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star-girl69 · 3 months

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Don’t Delete The Kisses

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader

—-

synopsis: after breaking someone’s heart as apart of your initiation into the aphrodite cabin, you don’t think love is meant for you after your cruelty. clarisse thinks you’re ridiculous.

a/n: my friend was talking about how like insane this song makes her and i was like oh so this is genius

Don’t Delete The Kisses - Wolf Alice

warnings: insecure and very sad y/n ☹️, so like yeah all of that stuff, very ooc clarisse but IDC, i hate everyone but you trope fr, more talking about our feelings which we know is very hard for clarisse, the usual mentions of death and weapons, all that demigod stuff, more clarisse wanting, clarisse is insane as always i love her my ladybug fr, swearing, mentions of food, crap ton of violence, broken noses, whole bunch of blood, teeth get knocked out, yeah, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“Well, did you do it?”

You wanted to sneak into the Aphrodite cabin silently, hoping your pink jacket would blend into the walls and hide you. But that was just wishful thinking. That was just something you whispered to yourself on the walk back to comfort your shaking body, wiping away the tears.

This is your initiation. They’re all sitting on their beds, waiting with eager eyes, greedy for a taste of someone else’s suffering, the comfort of knowing it’s not their own.

“Yes,” you say, pretending tears don’t rim your eyes.

You stand stall, shutting the cabin door behind you.

“I did it.”

Your sister Drew stands up and grabs your hand. You think she might comfort you. You think she might tell you Carter was in it all along, you didn’t really hurt him, it was all some elaborate prank.

Instead, she raises your hand up in the air and turns towards the rest of your siblings.

“Y/N!” she says, “Daughter of Aphrodite!”

Your siblings clap and cheer, smiling widely- one of the younger girls runs right up to you and hugs you, face in your stomach.

“You played him so good,” she giggles, pigtails swinging in the air. She is so naïve, so young, so unknowing. You wonder if you can give yourself amnesia if you slam your head into the column holding up the cabin.

You would do anything to forget this night. To forget the look on Carter’s face. He fell in love with you and you let your siblings guide you on what to do, what to say, you let them dress you up and and put pretty bows in your hair that he reached out to touch.

He thought he would end the night with a kiss, but instead he ended the night with your hand in his face, scoffing animatedly and asking “How could he ever think a daughter of Aphrodite could like him?”

You could feel his heart break, and you could feel your mother ghosting around the wind, you could feel the muscles in your face strain as your eyes filled with tears.

You wrap your arms around your younger sister and force yourself to chuckle.

“His face was so funny,” you say, but there was an unintended action to your initiation. Your heart broke too. You saw the look on his face- if that is how losing love feels then you never want to give yourself the chance to lose it.

Besides, it’s not like you could ever deserve love after this. The love your siblings crave but never quite get. True, encompassing, all-consuming love. After this night, after the hatred coiling up in your stomach like a snake, it’s just not meant for you.

—-

Everyone at Camp calls you princess.

It made you feel like a baby, weak, like you were nothing but a pretty face. But no matter how much you flinched at the nickname, grimaced when you found yourself answering to its call, no one stopped.

Your siblings all cooed and said it was so fitting, saying with curled lips that you were most definitely Aphrodite’s favorite. Your hair always fell in the most beautiful way, your makeup always stayed and looked beautiful, you know you can’t walk through camp without someone looking at you.

Especially after your charmspeak developed, you became a shell of yourself, scared constantly like you are just a walking knife, doomed to cut anyone you come near.

You’re not that different from your siblings- the only difference is you won’t ever lead someone on. You won’t ever make anyone thing they have a chance. Because you’ll never break someone’s heart again.

You’re still Aphrodite’s daughter, you still like to look pretty. So, you do your makeup and your hair, you revel in the feelings of eyes on you but you choose your words carefully.

But other than that, you despise love, your mother, everything about the Aphrodite Cabin.

But you suck it up, you let boys fix your posture, let them teach you to fight while they dream of kissing you, and you work silently and you wait to get out of this hellhole Camp.

You stay silent and you let them realize that you’re just simply not interested in a relationship. They’re sad, but their hearts aren’t broken.

Everybody calls you princess. But Clarisse says it differently.

Clarisse La Rue is probably the bane of your existence. She’s drop dead gorgeous, you would kill to run your hands through her curls, and she is the most talented person you know in battle. You’re pretty good, after all this silent training and the tips and tricks shared in vain, but she is a force.

She’s the one guilty pleasure you let yourself have. If only because you know she’s too strong to get hurt. So you let yourself look, keep a secret crush tight in your chest- only bursting out when you can’t stand it, and you just have to stare at her and revel in that for a second.

The thing about Clarisse is that she likes you. Which would be fine, you just tried to stay away, but she kept coming back for more and more until it became impossible to ignore her. It’s like you two were just doomed to forever be in love with each other, and you have to live with that and eat it like crow.

It’s not like she outwardly flirts with you. She just says your nickname differently. She caresses the words and says it softer. She doesn’t stare at you like everyone else- she looks at you. It feels amazing, your one guilty pleasure is to revel in her love from far away, but you make it clear that you don’t want a relationship and you never will.

Clarisse seems intent either to ignore that or wait you out. You don’t let her get close enough. You won’t break someone else’s heart.

Everyone calls you princess. You only like it when Clarisse says it.

—-

“Hi, princess.”

You don’t look at him, focusing on tying your shoes instead. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I thought I could help you.”

You finish tying your laces, taking your foot up off of the bench and onto the ground. You grab your sword, hair tied back, tank top and stretchy pants. He looks you up and down. You do the same.

“Uh… Van, right?”

“Funny name so you won’t forget it, huh?” he winks, and you very obviously grimace.

“Ha, yeah.” You set your sights on a dummy currently not being attacked by a sword or spear and take a step forward.

“I noticed,” he starts, arm in front of you, stopping you from moving. “That the only weapon you don’t know how to use is the spear.”

You finally look at him. He’s wearing cargo pants and the orange camp t-shirt. His hand is plain and blonde, cut short, and his cheeks seem to be permanently flushed. He’s a son of Ares, pretty good fighter, but nothing else to speak for. Clarisse, at least, is the absolute best at almost everything she does- and she puts in the work to show it.

Van looks like he trains the minimum amount and gets by on his natural abilities as a demigod.

“Okay?” you say, wanting nothing more than to get away from him and go back to training. “I don’t get what you’re saying. And don’t flirt with me, either- one of my siblings would be happy to make out with you in a shed somewhere.”

“I’ll teach you,” he says, slightly exasperated. You finally notice he is, in fact, holding a spear. “Huh?”

You squint at him.

You do have a reputation in this camp. Part of the reason you’re called princess is because you’re standoffish and cold- people mistake it as you thinking you’re better than them. Really, you’re one of the worst people at this camp. You’re saving them from being tainted by association.

But every once in a while, someone will get it in their heads that soulmates do exist, and they’re the right person for you- and you’re mean and you shut them down, but that’s way before they fall in love. It hurts them, but not as much as it hurts you, not as much as it would hurt them if you gave them any ounce of attention.

The only person who keeps coming back for more sticks her spear into the ground next to you, fingers drumming against the wood.

“Van, you look fucking stupid.”

“Clarisse,” Van hisses, glaring at her. She glares right back, unimpressed. “Can you just go? Fuck.”

She raises her eyebrows. His spear hits the dirt before you can even comprehend that Clarisse kicked it out of his hands, and you have to admit- Clarisse is quick. Clarisse is good at what she does.

She pours everything she’s got into training- and pursuing you. You think it might just be a joke at this point, or something she finds fun, been doing it too long that stopping feels wrong. You would be lying if you said it wouldn’t be weird for her to stop. For both of you to stop whatever this is. This silent wanting.

“First of all, you are mediocre with a spear. Second, if Y/N wanted spear lessons she would come to me, right?”

“I don’t know,” you huff, walking away.

“Clarisse,” you can hear Van groan. “She was going to say yes until you ruined it.”

“Bro, she was not going to say yes. You’re welcome for saving your ass from even more embarrassment, Gods.”

“You’re just mad she doesn’t like you after you’ve been pining for years.”

She laughs, loud and boisterously, but there’s an edge to her voice, one of doubt, something like she’s scared.

“Oh, you’re fucking funny,” she says, and you can hear her slapping his shoulder. You stretch, risking a glance over your shoulder- Van is walking off and she’s looking at you.

But when your eyes meet hers, she quickly looks away. And you notice. You notice, but you do nothing about it. The way it’s always meant to be.

—-

The strawberry fields is the most beautiful place at camp. It’s where you feel something for your mother, because while gardening and plants are Demeter’s thing- finding beauty in the way the strawberry sits in your hand, the way the sun turns the sky into purple and oranges, the way the bright green trees stand out against that- it’s all your mother.

You can appreciate beauty here.

You see beauty everywhere, and you see love everywhere, but not the kinds your mother is famous for.

You’ve been picking strawberries for what seems like hours now, but it’s bearable under the setting sun and when you think about how good it will feel to finally sink into your bed.

“Y/N!” someone calls. “Princess!” you roll your eyes but stand up, turning around and putting your hand over your face to protect from the setting sun.

“Yeah?!” you shout back, squinting. You realize you’re alone in the fields.

“We’re heading back!” a Demeter girl, Sasha, says.

Your eyes flick to your basket that will only take a few more minutes to fill up.

“I’ll go back later!”

“Okay!” she shouts back, running off after everyone else.

You crouch back down, taking a deep breath before you begin ruffling through the leaves of the strawberry plant to find the juicy berries. You sneak a few as you work, shuffling down the line of plants. It’s so calm here. There’s no one to hurt. There’s nothing to be scared of.

When you stand up, there’s four figures standing by the shed. You gasp, bringing your hand to your chest, but Clarisse takes off her helmet.

“Princess?” she asks. “What’cha doin’ out here all alone?”

“Collecting strawberries,” you snort, full basket hitting your knees as you walk towards her.

“I see that,” she huffs. You notice Van behind her, and another sister, Carrie, a brother named Matty. “But what are you doin’ out here alone?”

You shrug, coming to a stop in front of the little group of Ares kids.

“Everyone else left.”

“It’s almost dark.”

“Not yet, though,” you smile sarcastically.

Carrie and Matty continue walking after they realize nothing fun is going to happen. You’re not gonna entertain them, so why would they care? But Clarisse and Van stay. You stare at Clarisse for a moment longer before finally looking away.

“You don’t have a weapon,” Van notes. “Smart to be out here alone?”

“Oh, relax,” you sigh. “We’re still in the barrier.”

You tighten your grip on the bucket and turn left, walking towards the shed. Clarisse is hot on your heels.

“And how do you know that? What if it had spontaneously, like, failed and shut down, or something.”

“Then I think everyone would be running around and screaming, because monsters would be crawling through camp. I would know.”

You place the bucket next to all the other buckets collected today- you’ll keep the good ones here over night, away from the animals and bugs and someone will collect them in the morning.

You stand up, rolling your wrists, wiping the sweat from your brow. You take the small cutters for the thicker branches from your pocket and throw it into the bin with the others.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you can walk me back.”

“I jus’ think it’s stupid to be out here all alone,” she shrugs. You stare right past her, watching as the door slams shut. Was it windy?

Clarisse whips around, but sees it’s just the closed door. You frown, Clarisse steps forward.

“Sorry, Clarisse!” Van shouts from outside, and that’s when you hear the lock sliding into place. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s done.

“Van, what the hell?!” Clarisse shouts, trying the knob. The door stays firmly shut. She slams her shoulder into it, but this place was built strong to protect from the elements, from all the little animals hungry for strawberries. “Let us out right fucking now, I swear, Van!”

“I can’t!” he says back, sounding sort of pained. “I just couldn’t get her alone!”

“Me?!” you yell, feeling increasingly trapped and claustrophobic. You shove Clarisse out of the way and rattle the doorknob, but it really is locked. “I didn’t do shit to you! Let me the fuck out!”

“For Carter!”

You take a step back. Your face falls from anger and anxiety into pure and utter turmoil. Your chest squeezes like it does every time you think about him. You carry the pain and the regret so heavily you doubt you’ll ever get rid of it. You’ll always be like this, rotting in your head, watching your beauty fade away and everyone give up on you.

Will you finally be free then? If you scream and take a knife to your face, make yourself unrecognizable, will everyone finally leave you alone then? Can you be something other than this stupid camp’s stupid princess?

But it’s wishful thinking. You’re a daughter of Aphrodite, and you were born to be beautiful, and you were born to be alone.

“Van, I’ll fucking kill you. Let. Us. Out.”

“Sorry!” he shouts, and you hear his footsteps in the dirt, running away while Clarisse screams for him to come back here.

You take a deep breath but it all comes crashing down like a dam breaking. All of the anger, the regret, the fear, it all comes pouring out until you’re sobbing into your hands in the middle of the shed.

Clarisse stops trying to break through the door. It’s painfully tense for a moment, nothing besides the crickets and the sounds of your sobs. You end up sitting on half-empty bags of fertilizer and mulch in the corner- although it’s not really used much, sometimes the Demeter kids like to experiment- it’s the most comfortable thing in this shed.

You’re 17 now, and you broke Carter’s heart when he was 13 and you were 12. You wake up and you feel your guilt like you feel the sun on your face- it’s your morning routine to stare at yourself in the mirror and know that you are the blessed one who doesn’t deserve it. You beg to be free, but this is your punishment.

“I’m sorry,” you cry out, “How does he not know I’m sorry?”

You never said it to him, of course- your siblings had told you Aphrodite would curse you if you said you were sorry, and you were 12 and scared so you shut up and you stared at him from afar, your first love and your first heartbreak. Could he not see the way you hated yourself? The way you hated everyone?

Why couldn’t anyone see that you weren’t a princess? You were a demon, so wicked you were worthy of being Hades’ right hand minion.

Clarisse sits down heavily next to you. She doesn’t say anything. She waits until the sobs start to ebb like a wave, until the worst is over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, one final time. Maybe the wind will take pity on you and carry your words to him. You wish it would, but why? Why do you deserve it? Your nails dig into your palms, leaving blood red moons.

“Why are you sorry?” Clarisse breathes, seeming more genuinely curious then demeaning. “Who’s Carter?”

You miss the way her lip curls around the name.

“I can’t tell you,” you moan, because Clarisse is the only person who actually gives half a fuck about you, and it feels so nice to have her eyes on you- not in the way everyone else does. They admire you, despise you, she appreciates you. She stares at you from afar and you both know that you want more, but she’s content to stare and you’re content to let her.

She laughs. “Yes, you can. I wouldn’t even care if you killed someone named Carter. But seeing as you escaped punishment from Chiron, and you only got locked in a shed, it’s probably not that bad.”

When you look up at her you can feel the mascara streaming down your face. You’re sure you look like a raccoon, and you can see how unnerving it is for her to see you- always so calm and put together- reduced to tears by a single name.

“I’m a daughter of Aphrodite, Clarisse.”

��I know,” she says, although it sounds like a question.

You stare at her, not able to say it, trying to convey to her with your eyes. You can practically see the cogs turning in her head as she thinks about the Aphrodite cabin.

“Oh,” she says. A few tears fall down your face. “The initiation thing- you have to break someone’s heart, right?”

“Yes,” you say, bitterly, resisting the urge to throw something and have a tantrum. You press your hands into your eyes, breathing heavily. “That stupid, stupid initiation. I hate being her daughter. I hate being like this.”

The hug starts out awkward. Clarisse places her arm lightly around your shoulders, starts mumbling apathetically that it’ll be okay. It’s not that she doesn’t care or anything, you’re both just foreign to what it’s like to feel this way for someone.

And it feels good to have someone touching you, so before you can stop yourself you’re shoving your way in her arms. She stiffens, sits up straight as your tears stain her orange camp shirt. But after a moment she hugs you back just as fiercely, with just as much desperation. She doesn’t say anything, probably because she doesn’t know what to say, and you can’t even comprehend your embarrassing, secret, unrealistic guilty pleasure of a crush is hugging you right now.

You’re too focused on the way she shushes you softly, her arm against your waist, the other around your shoulder- thumb drawing circles on your skin.

You’re too focused on the way she feels against you to even care about how awkward this will be later.

Finally, when night has really fallen and the wind starts to howl, you let go of Clarisse.

“Sorry,” you mumble, body locking up, staring firmly at the ground. Your face is caked in runny makeup- you feel as disgusting as you’re sure you look.

“It’s okay,” she says, hesitating for a moment before she stops touching you. “I, uh, I don’t think you should hate yourself.”

You scoff. Both at the ridiculousness of her stuttering and what she’s saying. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“No, I’m being serious.” She seems a little firmer now, like she really believes what she’s saying. But she doesn’t know you. “You shouldn’t hate yourself. Like, what do you even mean, you “hate being like this?’ What’s this?”

“I’m a monster, Clarisse. Literally, a fucking monster. I’m a horrible person, and yet everyone walks around and calls be princess because, what? I’m pretty? You can still be Aphrodite’s favorite and a monster. Maybe I am her favorite for a reason. Because of what I did.”

“A monster? Really?”

She looks at you like you’re the stupidest girl in the world. And Gods, coming from someone like Clarisse does that hurt.

You stare her down like you’re not about to cry. You squint so the tears won’t come, digging your nails into your palms to distract from the feeling in your stomach.

“I asked him to meet me at night. He told me he thought he loved me, and I laughed in his fucking face and said how could he ever think that I would love him? Who does that? Who is so fucked in the head?”

You look at her face, slightly twinged with disgust, and it feels good. It feels good to drive someone else away. To save them from yourself.

“This is my punishment. My life. And I hate it, but I know it’s what’s meant for me. I’ll never be loved. No matter how beautiful I am. I won’t let myself, I won’t hurt someone else. I don’t deserve it.”

She grabs your hand. You look at her, and she’s still so disgusted, so why is she touching you? Why is her face morphing into concern? Why does she still look at you like you’re this precious thing? Why do you like it? Why do you crave her like air?

“You don’t deserve this,” she says.

Why isn’t she listening to you?

“I don’t, Clarisse. Just- jus’ stop, please.”

But it finally hits you why she’s so disgusted. It’s not what you did, it’s the way you think about yourself.

“You came to camp when you were 12, right, so that’s when you completed your initiation? So, you were 12. You were 12 and listening to your older siblings. You were 12 and you made a mistake, and you’ve spent years and years punishing yourself over it. Most of the people at camp are blind, Y/N, but I’m not. I see the way you treat yourself, and that- you just don’t deserve that.”

“Fine,” you mumble, feeling a little breathless. “Maybe I was 12. But it’s too late. Everyone at camp thinks I’m a bitchy fucking princess.”

She smiles. “Well, you are.”

You throw her hand off of you and pretend to glare at her, but you’re smiling.

“You are a princess, Y/N, let me help you see it.”

Clarisse is your secret crush. She was a comfort for lonely nights, someone to think about when you were eating alone at dinner. And it didn’t help that she would stare at you while you imagined her sitting across from you. Clarisse is your secret crush, locked up in your chest and waiting to burst out like a cuckoo clock.

Clarisse is your secret crush, unrealistic and wishful thinking- but the way she looks at you right now makes it real.

The door clicks open.

“Oh,” Sasha, the girl yelling at you earlier says. “Sorry- I forgot my… uh…”

You quickly stand up, pushing Clarisse away from you. Sasha moves to the side and let’s you through the door. Against your better judgement, you stop and look over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, princess.”

—-

The next day, after waking up and realizing what happened yesterday wasn’t a bad dream, Clarisse is really doing something this sweet for you, you’re ready to forget it all ever happened and sit alone as you usually do.

You stand at the edge of the pavilion, searching across the tables for an empty one-

“Y/N!” Clarisse yells. She looks at you expectantly, and you notice the empty seat next to her.

Oh. She wants you to sit with her.

As beautiful and sweet Clarisse is, you still can’t let her be anything more than your secret crush. But you can sit with her for one meal. You can pretend, and maybe that will hold you over when you eventually succeed in pushing her away.

Your head was clouded by her touch, her smell, her voice- you weren’t in the right state of mind to be making decisions about “seeing Clarisse tomorrow.”

You stop at the fire pit in the middle of the pavilion.

“Please, Mom,” you mutter, dumping almost all of your plate into the flames.

This is probably the first time you’ve really prayed to her since the day you broke Carter’s heart.

You set your tray down next to her, swinging your legs over the bench and under the table, settling yourself in. Her siblings don’t even look up, all busy eating identical bagel sandwiches- you squint, resisting the urge to laugh at the cheese, bacon, sausage, and eggs. Ares kids are always eating the most gluttonous foods, seeing as they train 24/7.

Clarisse glares at your plate.

“What?” you say, shifting awkwardly in your seat.

“That is not enough food.” And while your plate mostly is empty space, you’re really not that hungry this morning.

You shrug. “I was in a praying mood today.”

“Don’t care, go get more.”

You roll your eyes, but you’d be lying if you said her concern didn’t make your stomach twist in a good way.

“Okay, I’ll grab something on my way out.”

She hums, turning back to your sandwich. All of her siblings are intent on eating their big sandwiches, a few people at the end of the table talk in between bites- but the Ares kids take breakfast very seriously. They’re a bit more rowdy at lunch and dinner, but breakfast is always such a sordid affair, like someone died.

Someone else sits at the table. You look up from your plate, watching as Van digs into his sandwich, sporting a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a busted lip.

“Oh,” you mumble, cringing at his bloody, messy face.

You look over at Clarisse, notice her knuckles are split open. She feels you looking at her and turns to you, a bite of half-chewed sandwich in her mouth.

“Wha-” she starts, but catches Van out of the corner of her eye. She giggles, just a bit, and it makes your stomach twist. “Oh, Van, you are one of the funniest people I have ever met.”

Everyone at the table turns to him.

A few giggle at his busted up face, Clarisse smiles at him in that demeaning way she’s famous for.

“Move.”

“I’m not fuckin’ movin’, Clarisse. Go fuck yourself.”

One of her siblings laughs loudly. Matty, you recognize him. “Dude, you’re seriously going to get beat up- again.”

“You are,” Clarisse shrugs. “I’m serious, move.”

Van rolls his eyes and sets his sandwich down.

“Listen, Carter’s my friend, he never wanted to get revenge, but I wanted to get it for him. I know it’d make him feel better. I was tryin’ to convince him to go fuck up her bed or something when… well, yeah. I didn’t mean to trap you in there with her, Clarisse, okay? I know you’re fuckin’ obsessed with her, whatever, but she’s a serious bitch. And not even that hot.”

Matty puts his head in his hands.

The table is deathly silent. He looks around.

“Come on. All those Aphrodite kids are stuck-up bitches, but she’s just got a particular rudeness about her, huh? And, really, I don’t think I could fuck her even if the world was ending.”

“What the fuck,” someone across from you, Max, mumbles. A girl adjacent to you coos softly, and you realize that there’s tears falling down your face.

Clarisse puts her hand on your thigh.

“Van,” she says, her voice calm and even. She breathes in and out. “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Van looks over to Clarisse, and that’s when he finally notices you sitting next to her.

“I-” he starts, but doesn’t get to finish, not when you pick up your tray and throw it across the table- hitting him directly in the nose. “Holy fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Gods, fuck-”

You stand up and make your way around the table, tears clouding your vision, and he quickly stands up as well. No one makes any move to hold you back or protect him.

“Bitch,” he hisses. “Huh? Come at me, princess.”

And you meet him, attacking like a feral cat, all scratching and kicking and hitting, a fury fueled fully by your anger and the beauty in letting it all go. He grunts and tries to hit you back, but they barely touch you.

You can see Clarisse out of the corner of your eye, watching closely, arms crossed over her chest. It takes you a second, but for some reason, you can see her face so clearly. She’s slightly worried. She watches the fight with an intensity, like she’s happy to let you fight him- but if he actually hurts you, then she’ll jump in. But more importantly, she’s proud.

Gods, does it make you feel good.

“Fucking- bitch!” he shouts. “Get off of me!”

He pushes you back, you steel yourself. When he sees you coming at him again, he punches you hard. You swear you see stars. You swear you almost met Hades, just for a second.

Blood runs down your face, gushing like a geyser- you groan, one of Clarisse’s siblings making you pinch your nose and tilt your head back. Matty puts his hand on your shoulder, and mutters something encouraging about keeping your head back.

It’s all a daze.

“Clarisse!” her sister Carrie shouts, trying to hold her back while Van scrambles away on the ground, yelling incoherently about his teeth. “Clarisse! Clarisse! You got him, you got him, c’mon.”

It all comes rushing over you. Adrenaline kept you sane just for moment, but all the pain comes rushing back, and you almost scream with how much it hurts. You double down, chest pressing to your stomach while Matty and someone else try desperately to pull you back upward.

“Oh, Gods, why does it hurt so bad?” you say, more blood gushing forward, even through your fingers. It’s running down your neck and chest, permanently ruining your shirt.

“Van has a good right hook,” Matty winces. “Ass at everything else, but.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. She’s in front of you in a moment, hands under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. You can feel your face is absolutely covered in blood. “Hey, it’s alright,” she says, so softly that you’re the only one who can hear. “Okay, I’ll take you to the infirmary, okay?”

Matty let’s go of you, Clarisse replaces him, arm wrapping around your waist, fingertips still keeping your chin up. You walk in silence until you reach the infirmary.

She chuckles a bit. “You’re good,” she says.

“At what?” you groan, eyes screwed shut. “Getting punched?”

“No,” she says. “Just… you’re good.”

One of the healers rushes over before you can even think of an answer.

—-

After your nose was reset, your shirt was changed, and all the blood was cleaned- you sat in the empty infirmary. Van was in a private room with most of the healers who were having a fun time trying to fix his face and do something with the teeth Clarisse knocked out.

She finds you slipping your shoes on, face puffy, a bag of ambrosia in your hand.

“Princess,” she says. “I told them it was all me. So, you’re fine. I made up some shit about you getting caught in the crossfire.”

Your chest deflates a bit. You were sort of looking forward to the punishment. “You didn’t have to do that, Clarisse.”

She shrugs. “I wanted to. And I do whatever I want.”

You smile, and she sits down next to you on the creaky bed.

“What’d you get?”

“Oh,” she sighs, hands on her knees. “5 months no dessert. 3 months of teaching sword practice to the little kids, that’s gonna be like Tartarus come again.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “It’s all my fault.”

“I could have easily let the two of you beat each other to death. But I didn’t. You were too busy winning that fight to care about what I was doing.”

“I didn’t win,” you scoff. “If you didn’t jump in, the way he punched me, he got me.”

“You didn’t know about Van and his right hook,” she shrugs. “It’s okay. I fucked up his face a bit, but you did so much better.”

You’ve been permanently on the edge of tears because of the pressure in your nose, so when they spill over, it’s no surprise.

“W-why are you crying?” Clarisse asks, turning slightly towards you, placing her hand on your arm.

“Still a monster,” you remark, sarcastic smile on your face. “I shouldn’t have done that to him. I… I was just mad. And look, here I am escaping with no punishment yet again.”

You go to stand up, feeling like your heart is a hole in your chest.

She puts her hand on your thigh to stop you.

“I think… just the fact that you feel so bad means you’re not a monster. I don’t feel shit for Van. I’m glad he got hurt. I would do it again. I hope I get to do it again.”

“You’re horrible, Clarisse,” you smile. She smiles back.

“The only person I feel bad for is… you. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt bad for. Everyone else in this camp is blind, Y/N. But I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”

And it’s like you’re seeing her for the first time. The way her curls always stick up in that one place, the way her eyes reflect the sunlight streaming through the window, the way the rough skin of her hands is nothing compared to the bones inside that hold you so softly. The way her lips look. The way she calls you princess. The way she sees you.

You’re both leaning forward, you’re both just teenage girls learning to love themselves, because you’ve always loved each other.

When her lips finally meet yours it all comes rushing back to you. You gasp and pull away after just a moment.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that-”

Clarisse grabs your face and kisses you.

“You’re not deleting that. I don’t care what you think of yourself right now,” she whispers, lips against yours. “Because you’re wrong, and I’m going to show you.”

And against your better judgement, you let her show you. She shows you with her hands in your hair, her hands on your neck, on your face, her lips against yours. You let her teach you love with just one kiss, and you decide you have a newfound appreciation for your mother.

If love feels this good, this beautiful, then you’ve been missing out.

This goes against everything you’ve been preaching for years. But you’ve found a new religion in her, you promise to listen to her and to feel what she makes you feel- no matter how wrong you think it is. Clarisse shows you it’s not wrong.

She finally pulls away for air, searching your eyes, but you can’t breathe when she’s not kissing you. She seems to like what she finds, because she smiles.

“You’re beautiful, princess,” she mutters, and kisses you again. “You’re beautiful, and you’re so kind, and I’ll show you what I’ve seen for years.”

Everyone calls you princess. But Clarisse says it differently. Clarisse says it like she’s caressing the word, pretending to caress you. Clarisse says it in the way you want her to say it, in the way that selfishly makes you feel so, so special. Clarisse says it like she knows you.

You were right. You’re not meant for love, it’s not meant for you. You’re meant for Clarisse.

—-

carter watching literally everyone fight over smth ridiculously stupid that happened when he was 12 and he got over 2 weeks after it happened: uh 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

—-

clarisse when she realizes y/n hates herself: WHAT????? HOW IS THIS???? HUH????? like she just doesn’t even understand she can’t comprehend it

y/n after hating herself for like 5 years and pretending she’s chill: 🤗

—-

van after he loses his teeth: 😞

clarisse when van loses his teeth: LETS GO FUCK THAT BITCH

—-

clarisse being y/n’s new religion btw 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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dovedewdrop · 1 month

Text

Scratch My Back

Masterlist

Joel Miller x reader

word count: 889

Summary: The tide is pulling you under, just like it has plenty of times before. Your husband helps you communicate.

A/N: I’ve been struggling with my mental health & looking after myself for a long, long time and I was getting myself all psyched up to get a shower but I didn’t end up getting in and decided to write this lil thing that I’ve been thinking about for a while! I hope you enjoy it and if anyone out there is reading this and is struggling too, just know that you are not alone and that if Joel Miller were real, he would scratch your back❤️

Also thank you so much for 100 followers🥹🫶🏻 really brightened up my spirits a lil bit💓

Warnings: No Outbreak. Depiction of poor mental health. Sadness. One big loving man (it’s Joel Miller) (Not a warning but I didn’t want it to seem all doom and gloom😅) No use of Y/N.

To Joel, it was just a Wednesday, your day off. To you, the ceiling was caving in. Before he left for work you were sound asleep, your thoughts at bay, laying still against the sand, he placed a gentle kiss to your temple before rolling out of bed. Now that you were awake your thoughts were thrashing against the cliffs, the mental whiplash you were facing ultimately draining your body of all its energy.

You watch the clock on the bedside table blink from one minute to the next. You thought about all if the things you should probably be doing; showering, tidying the house, preparing that home cooked meal you’d been promising your husband for over a week but all you could do was slip in and out of sleep, that was the safe option, the one that would keep you somewhat sane until he returned. You didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to text him those three words because you knew he would stop everything for you, everything would be put on hold so that he could soothe you and you didn’t want to add that onto the ever-growing list of things to feel bad about. So you waited.

“Honey?” His voice reverberated off the walls, the sound of his gentle tone floated up the stairs. You didn’t have the energy to shout back, the sound of his boots hitting the wooden steps told you that it wouldn’t be long until he was by your side anyway. He took in the sight of the drawn curtains, the sight of you facing them, still in your t-shirt and underwear and you felt the bed dip behind you, the warmth of his body encompassing yours, his scent filling your scenes.

“Something happen?” A gentle kiss placed to your shoulder blade, the feeling of his lungs emptying and filling behind your back soothing you. You shook your head, allowing a silence to draw over you both as Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you further back into the curve of his body. He was always so patient with you, so tender.

“Scratch my back.”

Scratch my back, a cry for help. A promise made between two lovers. A rule established when you’d first started dating. Joel knew that you struggled with your mental health, you’d opened up to some extent, brushing him off with a ‘I’m having a tough day but I’ll be ok x’ text in the beginning, even then he gave you your space.

One week in spring however, everything was not okay. He hadn’t heard from you in four days, no text and definitely no phone calls. At first he thought that this was your way of letting him know you were no longer interested and selfishly, he couldn’t let it end that way. So after days of mulling it over and chewing his bottom lip raw, he drove over to your apartment and that’s where he found you, dark circles engulfing your eyes, threatening to swallowing them whole, hair unwashed, apartment flooded in gloom.

He took a bath with you, washed your hair as best he could. The spring air still had a slight chill to it so he’d made sure your new set of pyjamas were on the radiator ready for bed and he laid with you in silence until you turned into his chest and he felt the wet of your tears seep into the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t have to talk to me.” He pressed a kiss into your hairline. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to talk to me, I mean obviously you can, when you feel comfortable and ready to but there is something I want you to do for me baby,” another soft kiss. Your eyes travelled up his face to finally look him in his eyes, those soft brown eyes that made you fall in love with him in the first place. All you could do was give a small nod, you would do anything he asked. “I want you to come up with a word or a phrase,” he continued, “so that when things get bad and you don’t feel like you can talk about it…” he trailed off, his hands drawing shapes up and down the length of your spine.

“Like a safe word?” He let out a huff of air at that, a small smile adorning his face.

“Yeah, kinda like a safe word, so I know that you’re safe,” his palm came to rest on your cheek, thumb cupping your jaw, “up here,” and his fingers tapped gently on the side of your temple.

“Scratch my back,” It was soft, the way it came out, tears threatening to spill over, “because if you promise to scratch mine, i’ll always scratch yours.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling then, the last thing you wanted was for Joel to see you like this and to become his burden, but the way he’d shown you such care and compassion made your head feel a little less foggy, you wanted to promise that you could do that in return, that it wouldn’t just be him constantly looking after you.

“Oh sweet angel.” Both of his hands were cupping your cheeks now, pressing a light kiss to your nose and then your lips.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller drabble #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #dovedewdrop writes

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lukes-castaway · 1 year

Text

Growing Pains

Neteyam Sully x Reader

Warnings: slight smut, cursing, angst, arranged marriage

Word Count: 7.5k

Notes: Reader is 19, Neteyam is 20.

"It's for the clan, 'ite."

Those are the words that leave air trying desperately to claw its way up your lungs. It's the morning of your nineteenth cycle—one that should be celebrated, but instead, you're here.

A warm palm encompasses your bicep, and your mother's voice which usually brought comfort now brings dread. "Everything will be okay, yawne. You will grow to love him."

Those are the words they leave you with. Your feet are like boulders as you walk to your corner of the hut, hands are like a hot coal as you shove things into a pouch. It doesn't take long for your belongings to be tucked away, and you wonder if anyone will be sad when they stare at your empty hammock. Will your brother stop when he comes to visit, and let his eyes linger on the space you once occupied? Will your father's ears ring when he walks into silence at the end of each day? Will your mother miss sitting with you near the fire, sides pressed together as you talk about your day? And your sister—would she miss your gossip?

You tell yourself you should have argued. Maybe kicking and screaming like a child would change their minds. Maybe it would deter the man they're handing you off to, but something in you holds back. It's the small flecks of approval you see in your father's eyes when you don't bark out a dispute. It's an emotion that you haven't seen in...well, forever.

Hunting was never your forte. Healing was never something you yearned to do. Blending into the crowd, however, was your best skill. But blending into a crowd isn't something that the daughter of a fierce Olo'eyktan should be able to do.

Your older brother often surpassed you when it came to being a good clan member. He hunted well, he was strong and gregarious with the people. Then there was your sister, who seemed to have every aspect of her life figured out. She was mated already, had one baby on her hip and another in her womb, and never seemed to do wrong in anyone's eyes.

It was obvious the way your father's eyes would change when he looked from them to you. Almost like catching sight of a bruised fruit amongst a perfectly ripe pile.

So when he tells you this, that giving your hand in marriage will benefit the clan, you find it hard to dispute him. It seems like the only way to finally gain his pride.

"I know handing your daughter off is not easy to do, but she will be treated well here. I give you my word." The Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya says.

Your father breathes out a laugh, "I trust that she will, JakeSully."

You wish you had argued.

Though the Omatikaya doesn't live too differently from your clan, everything feels wrong. The air feels too hot, the wind too harsh against your skin, and you just want to go home.

When your father stops walking, you nearly slam into his back, but you catch yourself just in time, and you only see this because you can't tear your eyes from the ground below you.

"This is my son Neteyam." Jake's voice is no more than a distorted echo in your ears. "My oldest. He is a good man, he will protect your daughter in their union."

Your stomach turns, eyes unable to focus on anything. A scream fights its way up your throat, but you swallow it down bitterly. You can't stop thinking about the admiring eyes your father has for his other children, and you yearn for that. It keeps your feet planted against soft earth as you're being traded—offered like a piece of fabric between seamstresses.

"Ma'ite," your father places a calloused hand against your back, "say hello."

Timorous eyes lift from the dirt, glancing at your father who holds an expectant expression. And when you finally allow yourself to meet the gaze of the man chosen to be your husband, the air gets knocked out of your lungs.

Your lack of oxygen is not due to the sheer beauty of the man in front of you. It isn't because of his broad shoulders and thick arms, or the neat braids that fall just above his pecks. It isn't the scent of herbal balms wafting off of him, either.

No, it isn't that.

It's his eyes. The ones that burn holes into your skin, leaving scorching trails as they assess you. It's the way his jaw clenches pensively. He's so intense that it makes you squirm, makes heat creep up your neck and into your cheeks.

It's the way he looks like he would rather be anywhere than right here.

And yet, something in you urges the words out. They're a meek sound, but words, nonetheless. "I see you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan,"

He says the greeting back, voice strong and holding the confidence that you've lacked forever. You think then that he can see it in you. His gaze alone is calling you weak, pathetic, and you can't really argue with him.

You both stand there, children of renowned chiefs, yet you couldn't be more different.

Neteyam holds light in his palms. You can tell he's nothing less than golden in his village—his father even stares at him as such. He stands straight and tall, his body composed. You can only imagine by his build that he's a skilled hunter, impossible to beat in a spar, and he's probably three steps ahead in every altercation.

Across from him, you stand. You're half hidden behind your father, eyes bouncing nervously from the ground to his own. Hair falls over your face in a flustered curtain, and you don't bother to move it, either. Looking at you, it's obvious that you're nothing like him.

He's the sun. People stretch out under his rays of light, basking in it.

You're the moon. People grow tired under your glow, and they don't spare you a second glance.

Neteyam speaks up, eyebrows furrowing just slightly as he stares at you. His words dig into your skin because what he's really trying to say is that he doesn't want this, either. "It is for the clan."

And you look right back at the ground, eyes pricking with tears that you blink away before they can really surface. This is just a transaction, your father handing you off for the betterment of his people, and Neteyam's father accepting you for the betterment of his.

"I will do my best. As your wife, and as a member of this clan." You say despite the weight of speaking, and your father's hand squeezes gently at your shoulder in approval.

After all, approval is all you want.

Blending in is your best skill, and yet, you are a spectacle.

Harsh eyes trail your every move, and you wish nothing more than to sink into yourself and be invisible. You know word has traveled fast that the Omatikaya's beloved prince has finally chosen a mate. Their eyes hold the silent question, why you? You see this everywhere, even when you offer meek smiles to your watchers.

When you meet Neteyam's mother, you see where his intensity comes from. Her eyes blaze into your skin like his did, but you don't squirm, because there's something different about the two. Neteyam's eyes picked you apart, piece by piece, but Neytiri's do no such thing. She's intense, but her eyes give you comfort. You can see your own mother in her face—a fierceness to protect her children that no one would be able to hinder her from. You think she might see you, too, because her gaze melts into something soft and maternal.

Jake is kind. He's busy a lot, but being the daughter of a chief, you understand. When you do see him, you're shy. He chuckles a lot at your timid responses, but it isn't to ridicule you.

Lo'ak is quiet when you meet him. He's younger than you, scrawny and bashful. Heat spreads across his cheeks when you smile at him, and something about his awkwardness makes you feel safe. It's endearing, similar to the way Jake thinks of your gentleness.

Kiri is so warm and receptive. She's the first person that makes you think that things might be okay—that you may be happy here. Her careful hand holds one of your own and she says, "I think you and I will be great friends."

And then there's Tuk. The sweet girl smiles up at you so big when you meet her for the first time that you can't help the laugh that falls from your mouth. You crouch before her, allowing her small hands to run over your long hair.

She's your favorite, even if you aren't really supposed to choose.

For the first few weeks, at least one Sully is glued to your side. Rarely is it Neteyam, who claims to be too busy with his duties. You don't mind though, being away from his penetrating stare.

"What did you do back home?" Kiri asks you one day.

Soft moss kisses your feet as you walk, and for a moment, you imagine you're back in your own village.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you tell her, "I taught the children, mostly. I'm not too good at hunting."

You aren't sure why you admit that, but Kiri feels safe. When she laughs, it's sweet, and comfort blooms in your chest. "Neither am I."

Silence blankets the two of you. She's a bit younger than you, but she feels wise. She reminds you of your sister. And though the thought washes you with homesickness, part of you is drawn to it.

"Would you like to do that here?" Kiri asks after a moment. "Work with the children, I mean."

"I would love to, but I feel like I should do more."

"Working with the children is plenty, trust me." The Sully girl chuckles. "We don't have too many gentle souls here. Your presence would be appreciated,"

It's one of the few moments since you've arrived that you grin. Kiri smiles right back, her warm hand clasping yours. "You don't have to be so kind to me,"

"You are my family now, eylan." She hums. "I will speak to my father about you teaching."

"Thank you, Kiri."

The days begin to go by quicker, and your heart feels a bit of ease when you're thrust into caring for the village children. You spend the hours of the day teaching them, relishing in their accepting souls. They don't judge you, don't tell you that you're too quiet. They watch you with the only thing you've ever wanted.

Approval.

Evenings aren't so easy. Your stomach twists in nervous anticipation once the sun goes down, hands shaky as you prepare dinner. Your hut is empty apart from yourself until soft taps sound against the frame. When you swivel around and find Neteyam, that same breathless feeling always surfaces, and his same harsh stare is always there. The two of you eat quietly, even though the point of having dinner together at all is to get to know each other.

It isn't fair to blame him. You can only imagine that it's just as hard for him—accepting some stranger as a wife, solely for his people. He doesn't have to love you.

But you wish he would try.

You wish he wouldn't glare so much.

You wish the roughness of his voice would soften, just once.

You wish the smile wouldn't be wiped right off of his face when he lays eyes on you.

"My father says our ceremony will be in a few days." He tells you.

You try not to drop your glass of water, hands shaking. In a few days, you will be officially mated. Officially locked into a loveless marriage.

Approval urges you to speak. "Okay."

"I know that this is not ideal," His voice is gruff, even after he clears his throat, "but it is for the people."

You don't love him. You know that you don't, and still, his words sting. Because at least you are willing to try, willing to let him into your heart. The look on his face tells you that his own is under lock and key.

You wonder if it will always be this way. Would he come home every evening with cold eyes and stiff shoulders? Would you just be a womb to produce children for him? A warm body to sink into at night? Tears burn your eyes, but you blink them away.

"Right." You say. "It's for the people."

Your eyes fall to your lap before you're able to catch the crease between his eyebrows softening.

At your ceremony, it's impossible to blend in. The whole thing is centered around you and Neteyam, and the thought tugs nervously at your heart. You use the training you've been through all your life—sit up straight and poised. Smile when spoken to. Speak with confidence.

The last part is hard, especially when you catch Neteyam downing whatever is in his cup, because he'd rather be anywhere but here. People congratulate him, and he thanks them. But you know better.

His skin is hot when you touch him. Your bodies are practically pressed together during the ceremonial dance. You wonder if he feels your heart thudding so wildly against him.

Warm breath fans against your ear. "Are you having a good time?"

The question almost shocks you, but then you remember who he is. Son of the Olo'eyktan. It's his job to check on his people, one of which you are now. You tell yourself he doesn't really care, that he's just being a gentleman because that's what he is. Even though he often looked at you indignantly, he was never cruel. You think that if he wasn't forced to mate you, he might be quite nice.

"Your family has been very kind to me. This ceremony is beautiful," You say, hoping he won't linger on your evasiveness. "Are you having a good time?"

His ear flicks lightly against your hair, trying to catch the soft sound of your voice. "I'm drunk."

What you think he's trying to say, is that he's doing whatever he can to get through the night.

You truly look beautiful under the gentle glow of the Tree of Souls. Your skin looks so soft, so plush, and Neteyam almost reaches out to touch your light, but you don't notice. Your eyes are glued to your feet.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

No. You aren't, but you nod anyway.

Trembling fingers undo the knots of your top, then your loincloth and a nearly unbearable heat engulfs your face. Neteyam does the same with his own clothing, and his hands feel unsure as he leads you down to the soft dirt.

His mouth leaves wet kisses against your skin until your neck is littered with evidence of him. His fingers seem to grow more confident, wandering parts of you that haven't been explored by anyone but yourself. You say you don't love him, yet you careen into his touch. Pretty noises leave your mouth, only to be caught by his ears, and you hope he'll hold them there.

Kisses from him never reach your lips, because despite being together now—literally preparing to seal your souls for life—kissing you there seems too intimate.

Neteyam leans up slightly, deft hands pulling his kuru over his shoulder. He gazes at you, pupils blown in arousal as he waits for you to pull your longest braid from behind your back.

It's the first time you haven't felt so small under his eyes.

The pink endings of your braids twine together, making you both exhale with the new sensation. His lips are back on your neck then, and as soon as you tell him it's okay, he's pushing himself into you.

You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up, but apart from physical pleasure, you feel nothing.

This is a task for him. The final part in becoming a mated pair. It's just something he has to do, and it makes a part of your chest hurt. You tell yourself you don't love him.

You don't love him.

And he certainly doesn't love you.

He can feel your embarrassment, your rejection, and you know this. You try to push it away, but just like you can feel every inch of his being, he can feel yours. Still, you close your eyes, breathe in against his wide shoulders and let his scent make you dizzy. You focus on the noises he makes, the way he moves. Anything to avoid your own feelings.

When you both finish, he stills and allows himself a moment to catch his breath. The movements of your body feel like something of autopilot; standing when he does, slowly tugging your clothes back on, each of you with your backs turned to each other.

The wave of emotion that hits you does so harshly. You aren't sure what it is. Maybe it's the ache between your thighs, or maybe it's the loss of his body heat that suddenly makes you feel so cold, but your eyes begin to burn. You can't push it away this time.

One drop falls, and then another, and soon, you have your head in your hands and you're swimming in tears.

Your first time shouldn't have been like this. You shouldn't have been a chore, and Neteyam shouldn't have been one either.

Dammit, you wish you would have argued with your father.

Blending in is something you want to do right now, and you try, stifling sobs behind your palms. But Neteyam hears you. His head whips around, eyes landing on your crumpled body, and you feel their burn on your back.

He takes a hesitant step forward, voice holding trepidation. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," You breathe, "no, I'm okay."

But you aren't okay. You are so far from okay, and that's obvious to both of you. Still, you take in a deep breath and try and stop the sobs from racking your body. His hand is big, nearly engulfing your entire shoulder as he turns you carefully, but you can't meet his eyes.

He asks again. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." You step away from his touch, away from his intoxicating air. "You were gentle, Neteyam. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying."

He watches you for a long moment. Your dainty fingers wiping away tears, chest hiccuping, breathing on the verge of hysteria. You're not okay, yet you tell him that you are. You downplay your hurt so that he won't feel bad. He doesn't even have to love you, you just want acceptance.

Neteyam knows the feeling all too well.

The man hangs his head, and his chest pangs with something unfamiliar. He wishes there was something he could do to make you stop crying, but his touch won't help. The feeling of you still lingers in his mind—your want to belong, your heart opening and fraying at the edges.

"I'm sorry," He says.

When you lift your head, it's him who won't look at you. "It isn't your fault. You don't have to apologize to me,"

He feels like he does. You're a stranger to him, but he doesn't like seeing you cry. He doesn't like the way your big eyes won't stop glimmering with sorrow. He doesn't like hearing your soft sniffles, or your hiccuped breaths. He doesn't like that you aren't okay, but you tell him you are anyway.

"Let me take you back home." Neteyam proposes quietly.

"Aren't we supposed to stay out longer? Won't people talk about us? " You ask, eyes widening at the thought of trekking through even more accusatory stares.

Most newly mated couples would stay out for hours, exploring each other, basking in their love. But you and Neteyam aren't the same as them.

He's the sun.

You're the moon.

"It isn't anyone's business." He snaps, his blazing eyes lifting suddenly, landing on yours. You wince at the roughness of his voice and he sighs before trying again. "People will still be celebrating. They won't worry about us."

You wipe your face, nodding. "I would like to go home."

Neteyam walks ahead of you, though not far. You watch your feet, missing his frequent glances at your trailing form. The hut is dark when you step inside, though the smell of something sweet fills your nose. You take a look over your shoulder and you see your husband hesitating at the door, shifting from foot to foot. It might be the first time you've seen him look so unsure.

"Aren't you coming in?" You ask.

His eyes flick to yours, slightly wide. "Yeah,"

"It's yours now, too. Please don't feel unwelcome," Your voice is so soft that again, his ears have to strain to hear you.

Gentle. That's the first word he thinks of when he looks at you. Because even after being forced to give yourself completely to him, even after feeling so rejected, you're still kind.

Neteyam clears his throat. "I'll light a fire."

While he does that, your silent feet stalk over to the corner where you keep your things. You're quick with changing, wiping your body down to feel a bit more like yourself. Even after doing so, the smell of him lingers on your skin, like it's a part of you now.

Orange light illuminates the space and you're glad for the heat that the flames give off, but if your mood could sour any more, it surely does when you look around your home. Someone has come in and placed baskets of fruit and sprinkled the petals of beautiful flowers over your floor. There are even petals strewn about your hammock.

The gesture is nice, but you don't want it. You don't want to be reminded of how backward this situation is.

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing on the plush skin so you can keep yourself together. You feel his eyes on you again, burning as you swipe the petals from your bed. Neteyam doesn't look away until you lay down, body taking up the smallest corner of the hammock that you can. Even after that, he allows himself brief looks, and he knows by the tense rising and falling of your ribs that you aren't asleep.

At some point during the night, when sleep begins to embrace your mind, you feel him lay beside you. He does the same thing that you did hours earlier: rests himself on the edge of the bed to give you space. You still feel the skin of his back brushing yours, warm and soft.

You dream of him. The way he felt inside you, the way his lips felt against your neck. You dream of him taking a moment to look into your eyes when his own aren't so harsh. You dream of his voice telling you that you mean something to him.

The thing that wakes you in the morning is the sun. It's bright and higher in the sky than you're used to, making you squeeze your eyes shut harder. You feel the dull ache between your thighs, and it makes you realize that the warmth of Neteyam's body is gone.

It takes more strength than you would like to admit to swing your legs over the side of the bed. You find a cup of something herbal waiting for you near the fire, resting on a coal. It's still warm and you sip at it greedily.

You figure Kiri must have poked her head in earlier and left it for you. She's been such a kind friend ever since you arrived.

Soft knocks sound at the doorway of your home, leaving you to call out a welcome. Just the person you're thinking of walks in.

"Hey, eylan," Kiri smiles warmly. A cloud of serenity follows her as she enters and you breathe it in. Only when you breathe her in, you still smell Neteyam on your skin.

You muster up a smile, though only half of your mouth lifts. "Hi,"

Kiri isn't stupid. She sees the weight on your shoulders, the tear stains on your face. She settles a warm hand against your cheek and you lean into it. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay, Kiri." You tell her. "Thank you for the tea,"

Her eyebrows crinkle, bright orbs taking a fleeting glance at your cup. She takes notice of the orange petals floating around and the herbal smell wafting up with steam, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "It's Neteyam's recipe. He says it helps him calm down,"

And maybe you're oblivious, or just too stubborn to catch on to what she's implying, but you nod. "It's nice."

"I brought you some things," Kiri says.

You watch her as she settles herself on the floor, knees pressed against yours. Her hands dig around in her satchel and things clunk around noisily, which almost makes you grin. You're thankful for her. Kiri's energy is pure and sweet. Her eyes welcome you every time she looks your way, and she practically oozes acceptance. Maybe that's why you're so drawn to her.

"This is a salve to get rid of bruising. Works quick, too," She mutters, head still tucked toward her bag as she pulls out a jar.

Your face must fall, because she looks up at you with sympathy.

The skin of your neck adorns the marks of him. You smell like him. You share a home with him. But he doesn't love you.

"Will you help me?" You ask.

Her expression is so gentle. "Of course, I will."

Careful fingers spread the salve over your skin. She pays extra attention to a spot below your ear, all while you fight the memories of the night before.

It should have been special, but you cried after, and he looked at you with pity.

Kiri says your name softly and waits until you meet her eyes. "You will grow to love him."

You let out a quiet exhale, and Kiri can see your gentle nature right on your face. "I know I will. That's the problem."

"He will grow to love you, too."

The smile that appears on your face is devastating. You could explain to Kiri what you felt from her brother last night. You could explain to her the hollowness he held toward you, but you don't.

"He won't. He will protect me, he will give me children, and he will treat me well because he's kind. I will fall for him hopelessly and he won't know. I won't tell him. You won't tell him. I will cook for him, and raise his babies, and I will support him in everything that he does. But he won't love me. And that's okay." You say.

Kiri squeezing your hand is all she can offer.

Sure, you told Kiri not to say anything, but she never agreed to it. So when the tea you drank makes your eyes feel heavy all over again, she leaves you to rest.

Her feet are swift as she rushes through the village, jaw set in determination. Neteyam sees her before she sees him. The look on her face scares him, so he politely excuses himself from the conversation he's having and makes his way toward her.

"Tsmuke," He calls out. Kiri's head whips around in search of him, but it doesn't take long. Neteyam sticks out in a crowd. He's taller than most and he just has a regal air about him.

Kiri's gripping his arm before he can speak and then she's tugging him, and he's trying to ask her what's wrong but she won't listen.

"Kiri!" His voice is barely lower than a yell.

Still, she tugs, until they're in a private spot. "Eywa, I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Why? What's wrong?" Neteyam begs.

"This is all a fucking mess, Neteyam, that's what's wrong." She groans. It doesn't take a genius to know what she's talking about.

It's the only thing anyone is talking about lately.

"You went to check on her like I asked?" Neteyam questions. Kiri rolls her eyes, and in return, he does too. "Well, is she alright?"

"Was she alright last night?"

"She said she was, but no."

"She said she was today, too, but no."

Neteyam rubs at his eyes in frustration. He's supposed to be calm, and well put together, but the man is coming apart at the seams.

All of his efforts seem futile. He only said yes to taking you as a wife because his father suggested it. It will strengthen the relationship between our clans, Jake told him. And all Neteyam ever wanted was to make his father proud, so he found himself agreeing, and before he knew it, you were in front of him.

You were there with your big, pretty eyes, and those eyelashes that grazed your cheeks when you stared at your feet (which was always), and your stupid hair flowed down your slender back, and long fingers fidgeted at your sides, and the soft swell of your breasts would rise and fall anytime you took in a large breath. When you spoke, you were so gentle that he worried he'd break you. He felt too rough around the edges, and you too soft.

Fuck, he was losing it.

"I think I hurt her last night," Neteyam admits. He feels like he should be embarrassed, but it's Kiri he's talking to, and she's his best friend.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she started crying after we..." He doesn't want to see his sister grimace, so he edits his words. "She says I didn't, but you should have seen her, Kiri. She went to sleep as soon as we got home and we didn't talk any more about it."

"Oh, Neteyam," Kiri sighs like she always does when she knows something he doesn't. "You didn't hurt her."

"How do you know?" He pleads softly.

"She cried because she's scared." She tells him.

"Of what? Of me?" He's nearly whispering.

Kiri places a loving hand over his arm. "Scared that she'll go her whole life loving you and you won't feel the same."

He's too rough around the edges, and you're too soft.

Neteyam is supposed to be composed. Calculated. Three steps ahead at all times. But you have him so unfocused these days.

He spends a few weeks after his talk with Kiri trying to break the ice with you. Little things, like lingering at the door to say goodbye to you in the morning, or thanking you for the meals he comes home to. It's not much, but he's trying.

He thinks he could grow to love you.

He's positive, actually, because he feels this odd stirring in his chest when you speak to him.

There were women before you. They were usually just clandestine meetings in dark caves, rushed touches just to feel relief from all of the weight Neteyam held on his shoulders. There were women before you, but Neteyam didn't see them the way he sees you.

He wasn't afraid to break them.

He didn't pay attention to the small mannerisms they had. Not like he does with you.

He's supposed to be composed, but he isn't when he's next to you. Music is loud in his ears, he has a cup in his hand that he hasn't even sipped from, and there are too many people around. Neteyam usually enjoys feasts. He enjoys talking to his people, enjoys dancing, but he's so unfocused.

The skin of your arm is hot where it's pressed into his own. You're so soft, and you smell nice, but you aren't happy. He can tell by the way your mouth is pressed into a flat line, only breaking when you take another sip of the drink in your cup.

The people have come to love you. They smile at you now, eyes glowing with warmth. They embrace your gentleness and the way you treat the village children. They love you, so why doesn't Neteyam?

You don't want to linger on the thought too long, but you're past the point of being drunk, and your brain isn't cooperating.

When you stand, the loss of your warmth makes Neteyam flinch. He watches you sway lightly on your feet, watches as your fingers tuck a loose hair behind your ear. Your cheeks are darkened, eyelids slightly lowered, lips pursed. He wishes you were happy.

"Where are you going?" He asks you.

You're drunk, but you still find it hard to look him in his eyes. "I just need air. I'll be back,"

You need air away from him and he knows this, yet he still springs to his feet. He follows your retreating figure, flashes a glare to one of his hunting friends that whistles at the sight of you two disappearing into the dense trees.

You would be hard to find if he hadn't studied you so much since you came into his life. Your steps are silent and soft against the forest floor, his are rough.

When you finally come to a stop, he isn't sure what to say to you. He isn't even sure why he followed you, but he did. And now he's staring at your back and the luminescent freckles on your skin, and he's wishing he knew what you were thinking.

"What am I doing wrong?" Your voice startles him. It's the loudest he's ever heard you speak, the volume drawing him forward. He's emboldened by it, but the second you turn and face him, he stops. "Why won't you touch me? Why do you stop smiling every time you see my face? Am I that bad?"

A fleeting memory crosses his mind of the night you two mated. He was too drunk and you too sober, but now things have flipped.

You'd never speak to him this way if you weren't intoxicated.

He rasps out your name. He wants to explain to you what he's thinking but he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to touch you without hurting you. He doesn't know how to throw himself into loving you because he's scared to disappoint you. He's too rough, you're too soft.

It's you who takes a step toward him now. "I promised to be a good wife and I'm failing."

You're so close. He breathes in your scent until he's dizzy, and his voice comes out in a mutter. "You are a good wife."

"Then why do you hate me?" Your breath fans over his chest. Your nose brushes against the dip between his neck and collarbone, and you feel his throat bob as he swallows.

"I don't hate you." His hands ball into fists at his sides, itching to reach out and touch you and all of your soft curves. But you're drunk and he knows better.

"But you won't touch me,"

He doesn't want to break you.

"It's not that I don't want to," He whispers helplessly.

Your head tilts up because, for the first time, you're brave enough to crave his eye contact. Your eyes trace over every freckle on his face, every scar, every crease. You may be drunk, but his beauty is sobering.

"Neteyam," Your voice is so gentle as you call out to him. He finally looks down at you, and his eyes aren't so harsh. "Touch me, please,"

You ask him to touch you, but you mean more. You want him to see you, to feel his heart warm when he walks into your home at the end of the day. You want him to want you.

He inhales sharply when your lips brush the corner of his. His fingernails are digging into his palm as your hands fall to his hips, your mouth grazing the length of his jaw. He wonders what you taste like, wonders what kind of noises you would make if he got to sink his teeth into the plump of your bottom lip.

But you're drunk, and he knows better.

When his hand clasps around your wrists, you think you may finally get what you want, but he tugs your touch away.

Rejection burns in your chest and your eyes sting with tears as he tilts his head down, trying to catch your evasive gaze. His large hand scorches where it holds you captive.

"I will not touch you. Not here, not like this. Not when you're drunk." He says. You feel like he's upset, but his voice is the softest you've ever heard. "Ask me tomorrow, okay?"

You want to be mad at him. You want to shove at his chest and yell at him that it isn't fair, but you can't. It's not his fault that you love him.

"Can you take me home, please?" You croak out.

The hold on your wrists drops. "Yeah, I'll take you home."

It's like the first night that you two ever spent together. You amble through the village, eyes on your feet, tears threatening to spill down your face. When you reach your hut, you climb into your hammock and Neteyam lingers by the fire.

Humiliated is an understatement. You just want to disappear, and that would have been so easy back home, but it's impossible here.

You hear your husband's feet pad across the floor, growing softer and softer until they stop just outside your hut. You should call after him and see if he's okay, but you can't bring yourself to speak. Instead, you shut your eyes and pray for sleep to come.

Neteyam has always loved the moon. As he sits outside of your shared hut, he lets himself admire the glow of it. It's his favorite thing in the whole universe because it's always there, always shining, always taking different shapes. Most people go to sleep as soon as the moon shows its face, but not Neteyam. He likes to bask in it, almost as if he has it all to himself.

He pictures you under the glow of moonlight. Soft, gentle. Beautiful.

He's growing to love you.

In the morning when you wake, Neteyam isn't home. You get out of bed and there's a cup of tea waiting for you by the fire. While you drink it, you try to fight your feelings of embarrassment and guilt. It wasn't fair for you to ambush your husband like that. You've said it for all this time—he doesn't have to love you, and yet you asked him to.

Maybe you aren't in your right mind as you leave your hut, an empty basket clutched in your hand. No, you definitely aren't in your right mind as you gather fruits and pretty flowers, and even a brightly colored feather to pile into the wicker.

You have certainly lost it when you set off through the village, searching for your husband's tall frame. And when you spot his broad back as he speaks to a group of hunters, you almost turn around. Only you don't get the chance, because it's like he senses that you're there. He turns, brows lowered, intense eyes searching the bustling crowd.

Part of you wants to look away from him but he's mesmerizing. He carries golden light. He was meant to lead the people, meant to be admired.

He's the sun.

"Are you alright?" His voice is husky and breaks you out of your daze.

Heat spreads across your cheeks. "I'm fine,"

Where did all of your words go? The apology you practiced in your head?

Suddenly your feet are interesting to look at.

"Did you drink the tea I left? It's good for a hangover." He says.

Why does he have to be so kind and make you love him?

"I did. Thank you," You say, and you mean it. His eyes burn on your face as you try to muster up the courage to speak again. He's incredibly patient as he stands there, never once looking away from you. "I brought you some things. I wasn't sure if you had breakfast, and I know you must get hungry training all day."

"That's kind of you." He says.

It's now or never. You look up at him before you can talk yourself out of it. "I also wanted to apologize. The way I acted last night was unacceptable. I'm truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Neteyam."

The crease between his brows softens. "It's alright. I'm alright,"

Silence blankets the two of you for a moment. He's staring at you, eyes like melted honey and you tell yourself that you shouldn't love him.

But you do.

"I'll see you later?" You offer quietly. The corner of his mouth lifts as he reaches out, his hand brushes yours when he takes the basket from you.

"I'll see you later."

He watches you walk away with a dumb smile, because, fuck, he's starting to love you.

"I know that this isn't ideal," Neteyam begins.

You're still embarrassed about the night before, especially now that it’s just the two of you in the confines of your hut. You still remember the feeling of his skin against your lips, and you're craving more.

Shy eyes lift from your hands, falling on his face for the first time since you apologized to him earlier. You're used to his hard stare. You're used to his mouth falling into a flat line, but that's not what he looks like now.

He's watching you like you've never been invisible in your entire life.

His shoulders are tense where he stands, hands clasped together. "I know we were both pushed into this marriage for the sake of our clans,"

You think he might tell you that he doesn't love you and he never will. You're just collateral. But he shakes his head, and that's when you see it.

The bright hues of the feather you gifted him, tucked neatly into a braid behind his ear.

"You're wearing it," You gasp.

The way your eyes sparkle catches him off guard. He's dazed by your beauty, and it takes him a moment to understand what you're saying.

"Oh," He mutters. His cheeks burn. "Yes, I hope that's okay,"

You're smiling, and he feels like he's under the glow of the moon. You're gentle and you shine, and you take on so many pretty shapes.

"I wasn't sure you'd like it."

Of course, he likes it. You picked it for him.

"I do."

He can't remember the speech he was about to give about growing to love you, because he likes the way you tuck a piece of your hair behind your big ear. He likes the way you look down, suddenly shy. He likes the way that you're soft and smoothing out his rough edges.

"Would you like me to ask you now?" You're nearly whispering, and it's a shame that you're looking at your feet, because the smile that splits his face glows like the sun.

He steps toward you. "Yes, please."

Your chest would brush against him if you took a deep inhale, but he makes you breathless. "Touch me, please?"

Neteyam is supposed to be composed, but he isn't when he's this close to you.

His palms are rough and warm when they pull you in by the hips. They mold around your curves like Eywa carved them just for you.

He's the sun.

You're the moon.

Time just wouldn't exist without the two of you.

His lips are soft against the spot below your ear. It's his favorite place because you feel like silk there. He leaves a trail of kisses across your cheekbone, on the button of your nose, before he hovers over your lips.

"Would you like me to touch you here?" He murmurs.

You want him everywhere, but you're breathless. All you can do is nod.

He delves forward. You're so warm, and your lips are even softer than the skin below your ear, and now he knows what you taste like.

You're the sweetest fruit he's ever bitten. He'll go his whole life craving you.

It takes a while before you both pull away for air. Your hands fall against his chest, feeling the rumble of his light laughter.

When you look up at him, you can't believe you ever found him so intimidating. You can't believe that you ever thought he hated you, because he's looking at you like you're the best thing he's ever had.

And you are.

"I know that this was chosen for us. I know that I said this was for the clan," He says.

It was for the clan, but now he loves you.

"But?" You urge him gently.

"But I want to do this for us. I want all of you. I want all of your secrets, the good and the bad. I want to come home to you every night, and I want to take care of the people with you. I want to tell everyone what you mean to me." He proclaims.

You smile, eyes glimmering with happiness. "You have me."

He's yours.

You're his.

#avatar #jake sully #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #lo’ak sully #neteyam x oc #the way of water #avatar neteyam #avatar twow #neteyam smut #neteyam fic #neytiri

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1d1195 · 3 months

Text

My Friend's Toyota I

🎶 here she is! Based on the song of the same name, by Asiris 💕 I wanted to write this before spring arrived. It's just a few parts (I'm thinking 4 right now) only because the first part got so long 🤭

~8k words

Warnings: college!Harry but otherwise none really. Just wanted to write a cute romantic story. Maybe the tiniest bit of angst (but maybe not in this part just yet). This part is a little ramble-y but I promise it'll come together quick.

But this... angel he had bumped into...

She was going to star in all his fantasies now.

Can’t believe September’s already over / Looked for stars and I found a supernova / praying to God that I can hold her close / ‘Cause I know she’s worried ‘bout the snow / She said “Darling, should I bring a coat?”

Harry thought he was more excited to go to university than anyone had ever been. “For drinking right?” his friends from school asked with a laugh. They chatted about it all the time during the summer before they all left their hometown in favor of the new chapter of their lives. Harry liked drinking, sure. It was fun but he enjoyed hanging out with his friends more. At least when they were in university they wouldn’t be drinking illegally anymore.

But Harry was a bit of a hopeless romantic.

He believed university was the surefire way to meet the love of his life. The person who would knock him off his feet, make his heart grow three sizes too big for his chest, and simply just... feel like he was right where he was supposed to be.

The first semester of university came and went.

Harry didn’t meet the love of his life.

He had Mitch. His roommate and one of his best friends from home. But Mitch was in love with their friend Sarah and unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same way about Mitch as Sarah felt about him. But that was okay. He still had lots of time to find the person that would make his stomach flutter.

But spring semester came and went too.

Harry tried to find her. He went on dates with several women he met in classes and at parties. He heard the whispers and rumors about him. It made him a little sad that some of the women he went out with never corrected the rumors. His longest relationships were no more than a month, but Harry couldn’t help it that he didn’t feel the spark he was looking for and ended things before they really got going.

It was supposed to be all-encompassing. Make him breathless. Knock him to his knees. Maybe he was being ridiculous. At the age of almost twenty he was being unrealistic to want something like that. He was young. There was plenty of time for love.

But was it so bad that he wanted it now?

His dorm room with Mitch was a suite and they each had their own rooms. They decorated the main room with the help of Sarah to make it homey (and also stopped them before they used empty vodka bottles as décor). Their dorm was one of the “party” dorms, but they rarely hosted. Harry and Mitch wanted their place to be a safe place. It rarely saw more than ten people—and that was only when he and Mitch were pre-gaming with other friends to go to a party off campus. Sometimes Harry brought his friends back if they had too much to drink. It made him feel better knowing they were in a safe place. Sarah even brought back a girl that was too drunk to make any good decisions of her own accord. Harry minded over her with worry because the poor thing was all but sobbing as she threw up most of the night and whined about how sad she was.

Harry actually dated her for about a month after—some kind of savior complex that he should have known doomed their relationship from the start.

So, he kept waiting to find the love of his life. But he couldn’t help but feel discouraged as he complained to his mum and Gemma over the summer that he didn’t find her that first year.

“Honey bunny, it’s too early to think like that,” Anne smirked. “You’re so young.”

He shrugged. “I guess. M’jus’... Mitch has Sarah,” he reminded them.

“I know, but...” Gemma smiled sadly at him. “You’re not Mitch. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen.”

Well Harry didn’t meet her the following year either. Twenty came and went. He continued hearing rumors about his body count. The only ones ready to defend him ever was Mitch and Sarah but he simply didn’t care. The girls he met at parties, bars, in class, they all continued to flirt with him and when Harry felt the hope of a spark, he chose to pursue it—not because of the rumors, not because he felt like he had to in order to find the love of his life, simply because he was young and enjoying his life.

But September of his third year.

Oh.

Harry was appalled that as a third-year student, any of his major professors deigned to have an eight-AM class. It felt like death as he walked with the throng of people headed to the correct buildings when the sun was barely high in the sky. His eyes felt droopy, and he was certain he yawned the entire walk from dorm room to classroom.

His backpack was slung over his shoulders. He shouldn’t have gone out last night. He wasn’t hungover, but he was just so tired. The chance of meeting the love of his life could have been at that party. That wasn’t an opportunity he was willing to miss.

“I told you,” Mitch muttered to him liking eight-AMs more than the average college student. Get it out of the way. He stuck his foot out causing Mitch to stumble a bit and he smirked with a low chuckle. “Idiot,” Mitch grumbled.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted to do with his degree yet. Another component of divine intervention he was hoping would appear in front of him. Love and career. He hoped the universe would help him figure both out sooner rather than later.

Mitch veered off to his own building and Harry counted down the minutes until he could trek back to his dorm room. Harry was yawning—again—and shook his head trying to perk himself up as he made it to the building where his classroom resided on his schedule.

Harry chose a seat in the back of the room. Put his head on the desk and tried not to think about how his bed might be his real soulmate.

Harry was much more awake now that his professor had re-sparked his interest in microeconomics. All his classes were econ-based this year and he was honestly super excited to look at different facets of his major and maybe that was divine intervention. He had four required economic electives: sports, law, history, and statistics. Additionally, he would be taking a math class that was a pre-requisite to the class he needed for next semester. He tried not to think about it too much.

With a pep in his step, he no longer felt like going back to his dorm and sleeping as he told Mitch he would be doing instead of joining him for breakfast. He wanted to go to his next class or the bookstore. He wanted to geek out over the intro lecture he just heard to someone that would care and wouldn’t brush off his nerdiness. What he really wanted was someone to kiss at the end of the day and tell him all about their classes and ask what he wanted to do for dinner—whether it was dining hall food or a date in town.

“Hi Harry,” someone called as he fantasized about his little dream life. He didn’t even see who it was, so he turned to catch a glimpse.

“Hi—” he started to call politely. If it was someone he knew, he didn’t want to be rude. As he turned, he must have shifted into the path of someone else’s walk to class. He bumped into someone with about half of his body. He knocked her phone out of her hand. Also made her stumble off the sidewalk a bit. “Oh, sorry, love,” he said bending for her phone before she could. The water bottle she had tucked in her bag also fell to the ground. “Are you alright?” He was hopeful he didn’t hurt her, but who knows, she could have tweaked her ankle on the edge of the walk and Harry would have felt horrendous for the whole rest of the day.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” her voice was a bit rushed. “I just transferred here this semester, and I’m all turned around and I’m going to be late—”

Harry glanced up at her having gathered her belongings from the dewy grass and finally caught her gaze. She stopped speaking when Harry looked at her. He swore his heart stopped. They were off the sidewalk, now. People were walking quickly to and from their classes. Harry could feel the gaze of people who knew him as he walked by. Trying to figure out who the girl was he was talking to.

Harry knew he hadn’t found the love of his life yet due to lack of connection. They liked Harry well enough, and he honestly was fortunate to have had a few girlfriends who were kind, intelligent, and pretty. Those he had dated the past two years simply didn’t scratch that itch for the fantasy he had: asking about his day, telling him about hers, and what did they want to do for dinner.

But this... angel he had bumped into...

She was going to star in all his fantasies now.

They hadn’t spoken in thirty seconds while Harry dreamed of happily ever after with her. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Where are y’headed?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head rapidly and pulled her phone from his hands. Harry tried to memorize everything about this moment. The concentrated expression on her face while she scanned her phone screen. “Umm... Livingston 210,” she sighed. “Am I going the complete wrong way?” She asked nervously. “God this is so embarrassing. I spent all day yesterday walking around trying to map out my paths and I had to park in a different lot, and I am the worst with maps and directions,” she rambled.

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “S’this way. Let me walk you,” he offered. “You’re fine,” he promised glancing at his own watch. “You’ll... you’ll be early,” he reassured her.

She blew out a relieved breath. “Really? Don’t you have a class to get to?” She asked. “I don’t want to put you out—”

He shook his head quickly. “No, not... not at all, love,” he murmured. “M’happy t’do it. Got a break before m’next class.”

Her face took on this gorgeous smile that Harry wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forget. The relief was palpable. It seemed almost excessive, like he was a doctor and told her that she wasn’t ill and not that her class was only about a three-minute walk. But Harry adored that smile. The way her eyes lit up along with the curve of her lips. “Thank you, so so much. I’m so nervous and know absolutely no one—except my roommate. But she doesn’t have class until noon. Plus, my transfer credits went in late last week so the schedule I had planned is all different than the one I made in June. I really almost considered just leaving and transferring back—”

He chuckled at her little ramble. He liked it a lot. Way more than he probably should have for having met her only ninety seconds prior. He wondered if she always did that. The need to find out was nearly unbearable. How could he prolong the conversation? How could he get her number in the next two minutes it took her to walk to her class? “C’mon,” he tilted his head toward the direction he had come from.

Was he being ridiculous? Maybe.

But this was what he wanted. The way his heart stopped. He couldn’t ignore that. Was he holding his breath? Was she feeling the same warm tension that was covering his entire body with the need to look at her? This was it. She hadto be it. The love of his life. The first day of third year. His heart felt... whole.

“Oh good, this is familiar,” she sighed with relief. Chuckling, Harry held the building door open for her to pass through. “Do you like candy?” She asked as she entered.

Blinking curiously, Harry wondered if she had some conversation in her head that he wasn’t privy to that resulted in such a question. “M’sorry?”

“Candy?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he smiled at her curiously.

“Okay, I’ll get you candy as a thank you for walking me, then,” she promised with an assured nod of her head.

Harry was floored by her kindness to a stranger. It made him feel so overwhelmed that he ignored how ridiculous it all seemed for him to act like this. So that meant she wanted to see him again. He chuckled. “Y’don’t have t’do that, love. S’not out of m’way,” he reminded her.

“I know... but you don’t know me, and you look important.”

“Look important?” He repeated dumbly and gestured to the stairwell for her to ascend. He followed beside her hoping he didn’t look as creepy as he felt feeling so overwhelmed with how he already felt about her.

“I don’t know, everyone was staring at you while we walked over,” she shrugged.

He smirked. But he was surprised he missed that. Usually, he noticed when people called out to him. “Everyone?”

She nodded. “I think a few people even did a double take,” she explained. “So, you must be important.”

He rolled his eyes with another little laugh from his lips. “Uh...I don’t think m’important,” he admitted. They stood a few feet away from the door labeled 210. “S’really no trouble. I jus’ left m’eight AM from here,” he promised. “Was jus’ going t’get breakfast. M’happy t’help.”

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it. I promise I’ll get you candy,” she said glancing at her watch and then the classroom door. “I like to get a good seat for the lecture. I’ll... see you around...?” She waited for him to fill in the missing information.

“Harry,” he said wiping his hand on his leg before holding it out for her to take. The first time he would touch who he was certain was the love of his life.

“Harry,” she repeated, placing her hand in his while introducing herself as well. “I’ll see you around.”

His heart was aching with something that had to be a cross between infatuation and undeniable love. Her hand felt so nice in his and it was just a handshake. Imagining their fingers twined together made him ache with want. “Wait,” he said right as her hand touched the doorknob. “Where’s y’next class?” He asked. She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her schedule. “Uh... Sawyer,” she said reading off her phone. Harry’s heart leapt. “312.”

He felt tingles all through his body. From fingertip to his stomach, to the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “Yeah?” He asked rhetorically. The question was more for the universe; it’s way of telling Harry she was here. “I’ll walk you,” he promised. “We’re in the same class.”

She turned her face briefly from him—maybe an effort to hide the blush that was covering her cheeks and making Harry fall even harder for her. “Yeah?” She wondered.

He nodded. “I’ll meet y’at the front of the building when class gets out, yeah?”

She smiled. “Okay, thanks, Harry,” she sighed with relief heading through the doorway. “Enjoy your break,” she called over her shoulder.

Harry floated back down the steps. Honestly, he wanted to wait outside her classroom, but he just met her, and he wanted—no needed—this to work. Wanted it to work more than anything. The smile plastered on his face had his cheeks hurting but he couldn’t stop. He nearly sprinted to the closest dining hall where he told Mitch he would meet him for breakfast.

“Sorry, m’late. I jus’ met the woman m’going t’marry,” his voice was all airy, falling into a seat beside Mitch with a dreamy look on his face.

“Whoa,” Mitch chuckled. “You look sick.”

“I feel sick,” he laid down onto a second chair. Backpack still on. He looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He was in love.

“Glad you met her, Harry. Finally, right? Can you act like an adult?” Mitch muttered cutting up the waffle he had on his plate. Sitting up he smiled at his friend.

“We have class together next.”

“Isn’t that your math class?” He wondered. He thought about the schedule Harry was insistent about putting on the fridge so they could find each other if needed while at home. For emergencies. But Mitch didn’t understand why the schedule needed to be on the fridge if Harry made him commit it to memory anyway.

“Yeah, so?”

“You hate math.”

“No one likes math,” he grumbled.

“Maybe she does. Maybe she’s not your soulmate.”

“Shut up,” he dropped his bag in his seat and headed to get food. Upon returning with his tray, about three other people said hello to him. One girl stopped him asking if he was coming to her party this weekend and one of the guys that he knew from his pickup soccer games asked if he was available tomorrow night for a game at the rec field. “If she likes math then... jus’ mean she completes me. Still m’soulmate,” he shrugged.

“You got an answer for everything,” Mitch laughed.

Harry found her sitting on the barrier wall to the mini garden outside the building. One of her legs stretched along the length of the cement ledge and the other dangled off the side. With the need to get her to class on time, Harry didn’t have time to ogle her at all. But now, as he approached her, he noted she was wearing a pair of jeans and a pair of trainers. Obviously, her worry about being late to class must have meant she considered sprinting if it got late enough. Her T-shirt was this light orange-pink color. Like she was modeling a sunset. She had a book propped on her thigh and she leaned over reading, like she was simultaneously doing yoga while reading.

“Hey,” he called. Her head perked up and she smiled, putting a bookmark in between the pages and swinging her leg over to say hi.

“Hi!” She chirped excitedly. “I was afraid I missed you when I ran back inside.”

Back inside? He frowned. “Did y’class end early?”

“Yeah... almost a half hour ago,” she shrugged hopping off the ledge. “Syllabus and all. Doesn’t happen that often to me—I’m majoring in accounting and finance, so all my classes just jump right into the lectures and lessons. But this is a sociology class that my other school didn’t offer but I have to take here to graduate,” she explained with an eyeroll. “They were insistent.”

“M’sorry y’had to wait,” he frowned.

“Don’t be sorry,” she smiled. “I got to read a bit and—oh!” She twisted her backpack around her body and into the zip pocket. She retrieved whatever item she was looking for and held it out for him to take. “For walking me,” her voice was so sweet.

Harry felt his jaw fall open just a bit as she placed the Twix bar in his hand. “Twix is my favorite, but I got Starbursts too if that’s more your vibe. Reese’s if you like peanut butter. I wanted a variety just in case and it won’t go to waste regardless—”

“Twix is m’favorite, too,” he said turning the bar over in his hands. He looked up at her as if she really was placed right in his path. Fate. Out of nowhere. Like a star exploding out in the universe and dropping this angel in its spot.

She smiled. “Excellent,” she said. “Where’s Sawyer, then?” She asked while zipping her bag again and heading toward the walkway when he walked her to the building earlier. “I want a good seat,” she reminded him. Since she got him his favorite candy bar—and simply because she existed and was without a doubt going to be his favorite, period—he wanted to make sure she got the seat she wanted.

He wanted to make sure she got whatever she wanted.

Was it normal to want to hold someone’s hand like this? Harry’s immediate thought was no. It wasn’t normal. Wanting to hold hands with someone the way he was craving to hold her hand had to be the most abnormal thing in existence. Every Tuesday and Thursday for the next three weeks, he waited outside Livingston, watching her descend the front staircase to the main floor. They chatted the entire ten-minute walk to Sawyer where they shared a math class. She insisted on sitting closer to the front than Harry would ever consider but he was immediately enamored with how sweet she was and there was no way he could let someone else sit beside her.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were slowly becoming his favorite days of the week. They were his weekend even with a packed schedule on the two days. Talking to her was everything he had been longing for the last two years of school.

On Sunday, he slept until almost ten-thirty. He was lying in bed while scrolling through his array of social media and other correspondences. He heard the shower running, so either Sarah or Mitch must have been well after a night of drinking.

Three weeks. After three weeks of pining and walking her to and from class, he got an email on a Sunday.

The subject line read: Be-Twix you and me I’m glad we’re friends. He threw himself out of his bed and paced the main room trying to figure out if it was Mitch or Sarah in the shower. He knocked. “Sarah!”

“Sorry, Harry. She’s sleeping,” Mitch called.

He opened the door anyway. “She emailed me.”

“How 2002 of her,” he snorted.

“You’re useless,” Harry grumbled closing the door shut. He truly considered barging into Mitch’s room and waking Sarah for a girl’s opinion but after doing the very same and seeing way more than he was supposed to of his two friends, he opted for figuring it out himself. He vaguely wondered if there was a way to open an email faster. He must have read it a thousand times and it was only four sentences long.

Hi Harry!

I was wondering if you would want to study for our exam together? I like having someone to study with, but if that’s not your vibe I understand :) Let me know either way! This is my number if you would prefer texting.

Harry thought there were no prettier ten numbers than the ones that formed her phone number. He was immediately ready to text her but luckily had the wherewithal of checking the time stamp of the email to see if he was looking desperate but struggling to care. Fortunately, the email was from a little after seven-thirty.

He could have chatted with her for three hours longer if he hadn’t slept so late.

Hi, it’s Harry 😊

Hi! Glad my email didn’t scare you off. My roommate said that my Twix pun was horrendous.

It’s adorable. Thank you for emailing. I’d love to study. I work until five... I can meet you somewhere?

Do you like coffee?

I love coffee 😊

Do you think it will be cold around five? I’m still getting used to the weather around here. I want to bring a coat.

Harry made a mental note to pack an extra sweatshirt in case she got too cold. Can’t hurt to bring one. You never know what the weather will do around here.

Forty minutes a week.

Forty blissful, perfect minutes in the month of September had been spent chatting with the stranger that bumped into her on the first day of the fall semester. The sun was warm despite the breeze chilling her skin. It wasn’t nearly enough time but she somehow managed to fall incredibly hard for him anyway.

It was a bit ridiculous.

Her roommate—and only friend—was also a transfer student. However, Allie was much more outgoing than she was. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have fun; it was just different than how Allie enjoyed herself. Allie made friends everywhere she went. Their off-campus but university-owned apartment was always in flux of visitors from her classes, her club tennis team, or just someone she met while eating lunch in the dining hall between classes.

Allie was a good judge of character though, so she never worried about someone of bad rapport traipsing through their place. Also, Allie was always sure to keep everyone away from her room, of course.

But Allie had no problem flopping on her bed around ten in the morning and nosily glancing over her shoulder. She had left her email open anxiously waiting for a reply from the most handsome guy she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. “Be-Twix?! Sweetie, that’s atrocious,” she rolled her eyes. She groaned in response.

“I... I don’t know,” her face felt hot with shame. She really liked Harry. “It seemed like a good idea at the time... maybe that’s why he’s not answering me,” she frowned.

“Maybe he just sleeps like a normal college student and doesn’t wake up at the ass-crack of dawn,” she said knowingly patting her knee reassuringly.

“Have you seen the leaves?” She whispered almost in awe. “I went for a walk to get a bagel and—”

“I’ve seen them,” Allie smiled with a shake of her head at her silly friend. The adoration she had for little things was admirable, sweet, and just... if Harry Styles broke her heart, she would break his face. “I lived here my whole life, remember?”

But she didn’t live here her whole life. So, she was in awe—her first true fall since she was a toddler that she didn’t even remember. There were pictures of her jumping into a pile of leaves with her mom that her dad had just painstakingly raked. The south didn’t have pretty leaves like this in the fall. Palm leaves didn’t change color other than wilting brown when it was too hot. She intended to spend every minute looking at the beautiful hues of orange, red, and yellow so as not to miss the pretty season she hadn’t gotten to enjoy for most of her life.

After another agonizing thirty minutes of waiting for him to respond (and breathing with sweet relief that he did want to see her later) she told Harry that she was worried about it being cold later in the evening. She had grown up closer to the Tropic of Cancer which was now roughly 15 degrees south of her current latitude. She hated the heat; it made her skin feel dirty and oily with sweat all summer long. Her hair was too thick, her skin naturally too warm. Just thinking about her thighs sticking to her leather car seat in July was horrific.

But her parents had grown up and met here on this pretty autumn-picturesque campus. Somewhere not quite freezing (at least not yet, so she had been told) but not quite suffocating with heat like home. They left here when she was two to situate themselves in Hell’s sauna room. After taking the general requirement classes at a state school, she wanted to transfer up north to the university where her parents fell in love. Call her a hopeless romantic, but if she hadn’t found the love of her life amongst the bathing suit, half-clad guys on the beach during the last two spring breaks, then he probably wasn’t in the south. Instead, she hoped she might find him around the ski slopes.

She hadn’t anticipated finding Harry before her first class started.

Forty minutes.

That was how much time Harry generously gave her outside their shared class combined on Tuesday and Thursday each week.

She wanted more. Greedy with want and didn’t know how to do it without tying it to school. Part of her worried because what if he just pitied her and now didn’t know how to get away from her? They had class together; he couldn’t be rude. Even if he didn’t like her the way she was already falling for him, it was very obvious that Harry was a good person.

“Just be careful,” Allie warned lightly. “Harry has a bit of a reputation I hear.”

She frowned and shrugged. She knew what Allie meant. People around her weren’t exactly subtle and while she listened to music in the dining hall while she ate, or studied in the library, or even just read her book. Those around her whispered. They had seen the pair of them walking to class. Apparently, Harry never looked like that before. The whispers included Harry having plenty of girlfriends. Sometimes two or even three at a time. That just seemed ridiculous, and she felt so sad others talked about him behind his back. There were even quiet bets about how long she would last in the list of Styles’ conquests.

So, she understood that Allie was just trying to look out for her. “Well... I like him. He doesn’t have a reputation around me,” she shrugged. Allie frowned for a moment. She was so sweet.

“Just be careful with your heart,” Allie looked at her with a bit of worry in her eye. But her smile was encouraging. “It’s too good for university guys.”

She had only known Allie about three months longer than she had known Harry. They both moved in at the start of the summer, working off campus and getting to know one another as well as the area (not that it helped her directionally illiterate mind). Allie was lovely and all the things she wanted in a college-best-friend that she never really got from commuting to the local college when she lived down south. “I think you would like him.”

“I can like him and still want someone better for you,” she shrugged leaning in the doorway. She didn’t want to taint the image of perfect Harry. But the stories she heard weren’t easy to ignore. She had seen him at parties since her best friend met him on her way to her sociology class. It was hard to miss him. It was like he was the star of every party.

He drank with his friends and girls obsessed over him. To her friend’s nearly naïve point of view, however, Allie hadn’t seen Harry flirt back. He was helpful and kind to those that drank too much; guiding them outside and gently pulling a girl’s hair back for when she threw up in the shrubs. It was endearing in a lot of ways. But she would still kill him if the rumors of a string of girls was true. If her new best friend was just another notch in his belt, Harry was dead. “You are so sweet to believe in the good in everyone. I just don’t want you to be heartbroken if he isn’t as lovely as you think.”

She smirked looking at the emojis and rapid influx of messages Harry was sending her trying to coordinate timing and picking her up, so she didn’t have to walk. “I won’t,” she promised. But she didn’t say that she thought he was better.

Harry was fifteen minutes late. He blamed the table he was waiting on before he left. They were overbearing and wanted their meal comped—that much was obvious. Looking for the smallest hiccups to rebuke him. Harry begged his manager to seat them in another section. Having waited on them before, but no dice. His heart was in his throat wishing he had time to go home and change but he couldn’t. If he was a moment later, he was sure he was ruining everything.

Unaware of Harry’s worry, she waited patiently on the bench outside the apartment building the university had taken as more dorm suites. She continued reading her book trying not to think about how maybe Harry had better things to do than study for a math class on a Sunday. Especially after work. But he had texted her he was running late, and he was on his way.

She was glad she decided on a coat, it wasn’t freezing, but her thick skin ill-suited for hot weather was already thawing and feeling the chill of the early October weather. She spent an embarrassingly long time sorting through her athleisure wear trying to decide. Something suitable for studying at a coffee shop that wasn’t overstated but not quite sweatpants.

Right when she thought about calling Harry, he appeared in front of the bench. Parking and getting out of his car quickly and hurrying to the passenger side. “I am so sorry,” he said hurriedly dragging a hand through his curls. She admired the motion; enjoying how mussing them didn’t matter much and they fell right back into place. She cleared her throat and shook herself out of her own staring at him.

“For what?”

“M’so late, love. S’rude. M’sorry,” he repeated.

“Oh...it’s...it’s really okay. I was already out here—”

“S’cold,” he frowned eyeing her sweatshirt and the coat at her side.

“I’m okay!” She promised. “Is everything alright?” She asked and stepped toward him putting her hand on his forearm. He thought he might explode at the feeling of her skin on his. It was more intimate than their handshake, and she got the feeling she wanted to twine their fingers together again.

Harry seemed to breathe with a sigh of relief, and he looked at her with this stunned expression. She couldn’t figure out why. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Jus’ felt bad being late.”

“Oh,” she blinked. “That’s okay. I wasn’t in a rush or anything—”

“No, love,” he shook his head. “M’sorry because I wanted t’see you so bad,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair again making her heart take off at a speed that had to be unsafe for her health. Almost immediately she felt light-headed. He wanted to see her. He just told her that. There was no hiding it. She could feel that emotion thick in his voice.

“Oh,” she repeated, completely stunned and confused. “Really?” She asked in complete shock.

“Yes, very, very much,” he sighed dreamily.

Her cheeks warmed hotly under his gaze. The pair of them stood there. Staring at one another as if they were statues destined to look at one another for all eternity, frozen in time to capture a moment like theirs. The October air was rapidly cooling, but she couldn’t feel anything but heat. Like she had stepped out of the airport terminal back in the south except this heat was not suffocating. It was so welcoming.

For a few moments they just stood there, her hand touching his forearm, gazing at one another. Part of her thought it would be nice to be a statue on the street. At least if Harry was beside her. Eventually, he shook his head ever so slightly and smirked. “So...coffee?”

She cleared her throat, smiling brightly. “Please.”

Just one week later, she was chatting with a friend from her sociology class. The moment he saw Harry, he knew Harry was there waiting for her, just as he had been since they met a month earlier. Harry recognized him from attending many parties that his frat hosted at one of the houses someone had off campus. His eyes seemed a bit surprised to see Harry waiting at the bottom of the steps, doing a double take at him waiting for the girl he was walking with down the steps.

“Hey Harry,” the guy said quietly.

“Hi!” She chirped gleefully. Her excited smile felt like too much on her face, but she had no way of knowing. She also didn’t notice the turmoil the guy felt seeing the competition between himself and Harry. (If she did know, she would flat out tell him there was no competition—other than school, Allie, and work, her mind was all about Harry.)

“Hi,” he said politely with a smile and turned toward the person he actually cared about talking to. “Y’ready for math, love?” He asked gently.

“Always,” she started for the main door. “See you around!” she called sweetly over her shoulder.

On Saturday, Allie asked if she wanted to go to a party with her. She was more than happy to stay in and read her book. But she teased her. “Harry might be there,” she winked knowingly.

As much as she didn’t pay any attention to the rumors about Harry, it was hard to fully ignore them the way she wanted to. It wasn’t that she distrusted Harry. No, if anything, she believed in him more than anyone else. But it did sound like Harry had a different party persona. She was not a party person. Honestly, she wanted him to have fun they way he wanted to. Going to a party just because he was there...

“That’s alright, I think—”

“Oh, come on!” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll help you get all dolled up and we’ll just have a couple drinks, and we can leave if you hate it. But if Harry is as smitten as you say he is, I bet he won’t let you leave,” she giggled.

Her face warmed at her friend’s assumption and she tried to picture a scenario in which someone as attractive as Harry would worry about little ole her like that. “Isn’t it cold out?”

“So wear another sweater!” Allie rolled her eyes.

“That’s not very college party of me.”

“Well, I would suggest an alcohol blanket, but I feel like getting you drunk before you even see Harry would be bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll make me look pretty?” She asked quietly at her friend in the doorway.

“Prettier,” Allie nodded assuredly.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s go to a party.”

Allie’s arm was looped through hers. It was freezing out. But honestly it felt nice. She was just a bit shivery. “I thought you said I could wear another sweater.”

“Sweetie, hiding your assets at a party would be criminal.”

She rolled her eyes with a smirk. They entered the door, dodging the guy standing at the door to keep people in and out very quickly. “Hey Allie,” he said.

She waved in response and headed right inside. She thought maybe it was a good thing Allie told her to skip the sweater. The heat inside the house was nearly as warm and humid as the airport terminal. The air was thick with the sour smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat. “I don’t know how people want to hook up with anybody around here. I can’t think of very many places that are less of an aphrodisiac.”

Allie smirked and pushed the pair of them through a throng of bodies toward the kitchen. She grabbed two red cups from the sleeve of them off the counter and asked the makeshift bartender—surely some poor freshmen pledge—to pour them drinks. Her gut felt a little off about the gesture. “I don’t know, Al,” she whispered softly.

“I’ve had them here before,” Allie promised reassuringly. She still wasn’t thrilled with the idea as she took the cup from her friend.

“Hey Allie!” Someone called. Allie turned, looking over her shoulder as she called back over the pounding music. Meanwhile she looked at the liquid sloshing along with the ice. She thought maybe she should have taken her chances with the jungle juice—no one would be stupid enough to touch that, even if it would end with her throwing it all back up at the end of the night.

The pair of them circled around the house, briefly stopping to watch the end of a rousing game of beer pong. The winning person slammed his beer back, dripping along the sides of his mouth triumphantly which made her smile. Allie rolled her eyes and tugged her out back. A bon fire was in the middle of the yard. Another sober freshman pledge, undoubtedly in charge of standing guard. The music was still loud but way less aggressive outside. There were other large groups of people outside as well chattering and drinking away. Allie worked quick; left her alone by the fire—which she was grateful for since it was warm. When Allie returned, she was already sipping her second drink, holding a third, and dropping her empty cup in the trash bin right near the house. Oof, her head was going to kill tomorrow.

“Harry’s here,” Allie whispered to her as she got close to her again. There was a twinge in her knees, like she might fall at the mere thought of him. It took all her self-restraint to not whip around to catch a glimpse of him. She wasn’t playing hard to get, but this was very much not her scene. She didn’t want to intrude on whatever fun he was having. “You should go say hi,” Allie nudged her.

She smirked, wanting to take a sip of her drink but still feeling hesitant so she just put the cup to her lips, like she was pretending to sip it. “Uh...maybe later. I don’t want to interrupt,” she responded directly in Allie’s ear. The good news was she managed to peek over her shoulder to see him standing a little ways away from the fire. It was too dark to make out any specific features or defining muscles but just the way he stood was hot. She felt insane for thinking such a thing, but it was impossible not to. He was so cute. He had one hand in his front pocket, a drink in the other hand, and just a plaid flannel layered over another plaid flannel. His eyes and smile were lost in the dark, but she could picture it. The light evergreen color that was simply her new favorite color along with the pinkest most adorable lips curling across his face and making dimples in his cheeks that would make the Grand Canyon jealous of their depth.

“I think he would probably die if you interrupted,” she snickered.

Briefly, she entertained the idea. She could ask how Harry was doing on his homework, but that wasn’t the best party talk in the world (even if she did want to know). But she was still a little nervous, especially outside class, their walk, and even their study not-quite date to chat with him about anything. A party was more than likely his element. She could see why. Girls were surrounding him ogling very much the same things that she probably ogled on her way to math class. He was easy to talk to, sweet, and of course very handsome.

She shook her head. “Do they have s’mores?” She asked suddenly.

Allie spit her drink back into her cup and laughed. “Jesus Christ,” Allie rolled her eyes. “No; college-students don’t have s’mores at a party.”

She frowned. “I feel like this party would be a lot better if it did,” she grumbled.

Allie wrapped her arm over her shoulder. “Don’t ever change, please,” she kissed her cheek. She laughed lightly.

“If we had a party with a fire, I promise there would be s’mores,” she was very decisive. “It seems sinful to not have them.”

“Hey, love.”

She felt her whole body stiffen and somehow soften at the same time. They both turned to his voice and now she could see in the firelight, that the red colors of his flannel contrasted so sharply with his eyes. The green seemed to amplify—even in the dark. “Hi, Harry,” she smiled sweetly.

“Didn’t know y’would be here.”

“Yeah...uh... this is my best friend and roommate Allie,” she gestured to the girl beside her. “She invited me,” she explained.

“Hi, Harry,” Allie held her hand out. “Heard lots about you. And seen you around a lot,” she said knowingly.

“Hi, Allie,” he said sweetly shaking her hand politely. “Thanks for bringing her,” he grinned winking at her flirtatiously. “Can I steal her from you?” he asked. “If s’alright with you,” he turned back to her, looking into her eyes so deeply she swore he was reading her mind. Not that there were any other thoughts than Harry, Harry, Harry.

“Listen Harry,” Allie said squaring her shoulders.

“Oh my God, Al,” she shoved her back a bit. “Don’t.”

Harry took a step away and looked back at Allie nervously. “This is my best friend,” Allie said with the third drink doing most of the talking.

“Allie!” She hissed.

“I love her so much,” tipsy-Allie was very loving and adoring. A bit flighty too. If she didn’t have a rush of alcohol spinning her blood quickly through her, she might have been a little less aggressive.

“I see,” Harry smiled. “I will take really good care of her Allie. I promise. Y’have nothing t’worry ‘bout,” he shoved a hand back in his pocket. He looked at her shyly, knowing that Harry was also talking directly to her and not just her tipsy best friend. “I should have asked though,” he said with a smile. “D’you...want t’hang out a bit?” He asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, please.”

“How polite,” Allie snickered. Her smile faded rapidly as she glared back at Harry. If she wasn’t so focused on him, she might have missed the way he gulped nervously. “Don’t break her heart, Harry,” she pointed accusingly at him.

“Allie, enough!” She pressed a hand over her face.

“Don’t leave without me, either. I’ll be with my friends,” she said and flitted away as if there was nothing abnormal about her behavior.

“I’m so sorry about her,” she whispered still with a hand over her face. Harry chuckled and shook his head.

“No, s’okay. S’good she cares ‘bout you so much,” he nodded. “I agree completely,” he assured her. “M’really glad t’see you. I was so surprised and distracted...I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have asked first t’steal y’away...” he glanced at her full cup. “Don’t like your drink?” He asked.

“Um...no, well. Kind of. I’m a little wary of accepting it from someone I don’t know.”

Harry didn’t try to talk her out of how she felt which made her heart flutter more. “S’a good point...d’you want t’walk to the bar down the road?” He asked.

“I’d have to leave Allie,” she smirked. “Not sure I want to put that on someone else.”

“Hold on,” he said and rushed off to the house. It was only a couple minutes, if that. But he reappeared with a can in his hand. “I pulled it out of the fridge when the kid was turned,” he smirked.

She giggled. “My hero,” she laughed and sipped it without fear.

“So... d’you want t’go...find some place quieter t’talk?”

She glanced at the house. “Is there somewhere to talk?” She asked.

“Yeah... m’friend Niall and his friends are hosting. He’s got a keypad lock on his door, and I know the code t’his bedroom.”

“You always try to get girls into your friend’s room?” She asked quirking an eyebrow at him while sipping her drink. He chuckled and shook his head.

“No, s’nothing like that, love. Jus’ want some privacy.”

“Well, that’s fine by me, even by the fire, it’s chilly out here.”

“You’re cold? Here,” he pulled off the top flannel and draped it on her shoulders then put a hand on her lower back to guide her back toward the house. She could feel the stares of others on them as they meandered back. “S’not even winter yet. S’gonna be tough on your southern blood,” he smiled.

She smiled. “My parents are from here. I think there’s some northerner in me yet. Just got to get it out of hibernation.”

Harry chuckled. “You’ll still need a coat, love,” he promised.

If Harry was going to offer his own clothing to her, she wasn’t sure she’d want to bring her own coat at all.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus

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#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #my friend's toyota

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astraystayyh · 11 months

Text

Jeongin x reader. Hurt/comfort. Reader is sad and doesn't know why.

You are curled around yourself in a ball.

Nothing happened in particular. You don't even remember when you started feeling this way. But suddenly all you knew was the tightness in your chest, and the overwhelming need to be home.

Home wasn't the four walls you've lived in for what feels like forever. But the strong arms of your boyfriend Jeongin. But he was still at work, and you couldn't find it in you to text him. What would you even say? I miss you. I don't know what I'm feeling. This house is too bare without you. Please come to me.

And you knew he'd come. You knew he'd drop his work and come running to you, because he loved you. He's told you and shown you countless times, again and again. But you couldn't tear him away from his responsibilities. You couldn't be selfish about his love for you.

So you stay curled around yourself in a ball, your arms tightly hugging your knees. You want to cry, but it feels as if the tears in your body are like dried ink. You squeeze your eyes shut, but nothing comes out. And you are left there begging for a release, for something, anything to lift off this horrible weight off your chest.

An hour has gone by, then two, then three. Your arms are numb, and your eyes ache from staring ahead at nothing for so long. Jeongin is home now, you can hear him placing down his keys on the tray you made together in one of your pottery dates. But you can't find it in you to call out to him. You've sat in silence for so long, you were almost afraid of what would happen if you were to disrupt it.

"Baby?" Jeongin calls out when he opens the door to your bedroom, and you want to see him. You want to snap your head towards him, but it's as if your body has a mind of its own. You can't move. You are crushing down under the weight of this unreasonable sadness.

"My love?" he tries again as he gently climbs on top of the bed. His warm hand rests on your thigh and the contact startles you- as if you were under a spell that his touch just broke. Suddenly, ugly sobs are heaving through your body, and his name spills out of your mouth like a broken plea.

"I'm here, I'm here," he rapidly says, wrapping his arms around your figure as best as he can, trying his hardest to contain the sadness overflowing from you. He's whispering something in your ear and you strain to hear it- it's getting lost between the thousands of voices swimming around in your head.

"I'm here. You are okay. I'm here," he repeats, his tone more urgent, "It's okay. You are okay. I promise," he doesn't stop talking. His deep voice travels across your body, and rests on your every atom, reverberating endlessly within you.

"I need you," you finally manage to utter. You don't know what you need. You still don't know what sparked all of this. Where was all of these feelings hiding for so long? But Jeongin knows. He'll know for you.

"You got me. I'm not going anywhere," his voice is assured and it calms your frenzy for a bit. He's your home. He'll stay with you. You'll figure it out together.

You are still curled around yourself in a ball, and Jeongin is curled around you. Your chest is snug against his back, and your thighs are against his knees, and his hands are on top of yours. He's all encompassing, holding you so tightly to him, leaving no room for sadness to exist between the two of you.

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episodeoftv · 7 months

Text

Round 5 of 8

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: 5.16 The Body

tw Death of a major character, grief, dealing with the death of a parent

Buffy, Dawn, and their friends deal with the aftermath of Joyce's death.

The purposeful removal of music for the whole episode, the grief portrayed, the portrayals of people with varying amounts of interaction with death. It hits so hard.

This episode killed me. I have never watched anything that has fully encompassed the feeling of loss and what it's like to experience death close to you than The Body. It is an absolute gut punch in the best way. I actually had to take a week off of watching Buffy to recover because I was so destroyed. 12/10 I don't think I will ever be able to watch this episode of TV ever again

One of the greatest depictions of grief and bereavement of all time. Both formally inventive and unique in its cinematography, sound design, editing etc. while also being an incredible personally affecting emotional experience.

There’s another buffy episode that probably deserves the title more, but I did have to give this one some recognition. For a whacky silly show about vampires, this episode is maybe the realest portrayal of death and grief I’ve ever seen. It’s not just a sad episode that makes audiences cry - I mean it is that - but it’s also this incredible examination of what it’s like to lose someone, and how the world shifts on its axis when that happens. The lack of any non diegetic music is an amazing touch to give this episode a sense of distance from all others. It’s real in a way that’s hard to watch but also unforgettable. Certain scenes and lines will always stay with me and will forever shape my feelings on life and loss.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Body_(Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer)

M*A*S*H: 11.16 Goodbye, Farewell and Amen

In the closing days of the Korean War, the staff of the 4077 M*A*S*H Unit find themselves facing irrevocable changes in their lives.

LITERALLY the most episode ever. For American television broadcasts it remains the most-watched primetime television episode ever, beaten only by a number of Super Bowls, the moon landing, and the Nixon resignation.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goodbye,_Farewell_and_Amen

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #m*a*s*h #mash #poll #polls #round5

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imagining-in-the-margins · 11 months

Text

Life's Pleasures (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer struggles with some side effects of his medication after prison. Request: Spencer being insecure about his weight gain post prison. Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Comfort Content Warning: Weight gain, body insecurity Word Count: 800

MASTERLIST

Spencer was a creature of habit more than he was of comfort. Call it superstition or autistic tendencies, even the slightest alteration to his routine could have catastrophic results.

Unsurprisingly, three months in prison did little to help him with those feelings. In fact, they made them much worse.

Despite the best efforts of yourself and the entire BAU, there was no question that Spencer needed help. Thanks very much to each of you, however, he had finally felt okay adding a small capsule to his daily routine.

It was nothing he was ashamed of. Unfortunately, however, that magical little concoction of neurotransmitters had a few… unintended side effects. He hadn’t said anything about it yet, but you had watched his favorite clothing got tighter until he couldn’t bear to wear it anymore.

You were acutely aware of how sensitive he would be with such a dramatic change. So, that Sunday, when you see Spencer padding out in his favorite pair of Saturday-specific sweats, you try to be kind.

“Hey handsome!” you call.

He is caught off guard enough to smile.

“What did I do to deserve you in sweats on a Sunday?”

His smile falls just as quickly. His bashfulness turns into a sadness that feels all-encompassing.

“My pants don’t fit,” he mutters as he toys with the drawstring.

“Lucky me,” you joke.

Spencer doesn’t respond like you’d hoped. In fact, he doesn’t react at all. He just stays staring at the string that is shorter than normal. He doesn’t even notice that you’re approaching him until your palms are pressed against his cheeks.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you whisper.

He winces.

“I just…”

You give him a small reassuring smile and it stirs something in him. Some small shift out of his self-preservation instinct and back into the comfort of your embrace.

“I know I’m getting older, and stress does a lot of damage, and that can always manifest as weight gain,” he rambles.

He leaves out the medicated nature of it all, but you don’t bother to correct him. You just listen as he continues.

“But my body’s never been like this. It’s never changed like this, even during puberty,” he scoffs.

You chuckle at the sound and the image conjured up from faded scrapbook pictures.

Spencer smiles too—just for a second—before he remembers that he is sad.

“It’s just… it’s happening so… fast,” he says like a whimper.

After a moment, you shrug. He seems almost offended by the motion until you explain.

“That’s okay, Spencer,” you whisper, “It’s okay if you have a hard time adjusting to change.”

His shoulders fall as he releases a shaky breath. Relief starts to creep back into his body, despite his fingers still twiddling with the string.

You look down at it and laugh because it is so much like how he used to be. A little bit better, even.

“You just need to remind yourself that… They’re good changes,” you insist as your hands fall and glide around his waist. It’s soft and pliant and reminds you of the peace you find when you lay in bed together. You remember the smile he wore the first day he woke up without fearing the sound of a buzzer. You think about how he doesn’t seem afraid of his phone anymore.

When you look back up at him, your eyes linger on the subtle curve of his lips before they settle on teary eyes.

“You’re finally taking care of yourself the way you deserve, so things are going to look different,” you whisper before pulling him closer. You sway with his body, still perfectly him despite not looking exactly the same. “And for what it’s worth, I happen to think you look wonderful.”

Spencer drops the string to hold you, instead. He chuckles, a soft and bashful noise that reminds you of the first time you met.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he sighs in defeat.

To console him, you provide another simple offering.

“Sweatpants, donuts, coffee full of sugar and syrup,” you hum, “I don’t know about you, but… I can get used to a life like that.”

“They’re nice, but…” he trails off. His body pulls away so that he can see that loving look in your eyes. The last bit of tension releases from weary muscles. Spencer gently rests his palm against your cheek. It’s warm and soft and exactly like it used to be before the scars.

“Of all of life’s pleasures,” he wonders aloud, “I still think you’re my favorite.”

You quickly note the conditional word.

“You think?”

This time when he smiles, it is brilliant and not at all bashful.

“Donuts are pretty good,” he jokes.

It’s such a beautiful sound that you don’t even have to wonder.

“You’re better,” you mumble against still-sweet lips.

And it only gets better from there.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for more to read? Check out my wonderful friend @spencer-reids-adventures's take on this request here!

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undercoverpena · 9 months

Text

xi. hold her, and tell her everything's gonna be fine

javier peña x f!reader | chapter eleven of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: sad!reader, talks of jobloss, comforting!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love ✨ wordcount: 3.3k. an: i know, when will jo stop changing the banner, but I love this so much and feel it encompasses everything for these two.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

I have one last thing to research and then I’m all yours.

have you eaten

There is a piece of fruit in my hand, as I research.

you said you were gonna order

In my defence, I’m not super hungry.

if I was there id hide your notebook and make you eat tamales my mama taught me to make

Make me, ay?

oh baby normally i would be so down to talk dirty with you and make you blush but only when youve eaten

I really want this job, baby.

i know but i really want you to not be ill

Because you really really really like me?

i heard that in your voice and yes because I really like you

In the last few days, the two of you have managed to complete three crosswords. Something he’s impressed with and you’re disappointed in.

“So, another one—I’m still unsure what this even means.”

Laughing, he hears you crunch another piece of fruit—thankful to hear you eating. “What’s the clue, baby?”

He’ll never tire of it, hearing you call him that. A sweet sound, all wrapped in kindness—floating down the phone line all the way to his ear.

“‘Not a company man’, six letters,” he says, fingers rolling the bridge of his nose.

“Hermit,” you say, calm, casual. “Or, you know, me if I don’t get the job.”

“Baby,” he warns, pen scratching the paper as you try to laugh.

Then you asked to change the conversation. Something he was more than happy to oblige, capping the pen, shoving the book away, leaning on the counter as you tell him about a new recipe you like. Talking fast, busy—almost far too energetic, but he knows why.

It’s all because of today.

The interview—the things he’s heard you jump through hoops for—arriving sooner than he could have relaxed you for.

You’d practised elements of your presentation and called him more than you usually would. Something he liked, enjoyed. The feeling of being needed. That his opinion mattered. It all weaving within him, stitching the parts of him that had weakened since the goodbye, since the drive home—alone and without you.

After a quick text in the morning, Javi had known not to expect to hear from you for a while. Likely not even immediately post your interview, probably needing a coffee—a breather.

If he lived there, where you were, you’d likely need him. Meet him outside, coffee in hand to give to you, a comforting hug, your breath on his neck as you let the tension out.

But he wasn’t there.

And he had thought he might have heard from you an hour later.

let me know how it’s gone baby

Javi tries not to be needy.

A battle he finds easy to lose when it comes to you. Digging his phone out the back pocket of his jeans periodically, ignoring the animals nuzzling their noses at him for food as he checks his battery, texts, calls…

Then the hour bled into two. Your interview was two-hundred and thirty-nine minutes ago, to be precise.

By now, he’s expected to have heard something, anything.

you still want me to call tonight

He tries not to worry. Even as his tasks dwindled, the sun beating down, his stomach growling and sweat building in parts of him that he should shower off.

But a part of him thinks if he goes inside, it’ll layer on top of him: the loneliness. The thing he feels, but pretends isn’t there.

Because normally, he’d have heard from you at lunch—if not more frequently throughout your day. The silence expected, very out of character. Which turns some cogs in him that twist and tighten, forcing his throat to burn and his stomach to flutter with a nervousness he can’t explain, except that:

Javi wants you.

Not just in the sense that he wants to run his fingers up and down your side, to crush his lips over yours, to bury himself inside of you as he feels himself falling, freely, and happily. But more that he wants to wake next to you, see you smile and laugh amongst the field, show you the water’s edge—feel some contentment there rather than boiling anger at the boats.

You could wear your jacket as the weather cools, and spread your warmth from the photo strip to the rest of the ranch.

youre doing that thing where you make me worry, baby

Eventually, after much internal fighting, he heads in and showers.

Hands washing the day as he hopes the water will take away his worries too. Pressing his palm flat to the tiles, he allows the water to beat down on him—eyes occasionally glancing to the phone on the windowsill, willing it to light up.

He suspects it’s why he stays in a bit longer.

Allows the soap suds to have long since vanished down the plug hole, letting the water begin to go cold as he uses all of the water up.

It’s only when he’s dried off, thrown some comfier clothes on—sunk into his usual chair, does he rotate the phone in his hand. His fingers slid along the underside of his chin, eyes fixated on a photo of him and his parents—their faces beaming, smiling, his hands in theirs.

even got me using punctuation and everything

Please, he whispers.

To no one. Not his Pop in the next room, some show bleeding into the air. Just to himself, as he works the spot on his forehead.

You don’t text him back, but you do call bang on time.

He’s spent the last half an hour pretending he wasn’t loitering, while his pop pretended he wasn’t coming in to make drinks to check on him. Giving him that look, the one Javi had seen so often when he’d first come back from Cali.

All concern, all deep lines embedded with worries as he ticks, tick, ticked.

This was different. Something in his gut telling him that you weren’t okay, a need inside of him to get to you—pack a bag, head to the airport and hope there was a flight or something.

He only hadn’t because a part of him, small—but loud—hummed that it could be him. He could be the reason, the cause. It all too good to be true. His fingers pressing keys to read back his texts, see if he can find the cause—the moment it all began to spoil and undo.

The last hour of investigation led him to nothing. Irritation threading into his muscles until he heard the phone ring—loud, punching holes with its noise into his unravelling.

Smirking, he wipes his hands on his jeans, cocking his head around the doorway—checking for the flickering television and no lurking pop, before he unhooks the ringing phone from its place.

“Took you long enough, was about to ring you and ruin—”

“J—Javi?”

Sniffle. A sob. The beginnings of you splitting in two.

That’s what he hears—clear as anything. It cuts straight through his attempt at teasing and slices through him as though the sound was laced with the edge of a knife.

It’s instant, barely explainable, the way his stomach falls to his feet. His smile vanishes, stolen and robbed, as another sob expands in the space of your two’s silence, making his throat dry, and the phone crunches a little under his grip.

“Baby. Talk to me, what’s happened?”

You swallow, all thick, as though it's a struggle. “I… I—I didn’t g-get the job-b.”

Slowly, his eyes close. Hearing you cry again, louder, less restrained and more freely, them rolling and rolling from you like a wave. The depth of it travels freely down the phone, in the same way, he usually craves when it’s your voice, noise, or presence.

“I’m… cariño, I’m so—”

“—I’m s-sorry, Javi. I’m so sorry…”

Frowning, he slides the fingers down his nose as you continue to apologise—them merging with your hiccups and tears.

“Cariño, wait. Stop.”

And you do. Your sniffles all of a sudden ceasing, more restrained—practically swallowing another one back. Trying to keep it on your tongue, rather than let it escape.

“Why are you apologising to me?”

You’re quiet for a moment, a second. Then you seem to let out a strange noise, before clearing your throat. “The job… I… we’d have been seeing each other more, and I’ve ruined it—I ruined-d it all.”

Frowning, he opens his mouth. Confusion there, all evident and brimming. Because he hasn’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about. His brain runs, dashing through the notes it’s been making, the snippets here and there you’d spill about your day and your work.

“It was-s in Houston. I’d have been able t-to move. We’d have been c-closer.”

And then it lands.

The realisation. What it would have meant.

It appears in front of him before it slams straight into him. Forced his head to drop, sight lowering to a mark on the wall as his chest tightens. His eyes fixated, unable to tear his eye from the stain on the off-yellow wall—one likely made from him sitting on a stool or chair, maybe even his knee when he’s stretched, when minutes have quickly tumbled into an hour.

Even if he’s reeling, your ramblings have continued. They’re all in various pitches, spluttered and painted in painful cries and strangled sniffs.

“—I—I didn’t want to tell you at first, in case we didn’t, you know, get on.” You continue, some words slamming into the next as you try to level out your cries. “Then I didn’t want to tell you in case you got excited, and I fucked it up—and I did, didn’t I? I fucked it up. And now we won’t live closer, and—“

“Baby—“

But you’re tumbling, rolling right off the emotional cliff you’d been on the edge of. Thick, horrid sobs that shake his foundation and dart cracks through all of him continue to travel from you.

And it hurts. Makes him feel both horrid and weak—helpless. Unsure what he can say, do.

So he offers, “They’ll be other jobs.”

And as soon as it unfurls from his tongue, he wants to drag it back. Swallow each syllable, and letter, and never let you hear them again.

Because he’s sure you cry harder, louder. Even if it appears like you pull the phone away so he can’t hear how deep they go.

And you keep trying to spill out his name, a sentence here and there, trying to form as he pushes the phone against his ear, palm flattening against the wall—balling his fingers up—

“There won’t be…”

Sighing, he lets you take a breath. “Baby, of course, there will be. You’re good, I can tell, alright? And you’re brilliant and just cause those fuckin’ idiots can’t see—“

“I quit, Javi.”

The words he’d been about to say, fizz out on his tongue, die, fade. And it seems to only make you cry harder. His mind trying to catch up, to follow on with what is happening as you explain, in broken sobs, how your entire life seems to crumble apart all around you.

“I… I couldn’t take it. The reason, the explanation. How they gave it to the new guy, the one who doesn’t even know how Houston operates—and I just saw red, Javi. And I quit. Me? I… I just packed my desk up, left….”

He bites the inside of his cheek, listening as you take a breath—it sounds so much like defeat has replaced your sorrow.

“Then I just wandered. A box under my arm… and… I wanted to reply, but I didn’t know where to start. Like, ‘I miss you so much, but by the way, I didn’t get that promotion, and I snapped because they treat me like shit, so I quit. That my best friend is so excited because they’re paying for her to move this month for her new job, and my lease on my apartment is coming up’ and…”

“And what?”

It’s your turn to sigh, it more shaky and still embezzled with sniffles—fluttering down to his ear. “And…” you pause, his pulse suddenly quickening, waiting, mouth opening and then closing. “And, the person who would make me feel better isn’t even in the same State as me—because, I know this sounds crazy, but as soon as I heard why I didn’t get that job, all I wanted… well, all I wanted was you.”

Me?

His lips curl, sliding up into his cheek. His eyes look up, dancing around the marks on the wall as he straightens his spine, and swallows back whatever lump had been forming.

“I just…” you continue, “wanted to be back in that hotel room. Curled up in your arms.”

“You….” Clearing his throat, he tries again. “You know how we could solve that? You could come here—clear your head… just for a minute. Get all the hugs you want.”

You let out a noise, low, shifting it from it to a breath in record time. “Well, I wouldn’t be much fun. I’d just spend it in your bed.”

“That doesn’t sound all that bad, baby.”

“Sleeping and crying, do it for you, charmer?”

He grins, before rolling his lips. “Not if it’s not from how good I make you feel, no. But. I just—want you to have options.”

You go silent, far too quiet for his liking, until he hears the sound of movement, shuffling. His ears honing in, trying to work out what it is you’re doing, could be doing.

“What am I actually gonna do, Javi?”

Fuck. It suddenly dawning on him how unequipped he is for this. For comfort—for being there for another person. He barely looked after himself before, never mind since he came home. He hasn’t got a fucking clue what to say to even begin to make someone feel better, never mind someone who means as much to him as you.

“I… I quit my job. Without even finding another one—that’s… that’s crazy, insane—I don’t do these things and-and—“

Rolling his head on his neck, he ran a hand over his face. Trying to buy a second or two, digging deep for an answer—something comforting that would help.

“You, baby, are gonna get some sleep, and tomorrow we’re gonna sort it.”

He hears you swallow. Loud, followed shortly after by a sigh.

“We?”

You say it quietly, full of disbelief.

Because only you still wouldn’t realise how deep he is in with you. If he could, if he could risk hijacking the moment to explain, he’d tell you how worried he’s been, how he’s been obsessively checking and clicking, to the point he’s pretty sure he’s taken some life of his phone battery for it.

Swallowing, he bites his lip, nodding to himself. “It’s you and me, ain’t it, cariño? You’re not… you don’t have to figure this out alone, is all I mean.”

It’s soft—the way you reply, okay. Delicate. He’s hopeful it’s accompanied by a smile, one with a nose scrunch.

“Javi?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”

Pulling a stool over, he sits himself down on it. The ache in his chest widened, a lump in his throat forming. “Sure, baby. You want me to talk about anything in particular?”

“Not sure…”

“What would you do if I was there?”

He swears he hears you smirk.

“I would cook you almond saffron chicken.”

Shifting on the stool, he adjusts the phone in his hand. “Yeah? How come?”

“It’s the first dish Aish taught me to make, and I think you’d like it. And, I’m quite hungry, I… I didn’t really feel up to food before. But maybe, y’know, if I came to see you, had the chance to cook, maybe over a long weekend?”

Smirking, he lets out a content breath. “I like the sound of it already…”

“Because of me cooking in your kitchen?”

Laughing, he rolls his lips. “No, because it would mean you were here, cariño.

Morning baby, hope the cows aren’t trying to eat your shirt.

morning hermosa why are you up so early

Well, I thought of having a lie in but decided to grab a coffee, print off some CVs and not look as desperate as I feel.

if it makes you feel better im pretty sure my pop would hire you in a heartbeat

Bet I’d look real good in dungarees.

fuck baby

Could even wear your shirt, tie it so it’s a crop.

youre killing me

I’ll leave you with that, I have a list of places to beg to give me a chance.

wouldnt need to beg me

Stop, baby. Save it for later.

He’d barely dried himself off before your text came through.

Javi had found that the one upside to you being unemployed was the amount of time you had to reply or call—something he wasn’t complaining about in the slightest.

In a way (a small, acceptable way), it felt like a taste of what it would be like if the two of you lived closer. If there weren’t towns, cities and states between the two of you. If you lived close by, or better yet, on the ranch with him.

Across the last few days, while you’d seemed upbeat through text—just as you were when the two of you were in Houston—he quickly realised how much of a mask that was when he had you on the phone.

If not for the fact that when you ended the call, you seemed more yourself than when it started, Javi would have already begged someone from a ranch or two over to help, and book a flight out to surprise you.

“Hello, charmer.”

Grinning, he runs his hand over his chin. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Well, I have good news.”

“What’s that then?”

“Remember when I said I had to meet with someone in Houston, from imports? Well, apparently, they’ve been trying to get hold of me at work—one of the few nice people there let me know, even passed my details on.”

It begins—right in his stomach. A nervousness, a bubble—it rising and rising, sliding into his heart as it makes it beat just that much quicker.

“He wants to meet with me… apparently, I impressed him?”

“That’s—fuck, that’s amazing, baby.”

Javi can almost hear your grin as you laugh—can even picture you hiding your face in your hand at his happiness.

“Yeah,” you say, more in a sigh than anything else. “It’s obviously just an interview—maybe even a chat, but it’s something.”

Tracing the back of the phone with his finger, he runs his fingers up his neck, up his chin—

Pulse thumping in his neck. “I could… Could always drive up, see you after?”

“Oh… um?”

Oh? He thinks. The noise suddenly on repeat. It’s all he can hear—that little surprised noise rips from your throat and punctures his ear. His own fingers scratching at his cheek.

And then you clear your throat, and he grits his jaw. “Well, if you wanted, once I’ve had my meeting with him, I was going to ask if I could come to Laredo, see the ranch… and you?”

Just as quickly as it came, the earlier shame from your ‘oh’ vanishes. It bursts, erupts into a thousand pieces of nothing as the edges of his lips begin to curl up.

“For a second, didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

You don’t laugh, don’t ridicule his confession, and if you were here, he’d imagine you’d have tilted your head in that way you do.

“Javi, of course, I want to see you. I…” you take a long pause as though battling with yourself. “Baby, I’ve been trying to find my way back to you since the moment I left you. There’s nothing I want more than to see you. I promise.”

His shoulders descend from his ears, a smile spreading across his face so large—he’s not sure anything could take it. Something inside of him shifted, sliding back together.

“So, do you mind if I come to see you on your ranch? Bother your animals, let me admire your fence work?”

If he hadn’t been sure before, he’s sure now he would have kissed you. Grip you by your cheeks and crash his mouth to yours, stealing that question mark from the air and using his lips to remind you that with him, you never need it.

But, since he can’t, he finds words. One’s that are more eloquent than ‘fuck, yes’, but are close in family to it.

Because, of course, he wants to see you. He never wanted to let you go in the first place.

an: we have next weeks and then an epilogue, and LNT 'main story' will be done. honestly, thank you for all the love as we've gone on this journey. i never expected this for one second, and i'm so emotional right now at how well loved/supported this story has been. i'm gonna miss it, so much.

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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zoropookie · 23 days

Text

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-one — oh no, he’s hot! (💋)

You can’t believe you agreed to this.

Oh wait, actually you can. Your mind keeps deciding what’s good for you, but was your mind even in the right place anyway? It’s really hard to come to terms with this right now while you’re sitting in Scaramouche’s passenger seat.

Was the Inazuma party that great for him to offer on his own to pick you up? If it weren’t for your absolute mastermind of a plan, you’d definitely say no. Hopefully?

But the both of you nestling in the straw bed of silence wasn’t on your bucket list for said plan. “How much longer?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between you two like a thick fog.

“Thirty minutes.” Scaramouche’s dull tone was a true testament to the silence that encompassed them moments ago. It was kind of sad.

“And…how long was it when you started..?” You hesitantly drawled.

“Thirty-two minutes.”

“Oh my god,” You muttered, sinking into your seat. You should have never agreed for him to give you a ride, it’s like his brooding broodiness was plaguing your lungs.

But for some reason! You kept trying. “So! Uh…what made you want to pick me up anyway? We’ve got…some interesting history for you to be making this kind of effort right now!”

“I don’t do small talk.”

“Look, you gotta give me something. I’m dying here.” You pleaded with your eyes, probably the only sort of manipulation tactic you could try and use on him.

He let out a long, drawn out sigh. His violet eyes briefly flickering to meet yours before returning to the road. “It was either that, or bartend.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s it?” You raised an eyebrow, cheeks puffed from your fight to keep a laugh in. “You didn’t just want to be a good Samaritan, or what?”

“Do I look like I’d do something out of the goodness of my heart?” Scaramouche’s expression turned sour.

“I don’t know! You’re alright, I guess.” You caught yourself staring for a lot longer than expected, “Uhh, in the way that a clown at kids birthday parties has an extensive knife paraphernalia…kind of…alright?”

You cringed. This is a horrible conversation, even more so now that Scaramouche was willing to ignore what you said.

But the quieter it got, the better it was to hear a small laugh come out of his mouth. Even if you could barely hear the humor he got out of it. You looked at him, catching a glimpse of his mouth turned upwards.

There it was. The butterflies roaming in your stomach, vicariously reminding you of your own carefree mind. A faint glimmer of his amusement was enough to make you nervous, even when he barely made an effort to keep the small smile.

The crack in his demeanor returned to normal, once again unreadable. "Is that all you got?"

You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of response, shoulder slumping. The awkward feeling was pretty much gone, but at what cost to your dignity? "Yeah, I guess so."

“You’re alright too, (Y/N).”

“Huh? I am..?" Oh no, he’s hot!

“Yeah. It’s unfortunate.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

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agentstarkid · 1 month

Text

SAUDADE ✦ DR3

“Saudade” is a Portuguese word that carries a profound and complex meaning, often described as a deep emotional state of longing or nostalgia. It transcends mere language; it's a state of being, an emotion that seeps into the soul and lingers like an echo in the heart. It encompasses a mix of emotions, including melancholy, yearning, and a sense of emptiness, often accompanied by fond memories of past experiences or relationships. In the context of love, "saudade" captures the bittersweet essence of missing someone deeply, even when they are physically present or long after they are gone. It is the ache of the heart that comes from loving and losing, a poignant reminder of the depth of connection and the enduring power of love's impact on our lives.

✦ pairing: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ type: social media au

✦ fc: becky g

✦ warnings: female!reader, latina!reader, age gap, language, lots of angst, heartbreak, drama, internet meanies, mentions of mental health struggles, assholes.

✦ pit wall live: uh holi, loves 👀 sorry for the delay, but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter 👀 it's a little short but as present for not posting in March, I present to you: a bonus chapter hehe okay, byeeee *runs away as fast as she can*

─── The Joker & The Queen (Masterlist)

JANUARY 1, 2022

yourinstagram

📍 Latinoamérica

liked by danielricciardo, badbunnypr, rubendias and 2,145,873 others

yourinstagram Starting the New Year on a bright note! ✨ Wearing yellow to channel optimism and positive energy as we dive into this new year. 💛 I'm so so so grateful for all the love and support you've shown me throughout the past year and I'm excited to continue this journey together in 2022. Here's to another year of growth, laughter, and cherished memories! Siempre para adelante, mi gente! 🎉

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View all 952.512 comments

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danielricciardo Mi reina ❤️‍🔥

user1 I wanted to take this space to thank you for the happiness you have brought me over the years. Your music or your works of art have been a constant company in moments of joy, sadness and everything in between. Your talent is enormous, but so is your ability to connect with your fans in a unique way. Your humility and gratitude show that, despite the success, you are still a close and authentic person. Thanks for all that you do!

camila_cabello Good god woman have mercy

kylieminogue you are sensationally exquisite 💛✨

xtina my angel ❤️

user2 jawline could cut a diamond 🥶

user3 muy buena artista pero sobrevalorada respecto a su belleza, y no digo que no sea guapa sino sobrevalorada

user4 you could wear the rainbow if you wanted and that would still not make you relevant or give you any talent

user5 she always tries too hard

user6 watch out for Regina George in sheep's clothing

anitta Feliz ano novo para você Rainha 😘

diplo 💛

user7 the fact that they spent new year's day apart and on different sides of the world speaks volumes

user what? that they both wanted to see their families? grow up

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yourinstagram has added to their story!

⥂ translation: Everything I do and comes out of me it's because I'm feeling it, it's okay if no one else feels the same way. Two people can never ever feel the same at the same time.

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JANUARY 16, 2022

danielricciardo

📍 Perth, Australia

liked by yourinstagram, heidiberger_, natalie_pinkham and 1,562 others

danielricciardo Back seat baby seat bangers 🎶

tagged: yourinstagram

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yourinstagram this is all anyone needs to have a great day ❤️ please send me his manager's contact, I've been looking for a male backing vocal for my next album and I think he can be the perfect choice 😌

danielricciardo yourinstagram ah, you see, he's a really sought-after artist so he's super busy. But I know his uncle and he's interested on the job, only thing is that he likes to be paid with kisses 💋😏 yourinstagram danielricciardo tell him to contact me, I think we will be able to work out the payment details soon 😌

yourinstagram btw how is it possible that he's that big now if I saw him like yesterday and he was this 🤏🏽 small 🥺❤️

user1 is the copying the hand movements for me 😂❤️

user2 so this is how Y/N's future is gonna look like 👀

userA all that's missing is the ring 👀 userB yeah danielricciardo stop being lazy my friend 👀

user3 you're gonna be a great dad one day ❤️🥺

♥ yourinstagram has liked this comment

user4 siempre dije que no quiero ser mamá, pero después de ver esto... yourinstagram mi reina quién pudiera ser vos 😮‍💨

user5 coisa mais linda! ❤️

user6 Daniel really sang his heart out to that song lmao

user7 you have really shit taste in music mate

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FEBRUARY 4, 2022

yourinstagram

liked by danielricciardo, keleighteller, natalie_pinkham and 1,238,562 others

yourinstagram Te amo con el alma, porque el alma nunca muere ❤️ happy 2 years, mi Danielito 🥰

⥂ translation: I love you with my whole soul, because the soul never dies ❤️

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danielricciardo My forever partner in crime ❤️

user1 cuide a ese hombre yourinstagram, que tu y yo no somos amigas 🫡

user2 oh God I'm so single 😩

mileycyrus so much love and happiness for you both ❤️❤️❤️

user3 THAT LAST PHOTO IT'S GIVING I'D MARRY YOU WITH PAPER RINGS 😭 SO 1 + 1 = THEY ARE GETTING ENGAGED‼️‼️

userA I'm so calling it, it is happening 🤩

user4 LIL BLAKE SIGHTING 😍😍😍

hermusicofficial favs

user5 she was talking seriously when she recorded A mi me gustan mayores 😅

userA será que aplica el "A mí me gustan más grandes. Que no me quepa en la boca..." con él?? 👀👀👀 yourinstagram userA los besos que quiera darme? 👀 sí, aplica 🤭😈 userB OMFG Y/N???!!! LMAOOO iamdannaschwarz yourinstagram that's enough internet for you today 🙅🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

chloestroll did he really cook? 😂

yourinstagram chloestroll he did! and it was really good actually 🥰 I felt ✨spoiled✨

oliviarodrigo mom and dad 💜

user6 the first pic is making me feel something. i don't know how to put that something into words though 🥵 *bi panics*

userA JUST A BIG FUCKING OOF I GUESS 🥵 userB they served cunt as per usual userC I grunted and groaned and moaned 🫠😩

user7 I'm so tired of them omg yeah, you're "in love", we see you, now stop shoving it at our faces every chance you have 🙄

fioamato congrats Sandy and Danny 😜💖

iamdannaschwarz Baby and Danny 😜💖 itsvittoriasousa nah, more like Troy and Gabriella landonorris Belle and the Beast 😜 yourinstagram landonorris aww did littol landow nowis just called me beautiful? 👀😊 landonorris nvm I take it back. Fiona and Shrek* 😌 yourinstagram landonorris well that makes you the donkey 😂

user8 every time I remember that there's a 9 year gap between them I wanna puke 🤮

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danielricciardo

liked by yourinstagram, martingarrix, landonorris and 1,562 others

danielricciardo happy 2 years mi vida ❤️

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user "mi vida" brb gonna go chew on a live wire 😭

yourinstagram let's do this for a lifetime ❤️♾️

danielricciardo you have yourself a deal, Chip ❤️

user2 hey God, it's me again...

martingarrix ❤️❤️❤️

user3 these adorable videos ending with daniel squeezing y/n's butt is so dan-y/n core 🥹😝

marcusstoinis congrats, lovebirds ❤️

user4 did they leave their own love lock on the fence? 🥹😭

userA I don't think we'll ever find it, but I'm sure they did 😭

landonorris congrats on putting up with him this long yourinstagram ❤️

joshallenqb 🍾❤️

user5 somethin something "find a beautiful love, make sure they know they are your morning light" playing while the sunset iluminates her and cutting to "and that you'll never let go till the day that you die" while he has his arms around her 😭😭😭

userA THIS HERE IS LOVE 😭 THIS HERE IS LIFE 😭 userB something something he's got a tattoo of that song's title 😭 userC somebody get me a fucking doctor I feel like my heart is about to burst

scottyjames31 my favorite celebrity couple 😌

caamp we love you guys ❤️

user5 grandpa copping a feel 🤢

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FEBRUARY 10, 2022

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FEBRUARY 22, 2022

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MARCH 8, 2022

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MARCH 9, 2022

danielricciardo

liked by mclaren, georgerussell63, heidi_berger and 584,981 others

danielricciardo Better this week than next… Unfortunate to miss the test, but I’m starting to feel better. I’ll stay isolated and just focus on next weekend. Big thanks to Lando & McLaren for the heavy lifting, I owe you some beers (milk for Lando). Appreciate the well wishes from everyone as well.

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landonorris get well soon mate!

georgerussell63 speedy recovery danny ric 💪🏻

user did you and Y/N broke up??? please tell me it's a lie

user2 Y/N hasn't liked nor comment yet and it's been 2 whole days since he posted this

userA why whould she? they are quarantining together, she doesn't need to comment or liked every single post he makes. They are probably sitting side by side right now userB userA there's actually rumours that she was seen leaving the hotel in a rush yesterday and fans are already speculating if they broke up

user3 I hope you feel better soon Dan! I know we all wish to see you in action next weekend!!

user4 "milk for Lando" lmaooo i love them your honor <3

user5 this is your year mate don't let any setbacks bring you down 💪🏻

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MARCH 18, 2022

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MARCH 25, 2022

f1wags

liked by 3,474 others

f1wags It seems Danny Ricc has moved on quickly 👀 Just after a week since the confirmation of his break up with Y/N, a few fans have reported sightings of the driver with actress Heidi Berger —who has been linked to him a few times these past months— around Monaco.

The blonde is the daughter of former Austrian F1 driver Gerhard Berger and former Portuguese model Ana Corvo.

This love triangle drama just keeps getting juicier and more complicated! 🔥 What are you thoughts, did the Aussie cheated on his ex-girlfriend as some people say? Did he moved on too fast? or did he do the right thing? Let us know in the comments!

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user I actually feel bad for Y/N, not a fan of hers at all but it must be hard to see the man you were talking of marriage with a month ago, move on from your relationship so quickly and easily. if it were me in her shoes, I know it'd really mess my head up 😕

user2 idc if he'd not been with Heidi physically while being with Y/N, it's still treason to be emotionally involved with someone else while you're in a relationship. I believe he already had feelings for Heidi while still being with Y/N because how the fuck can you move on from a whole 2-year relationship in two weeks?? I only hope Y/N is doing okay and that she gets to heal and find someone better for her 😞

user3 you can try to defend him with all the arguments you can think of but at the end of the day, he is still just a rich man. It's funny how you've been all pointing fingers at the innocent while playing lawyer to the guilty.

user4 I'm a Danny Ricc fan but I think this was too fast too soon, at least have some respect for your ex who stood by your side through the highs and lows of the past years, smh so disappointed

user5 Get over it already! He moved on to someone better, as he should. Let the poor man alone! He's been single for weeks! He's allowed to see anyone he wants! Stop whining about it, Y/N just wasn't enough, as simple as that 🤷🏽‍♀️

user6 I'm actually super worried for him, he's not himself lately. Just a few weeks ago he was calling Y/N the love of his life and now this? All jokes aside, I think he's self-sabotaging. He looks like a shell of his old-self, he is not smiling as bright as before, he's super quiet now and if you pay attention to him during interviews, he fidgets a lot and sounds so insecure when asked about his driving. GO TO THERAPY BABE!!!

userA you are reaching, babe! lmaoooo he's fine, he just got tired of that snake 🤪

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APRIL 2, 2022

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APRIL 4, 2022

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APRIL 22, 2022

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MAY 3, 2022

danielricciardo

liked by corey_wilson, michaelitaliano, mclaren and 269,852 others

danielricciardo Miami. We made it.

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user i guess this is the confirmation we've been waiting for

user2 how can you move on from a 2 year relationship so fast??

user3 ugh men are so fucking unbelievable

userA jokes on all those whiny fangirls of his, turns out it wasn't he who deserved better, it was HER.

user4 he is a joke just like his driving lmao

user5 Heidi is so much better than that wannabe singer, she was just a plaything for him 🤣

user6 I'm so glad you opened up your eyes daniel

user7 so all those rumours have been true smh y'all were attacking Y/N nonestop for the smallest interactions with the opposite sex, and none of those rumours proved to be true but I'm not seeing the same energy directed towards him now that the rumours about him were actually true!

user8 I just know that the break up album is gonna be a banger 🔥🤪

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This post has been deleted

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MAY 10, 2022

yourinstagram has added to their story!

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JUNE 19, 2022

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⇥ youtube search: falling (harry & y/n's duet version) - love on tour, london night 1

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JUNE 22, 2022

yourinstagram

liked by markhoppus, phoebebridgers, rubendias and 2,145,873 others

yourinstagram burned other memories just to make room for these ones 🎞️❤️‍🔥

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View all 75.364 comments

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user HI MOTHER!! WELCOME BACK WE MISSED YOU ❤️❤️❤️

user1 we love to see you living your best life!!! 🥰

user2 Can't wait to listen to the full version of the song she plays on the last slide 🤩

userA Daniel Ricciardo is shaking in his boots right now 🤪

machinegunkelly 🖤🥀🤘🏼

user3 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

markhoppus kid what are you holding on your lap and why it isn't on my liquor shelf yet? 🤨

yourintagram sorry dad 😔 it's on its way to your doorstep right now 🤪 skyehoppus yourintagram make sure you are also included on the package arriving at our door, it's been too long honey ❤️ userA “dad”??? she knows mark hoppus?? what did i miss?? 😳 userB userA they have an on-going joke that mark found her wandering around and adopted her as one of the few blink-182's children along alex gaskarth and jack barakat from all time low 😂 she's super close with his family, too! I remember she collab on a song with him, but they didn't released it and then it got leaked, she did play it at a couple of concerts tho userC userB is it 'thank you & goodnight'? 👀 userB userC YES! I miss her pop-punk era 😔 that version she did of 'little lion man' was soooo good!!

user4 Baby Iza is on her way to hit a bitch (Daniel)

alexalbon I like pizza too 👀🍕

lilymhe sorry baby, bad bitches only 💅🏻

user5 OMG OMG WE'VE GOT HARRY, TAYLOR AND Y/N IN ONE POST?! THE HOLY TRINITY RIGHT THERE 😍

harrystyles ❤️

user6 I've got my two mothers in one photo 😭❤️

taylorswift Ms. Falls-a-lot 👻❤️

yourinstagram I swear I'm gonna scare you too next time 🙄😂

lilymhe walking among legends on this post 🙇🏻‍♀️ #blessed 🙏🏻

user6 I'm so happy that she's finally back ❤️ we need to flood her comment section with love 🥰

user7 Drama queen of this generation. Always playing the victim & tricking people into thinking that she's a mental health advocate. You're way too far from that. Cancel her 👍🏻🐍

user8 the caption: ICONIC 🔥

userA the taxi driver is twisting on his grave 😂🤪

user9 the old Y/N can't come to the phone right now, why? Oh 'cause she's DEAD! 😎

user10 most untalented celeb ever

fioamato where was my invitation? 🤨 yourinstagram iamdannaschwarz

iamdannaschwarz you got one, you just decided to ditch us for mr. i-have-an-art-gallery 🤨 yourinstagram iamdannaschwarz yessss expose her, dannita! 🤭 No te hagas de la víctima, mi corazón. We've got the receipts 😎🧾 fioamato I hate you both 🙄

user11 you should be ashamed to post a photo holding a tequila bottle when so many young people follow you. You should be a role model to them, not another alcoholic celebrity 🙄

user12 babygirl I hope you are doing better and feeling great! You deserve so much more ❤️

userA she's as fabulous as ever while he's floping big time, I call that karma 💅 userB not many people know how to truly appreciate the unique sazón and sabor of a Latina 🔥 homeboy couldn't handle the heat 🤭

user13 I know that album is gonna be 🔥🔥🔥

user14 attention seeker no wonder you always get dump for someone better

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JUNE 30, 2022

Video — CLEAN SHEET KINGS | STONES & DIAS

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─── Please don't forget to reblog and/or comment! ♡

#daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo social media au #daniel ricciardo instagram au #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #latina!reader #daniel ricciardo x female reader #( agentstarkid's works )

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lettersofgold · 4 months

Text

-> unthinkable | chapter one | jules k.

genre: angst, fluff | authors note: i would like to reiterate that the self insert reader, y/n, is a black girl with a black girl as a face claim. although this is catered to black women, i hope you enjoy the fic. i want to be able to create works inclusive and catered to under represented woc - hope you understand & support. no hate will be tolerated.

warnings: google translations, loosely proofed

summary: jules could never get it quite right. no girl gave him the feeling that he had with you. he wasn’t even sure he knew how to love a woman until you came into his life - even when he was dating around, his loyalty and heart were with you. you couldn’t find someone who stirred the feeling of love in you the way jules did, but he was just a friend and he wasn’t done playing the field. the two of you were giving each other the love you both never felt before and after fighting it for so long, you realized you both deserved it and you were finally ready.

[ pictured fc: corey - black!fem!reader - kaia ]

Chapter 1

“Have you ever been in love?” You leaned into the French man who leaned into you at the same time - it was a sight to see: your elbow on the bar, the palm of your hand holding your tilted head, and him - his eyes unwavering and whiskey brown under the warm glow of the restaurant bar. Jules' head dropped to his lap as he laughed. The engagement party ended a while ago, but the two of you had comfortably sat at the bar talking about your lives and how you got to this point. It was over-sharing, but you both felt comfortable sharing the gritty moments that shaped you as people. Neither of you expected a mundane evening ending up at a bar telling your life story to a stranger. In the end though, you wouldn’t be strangers at all.

“Have I? Oh, Mon Dieu, I have loved women more times than I can remember.” (Oh my god)

Those first few hours with Jules were magnetic, borderline kismet, and there was not a single person who could have stopped the soulful hold you would have on one another. You previously described to your friends before your fateful decision to leave your home and find a new home in Barcelona; there was a piece of you, just a piece of your heart that hadn’t been touched in the relationships you were in before. You loved those men and were sure of that, but were you in love with them? The answer you and your friends decided on was a hearty no. Alongside their answers came warnings of the consequences of finally opening your mind and heart to complete, encompassing love. A breakup was no longer a simple text that decides who picks up the boxes of things. When you truly fall in love, and your heart gets broken, you grieve for an entire man who would go on living, a man who creates a new world where you are no longer a part of it. A heart grieves when it breaks, not because of sadness but because the grief was proof you had been in love all along.

“Everyone has loved someone. But have you been in love, Jules? Truly and surely, in love?” He blew a soft breath and answered because he came to terms with the things he wouldn’t grasp until he retired: “I wish I could have been in love or be in love, but my career hasn’t given me a chance to even dream of it.”

Jules did not plan on attending his trainer’s engagement party. He cared about the couple dearly. In retrospect, his relationship with Corey was beyond a footballer and his trainer. It was a man-to-man talk about life, love, and a bunch of sharing shit while working out and doing physiotherapy. Corey knew more about Jules' love life than any of his other clients and Jules was the one he called, sweaty and shaking before his proposal to Kaia. Yet caring about the couple wasn’t enough to combat the exhausting life he had been living - between the situationship, the season, his injuries, and the lack of sleep - he craved being alone. He found himself with crippling relationship issues when he wasn’t even in a relationship. He wanted a night alone, away from everything, to decompress and get quality rest but those dreamy ideas crumbled once Kaia’s cheerful voice met his ears. “I’m so excited to see you! I can’t wait to hear all about how you helped Corey.” He prepared himself to be there and be supportive but he couldn’t plan what was meant to happen sitting at the bar sharing stories with you.

———

“I swear if you spill another thing in my kitchen, we’re going to have problems.” The threat was far from empty, Jules knew that. He laughed and his voice drowned out the low sound of Sza’s melody that hummed into the air.

Your kitchen was homey and almost ancient. Anything that spilled ended up being a stain which, unfortunately, you learned after knocking over a huge cup of coffee. It took you weeks to clean it up and its ghost was still there next to the tiny dinner table. Months in Barcelona felt like you’d been there your entire life. You thought you were going to need to learn to love the city but it came easily. What worried you the most, after loving the city, was finding friends but once you met Kaia, so much fell into place. It warmed your heart to meet Kaia at a coffee shop during your first week at work. Coincidentally, she worked in the office at the school you taught at. If it wasn’t for her and her persistence of you attending her engagement party a few weeks later, you would not have met Jules. You’d be a recluse if not for your extroverted friends.

“I told you I couldn’t cook, blame yourself.” Jules argued with an extended arm and open palm towards the mess he created dicing the tomatoes. He always wanted to eat your food but never wanted to help, so you forced him to start pulling his weight. There were no free handouts - Jules was no exception.

“It’s amazing how skilled you are with your feet but you can’t do the most basic thing with your hands.”

“My hands work fine - never had any complaints.” Jules smirked, earning an eye roll from you. You could have never guessed that your closest friend would be a guy who happened to be a skilled professional footballer, especially one who found more comfort sleeping on the couch in your tiny apartment, than in his massive home with designer furniture. You stopped making dinner for just one because of Jules. It was habit that he would raid your fridge, eat the dinner and then tell you how unhealthy yet delicious it was.

“Candace seems to have a lot of complaints.” You teased and it was Jules’ turn to roll his eyes. Jules sighed and ran his hands down his face.

“Oh Mon Dieu cette femme.” He complained. (Oh my god that woman.)

Until Jules, you had never met a man so unphased by the sheer amount of women that he dated. One week a girl was there and then the next week, they weren’t seen again. Women came and went and his latest girlfriend wasn’t exactly someone you saw as a friend, either. Candace had a hold over Jules. She had been around for a little over a month - a personal record for your noncommittal friend. Candace would not budge when it came to Jules. She wanted it to be clear who she was to any person who was in the same vicinity, breathing the same air, to know that Jules’ was her man. In her mind, Jules’ was hers to keep and it didn’t seem that Jules was trying to get rid of her. He just complained. It was Jules’ own downfall because he never set boundaries for her to not cross and you weren’t going to be the one to tell him that she had hungry eyes and you knew it wasn’t for him but for the life he could give her. You had only been around Candace a handful of times but that was enough to make you exhausted - you avoided her if you could. Luckily she didn’t live in the same city so she was rarely with the rest of the friend group that you grew to know and love.

“You know what I’m going to say.” You replied.

“Yes, yes. ‘Why don’t you just leave her?’” He mocked in a high pitched voice. “It’s not that easy, poto.” (Friend)

“I think it is. But if you like it, then I love it.”

You gave up long ago trying to get it through his thick skull that he didn’t owe her, or anyone, his time and his energy if they frustrated him so much. The sex must be absolutely amazing for him to still have her in his life. The thought of it made you frown but you moved past that disappointment and focused on other things that weren’t correlated to your best friend’s sex life. At the end of the day, Jules was still just a man who had to learn his lesson and no amount of chastising from his friends would change that. A man with needs, you thought as you recalled her perfectly sculpted figure. Jules had a type and you were completely opposite of it. Did it bother you? A little. Would it ever truly matter? No. You turned back to the pasta on the stove as Sza’s voice continued to sing: I came to your city, lookin’ got lovin’ and licky ‘cause you promised to put it down.

“All done.” Jules commented as he stood behind you while dumping the plate of terribly diced tomatoes into the pan. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders before resting his chin on your head. Jules was a koala, clinging onto anything with a pulse. He lived up to the French stereotypes: fashionable, passionate, and very loving. If he wasn’t touching you, he was fiddling with his fingers or his hair.

“You haven’t been to a match in a while, why?” He questioned slowly.

“J, I love you but I don’t want to see you chase a ball around for two hours.”

“I don’t chase it…I score.” You could hear the pout in his voice and it made you giggle.

“The weekends are the only time I get to rest!” You argued. It was true that you didn’t want to watch men run back and forth but you weren’t telling Jules the thought of being stuck in a room with all those people wasn’t boring but actually agonizing.

“I check ESPN to see what’s happening - it’s basically the same thing.” You pulled out of Jules’ hold and began setting the table. Jules eyed you with folded arms before muttering out, “Liar.”

“You always tell me what happened in the game. Why watch when you tell me?” You continued to explain. That was about as strong as your argument was going to get. You did not want Jules to know the idea of being there was making you uneasy. Especially if Candace was in attendance. He said she was harmless. All bark, no bite. Regardless, of whatever dog-like tendencies she did or didn’t possess, you wanted little to do with her. You learned a long ago that your friends’ love lives were not your business.

“It’s better in person AND you can hang out with Candace and the other girls and talk about how hot the players are or whatever.” Jules furrowed his brows before questioning, “what do girls talk about up there?”

“Don’t ask me, I haven’t been in forever. I doubt any girl I know is even still around.”

You met a few of the WAGs months ago when you first arrived to Barcelona and hadn’t kept up with any of them since. Majority of them were nice but you kept to yourself and decided that you weren’t in a hurry to go back. The food and drinks were nice, seeing Jules happy made you happy, but there was just no desire to go. Jules sat at the tiny kitchen table and you followed and placed the two bowls of pasta down. The table was incredibly small and whenever Jules sat with you his knees touched yours.

“Why would I go to hang out in that suite?”

“Candace is going.” He said as if it was obvious.

“Okay…and?” You questioned.

Jules was never one to speak outright about how he felt. He never wanted to make people think he needed anything. For a man who was in relationships constantly, he was very guarded. You saw parts of him that his fans, the public and even parts that Corey and Kaia didn’t see but, it still puzzled you that he had trouble opening up to you considering you never judged him. You shook it off, knowing that someone he trusted in the past used his vulnerability against him and as you looked at his pleading face, you couldn’t blame him for having his walls up. Yours had been up for years.

“She’s scared to go alone. She needs a friend.” He dropped his fork and put his hands in a begging motion, “Please? For me?”

You found yourself in between a rock and a hard place. You would do almost anything for Jules. The two of you bonded over loyalty and how important it was to you. You had your friends’ backs through thick and thin - even if it was a bit annoying, even if it was a request like this.

“You’re lucky I love you.” You sighed. Jules stared at his pasta with a beaming smile as if he won the match right there in your kitchen. You poked at your pasta aimlessly for a moment and considered all the ways you could back out when Jules made you feel even more guilty by continuing on about his matches.

“You should support me anyway, I’m the best footballer you know.”

“You’re the only footballer I know.”

It never crossed your mind that Jules wanted you to come to his matches. He, Kaia, and Corey knew weekends were your time to decompress after working with children all week. You were an English as a Second Language teacher at a small private school with the most incredible students. You cared for them as if they were your own, but with that came the emotional exhaustion from helping them navigate their futures, teenage melodrama, and the stress from their own personal expectations. It was the most fulfilling job you had thus far. You found purpose with the kids in your classes. It was a win-win situation - you spoke Spanish to the kids and they spoke English to you, all mixed with animated banter. Even on the worst of days, those students breathed life into you with their rambles and thoughts. You loved them to death.

“I’m very lucky. I love you too, poto.” (Friend)

“Can I invite Kaia, at least?”

“You can invite anyone. I just need to know a few days before so I can add you to the list.” Jules shoveled a large fork of pasta into his mouth and moaned aloud. The moan made you flush - Jules was attractive and that noise made him even more so. “You are the best cook, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You would survive and I don’t know, actually eat the stuff your chef cooks for you.”

——

It was a long week and no part of you was looking forward to the match. The thought of the crowd was intimidating but not as intimidating about being in the suite during such an important game. Jules mentioned once during the week that he was gunning for more - he wanted to play to his best potential and knowing your friend, there was nothing going to stop that. You admired Jules. Not only for his talent but for his work ethic and you were intrigued to see how he would channel all the ethic into the pitch (not field, as Jules scolded you once before.), since it had been months seen that last time you watched him play. Even in thinking about that admiration, you knew it wasn’t enough to help you navigate all the little social interactions that awaited you in the suite. Once you arrived at the stadium with Kaia and made it through the security check and finally got settled in the suite, you got a text. You decided that you would sit outside on the balcony on the first row with Candace in between you and Kaia in case you needed a moment alone. It was well before kick-off but it took you by surprise that Jules texted you. You hadn’t even got a chance to make a drink and head to your seat yet.

Ju: Candace is running late. Have fun, drink a beer.

You: Hate beer. Shouldn’t you be kicking a ball?

Ju: Yell loud for me.

You: Only if you score a goal and do a little dance. I bet you five dollars.

Ju: Make it dinner and five dollars.

You: you’ve got a deal

You were ripped out of your thoughts when a woman’s voice shrieked out and then, suddenly, her arms were wrapped around your midsection. One manicured hand was holding a drink that spilled down the entire front of your shirt as she bounced you around excitedly.

“Oh my gosh we have all been wondering about you! We were all asking, ‘where has Jules’ pretty little girlfriend been hiding?’”

You were spun around by the set of arms but your focus was solely on your soaking wet beige shirt and the fact that it was becoming see through. It was as if cold water had been splashed on you when you finally realized what she was saying, on top of the fact that the whole suite was staring at your chest. It could not have been more mortifying. As if you weren’t scared enough to begin with, the universe decided to add a sprinkle of disaster in the form of a blue mixed drink.

“Oh no, that’s not.” You stumbled and Kaia came to your aid with napkins. “I’m not his girlfriend. I’m just a friend and this is Kaia, my friend.”

“Oh my gosh! I could’ve sworn it was you! You’re Y/N, right?”

You nodded but you were wiping away at your shirt aggressively. You didn’t even know the lady’s name but she was staring at you as if she knew you, which, she apparently did. She knew your name and knew that you knew Jules.

“Iñigo says Jules talks about you all the time.” She said. Okay, that’s odd, you thought to yourself.

“I’m sorry I really need to get another shirt, is there anywhere I can get one?” You pleaded with strong dismissal of the information that was dropped on you. Why was Jules talking about you to his teammates? You grabbed your purse in a hurry and told Kaia to stay in case Candace arrived while you were gone. You needed a moment to breathe and secure a shirt before the game started. The shop was a mad house of fans and you were growing irritable with the sugar from her drink beginning to stick to your skin. You opted for a simple Barca t-shirt and as you turned away from the register you bumped into a man - a very handsome man at that. You apologized and he disarmed all that irritably you harbored with his smile and sweet, smooth voice. He was an olive skinned man with a wide smile, accented by a small dimple. His dark hair was curly and it contrasted his blue eyes. Damn, you thought. You knew Spain had gorgeous men but you forgot how gorgeous they could be. You realized you were still staring and holding onto his elbow so you took a few steps back. The shop was crowded and people were bustling by the two of at a feverish pace.

“You’re okay, I don’t mind bumping into a pretty woman like you…are you alright?” His accent took you by surprise but before you could mutter another apology out of habit, you saw his eyes and how they scanned your entire see through shirt which made you cross your arms and you dangled your new shirt between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta get back upstairs before the game starts.” You gave a soft smile and tried to walk past him, but he grabbed you gently with his hand.

“Upstairs? Are you in a suite?” His eyes scanned your face and you weren’t sure how to take the question just yet. He must’ve seen the confusion because he continued without your reply, “I’m in the family and friends suite and I’ve got no clue of where to go.” He flashed his yellow wrist band that matched yours as if to prove he wasn’t some creep.

“Oh, uh, yeah I am. You can follow me if you like, if you want. I need to change my shirt first.

“I’ll wait for you…”

“Y/N.” You replied.

“I’ll wait for you Y/N right out front.” He smiled again and this time, it made your heart flutter and warmness filled your cheeks.

You found your way back to him and his head was deep into his phone, so you cleared your throat to get his attention. You had no idea what his name was. He smiled at you and your eyes drew towards his adorable dimple. He ran his fingers through his hair before he placed his phone in his back pocket and motioned for you to lead the way. The crowd of attendees rushing towards their seats hadn’t slowed down as you hoped, so you took his hand in yours and pulled him along without hesitation. His hand was large and warm in yours as you steered him through the crowded concourse and to the suite check in kiosk. You flashed your wrist band and he did the same. His hand had yet to leave yours. You were slowed down by the fact the security guard wanted to double check the man.

“Name?” The stone faced security guard asked.

“My name is Davi Félix.”

“You’re good to go.” Davi thanked the man and pulled his hand out of yours to open the door to the stairs.

“Ladies first.”

“Thank you Davi.” You smiled. Maybe the game wouldn’t be so bad after all.

——

Luckily, Kaia secured your seats. Candace sat next to her and you offered Davi the seat on the other side of you which he took it happily. Candace introduced herself to you, something she did every time she saw you, and it was a difficult task to not roll your eyes. You weren’t sure if she was petty of just not the smartest. Davi sat for a moment then decided to check what the bar had to offer and asked if anyone wanted one. Kaia declined, Candace waved her cup with a cheeky smile, and Davi turned his attention to you.

“For you, doce?” He smiled softly and you hesitated, getting lost in his eyes that were holding your attention as he leaned over to hear your answer. (Sweetie)

“I’ll take what you get.” Davi nodded and headed towards the door with a glance back at you before heading inside.

“Doce? Sweetie? Who is that!” Kaia asked, leaning forward past Candace, who was eyeing you with an intrigued smirk.

“That’s Davi, I met him downstairs while getting this shirt.” You tugged on the shirt you got. You bought it because it was cheap and you could finally match your students on their dress down Fridays. Half the class would love it and the other half would despise it. It’ll give them the opportunity to debate while practicing their English and you knew football was a passionate topic. It was going to be an entertaining debate day.

“That’s João Félix’s cousin.” Candace looked between the two of you as if it was obvious. You glanced at Kaia then back at Candace who promptly stated more information.

“João Félix…here on loan. Never mind, he’s a player on the team.” She indulged but it still did nothing for you or Kaia. You truly had no clue about Jules and his job besides the fact that he was strong, fast, and ate like he was never satiated.

“Right.” You answered feeling a bit dumb. You knew why you didn’t know, but it still felt dumb to not know it.

“He’s cute, he’s got hearts in his eyes while looking at you.” Kaia raised her brows. Her own eyes glimmered mischievously.

“Kaia I just met the guy.”

“So? He’s a man, he’s got eyes, and he clearly likes what he sees.” Kaia said, leaning back into her chair. The team began filling the pitch with kids alongside them signaling the start of the game. Davi rushed back and handed a drink to you gently with a wide smile.

“Hope you like it

“I’ll love it.” You placed your cup down and awaited the anthem and the start of the game while fighting a childlike smile. Kaia cleared her throat and you turned to find her mouthing, “I’ll love it.” You slyly shot her a middle finger and turned back to the pitch.

There was Jules. Your best friend. His head was down and his hands were on the shoulders of a little girl who had a few missing teeth. She was laughing at whatever Jules was saying to her. She tugged at her braids then Jules tugged on his own in return. They were matching. It was adorable how good he was with children. You always told him that he had a natural ability with kids and he should take advantage of it - maybe start a charity or foundation. If kids were drawn to you, it meant you had a pure heart and a golden soul, your mom once said. You didn’t doubt that about Jules. It was the truth. He was as golden as it could get. From his brown skin to his brown eyes, he was golden. From the moment you met him, he had been nothing but sunshine in your life.

As you stood to your feet for the long game ahead, the rowdiness of the crowd sent adrenaline through your body and Davi’s whistles aided the excitement growing inside you. He yelled in Portuguese which seemed to catch João’s attention. Although you were upstairs, you were still visible to the eye if you caught someone’s attention. Jules seemed to hear the whistle as well, and he grinned, waving up to the suite. The three of you waved to Jules while Davi waved to his cousin who was standing next to Jules. For once, you were excited to cheer on your best friend. This could be fun, you thought. Davi chanted along with the fans and began bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Are you a big fan?” He shouted over the growing noise of the stadium chants.

“I don’t know anything at all!” You admitted sheepishly in a loud voice, trying to be heard over the crowd. Davi leaned into your ear and lightly yelled, “Don’t worry doce, I’ll help you.” (Sweetie)

You couldn’t hide the goofy grin that spread across your face and you returned your eyes to the pitch to find Jules staring at you, his smile no longer there. You thought he was concentrating on the game but it didn’t seem like his expression was a reaction to what was about to unfold on the field. It felt as if it had something to do with Davi and it left you wondering about what you were told earlier.

Did he know Davi? Why did he talk about you to his teammates? Why did that woman think you were his girlfriend? But, instead of mulling over those questions you decided to enjoy the game and not let anything, not even Candace, sour the excited mood you suddenly found yourself in and began clapping along side Davi, who was chanting loudly.

“Boti, Boti, Boti! Madridista, qui no Boti, eh, eh!” (Jump! Jump! Madridista who ever doesn’t jump!)

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