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meikuree · 3 years

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the centre cannot hold

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Hitch Dreyse & Annie Leonhart Characters: Annie Leonhart, Hitch Dreyse, Armin Arlert (mentioned) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Mild Psychological Horror

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The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

(Or: a look at Annie's time in the crystal.)

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

She can't place what time it is, inside. Time is meaningless. The interrogators who enter complain about the cold drafts puffing through the bricks; she can't feel any of it. Only the blunt sensation of the crystal’s cover, cool as iron is cool, running over her arms and torso and head, her entire body.

Hitch visits, many times. She comes to know her by the telltale skip of her boots on the floor. The way she always leaves the door ajar, as though she hadn’t intended to stay long. Her own eyes are closed now, all the time. It means her other senses become sharper. She hears mutters even through the thick slab of wood that passes for a door, and learns the smell of autumn filtering through the bars of her cell’s sole window, carried into the space in dead leaves stuck to the soles of soldiers' boots.

Those signs are what she begins to rely on to mark the passage of time. In the initial months, it’s an inexact science. Mere guesswork, in which she misestimates, on a few occasions, the correspondence between the oil-stench of polished boots and badges and the exact military festival being celebrated outside.

She listens to the chatter of the scouts who return daily to work out the mysteries surrounding her. How she breathes, what is keeping her alive. She knows the answers herself, of course. In this state she is tapped into the Paths realm; feeding on the otherworldly largesse of Ymir Fritz somehow, her lungs sustained by oxygen piped into her chest by means metaphysical and invisible. How long do you think she’ll last in there, they ask, and she wants to bark a laugh, say: I can stay here for the rest of my life. She starts a betting pool with herself about when they will meander towards or away from the answers, and also memorises some of their names—Anya, Nicolas, Louis—as a matter of personal amusement. Hange is the one who gets closest to piecing together anything about the truth, including the concept of an afterlife and/or higher realm.

Eventually they give up on her. With the Shiganshina basement breached, Hange’s purview as commander shifts to other horizons. The room hollows out as they clear the furniture, the echo that bounces off its walls widening into a sound vast enough to fill graveyards. A looming silence. Still as death. Only Hitch continues to come by, and Annie begins to yearn mentally for the stimulation of her conversations, like a plant straining towards the sun. Towards necessary sustenance.

She reminisces about her history lessons back in the Survey Corps, sometimes. It had been fascinating to see what counted for fact and narrative in a different land. She now wonders if she's become an artefact of history herself. Dead for all intents and purposes, preserved only in textbooks. Pragmatism brings her back to earth, when she remembers that nobody has ever been memorialised for lying in a coma.

Her sensory awareness only extends so far, after all that. It is deep, but not very broad. In the first year she keeps track of worldly happenings by the generosity and latitude of Hitch’s reports. Her passionate spiels, often preceded by a long indrawn breath and groans of despair that could have rivalled Eren’s, span an impressive set of topics ranging from Eren’s whereabouts, the Survey Corps’ movements, and military gossip, to more quotidian ills that ail her: a nail chipped while filing paperwork, her anguish over a sold-out bakery on the way home. The twenty letter-long saga she has going on with a romantic rival-turned-interest-turned-rival-again. Annie becomes the unwitting beneficiary of her ability to transform all ordinary occurrences into effusive theatre.

There are a few signs. The stunning perseverance with which Hitch comes. The verve and enthusiasm Hitch puts on full display before her, as though she is performing—and hoping that somewhere, she might be watching. The fond wonder and melancholy with which she speaks of their short-lived time in the Military Police. Hitch, Annie suspects, comes because she is nursing the remnants of a badly timed crush on her.

In this place, it’s a happy accident. It relieves the slight irritation she feels when Hitch confesses a touch too much detail about the minutiae of her morning routines and new interests. She’s grateful, in some deep unacknowledged part of herself, for the contact with another person from her old life, even if it’s one-sided and not very conversational on her end.

Every now and then she gets glimpses of the activities her erstwhile associates—Eren, Armin, Mikasa—are getting up to, in updates from Hitch spaced months apart. It is amusing, at first, to hear Hitch discuss them with distant respect and reverence as if at a remove, when she has firsthand knowledge of their individual quirks and neuroses, and can fill in the blanks within her iron silence much better than Hitch can. She saw long ago how they were some of the greatest breathing idiots to walk the earth; she briefly wishes she could tell it to Hitch too, puncture the aura of myth that has surrounded them like a bubble.

Eventually enough time passes that she has to recontextualise what she knows of them against the secondhand knowledge Hitch relays to her each time, adjusting her mental picture of who they are, the distance between memory and fact asserting itself. It grows apparent in those moments that they are becoming foreign to her too, changing while she remains fixed here, with outdated fragments of people, an insect trapped in scintillating amber.

Armin drops in to see her about four times in the first year. When he speaks he reaches a hand out to touch her crystal, and probably gazes at her the whole time; she can tell by the soft thud of his fingers upon her looking-glass cage. He tells her about Paradis’s defenselessness, their discoveries over the ocean. Pleads with her for a sign, any sign, that she is listening, and then sits with his knees drawn up, the stone floor vibrating imperceptibly with his motion. After his second call he begins to express his sympathy for her. The belief that he now understands why she had to betray them.

She wonders, idly, if he’s kept his nervous habit of biting at his cuticles. He has a grim edge to his voice now, a flute and gravel ruthlessness she hadn't recalled belonging to him before. Unlike Hitch, he doesn't say much. With him, she gets treated to dense silences interspersed with outbursts of conviction, or emotion. As though he speaks only when he has no choice, no other outlet.

She supposes his approach is one of delicacy, in opposition to Hitch’s: there is no evidence she is conscious, although she is alive, so talking is more or less a fanciful gamble; there’s no guarantee his words will reach a living being. She can’t fault him, on a technicality. She only laments that his idealism has given way to unimaginative realism too. Officially, he is devising a plan to establish contact with underground allies in Marley; unofficially, she wants to ask him if reaching the sea had truly made him happy, or only brought a new wave of troubles.

But her opportunities to have anything to think all these against are privileged and few. The visits are sparse, on the whole, so that she learns to conserve her responses and, most importantly, ration her thoughts—like a precious, corked wine, fit to be let through into her conscious refrain only in drips, a resource not to be exhausted too quickly. She has to remain here until there is certain guarantee she can complete her mission. In layman terms: she has to last through years of boredom.

She repeats it to herself, like an idle song or a blinkered reminder: she can endure it. She has to endure it.

After that she slows down her pace of thinking by necessity. Draws every internal argument that would have taken minutes out over the span of weeks. This dissolution makes her feel not so much like a primordial titan, moving according to vast, immense timespans, but a piece of rubber stretched to its limits, shrivelled and ready to burst.

Dreaming is the most direct analogue for her existence in this crystal shell. But it’s an incomplete description. It’s not like being asleep. She hasn’t relinquished consciousness, simply adopted a fickle and yet compulsory relationship with it. Some days, her mind is sharp and lucid like clear water. Others, she wakes up sluggish and nauseated, with the slow pressure of an anvil headache at her temples, a feverish chill bathing her bones. Like she’s slept far, far too much. Like she hasn’t woken up at all, but passed into a worse, second slumber. The effect is that of being drugged, of being sunk into an unnatural fatigue.

In these moments her choices are confined to the binary of staying awake and suffering, or returning to sleep and worsening it. Her muscles ache and scream for movement or stimulation; but she cannot move, and so has no recourse to relief. Only the sickening ache, the awareness of the uncomfortable fog, her arms trapped by her sides, always, like dumb logs.

Consciousness becomes the centrepoint her life revolves around. Sometimes, its presence is like a bullet aimed at her that she can’t catch: fleeting, painful, inescapable.

Back in the trainee bunkers she’d moved slowly. Pulled off the act of a sullen, indolent girl, better inclined towards a long nap than proper sparring. It’d shocked people that she was in fact a first-class prodigy in hand-to-hand combat. More than once she’d heard herself described by her peers as a concealed knife: inconspicuous at first, lethal once unleashed and in motion.

Those days are behind her now. A trite touch of fate, perhaps, that her languorousness now looks like it had been a rehearsal for this longer, extended sojourn in stillness. She can no longer summon movement; she has no defense against any assumptions people might concoct about her. She can only hope that people will remember the shadow her outsized figure cast as the Female Titan, even in the absence of continued proof.

As it turns out, what is most difficult is not the boredom, or time, or the trappings of her mind. Solitude suits her. She is not afraid of her thoughts. The symptoms of wakefulness frustrate her, but her mind has long been a well-controlled thing, smooth and cunning. She’d perfected the skill of disciplining it through the gruelling, unending hours of training with her father in her youth. Learning great focus, concentrating on the exercises that determined if she got to sleep, or eat, or drink. Disregarding all other excess, like the russet burn of sunset or sundown behind her in the courtyards. Your mind could not be suggestible, in this situation. Not even as an eight-year old.

No; what truly grates is the loss of sensation. Her capacity to interact with the world. Heading inside has severed her from her repertoire of fighting stances, uppercuts, movements. No longer can she understand her environment by the rhythms of her body attuned to it: the sunspots in her vision, the wind whipping her shins, the recoil of her fists against an enemy. She once knew the world by the blows and kicks it directed back at her; they were signals, an entire language of their own. She's been reduced to a lonely speck, disconnected from her single means of communication, her vernacular for parsing the world around her. The lonely, obsessive cycle of thoughts she can stand—but this? The dark, empty corridor of her body where she once had access to momentum, eruption, injury and the lightning burst of revelation in knowing her enemies by their punches, the scrapes and bruises left on them? It’s unbearable.

She resigns herself, but never quite crosses the hurdle. Many times she registers the itch of her limbs desiring to move, a furious bristle skittering upon her skin or on the edge of her brain. There is no outlet for them. Even the smallest movements are off-limits to her. She can’t flex her fingers, or tense her toes. The boundaries of her prison are absolute. These impulses, blossoming and then dead-ended, coil up and accumulate inside her like poison. Like a stricken scream with no release.

After a period of time she tentatively defines as three years, she hears Hitch entering and turning the key in the lock in her usual smooth motion. The tiny clink a struck bell in the gloom of mental oblivion. She perks up. Prepares to listen for any news.

“I know it’s been a while,” Hitch starts, “but we’ve been busy preparing for the Queen’s inauguration— like, god, how many ceremonies do these nobles need?— and I was detained by gift duty, can you believe, which meant I had to shop for the second-tier nincompoops over at the chambers—“

Annie’s blood, a gentle throbbing before, suddenly runs cold. Inauguration? But surely— Historia’s coronation, according to the silver measure of her careful timeline, had passed a long time ago. They should have moved far beyond by now.

“Anyway,” she hears Hitch saying now, a little morosely, “hard to believe it’ll be one-and-a-half years soon with you here. That you’re still in there.“

Annie chokes, a gutted sound in her head. She must have lost touch with her sense of time in the previous few weeks. It’s the one possible explanation.

If it’s only been one and a half years, she can only imagine what the next two, or three, or five, or seven years until her death will be like.

She feels the rug being pulled out beneath her feet. There’s panic now, a stab in her throat, the realisation she has to move back to the drawing board. Reassess everything she knows. She’d kept track well enough in the later half of the first year—what had changed?

Hitch leaves. She doesn’t register it.

Her sanity has so far hinged upon the single, fantastic, incredulous constant of Hitch’s visits to her. It’s a fragile coincidence—Hitch might one day get tired of her, reality outpacing her idealisation of her, and stop coming, too. She is beginning to feel the hours and days like an acrid trap, her thoughts a rapid torrent that her body—inverted in frozen stasis—will never keep up with. Suddenly every second is too slow, too long.

She wants to yell. Wants to rattle the bars of her mind-cage. But the only thing that answers her is drifting somnolence, like a hand passing sluggishly over her head, and then disappearing. The same smiling silence of her unresponsive body, indifferent to her will.

What life will this be, she thinks, what life will I be left with, and tries to plan, to consider the contingencies—but just as suddenly, nothing comes to mind, except the hollow echo of her voice referring across her insensate headscape, the strain of her thoughts thinned into pieces from disuse.

#i'm rusty with writing but! here's a thing #this is mostly about the horror of being stuck in a crystal for four years with your thoughts as your (almost) sole company #featuring very light and one-sided hitchani #i actually love the ship; annie just can't reciprocate because she's. y'know #snk #annie leonhart #hitch dreyse #hitchani #hitchannie #annie leonhardt #my fic #aot #armin arlert

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

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Virgil and The Last Straw

Title: Virgil and The Last Straw

Author: Gumnut

27 - 28 Jul 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: It all came to a climax on that day, but, really, it began many weeks before that.

Word count: 3889

Spoilers & warnings: Angst, family

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Nutty’s Fandomversary Fic Seven – Virgil and the last straw

Okay, I admit this one was written outside the prompt request order. I apologise, but it was a special day for @i-am-chidorixblossom and I wanted to write this fic as close as possible to that day. Best wishes, Chiddi! And I hope everyone else enjoys it as well :D

Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for the read throughs :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

It all came to a climax on that day, but, really, it began many weeks before that.

It started with his vacation. Or more the lack of his vacation.

He had been hanging out for his week of leave. Ever so looking forward to it. A few days in Paris before another few in Florence. A chance to walk idle, not rush, not be anywhere in particular, just explore.

Ever so looking forward to it.

Until an earthquake in Japan took so, so many lives. International Rescue did everything they could, but as always, they couldn’t save everyone. Virgil had a child die in his arms, followed by her mother. And to top it all off, a chunk of concrete caught him unawares, bruising his shoulder and causing him to wrench his ankle in an attempt to get out of the way. Gordon had to pull him out from under the remains of the shopping centre.

So shitty rescue and no vacation.

But it didn’t stop there.

Four days later, he woke from a fitful sleep to a raw throat and a high temperature. By the end of the day it was a full-blown flu. Hobbled and aching all over, Virgil Tracy curled up in bed and hid. Worse, he had to kick out his entire family, worried that any of them might catch the bug and cripple IR further.

Alone and miserable, he suffered through a nasty week of shivering, aching and a god-awful hacking cough. He shed weight through lack of appetite and not a little nausea. By the time he crawled out of his room he was a shadow of himself.

Two days later, while Virgil was still confined to the island, a cargo plane collided with Thunderbird Two midair. Her cahelium hull took the impact well, but the opposing craft tangled in her port wing, destabilised her flight and yanked her out of the sky.

Fortunately, they were over water and flying low enough that when they hit the ocean surface, both ships survived. Unfortunately, the cargo pilot did not and Gordon, who was flying TB2 suffered a nasty concussion.

A mad scramble with Alan in Thunderbird Four held precariously aloft by Thunderbird One and they fished Gordon off the ocean floor. Their aquanaut brother spent a few days with nausea, a throbbing headache and a deep-seated fear of his second eldest brother.

He needn’t have bothered. Virgil was only thankful Gordon had survived.

It could so easily have been worse.

It was with this determined thought that Virgil faced hauling his ‘bird off the ocean floor. Scott tried to ground him - Virgil was still sporting a nasty cough and was far from fit - but the engineer put up such a verbal fight, Scott was riled up and they ended up shouting at each other.

Not quite the effect the commander had been looking for.

So Virgil got his way and led four specialised pods out into the middle of the Pacific.

Halfway home, his ‘bird hanging below them, one of the support cables snapped. Thunderbird Two swung unbalanced, dragging his pod toward the waves. It was only thanks to a hurried grapple shot from Thunderbird One, flying escort, that he didn’t end up back in the drink.

It was a sad and slow limp home.

Another argument sparked up almost the moment the two brothers set foot on Tracy Island. Scott arguing that Virgil should go to bed, Virgil denying the broken cable was his fault. The younger brother was such a mess he didn’t realise Scott wasn’t blaming him for the cable, he was just concerned for Virgil’s health.

It turned into a screaming match for the record books.

It took John, hot from re-entry, to stop the yelling.

“What the hell is going on here?!” His normally calm voice, raised in volume was enough to shock both brothers out of what had become a pitiful excuse for an argument.

John didn’t give them the chance to answer. “I can hear both of you idiots from space. Virgil, you are still sick. Go to bed.” Virgil opened his mouth to protest, but turquoise eyes narrowed in on him. “Virgil, now.”

There was something in John’s expression, something somewhat alarming. To Virgil’s consternation he realised he was trembling. Not from anger, but exhaustion. John’s frown deepened and Virgil took a step back. It was his ‘bird. His beautiful ‘bird.

“Go to bed, Virgil. She will still be there in the morning.” More reassurance than admonishment.

How could he explain that leaving her on her runway like that just hurt? That she would haunt his dreams? That he wouldn’t sleep?

“Go, Virgil.” Soft, but firm.

He frowned at John, but found himself turning towards the elevator and his rooms. His hands were shaking. Damn it, this was ridiculous.

As he entered the elevator, he heard John turn on Scott. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

The doors cut off Scott’s reply.

He made it to his rooms and didn’t even bother to undress, just throwing himself onto the bed. His boots hit the floor with a double thunk and he closed his eyes.

Thunderbird Two fell from his grip over and over and over.

-o-o-o-

The next morning he woke feeling even worse.

He ignored it and headed down to his ‘bird.

Brains had moved TB2 into her hangar and had engaged the automatic cleaning system. A vacuum pump was sucking the moisture out of her systems and drones buzzed around her, picking seaweed and sealife off her hull.

She stunk.

How many times would he have to wash ocean out of his girl? She wasn’t a submarine, but she was determined to try to be again and again, either voluntarily or involuntarily.

Brains hurried up to him. “W-we are going to n-need to replace part of h-her thruster assembly. Sand h-has corroded her intakes beyond r-repair.”

Damn.

That was a week’s worth of work in itself.

“What else?” No doubt Brains had done a thorough assessment already. The man slept less than Scott.

“Forward c-cannon flooded, e-electrics blown, port wing warped, port s-structure suspect...” Brains continued down his mental list and Virgil’s heart sank further and further into the tarmac below.

Planes weren’t meant to survive falling out of the sky.

He was lucky she was a Thunderbird or she would be little more than scrap metal.

Didn’t stop him from dropping his face into his hand.

“A-are you okay, V-Virgil?”

He looked up to find the kindly engineer staring at him worriedly.

Virgil sighed. “I will be. Once she’s flying again.”

To his surprise, Brains reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “W-we will fix her, Virgil.”

A slight smile and Virgil placed his hand on the one on his shoulder. “Yes, we will.”

They both turned to stare up at the green behemoth.

Another sigh.

“Guess we better get started.”

-o-o-o-

By mid-morning Virgil was considering changing careers. Perhaps he could move to London and hang out with Cass McCready. He could still do good, but he would never have to scrub sand out of anything ever again.

Brains was called away an hour into their schedule, John having some difficulty with Thunderbird Five. So Virgil was left to himself and a handful of bots.

An hour was spent programming the fabricators to create the parts he needed.

Three out of the five parts he initially built proved faulty and had to be recycled. He started from scratch twice.

Worse, the electrics issue proved more complicated than expected. TB2’s hull was watertight under normal circumstances, but the warping of her wing had created stress fractures on her port side. Just enough for some water to get into the electrics. Wicking action had drawn that water into most of her electronics, including her computer core.

The heart and soul of his baby had drowned at the bottom of the ocean.

The discovery had him on his knees in her cockpit silent for a whole minute. It was hidden as she was completely powered down, but he had found the water trail.

His head landed in his hands.

“Virgil?” It was quiet.

“Not now, Gordon. Just not now.”

“You okay?” He heard his brother’s footsteps on his girl’s decking. A hand landed on his shoulder.

He shook it off. “Not now.”

“V-“

“Gordon, please, just...leave.”

“Vir-“

“Get out! Leave me alone! Just go!” It came out in a rush and it was loud.

His brother left in a hurry.

His throat hurt in more ways than one.

Alone, he coughed so hard he saw stars. Leaning back against the main console, he closed his eyes and just sat.

-o-o-o-

It hurt, it was a challenge, but Virgil was a Tracy. Ten minutes of despair was enough and he pushed himself off the deck and straightened his shoulders.

She would fly again even if he had to program and rewire her himself by hand.

Back to the fabricators. Another programming run only to discover they were low on cahelium and optical fibre. Supply orders on the IR network and an argument with an idiot clerk halfway around the world who didn’t know the difference between copper and optical.

Cahelium was unique to IR and required base level processing. They were low because he had missed his own job list due to illness. That and he didn’t usually need to replace half a Thunderbird.

The thought just hurt.

Automation was the key to Tracy Island’s manufacturing processes.

When he discovered one of the cahelium smelters was offline due to a faulty part, his head almost exploded.

Okay, take a break. Another coughing session had him leaning against the smelter console gasping for breath.

For goodness sake.

Coffee.

His go-to for comfort and reassurance and energy.

He would grab a coffee and attack this from another angle calmly.

He made it to the kitchen without losing another lung and settled in front of his second favourite machine.

Poking buttons for his comfort concoction, he stared at the gadget as it sparked under his fingers and died.

He was speechless for an entire minute.

“You have got to be kidding me.” It came out in a hoarse rush.

His fingers hit the buttons again, but the machine was dead.

No coffee.

He lost it.

The world whited out in fury and the coffee machine was suddenly airborne. It flew across the kitchen to land with a godawful crash on the other side of the room.

Someone yelped and he looked up to find Alan hovering near the stairs, his eyes wide with a combination of terror and worry.

The sight of his little brother running away from him up the stairs, sobered Virgil immediately.

Shit.

SHIT!

His hands climbed into his hair and he let himself slide down the kitchen cabinets until his butt hit the floor.

Damn.

His head fell into his hands.

And his throat closed up, barely allowing him to breathe.

-o-o-o-

He sat there for he didn’t know how long. His butt was sore and another cough was building when he was joined by a brother dressed in his familiar blue. Scott sighed as he folded himself down beside Virgil. He didn’t say anything, just sat beside him.

Virgil didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

“I’ve sent Alan to the mainland to get us a new coffee machine. Told him to get one with all the perks.”

He didn’t answer. Took too much energy to answer.

An arm wrapped around him and his head was drawn to his brother’s shoulder. “Talk to me, Virg.” Quiet, a little rough and worried.

Scott, always so worried.

Virgil didn’t want to talk.

He just wanted it all to stop.

He closed his eyes and leant into his brother. The arm around his shoulder tightened and was joined by Scott’s other arm wrapping around him and holding him close.

It wasn’t worth crying over, but god he felt like it.

Spilt coffee and all.

His sigh was more like a sob, despite his eyes being dry.

So tired.

That cough built again and he was once again hacking up a lung. His brother held him as he spasmed.

Great. Now he would never get back to the hangars to fix his ‘bird.

“You know, you don’t have to do this alone?”

Huh? He looked up into worried blue. Who else was going to do it? She was his ‘bird. He had to put her back together.

“Don’t look so shocked. I don’t recall you leaving any ‘bird unattended in such a condition, why would any of us neglect yours?”

“I-“

“Virgil, you’re sick and exhausted. We’ve got this. Give yourself a break.”

“But what if we’re called out-“

“We can only do our best, and what’s best for you right at this moment is rest.”

“Scott-“

“No, Virgil.” He drew in a breath. “Don’t you trust us?”

“I-“ His breath hitched and he was coughing up yet another lung. Scott was rubbing his back. His head was pounding.

“Go to bed, Virg. I’ll send Grandma up to make sure you’re comfortable.” Virgil shot him a frightened look, but Scott held up his hand. “No food, no home remedies, I promise. Just Grandma.”

With that Scott stood up and offered Virgil his hand.

The engineer stared up at his brother, half-heartedly defiant, but took it anyway. As if to drive the point home, the world wobbled for a moment and he stumbled.

Scott caught him and started leading him up the stairs. “Bed, Virgil. Leave Thunderbird Two to us.”

His suspicions were immediately aroused when Grandma met them at the top of the stairs. To top it all off, a glance into the comms room and he found three other brothers, one engineer and a sister peering at him worriedly.

What the hell was John doing down here?’

“C’mon, Virgil, dear, let’s get you comfortable.” Grandma was no nonsense and despite his physical strength being many times hers, he gave no resistance as she led him into the elevator, into the residential section and eventually into his rooms.

At least she didn’t offer to undress him.

But she did tuck him in. “Now, rest, Virgil. Everything is going to be okay.” Her hand found his hair and her fingers combed gently through.

Mom used to do that.

Mom.

He sagged into the bed. Perhaps he could let go.

Let go.

-o-o-o-

“You know, kid, I’ve been doing some research on you.”

Virgil froze in the door to his bathroom. He knew that voice. Oh god.

A glance over towards his sofa and yes, it was confirmed.

Kip Harris was in his living room.

He blinked.

What was Kip Harris doing in his living room?

Virgil became suddenly very aware that moments before he had wandered zombie-like out of his bedroom wearing little but a pair of pyjama pants and attended to his morning necessaries in the bathroom with his idol sitting on his couch in full view.

Thank god, he had shut the bathroom door this morning.

“Mr Harris? Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Gordon let me in. Said you’d be happy to see me.” Yes, that was a smirk on the older man’s face.

Gordon was so dead.

Kip snorted. “Don’t kill him, son. I was fully aware of what I was doing. Sally said you were having a bit of a low run. I thought we could take this opportunity for a little one-on-one.” He held up his left leg. It was wrapped in a cast. “Had a bit of a low one of my own. Thought we could share the boredom.”

“Really?” Okay, so it was higher pitched than normal.

“Why, sure. As I said, I’ve been doing a bit of research and I find myself admiring your work. Wouldn’t mind swapping a few stories with you, myself.”

Virgil was staring.

“Of course, that’s if we can talk.” The man was grinning at him.

Virgil flushed scarlet.

More so than normal since he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Um, I’ll just go get some clothes on first.”

“No, hurry. Though Sally’s laid on a breakfast down there. Something about O’Malley’s speciality?”

Virgil was staring again.

A blink and he was moving.

Red flannel was thrown on in a hurry. O’Malleys was not something to be toyed with. The family owned business was to steak what the Tracys were to rescues. Their breakfast menu was to die for.

Scott must have hauled it in on TB1 to get it here fast enough.

He offered Kip a hand up and the man deployed a pair of crutches. “I’d be very interested if you’d fill me in on how you and your brothers managed to get a panda off a plane midair.”

Virgil held the door. “How do you know about that?”

Kip grinned at him. “Oh, a little brother may have mentioned it. Something about you slicing off the entire rear end of a plane?”

“Really?”

“Well, it might be presumptive of me, but I believe your brothers are quite proud of you.”

Virgil froze halfway down the corridor. “Exactly how long have you been on Tracy Island?”

“Oh, long enough to be told several heroic stories starring you.”

Virgil didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or alarmed. He blushed either way while holding the elevator doors.

“Don’t you be worrying about it, son. It never hurts to have a proud family.” Something flickered across the man’s face for just a moment before the grin returned. “Though I have to say, young Gordon, was particularly enthusiastic. Did you really do that with a barbecue?”

Shit.

And Kip burst out laughing. “Oh, I can see why he does it. With a face like that, son, you’re just asking for it.”

Somebody was asking for it.

“Heh. I had one of those, rapscallion little brat. Drive you to the edge, but then risk his life to save yours.” He smiled down at Virgil. “Cherish him while you can.”

A frown and he relented. “Yes, sir. I do, sir.”

“And drop the ‘sir’. The name’s Kip.”

“Yes, sir.”

A flat stare.

“Yes, Kip.”

A small smile. “Much better.”

The elevator doors opened and they were suddenly surrounded by the most delicious aromas. Steak, eggs, and, oh god, bacon.

And coffee.

Coffee!

“Virgil, honey, help Kip over to the table.” Grandma.

“What? Oh, sorry, sir.” Virgil moved furniture out of the way, giving Kip easy access to the well-laden table and helping him with his chair.

Scott shot Virgil an assessing glance, one he must have passed because his big brother didn’t say anything, only dropping a plate down in front of first Kip then Virgil. A soft smile before he turned back to grab some cutlery.

“Hey, Virg, how you feeling?” Gordon’s grin on the other side of the table was a little hesitant though determined.

“Better, thank you.” A pause. “Sorry, for yesterday.” He caught his brother’s eyes trying to convey his sincerity.

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it, bro. We’ve all been there. She’s your ‘bird. Totally get it.” As always, Gordon’s tone was flippant, but the emotion in his eyes said everything. Their russet brown sparkled with fondness.

Virgil’s attention was sideswiped by Alan barrelling into him. “Virg, tell me you’re okay.”

Totally stunned, he froze for a moment. Alan hadn’t hugged him like this in years. He struggled to find words as his hands wrapped around him. In the end he settled on doing exactly what his little brother asked. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” Alan let him go, briefly squeezing his arm before ducking around an absorbed Brains towards the food on the table.

“Sit down, young man. Where are your manners?” Grandma, ever on guard, glared at the youngest.

John slid into the seat beside him. “Good to see you finally awake.”

“What?”

“You were out for a good fourteen hours. Scott was on the verge of breaking into your room with a medical scanner.”

“I was not.” Scott slipped into a seat opposite John. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am quite capable of reporting the facts, Scotty. It’s my job after all.”

“Scotty?”

The smile that curved John’s lips was pure smart ass.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t called him Scotty in years.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Scott’s glare was so flat it affected the curvature of the planet.

John’s smile just got wider. “I think I’ll start using it again. It communicates so much.”

“Sure, Johnny.” Scott had his own weaponised smile.

“I can live with that.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. That was a first. He darted a glance at Gordon, but the aquanaut’s expression reflected his own, eyes wide.

“I’m beginning to think I might need that medical scanner.”

The moment he said it, he regretted it. Four pairs of eyes latched onto him, worry foremost.

“Virg?” Gordon spoke before any of them.

He flung up his hands. “I’m okay, honest. It’s you I’m beginning to wonder about. Are you guys okay?”

“We are now you are.” Gordon’s voice was quiet. A sigh. “Eat, Virg, you’re half the man you used to be.” His brother dumped a huge slab of meat on Virgil’s plate and followed it with a couple of eggs and a pile of bacon.

“You might as well, son. Family won’t be happy until you do.” Despite himself, Virgil jumped. He had forgotten Kip was there.

“Yes, sir.”

There was a scoff from Gordon across the table and a slither of toast slapped Virgil on the forehead.

“Gordon Cooper Tracy! Where are your manners?! We have a guest.” Grandma was sitting on the other side of Kip, her hand on his arm.

Oh, yes, that.

Ignoring that thought, Virgil turned to Gordon. “What the hell was that for?”

“Virgil! Language!”

“Sorry, Grandma.”

“You boys settle down and eat your breakfast. This is a rare treat. Thank you to Scott for the early morning flight to collect this meal. And Kip.” She patted the man’s arm and they smiled at each other.

Yes, that.

A large mug of steaming coffee appeared at Virgil’s elbow and he jumped. His sister smiled down at him, knowing the exact effect she had on him. “Good morning, Virgil. Here’s your coffee.” Kayo’s smile was laughing at him.

“You love doing that, don’t you.”

“Oh, you know I do.” Her hand landed on his shoulder. “Good to see you are feeling better. You had us all worried.”

He blinked as she brushed past him and took a seat on the other side of Grandma.

Her words sunk in. He was feeling better. There had been sleep and now there was family. Kip Harris was willing to talk shop and there was enough food to feed a hoard.

His ‘bird was still grounded. There was still work by the bucketload. His body still wasn’t running at one hundred percent. But this was a moment. This was his family.

“Thanks, guys.”

Gordon grinned at him and Scott caught his eyes, his blue smiling.

The coffee was warm as it hit the back of his throat, but it wasn’t the source of the warmth in his heart.

A small cough to clear his throat and Virgil smiled.

He was a very, very lucky man.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #nuttys fandomversary

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easy-tae-breezy · 7 years

Text

Unexpected Enthusiast | Neighbour!au Chapter 2

Members: Ten/Reader

Genre: Neighbour!au | Fluff

Word Count: 2,000

Chapter: 1 2 3

Mini Recap- You’re a manhwa artist locked out of your apartment after grocery shopping. When none of your friends want to help you, fate decides for you to go seek help from your neighbour, Ten.

As much as you wanted to decline his offer, you knew that the ice cream you just bought would inevitably melt and no longer be the same glorious confection that it used to if you were not to let Ten take your shopping. And with that, you were convinced –

‘Perhaps this is for the best..? I’ll just double check no one else is available…’

You rapid-fire-text your best friend to win her over and get her to help you out instead of your neighbour.

You, 16:13 PM

Yo, Ten’s helping me out with my groceries. A COMPLETE stranger is being a better friend than you, man. Step up ya game 😏

You, 16:13 PM

I’m safe by the way, thanks for asking…

A+ Amigo, 16:13 PM

Y/n???? who tf is Ten?? 😮😮😮

You, 16:14 PM

You know that dude you passed by when you visited last Tuesday? The one you called ‘super duper cute’? Yeah, him. MY neighbour.

A+Amigo, 16:14 PM

HoLY Cow!! Bro, if I come pick you up… promise to introduce me??

You, 16:14 PM

Hahaha, I knew you’d pull through 😘

A+ Amigo, 16:14 PM

I’m on my way y/n’s cute neighbour!

‘Wow…So much for being busy, huh? Such a snake haha,’ you mentally roll your eyes at how your friend was easily swayed into helping you as soon as an attractive male was involved.

Somewhat hesitantly you step into his familiarly constructed apartment and take off your shoes at the doorway. Looking around, the layout was similar enough to your flat next door: a simple bathroom to the right, an open space studio and kitchenette tucked into the far left beside the veranda. However, this flat was personalised and furbished completely differently to your minimalistic, light focused flat. Instead, Ten’s walls were the complete opposite: painted black with one entire side shielded by a large mirror and a hi-fi set strategically placed against it. His home screamed dancer and swag. The studio barely had any litter or long forgotten laundry that boys his age would usually have, totally throwing you off guard even more.

‘How strange..?’

The flat was tastefully peppered with red features and decor, such as burgundy shelves pent up above his crimson sofa and a red bookshelf alongside it to match.

Ten was now kneeling in front of his fridge, carefully clearing space for some of your groceries while flowing into idle, easily-flowing conversation.

“So what are you gonna do now that the landlord is temporarily away? Have you found a place to stay yet?”

“Yeah, luckily a friend gave in and said she’d pick me up in a bit,” you explain as you continue to aimlessly looked out of his studio window.

Ten turns his head temporarily revealing a glimpse of his slightly saddened, puppy-eyed expression but quickly returns to his task thinking that you hadn’t noticed.

“Honestly though, you must think it’s pathetic that a grown woman can barely remember her own key code.” You bitterly chuckle at yourself under your breath.

Your eyelids flutter shut with internal frustration and disappointment. Never had you been so forgetful in all your years of life.

It was embarrassing.

The recent move completely changed you. Despite the freedom thrust upon you, the liberty you had once wished for finally being granted right before you, you now wanted nothing more than to be semi-dependent on someone. Not fully leaning on a person, just faintly - or at least enough to know that you weren’t alone in the new city.

“I just haven’t been able to fully settle and feel comfortable after moving out here on my own…”

You sigh as a gloominess begins to engulf you while you stand awkwardly in the middle of his flat.

“No!” Ten exclaims as he rises from the fridge, shutting its door as he did so. “That’s such a brave move on your part! Do you remember when I asked if you needed help moving your boxes up the stairs on that day the elevator stopped working?”

You nod and smile at the strangely fond memory. Never had you felt your thigh muscles burn so much.

“And you immediately shot me down! Said it was your ‘duty’ to do this alone?,” he continues, air quoting as he strides towards you.

“And honestly, I’ve never been rejected so fast. And with such an unusual reason too! And it showed to me that you really were a strong, independent woman,” He exaggeratedly Z-line snaps.

“I did find your multiple trips up the stairs extremely entertaining and endearing too,” Ten nudges you and winks.

You shake your head and shine a small smile as the memory replays and internally cheers you up.

He smiles in satisfaction.

“Go ahead and take a seat, I’ll only be a minute with the coffee,” he says while gesturing to his comfortable looking couch. Your attempts at being a helpful guest were quickly dismissed, you merely nod and continue to project your small smile of gratitude towards his generous words.

Continuing your observations regarding his interior design, your eyes land upon his bookshelf and you notice some very familiar books. Almost half of the romantic comedy manhwas that you had worked so hard to produce over the course of three years were perfectly lined up in order on your college student neighbour’s book shelf.

You inwardly gasp and begin to giggle at how a grown man could be such a fan of your teen manhwa and curiously raise a brow.

‘So this was how he was able to flirt so easily without being flustered, he must have picked up some lines from my comic haha…’ You thought.

Not soon after, Ten arrives with two mugs of steaming, warm, golden coffee and sets them in front of you on the table. He quickly notices the comic you’ve picked up and is easily tinted a shade of embarrassment. He -almost- instinctively throws his hands out along with multiple whiny requests for you to give it back, only to have you react by pulling the book out of his reach and laugh.

“Haha! Alright! Alright…”You slow down the hectic moment,

“Do tell me, Ten… Why does a grown man, such as yourself, have a collection of romantic comedy manwhas?” you breathlessly say as the two of you finally calm down after a short game of ‘grab the book’.

He knows he’s been caught and with an exaggerated sigh he complies and explains himself.

“Ah, they’re not mine I swear,” he scratches the back of his neck while shaking the other free hand in the air in a denying manner “my sister left them while visiting so I thought I’d tidy them”.

A small, silent pause embraces the two of you… You quickly break it by drumming on your lap vigorously, mimicking a drum roll.

“And the most unconvincing story of 2017 goes to… Ten!” you exclaim in your best announcer voice, laughing at his cute bashful side that was being unveiled right before you. The man before you no longer seemed so overly confident and indifferent, he was flustered and glowed a heartwarming pink flush. A complete polar opposite.

“If your sister really did leave them, a book or two would have been believable, but she definitely wouldn’t have left an entire series that was large enough to fit in 2 boxes,” you explain.

He lowers his rose tinted face in defeat and chuckles along with your point.

“Okay, you got me,” he exaggeratedly whimpers “but what I said was partially true! She did visit and leave a few volumes, I was gonna throw them out but the art was so pretty and unique. I was drawn to read them! The character design is perfectly tailored to each character’s traits and the background art is so detailed and unlike any other artists work that I’ve come across. It was difficult to put the books down and lead to me purchase a few more and before I knew it, I had almost half of the series! I really recommend it, y/n!” He beams despite his red cheeks and ears.

You sat there slightly blank and dumbfounded by his kind words. That totally wasn’t what you expected. Usually when people complimented your artwork, you’d immediately argue that it definitely lacked in some areas and could totally improve. Your self-depreciation would often prevent you from truly seeing eye-to-eye with your publisher and fans, causing a lot of release date delays and unhappy teens. However, when Ten gave you his honest opinion on your work you couldn’t help but feel gushy and warm on the inside, his sincere and animated words gave you pride and a deep sense of happiness.

His comments were somehow different.

The genuine and thoughtful words burned their rightful mark into your memory, forever embellishing themselves in your mind.

“Thank you,” you say in a small voice as a blush similar to the young man’s grazes your cheeks.

“What? Haha, you want to borrow one?” He chortles with a hint of confusion in his voice.

You simply hold the book up and point to the artist’s name, your name.

His eyes widen in surprise, he covers his mouth and notably resembles a deer caught in headlights.

‘How is he so cute?’ You think to yourself.

Ten’s emotions go through a rapid melt of confusion, surprise and utter glee. The man now gleamed with joy and admiration. Ten takes a seat beside you while effortlessly grasping your small hands in his own large, strong and sturdy ones.

An instant feeling of protection, safety and content surge through you at his affectionate skin-ship. He leans a bit closer, excitement pouring out of his every word.

“No way! Tell me, please, does Jae Min end up with David- No! Does Yoo In come back from her spy mission in Japan? Or is she really dead? Ah, don’t tell me! It’ll spoil the surprise,” he concludes with a pout.

“…Or tell me if you want?” He later contradicts in a quiet voice.

You inwardly snicker at his twinkling, child-like expression. To reply to his questions, you merely wiggle your brows to the best of your ability and say:

“A mystery’s a mystery, and girl’s gotta keep some secrets… Buuuut, Yoo In is alive” you whisper ever so slightly in his direction.

You wink, beam a broad, beautiful smile and decide to leave it at that.

‘Hopefully that’ll keep him intrigued for at least another three volumes,’ you laugh to yourself.

Ten comes to his senses, remembering that the two of you had only just formally met half an hour ago. He removes his hands with a minor jump and instead clasps them in front of his chest. Acting melodramatically, he nods whilst still wearing his adorable pout, as if already coming to terms with your statement.

“I knew you wouldn’t let her die, y/n,” he softly sends an angelic smile to you.

“Hey, how about this, if I ever get to open my door, I’ll let you have a sneak peek at the next volume, sounds good?” You attempt to enhance his bright mood and also return the enormous favour that Ten had done you. Not only had he welcomed you into his home and saved your ice-cream, but he essentially helped you quick-start your self-confidence in a way no one else ever had.

Ten had easily proven to you to not judge a book by its cover; a man once so chic and cold looking had a compellingly delicate, angelic and excitable personality within him that was easily uncovered with a bit of encouragement. And to top it all off, he was apparently skilled in the arts of dancing and acting, but to you, that didn't matter too much, because to you, he was in fact the walking art-piece.

He shone you one of his brightest, pearliest smile and eagerly nodded in reply to your offer.

Ring. Ring…

Your phone slices through the light atmosphere and forces you to answer. Your friend had impeccable timing and was ready in the lobby to pick you up. After hanging up you sigh and turn towards Ten, informing him that your friend had arrived much to your dismay. The events thereafter the phone call flashed before your eyes as time began to seem inconstant.

Ten helps you gather your belongings and leads you down to the lobby. You edge out of the elevator, reluctantly furthering yourself away from such a sparkling and kind-hearted being.

The two of you part with alike smiles containing a hint of sorrow. The two of you truly matching one another’s current inner emotions.

You were totally oblivious to the fact that you’d bound to be back in less than a week, after all, you did live next door…

As the car door shut, Ten waves and quietly laughs to himself at the situation he got caught up in and with no one other than one of his favourite artists, and one with such an endearing and appealing personality at that.

“See ya ‘round, neighbour.”

Thank you for reading this! <3 What did you think? I found this really lovely to write and had lots of fun. Should I continue the scenario and see where Ten and his neighbour end up? ^^ Don’t mind any grammar mistakes, I’m on my way to proof reading it again for the 5th time haha

Edit: Another chapter of this series will be added soon! Thank you to all the people who sent in support and kind words towards this series. <3

#ten #nct #ten scenarios #nct scenarios #ten fluff #nct u #Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul #unexpected enthusiast

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looselucy · 7 years

Photo

MA / 5941 words

A series of one-shots / One / Two

Childhood friends - January 2017

Part One

Haz: Little Lulu Lamb, are you making brews? With dead eyes, I scowled silently down to the opposite side of the sofa, seeing Harry with his phone still in his hand, and his dimple there even though he was straining his smile. You could always tell when Harry was trying to hide his laughter, because his dimple would appear as proof, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. But I played along, not saying a word as I text him back. Lulu: You make brews! It’s your house, I’m the guest here. Haz: You’ve been here for almost a week now. You’re no longer a guest, you practically live here. Now get off your arse and make me a brew.

I’d made the mistake of informing Harry that before April, I needed to use all the holidays I had left at work. He’d been extremely persistent that I take most of those days in January, and go to see him in London. I figured it would have been sensible to say no to such an offer, but being sensible was the last thing on my mind, and his lips were the first. We spent the first few days of the New Year together in the village where we’d grown up, wandering the streets we’d once loved, the tiny roundabout where he’d once found me drunk out of my mind after three cans of cider and taken me home, the school we used to attend and the parks we used to play in. And we fucked. Whenever we could. Wherever we could. I’d travelled down to see him in London on Friday the 20th, less than a month since we’d last been together, and by Wednesday the 25th, being around him and living with him somehow felt like my norm. And again, we fucked. We didn’t leave his home. He’d made one brief trip to Tesco, but I’d made sure I was naked by the time he walked back through the door, meaning he’d dropped the three full bags immediately and taken me into his arms, where I giggled and reddened and kissed him with joy. The thought of going back to work and back to Swanage and back to my tiny, one bedroomed flat made me cringe. Lulu: You’re only doing this because you physically can’t make brews. Haz: Excuse me? Lulu: Your brews are shit. Haz: Don’t make me come over there. Lulu: Your brews are as sickening as your face. “That’s it!” He finally caved, jumping from his side of the sofa, ready to attack as I screamed. “Fuck you!” His body landed on mine, tickling me aggressively, something he’d done a lot since learning that I hated it so much. “Harry no please no stop HARRY!” I squealed. “PLEASE GET OFF ME! I’LL MAKE BREWS I PROMISE I’M SORRY JUST STOP.” With an arrogant smirk, he finally stopped, his body crushing mine as he looked down to me, clearly very happy that he’d gotten his way once again. “I make a good brew.” He stated. “On what planet?” I huffed, until his hands rushed back to my stomach. “NO DON’T TICKLE ME! YOUR BREWS ARE GREAT THEY’RE AMAZING I LOVE THEM DON’T DO IT!” He pushed himself so he was upright on his knees, allowing me to scramble out from underneath him and run towards his kitchen, feeling his eyes track my journey. I was still a little surprised by how comfortable we were around one another. When I’d first stepped into his beautiful home, I felt completely out of place. It wasn’t that he didn’t make me feel welcome, because of course he did. He made fun of my height immediately, pulled me in for a soft hug and kissed the top of my head. It was the situation that was bizarre. It was almost like we were forcing ourselves to bond with each other, to find our friendship again but stretch it into a new shape. This wasn’t him staying at my flat because he was in Swanage and it was convenient. This wasn’t the two of us being home for Christmas and using an opportunity that had presented itself. This was totally different. This was the two of us seeking one another out, and spending a prolonged period of time together, because we’d chosen to and gone out of our way to make it happen. It was after my first night in his bed when I eased. I awoke naturally, his plump sheet heavy over my body, Harry still asleep on the other side of the bed, and it didn’t feel strange. It felt just as normal as waking in my own bed, in my own home, with nothing to do and the sun waking with me. After that, it was like I was in my own home, relaxed and easy and happy. I flicked on the kettle, not surprised when I heard Harry practically jump off the sofa, soon joining me with his hands on my waist and his lips on my right temple. “Don’t go tomorrow.” He hushed, lips still on my skin. “Just stay for the weekend.” “It’s my best mates birthday on Friday.” I sighed, my breathing heavy as he lowered his kisses onto my neck. “I have a life to get back to.” Sometimes it was clear that Harry Styles was used to getting exactly what he wanted, and he’d been like that even as a young teen when I knew him. He had the ideal puppy dog eyes and pouty lips, enough to make any woman of any age swoon and cave. I knew for a fact it used to drive Gemma insane, how his mother would cave to his every demand and let him get away with murder. With a lot of money in the bank and girls at his feet and people kissing his arse, it must have only gotten worse. “Stay,” He whispered, pushing his hips against mine. “Just a few more days.” “Doesn’t matter what you do, Haz. I’m going tomorrow.” I got a simple pleasure from saying no to him, feeling him pout between kisses and whimper to my skin, but the truth was, I didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t that I felt like my reality was something I wanted to escape, but it had still been nice to wrap myself up in something new, completely separate to my regular, humdrum existence. Harry’s life was exquisite, woven within the fabric of his clothes, splattered within the paint of the art that hung on his walls, proud among the awards he had shelved beside his television. It was completely different to everything I had ever known. “Don’t you have stuff to do?” I asked him, reaching to grab two fresh mugs from his cupboard, hating that he placed his hands on my bare skin as soon as my t-shirt lifted to reveal my stomach. “Not quite yet.” He replied, still working my neck with his lips. “It’s nice to lay low before things get crazy again.” “When will things be getting crazy again?” “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirked against my skin. “Yeah, then I can leak it online and ruin whatever you have planned.” “I don’t know why I ever trusted you, Little Lulu Lamb.” His fingers dipped into the front of my joggers, forcing me to take a deep intake of breath as the sweetly grazed over my nub for just a brief moment, and then he placed on final kiss on my cheek, and completely detached himself from me, and sauntered back over to the sofa. “I’m not making you a brew,” I exasperated. “You don’t deserve one.” “You wanna go out tonight?” He asked me casually. “Out?” “Yeah. Outdoors. It’s this whole other world-” “Fuck off.” I sniggered. “A friend of mine is opening a gallery. I wondered if you wanted to go.” “Your life is insane!” I gawped. “Your friends are opening galleries and my friends can barely open bloody doors.” “I think you need new friends.” He huffed. “You wanna go or not?” “You sure you want to be seen with me?” I chuckled. “It would be nothing short of an honour.”

Part Two

I think I was expecting him to be different. We were in London, in an art gallery, surrounded by pretentious arse-holes, art critics, and people who looked, and probably were, important. I think I was kind of expecting Harry to change himself, just slightly, to fit in with them. I think I was expecting him to make idle chit-chat about bullshit he didn’t even know about, sip on champagne and act like he and his opinions should be held in high regard. I expected him to stray from himself to adapt to the atmosphere of the evening. He proved me wrong. He was as boisterous as ever, swearing constantly, loud and laughing and entirely the boy I’d grown up with. I wouldn’t have even judged him if he’d changed a little, because I had noted that I was definitely more quiet than I was usually was, eyeing up paintings I didn’t even like with a look on my face that suggested I was having deep thoughts about the art hanging on the walls. But Harry was exactly the same as he always was. I found it admirable. “Do you like this one?” He asked me as I altered my body so a person barging past wouldn’t knock me to the ground. “Uh… It’s alright.” “Lulu, I didn’t paint it.” He chuckled tightly. “I’m not going to be offended.” “I dunno. It’s just… boring, innit?” “Innit.” He mocked. “Proper common you, aren’t ya, Love?” “Innit mate.” I giggled. “I dunno. I mean, obviously the artist is talented, I’m not saying they’re not-” “Lulu!” “I just don’t like it. It’s lifeless! It’s dull and it’s just… it’s not grabbing me. I’m sorry.” “Why are you sorry?” He laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and getting us walking again. “Show me something you do like.” He watched me as we sauntered through the gallery, almost like the place was completely empty. We ignored the bustle of people around us who had shown themselves for the opening evening, and wandered blissfully, Harry grinning down to me, tucked under his wing as I searched for a painting I loved. “I feel really under pressure.” I whispered. “You’re adorable.” He told me. “You’re going pink again.” “This is a lot of pressure, Haz!” I cried. “I don’t think you fully understand.” “No, I don’t think I do.” We strolled for a little while longer before I came to abrupt standstill in front of a painting, a mixture of blues and whites and paint that poked from the canvas and looked sharp to the touch. Harry eyed it up for a short while before looking back down to me. “This one?” He asked. “Yeah.” “Okay. Why this one?” “Because… it makes me sad.” “Why do you like a painting that makes you feel sad?” He puzzled. “Because it amazes me that a blank canvas can be turned into something that makes me feel anything! Doesn’t matter if it’s not a nice feeling, right? The fact it makes me feel anything at all! That’s insane.” “HARRY!” Both our heads whipped in the direction that the high squeal had come from, watching a woman dart over to Harry with her arms wide open and the biggest grin on her face imaginable. I took a step back as her body crashed into his, admiring how adorable Harry looked when he gripped his eyes shut and scrunched his nose as he held her back. “Hiiiii!” He greeted. “It’s been so long!” She cried, pulling out of the embrace. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since… I don’t even know.” “I think maybe at Nicks that time.” Harry said, clearing his throat. There was something about the way he was holding himself that was instantly noticeable, a complete change in his aura. I figured Harry would be confident and comfortable in every single situation, he just gave off those vibes. But now this woman had approached him, he changed. He kept looking away, when usually he’d look directly into the eyes of whoever he was speaking to, like they were his world. His voice was dead, lacking the usual enthusiasm he typically shared, like he just didn’t care the chat even though they’d only just started conversing. He didn’t like her, and he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it. “You’re so right. Oh my god we missed you! Nick said you’ve been at home a lot. Like… Up North.” “Yeah.” “Why when you could be here? You’re missing out on everything exciting.” “Yeah, I kinda wanted to.” He shrugged. “Why?” She huffed. “I like laying low.” “Yeah well don’t come crying to me when the world forgets about you because you don’t bother showing yourself at important events.” He cleared his throat again, not even humouring her with a reply because he was totally done with her. It hadn’t taken me too long to see why he wasn’t her biggest fan. She wasn’t picking up on the same vibes that I was. “So tell me everything.” She clapped her hands together. “I want all the details about your album and the film.” “Um… I’m not-” “Do you mind!” She barked after turning her head to me, eyes wide. “We’re having a private conversation here!” “She’s with me, actually.” Harry grated. “Oh. Really?” Although I kind of wanted to tell her to fuck off, I kept my cool, offering my hand to her and trying to be the bigger person. “Lulu.” I introduced myself. “Lulu, would you mind giving me and Harry a minute?” “Actually, we were just leaving.” Harry smiled as politely as he could, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “See you around.” She finally looked as though she might have picked up on the fact that Harry wasn’t her biggest fan as he dragged me away from her. It took all my might not to look back over my shoulder and catch another glimpse. “Who the hell was that?” I whispered harshly as we bounded towards the exit, still hand in hand. “She’s friends with Nick. I literally fucking hate her.” “She was the worst!” “Genuinely.” He groaned. “C’mon. Let’s go home and fuck.”

Part Three

Harry ran one hand through his hair whilst the other gripped his steering wheel, glaring out at the traffic ahead of us with nothing short of hatred in his eyes. He’d been relatively quiet and pent up even before we’d hit traffic, it had merely increased his already foul mood. “You alright?” I asked quietly. “Yeah.” He replied simply. “You?” “I’m good, I’m fine, I’m just… I’m a bit baffled by that girl back there.” “Mm.” “She was like… really intrusive.” “Used to it.” He sighed bitterly. I turned my head away to look at the traffic, still unsure what our friendship was, and what boundaries I should and shouldn’t cross. I knew Harry. I knew a lot of his friends were famous, some even more famous than he was, somehow. His life was filled with and almost built around this extreme reality, where people felt as though they could monitor everything he did and scrutinize every single move he made. I couldn’t imagine Harry allowed himself to vent often, far too grateful for the perks of his life and surrounded by people who went through the same bullshit. I wondered if he needed to just let loose. “I think that’s bullshit.” I said. “I mean… I guess, in a way, you expect it from the media, but… you know that girl, and she was pushing you to give her facts and… I dunno. I don’t blame you for being quiet and… being in Holmes Chapel more and just… detaching yourself from everything while you can. It must be tiring.” He was silent for a while, his lack of words making me want to kick myself for even saying a damn thing. I was relieved when he finally spoke. “The amount of times that I’ve… really thought someone just… liked me for me. That someone just wanted to be my mate with no fucking ulterior motive. People really like to prove me wrong. And it fucked me up time and time again because not only does it make me feel fucking worthless, but it makes me feel gullible, naive, stupid. Sometimes people don’t even know they’re doing it. I wouldn’t change my life and everything that’s happened. I wouldn’t change a thing. But sometimes it’s just… It’s hard.” “People are shit.” I spat angrily. “A lot of them, yeah.” He managed to chuckle. “Then there are people like you.” “Me?” “I don’t think you realise how much of a big deal it is that I trust you.” He was finally smiling again. “I don’t hand that shit over to many people anymore. I’ll be polite, but… I don’t tend to share myself with as many people as I used to.” “That’s probably a good thing.” “But you… I feel weirdly comfortable with you. Like… it still surprises me. It’s nice.” “I’m really glad you feel that way.” I smiled coyly. “I feel honoured.” “Honoured?” “Your trust is a nice thing to possess. I thought that anyway but… especially after what you’ve just said. I’m glad you can see I don’t have any ulterior motive other than… fucking you.” He laughed loudly, throwing his head back and cackling away to himself, his throat jigging as he did, and I swear my eyes might have had hearts in them for just a split second. When he finally calmed, the traffic began to move, Harry biting his bottom lip in order to contain his bursting smile. “Good to know.” He finally replied.

Part Four

I could count the amount of times I’d seen Harry looking nervous on one hand. Once when we were younger, sat with our backs against my front door, sharing a small can of cider and laughing away to ourselves. I remembered we’d held eye contact for a little too long. I saw his Adams-apple bounce and his eyes flick down to my lips before he turned away, and told me he needed to go home. The time at my flat in Swanage, where he’d admitted that in his younger years, he had hoped that I would be his first kiss. The second time I saw his nerves instantly reminded me of the first. And then, in his beautiful London flat, stood at the end of his bed, looking down to me. I was sprawled on top of his bed, wearing nothing but a ring he’d once purchased whilst drunk in Brazil that was far too small for him, so he’d passed it onto me. He was wearing nothing but his boxers, playing with their elastic band, looking as though he was on the verge of asking me something, but remaining silent. “What’s wrong?” I prompted. “Nothing.” “You sure? You seem tense.” “Just… thinking.” “About?” I prompted once more. “How much I trust you.” I lowered my brows, sitting up and pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them to hold my body together with ease. “Still?” I tried to joke. “There’s… something I’d like to try. I’ve always wanted to but… I’ve never trusted anyone enough to actually… share it with them. I want to share it with you.” My throat felt tight, completely unaware of where this was heading, but intrigued and terrified by his words. He’d never sounded so serious. I was used to me and Harry just joking around with one another, and Harry using his wit and charm in order to make me weak, but this was different. “Okay.” I said quite confidently. “You can trust me.” He nodded, still completely riddled with nerves as he turned himself and approached his bedroom drawers, opening one of his cupboards and grabbing something. When he turned around, I found my eyes automatically going down to his hands, spotting a thick leather item. He moved it upwards, his jaw tight as he took the item and slowly began to fasten it around his neck, his eyes fixed with mine as his hands fiddled to tightly attach the leather collar around his throat. He dropped his arms down by his side once it was in place, letting out a large exhale as though he’d been holding his breath the entire time. My heat pulsed. My chest was heaving, the two of us just staring at one another and seeming to get more and more breathless with each passing second. I was hoping I might calm down and somehow find the right words, but the two of us were just getting more worked up with each second of our silence. It was Harry who finally broke the silence. “Behind me, in the drawer…” He swallowed. “There are cuffs for my wrists. If you’re… okay with this… I want you to get them out and put them on me.” I began to move immediately, because although the situation had totally knocked me off my feet and I didn’t know what the hell to think, he was clearly making himself completely vulnerable, and I needed to ease him. I needed him to know that I was more than happy to share in his secret and fulfil his needs to the best of my ability. My legs went weak as soon as they had to take my weight, finally letting out a huge gasp of air as I scuttled beside him, feeling how tense he was. It radiated off him. I opened the drawer slowly, the item he’d spoken of sat there perfectly, a gold hoop joining each cuff together beautifully. They matched the item around his neck, thick leather that was threatening at the same time as having this immense vulnerability. They were sexy and at the same time, somehow soft, exposing, innocent. The item felt heavy in my hands as I finally lifted it from its home, turning my head to the left to see that Harry had positioned his hands behind his back, his eyes closed and his body letting out miniscule jolts. I’d never felt such a mixture of feelings in my life. I was scared, intimidated, aroused, empowered, weakened. The array of feelings toyed with my stomach as I began to strap each cuff on each of his wrists, the gold hoop that linked the two leather bands so small he became extremely restricted, cracking his neck back as soon as the second one was fixed. “Fuck.” He finally exhaled. “I’m sorry.” I gasped, completely panicked. “It’s too tight, isn’t it? Fuck, I’m sor-” “It’s perfect, Lulu. Fuck. It’s perfect.” “What do you want me-” “Whatever you want.” He shuddered. “The power’s yours.” This was a complete contrast to how things had been every other time myself and Harry had sex. I was used to Harry having the power, bending me over, grabbing my hair, releasing himself onto my shivering body and demanding me to tell me how hard I wanted him to fuck me. This wasn’t something I’d done with anyone, and it definitely wasn’t something I ever thought I would do with Harry. I attempted to diminish my usual attitude, snaking round in front of him and sitting down at the foot of his bed, directly ahead of him. I slowly began to widen my legs, watching him stare as I gradually began to reveal myself. My core must have been glistening, wet with wanting since the very second he’d retrieved the leather collar from his drawers. I bit my lip once my legs were as wide as they could get. “On your knees.” I demanded. He dropped instantly with a loud thud, and the way his eyes remained on my face only made me feel more powerful, allowed me to enter the moment with ease. He looked dumbfounded, in awe, and I’d only said three words. I lazily wiped some saliva from his bottom lip with my thumb, seeing his heavy lids drop over his eyes like my touch had already spark a thousand sexual blisses that he’d never experienced before in his life. “Taste me.” I sighed, tilting my head. “I want you gasping for air.” Still looking up to me, he moved his lips to kiss at the inside of my thigh. I immediately grabbed his hair, pulling his face away from my skin and forcing his entire gaze upwards, his jaw tight as he hissed. “Don’t tease.” I shook my head, pushing his head forward. His tongue dove into my heat as soon as it was within reach, finally letting out this mumble of pleasure that vibrated against my pink flesh. Keeping my fingers laced roughly through his short hair, I lolled my head backwards, pushing my legs back together to keep him firmly in place, hearing the metal hoop that held his cuffs together jingling at little as he subconsciously tried to move his hands, probably wanting to touch me, but powerless in his attempts. His tongue searched the depth of my hot love, his nose lightly grazing my clit as he worked, eyes now firmly closed as he concentrated on my pleasure and my pleasure alone, readjusting himself just slightly so he could push ever further into me. I moved my hands to balance on the bed in the hope of stilling my trembling frame, my chest heaving as he controlled my body with just his tongue and the tips of his hair that tickled my thighs. I was experiencing a new kind of high knowing that the control was all mine, that I could tell him to do whatever I wanted and it was likely he would obey, hands restrained and neck bound. I never thought I would enjoy such a shift of power so intensely. I loved it when Harry was in control, I figured that was how it would always be between us. I was entranced by the way we’d shifted, and the new feelings it had given me. I tightened my legs again, hearing him whimper and whine against me, and his whole body was shaking, flimsy and weak and trying to find a position that suited him whilst remaining almost trapped in his spot. I watched him intently, smirking to myself just slightly, pushing my hips down as a silent request that he move his attention to my clit, so he did, darting his eyes open to look at me for a brief moment, as though asking if he was doing the right thing, and then closing them once he saw my smile, sucking on my nub and flicking his tongue against it. Pleasure wound my body tightly, his new work causing my breathing to come out in tattered jolts, my pleasure beginning to peak, and the sound the gold hoop on his wrists jingling once again merely sent me spiralling to the edge. I finally lay my back down on top of his bed, placing one hand on my chest and the other gripping the sheets to get me through the orgasm that I felt pushing to his lips and being consumed by his greedy tongue. My body rolled with the feeling, letting out a breathy sigh as I began to ease. I eventually widened my legs again, literally hearing him gasp once he was released, his body crumpling in on itself as he heaved, returning from his own high. Once I felt alleviated, I lifted again, looking down to him as I pinched his chin and brought his gaze back to mine. His lips and the area that surrounded them glistened in the low lighting, my release a pretty addition to his gorgeous face. Once again, I took my thumb and wiped around the area as much as I could before placing the digit in front of his perfect lips, his eyes on me as he took it into his mouth tongue first, sucking away at the small amount he had missed. He bit down gently on my thumb before I removed it from his mouth, then running my fingers kindly through his hair. “You look so good like this. On your knees. Shiny lips.” I whispered. “Now stand up, and turn around.” He was unsteady as he lifted himself and turned to face the wall, and his silence was something else that was unfamiliar for me, but it just made me eager for more. I reached and hooked my fingers through the side of his boxer once he was facing away from me, pulling them down slowly, my thumbs feeling over the perfect curve of his backside as I tugged the material down and then let them fall to the ground, my touch sparking goose-bumps that crawled across his skin. “Turn around.” I said again, my throat so thick the words almost didn’t make it out. My whole body jolted when he turned back around, his dick hard and thick and leaking at the tip. I reached for it, only moving his foreskin up and down a few times before a widened my mouth and forced him to the back of my throat, his knees giving way just a little bit before he managed to reposition himself so he was upright again, quietly cursing to himself as he thrust his hips forward so that I almost choked on his size. I stroked my tongue against him as I removed him from my mouth, my buds able to track his veins as I moved, glaring up to him and seeing him bite his bottom lip. “F-fuck.” He trembled. “Take it.” I moved him to the back of my throat again, beginning to pick up the pace as I finally closed my eyes. I used one hand to cover the length my mouth couldn’t whilst my other gripped at his hips, my nails digging into his delicate skin. Every time I took him as deep as I could he’d push me a little further, thrusting his hips so that I’d gag, tears swelling in my eyes and loving that he was beginning to show those signs of power again, no matter how restrained and feeble he was. I could feel and taste him in my mouth, his pre-cum sweet and thick, his moans increasing with each brush of my tongue against him, each cave of my cheeks as I enveloped him. I could tell he was close to his end. I think he’d been on the verge since the second he attached that leather choker around his neck. He was achingly breathless by the time he spoke. “Lulu, I need to feel you.” He cried. “I need to fuck you, please. Please uncuff me.” He sounded desperate, so with his dick still in my mouth, I reach around to fiddle with just one of the leather straps, undoing it with much more speed than I imagined I would, and the second I was free he pulled out and then grabbed me. He practically threw my body further upwards on his bed, diving down on top of me and then forcing himself into me. My cry of pleasure accompanied his heavy grunt as he slammed into me, so hard and accurate I came again almost instantly, Harry moving his head so he could watch me. In a daze, I grabbed at the collar around his neck, pulling him down and forcing him to kiss me, my fingers able to feel his throat jolting as his tongue fucked into my mouth and he released into me, his moan music to my ears. I’d never felt a release quite like it. He continued to kiss me with fire on the tip of his tongue and trapped in his lips as we rode it out together, our hot bodies writhing and pushing together, so close to one another it was like we weren’t supposed to part. We were supposed to be fixed together like that. Eventually, after our kisses became lazy and our touches became light, he rolled off me, still struggling to find air as he fell to his side of the bed, placing his hand on his chest and feeling the wild beat of his heart. “Was that okay?” I asked, turning my head to see his profile, grinning like a fool. “It was amazing.” He closed his eyes, letting his dimple make an appearance. “Even better than I thought it would be.” “I never thought you’d be like that.” I gasped honestly. “You’ve never even… shown a slight sign of wanting something like that.” He opened his eyes again, waiting a few more seconds as he gathered some strength before he spoke. “I usually… get so carried away during sex. I become like, this different person. I love feeling in control usually but… I think that’s because I’m used to it in my life, y’know? Anything I want… I get. It’s kind of been that way for years. So, I think… sometimes it’s nice to have that shift of power. I wanted to touch you so much but… I couldn’t. Letting you… tell me what to do like that. It’s such a turn on. Having those urges and… not being able to act on them like I usually do. It’s amazing.” There were a million different things that made Harry tick, a million different layers that created the boy I’d been entranced by for years, but I was learning more about him now than I had done when we were young. He wasn’t shy when it came to sharing himself with me, and I think that was the first time I really questioned what it all meant. That was the first time I questioned what me and Harry were to one another at this stage of our lives. “I enjoyed indulging you.” I smirked. “It was different but… good.” “You’re so fucking sexy, it’s insane.” He sniggered. “I loved it.” “Thanks.” I giggled. He rolled so he way laying on his side, propping his head up with the palm of his hand, his other hand reaching for me so he could stroke the tips of his fingers over my chest, wetting his lips before he spoke. “It’s my birthday soon.” “I know.” I smiled, closing my eyes and enjoying his tender touches. “You remember my birthday?” “Of course. You always made such a big deal about it.” “I still do.” He grinned. “I’m going to LA to celebrate this year. I mean… It’s gunna be pretty quiet compared to others but… It’s still a big deal to me.” “I hope you have a nice time.” “I want you there.” My eyes shot open, seeing that his eyes were just on my body, unfazed by what he’d just requested. Things were getting stranger. More questions were popping into my head, but I didn’t want to voice them because I was thoroughly enjoying what we did have, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I’d rather not understand it and have it, than understand it and lose it. “I can’t come out to LA.” I shuddered. “You have more holidays to take from work, right?” “Yeah, but-” “I’ll pay.” “Harry-” “Lulu!” He mocked my tone. “C’mon. I really want you there with me. Please. Pretty please.” I rolled my eyes, wishing that Harry Styles was someone I could say no to a little more easily. But, he wasn’t. “Fine.” I groaned, watching his victory smile spread across his face. “What’s the plan?”

#TLATL3 #here I go again #Lulu and Harry are backkkkk #me #mine #tlatl #The Lamb and The Lion #1dff #Harry Styles #Harry Styles one shot

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