obvious answer.

***

Aiden: I want to hear those three little words.

Lamber: I love you.

Aiden: Try again.

Lambert: Fine.

Lambert: I will behave.

Aiden: :)

***

Aiden: Close your eyes and hold out your hand.

Lambert: I played this game once with my brothers and got slimed by a toad.

Aiden: It’s not a toad.

***

Lambert: I didn’t raise you to be like this.

Aiden: You’re my boyfriend. You didn’t raise me at all.

Lambert: And yet you still call me daddy.

Aiden: Oh for the love of-

***

Eskel: I sleep with a knife under my pillow.

Geralt: Weak. I sleep with a sword under mine.

Lambert: You’re both pathetic.

Berengar: What killer weapon do you sleep with then, Mr. Badass?

Lambert, proud and confident: Aiden.

***

Aiden: The food's too hot, I can't eat it.

Lambert: You're too hot and I still eat you.

Berengar: It's family moments like these that we will never forget.

Geralt: With a good therapist, hopefully I will.

Eskel: I'm not hungry anymore.

Vesemir: One dinner. ONE NORMAL DINNER!!

***

Lambert: *phone starts ringing*

Eskel: *looks at who is calling*

Eskle, laughs: So you call Vesemir 'daddy'?

Lambert: *answers call and makes direct eye contact with Eskel*

Lambert: Hey, Aiden.

Eskel: *chokes on drink*

***

Geralt: Okay Lambert, truth or dare?

Lambert: Truth.

Geralt, smirking: Why did you get kicked out of the brothel?

Lambert, looking absolutely horrified: Oh no…

Aiden, whipping his head around so fast Eskel almost shits himself: You fucking what?!

Lambert: Look, you can’t be mad at me! I was just there, minding my own business-

Aiden: We both know that’s a load of crap, Lambert, you’re lying!

Lambert: Does this look like the face of a liar?

Aiden: You really don’t want to hear my thoughts on your face right now.

Lambert: Ok, you know what? Fuck you!

Aiden: Later. Now listen here, you little shit-

Geralt, laughing: Living my best life.

Eskel: Oh my God, Geralt, what did you do, they’re going to kill each other.

Geralt: This isn’t about them.

Aiden, siting on Lambert and beating crap out from him: Really Lambert, I expected better from you!

Lambert, rolling them and pinning Aiden to the ground: Then that’s your own fault! I’m not responsible for your expectations!

Aiden: Bite me!

Lambert: Where?

Aiden: ...

Lambert: So you going to take a swing? Or you just going to staring into my eyes?

Aiden: Hmm, what was that? I was busy staring into your eyes...

Labert: Oh you beautiful bastard! Just punch me already!

*Berengar enters room*

Berengar: What the fuck is going on here? Are they fighting or making out?

Eskel: At this point, I honestly can't tell.

*later*

Lambert: Eskel, how do I get revenge on Geralt?

Eskel: The best revenge is letting go and living your life to the fullest.

Lambert: …

Lambert: Berengar, how do I -

Berengar: Brick.

***

Aiden: How do you usually get out of these messes?

Lambert: I don’t, I just make an even bigger one that cancels the first one out.

Aiden: That sounds like a terrible plan.

Lambert: Oh, I’ve had worse.

***

Aiden: I’m fucking an idiot.

Eskel: Isn’t that grammatically wrong? Shouldn’t it be “I’m a fucking idiot”?

Aiden: No, I’m fucking an idiot.

Eskel: ???

Aiden, sighing: Ok, watch out.

Aiden: Yo, Lambert, are you high?

Lambert: What?

Aiden: High!

Lambert: Hello!

Aiden to Eskel, pointing to Lambert: That’s the idiot.

***

*witchers face complications during the contract. Lambert is abducted for the ransom*

Lambert, offended: You think I’m only worth 10.000 crowns?!

Kidnappers: What?

Lambert: Give me that *takes the megaphone*

Lambert: Make it 1 billion and we can think about it.

Aiden, from outside: LAMBERT SHUT THE FUCK UP!

***

Lambert: Okay, okay, what if I microwave a spoon? Steal some bees? Oh, oh, let's try to fuse corn and apples!

Aiden: What the fuck?

Aiden: Lambert, I asked you how we should spend our anniversary, I clearly do not remember requesting for ways to disappoint your family.

Lambert: Sorry, force of habit.

***

Lambert, drunk at 1AM: *in pajamas and blasting ABBA in his room* Gimmie gimmie gimmie my man after midnight! Won’t somebody help me-

Geralt in the other room: Aiden is dead. Get over it and go to bed! There’s your help.

Lambert: [drunken sobs]

162 notes · View notes

ibijau · 4 years

Note

Ok, here's a prompt for you, should you choose to accept it, as a fellow angst connoisseur. I've been reading Impenetrable Walls by Gina3 which is a concubine AU, except so far Wei Ying has been too dumb to understand that his job as a concubine is to f*ck, but all the servants around him keep telling him to make sure Lan Wangji is happy or it's all their lives at stake. 1/2

2/2 Anyway, the prompt is this: imagine this scenario but with Xisang or Xiyao. Xichen is the emperor, he has spent his whole life being venerated and served and then he is gifted Huaisang/Meng Yao as a concubine and they both know they have no choice but to make the emperor happy no matter what. Xichen is convinced he's in a happy relationship and unaware that he has in fact been raping his partner this whole time, because there is no possible consent in this situation. The angst! Just imagine

Yes hi hello I, uh. Took this and ran with it, even though I have prompts left from the last ask meme and a bunch of fics that I should be updating and also actual work to do. But like. Fuck yeah. This is exactly the sort of awful, shitty, cruel settings that I love writing so bless you for sending me this.

It was a rare and pleasant day for His Highness when Nie Mingjue could take a break from the war on the frontier and visit the palace. On those too rare occasions, His Highness always allowed himself a break from protocole and tradition and, for a few hours, simply became Lan Xichen again. He had so few friends left since rising to power, but Nie Mingjue had never faltered once, never once treated him as a living divinity as others did, knowing it was not what Lan Xichen wanted from their friendship. It must have been a family trait.

As he walked toward his private quarters, Lan Xichen smiled to himself, certain that his dear little bird must be so happy to see his brother again after many months. Nie Huaisang always smiled so brightly after those rare visits, while teasing Lan Xichen with a renewed insolence that always deligthed him. It would be so nice to have his two closest, most beloved people with him at once, however briefly, and Lan Xichen couldn't wait to surprise them. He shouldn't not have been free for them until a little while longer, but on a whim he had cancelled a council. There was little point in being emperor if he could not get away with something selfish here and there.

As he entered the little house he'd ordered to be built for Nie Huaisang, Lan Xichen heard his little bird chatting with his brother and stopped for a moment, suddenly feeling guilty for taking away the siblings' precious chance for a private discussion. Although Nie Huaisang rarely complained about anything, Lan Xichen knew that his little bird missed home dearly sometimes. No amount of presents and coddling could change that, and while the two of them were so happy together, a lover simply wasn't a brother.

As he hesitated though, Lan Xichen quickly noticed that something appeared to be off with his little bird. His voice, usually so soft and full of laughter, was uncharacteristically dry as he chatted with his brother.

“With Wen Xu dead, that bastard Wen Ruohan won't manage much longer,” he heard his little bird say, the violence of the words half shocking Lan Xichen. “His first born was a good general, whereas the second one... Is Wen Zhuliu still serving them?”

“For now,” Nie Mingjue replied flatly, apparently undisturbed to hear his delicate little brother comment on war affairs. “We're working on turning him. Lord Jiang's wife knew him when he was young, so we're having her make offers to take him in if he switches sides. You were right though, he is stupidly loyal.”

“You probably won't get him,” Nie Huiasang agreed, “but Wen Ruohan will hear about those offers and he won't trust him as much... and that means he'll have to rely on his idiotic second son instead. If Wen Chao is put in charge of their southern army, the war is as good as won for us. Can you imagine? Peace again!”

“But at what cost?”

A silence fell between the brothers. Out of curiosity, Lan Xichen came closer to get a look at them without being seen himself. An emperor ought not to have hidden, least of all inside his own palace, his own home, but something about that conversation was making him increasingly uncomfortable.

When they were alone, Nie Huaisang never wanted to talk about politics, pouting and complaining that he never understood anything of it. To hear him give his opinion about the border wars with such certainty was... unsettling.

And so he looked at his little bird and his dearest friend, sitting together at a table. Nie Mingjue was in a more comfortable position than he usually allowed himself in presence of the emperor, though there was a clear tension to his shoulders. As for Nie Huaisang, although he was wearing the same delicate and colourful robes as always while his hair was done up in an elegant bun decorated with elaborate pins, he seemed like a stranger, sitting not like the poised boy Lan Xichen knew and adored, but instead with no more grace than a soldier resting after a battle.

“Peace always comes at a price,” Nie Huaisang pointed out, rolling his eyes. “This one isn't so bad.”

“Are you going to tell me you're happy with your life?” Nie Mingjue scoffed. “That you're satisfied with being the emperor's whore?”

“Of course not,” Nie Huaisang sighed with a grimace. “Still, to defeat the Wens... it's not such a big price to pay. I don't blame father. He saw his chance to finally make me be useful to the clan, how could he not have taken it?”

A twisted, piercing cold seized Lan Xichen, making it near impossible to breathe. He had wanted to come out of his hiding place and order Nie Mingjue out of their home at hearing him call his own brother a whore, only to feel slapped in the face at his little bird's response.

It made no sense. Nie Huaisang was happy. Of course he was happy. Lan Xichen made sure to give him everything he could ever want, robes of expensive silk, beautiful fans painted by the greatest masters, all his favourite dishes served daily... he had even started construction on an aviary for him, so he could gift him rare and exotic birds. Nie Huaisang was happy. He said so often, made it clear through his actions, always enjoying seducing Lan Xichen as soon as they could be alone.

They were happy and in love.

They had been happy and in love since the first time they had laid eyes on each other at a banquet and Nie Huaisang, not realising who was in front of him, had chatting with him and teased him over wearing badly coordinated robes. By some great luck, Nie Huaisang had been sent to work in the imperial palace soon after and Lan Xichen had not lost a moment in pursuing that chance of friendship. It had soon turned into something more intimate, with Nie Huaisang being officially named his concubine so there could be no accusations of impropriety.

“I'm going to take you back home someday,” Nie Mingjue grunted. “The day father dies, I'll ask to have you back, I swear.”

“Don't be stupid,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “You think His Highness will let me go? I'm stuck here for life, or until someone else finds him a prettier boy to play with. And that's impossible, we both know I am, and by far, the prettiest boy in the entire country. Possibly the world even. Ah, it's a curse to be so beautiful.”

“Huaisang!”

Something shifted in Nie Huaisang's eyes. He slumped on the table, reaching out to take his brother's hand and holding it tight.

“I swear it's not so bad,” he sighed. “He's nice. He's doing his best to be nice. Please don't worry about me, and don't... don't do anything reckless on my behalf. I chose this. I agreed to this. He asked me if I wanted to be his concubine, and I said yes.”

“Could you have said no?”

Instead of answer Nie Huaisang laughed in such a broken way that Lan Xichen felt nauseous. Of course his little bird could have denied that request. Lan Xichen had even told him so when he had asked for this, reminded him that even his friendship was enough to make him happy.

Nie Huaisang could have said no.

Nie Huaisang should have said no.

“Can you imagine what father would have said?” Lan Xichen heard his little bird say in a bitter voice that no longer sounded like his. “MingMing, we needed His Highness's support. We have it. There's nothing more to be said about this, so let's drop that subject. I'm... I'm really not so bad off in here, just a little lonely. I hope when the war is won, you can come more often. You're my only link to the outside world, so do your job. Give me news. How are the Jiang kids? And Wei Wuxian?”

“Lord Jiang gave him a command at last,” Nie Mingjue announced. “And the young Lady Jiang is to be married to young Lord Jin after all. The ceremony will be held in three months.”

Immediately, Nie Huaisang sat up straighter and smiled so brightly that it rivalled the sun.

“Really? Oh, that's so great!” He exclaimed, half laughing. “They'll be perfect for each other, I'm so glad it worked out after all! Tell me what happened?”

Seeing him so happy for the friends he often swore he did not miss was the last drop for Lan Xichen. It was obvious, now, how insincere his little bird's smiles had been when directed at him, how fake his joy, how forced his laughs. And so, while Nie Mingjue told his brother about a happy couple figuring out their path to happiness, Lan Xichen mourned the loss of his own and quietly retreated from this little house where, for the last three years, he had been fed lie after lie.

He had freed his afternoon for the purpose of his two dear friends' company, but it would be easy to find some task or other that needed his attention. An emperor's work was never done.

And work, once more, was all he had.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #concubine au #jau writes #given half a chance I will absolutely write more on this #for the record I'd say the spark at their first meeting was sincere #but then politics happened and nhs had to play along to help his clan's needs #thehobbitbadger

73 notes · View notes

chaoticowlpost · 4 years

Note

34. Bauble?

I’m big dumb I thought of bobble heads when I read this dhfdsjfgd

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

Draco refused to ask for help.

It was Harry’s fault he wanted him to pack the eggs for the Easter Egg Hunt, held annually by the Weasleys, this year. It wasn’t supposed to be his job but, as it were, Molly asked for Harry’s help with decorating the candied eggs.

In Draco’s opinion, they should have just done it by magic, but Molly said that it gives the food coloring a weird taste and, well, who was Draco to argue.

So there is was, shifting through Grimmauld’s attic for the plastic eggs they stored from last year. He’s been shifting through dusty items for almost an hour now, silently cursing his boyfriend for forgetting where he left the box.

“Have you found them yet?” And, speaking of the devil, Harry’s voice sounded from somewhere in their house.

“Er, yeah,” Draco responded, refusing to sound incompetent.

He supposed it could have been worse. He could be watching over all the Weasley children while the rest of the adults set up the burrow for the event.

A small shudder ran through his body when he imagined babysitting the mass of children, all still at the stage of being highly energetic. He pitied Ron and Hermione, really.

Sighing to himself, he began searching faster, flicking his wand around to lift various boxes and open locked cabinets. After lifting a box filled with Christmas ornaments, however, he found another box beneath it.

Peering inside, he found these circular objects that looked like the eggs they had last year. Even better, they were decorated! Much better than the ones they used before.

Probably because they belonged to a pureblood family.

Ha, he thought. I told you I could do it.

Pulling himself up from the ground, he waved his wand towards the box and had it float behind him as he made his way down to the living room.

Harry was still in the kitchen when he passed by, not paying mind to Draco as he sat himself on their carpet and began taking out his favorite eggs one by one. Upon closer inspection, he realized that there was something... off about them.

He frowned, lifting one to his face. There was no opening, he realized. Then again, the ones from last year didn’t seem to have an opening either, and they had to be twisted to open.

He tried twisting them open, first with his own hands because he was capable, dammit, before giving in and trying to use magic. Still, the round toys remained shut.

Figuring it was because they haven’t been used in a while, he checked to make sure that Harry was still busy before discreetly slicing the egg in half.

Draco grinned, feeling proud of his innovative solution, and began filling the eggs one by one with assorted pieces of candy and chocolate. He worked quickly to slice every egg open and seal them with magic, just adhesive enough to be pulled apart if the children tried.

In 2 hours, he had more than enough eggs ready, beating Harry, who was still decorating the sweets by hand with a small paintbrush.

“I’m done!” Draco singsonged, bouncing into the kitchen and seating himself on an empty space on the counter. “I told you I could manage to do it alone.”

Harry didn’t respond immediately, but Draco understood. It took a lot of concentration to decorate those eggs, especially with his deteriorating eyesight. He waited patiently for his boyfriend to finish decorating that one egg before straightening himself with a tired sigh.

Harry grinned at him and stretched himself before walking over to where Draco was sitting, pulling his legs apart so he could slot himself between them and wrap his arms around Draco’s waist.

“I knew you’d manage,” Harry said, placing a soft kiss on his lips with a smile. “I think I’m going to take a break. It feels like my head is going to fall off my neck if I keep going.”

“Alright,” Draco agreed, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “It’s almost time for dinner, anyway. We might as well get started.”

“Can I see the eggs you made?” Harry asked, his green eyes shining bright in front of him.

“Don’t trust that I did it correctly?” Draco teased with a small grin. Harry simply rolled his eyes and pressed another kiss to his lips.

“I’m sure they’re just fine,” Harry said. “I just want to see if there’s enough since there’s more kids now, or if I should head to the store and buy more.”

“I think you ought to buy new ones anyway,” Draco drawled, pulling away to lean back on his hand. “There’s something wrong with the ones I found.”

“Is there?” Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “But we hardly used them. They should be fine.”

“They wouldn’t open,” Draco shrugged. At Harry’s confusion, he continued. “I cut them open with magic and filled them with candy before sealing them again.”

“That’s odd,” Harry frowned. “Let me take a look.”

Draco just nodded, not really in the mood to stand, as he watched Harry walk into the living room where all the eggs were stored.

“Er, Draco?” Harry asked from the other room.

“Yeah?” he responded, still lounging on the counter. His mother would be appalled if she saw him now.

“Can you come in here for a minute?” his boyfriend asked. Irrationally, Draco felt nervous. Surely there was nothing wrong with how he decided to sort the candies. Besides, Harry was always kind to him.

“What is it?” Draco asked wearily, heading over to where his boyfriend was peering into the box full of candy-stuffed toys.

“You packed the candies... here?” Harry asked unsurely, holding one of the finished eggs up.

Draco nodded. “It took a bit longer because they were hard to open, but they’re all packed, I swear.”

He watched as Harry’s eyes flicked over from the egg in his hand, to the box on the floor, then to Draco, eyes wide with confusion.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing.

“...Harry?” Draco asked hesitantly, wondering why his boyfriend had justgone hysterical.

“Draco, love,” Harry said gently, a laugh or two bubbling up from his chest every now and then. “These are baubles.”

“...baubles,” Draco repeated, tilting his head to the side. Harry just shook his head with a grin and stepped towards Draco, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Yes, they’re Christmas baubles,” he explained patiently. “They’re meant to go on a tree.”

Embarrassed, Draco said defensively, “Well then why aren’t they on a bloody tree.”

“Because it’s not Christmas,” Harry chuckled.

Meekly, Draco asked, “Does this mean I have to go back to the attic?” Because really, it’s dusty in there, and possibly very dark now that the sun has set. Also, he worked hard on those stupid egg- baubles.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, carding a hand through blond locks of hair. “I’l just explain the situation to Molly, but they should be fine. What matters most to the kids is the candy inside, anyway.”

“Alright,” Draco said uncertainly. On one hand, this meant that everyone would know he didn’t know what a bauble was. On the other hand, it was most likely going to be fine either way, and he was tired and itchy from the dust that gathered earlier.

“You go ahead and start on dinner, I’ll just make a call,” Harry said, patting his bum lightly before letting go of him.

Draco nodded and headed back to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients from the freezer and setting them up. Dinner, he could do, at least.

Somewhere from the other room, however, he heard:

“Hey, Molly? So we have the eggs, but you might have to explain to the kids that-”

-————————————————-

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syms-things-5 · 4 years

Text

Clear The Area - Chapter Seven

Previous Chapter HERE

Warning: Some language

Chapter Seven

Curled up on the sofa next to Shan with the bottle of red Noah had left was where Sarah found herself later that same evening, not entirely of her own doing. She’d changed into her sweatpants and her old university hoodie for comfort as soon as she’d arrived back but she still found it hard to relax.

Earlier, after they’d left the gallery, they had continued walking to the restaurant Jocelyn had scouted for them based upon a magazine review she’d read in Home & Country. They had managed to keep their awkwardness to a minimum so no one could tell but Chris soon felt the need to make an excuse and leave. Just before they arrived at the restaurant, he turned to thank Noah and Jocelyn for a nice afternoon and left them to it claiming his producer had emailed some last-minute script amendments he needed to be clued up on. Thankfully, he was a good enough actor that they didn’t suspect anything was amiss. He kissed Jocelyn on the cheek and patted Noah on the back of his shoulder but pretty much ignored Sarah as he walked off back in the direction of his own apartment, head down to avoid the rain. The three of them continued but Sarah had lost her appetite by that point so they called it a night after having a drink at the bar next door.

She texted Chris on the way home to tell him her folks had said it was nice to see him. She had no real reason to tell him that of course but it seemed like the thing to do. That was now over an hour ago and Chris still hadn’t responded. Anyone else would have assumed, logically, that he simply hadn’t seen it yet, or he had been in the process of replying but got distracted with something else, but she knew differently. She found herself anxious at the best of times but not so much concerned with what other people thought of her, if they thought anything at all, or whether she had annoyed anyone. The Evans clan were the exception to that rule. They knew her better than almost anyone. She figured, should she ever wind up missing, that she would be one of those people about whom others would give very banal police statements such as “she was quiet” or “she kept herself to herself” or “actually, now you mention it, she does look a little bit like a female Cillian Murphy.” She almost certainly would not have a candle-light vigil held for her in a park, which was a sobering thought.

“This guy’s a dick.” spoke Shan, mouth full of cookie dough, snapping Sarah out of her head for a second. “He’s stolen another designer’s idea but the judges haven’t figured it out yet.”

Sarah tried quickly to catch up with what was happening on the TV screen. “Is he gonna get away with it? Will they get told, or...?”

“Yeh, the producers will say something. They’re just ramping it up for the drama.”

Sarah loved how into Reality TV Shanna was. Don’t count her out of a quiz team; she knows everything there is to know about Project Runway and could put anyone to shame with her intricate knowledge of Kim Kardashian’s romantic life. Possibly even more so than Kim herself. It was both strangely impressive and kind of scary at the same time, and was possible also the reason why Chris never invited her to parties in L.A.

“So, who is going to win again? Is there a frontrunner yet?”

“We’ve only had three episodes but Jody, definitely. She’s soooo cool. I’m following her on Instagram and she designed these flares that I’m gonna buy if they ever go on sale.” Shan pulled out her phone and started scrolling through the app to find them.

Sarah poured herself another glass of wine and waiting to be blown away by Shan’s ever-changing fashion sense. She wished she was confident with clothes and colour as Shanna had grown to be. She was never afraid to experiment with what she wore, often clashing but somehow always pulling it off. Confidence is key, she would say if you asked her for advice. You can wear absolutely anything you like if you act like you don’t give a shit. In stark contrast, if you managed to find something that wasn’t beige or mauve in Sarah’s closet, it would be a miracle. Actually, if you managed to find anything in her closet that was younger than five years old would be a rarer find than a double rainbow. “Autumnal” is how she would describe it. “Dull as fuck” would be Audrey’s response.

“Oh, Chris wants to know if we’re bringing anyone to his party next week. Matt needs numbers. Do you think Audrey will fancy coming?” Shan offered without looking up from her phone. “Actuallt, stupid question.”

“Actually, no, I don’t think so. I think it’s hers and Michael’s anniversary. She mentioned they were thinking of driving up to the coast.” She took a sip from her glass. “Did he just ask you that?”

“Yeh. Well, like ten minutes ago but I forgot to say anything.” Shan was still scrolling through her phone to find the photograph and couldn’t see the dejection cross Sarah’s face.

“Here they are. Look. Funky or what?” Shan excitedly waved her phone in Sarah’s direction so she could only make out a swirl of blue and purple. They were definitely flares, though. Ideal for a themes costume party but probably everyday wear for someone as ballsy as Shanna. “I reckon these with my black platforms and that red angora sweater of yours.” Maybe Sarah’s wardrobe was of some appeal after all.

“Yeh, I could see you in those for sure.” Sarah smiled. “But that sweater is the only decent thing I could wear on a date that isn’t part of my day to day stuff so you need to be careful with it.”

“Aww you saving it for Greg?” Shan winked.

“Hardly.” Sarah tried to find the energy to eye roll back at her but she was too bothered by the confirmation that Chris was almost certainly absolutely definitely ignoring her.

“Shan? I think I’ve done something stupid and I’m not sure what to do.”

Shan looked taken aback for a moment before just plain confused. “Sarah, you don’t do ‘stupid’. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fixable.” she leaned forward a little, moving closer to Sarah on the armchair next to the couch. “You know, it sounds odd but I had this feeling something was going on. You’ve been a little distracted lately. What is it?”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to hope Shanna wouldn’t be mad at her. “You know I contacted the agency? About Charlotte? Well, they’ve put me in touch with her and things have moved on a little bit since and now we’re sort of talking to each other. We’re thinking of meeting up soon.”

Shanna’s eyes grew wider in surprise. She’d known about Sarah’s response to the agency’s request and had made her feelings approximately clear some time before, but the actual talking part was new information.

“We’ve been texting a bit.” Sarah continued with some trepidation. “She gave them her number to pass on to me. She’s thinking of coming to Boston soon, maybe to have a drink or something. What do you think?”

Shan looked at Sarah without blinking for a moment. She didn’t know what to think. “Wow, you have her number? And she has yours? Obviously, sorry. That was a dumb thing to ask. OK. Well, I guess that’s that then.” Shanna placed her phone down on the coffee table in front of her and readjusted her position on the couch so she was facing Sarah more now.

Sarah rubbed the back of her neck. “Chris thinks I’m being stupid.”

“Oh, Chris thinks everyone is stupid if they don’t think the exact same way he does.” Shanna exaggerated her eye roll causing Sarah to chuckled. “Have you heard him talk about Giants fans?!”

“He is right, though, isn’t he? It’s a risk. I mean, she didn’t want to know before so what’s changed now?”

“A lot of things could have changed, Sarah. I guess you’ll find out soon enough.” Shanna responded. “When do you think you guys’ll meet?”

“She’s gonna let me know. She has to travel to Boston so I guess it depends on her journey.” Sarah shrugged, noting Shanna’s scepticism. “I’m sure she’ll contact me.”

“Yes, of course she will.” Shanna briefly paused. “Where is she from?”

“Raleigh, North Carolina. She wasn’t born there, I don’t think. Moved for work. I’m guessing she’s from Michigan originally but I don’t really know that for sure.”

Shanna nodded along, taking in everything Sarah was telling her and trying not to appear cynical. Having been on the end of something similar some years earlier, she appreciated how comforting the support was even if she herself knew it to be forged somehow. She knew the last thing Sarah would need right now was to be told she was being foolish, and she made a mental note to elbow her stupid brother in his ribcage the next time she saw him.

“I was going to tell them this weekend but I bottled it. After everything Chris said, I just figured maybe they would think I didn’t appreciate them enough. I just can’t put that on them. Not now. Not until I’ve at least met her.” Sarah rubbed both hands down her face. She didn’t know what to do and had kind of hoped that Shanna would magically make everything better.

“From everything I know of Joss and Noah, I really don’t think they would ever stop you from seeing her.” Shan nudged Sarah’s foot with her own, trying to get her attention back. “You can’t expect them to be over the moon aout it but they would at least understand your choosing to do so. And despite Chris’s opinion, that’s what this is. Your choosing. You have control over this and if you say so, well, then...that’s all that matters.”

Sarah smiled softly at Shanna, glad she’d taken the plunge and finally told her what was going on. Her shoulders felt a little lighter after removing some of the weight.

“But I can’t promise we’ll be OK. We’ll worry about you until she gives us reason not to.” Shanna leaned back on the couch, wine now in hand, and curled her feet back under herself. “Tough shit.”

Sarah watched as a smile slowly spread across Shanna’s face, her eyes full of sympathy. “You have to face it. We love you very much and if she dares even cross you? Just once? We’ll burn her house down.”

“OK.” Sarah nodded, wiping her eyes of the tears that had started forming in the corners. “OK, deal.”

Nothing had really changed in the days that followed. Sarah had the impression Chris was continuing to ignore her, with only short, clipped phrases padding out any conversation they might have had by accident. She was also pretty sure he and Lisa had both been talking to Shanna about it when he thought she couldn’t hear him, casually enquiring about her plans to meet. At several times, she caught the ends of hushed conversations and experience the odd awkward moment where everything would freeze as soon as she’d walk into the room. If they had been hoping to alleviate any concern, they were failing. Shanna was also a terrible liar at the best of times but to her credit, Sarah had heard her give Chris an earful for what he’d said to her following their visit to the McCurry exhibition and he had promised to offer Sarah an apology but that had yet to materialise, not that she cared much. Shanna had also decided not to give away any details of their impending meeting and for that, she’d be eternally grateful.

“So,” Audrey said, leaning on the desk where Sarah had set up camp to catch up on some patient admin. “You’re really going to see her, huh? How will you know it’s her?”

“How do you mean?” Sarah looked up briefly from the papers in front of her, a crease forming on her brow. She was fed up of people’s judgements.

“Will she be carrying a white newspaper and some roses, or has she sent you a photograph of herself so you know who to look out for?”

No sarcasm intended, Audrey was serious and she was right. That was a really good question. Crap. She hadn’t given much thought to asking Charlotte what she looked like and the photograph from twenty-nine years ago of a young curly-haired brunette with wide, tired eyes might not be the most entirely accurate depiction to work off. She could be a full-time blonde right now, and she had no idea how tall or slim she might be. In a strange way, being caught up in the unnerving anticipation of finally meeting her birth mother, she must have simply assumed they would bear a passing resemblance to one another. That their eyes would meet across a room and they would know instantly who the other person was. Maybe they would hug first and conversation would flow naturally from there and it would be like, where have you been all my life?

One thing Lisa had offered by way of advice was to tell Sarah to stop putting unrealistic expectations on herself. She told her she didn’t want her to be disappointed but it was almost too late for that now. She couldn’t help but get a little carried away the more she thought about the infinite possibilities and the closer their arranged date crept up on her, the more agitated she became.

Work had been something of a welcome distraction. A chance to ground herself in reality as opposed to daydreaming all the what-ifs she might have before the weekend arrived. She’d even allowed herself to flirt a little bit with Greg, not too much but certainly enough to garner Audrey’s amusement and surprise.

“I’m just saying. It’s worth asking for some kind of idea of what she plans to wear, or maybe you should tell her something about yourself?” Audrey suggested. “I’ve always thought you would look amazing with rose gold hair and that would give you a perfect way to stand out.”

“I’m not gonna dye my hair. Remember what happened last time? That charity thing? I had to replace all of my towels.” They both laughed at the memory but something had clearly struck a chord somewhere inside her and Sarah pondered it for a second. “You’re right, though. I haven’t really thought much beyond the day itself.” Sarah looked back down at the work in front of her, all of it suddenly losing focus. “Tell you the truth, I have no idea what I’m going to say to her.”

“Yes, you are quite awkward at the best of times, aren’t you?”

Sarah eyed Audrey for a second unsure of what to say before catching the smirk on her face. She threw a roll-up memo note at her face.

“What do you think you’ll say to her?” Audrey asked, more seriously now.

Sarah took a deep break and leaned back in her chair. Truthfully, she had been losing sleep over this very subject, swinging between general chit-chat you would have with a long-lost pal you’d just added on Facebook, and calling her every name under the sun. She figured the fairest most useful thing would be somewhere between the two.

“I have no idea. Every time I think I have a hold on the situation, some other thought pops into my head and it’s like I’m back at zero again.” She threw the pen she’d been holding on to the table and looked at Audrey. Audrey’s face was full of something akin to worry.

“If you like, I could always call you, like on a date? If everything is OK, you can ignore it. If not, it could be your get-out clause?” Audrey offered. If Sarah had asked, Audrey would have probably staked the place out and sat next to them all night, and only partly because she was nosier than she would admit.

“I love you, Audrey.”

Audrey playfully rolled her eyes. “OK, I get it. This is something you have to do yourself. Just know the offer still stands, OK?” Sarah nodded gratefully. “I’m off in ten and I don’t think I’ll see you again before, so...take care. Let me know how it goes, yeh?”

She grabbed Sarah’s shoulder in a tight grip before walking out of the room, leaving Sarah to her mountain of paperwork and another three hours of shift before she could head home and try to get some sleep.

Sarah waited a second before pulling her phone out of her pocket. The last messages she had sent over the past day or two had all been to Charlotte; all of them casual enough but she’d answered every single one of them. Relief washed over her momentarily as she considered how to approach the awkward subject of not having a clue what her biological mother looked like. Then again, this whole situation was awkward. It was awkward as hell, so she just went for it.

Sarah 9.02pm: Just a thought. Who should I look out for this Friday?

Mercifully, she didn’t have to wait long for a response. The feeling she had was almost pleasant and it caught her off guard.

Charlotte 9.09pm: Oh my word, I didn’t think!! I’ll be in a red dress. Boots. Honestly I only have one nice outfit ;)

She allowed herself to smile for a second at her reply, taking a moment to think about what she was doing. If she could meet Charlotte for an hour, nothing too pressured, she could easily grab a cab to Chris’ place afterwards and still be there before 9pm. No one would notice.

Sarah 9.12pm: No problem. I’ll look out for you. Still OK for 7.30?

Charlotte 9.14pm: Absolutely! Looking forward to it x

#chris evans #chris fic #evans fic #Clear The Area #Sarah Bernette #chris evans x original female character #Syms Writing

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