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ncitygirls · 3 years

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yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

#i haven’t got the range #also i have jaemin on the brain and friendship too!#meet me at the altar #ncitygirls #na jaemin #jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin fluff #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #needs another proofread #enjoy!

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anabsolutetrainwreck · 3 years

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tongue-tied like we’ve never known || h. styles

warnings: dad!harry, swearing, not really proofread

word count: 2.3k

summary: two single parents try to start their lives again...

Mornings were always the worst for you. Trying to pry Tommy out of bed, and even yourself for that matter, was always an incredibly stressful task. But you’d learned to live with it and quickly come to accept it. After all, he was only young now. He’d be old soon enough and you knew you’d miss these youthful years.

You stood by the school gates, waiting for little Tommy to come bounding out of school to tell you all about his latest adventure. You always looked forward to hearing how his day went. As small children scrambled out of the doors after their teachers and straight into the arms of their parents, your eyes fell onto Tommy. He was with a boy you didn’t recognise. “Look, look! Meet my new friend,” Tommy grinned as he stood before you excitedly. “This is my mum.”

“Hello,” the little boy, dark-haired with perhaps the most striking green eyes, smiled. “I’m Oscar.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Oscar,” you smiled. “Are you new?”

The boy nodded, his cheeks flushed slightly. You couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Tommy had made a new friend. He’d been kind to the new kid and offered him a form of friendship.

You were tugged away from your thoughts as you heard a voice behind you. You quickly turned to see a man, a little taller than yourself. You figured this was Oscar’s father from the dark hair to the green eyes. “There you are,” he smiled warmly and it seemed to make your heart flutter, as if he was smiling at you.

“Daddy, this is my new friend, Tommy,” Oscar grinned excitedly.

For the first time, the man shifted his gaze from the two young boys to you. Your stomach lurched as you made eye contact with him. “You must be Tommy’s mum,” he said, extending his hand for you to shake. “I’m Harry.”

“Y/N,” you smiled, shaking it gently. You hadn’t felt like this since you first met Tommy’s dad. It was all of eight years ago now on a night out with your university friends, most of whom you didn’t even speak to nowadays. He had been kind then and polite and the sort of man you’d always envisioned yourself marrying. So, you ended up getting together and everything seemed great for the first year and a half. But then things began to decline and you both seemed to lose trust in one another and you felt as if you were putting all of your energy into this relationship. It was killing you. But then you fell pregnant with his baby and he broke up with you anyway. You went back home to live with your own parents for a while before you eventually found a proper job and moved into your own house.

Anyway, you found yourself walking down the street, Tommy and Oscar running ahead slightly, with Harry. You had Tommy’s light bag clasped between your hands, listening to Harry tell you about Oscar. “And yeah,” he concluded, “we moved down here a couple of weeks ago, just the two of us.”

“What about Oscar’s mother?” you couldn’t help but find yourself prying.

Harry seemed to tense slightly, before shrugging, “She was never really around much. Her parents thought she should have gotten an abortion but she didn’t want one and had the baby anyway. So, they kicked her out and she left Oscar with me and moved to Dublin with her friends.”

“That’s shitty,” you sighed. “At least you have Oscar, though, right?”

He nodded, smiling, “Exactly. What about Tommy’s dad then?”

“He was a dick. He broke up with me a couple of months after I told him I was pregnant,” you replied.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, “sounds like a dick. Does he see Tommy then?”

You shook your head, your eyes caught between Harry’s and your son's lively figure running up and down the path ahead of you with Oscar. “No. He’s tried to reach out a couple of times but I haven’t let him see him. I just feel like introducing him to his dad six years later could just, you know, fuck it up. Besides, if he didn’t want to be with me through all the shitty, difficult stuff, then I don’t think he’s allowed to enjoy all the joys of being a parent.”

“Well,” he smiled, “good on you.”

And that was how you met Harry Styles. Over the weeks that followed, you would walk Oscar and Tommy to and from school with him. Tommy would spend time round at Harry’s and Oscar would spend time round at yours. And it felt like every time you saw Harry, you felt simultaneously more comfortable around him but more and more nervous.

But you hadn’t dated anybody since Tommy was born. Having a young child seemed to be a deterrent for a lot of people. Or maybe had more to do with the fact that you didn’t have time for a relationship between work and raising Tommy. Sure, you’d been on plenty of dates and it wasn’t as if you weren’t ready to get back into the world of dating and relationships. If not for yourself, for Tommy. You wanted him to have some kind of parental figure that wasn’t you.

You found it difficult to focus on the book you were reading when all you could hear was the two boys laughing loudly upstairs. Oscar was round for dinner and Harry was due to pick him up any minute. And as a knock at the front door finally snapped you into a new state of consciousness, you got up to answer it. Harry stood happily on the other side, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. “Evening, Y/N,” he smiled.

“Evening, Harry,” you mocked. “Do come in.”

You opened the door wider, allowing the man to step into your home. You called down Oscar and Tommy, only to be met with groans. They appeared at the top of the stairs, their faces twisted into bitter scowls. “Why?” Tommy sighed. “Can he stay for a bit longer?”

You exchanged a glance with Harry, who shrugged. “Fifteen minutes,” you sighed. Really, all you wanted was to go to bed. They grinned and dashed back into Tommy’s small bedroom. You guided Harry into the kitchen, letting him sit himself down at the table. “Do you want a drink?” you asked.

“I’m okay, thanks,” he smiled.

You grinned, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice, “Suit yourself. So, how was your day?”

“Stressful,” he sighed. “Thanks for looking after Oscar.”

“Anytime,” you shrugged. “He’s delightful. Besides, you’ve looked after Tommy so many times, I kind of owed you.”

“Nonsense,” he laughed. “We’re not exchanging favours. We’re just… helping out a friend.”

You couldn’t help but let yourself deflate at ‘friend’. You had known all along that you were just two, young single parents that only knew each other through their six-year-old sons. But a tiny fragment of you hoped what was happening meant something more to Harry, like it did to you. There were instances of harmless flirting and subtle glances. “Right,” you nodded, forcing a soft smile. “Well, thanks for helping out a friend.”

His fingers drummed mindlessly on the table and your eyes wandered from their tips to the tattoos that peeked out of the cuff of his jacket. “Got any plans for tomorrow?” Harry asked and you almost cringed at the small talk.

But alas, you shrugged, “Not really. I have some work to catch up on, so an action packed day for me tomorrow. What about you?”

He shook his head, “I wish I had plans. Could go out for drinks or something, but I can’t because I have a needy six-year-old.”

“Treasure it while it’s still here,” you said.

“Believe me,” he grinned, “I am. God, I’m so scared for the day he just… stops needing me. You know, the day he just sort of realises that he no longer needs me to wash his clothes or walk him into town or buy him things. And it took me ages to get used to putting somebody before myself, I don’t think I could imagine living without him now. Like, one day he’ll go off to uni and get a job and only come home every other birthday or Christmas.”

You smiled gently. You were sure he’d never been so vulnerable with you before. “It’s weird to think that’s what we’re doing with our parents now. We fear the day our kids stop needing us, but our parents are living that day.”

He hummed in thought for a moment, “I should probably go see my mum soon. I haven’t seen her in months. And my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

He nodded, “Yeah. Gemma is her name. She’d love you.”

“I’m sure I’d love her if she’s anything like you,” you said.

You took a final gulp of your orange juice, your eyes beginning to feel heavy. You looked at the clock on the wall, noticing twenty minutes had passed since Harry arrived. “Right,” you smiled. “I’ll go get Oscar.”

And as you walked towards the kitchen door, Harry quickly said, “Wait!”

You turned back to look at him, your heart pounding heavily. All kinds of questions and hypotheticals raced through your mind as he paused for a moment. “Do you think you’ll ever meet somebody else, Y/N?” he asked.

“Meet somebody else?” you repeated, though you were sure you knew exactly what he meant.

“Yeah, you know… like somebody to replace Tommy’s dad. Somebody for you to settle down with and raise Tommy together. Do you think you’ll ever meet them?” he asked.

You were utterly confused as to what had prompted him to ask such a question. But you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t hear your heart in your temples or taste your blood in your mouth. “Maybe,” you shrugged. “Do you?”

“I hope so,” he said. “I’d like Oscar to have a mum.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think that would be great for him. I’ll go get him.”

That night as you lay alone in your bed, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to share your bed with Harry. To feel his body beside yours on cold nights. To be woken up by his lips peppering your face in light kisses in the morning. To discuss all the trivial things when neither of you can sleep at night. Maybe he was trying to tell you something that evening…

Oscar had become ill over that following weekend. Nothing too serious, but something that warranted a day or two off school. So, after you picked Tommy up from school, you drove to Harry’s to check if they were both okay. Tommy sat at the end of Oscar’s bed, recounting everything the young boy had missed at school, while you busied yourself in Harry’s kitchen. You were heating up some of the soup you had made for the poor boy. “You’re really too kind. You didn’t have to do this,” Harry told you as he made you a cup of coffee.

You shrugged, “Well, Oscar’s like my second son at this point.”

He smiled, albeit his cheeks a little red, “I’m glad you think that. I’m pretty sure he thinks of you as a mum at this point too.”

Now it was your turn to turn red. Your face heated up at Harry’s passing comment. Did he really think of you as a mum? “That’s sweet,” you said. “About what you said the other night… about meeting somebody, my friend says she knows a guy she thinks I’d get along with. So, I think I’m really going to try dating.”

He stiffened slightly, “Oh yeah? That’s great, Y/N.”

He hugged you and you couldn’t help but feel so safe in his arms. The hug was perhaps a second or three too long, but neither of you pulled away. And, as your bodies were pressed together, it was almost as if you shared a brief but looming epiphany together. “But,” you began again, “why try dating a stranger when I already know somebody?”

“That’s a good point,” he whispered softly, finally pulling away to make eye contact. He explored your face and you felt his warm breath on your cheeks.

“I mean, this guy that I know, he’s sweet. Really sweet. He’s super funny and caring and so, so generous. And he has a kid himself, so he won’t be put off by the single parent thing.”

He understood what you were trying to tell him, “Sounds like an angel. Who is this fine man of whom you speak?”

You grinned, “I don’t know if I should say. He has tattoos and green eyes.”

“So he’s incredibly handsome as well as being an angel?”

“I suppose you could say that,” you chuckled. And, as if the sky were falling down, Harry wasted no time in pressing his lips to your own. He kissed you and you kissed him back. All of your prior dating worries just seemed to slip away as you buried your fingers in Harry’s soft hair. It was only when you heard a quiet ‘mum?’ from the doorway did you jolt apart. Tommy stood in the threshold of the kitchen and suddenly the microwave went off, notifying you that Oscar’s soup was ready. You and Harry turned back to each other, finally registering Tommy’s presence, “Shit.”

#harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles oneshot #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry oneshot

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

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Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair.

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves. It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction.

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.”

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels.

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine.

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious.

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat.

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence.

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk.

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then.

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

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ifwallscouldtalkkkk · 3 years

Text

"Look, I'm not gonna kidnap you" - Michael Clifford Oneshot (COLLEGE)

Female reader × Michael Clifford

Mentions of alcohol, slightly tipsy (consensual) interactions, swearing, SMUT.

____________________________________

You miss your bus home after a night partying with friends. Luckily, you meet a guy willing to give you a ride home, and his playful pinky promise to not kidnap you somehow convinces you to accept.

The smut in this story is fairly short. This was my first ever attempt at writing fanfic back in 2018, and I was a bit scared of sounding stupid

____________________________________

Your shoes clacked as you ran on the cobblestones. You were so close to the bus station that you could see the bus driver flicking a cigarette butt onto the ground and leaving the embers glowing on the dark cobblestones, before taking his seat behind the wheel. You picked up your pace even more and frantically waved a hand in the air, hoping that you could cut ahead as the bus made its turn around the station back and onto the road. You cursed under your breath, mentally labeling yourself an idiot for staying at the party a couple of extra minutes to say your goodbyes to a friend who was too preoccupied with shouting random answers to the ongoing pictionary game to even hear you.

You skipped every other step on the small set of stairs to reach the platform, and when you reached the corner where the bus would turn, you started jumping up and down and waving in a feeble attempt to get the driver to stop and pick you up even though you weren't technically in the pick up zone. You could see him seeing you, it was a clear summer night and thus barely even dark! But the near empty bus didn't stop. The driver probably saw you as an entitled child who was too drunk to be on time, and maybe he was at least 25% right.

”Fucking bastard” you squeezed out through clenched teeth as you stomped around in a little circle with your head thrown back in frustration. Calling your parents to drive an hour in the middle of the night to come pick you up and let you off at your dorm was not ideal. You knew that they would do it for you, not wanting you to walk the 6 miles home. No, this was definitely not your plan, but maybe it was a bit irresponsible to plan to take the very last bus for the night. You stomped one last time and breathed out deeply.

”What the fuck are you doing, girl?”, someone called out in a humored undertone.

You swiveled around and your eyes landed on a car parked a short distance away, at the designated pick up- drop off parking area. The boy whom the voice belonged to leaned out the open window of the driver’s seat, with his arms folded and propped up on the edge of the window. His smug smirk felt hurtful in your frustrated state, but it brought you back to reality somewhat. You could admit that you probably looked like a child who didn't get a pony for christmas – and to be honest, you felt the same amount of betrayal.

”What a fucking jerk!”, the guy in the car yelled when you didn't answer. ”Where ya heading to?”

You donned a tortured expression, brushed out your skirt, picked your bag off the ground, and started walking home.

You heard the lone car start and you put a bit more speed in your step. It soon pulled up mere inches from you anyways.

”Come on, you're not seriously walking home? You obviously live a ways away since you were supposed to take the bus”, he said with the same amused tone in his voice.

”I'll be ok, and you're probably wanting to get home yourself”, you said, trying to politely reinforce the idea of him leaving you alone

”Look, I’m not gonna kidnap you, I pinky promise”, he chuckled at his own words but continued when you kept your eyes locked straight ahead. ”Girl, I’m guessing that you live on campus, and that's like a billion miles away. I’ll drop you off all gentlemanly at your doorstep and tip my imaginary top hat at you as I drive away, never to be seen again.” You stopped walking and he had to jerk his car to a stop along with you.

”The fact that you know that I live on campus is not very reassuring”, you replied.

He rolled his eyes and let out a little laugh. ”That bus-” he pointed down the road that your planned ride home had disappeared along a few minutes earlier ”-goes straight to campus. I just dropped my pal off here to avoid driving him all the way to the uni, but looks like I’ll have to go there now anyways.” You looked him in the eyes. The way he spoke elicited a strange amount of trust, and although a couple of piercings and a questionable hair color for an adult could be spotted under his beanie, he didn't seem like bad news. ”Look, the door doesn't even lock properly, I wouldn't even be able to kidnap you!” he demonstrated the faulty lock on the passenger door. You had to smile at the enthusiastic way he presented it.

”You promise you won't leave serial killer notes in my mailbox?” He lit up even more at your reply.

”Promise”, he said. You swung your bag up on your shoulder and reached for the door. This was in no way the wisest thing to do in the situation, but you were already overwon by his goofy charm.

You climbed in and kept your gaze forward, feeling the boy's eyes on you, and you caught yourself subconsciously holding your breath. You caved and looked at him when it became clear he wasn't going to drive forward before you gave in.

”Seatbelt.” he said with a parental tone. ”Can't have such a pretty girl making unsafe choices!” It wasn't as funny of a comment as his facial expression suggested, but he really knew how to lighten the mood. ”Michael.” He stretched his hand out to shake yours formally. You replied with your name and a firm handshake. ”Oh girl, with that grip, no one could even dream of succeeding in kidnapping you" he said, laughing at your overly stern behavior.

”I just hate limp handshakes", you smiled, rummaging around in your bag after a snack. ”Damn it I left my granola bar at home”, you muttered under your breath.

”Oh uh, I've got a bag of peanuts somewhere…” Michael trailed off, reaching over to the glove department to rummage through his own stuff. His warm hand grazed your bare knee while reaching and you tensed up at his accidental touch.

”Dude, eyes on the road!” you exclaimed and he chuckled in response.

”I thought risk taking was a theme tonight – oh wait, here they are!” He plopped a bag of salted peanuts in your lap.

”Wait, you're not allergic, are you?” he asked. ”Some risks are not worth taking.”

”No, I love peanuts, no worries”, you poured a handful out and put a few in your mouth. After a night consisting mostly of liquor and dancing around, something to eat felt heavenly.

Michael asked you a couple of standard questions about your studies, and you gave all the standard answers.

”I kinda miss studying. Never thought I'd say that." Michael smiled. His hand dipped down into the bag in your lap to get some peanuts, getting dangerously close to between your thighs. You stumbled for a few seconds.

”Um oh, ok really?” His behavior was so unlike anyone else you knew. He was so daring and sure of himself, but he felt so warm and fuzzy in contrast. Maybe the previously ingested alcohol skewed your judgement, but you couldn't help but find this stranger utterly charming.

”Yeah… I'm on the road a lot nowadays for work", came his reply.

”Oh, what do you do? Uber driver for college girls who can't keep track of time?” You saw one corner of his mouth pulling smugly upwards at your joke.

”Uh no, I'm in the music producing business.”

”Huh, that's fun. I wasn-" you didn't finish your sentence as a deer jumped out onto the otherwise vacant road from between a few bushes on the side of the long stretch of asphalt nearing the campus grounds.

”Oh shit", you heard Michael exclaim while swerving a bit and stepping hard on the brakes. The deer stared confused at the headlights before scurrying off towards the other side of the road. ”You ok?!” the boy asked between quick breaths. Your breath was labored too, but your eyes and mind were mostly focused on the male hand that had instinctively been placed protectively on your thigh while braking. Michael unfastened his seatbelt and leaned closer when he didn't get an answer.

”Uh, yeah…” your eyes now focused on his light, green, worried eyes.

You just stared. You didn't mean to, but you didn't make an effort to look away either. He had gotten so close. His left hand was on your upper arm in a protective manner, and his face was just inches away from yours. You didn't mean to stare, and you most definitely didn't mean for your eyes to briefly flicker down to look at his lips. He noticed. He must have noticed given the way you were both so focused on each other.

”Wa-", you began, but didn't finish the sentence. To be honest, you couldn't even remember what you were about to say. Your eyes flickered down again, when your vocal cords failed you.

‘Shit!’ Your mind blasted out inside your own head, but Michael didn’t pull away, or look alarmed. If anything, his brow furrowed deeper, all the while he was trying to calm his own breath. After a couple more sharp exhales his grip on your arm tightened, and he pressed his lips to yours quickly, as if he was taking a running start. You kissed back automatically before you even registered what was happening. You tensed up and felt Michael’s grip loosen as if to retreat. 'No no no', you were not gonna lose this moment. No way. To signal that you were on board with what was happening you brought your hand up to his neck. ‘He can't stop now’, you were aching for him to continue touching you.

He got more involved in the kiss in response, and your other hand found its way up to the back of his neck too. The hand that had previously resided firmly on your arm now fell to your thigh and snaked its way to the back of your knees, pulling you closer still. Your voice had given up any sort of attempt of self control, and a short moan escaped your lips. The man reacted to your premature excitement and his right hand fumbled to find your seat belt button. In a surprisingly smooth motion for the situation being, he simultaneously pushed his own seat back from the steering wheel, and pulled you onto his lap as soon as the belt let go of you. Both your hands braced against Michael's chest, while his own hands pressed into your sides. Your fingers curled to grip his shirt, and his fingers mimicked yours by curling too, his nails digging into you. You could feel your pulse going crazy. Michael's heartbeat was probably also going off the rails, because he lifted you off of him a couple of inches so that he could grow more comfortably in his pants. He looked you deep in your eyes the entire time and let out a lengthy exhale.

“Girl, I don't even know what to do with you.”

He grabbed your ass to grind you into him. You let yourself angle your head back in reaction to your core finally being stimulated, and Michael straightened up his upper body to nibble at your neck. You helped him by moving your own hips along with the rhythm, but his hands still stayed firmly on your ass. When you couldn't take it anymore, you reached down to unclasp his belt, but your fingers fumbled more than you intended. You hadn't noticed how much you were shaking in excitement before now.

The stranger turned lover stared into your eyes patiently while you unbuttoned his jeans, but as soon as you managed to slide them down his thighs he pressed you hard against him, almost as hard as he pressed your lips together. Your underwear starting to become soaked from the thought of what was to come. Michael shifted his underwear down to meet his jeans. His hands couldn't decide where to rest, alternating between your hips, your chest, and your neck.

When focusing on your hips, his fingers on one hand slid up ever so slightly underneath the hem of your underwear, and his touch left you grinding harder into his thigh. You could tell that Michael knew how wet you were, your panties practically gliding around. His fingers found your hemline once more, and he slowly let his fingers follow the leg seam downwards. He let two fingers slip between you and the fabric to rest right outside your entrance for what felt like several minutes, but then inserted them forcefully when your whimpers became more desperate. He groaned too, from getting to feel you from the inside and knowing what pleasures it gave you. As if this didn't feel explosive enough already, his thumb joined his other fingers and circled your clit carefully.

You felt your cheeks turn red from the blood rushing fast through your body. Feeling sparks in your lower stomach already was not something you anticipated. Michael seemed to understand though, because he stilled you from assisting his fingers’ movement. He had stopped his movements too to make sure you would focus on his face. The look of his eyes as he kept them locked on yours was piercing and the icy-ness of it felt amazing on your hot cheeks. He held one hand deep inside of you, and the other on his own throbbing organ. He slowly replaced his two fingers with his cock, letting you get used to him gradually. You sank down, and the pain of stretching was miniscule compared to all the pleasure in the air. Once Michael was sure that you were comfortable with him, he elevated his hips just enough to push your limits. He finally let out a well kept-in moan. The subtle hip movements turned more and more intense until the point where you could tell you would end up with leg cramps in a few hours. The car wasn’t gigantic by any means, but you found ways to make do. With your hands behind your back, you could hold onto the steering wheel for support, with the added benefit of letting Michael’s hands roam over your torso freely.

Eyes watering, heart pumping, and legs trembling, you could feel your orgasm coming closer. Both your moans blended together into an audible mess as the electric pulses took over your body. After your release, your body relaxed heavy against the steering wheel.

A long, loud honk sounded out before you could get the chance to lift yourself off in horror. ‘Oh shit.’ The motion of lifting yourself off and plopping down in the passenger seat again wasn’t graceful, but it was at least fairly quick. You sat paralyzed holding onto your seat as a dog barked loudly at the sudden interruption of the usual peace and quiet. A lamp lit up in a house a few hundred yards away. It took a minute, but Michael finally chuckled - his hands rubbing his face. You cracked a smile too, but your stiffened posture would take a few minutes to get rid of. Michael clearly had a more easily relaxed personality than you.

The back of his head lay on the head rest, and he let it fall to one side to turn towards you. The same all-too-humored look that he had when you missed the bus was painted over his face. He didn't say anything, and neither did you. Words didn't really help in this predicament. He just pulled his pants up to waist level again and turned the car keys. You two drove in silence the few minutes left to reach campus grounds.

He crawled to a stop outside of the main dorms, and turned his head lazily again. You had quickly gathered your stuff in your hands as he pulled in, and you got out the second the car stopped.

“Well, uh… Thanks for the ride”, you said politely.

“You’re welcome”, he replied just as politely, and with a rare sincerity.

You raised your palm up in a subdued goodbye as you took a few steps backwards, and then turned around to walk away. Your shoes on the asphalt click-clacked loudly in the silent summer night. You reached for the door handle, the cool metal feeling sobering in your grip.

“HEY!” a word sliced through the silence.

You spun around on your toes quickly.

“Hey girl!” Michael continued when he knew he had your attention. He was leaning out the rolled down window again.

“I know where you live!” The grin on his face almost bursting by the seams.

A huge smile immediately spread across your face too.

ifwallscouldtalkkkk MASTERLIST

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

I Don't Know How I Know (But I Know) (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and the joke around school is that they’re joined at the hip. They started working there at the same time and they were both given the year two classes, so they planned together, filled out their assessment folders together and prepped for parent’s evenings together.

Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and Tayce has been a little bit in love with her for two of them.

(in which Tayce teaches year five, A'whora teaches Reception, Tayce hates Valentine’s day, and A'whora has a plan to change that.)

a/n: with thanks to my co-author, Lawrence Chaney. title from Intuition by LIZ, please listen to it it’s a vibe. happy valentine’s day everyone xo

***

Tayce has heard people say that teaching is a form of acting. She thinks this is true, for the most part. After all, there’s no way in hell she teaches her year fives the same way she would act around her friends.

She pretends she doesn’t know the TikTok dance to Savage Love and fakes ignorance at the memes her kids all communicate in. She’s impatient with her class when they run in the corridor and chew gum (because they’re almost the oldest in the school, and they should know better) but she’s patient when they struggle with area and perimeter and brings her chair over to sit beside whoever’s confused to explain it all again. She’s strict- she gets the girls passing notes to each other into trouble as if she didn’t do the exact same with her friends at the age of ten- and she’s built up a reputation for being one of the teachers that doesn’t take any shit. She expects a lot from the children she teaches, knows they’re a blank canvas and that they’ve got the potential to understand things that some adults struggle with, so she teaches them about racism, homophobia and transphobia, makes it part of her everyday teaching as opposed to one milquetoast lesson about Martin Luther King per year.

Some of the parents fucking hate her for it. She’d be lying if she said that wasn’t one of her favourite parts of the job.

It takes a lot for her not to drop that persona sometimes. When she has to tear through one of her boys for muttering “ah shit, here we go again” as she hands out a worksheet on direct and indirect speech instead of bursting out laughing as if it’s one of the funniest things she’s heard in years, which it is. It’s times like that when she wishes she could be more like A’whora.

A’whora with the blonde hair and the Disney-princess smile who teaches Reception. A’whora who does silly voices for all the characters when she’s reading picture books to her class and who sits and does colouring-in with them when they’re playing. A’whora who’s too nice to them all because she thinks they’re too cute to discipline, but her class love her so their behaviour is good regardless.

(A’whora with the completely inappropriate nickname only disclosed to Tayce five mojitos deep on the staff Christmas night out, which she’d earned herself at uni via her reputation. Tayce hadn’t asked for any further details.)

Tayce has never seen a teacher better suited to the youngest class in the school than A’whora. She’s constantly got specks of glitter on her face from the crafts she completes with them, she hums the silly little songs she uses to teach them their sounds when she’s at the photocopier without even realising. She turns up to work in immaculate outfits and finishes the day with them covered in glue, marker pen, and even (horrifically) a child’s snot once, but she doesn’t even mind, simply zips them up into little bodybags and puts them in for dry cleaning.

Tayce is never done telling her how she could never do what she does, she could never teach the little ones; her patience would snap, she’s too mean for them, she’d get bored having to teach the most basic of basic stuff. A’whora only ever brushes her off and says how she couldn’t teach Tayce’s year group either; they’d eat her alive, they’d walk all over her, she wouldn’t even be able to do the complicated maths she’d have to teach. Besides, she argues, drawing a glare from Tayce every time, she’s definitely goofy enough for the Reception kids.

Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and the joke around school is that they’re joined at the hip. They started working there at the same time and they were both given the year two classes, so they planned together, filled out their assessment folders together and prepped for parent’s evenings together. They worked well together, so when their headteacher sent them to opposite ends of the school Tayce almost had a meltdown. Still, they sit next to each other in the staffroom and at every staff meeting. They take turns making each other lunch every day and walk to the roll shop to get toasties every Friday. Tayce walks down from her classroom to come and sit in A’whora’s at the end of every day and they chat and bitch and sometimes cry and get absolutely nothing done for at least forty minutes. A’whora picks her up on the way to work every morning and terrifies Tayce with her bad driving and the way she almost causes road traffic accidents with only a “whoopsie!” of acknowledgement, but she’ll make up for it by taking them through the Starbucks drive-thru if they’ve got a meeting after school that night. She blasts songs by artists Tayce has never heard of but are all in the same energetic, poppy, Y2K-esque genre that A’whora seems to love.

Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and Tayce has been a little bit in love with her for two of them.

***

A’whora’s friends tease her and tell her that teaching five year olds must be the easiest job in the world. A’whora loves her friends, but she fucking resents them when they come out with that shite.

A’whora knows that she herself is not the brightest crayon in the box. She had known that she’d never be one of the girls in her year at high school that went off to study medicine or law, and she’d known she’d never graduate uni with a first class degree or write an award-winning dissertation.

(When she’s having a bad day she comforts herself with the fact that at least she’s not joined a multi-level-marketing scheme under the guise of being a “businesswoman”, and this helps her feel a little better.)

But what she lacks in academic ability she makes up for in spadeloads by being a damn good teacher. She’s big-hearted and silly and patient. She always picks up crisps and KitKats when she’s at the shops and keeps them in a drawer under her desk to sneak to the kids who come to school without a snack. She sits in the construction corner with her kids when they’re playing and asks them about the models they make, and pretends to die a gruesome, slow death when they shoot her with their little lego guns instead of trying to get them to make something less violent like she knows she should do. She reads books about unicorns that captivate the little shy girls in her class who come up to her afterwards and whisper in their tiny voices that they think unicorns are real, and A’whora agrees with them and watches their faces light up. She makes every day fun for her little ones; because the beauty of teaching is having the control to plan what happens every hour, so she makes sure that none of the six they have to spend in her care are boring.

The key to being a good Reception teacher is to essentially make a fool of yourself every day for the benefit of twenty-two four and five year olds, which A’whora has no problem doing. She doesn’t care what her pupil support worker thinks of her when she acts out The Gruffalo with soft toy puppets she borrowed from the library. She doesn’t care what the management team think of her when she turns up for World Book Day dressed as The Tiger Who Came To Tea. The only person’s opinion she does maybe care a tiny, ever-so-slight amount about, is Tayce’s.

Tayce is that teacher. Tayce is the cool teacher. Tayce is the teacher that all the children want to be taught by. A’whora hears the year fours whisper to each other in the corridors every June and watch as they cross their fingers and close their eyes before they open the envelope addressed to their parents, then give a screech of excitement and joy when they see the name Miss Szura-Radix on their class allocation letter. She wears heels all day without so much as a grunt of complaint and jumps in A’whora’s car each morning with a full face of makeup on at half past seven (while A’whora paints her face at quarter past eight at her desk in between shovelling a croissant down her throat in an attempt at ‘breakfast’ and sorting handwriting worksheets). The year five and six girls straighten their hair to a flattened crisp in an attempt to emulate Tayce’s endless shiny locks and she’s the only teacher that the rogue group of year six boys addresses with respect. She has the discipline of Miss Trunchbull with the heart of Miss Honey, and A’whora thinks she’s the best teacher she’s ever seen.

A’whora’s been friends with Tayce since she started working at the school but her heart still flutters in its chest whenever she sweeps in to her classroom to chat after work, or sits herself down next to her before a cluster meeting with two cups of tea in polystyrene mugs and two biscuits, or whenever A’whora mysteriously finds a packet of Percy Pigs on her desk hidden under a pile of marking with a post-it note stuck to it that says “u are a pig (but i love u)”.

She wonders if that feeling will ever go away. She kind of doesn’t want it to.

It’s that feeling that made her volunteer to help out at the year five camp last March. Tayce was complaining about having to go to a remote outdoor centre and supervise ten year olds completing various death-defying tasks for a week all in the name of character building, and A’whora had said she’d go with her. The smile it had put on Tayce’s face was worth every minute spent up to her knees in mud. Similarly every second she spent waist deep in freezing water was worth the moment Tayce fell asleep on her shoulder on the coach trip back to school on the last day.

(And she still hasn’t told anyone else about the moment she thought her heart might explode; on the last night of the week when temperatures had unexpectedly plummeted and A’whora had been trying to get to sleep but all she had been able to do was shiver and chatter her teeth and toss and turn, and Tayce had sighed dramatically, rolled her eyes, thrown off her duvet cover and patted the space in the bed beside her, with a “just get in quick, before it gets cold”. A’whora had spent the following hours until morning with Tayce’s body tangled around hers, in the most blissful sleepless night she’d ever experienced.)

There’s so many things that endear Tayce to A’whora. Her smile, her secretly chaotic funny side, the way she never, ever makes A’whora feel like an idiot. The way she’ll ask the questions A’whora’s too scared to ask in staff meetings. The way she cares so deeply and passionately about the futures of the kids she teaches to the extent where sometimes she’ll develop a little crease at her brow in front of her attainment spreadsheet and A’whora will have to gently pry her away from her monitor to reassure her that she can’t control the way her children’s lives pan out. The way she’ll sometimes call her Rory, which makes A’whora’s heart expand at least three sizes.

Something else that makes her heart expand three sizes is the way Tayce acts with the Reception kids, despite her insisting she could never teach that year group. It happens one day when A’whora’s marking literacy while letting her kids play and Tayce swings by her classroom without so much as a knock. They’ll do this to each other sometimes when one’s in class and the other has planning time; just drop by and check in to make sure the other isn’t having a meltdown.

“Hey bitchtits,” she murmurs quietly, smirking as she leans onto A’whora’s desk. “How’s your day going?”

“Terrible since you decided to show up,” A’whora cocks an eyebrow back, then jerks her head towards her distracted kids. “This lot are like sponges, y’know. You can’t be dropping that kind of language in this class, even if you think you’re out of earshot.”

Tayce sticks her tongue out at her. “Aw what, you gonna report me to management?”

“Report you to management and say you’re in my class annoying me during teaching time!”

“Piss off! I’m the highlight of your day and you know it.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No. Just some very lucky ladies,” Tayce bites back with a smile, instantly rendering A’whora’s cheeks beetroot red as if she’s been slapped.

“You’re horrendous. You’re an actual deviant. Olly Murs without the Pringles can,” she rolls her eyes, trying to style out how flustered she’s become. She can see Tayce open her mouth to shoot a comeback her way, which is why she’s glad when one of her boys appears beside her desk holding a crumpled piece of paper covered in crayon blobs which are clearly meant to represent objects.

“Hi Archie! You okay?” she smiles brightly, turning all her attention to the little boy and trying not to cringe at Tayce getting full view of her Cbeebies-presenter voice.

“I made a picture for you,” he says, showing her the piece of paper and pointing out all the features of his drawing with a chubby little finger. “It’s a dragon that breathes fire and bombs, and he’s called Squish.”

“Wow! Thank you, Archie, I love it!” A’whora keeps smiling, blinking at the drawing the boy’s still holding. She points at some shaky rectangles with a pink acrylic. “And I can see he must be really tall because those buildings are tiny underneath him!”

Archie’s no longer interested in her or the drawing, though, as he’s looking up at Tayce through his glasses. “You’re my brother’s teacher.”

“Am I?” Tayce says, surprised that the attention is suddenly on her. “Who’s your brother?”

“Joshua. Joshua White.”

Tayce’s face instantly lights up in recognition. “Of course, you’re Josh’s brother! I should’ve known, you look so alike.”

“He’s ten and I’m five,” Archie adds, somewhat unnecessarily.

“See, I think you might be taller than him, though,” Tayce deadpans. A’whora watches affectionately as Archie’s entire body crumples up in a laugh and he splutters out a “nooooo!”. Tayce’s face breaks out into a smile- warm and genuine with her nose wrinkling up. It’s maybe the most adorable thing A’whora has ever seen.

“Josh is good at art as well. He’s not quite as good as you, but he’s good,” Tayce smiles, and as Archie smiles back A’whora feels her heart melting.

Archie turns to Tayce suddenly with the drawing still in his hand, and holds it out for her to take. “This is actually for you.”

A’whora gives a snort of outrage and amusement, which she quickly turns into a cough. She watches as Tayce accepts the drawing gratefully, giving Archie a little squeeze on his shoulder as she says thank you and Archie scuttles away back to his friends all bashful. There’s a second where Tayce smiles after him then looks down at the drawing with fondness, and A’whora’s feelings for her hit her like a tidal wave.

Tayce doesn’t notice (because of course she doesn’t) and as she straightens up she grins triumphantly at A’whora, holding the drawing in her face proudly. “Well. Guess Archie’s got a new favourite teacher then, doesn’t he?”

“He wouldn’t last five minutes in your classroom,” A’whora smirks, lying. The image of big-hearted Tayce with a class full of the littlest kids drying their tears and helping them get all organised for the day ahead is so unbelievably cute it makes A’whora want to squeal like an embarrassing teenager. She doesn’t, though. Instead she holds out a hand expectantly, raises her eyebrows at Tayce as if she’s one of her students. “Am I getting my drawing back or what?”

“Easy come, easy go,” Tayce winks at her, flouncing out of her classroom door just as the bell rings for break.

***

Tayce doesn’t really flirt with A’whora. Well, no, that’s a lie. She flirts and then immediately laughs it off, brushes it off as a joke or banter even though maybe if she’d taken flirting with A’whora a little more seriously she wouldn’t still be in this position two-bloody-years in.

Because she knows A’whora flirts sometimes. She’s positive she isn’t making it up. The way she’ll deadpan a “well, you look like shit” as she hops into her car in the mornings, the way she’ll sit close to her under her fluffy pink blanket if she’s round at Tayce’s for a movie day (because yeah, they hang out outside of work, because that’s what friends do). It’s always a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it raised eyebrow here, a laugh there, a touch of her arm and a squeeze of her hand and a smirk that bites back a thousand words Tayce wishes A’whora would just say.

So Tayce will flirt back because that’s probably just what A’whora does with her friends, and that’s all Tayce is to her. Maybe. Tayce is never sure if A’whora likes her back or not, and the risk of completely wrecking what is her only workplace friendship is too great to actually do something about it, so she’s happy being her friend for now. Every second she gets to spend with A’whora is a treat, so she can’t complain.

It would be easier if she was still labouring under the delusion that A’whora was straight, which was the whole reason it took Tayce so long to start slowly falling for her. A’whora had had a boyfriend for roughly the first six months Tayce had known her, so she hadn’t even thought of her friend in that capacity at all. Then one day on a rainy January she’d thudded her bag down on Tayce’s desk and told her they were going for drinks after work that night because her boyfriend was a cheating piece of shit and she’d broken up with him.

Tayce’s fate had further been sealed when they’d been sitting together for an inservice day on LGBT training and A’whora had turned to her and rolled her eyes.

“We don’t really need to be here, do we? We could just piss off to McDonalds.”

Tayce had laughed softly, fixing A’whora with a slightly confused glance. “Huh?”

“Well, I feel like we probably have enough lived experience of the whole thing to not need training. Still, we could always duck back in in time for the transgender part. But I mean we probably don’t really need to be told how to support kids struggling with their sexuality, do we?”

Tayce still remembers how A’whora had snorted at her, her face obviously looking as if she was searching for the last puzzle piece in the world’s most confusing jigsaw. “What is it?”

“I don’t get…what?” Tayce had said awkwardly, still unsure of what A’whora had meant.

A’whora had pulled a face, giggling a little. “Are you telling me that rainbow flag is on your desk for shits and gigs?”

“No…” Tayce said slowly, the pieces slowly falling together. “So…”

A’whora gave another funny little snort. “Tayce, did you not know I was bi? I’m sure I’ve told you this before.”

Tayce still thinks she deserves an Oscar for still being able to keep the conversation going despite the fact her entire world had been flipped on its head like a globe made of hourglass. “You’ve not! You’ve never. I mean, like, why would you need to? It’s not something that matters. I mean obviously it matters to you, but it doesn’t matter to me. You’re my friend either way. I mean it just never occurred to me because…your ex, and uh…you can drive.”

Mercifully, their headteacher had started speaking before A’whora could respond to her beyond a single raised eyebrow and a smirk on her face.

It’s been ever since then that Tayce has been looking at A’whora in a different light. How gorgeous she is at the start of the day with nothing but her laminated brows and lash extensions to pass for makeup and how gorgeous she still is at the end of the day with her mascara and eyeliner smudged a little at the edges and her lipstick all rubbed off. How she’s generous and patient and how she’ll go out of her way to help Tayce understand the new flavour-of-the-month resource their headteacher makes them use, pulling one of her kid’s chairs over to sit close beside her to see the monitor and bumping her knee against Tayce’s every so often.

It’s how she acts around her kids, though, that really highlights everything Tayce completely adores about A’whora. Tayce is on her way up to the staffroom with two tubs of chicken shawarma salad in her hands (one for her and one for A’whora, of course) and she makes it up one flight of stairs when she suddenly hears a cry like an air raid siren pierce the air, as well as a gentle, soothing voice muttering quiet consolations.

It’s the sheer hysterical nature of the crying that catches Tayce’s attention at first, and she looks over the bannister to see A’whora on the level below, sitting a little boy who’s bawling his eyes out down on the red squashy chairs outside the office. With a stab to her heart Tayce realises that it’s Archie, the boy who’d given her the picture all those weeks ago. Both his knees and the palms of his hands are torn to ribbons; he’s obviously had a fight with the tarmac and emerged the loser. Tayce knows he’ll be okay if an adult’s seeing to him, especially if that adult’s A’whora, so she knows she can leave. She doesn’t need to stay and watch the situation play out.

But she does. She watches as one of the ladies from the office comes out and reassures A’whora that she can take over, and as A’whora waves her away kindly and says it won’t take her two minutes. She watches as A’whora puts her hands on the boy’s shoulders and directs his breathing, talking to him calmly and softly. She watches A’whora rip into a packet of sterile wipes with grim determination, telling Archie how brave he’s being and that she knows it stings as she wipes quickly and carefully over his little cut hands. She watches A’whora peel the wrapping off four plasters, making it seem effortless even with her long acrylics, and the way she makes a joke about Archie being bandaged up like a mummy which brings a smile to his little tear-stained face and a smile to Tayce’s too. The other staff don’t get to see A’whora’s caring nature very often (given how often she whispers judgemental comments to Tayce during meetings) but Tayce sees it all the time. A’whora has the biggest heart of anyone she’s ever known, and the whole scene makes Tayce feel so endeared towards her that it almost frightens her.

It’s at that point when Archie looks up at Tayce on the bannister and makes eye contact with her. He flicks his eyes back down to his teacher.

“Uh, Miss Boyle? I think Miss Szura-Radix wants to talk to you, because she’s been there a long time.”

Tayce’s heart freezes solid at the same time A’whora turns around, who fixes her with a sort of funny smile, confused but not exactly unhappy to see her.

“Uh. Coming to the staffroom?” Tayce shouts down, under pressure to explain herself but simultaneously not having any explanation.

“Two seconds!” A’whora yells up apologetically.

“I’ll wait,” Tayce yells down, reassuring her.

Tayce is used to waiting for A’whora. She supposes another minute or so won’t make a difference.

***

This is the third Valentine’s day A’whora has spent with Tayce.

The first fell on a Monday and had been an abject disaster (or success, depending on how she looked at it). A’whora was still getting over her ex and Tayce had confided in her that she hated Valentine’s day and all its commercialised, capitalist tat with a burning passion, so they’d gone to the pub after work and got so outrageously drunk that the two of them were so hungover the next day A’whora drove them to McDonalds for lunch.

The second had been last year- a Tuesday, where Tayce had been subdued and a little down until A’whora had forced her into helping her choose new clothes for the roleplay area for her kids and the pair of them had collapsed into endless breathless giggles as they both tried on costumes made for five-year-olds, the memory of Tayce in a hi-vis vest, safety goggles and a tiny hard hat one that still makes A’whora laugh if she thinks about it.

Really she’s lucky that she gets to be one of the few people who’s spent the 14th of February with their crush for three years in a row, but not for the reasons she might want. Still, she can live in the delusional daydream she’s taunted herself with many times; how maybe today Tayce will turn up at her classroom door with helium balloons and a teddy, how she’ll say she’s been secretly in love with her for years and how she’s booked them a table at that fancy seafood restaurant in town that just opened up for an actual proper date (not a mate date and not some gal-entines or pal-entines bullshit).

And then Tayce hops into her car in a foul mood with her hair drenched from waiting for A’whora in the rain with no umbrella and a face like a cow’s backside.

A’whora tries to cheer her up. She blasts the R&B that Tayce loves but Tayce just asks her to turn it off, telling her that Kiana Ledé, Mahalia and Ella Mai are exactly what she doesn’t need to hear on Valentine’s Day, endless songs about being in and out of love. So A’whora blasts Charli XCX instead, which works well until shuffle puts on Forever, and then Tayce is in the huff again.

Teaching the year fives doesn’t exactly help her feel much better, A’whora thinks, as they both sit down to lunch together and Tayce turns to her with an incredulous scowl on her face.

“They’ve all got bloody boyfriends and girlfriends!”

A’whora stops eating the pasta salad Tayce has made for her and narrows her eyes inquisitively. “Who does?”

“All the kids in my class. They’ve been going around all day telling me who they’ve paired up with, who’s snogging who, the detailed dating history of these bloody ten year olds. They keep asking me what we’re doing for Valentine’s Day. ‘Are we making cards?’ No! We’re doing more work on decimals because none of you bloody understood it the first three times I explained it to you. Make a card in your own damn time,” Tayce rolls her eyes while A’whora snorts with laughter. Tayce side-eyes her, unimpressed as A’whora tries to defend herself.

“Oh come on, Tayce, you’ve got to admit it’s a bit funny.”

“Is it? Is it though? Is it funny that a ten year old boy can get himself a girlfriend but I can’t?”

Tayce’s words make A’whora’s heart jump a hurdle. She plays it off with a joke. “Yeah, but he’s got a ten year old girlfriend, Tayce. I’m assuming you don’t want that.”

“No, funnily enough!” Tayce shakes her head. She pouts uncharacteristically, tilting her head to the ceiling. “I just…I don’t know, I just want someone that’s there for me. Who’ll always listen to all my shit, someone that makes me smile when I feel like crap. Someone I can just be myself around and have a laugh with whatever the hell we’re doing.”

A’whora nods and doesn’t say what she wants to. We do that. We do all of that together already.

“But I don’t want all the shit of having to actually get to know people, having to go on dates and do the whole talking stage and get my hopes up only to have them let down. I wish I could just…” Tayce sighs, and A’whora’s on tenterhooks wondering what’s coming next. “…I wish I just already had that person, you know?”

You do have that person. I’m that person.

A’whora nods silently and the bell rings signalling the end of their lunch break.

Since she’s not as enraged by Valentine’s day as Tayce, A’whora has planned to get the sequins and glue out and get the kids to make Valentine’s cards. She loves planning tasks like this, mainly because five year olds don’t need much help when faced with a glue stick and a shaker full of glitter, so it means she can put her feet up and have a chilled afternoon. She explains to her class what they’re going to be doing, feels her heart burst with affection as they all get outrageously excited at the very notion of using glitter. She shows them how to fold their piece of paper carefully to make a card shape, and shows them the array of colours they can choose from (and has to explain to some disappointed boys that no, she doesn’t have any blue card so no, their Valentine’s Day card can’t be the colour of Crystal Palace football club).

She’s giving out the different colours of card to her kids and cutting them to size when one of her girls stops, peers carefully at the selection of colours, then looks at A’whora thoughtfully.

“Miss Boyle, are you going to give a Valentine’s card to Miss Szura-Radix?”

A’whora almost slices through her own hand in shock. She looks with incredulity at the little girl in front of her. “Bella! No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re best friends and you love her,” Bella shrugs, A’whora’s attempts to shame her into silence obviously having no effect. A’whora tries to scowl, tries to do her best ‘cross face’ despite the fact that the thought of giving Tayce a Valentine’s card sets her heart racing so fast it makes her genuinely think about driving to A&E.

“I don’t…” she starts, until Bella speaks again.

“You told us before that girls can fall in love with girls and you said that we can make our Valentine’s cards for our friends too,” she insists innocently. A’whora finally musters up a frown, thrusts a pink piece of card into her hand.

“Why am I even entertaining this conversation- go and get on with your work, madam!” she says firmly, and Bella walks away with her blank card in her hand, nonplussed.

But as her kids all begin to make their cards and they’re all too caught up in glitter and painting their hands with PVA glue to even need her help with anything, A’whora begins absent-mindedly folding a spare piece of pink card in half. She draws one, two, three love hearts on it, then takes one of the little glue sticks and carefully, neatly, fills them in with splodges of clear glue. She asks one of the little boys sitting at the table opposite her if she can borrow the red glitter when he’s finished with it and he nods his head, A’whora’s heart involuntarily swelling with pride at how good her children are at sharing. She tap-tap-taps the glitter shaker over the hearts on the paper, making sure each one is covered completely before standing the card upright and watching the excess fall off like sparkly snow. Opening the card, she takes the gold shiny gel pen from her desk and writes without really thinking it through.

Maybe if Tayce isn’t going to magically read A’whora’s mind and figure out what she’s been yearning for, A’whora just has to give her a little nudge in the right direction.

When she’s done she folds it back over, stands up, crosses the room to her empty yellow message folder and slides it inside. She asks her class if anyone knows where the year five classroom is because she’s got a message to send there. Fifteen tiny hands fly up and A’whora basically has to whittle the volunteers down to the only two kids who actually know where they’re going, and she gives them the folder and tells them to take it up to Tayce’s classroom.

She doesn’t think about the reality or the implication of what she’s just done, because if she does then she’ll start hyperventilating and not stop until perhaps June of next year. Instead she catches the eye of Julia, the little girl who moved from Poland in January. She can’t speak or write a word of English yet, but the way she’s looking at A’whora with a little smile on her face makes her genuinely wonder if she knows. Sometimes kids can pick up on these sorts of things. She shoots her a little wink and puts her finger to her lips in a “shhh” just in case, and the little girl breaks into a grin that shows two missing front teeth.

The thing about teaching is that it’s a great job for providing a distraction. A’whora can’t think about the card she made for Tayce when she’s cleaning up an entire pot of glitter that Jared spilt all over the carpet, nor can she think about what she’s written in it when she’s comforting Angelica because she didn’t get to finish her card in time for hometime. But the moment she’s waved the kids off and dropped them off to their parents she walks up the stairs from the front entrance with an impending sense of dread which only increases with every new step she takes.

“What the fuck have you done,” she mutters under her breath, earning her a weird look from one of the ladies at the office.

When she gets back to her classroom to find Tayce sitting on one of the tiny tables waiting for her, A’whora feels her heart freeze in her chest and the blood rush to her face, blushing just from seeing her there. Tayce looks in a better mood than she was at lunchtime, though, which is a good start. Maybe she never even read the card. Maybe A’whora’s reception kids took it to the entirely wrong class. Christ, that would be even more embarrassing.

“Hey, boo boo,” Tayce smiles gently at her, as A’whora crosses the room and elects to sit on the desk opposite her so they’re face to face and not too far away. “How’d your afternoon go?”

“Oh, uh, y’know,” A’whora stammers out, blundering her words in the world’s worst attempt at appearing nonchalant. “Lots of glitter, lots of PVA. In fact I’m probably sitting in a massive glittery splodge of it, as are you.”

Tayce laughs, checks the table comedically.

“How was yours? You seem a bit more cheerful,” A’whora continues, looking to the floor and not darling to meet her eyes. “Did decimals finally click with your lot, or…?”

“I am a bit more cheerful,” Tayce smiles, A’whora’s heart racing and soaring in anticipation at the same time. “But not really anything to do with decimals. More to do with the fact somebody made me a really very lovely Valentine’s card.”

Tayce reaches behind her back and produces her card- A’whora’s card- from the table behind her, and A’whora feels her pulse race at her wrists and her heart leap into her mouth to the extent that she’s rendered almost too shy to speak. What the fuck was she thinking? Tayce is probably about to rip the piss out of her for it, it was a huge mistake, and she’s probably thrown their whole friendship away for nothing.

However. There’s a little something in Tayce’s eyes, a little sparkle that makes the grey shine silver. So A’whora shrugs, fixing a carefree smile on her face even though she feels anything but.

“Well, I know you hate Valentine’s day, so…I thought maybe if I gave you a card you’d stop being so mardy about it.”

When she looks at Tayce again she can see there’s a little crack in her perfect armour, the sparkle in her eyes dulled slightly. When she speaks her voice is quiet and nervous, so stripped of its usual hyperactivity and energy that A’whora wonders if it’s even Tayce’s voice at all. “Is that, uh. Is that the only reason you made it?”

A’whora can practically feel herself clam up. She has no idea where Tayce is going with this; to clarify that it was a joke or to clarify that it was serious, and A’whora doesn’t know which one Tayce wants it to be.

“What you wrote,” Tayce continues, her gaze fixed on the glitter-covered carpet and making it even more impossible to figure out her intention. “Was that, like…some girly besties chat, or was it…did you mean it…like that?”

“Yeah, I did,” A’whora says instantly. It’s out before she knows it, a terrifying leap into a freezing cold conversational plunge pool with no life raft to help her climb out. There’s only one way out and it’s Tayce’s reaction, whatever the hell that might be. She snapped her head up the moment the words left A’whora’s mouth, and her eyes are wide in what could be shock but could quite easily be horror.

A’whora doesn’t think she’s ever been more hopeful and frightened all at once. The seconds tick by and Tayce is still frozen in position, and A’whora can literally feel herself inching closer to the edge of the desk in terrified anticipation.

“Jesus Christ say something, Tayce, before I cringe myself to death,” she says breathlessly, her blood feeling almost electric as it races in her veins.

Tayce leans forward, not giving much away as she brings a thumb up to A’whora’s cheek.

“You’ve got a bit of glitter on your face,” she murmurs.

When she leans in and closes the gap between them, A’whora feels herself melt against Tayce’s lips with relief. They’re in the middle of her classroom at quarter part three with the door open and she’s very well aware that anyone could walk in at a moments’ notice, but A’whora doesn’t care. A’whora only cares about the fact that Tayce is kissing her and she’s kissing back, and it’s so hard to believe it’s actually real and not some daydream come to life, and it’s happening on Valentine’s day which makes it even more far-fetched. But every time A’whora starts to think that maybe she’s dreaming she feels Tayce’s thumb stroke her cheek, or their knees bump together, or she brings a hand up to rest at Tayce’s jaw just to make sure it’s all real.

When Tayce pulls away and they smile at each other, giggling and blushing like one of Tayce’s year fives, A’whora only allows herself to properly believe it’s all actually happening when Tayce presses their foreheads together, takes both of A’whora’s hands in her own and murmurs quietly to her what A’whora’s wanted to hear for entirely too long.

“I love you too.”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #i don’t know how i know (but I know)#ortega #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #british au #lesbian au #teachers au #fluff

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doctors-star · 3 years

Note

Can you stay still for the next 20 min? (If this was meant as a prompt ask 😅)

“Okay - have you got it?”

“Yeah, you can - shift it to the left a bit, yeah - is that right your end?”

“Looks good to me.” Peter leans back very carefully, eyeballing along the length of the beam with half of his face scrunched up in a squint. Alex resists the urge to fidget the cold, heavy wood between his hands; there is a strong likelihood that, in seeking a better grip on the slippery, paper-like bark of the skinny silver birch trunk they are using as a rafter, he will in fact fumble with numb fingers and drop it through their half-built structure. Peter straightens up and grins at him. “Right. Now, you just hold that there, perfectly still, while I drill and fix this end - shouldn’t take too long, anywhere between-” he tilts his hands mock-thoughtfully, “-two minutes and three days. All right?”

Alex sends him a withering look, somewhat weakened by the smile he is valiantly attempting to fight from his face. “You may have twenty minutes, maximum,” he says sternly.

“Why twenty?” Peter asks, casting about him for the auger they’re using to bore holes in the rafters and peg them together. “And - I mean you no offence, mate, but you keep shifting the beam - can you stay still for the next twenty minutes?”

Peter starts to descend his ladder to hunt down the drill and Alex takes pity. “You tucked it in your belt.”

“Ah! And you told me it was a bad idea,” Peter acknowledges with the point of a finger, scrambling back up and fidgeting the large, curling length of very sharp iron out from the small of his back.

Alex tilts his head slightly. “I meant because you might fall on it and die, but yes, fine, also because you have no object permanence and would lose it.”

Peter snorts and aligns the auger carefully over the crossed beams, perpendicular to their length, before beginning to twist the handles that form the T-shape of the drill. They’re down to their loose white shirts, despite the biting cold, what with the hauling and lifting and boring and pegging. Alex can see the muscles across Peter’s shoulders shift and pull under the thin linen.

“Anyway,” he says, dragging his eyes away and fixing them on the birch between his palms. The wood is scarred and knotted by the vagaries of Welsh weather but straight and sturdy; the bark is peeling in tight coils of ghostly parchment. It judders in his hands with every wrench of the auger, so he focusses on simply holding it still. “You can only have twenty minutes, because lunch is at one and that’s in about twenty minutes - whereupon I will abandon this whole project, because I’m hungry.”

Peter huffs a laugh, silver in the winter air. “Oh, right,” he says, as though this is quite reasonable, “I understand. Twenty minutes it is, then - although you’ll have to count it out in your head, what with us being Stuart farmers in rural Wales and therefore not having access to such newfangled things as watches.”

Peter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip. Alex assumes a suitably innocent expression in the face of this challenge. “Mm,” he agrees.

“After all, I assume that’s how you know it’s twenty to one - you’ve been counting the minutes since dawn.”

“Oh, no, I can read the time in the sky.” Peter looks sceptically at the thick duvet of cloud overhead - the light has remained the same weak greyness since the sun technically rose, though they’ve not seen it. Alex shuffles the log into one hand, moving his foot up one ladder rung to support its weight on his thigh, and fumbles the other hand in the small leather pouch attached to his belt. He lifts the modern stainless steel watch up to the sky and makes a show of squinting at it against the clouds, and then puts it away. “Twelve forty-five,” he says decisively, slowly creasing into a smile when Peter abandons the auger to put his face in his hands and laugh.

“The director’ll have your head for that,” Peter points out, amused, as he goes back to the drill with a fond shake of his head.

Alex shrugs. He can, it turns out, do without most modern conveniences: he’s become used to candlelight and going to bed early, he likes the food, he honestly hasn’t thought about television for about three months. They’re allowed enough bits of their old lives to keep them all healthy and sane, like toothpaste and regular phone calls to friends and family, but other than that they’ve been keeping to the period fairly religiously and Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s just - it turns out that, like how an explorer might like to keep a compass on them to know which way is north, Alex likes to know what time it is. Not for any particularly rational reason. There’s just a sort of comfort in knowing where he stands, temporally.

“Should have got you a pocket sundial for Christmas,” Peter says wryly, jimmying the auger back out of the wood with effort.

“A sundial? In Wales?” Alex objects mildly. “Peter, be serious.”

“Hah. Well, Stuart Welshmen managed somehow,” Peter points out, trotting swiftly down the ladder and fishing about in a basket for a peg long enough to pin the beam to the apex.

Before Alex can respond, there is a call from the farmhouse, and Ruth is waving at them as she picks her way through the frosted garden towards them. “Hello, boys - oh, this is going up well.”

Peter smiles shyly at her and pats the nearest upright of the latrine. “It’s good, yeah,” he says, turning the peg in his fingers with the other hand. It’s terribly sweet, this nervous adoration Ruth seems to inspire in him when she catches Peter off-guard. Sweet, and slightly embarrassing on Peter’s behalf, and very slightly inspiring of jealousy, as though Alex were five years old and sulky over Ruth stealing his best friend. He doesn’t like to examine that much.

“Slightly roofless,” Alex points out.

Ruth smiles, tilting her head back to look up the ladder at him, and the niggling, uncomfortable envy fades somewhat. “It’s al fresco,” she corrects cheerfully, and he grins. “It’s got walls, anyway, and this looks like your last roof beam, so it’s only slightly roofless.”

“You won’t say that when it rains,” Alex foretells, and she laughs.

“All right. I came out to tell you lunch will be in a minute, so if it’s at a point where you can leave it-”

“I’m letting go of this beam,” Alex tells Peter firmly. “I’m doing it.”

“You said twenty minutes,” Peter corrects, scrambling up the ladder.

“I said until lunch,” he says, steadying the beam carefully so that Peter can jam the peg in and shove at it with the heel of his palm. “It is now lunch, and I am no longer holding this beam for you.”

“Two minutes,” Peter pleads, shoving at the peg and then looking around him, patting his belt and where pockets might be on jeans but definitely are not on breeches. “Where’s the - thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth’s eyes slide sideways to Alex in amusement as she passes Peter a sturdy wooden mallet. She’s always pleasingly entertained by their antics, even if Alex and Peter are being more than slightly unhelpful, and it absolutely encourages them to further bouts of silliness. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says warmly, folding her arms and looking delighted around the edges of a stern expression. Alex basks in her indulgence.

“Alex wouldn’t really abandon me for lunch,” Peter says, deliberately overwrought and self-pitying, as he secures the peg. “He wouldn’t destroy all our hard work just to eat, not after the hours we spent working on it - and the years we’ve been friends, and all the nice things I’ve done for him.” Ruth laughs and Peter, beam now secured, leans on it slightly to look plaintively in Alex’s direction. “You wouldn’t leave me just for food, would you?” he says, with his best puppyish eyes.

Alex looks back at him. He’s given up a lot to be here with Peter for this year - they’ve not been out of uni that long, all things considered, and are definitely in that stage of academia in which a person is supposed to work extremely hard and get all the funding available to become very specialised and useful - essentially, they are not supposed to be going on a year’s sabbatical to wrestle pigs and plough fields and become bizarrely knowledgeable about early seventeenth century agriculture, which is something neither of them are aiming to specialise in at all. He has no idea if this is a good career move, or a sure-fire way to never be taken seriously again. On top of that, he’s given up on all the comforts and joys of modern life, and on seeing his friends and family particularly often, and on starting or maintaining relationships with anyone other than Peter and Ruth and the rest of the cast and crew. He had been worried, when he and Peter had been discussing whether or not to go for this opportunity, that he would be constantly miserably cold and lonely - but Peter had promised him good company and all of Peter’s spare layers and blankets, and had reminded him of all of the things they would get the opportunity to do and try, and all the experiences they could have out in the valley that they might never have again. And Alex had allowed himself to be convinced, and had followed Peter onto the farm and into Stuart life. He is yet to have cause to regret it; he has loved it, and Peter and Ruth and all his new friends, to excesses.

He fixes Peter with an unimpressed look. “I would leave you in the mud for an unripe tomato.”

#thank you for prompt! apologies for the delay!#bbc historical farm #based on green valley events which i can only half remember so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#this is your captain speaking

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dwellordream · 3 years

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the best laid plans

day 1 for @wayhavensummer because this is the only prompt I'll have time to do this week!

T Rating (for one brief mention of sex and one brief reference to emotional abuse) Felix x Detective Esme Kingston, 2300 words

The migraine cuts her to her core, and Esme can’t even manage the usual dose of guilt and hesitance she’d feel about canceling plans with Tina. They were supposed to go away this weekend, and Esme hasn’t been on a vacation since uni, but right now she couldn’t even make her way out of her flat, never mind into a car for a seven hour drive down the coast.

She feels like vomiting, the pain is so intense, as if she’d been concussed. Migraines have been a constant for her since puberty; she has a vivid memory of her first one, when she was thirteen, and the long wait in the nurse’s office at the private school her mother paid so much money for. The same mother who eventually sent someone else to pick her up, ninety minutes after the first phone call.

Esme doesn’t even remember who it was; some Agency intern? A vampire? A demon? Whoever it was, they brought her home, gave her some painkillers, and told her to sleep it off. She woke up hours later, in the middle of the night, to a still empty house. Rebecca had come home briefly to leave a note for her about some leftovers in the fridge and another one excusing her from school the next day if need be, and then gone straight back to work.

Maybe Esme should have been outraged or hurt by this, but she doesn’t recall feeling much of anything at the time beyond hunger, when the pain had finally receded enough to think straight. She ate the leftovers cold in their sterile, silent kitchen, and put herself back to bed.

The migraines had intensified through high school, to the point where her mother considered putting her on permanent medication, before receding just before she went away to university. After that they were far more infrequent, which was both a blessing and a curse- it was easy to forget what the pain felt like, and to feel like it was weak, lazy of her to let it get the best of her.

Bobby certainly didn’t help matters; the first one Esme had during their relationship came around shortly after they’d had sex for the first few times, and Bobby quickly became convinced this was her version of ‘not tonight, dear, I have a headache-’. That she was, for some ludicrous reason, exaggerating her migraines.

If she didn’t want to have sex with him, she’d never had much of an issue saying as much, bluntly, clinically. Another thing he despaired of- her lack of social graces, her insistence on saying exactly what she meant, in her usual ‘ice queen’ manner. Now he had reason to call her frigid in more ways than one.

Esme still isn’t sure how things between them ever lasted as long as seven torturous months. She assumes they both had a private masochistic streak- why else would two people who made one another so blatantly unhappy stay together?

Bobby isn’t here now, of course, to whinge and moan about her ignoring him, but there’s still a little voice in her head telling her to get up and stop acting like a baby when the evening rolls around. The pain has greatly lessened, thankfully, and she’s hungry, which is usually a good sign, but she’s also exhausted and cranky and generally miserable, feeling as though an entire day was wasted, one she could have spent with her best friend, on her way to a vacation.

Now, again, she is alone in a dark room. She slowly rolls over onto her side, bracing for a wave of pain or nausea, then pushes herself up onto her elbows and gropes at her night table for her phone. She has several missed calls and texts. Two from Tina, one from her mother, and one from Felix, which is the most recent, about thirty minutes ago.

Felix H: omw over to drop stuff off. 30 min???

She checks the time, then jumps, almost bashing her head into the headboard, when she hears a quiet knock at her door. For a moment Esme considers lying back down and not answering it; Felix can be persistent but he would never try to break her door down, especially when he knows she’s ill.

Then she clambers out of bed, some instinct driving her, a desperate kind of loneliness- for an instant tears spring to her eyes, as if she were a child again, terrified of being left alone, that she will just miss him, that she will pull open the door and he will already be gone-

“Ez?”

He’s right there when she yanks open the door, the chain still in place. Esme undoes it and pulls the door open all the way. Felix is staring at her, a small bag of groceries in hand. Vampires have far better temperature regulation than humans but it’s obvious he is feeling the heat; for once he’s not wearing a beanie or any kind of hat or cap at all.

He’s gotten his hair braided recently; Esme looks at him for a moment, staggered by the fact, as always, that even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of her narrow hallway. Felix’s dark skin has a sheen all its own, magnified by his golden eyes.

He prods her shoulder gently with the pad of his thumb. “If you faint on me, I’m gonna drop your gifts.”

“My gifts?” Esme shakes her head, leading the way back into her darkened flat. It’s much more cluttered than usual; she never finished packing for the trip she was supposed to take today.

Felix does not reach for a light switch; he has perfect vision in the dark, and light from the parking lot is spilling through her blinds. Instead he sets the bag on her counter and sorts through it as enthusiastically as Santa Claus on Christmas, or a child sorting through their Halloween candy.

“Min tea,” he says, “cold packs, squash, sweet potatoes, brown rice, dried cranberries…”

“Did you just look up ‘what to eat and drink for a migraine’?” Esme manages to ask, bemused.

He looks up, a sheepish smile quirking at his soft lips. “If I say yes…”

“I’m impressed,” she says. “And.. thank you. Very much. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t have to supply my ailing girlfriend with nutritious food and drink?” he waves the bottle of mint teat in her face vigorously.

“Ailing? I’m not eighty five years old, Felix.”

“That’s right, I’m the old man here,’ he cackles, then amends, “Or, will be. Technically we’re not that far apart in age but eventually when you start decaying-,”

“Decaying?” As usual, his word choice both horrifies and amuses her.

Felix has even less of a filter than her, but with the opposite effect. She comes across as cold and controlling. He comes across as… well, ‘space cadet’ has been used a few times, but Esme likens it to a time traveler. Only, not from the past, and not quite from the future. A parallel visitor. Something out of the Twilight Zone, only… warm and colorful and eager to please. That’s Felix.

He shrugs. “Succumbing to the elements?”

“I’m not a castle,” she mutters, but pours herself a cup of cold mint tea. Will it be as good as if she’d brewed it herself here at home, no, but at the moment she doesn’t care.

He puts the rest away in her small fridge while she drinks, leaving out the cranberries, then circles warily, as if approaching a wild animal, when she finishes off her cup. “Can I-,” his fingers ghost along the back of her neck. The hairs there raise and she shivers violently, but not in fear or pain.

“Yes,” she murmurs, then leans back into his embrace as he wraps his arms around her.

They scuttle over to the sofa like that, and ease down together. Felix is not terribly tall, and she is average height, so there’s scarcely a few inches between them. Esme has always liked that. All the others she’s been with had towered over her, and it made her feel spoilt and delicate in an undesirable, bratty kind of way, as if she were childish, some little princess to be coddled and indulged. Or maybe that’s just her projecting onto everything else that makes up a relationship besides height differences.

For now, she is content to lie back so her head rests against Felix’s, cheek to cheek. His is silken smooth; she knows he is fastidious about shaving, the same as her.

“You’re feeling better, though?” he murmurs, and snakes a hand under her pyjama top as if to check. Splayed warm against her belly, it tickles for an instant and she smiles.

“Yes. It’s mostly passed. I’m just tired. And annoyed. Tina was really looking forward to this trip. She’ll still have fun by herself, but it was supposed to be the two of us, and I’m always canceling plans.”

“You are not,” says Felix, reasonably. “You’re just busy. And you couldn’t help it this time, you were sick. She knows that.”

Esme nods; for all his jokes and quips, Felix is always sensible in a manner that she finds comforting- stating the obvious isn’t such a bad thing when dealing with someone like her.

“I hate being sick,” she murmurs, rolling onto her side so she can rest her cheek on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her more securely, even intertwines their legs. Felix sleeps like this too, though at this point he’s only spent the night a few times.

Esme is taking things as slowly as she dares, given all the other factors at play- her mother, their work, the rest of the team, the fact that he is a vampire from another dimension and she is the human equivalent of dry toast…

“I kind of like it,” Felix confesses, with just enough lilt in his voice that she knows he’s half teasing.

Esme grumbles vengefully into his shirt. He smells like coconut butter and vanilla. She doesn’t know if that’s his aftershave or just the essence of Felix, refined to the purest degree. Sometimes he smells like cinnamon to her, or lavender and honeysuckle.

Felix tolerates these assessments but likes to claim that it’s him producing some kind of super pheromones perfectly designed for luring in unsuspecting human prey. Or his girlfriend. Or both.

Esme has not been anyone’s girlfriend in a long time. Years. It feels very strange. Before him, it’d been so long since she’d even touched anyone, besides Tina or her mother or shaking hands. That absence did not hurt Esme. But being with Felix is like an unexpected delight. Free dessert. Extra sprinkles on your sundae. Any number of juvenile metaphors she should be above, but isn’t.

“You’re not going to ask why I like it?” He is winding his fingers through her hair, which she let down from its usual tight ponytail to ease the tension on her scalp.

“Because you like to mock me?” she ventures.

“No,” says Felix. “Because you would have gone away with Tina, and now I get to see you. And hold you.” He presses an astoundingly gentle kiss to her brow, like a feather.

Esme feels a queer stab of guilt. “I didn’t know you’d minded so much.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quickly. “I was happy for you to get away for once. I’m not going to third wheel you and your best friend.”

“I think the terms refers to the opposite-,”

“Hush hush,” he interrupts, which gets a giggle out of her. “But this is like… an unexpected delight.”

The back of her neck prickles. “Can you read minds?” she asks, half serious.

“Not yet,” he sounds smug. “I have great intuition.”

“Because you’re a vampire?”

“No, because I’m me,” he boasts. “Look at Ava’s intuition. Terrible.”

Esme laughs again. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“She’s always expecting the worse. And Nat swings in the other direction. Always wants to play nice and hug it out.”

“And Mason?” Esme teases, feeling energetic enough not to raise her head so her chin is on his chest. Their noses are almost touching.

“Eh… he’s alright,” Felix breathes, and then closes the gap with a kiss.

Esme kisses him back, more passionately than she’d meant to, and only stops it when he starts to sit up so she is straddling his lap.

“I don’t think I can…”

“Eat some cranberries?” He grins impishly and hands her the bag from the coffee table.

Esme smiles and bumps her forehead against his, something she did impulsively after their first kiss and which he never let her live down.

“What are we, cats?” he says, on cue, but brushes his nose and lips down her cheek and onto her neck, as if to nuzzle her in turn. “Eat some fruit before your migraine comes back. Do you want me to put some of this stuff away?”

“No,” she says, pushing him back down on the sofa. “Just- stay with me, please?”

“Alright,” he agrees, amiable as ever, and reaches for the remote. “This can be like our vacation, yeah? The Felix and Esme Show. The Fezme Show-,”

“No,” she groans, but wriggles off him to curl up beside him instead, a handful of cranberries rising to her mouth as he flips through the channels.

He settles on an episode of Columbo. Felix hasn’t really seen much in the way of TV, and so reruns mean nothing to him. But it means everything to her. They keep the volume on very low, and he gets up at one point to open the windows more, even as the faint sounds of the parking lot outside drift in- the buzz of the lights, doors opening and closing, the crunch of gravel.

Esme falls asleep sagging onto him, cranberries in her lap, mouth half open while Felix watches, riveted in the light of the screen, as the detective closes the case.

#wayhaven summer #the wayhaven chronicles #felix hauville #esme kingston #one shot #prompt fill

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sweetsubharry · 3 years

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Hey Lott! Any chance you could grace us with a punk Louis fic rec? That would literally make my day! (No rush). Thank you sm<3 you are amazing

Hiya! awh that’s so kind of you to say! I would love to!!! I love punk Louis au!! I hope you like this! 💖 ^-^

please remember to stay safe and read the tags everyone!

In All Its Imperfections by BriaMaria

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

"What happened, mate?" Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

Give Me Truths by iwillpaintasongforlou

'Just like a little cat,' Louis thought later, as he drifted off to sleep. 'A little kitten with his claws sunk right into me.' It isn’t that terrible of a thought, after all. ............. Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.

Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

tell me that I'm wrong but I do what I please by moonlightlouis

au where Harry and Louis are in a relationship and someone hurts louis' baby so he defends his honor

but he cant be what you need (if he's eighteen) by lingerielarries

“I need you to do something for me.” Harry said, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“It seems like you’re asking me to kill for you, H.” Louis laughed nervously.

“It’s nothing that drastic, I promise. It’s just. I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m not a.. normal eighteen year old.” Louis furrowed his eyebrows at that, narrowing his eyes at the younger boy.

“Are people giving you a hard time?” Louis wondered. Harry shifted in his seat and brushed some of his fringe off his forehead.

“Yeah, that’s. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Harry swallowed nervously. He could feel the sweat pooling at his hairline so he wiped it with the sleeve of his sweater. “I need you to uhm, pretend to be my boyfriend.”

the one where harry is sick of getting bullied and casts louis as the hot punk boyfriend to scare them away. louis needs harry to return the favor.

punk!louis and flowerchild!harry

the love is ours to make (so we should make it) by lingerielarries

“I’m.. Harry. I nanny? For Ernest and Doris?” Harry responded.

“A nanny? How old even are you? You look twelve.” Louis remarked. Something caught Louis’ eye, and a closer look revealed that Harry had a coat of pink nail polish on his fingers.

“Nineteen. I’m nineteen.” Harry replied.

“Right. Nineteen, wears pink, flower crowns and paints his nails. Who the actual fuck did my mum hire?”

the one where louis takes some time off from life to return home, only to be met with a strange boy in pink and a flowercrown as the nanny of his siblings.

You're So Square (Baby I Don't Care) by mmaree

“So does it say who my new co-counsellor is?”

“Yeah, it does.” Zayn doesn’t even try to hide his smirk and Louis just knows.

He sucks in a breath. “It’s that bloody Styles kid, isn’t it?”

Zayn starts cackling, and Louis takes a moment to rethink every life decision he’s ever made, figure out where he went wrong and why karma hates him so much.

“I’m stuck with Britain’s Biggest Boy Scout for the rest of the summer, aren’t I?”

***

Or a summer camp au where Louis tries to sort out whether he wants to murder or snog his perky co-counsellor.

Way to Your Heart by fallenflowercrowns

High school AU, where Louis is in a band and Harry likes to come to the rehearshals for no particular reason. Punk Louis with a lot of tattoos and everything. Shy Harry with an angel face and not many friends. Strangers to lovers. Quick sex in the rehearshals' room (just handjob or blowjob) Happy end.

Harry pines but is oblivious, Louis is a punk with a big heart, Ziam shag behind everyone's backs and Nick is actually not in love with Harry.

Your Nickel Ain't Worth My Dime by orphan_account

Louis just moved into a house next to Harry, and they have bedroom windows that face each other.

Piercing The Petals by orphan_account

"You're really pretty."

"Thanks Lou." Harry blushed. Louis couldn't help but smirk at the boy with flowers on his brown locks.

"Tell you what, If you let me fuck you into this mattress, I'll make you a new crown. Whichever flower you want. Colours and all." And Harry didn't need to be told twice before he started stripping.

The Moments When My Good Times Start to Fade by paintsplatteredteardrops

Where Harry is a flower child who works in a bakery and Louis is a guitarist who has no idea what it is he wants.

Because We Can by KrisStylinson

Harry's the bizzare new kid who likes flowers too much, Louis' the epitome of punk who's not as smooth as he seems. Those two things shouldn't mix as beautifully as they do.

A nice, long journey through Harry and Louis' intersecting lives, starting with the day they meet in high school—including meddling friends, a Styles-Tomlinson family Christmas, a first time, and a couple's holiday in Paris.

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

Forget Your Ex by RainbowSkinnies

He just had to get right back on the horse, that’s what Harry kept telling himself. It was what Nick had told him he should do too, because after all, wasn’t that the way to get over someone; to get under someone else? Sayings like that had to exist for a reason...

When Harry's boyfriend of two years leaves him for someone else, it's fair to say he's rather a bit upset, but his friends have a solution for him. Nick and Niall are hosting a start of term house party at their flat, having invited everyone they know from uni. Who knows, with a bit of luck Harry can find a rebound shag and finally forget his ex...

#Larry Stylinson #ask lots #Lottie fic rec #fic rec #larry fic rec #larry stylinson fic rec #larry fanfic rec #fanfiction #fanfic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #punk louis

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arse-crack-thistle · 3 years

Text

quality time

rwrb and the five love languages | part four

in which bea nearly crashes from the stress of party-planning (aroace rep)

Princess Beatrice buzzes around The Masquerade, double-checking place cards, straightening table settings, and pulling dried rose petals from the centerpieces. She rented the concert venue for the night to throw a modern Valentine’s gala to benefit Henry’s queer youth center in London. He and Alex are around here somewhere, probably hooking up in a broom cupboard and definitely not nitpicking every detail like Bea is. Her assistant follows her with a clipboard and updates her on the schedule: t-minus three hours until guests arrive and, in the meantime, she needs to give final approval, soundcheck with the band, and get dressed up. Jeans and a blazer, while royal casual, are not party-appropriate, and tonight needs to be perfect.

She usually hates royal events like galas, but this one is special. Not because it’s Valentine’s Day—Bea could not give two fucks about the holiday—but because ever since coming out as asexual around Christmas, she’s been looking for an opportunity to help other queer people, or at least give them a public figure they could point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, she’s like me.” Henry and Alex got their chance, and now this time, it’s hers.

The stage lights up with pink and red; it’s cheesy, but Bea digs it. The concert was the one thing she would not budge on with her royal event planner. Did she want to reach into wealthy pockets? Yes. Did she still want to have a good time? Hell yes. And the band she’s joining for one night only happens to be just as queer as the charity they’re supporting.

Permanent Record, local to London, tune their instruments on stage. Bea has met them dozens of times over the last month and vibed with them instantly. Margot, the too-cool lead singer always decked out in a leather jacket and Docs, is ace like her, and as much as Bea has wanted to get to know them, there’s been no time. Turns out, party-planning and party-executing steals the host away from all meaningful human connection. She’s only been able to keep up with Henry because he’s partly responsible for this event.

The pit, full of tables covered in pink and gold, finally looks perfect enough for Bea to hand-off any other minute fixes to the planner and finally have her soundcheck with the band. But then, a large crash comes from the back of the venue, and she hears a loud shriek coming from a familiar voice, the one that’s been shrill and disapproving for the last month. When Bea runs up, she sees hundreds of shattered champaign flutes and her planner on the floor, blood oozing from her hands.

This cannot be happening. The only reason Bea kept this woman around was to take most of the day-of duties off her plate. But she’s in the back of an ambulance now, and Henry is nowhere to be found. Bea’s stress levels go from tolerable to unbearable as she orders her assistant to track down replacement flutes. The staff are quick to fill her other requests: a couple of people start sweeping, someone runs off to find her co-host, another tells the band Bea’s soundcheck will be postponed, and a brave soul steps up as a temporary assistant and follows her around the back tables to check for broken glass. Bea knows she doesn’t have to be the one to do this, but it seems like the success of this event lies solely one her shoulders. If something goes wrongs, it’s her face—not Henry’s—in the papers the next day. Powder Princess Crashes and Burns at Gay Ball. Christ.

After an hour, everything is sorted. There’s no glass. The planner is getting stiches. Permanent Record has started their soundcheck and sound amazing. But even their chill indie tunes can’t calm the princess. She needs to get on stage, but her stylist specifically requested she have at least two hours to work his magic, which is not going to happen.

Bea tells her assistant to get her stylist and his team to the venue, because she won’t be able to leave, and warn him he’ll only have an hour at best. Henry and Alex have already taken off to get ready, and she has to remind herself to smack them later for abandoning her.

She tugs off her blazer, drapes it over a chair, and rolls up her sleeves. If she does get her hands on a guitar, she’ll explode. It’s all she can think of to stop her from raiding the bar at the back.

“Better late than never, eh, Princess?” Margot says as she huffs on stage.

One of the stagehands gives Bea her beautiful sleek, black Fender Stratocaster, and her anxiety reduces itself to a hum. Music can’t cure all, but it certainly keeps her from wrecking every good thing in her life.

“Let’s just play,” she says.

But it’s anything but perfect. Whatever chemistry she had with Permanent Record somehow jumped into the Thames between their last rehearsal and now because this is an absolute travesty and she’s only playing two songs with them tonight. She’s forgotten measures of one song and can’t find the chords fast enough in her solo of the other. Utter shit.

Why does she even fucking bother?

She always fucks everything up. Always. Why did she think she could put this on? Sure, she’s chaired these events before, but not ones she actually cares about, not ones she’s actually put her heart into. Christ, no wonder. She should’ve known it would turn out like this. She’s the anti-Midas; everything she touches turns to shit.

No kid will ever see her as a queer role model. She’s the girl they point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, what a waste.”

She needs a hit so fucking bad.

Which is why she has to get out of here ASAP. Before she does anything she’ll regret. She won’t slip again, and she won’t be the reason this gala fails. Henry can handle it without her.

So when Margot calls for a five-minute break, Bea excuses herself and hands off her guitar. On her way out the door, she tells the stagehand to find her assistant and tell her to have Henry take over. The hard part is over thanks to the planner actually being brilliant at her job, even if she and Bea would never get along.

No doubt, cameras are already lined up outside, so she hides in one of the green rooms and locks the door behind her. If she just takes a deep breath and calms down, she can bring herself back from the edge.

Five things she can see: The 1975, Arctic Monkeys, Oasis, Solange, and Fiona Apple’s signatures on the artist wall.

Four things she can feel: the worn leather on a crusty couch, the chipped-paint walls, her toes in her shoes, and her fingers through her light brown hair.

Three things she can hear: the ticking from the clock, the click of her heels as she paces, and a knock at the door.

Two things she can smell: decades-old musk from artists past—no doubt coming from the couch—and her light perfume on her wrist.

One thing she can taste: a hint of coffee from earlier.

She breathes in and out, and the knock on the door continues.

“Bea, are you in there? Could you let me in?” Margot. Essentially a stranger. She supposes it’s better than facing a disappointed Henry, so she opens the door and promptly relocks it as soon as they’re inside.

“Christ, this place is legendary, isn’t it? Everyone’s played here—is that Bob Dylan? Fucking nuts,” Margot says, pointing to the wall.

“I’ve seen loads of people here. Always wanted to play here myself,” Bea tells them. She traces Lizzo’s signature. That was a fun night; Nora and June flew out for a girls’ night, which was ultimately crashed by Pez.

“Me too, and the rest of band as well, I suppose.” Margot looks at Bea and smiles. They’re brown eyes crinkle in the corner, and it reminds her of Alex. “And now we get to, eh, Princess? Couldn’t’ve gotten here without you. The whole world knows Permanent Record now.”

“You could’ve done it without me,” she says. “You will tonight anyway.”

“Hey.” They reach for Bea’s hand. “Everyone has some hiccups before a big gig. It’ll be grand, but only if you’re there. This is your night as much as it is ours or the youth center’s. You have no idea how important it is for your lot to shine a light on causes people shy away from.”

That makes Bea smile. For so long she wanted to hide from her position. She wanted freedom to do whatever she pleased, but now she understands the power she has, even if people still see her as “The Powder Princess.” No matter what she wears, millions of fashion influencers share links to her clothes. If she walks into a restaurant, their yearly profits skyrocket. When she told the world she was ace, thousands of people messaged her and said the same. One of them was Margot, telling her about their undiscovered band from South London.

She tells Margot how that was one of the first times she really felt like herself. Completely at peace with who she is. How that peace got away from her and turned this gala into a near-panic-attack-inducing event, she doesn’t know.

“Have you let on how stressed you’ve been to anyone?” Margot asks. The two sit together on the couch after Margot bravely plopped themself down on the dirty, old thing.

“Hadn’t the time,” she says. Truthfully, Bea doesn’t think she’s had a genuine conversation with anyone since the gala’s conception.

Margot throws their hands in the air. “Well, there you go then! You’ve got to take the time! To take care of yourself. To hang out with your mates. Just to have some goddamn fun, Bea! Come on! You think I’d be a functioning human if I didn’t let loose with my mates every now and then? This—” They gesture to their body, covered in tattoos and tattered black clothing. “Doesn’t happen on its own.”

Bea laughs. It’s been so long since she’s laughed from anything other than stress. “Right, so how does this all happen then?” She swirls her hand in Margot’s direction.

As they chat, Bea relaxes. They talk about their families and uni and music and coming out. Bea tells Margot about the time she and the gang went to the karaoke bar where Henry got wasted and sang Queen horrifically. Margot tells her about the time in year twelve when they got dared to try out for the school play and ended up playing an old man in the most unbelievable bald cap.

Eventually, the two of them pull out their phones and play a few games of Among Us until Bea’s desperate assistant finds her and pleads for her to get ready though the door. They only have an hour before guests arrive.

“You all right?” Margot asks. “Want to go out there and try again?”

Funny how it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. How it only took a short break, a nice chat, and a little pink astronaut to put Bea at ease. She smiles. The notes come back to her fingertips.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part three, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

listen, my permanent headcanon is aroace bea and you will never convince me otherwise and i will never write her as anything else bc i love her so much!! (that being said, if you ship her with anyone, i totally understand). also, i reference a fic of mine i wrote for winterfest so if you want to check out my version of bea’s coming out, you can do that here! and finally, i know this wasn’t a romantic fic for romance week but like i said in part one, valentine’s day is different for everyone. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

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alittlestarling · 3 years

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The Christmas Market

The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Adam du Mortain/F! Detective (Sophia Laveau) Rating: General Words: 3.5k Read on Ao3

Happy Christmas to @bellarxse !

A cold front blew through town and, almost overnight, the fishing village transformed into something akin to a winter wonderland before everyone’s eyes. Lights were strung from buildings, windows alight with ornaments and trees were already up and ready for decoration.

It felt so bloody normal , which was a relief from the chaos that had upended Sophia’s life when Unit Bravo had arrived in town.

“So, are you excited about your date?” Tina poked her head into Sophia’s office, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at the prospect that Sophia was, indeed, going out after work with a certain someone (her words, not Sophia’s) to enjoy some of the winter splendor.

Well, sort of.

“It’s not a date,” Sophia tried and failed not to bristle too much at her friend’s words, keeping her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. “I have to go.”

The opening night of the yearly Christmas Market brought a whole slew of folks to town to enjoy roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and trinkets sold from stalls that lined the main square of the town. Captain Sung had made it clear that they were to “enjoy” tonight, not in any official capacity, but the intention had been clear to Sophia.

As the only detective in their precinct, it made sense that she’d be out, keeping an eye on things, while hopefully getting a few quiet moments for herself. Without Rebecca all these years, Sophia had learned to make her own holiday traditions, carving them out carefully, keeping them safe at the center of her chest. No one was allowed to taint what she enjoyed, even when she was enjoying them alone. The market was one such tradition that she firmly, almost stubbornly, held tight to the last few years in particular.

“Official or not,” Tina came fully into the office, flopping into the chair across from Sophia’s desk, “but you’ll be walking around with him, alone —“

“Hardly alone.”

“In the romantic lights of the market—“ Tina continued, her voice taking a dramatic tone that she reserved for the juiciest gossip she heard around town.

“There’s going to be a lot of other people around.”

“And I’m sure there’s some mistletoe hanging around!”

“Tina!” Sophia gave a huff of irritation, finally giving her friend and former partner her full attention. It was less like anger, though, and more of something more.

The nerves had been settling in her stomach for hours now as she tried to work through the day, reminded that this was the closest thing to a date that she and Adam had ever attempted. The newness of their relationship was palpable and it was easier to remain a little under the radar rather than falling face-first into everything in front of the entire town.

Christ, she’d never really found herself in this sort of a situation before, her chest constricting slightly at the thought of something going terribly wrong with all of this.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Tina’s tone softened, more sincere than before and Sophia tried to clear her mind, a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at this softness that surrounded her thoughts of Adam.

“I know, I know,” Sophia sighed, running her fingers through her short, dark hair if only to give her hands something to do. “I just wish you’d stop for now, yeah?” Tina didn’t mean any harm by it, that much Sophia knew without a doubt. But the butterflies were bound to turn to dragons in her gut if this line of teasing and questioning continued. “Save it for tomorrow?”

Tina gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. “So long as you give me a play-by-play over tea?”

Sophia couldn’t help the laugh in response as she shooed Tina out. Her computer was already shutting down and, with a glance out the window, she saw snow had started falling again. Nothing heavy like the night before, these flakes were soft and gentle whispers of snow, just enough to add a dusting to the world around them rather than bury them.

Shrugging her coat on, a quick glance to the front offered a brief reprieve. Douglas had gone early, off to spend time at the market with his father, which felt like a blessing in disguise. Shorthanded they had been that afternoon, but it kept both Douglas and the Mayor out of her hair. Going through her mental checklist for the end of the day, she clicked the lights off, locking her office up for the night.

“Going to enjoy the market, detective?” The night volunteer asked, raising their gaze from the computer at the front desk.

“For a bit,” Sophia offered a smile. “Have a good night.”

Cold air mixed with the tang of salty sea air and Sophia felt her breath catch when she stepped out of the station. Partially from the cold, but her gaze caught sight of him just beyond the doors.

It wasn’t uncommon these days for Adam to show up at the end of her shift, hands in his pockets, watching with green eyes that looked upon her with far more warmth than they initially had and the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Walking with him on her way home had become a ritual that Sophia enjoyed more than she could say.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” Sophia offered a small smile that didn’t quite live up to the blossoming warmth in her chest. “Ready to go?”

“Waiting is never a problem,” Adam’s lips curled ever so slightly, turning to fall into step with her as their boots crunched against the film of new snow that covered the walk. “It’s been a while since I have gone to any sort of Christmas market.”

“This is my favorite,” Sophia confided, her voice dropping just slightly as they walked. It felt like sharing a secret, letting him under yet another layer as they learned the steps of this thing between them. “I don’t know that I’ve ever missed a year, except when I was at uni.”

Adam hummed slightly. “I’m glad you’re willing to share this with me.” They walked side-by-side, drifting towards an invisible string that tugged them together, but never quite touching. Her hand brushed against his in motion, her stomach filling with butterflies at something as soft and innocent as that.

Turning the corner, there was no containing the momentary giddiness that rose inside of her as the market came into full view. The scents and sounds were old friends, the shimmering lights a comfort. More stalls had filled the square over the years; what had once been small had gotten a bit bigger with each passing year. Old faces and the new blended together as voices called above the din.

“I was thinking,” Sophia began, tilting towards Adam. “Maybe we could start with-”

“Ah, Detective Laveau, there you are.” From the crowd, Captain Sung strode out. Bundled like the rest of the crowd to battle against the cold, he gave a sharp nod to Sophia, acknowledging Adam with another brief incline of his head. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Is something wrong?” Sophia couldn’t help the shift, sliding easily into work mode at a moment’s notice.

“The crowd’s a bit bigger than I anticipated,” Captain Sung was all business, his gaze trained on Sophia. “I was hoping you could check in with security across the market, make sure everything is going smoothly.”

Disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow as she worked hard to keep her expression neutral. “Of course, sir.”

The details were easy enough to remember as the Captain filled her in on where the security teams should be located across the market. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go, she thought, caught between irritation that she couldn’t have this one thing to herself and the understanding that it simply was her job, even when she was off the proverbial clock.

“Duty calls,” Sophia failed to keep the sarcasm from seeping into her tone once the Captain had moved along, leaving Adam and her to their evening. Well, what would be left of it once she finished running across the entirety of the market. “Looks like tonight isn’t exactly-” She paused, frowning as she struggled to end that sentence.

“I can still accompany you,” Adam didn’t seem terribly flustered over the change in plans. “I’m sure there will be time yet.”

Time, it seemed, which wasn’t quite on their side.

“Sophia!” Douglas was beaming, his raised voice drawing the attention of the Mayor in turn. There was no hiding the bristling, both from the attention that Douglas had been giving her for some time now, as well as having to deal with Mayor Friedman.

“Officer Friedman,” Sophia replied, cordial without being too cold; professionalism had been her go-to route these days, though it didn’t seem to deter the enthusiasm that Douglas showed her. “Enjoying the market?”

“Of course he is!” Douglas’s father responded for him, clapping a hand onto his son’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t he be? At a splendid event such as this?” Truly, he was laying it on thick, and Sophia schooled her face to keep herself from reacting.

“I really should-”

“Will the rest of your party be joining in the festivities tonight?” Ever eager to make himself important to the agents, the Mayor didn’t bother hiding his enthusiasm about Unit Bravo even being in town. Sophia resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m certain they are mingling,” Adam seemed stiffer than usual, back ramrod straight as he gave what Sophia could discern was a diplomatic answer.

“We really should be going then,” Giving a nod to the pair, Sophia casually slid a hand into Adam’s arm, pulling him firmly along with her. Only when they were farther away from them did Sophia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, shaking her head. “Thank god we didn’t have to linger.”

Adam gave a low laugh and neither of them seemed to mind that her hand remained, lingering longer in the crook of his elbow than strictly necessary.

“After you, Detective.”

---

There was a surprising amount of ground to cover across the market. Adam hung back, for the most part, acting a shadow as he watched Sophia striding to and from security check points, as well as pausing to turn when one of the townsfolk called her name. He knew her not to always be particularly chatty, but she didn’t flinch or leave anyone hanging, necessarily.

He could have spent the evening with the others, not wanting to keep Sophia from fulfilling her job. Felix had been overjoyed at the prospect of the winter market, having never been to one, and Nate was kind enough to follow along with their overly enthusiastic companion. Mason, for his part, had happily opted out, which wasn’t a surprise.

And yet, there was no doubt that he’d stay here, with her, in any capacity she’d allow him.

Silhouetted against the lights strung above them, Adam swore he felt his heart thud against his ribcage at the mere sight of her. There were times in the past when he pushed hard, and fast, to keep these feelings at bay. There were too many variables and, for someone who had lived as long as he had, there was always the eventual demise of those he cared about.

The thought of losing Sophia and having lived through those near misses should have been enough to push him away.

And yet, it only drew him closer.

It was dizzying, this thought that Sophia had become like a center of gravity for him, pulling Adam ever closer into her orbit. No matter how near or far, he always found himself tugged back into a quiet rotation around her. He knew he didn’t need to protect her quite so fiercely (save for her moments of stupidly and brashly charging forward into danger every so often), but he often felt like a sentinel, watching out for those moments when he could do more for her.

He had been ice for so long, one touch from her and he felt like he was melting. The imprint of her hand on his arm was long since gone, but it felt as though she had branded him regardless. The surprising part of it all was that Adam did not mind.

“Ah, Agent du Mortain.” Glancing over his shoulder, Adam offered a thin smile as Sophia’s colleague, Verda, materialized from the crowd. One hand held tight to one of his daughters, the other clutching a bag of what appeared to be piping hot mini donuts. The scent of cinnamon and sugar briefly wafted his way, but it didn’t remain long enough to be a bother. The market was filled with scents and sounds, all of which had faded to a dull afterthought when his attention had fixated on Sophia.

“Good evening.”

“Enjoying the market?” Verda gave a polite smile, lopsided momentarily as his daughter, Cara, pulled on his hand harder than expected.

“I am.” Adam gave a brief nod, glancing over his shoulder to where he’d last seen Sophia. “The Detective and I-”

“You’re here with Sophia?” There was a slight change to Verda’s expression, the polite smile melting into a knowing and pleased sort of smile.

“Yes,” Adam didn’t know how else to react but to nod again. “She had been otherwise occupied most of the night.” Despite his usual demeanor, Adam was surprised to hear the disappointment in his own tone. True, he enjoyed any time he could spend with Sophia, but tonight was supposed to be more than patrols or walking her home.

“I’m sure you two will have some time left before everything is over tonight.” There was a slight, sympathetic note to his voice. Adam’s gaze followed Verda’s, glancing to catch a glimpse of Eric and their other daughter not too far away.

“You speak from experience?” Despite himself, Adam couldn’t help the humor that slipped into his voice. Verda laughed as Cara let go of his hand, her eyes alight as there was movement behind Adam.

“In a manner of speaking.” Verda gave a nod, his smile wider than before, far more personable than polite. “Glad to see you made it out here, Sophia.”

Adam had noted her moving, but it was more than just supernatural senses that seemed to keep him keenly aware of her. He found himself easily slipping into her gravity again, giving a fond smile to his left as Sophia came into view again.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sophia gave a smile in turn. “I’d be happier if I could enjoy things in bl-- in peace, I mean.” A glance down to Cara, who had plastered herself to Sophia’s leg for a quick hug, had stopped her from cursing, something Adam couldn’t help but chuckle, very quietly, over.

“Everything seems in hand,” Verda glanced around, almost conspiratorial as he added, “If you make a break for it, I won’t tell.”

Sophia paused, chewing on her lower lip a moment. Adam knew that look, one of contemplation, weighing out the pros and cons of any given situation they found themselves in. Adam wasn’t always a fan of this look, keenly aware that she got it right before she was about to do something reckless in the field. This time, though, under the dusting of snow that still fell, there was something terribly endearing about it.

“I’m blaming you if I get in trouble,” Sophia was teasing, even Adam could hear it and, gently giving Cara a hug in turn before extracting her from her leg, Sophia glanced to Adam. There was a question in her eyes, her hand moving forward but leaving enough space that he could deny this request without making either of them uncomfortable.

There was no contest, his hand reaching back, fitting with hers easily, allowing her to tug him along through the crowd.

It was easy to get lost, but her grip on him remained strong, almost resolute as she was. Snow clung to her eyelashes as she turned back, cheeks pink from the cold; Adam couldn’t help but be reminded of how impossibly human she was, that this thing between them might yet break and burst into too many pieces for them to count or heal from.

“I think we’re out of sight,” Sophia’s voice was soft as she slowed, the pair of them caught under an awning of one of the stalls. Little Christmas trinkets were on display, the sound of the waves against the docks louder than the crowds near the front of the market now. “I’m sorry-” and her voice was stilted, uncertain as an apology came without any necessity for it. “-that tonight hasn’t exactly been-”

“There’s no need,” Adam firmly cut her off, still holding her hand tightly in his own. “Any time spent with you is time well spent.” He meant it, but it was no surprise either of them when he said it. It felt as natural as breathing, to simply be together, even if they were both a little skittish and a little nervous about what it all meant in the grand scheme of things.

They were caught in a moment as Adam felt the flutter of her pulse in her wrist, the silence fraught with something more that-

“Sophia, fancy seeing you-”

“Oh my god!” Professionalism shattered as a night full of talking with everyone (it seemed) in town and the pressure that felt like it was building there burst like a dam. Sophia’s hand was out of his as she whirled around. “Can’t I have one moment of peace tonight?” However, glancing above her head, Adam almost choked on a laugh as he spotted Felix and Nate lingering a few steps away.

“Oh, uh,” Nate blinked, though Felix didn’t seem terribly crestfallen. Nothing seemed to dim his rather bright personality, though Adam assumed being antagonized (or perhaps antagonizing was the right word) by Mason was enough to make this slide off him effortlessly. “Sorry, we didn’t know you were in the middle of something.”

Sophia, for her part, was flushed, frowning as she opened her mouth to, inevitably, apologize. Nate held a hand up, offering a small, crooked sort of smile. “No need, Sophia.”

“It’s fine,” Adam answered instead, aware of warmth in his own cheeks, lips curled into a very slight smile. “We’ll catch up with you?”

“Of course,” Nate rested a hand on Felix’s shoulder, steering him away from the stall. “I think I saw some hand-crafted journals here somewhere.”

Felix, however, didn’t lose the enthusiasm. Turning his head, he shouted back to the pair of them, “Hey, did you look up?” There was something rather eager about his tone as Nate shot an apologetic look back before he and Felix vanished into the crowd.

When Adam turned back, Sophia was looking up.

Oh.

“That’s-” Sophia began, scratching the back of her neck.

“Mistletoe,” Adam finished for her, his face far warmer than it had been a moment before. At the very least, this wouldn't be the first time they kissed. If she wanted to, he noted, glancing at her and then back up to the sprig of green above them that seemed to taunt him, if only momentarily. “We don’t have to do anything, Sophia.”

“I know.” But there was something breathless about the way she said it, a soft hesitation that didn’t linger as she met his gaze. Her eyes had always been mesmerising, he mused, catching him and drawing him deeper and deeper every time. He was aware of how close they stood, the way her breathing was a little shallow and how, without hesitation, she leaned up to kiss him.

There was nothing ordinary about kissing Sophia; each time it had happened, he felt as though his world had tilted on its axis and nothing had ever quite been the same after. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb drawing soft circles at her jaw, sinking into the sensation of it. Her nose was cold, her hair a little mussed from the wind and he knew from experience that she was a woman with sharp edges.

They parted, breath mingling together, her eyes still partially closed even in the aftermath. Adam couldn’t help the little smile, brushing his lips against hers once more in a chaste, soft parting kiss.

From beyond their bubble of intimacy, Adam swore he heard a whistle and whooping cheer, no doubtedly Felix. Sophia was flushed and he was certain he looked the same, letting a quick laugh escape. There was nothing embarrassing about this moment though, he thought, fingers tangling with hers easily, keenly aware of the warmth in his chest and the steady assurance of this .

Even amidst the chaos of the world around them, there was comfort to be found as, hand-in-hand, they strolled back into the throng of people. Though, as both would certainly attest, they only seemed aware of one another.

#the wayhaven chronicles #my writing #adam du mortain #a du mortain #female detective #ay yes there be mistletoe #gosh i miss holiday markets #fluff #kissing #felix hauville #nathaniel sewell #mason #douglas friedman #mayor friedman #captain sung #solomon verda #the date that everyone interrupts

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lostinfic · 3 years

Text

Christmas Eve (stuck) in the Lab

Chapter 12/12 *complete*

Summary: Dr. John Smith and Rose Tyler both work at the Natural History Museum in London, he’s a scientist and she works in the gift shop. They are only friends, but the upcoming staff Christmas party promises developments they’ve both been longing for. However, John and Rose end up stuck with Martha, Donna and Jack in the laboratory, and shenanigans ensue: decontamination showers, cocktails in beakers, a game of truth-or-dare and a Secret Santa rigged by meddling friends.

Tags: mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff with light angst, found family

Rating: Teen (for now) | Words:11556

@doctorroseprompts

Ao3

The click of doors unlocking interrupted their celebration and made everyone run to the railing to watch the entrance below. Kate Stewart entered the laboratory. She wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit, which must mean….

“You’re safe,” she declared.

Palpable relief washed over the group.

Rose’s stomach untangled. She covered her mouth with her hand, laughing shakily. She had to call her mum.

She turned to John, he was all loud cheers and big grin. He grabbed Rose around the waist in a hug that lifted her off the floor.

When he put her back down, his hands lingered at her waist, and hers on his shoulders.

Kate joined them up in the gallery.

She gave some scientific information they all seemed to understand except Rose. She gathered the substance was not harmful to humans.

Kate handed them an information sheet. “Just in case, be on the lookout for symptoms on this list. Call the number at the bottom if you have any concerns.”

Jack was out the door before she’d even finished talking. Martha, Donna and John left in different directions, to call relatives or pick up their coats and keys.

Rose should have hurried outside too, but she dawdled, feeling oddly nostalgic. She shut down the monitor and covered the leftover food with plastic wrap.

She was aware of John’s spearhead left on the corner of the table, but couldn’t look at it.

She felt bad for disliking it. She appreciated its monetary value, if not its sentimental one. She wished he hadn’t just picked something off his shelf; her gift dealt with in an efficient manner, then dismissed.

Donna carried Rose’s backpack from her office and up the stairs. She had something else in her hand, too.

“I thought you should know, this is what John was going to give you.”

Donna unrolled a poster with a beautiful map of the world in neon colours. She explained how he’d made it using UV light and special proteins.

It was perfect, bright and creative and just so special. Yet it only added to Rose’s frustration.

“I don’t know why he changed his mind. He really likes you, Rose.”

“But not enough to tell me himself.”

“Or so much it scares him.”

“Well, he knows where to find me if he needs help with that too.” She sighed, regretting her snark. She was tired. “I suppose it’s because of what happened to his parents.”

“What about them?”

He hadn’t confided in Donna, but he had in her. Maybe that meant something. And yet, Rose couldn’t help but remember once again how she’d fooled herself into believing Jimmy’s behaviour meant more than it did.

From the gallery, Rose could see across the lab, down into John’s office. He was still there, talking on the phone.

Her heart softened for him, as it always did.

Perhaps, for once, she should be the one going to him. In her determination to not misread any signals, she’d forgotten to send out her own.

---

As she approached the Doctor’s office, she overheard his conversation with the airline.

“Were you able to book another flight?” she asked after he’d hung up.

“Yes. Later tonight.” He hesitated. “The Mendoza team is counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. I go out of my way to avoid the street where my dad was killed.”

He nodded and offered a sympathetic smile.

“It’s important work I’m doing every year. I’m helping out labs with less means to preserve their own history.”

“I believe you. I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Drop by the shop as soon as you can. I fully expect you to use those vouchers.”

“I don’t know,” he joked, “maybe if you sweeten the deal with your employee discount.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

“Good. Looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

Rose shuffled her feet and wrung her hands. John rearranged random items on his messy desk.

“I think I need your help,” she stammered.

“Yes, of course! What do you need? What can I do?”

“I’m not quite sure how to get money out of this.” She held out the spearhead.

John sprang to action. He sent her links to trusted auction sites, wrote a description of the item for her and hunted down the original authenticity certificate.

She had to stop him when he got trapped, elbow-deep in a filing cabinet.

“It’s okay. It can wait.”

“But if you get the money now, you might be able to enroll in time for the winter semester.”

Rose narrowed her eyes at him.

“Did you listen to my conversation with Martha?”

“Er, well, I wasn’t listening so much as voices accidentally reached my ears.”

“Right.”

He sat on the edge of his desk, his long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankle.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to,” he added.

“S’alright. Explains a lot actually.”

“Listen, I know some professors and uni administrators and how to get financial aid.”

“You would help me?”

“Absolutely.”

“And if university isn’t what I want? I mean, I haven’t even got my A-levels.”

He shrugged. “You deserve all your dreams to come true, whatever they are. You’re brilliant, Rose.”

No one had ever said that to her. Not this earnestly.

A lump rose in her throat.

Before she’d found something to say, he offered to walk her home.

“I live in Peckham. That’d be quite a walk.”

“Don’t care.”

---

Fresh air welcomed them outside the Museum. It felt like they’d been trapped inside for years. Early dusk painted the sky a soft lavender, and fluffy snowflakes drifted down over them.

After a few steps, John took Rose’s gloved hand. She smiled and tightened her fingers over his. They laughed shyly for no other reason than the sheer pleasure of having their affection reciprocated.

In front of the Museum’s ice rink, John babbled on about bronze-age skates made from animal shins and references to skiing found in writings of the Han dynasty, in China. Joined hands swinging between them, they laughed more than the fun facts warranted. Their hearts felt as light as the snowflakes floating down from the sky. Simply put, they were utterly giddy.

They strolled down a quiet street. Decorations twinkled in windows and relatives greeted each other at the door.

John’s pace slowed down, his gaze turned inward and unfocused.

“I think I might call my former foster family,” he said at last, glancing at Rose for approval.

“Sounds like a great idea. You were close to them?”

He nodded. “The last ones I lived with, they really encouraged me to study. I even had a sister, of sort, Sarah Jane.” He smiled at the memory. “She was a Smith too. We used to pretend we were real siblings… I should’ve kept in touch.”

“Never too late for that.”

They passed by a tube station without stopping. Street lights switched on one after the other, as if only for them. They would have to part ways soon. It was a long ride to cousin Mo’s house, and he had a flight to catch.

At the gate of a quiet garden square, Rose stopped walking. They still held hands, and she fiddled with the cuff of his jacket.

“You remembered Jack’s dare, didn’t you?” she asked him.

“Uh, vaguely. Well, most of it. Where was he keeping that mistletoe?”

Rose waited a beat, but he didn’t say anything else.

“John, you know what you were saying about helping make my dreams come true?”

“Yeah?”

He stepped closer. Her breath quickened. She licked her lips, and his gaze flicked to her mouth.

“Well, maybe there’s a dream you, uh, you could…”

“What?” His face split into a grin. He clicked his jaw. He knew full well what she was trying to say.

“You could kiss me. Shut up.”

She looked away, but John’s hand on her cheek brought her eyes back to him. He opened his mouth, probably to say something smart-arse again. Instead, Rose grabbed his scarf and pulled him down to her. Cold nose tips met pink cheeks. He laughed against her lips. Their arms wrapped around each other, bringing their bodies together, as close as their winter coats allowed.

Rose forgot the cold and the passersby, she forgot it was Christmas Eve. Her hand in his hair knocked off his beanie. A tiny whimper came from the back of his throat, and she found herself with her back to the garden gate being thoroughly kissed. It was probably a good thing they were wearing so many layers.

When they broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on hers. The clouds on their breath mingled.

“Now I regret booking another flight,” John whispered.

“You’d better not forget me whilst you’re gone, mister.” She poked him in the chest playfully.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day we met— I doubt I will after that kiss.”

“Let’s give you plenty to think about, then.”

She rose to her tiptoes and kissed him again. An unforgettable kiss.

#ficandchips #ten x rose #doctor x rose #Christmas fluff #finished but stay tuned for a bonus smutty chapter #lostinfic writes stuff

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ginnyweasleywannabe · 3 years

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Treasure Hunt

Please enjoy the first chapter of my new fic "Treasure Hunt"

I will reblog with some authors notes. You can also read on AO3 under the username "inthemiddle2" (If I link it doesn't show up on tags, sorry) Final Word count:4499!!!!

Start:

“And you came to me for help because……?”

“Because you’re a greedy asshole.”

Two weeks prior….

“Marc, I don’t understand why I can’t just come with you!”

“Because Marlene, you’re about to finish up Uni, there’s still a lot of stuff for you to wrap up here… and you have the ceremony in two weeks”

Marlene let out a huff throwing her arms to the side, “Why do I even have to walk in that stupid ceremony, I’ve already done it once before. Besides what’s the point if you’re not going to be there, you’re the only one who cares about it.”

Marc stopped his packing with a quick roll of the eyes before turning around to face her, “Marley, I’ll be back in time for the ceremony, which is a big deal because you’re becoming a master!” He tried to get her excited, throwing his hands up and punctuating every following word, “Marlene McKinnon, Masters of Cryptology and Ancient History’, becoming an curse- breaker, like your ol’ bro.”

Marlene had to fight the sides of her mouth from twitching upward, “You’re the only one who calls themselves a ‘curse-breaker.”

Marc zipped up his duffle, “Marley, I’ll be back for the ceremony and then you’ll be done and you can join me on my next adventure.” He walked to the front door and gave her once last glance “I promise, finish up with your studies and then you can come with me.” He tried to give her a look of hope and understanding.

Marlene muttered a quick “fine” under her breathe and then lunged into his arms. She wouldn’t tell him but she was really going to miss him these up coming weeks. Curse-Breaking, as her brother liked to call it, was a bit of family tradition. Both her parents were in the field, which meant they were constantly traveling during her childhood. Gone for long periods of time of trying to chase down one ‘treasure’ or another. Marc was 12 years older than her which meant as soon as she was born her parents felt he was old enough to care for her while they were away.

“Stay out of trouble okay, kiddo?”

Marlene rolled her eyes, “I’m 23 years old you know, I can handle myself for two weeks.” She gave him a light shove out the door. She quickly checked her watch and saw she was running late to meet James. James was Marlene’s best friend, when Marlene was 11 Marc was getting to the age where he was having to travel more for work so Marlene was enrolled in a boarding school. Her mom’s best friend, Mia, had a son Marlene’s age who had been going to a boarding school since he was eight so off Marley was shipped away to Scotland. It was like no time had passed for her and James, they were instantly inseparable again. They spent the next seven years getting into all kinds of trouble but when it came time for Uni James went back home to London, to Hogwarts and Marlene went to a school in Glasgow. She had finished up her history and exploration degree there but had returned to London to attend Hogwarts for her yearlong master’s program. She was glad she had Marc and James to return home to, she need people to hang out with in the city and so began their tradition of getting a pint every Friday.

Marlene scanned the pub for James, she quickly found him because of the unmistakable red head with him. James had met Lily at Uni orientation and had been pining over her ever since, they had finally gotten together the winter holiday before Marlene had come back. You wouldn’t know it had only been a year in half though, they were perfect for each other. Marlene happened to know that James was hoping to pop the question this coming Christmas, Marlene however didn’t think he’d be able to wait the 7 months. She felt a sudden rush of nerves as she approached the group, doing a quick scan to see if he had shown up. She hadn’t expected him to, he never did if she was going to be there but still any time it was more than just her and James, she wondered if he would finally buck up the courage.

“Marley!!” Well, James had definitely spotted her, and had already had a couple pints it seemed. He was out of his seat and arms around her lighting fast. James was a professional football player for Chelsea.

Marlene let out a giggle, only Marc and James called her Marley, “Hiya Jamie! Had a few, have ya?”

James just gave her that dazzling lopsided grin, “Yeah well you’re late,” Marlene was always late places, “Marc left today, yeah?”

“Yeah”

James could tell she was a little down about the whole thing, even after all this time, she always was when he left.

“We’ll lets grab you one and you can tell me all about what treasure he’s chasing this time.” Marlene said a quick hello to the rest of the group; Lily, Remus, Mary, and Peter. She hadn’t know them before moving back to the city, they were all James’ friends from uni but they quickly accepted her into the group. With the promise of bring back some for everyone she and James made their way to the bar.

“Another round please Tom, and an extra for Marley here,” With a nod from Tom, James turned to Marlene, “So? What’s the gold this time? And how long will he be gone?” James and Marlene used to love hearing the stories her parents and Marc would tell them when they were little, usually a little embellished with Pirates, witches and wizards. James had idolized Marc growing up, he believed everything that came out of his mouth as fact.

Marlene turned to James with a big grin and said “Oh Jamie, you’re going to love this one! Its real, like really real! The Hogwarts treasure, Marcs figured it out- well mostly, but he sure of it. The sword, diadem, cup and even the locket! And with it gold, lots of it!” Marlene had rushed it all out almost in one big breathe. She was staring at him wide grin and big eyes waiting for him to react.

James just stared at her, “Marley, what are you talking about? That’s an old ghost story, and even if it was true its rumored that some Riddle guy stole it all like a couple hundred years ago. No one alive, heck most people dead, haven’t seen that treasure.” He gave a little laugh, “There’s no way it’s real or could even be found.”

“Come on James, its Marc, you know how he is, he doesn’t actually leave the office himself unless he’s sure!” Marlene pleaded with him. Marc had mostly done code translating desk work. Marc claims that’s just what he’s best at and gets more done if he hops from translation to translation rather than solving one and chasing down a lead for weeks that might go nowhere, Marlene knows it’s because of her though, he always needed to be close by to care for her.

James glanced at her hopeful eyes, he had always been bad with telling her no, taking a drink from one of the pints Tom had brought, “Alright let’s say it’s not some old witch tale, what’s he got that makes him so sure?” He said it with just a hint of a smile that let Marlene know he hadn’t truly grown out of their pirates and treasure hunting days.

Marlene was giddy, “Last week they were cleaning out old archives down in the ‘dungeon’ and I guess no one’s really cleared it out in a while but you know how it used to be an old dorm? Well between boxes and things, there was still stuff past students had left behind. So they sent all that stuff to the archives office to see if any could be displayed for ‘Hogwarts History’, kind of an invasion of past students privacy and property if you ask me-“

“Marley, focus.”

“Right, sorry, anyway I guess Marc was sorting through the stuff and he came about an old diary, like really old. And it belonged to….” She took a dramatic pause, really wanting to build it up for James “Tom. Riddle.” She waited for his reaction eyebrows raised in anticipation.

James loved seeing her getting excited about this kind of thing, she had had a rough spring semester, “You’re serious?” She gave a quick glare but for another reason, he was quick to apologize, “Sorry, but I mean Tom Riddle, you mean the guy who supposedly stole all of the treasure. I didn’t even think he was a real person..”

“Well, believe it Jamie. He’s real and his diary gave some clues as to where he hid all the treasure!” She squealed, James wasn’t sure when it happened but he had just realized she had already drained her pint, and Marley was a light weight. After finishing her excited squeal she went to start on another pint, taking big sips.

“Oi! What’s taking so long, some of us are trying to get a nice buzz before the long weekend!”

Remus was shuffling through the crowd, he always worked the graveyard shift at the library on full moons for extra cash because it was said to be haunted and nobody wanted to work it. The full moon was tomorrow night.

Marlene turned, after downing half her second pint, “Lupe!!” Throwing her arms around him.

“Hello again, Marlene, what’s taking you two so long?” he was ever so slightly holding her up, she seem just a tad off balance.

“Just talking ghosts and long lost treasure.” She stated matter of fact. At this Remus quirked an eyebrow over her shoulder to James who just gave a smile and a shrug. Grabbing the pints they could, not letting her carry any, they made their way back over to the group.

“Oh finally, you’re back, Pete passionately telling us about how they switched the detergent for the towels at Stamford” Mary said with a roll of her eyes, James had gotten Peter a job at the stadium.

The group let out a collective laugh while Peter had a blush creeping up his face, “Well I just worry the change in scent with mess with guys head, that’s all. Don’t you agree James?”

James turned at the sound of his name, previously whispering something Lily’s ear. He gave a quick shrug, “Yeah, sure I guess, really its whatever Petey”

The night continued on in much of the same fashion, by the time it was winding down James had just returned from walking Lily out, her and Mary sharing a flat just a block away. He could tell from across the bar he was going to need to walk Marley home, he would walk her anyway but she was talking wildly with her hands and leaning very close to poor Peter, who looked a little afraid of her.

“-And then I want to use it to go to Peru for a few month you know, live off the grid, no electricity, even no pluming!” She looked so excited for the prospect of having to go into a hole in the ground but Peter just stared right back at her.

“Alright Marley, let me walk you home” James said with a sigh

“Oh Jamie really, I’m fine,” She stood from her chair and rocked nearly tripping and falling flat on her face but his quick reflexes caught her.

“Oh I know but Marc would kill me if he knew a let you walk home alone besides, I basically pass it on the way to my place” Marlene knew she needed the help but she was glad he just blamed it on the Marc thing. Bidding Peter a goodbye, she wrapped an arm around James and they strolled home.

As they walked the few block home, they talked about this and that and had somehow landed on the stars. As Marlene looked up she let out a deep sigh, “I’m sorry if I ruined things. But I tried to be civil.”

James still had an arm wrapped around her shoulder and he just pulled her closer, with a quick kiss to the top of her head, he began to reassure her, “Marley, you didn’t ruin anything. He’s been a real asshole lately. And a coward, I love the guy but I’m proud of you for what you said.”

He was one Sirius Black. James’ best friend from Uni, they had been random roommates freshman year and continued to live together until the graduated, then James moved in with Remus and Sirius got his own place. Marley had met him briefly over the years when she would come home for the holidays but really didn’t know him. When she moved back a year ago and James brought her into their group she got to know him better. He was funny, and careless but she liked that about him. Marlene, working on her masters, was often stressed and uptight so it was nice that he was carefree. Nothing had ever happened between them besides a little flirting until after the past winter hols.

Marlene would go out with James early on Fridays but would often skip the later, wilder group hangs because of school. One night James had gotten her to stay out and well one thing led to another and pretty quickly her and Sirius were seeing each other. Marlene didn’t want to think too much about it with trying to finish school so she figured it would just be this fun thing to help ease stress until she finished uni but honestly things started to move fast and not because of her. Sirius was pursuing her, constantly talking about how much he liked her, talking about all the fun things they would do during summer once she finished school, he was the one who brought up being exclusive. Marlene had started to let her guard down, and then one day out of the blue, he calls her up and tells her ‘he doesn’t have time for a serious relationship right now but he hopes they can still be friends because of the group.’ Right. He wouldn’t want things to be weird for the group, he’s worried about their feelings.

Marlene was hurt by the conversation but she wasn’t going to let carefree playboy know that, she quickly told him it was no big deal they had only been going out for like a month and a half. He wouldn’t need to worry about things being weird on her end. It was a 3 minute conversation and that was it.

Honestly Marlene was more mad than sad about the situation. She decided to call him the next day, all she wanted was a simple apology for being tossed aside like nothing. So She called explained how she felt she deserved at least an apology when he was the one pursuing the relationship, he didn’t apologize. He just said “sorry for the mixed signals”. Sorry for the mixed signals? It wasn’t mixed, it was one signal and then dramatically the opposite signal. Marlene was so infuriated that that was all he had to say but she also didn’t want to cause drama in a friend group that she joined late. When he clearly wasn’t going to give her more, she said that now that was out in the open and she (kind of) said what she needed to say they could be cool, there wouldn’t be any weirdness and hung up. That whole conversation lasted 5 minutes and Marlene is pretty sure she rambled for the first 3. They hadn’t spoken since, he hadn’t gone out with group once when Marlene was there.

“Mar? Earth to Marley?” James had pulled her from her thoughts, she hadn’t even realized they had made it back to her doorstep.

“Huh, sorry I just got zoned, you were right I might have had one too many” She said with a small smile, hoping he would believe that was all it really was.

“Alright beautiful, I was just asking are you sure you don’t want me to stay the night?” James said it with a teasing smile, when Marlene was younger she was terrified of staying home alone so anytime Marc had to travel she would go stay at James’ house (she did this well into her 20’s).

Marlene rolled her eyes and gave him a shove, “Yes, you dolt. I haven’t been scared of staying home alone in like two years.”

With a ruffle of her hair and a quick hug, she was up the stairs in bed.

The next week passed by rather unceremoniously, she finished up her final studies and worked on the last of her paper. She was going to skip Friday night drinks this week because she wanted to focus on getting her paper done, besides James and Marc were planning quite the pub crawl for the Saturday following her graduation ceremony.

She hadn’t heard much from Marc, which wasn’t unusual on his trips. He had sent her a quick text letting her know that he made it to his first stop last Friday night and this morning she received a letter. Marc loved to write letters and Marlene loved to tease him about it, telling him it made him old. The letter didn’t say much, just that he thought he was on to something and the diary seemed to be leading him in the right direction. He was looking forward to her ceremony and he had talked to mom and dad, they wouldn’t be able to make it, shocker. With that small but expected disappointment she refocused on her work.

Before she knew it, it was Saturday morning. She ran down the stairs, on special occasions Marc would always bake her blueberry pancakes but when she rounded the hall into the kitchen it was empty. That’s odd. She had assumed Marc had gotten in after she went to bed.

“Marc?” She gave a quick shout but no response. Maybe he was still asleep, he did just have a two week trip so she padded up the stairs to his room but no it was also completely untouched.

Marlene had a frown on her face and pulled out her phone. It rang like it was on and charged but still went to voicemail.

“This is Marc, sorry I missed your call, I honestly don’t know how to work this thing but leave a message and Marley will show me how to listen and call back”

“Hey Marc, its Marley and its Saturday. I just wanted to touch base before the ceremony but I’m just going to assume you’ll meet me there. Remember 10 o’clock sharp. You still owe me pancakes, see you soon.” She ended the voicemail and checked the time, if she got ready now she would have time to stop at the diner on the way in and grab a muffin.

Marlene peaked around the curtain hoping to spot Marc. She was bundle of nerves, she hated this kind of thing. The only reason she was walking in this dumb ceremony was for him. As she scanned the crowd she was beginning to think that no one had shown. I mean sure, she hadn’t invited anyone because again, dumb ceremony but still felt a twinge of disappointment that she was alone.

“Samantha Mathis”

Oh shit, she was next.

“Marlene McKinnon”

Straightening her shoulders she walked out on stage. As soon as she stepped out from behind the curtain there was a loud cheer from the back left corner. She took the diploma shook hands and turned out to the crowd for her picture. Rather than looking at the camera man she zoned in on the cheering group in the back. There was James, jumping up being the loudest as usual, and the rest of their group. She smiled for the first time that day and continued of the stage. The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass quick.

Marlene was bidding Samantha goodbye when arms scooped her up from behind and twirled.

“James stop, you’re going to make her sick” Lily admonished lovingly

“Yeah besides you have to share her with the rest of us!” Mary said before lunging for hug. The whole group had come, minus two of the usual boys. Marlene hadn’t expected him to show but maybe a congratulations text at least would have been nice. James had also mentioned that Peter had some family thing come up but he said ‘congratulations’.

Marlene just laughed and said her thank you to the group. She was looking around with a frown on her face.

With a huff she turned to James, “Have you seen Marc?”

James gave her a confused look, Marc would never miss this, “No? you haven’t seen him today?”

“No, you think I should be worried?” She was biting her lip into bits.

“I’m sure he just got held up and forgot to charge his phone. You know how he is” James was doing his best to reassure her, “Look we made a reservation for lunch and maybe he’s just planning on meeting us there. If we don’t hear from him after lunch, then we’ll worry ok?”

Marlene still felt hurt that he would miss this after he made it a big deal but she gave a shrug and headed to lunch anyway. Everyone tried their best to help get Marlene’s mind on other things and she did her best to let them. About halfway through lunch she felt a buzz, she quick grabbed her phone from her bag. It was a text from Marc!

“Hey Marly, got held up. Gonna b longer than I thought. Not sure when I’ll b home. See u soon XX”

Marlene read the text again, he didn’t even mention the ceremony. Sure she hadn’t wanted them to make a big deal about it but still she worked really hard for this. She really wasn’t in the mood anymore. James had just paid the bill and the group was gathering up to go to the next place, He glanced over to see what Marley was staring at. He felt a wave of relief when he saw it was a text from Marc.

“See Marley, he’s just chasing down a treasure for you. I know it sucks he wasn’t here but he knows how excited you were about the Hogwarts treasure I bet he didn’t want to come back empty handed.” He was giving her the best encouraging face he could.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, he can be so hyper-focused sometimes. He probably doesn’t even realize what day it is.” She was trying not to show how let down she was feeling, “listen Jamie, I’m really thankful for lunch and all but I was up early this morning and the ceremony really took it out of me. I think I’m just going to head home.”

“Oh Marley are you sure? I could come with you? We could build a fort and watch a movie.” He could tell she was trying to hold it together.

“Yeah I’m sure but you go and have fun, honestly I’m probably going to go home and take a long nap.” Marlene gave James a sad smile.

Marlene really was exhausted by the time she got home. She took a quick shower and changed into her favorite lounge clothes, as soon as she hit the bed she was out like nox. When Marlene woke she glanced at the clock on her nightstand to see it read 6pm. She could believe she had slept for that long, but then her stomach growled and she knew sleeping through dinner had been a mistake. Pulling out some left over take out from the week before she sat down and decided to give Marc a call. It went straight to voicemail again. She flipped over to the text he had sent her.

“Hey Marly, got held up. Gonna b longer than I thought. Not sure when I’ll b home. See u soon XX”

It was odd but it the more she read it, the more paranoid she got. I mean “Marly” that’s not how Marc usually spelt it. And the “b” “U”, she was constantly teasing Marc about how he texted like an old man, always full sentences and proper grammar. AND he hadn’t even mentioned the ceremony. She knew she was being paranoid but she just couldn’t get it out of her head that something was wrong. Maybe it was that she was alone in this big house or the talks of ghost and pirates but by the time she had finished her orange chicken, Marlene was sure that this was not a text from Marc.

Ok, so somebody had taken Marcs phone and texted her. Now what? She was pacing around the kitchen island, her lip beginning to bleed from biting. She needed to confirm her suspicion, she decided when he didn’t answer yet another call she would try a text.

“Hey Marc! No worries on getting home, Mom happened to be passing through and decided to stay a few days. See you soon X”

Alright that would work, Marc knows him mom would never stay a few days, also she was in the Andes for the summer. Now we wait.

Her phone buzzed almost instantly, odd she thought, if he was near the phone why couldn’t he just answer her call?

“Great! Glad she can keep u company!”

Definitely not Marc. Happy she hadn’t been going crazy and making theories in her head, but also NOT Marc. Marlene quickly grabbed her things and went down to the station.

“So you’re telling me, that your brother was off to find the long lost treasures and gold of some old university and he’s been kidnapped. And you know this because he texted you the letter ‘b’ instead of the word ‘be’?”

The officer was looking at her with a unimpressed face.

Marlene gave him a sheepish smile, “Well, yes.”

“Right. Ok, do you know where your brother was going?” His voice was full of disinterest.

“Well no, not exactly. He didn’t say, just that he had a lead he wanted to check out, and he would be gone for a couple weeks” Marlene at least had the decency to look like she knew it was far-fetched.

“Ok Ma’am, he was only supposed to return yesterday so it’s likely he just got held up. If you don’t hear from him in a week, come back and I’ll see what I can do.” With that he got up and ushered her to the door.

Marlene stepped out into the rain with a disappointed frown. Fine. If he wasn’t going to take her seriously, she would just find Marc herself.

#blackinnon #sirius x marlene #treasure hunt #marlius #non magical au #modern au #my wrtitng

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wokeuptired · 4 years

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wokeuptired’s masterlist

here are all the 1d fics i’ve ever written, organized in a nice rebloggable format! below the cut you will find 14 finished niall fics, 6 finished harry fics, a few liam stories, and one zayn for good measure. (my in-progress fics aren’t here. if i ever finish them, i’ll add them.)

see individual story pages for chapters, drabbles, photosets, banner credit, and more.

thanks for letting me write in this world for so long, y’all.

you can find my 5sos fics and other random bits here.

niall

screaming color

cole jacobs is pretty sure that niall horan is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her academic career. but maybe he’s the best thing to ever happen to her, period. // uni au

you and i need to have a little patience

a screaming color sequel with lots of mushy relationship stuff and a pregnancy.

left my heart out

a uni au in which quentin is torn between liam, the boy with whom she’s been in a “friends with benefits” situation for ages, and niall, his rude roommate.

13 versions of a heart

Mim Marcus hasn’t written a word since the day Niall Horan broke her heart.

Niall, on the other hand, has done nothing but.

(a my-ex-is-a-writer-who-wrote-a-best-selling-novel-about-me au)

little giants

a what-the-fuck-am-I-supposed-to-do-after-graduation au in which yessenia is a mess and niall’s the only stable thing in her life.

the other side of fear

a sort-of au in which cody burnett is the most famous pop star alive, and she’s living a lie, because no one knows she’s spent the past year falling in love with niall horan.

warm blood

an au in which carver and niall share an anonymous kiss at an office christmas party and a desk after that, and exchange a lot of notes on post-its.

look at me

in which minna is a former child star who’s finally making the album she’s always dreamed of, except writer’s block is getting in the way—at least until she find’s niall horan’s song writing journal left behind in the studio.

now that you know

a cheesy valentine’s day story in which zanna’s got the hugest crush on her third most elusive flatmate.

every perfect summer

finn’s trying to write a romance novel, and niall’s trying to make her live one.

boundless as the sea

bea’s absolutely not a romantic, much to the displeasure of her grandmother—and to niall, the bloke who’s agreed to help them find gram’s long-lost love. so much for bea’s vacation.

same fools

perhaps the silliest story i’ve ever written, a uni au in which lil spends 24 hours not sleeping and running into niall horan over and over.

this mad mad love

in which aiden doesn’t want to see her ex ever again, not even when he writes his whole new album about her.

fireworks over the freeway

in one of my oldest and silliest, gemma meddles and harry causes trouble and there’s a school dance.

the norway spruce

a holiday story in which webber jones returns home for the holidays to find a new face wandering around the christmas tree lot.

the panic cord

a fluffy meet-cute in which gracie meets niall at a coffee shop and lots of fanfic cliches ensue.

harry

the double plaid

kit is a fashion designer’s assistant, but she wants to be a fashion designer, and harry is a lonely indie musician who wants to be less alone.

a history in rust

jennah is an artist working on a graphic memoir about her semester abroad when her ex, the famous harry styles, shows up in LA to disrupt everything she’s built for herself since he broke her heart.

you, the ocean, and me

an au in which ivy is hunkered down in her mum’s country house trying to finish her play, and harry is the boy next door who takes care of her mum’s garden when she’s out of town.

the misfortune of knowing you

a uni au in which darcy hates harry and harry hates darcy, except maybe things aren’t as they seem.

new lessons for old cynics

kiernan is one of three sisters, and one third of a defunct indie group composed of said sisters. harry styles has always been on her radar, but now he’s closer than ever before.

heliotropic

an au in which anela is a surfer grieving the loss of her brother, and harry’s an out-of-towner who isn’t meant for hawaii, but is maybe meant to change anela’s life.

liam

hiding places

robbie returns home after years away, and is surprised to find that her teenage love, liam, is back in town too.

finger lengths

katie is liam’s best friend, and that might be something to brag about, except she’s secretly in love with him, and he’s never around.

zayn

accidental sublime

the voice in joella’s head is the loudest thing about her, and the loudest thing about zayn malik is his tattoos.

#1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction

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junetuesday · 5 years

Text

sweetener - [ten]

Questions and Answers

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader - uni AU

Word Count: 6935

Warnings: fluff, smut (oral [m receiving]), the odd f-bomb

A/N: wow ok hi it’s been a lil while!! i can only apologise for leaving you on that bit of a cliffhanger and say i’ve been going thru it more than usual i guess. i can’t say for sure if or when i’m gonna be back with weekly updates but i’ll let ya know! thanks for being patient and sticking with me 🖤 special shoutout to @fallingspidey for her endless support for this fic and for keeping me motivated and inspired over the last lil bit. however if there are errors in this blame her for prESSURING ME (jk don’t)

Add yourself to my taglist(s) - nb: lots of people i couldnt tag so lemme know if you changed your url or whatever!!

Updates...who’s to say...?

All in all, Tom was happy to be back at uni. It had been nice to see his family and friends (and his dog - especially his dog), but if he was honest then he'd have to say that his favourite part of his Christmas break had been talking to you. Texting, talking on the phone, Snapchats here and there - yeah, all that.

January exams were looming, so much closer and so much more daunting once New Year had come and gone, but you helped there, too. As promised, you'd helped make a revision plan for him. You claimed it was a welcome break from your own revision - which sounded truly horrific to Tom but you seemed to enjoy yourself doing it and it was actually extremely helpful, so he wasn't complaining. He was mostly sticking to it too, though admittedly he was having trouble concentrating. Everything was distracting, and nothing seemed to be going into his brain, and all too often his mind started to wander away from environmental factors on human mental and physical health and towards...well. Other things. Things that would most certainly not be on his exam. After one particularly fruitless study session, spent mostly attempting to decipher his own handwriting where he'd scribbled notes on a print out of the slides from a lecture he didn't even remember being in, you'd suggested that maybe you could study together once you were back - maybe that way you could keep each other on track. Tom had agreed, of course, but he was sceptical - if you were there he was fairly certain he'd have even more difficulty concentrating on lifestyle risk factor modification.

Tonight, though, was a designated Night Off. Tom had had to come back to uni a few days earlier than you to work (which was pointless if you asked him, no one was on campus anyway, but such is life - he just read through lecture notes [read: fucked around on his phone] in between the occasional international student or faculty member who happened to wander in), and now that you were back too you'd arranged to go over to his for the evening. After it turned out you hadn't seen any of Tom's favourite movies, you'd each made a list of five movies the other person had to watch with you, as a sort of cinematic education. Your list consisted of Fight Club (obviously), Labyrinth, Legally Blonde, Donnie Darko, and A Walk to Remember, while Tom's was Shutter Island, Se7en, Primal Fear, Tropic Thunder, and Spirited Away. The plan for tonight, then, was to order pizza, finish Fight Club, and then watch a movie from his list, and just chill together. Totally casual. Not a big deal at all.

By the time Tom had come home from work and showered (and tidied his room, changed his bedsheets, cleaned the bathroom, and tidied the living room) it was almost 7:30pm, and you had not long texted to say you were on the way and to order the pizza. That done, he'd just about decided on a playlist to put on in the background and was checking his reflection in the mirror one more time when the doorbell rang, an 'outside x' text popping up on his phone simultaneously.

Tom tossed his phone onto his bed and pulled open his bedroom door, ruffling his hair nervously. He'd had it cut just before he left home and he was still getting used to it - you'd asked to see, and when he'd sent a picture you'd said you liked it, but he was feeling a little self-conscious about it. It wasn't anything too drastic, but it was a good bit shorter than it had been before, so it was still a change.

"Hey," he smiled as he opened the door, stepping back to let you in out of the cold.

"Hi - thanks," you breathed, your words hanging in a cloud in front of you as you stepped over the threshold. " s'fucking freezing."

"You can just...yeah." Tom pointed to his room, shutting the door behind you once you'd squeezed past him with a small smile.

You left the fresh, almost metallic smell of the cold outdoors in your wake as you dropped your bag by the door, sitting yourself down on the end of his bed and toeing off your boots as Tom followed you into his room. You were mumbling something about how much colder it was here than it was in your hometown - or maybe it was the other way around -- he had kind of stopped listening when you shrugged out of your coat and he realised you were wearing his hoodie underneath it. He'd been pretty sure he'd seen it on you in some of the Snaps and pictures you'd sent over Christmas, but he hadn't been certain and hadn't wanted to ask just in case it wasn't it. He was sure now though, that was definitely his hoodie that you were readjusting around your shoulders, sorting out the hood where it had gotten caught on your coat. Cool.

You'd talked so much over the past few weeks that Tom had kind of forgotten he hadn't actually spent that much time with you physically - like, texting and speaking on the phone now wasn't a big deal at all, there was next to no nervousness or awkwardness about what to say, but in person? In person, it was a little different, so he stayed over by the door, waiting to see what you would do next. You seemed to do the same thing, though, looking over at him expectantly after placing your coat neatly on top of your bag, and it occurred to him then that it was his house, so he should probably lead the way.

"So uh, it said it'd be about an hour before Dominos gets here - I guess they're busy..." he trailed off, but you just nodded so he figured he'd better say something else. "Do you wanna go in the living room or, uh, stay in here - no one's home, so's up to you."

"I'm good wherever," you shrugged, shuffling back a bit on the bed and twisting to face him as he moved further into the room. "Let's see your new hair then."

Tom chuckled as he sat down, the sound catching in his throat when you reached out to touch his cheek. Your hand was cold against his skin, gently tilting his head to the side to properly inspect his haircut under the ceiling light. He watched your face as you looked him over, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips when he caught your eye.

Your nails scratched his scalp softly as you ran your fingers through the back of his hair, the hairs just long enough to poke up between your fingers as they travelled upwards until they reached his crown. The top of his hair was longer, still long enough to start to curl if left untamed by product, as it was now. Tom had to fight to keep his eyes open as your fingers worked their way through his hair, getting warmer by the second and grazing across his skin every now and then. It wasn't too hard though, he just focused on you instead, your face so close that he could see every detail in your face - even if he couldn't quite read your expression.

You hummed to yourself thoughtfully, pushing his fringe back into place.

"Well, what's the verdict?"

"Yeah." You fiddled with the pieces by his ears, your head tilting to the side as your fingers smoothed the hair against his temples. Your eyes flicked to his face and back to his hair before you nodded, nibbling gently on your lower lip, slightly glossy with lip balm, and, if Tom remembered correctly, soft and warm and pliable and--

"Yeah, I like it," you announced, and it took Tom longer than it should have to work out what you were even talking about, his mind already several steps away from his haircut. "Suits you."

"Thanks."

You leant towards him as if you had read his mind, your fingers carding through his hair again as you angled your face to his. Tom just caught your eyes drifting shut before he mirrored you, your hands on the back of his neck bringing him closer until his lips met yours.

It was only when one of your hands moved to his cheek that he remembered that he, too, had hands - two of them, in fact - and that right now they were sitting uselessly in his lap. He remedied that quickly enough, one hand going on to the bed to support his weight as he leant into the kiss, the other coming to cup your face. It all became a bit of a blur then - your tongue dancing with his, him shuffling backwards on the bed as you shifted closer, his hands moving to your hips to support you as you climbed into his lap. Tom felt you giggle into the kiss when you both fell back onto the bed, but you didn't break apart; your fingers twisting tighter into his hair. His hands left your hips, roaming your body instead — your thighs either side of his hips, your ass where it rested on his lap, your waist — anywhere he could reach, really. He'd just slid his hands under the hem of your t shirt and over your back, his fingers just brushing over the band of your bra when you finally broke apart to breathe, your lips leaving his with a wet pop.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Tom hummed in response to the words you murmured against his cheek - he'd probably have said yes to literally anything you asked just then, if he was honest.

"Just..., uh-"

You pulled back a little, your hands leaving his hair and pressing into the mattress either side of his head to support your weight instead. Tom lowered his hands back down to your hips, blinking up at you as you sat up.

"What's up?"

"How many...um, like, what's your...ugh-" you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head like you were trying to physically dispel a thought from your mind before moving to lean over him once more. "Never mind, doesn't matter."

Something about your voice and the look on your face told him it did matter, though, the weight of unasked questions hanging heavy in the air between you. He kind of knew what you were asking but he wasn't 100% sure, so despite parts of him screaming for him to leave it for now, instead of angling his face to yours, Tom tilted his head away from you.

"No, go on. What did you wanna ask?"

He propped himself up on his elbows as you picked at your fingers, his hands dropping from your hips to rest atop your thighs.

"Just like...who...like, have you, you know-"

"How many people have I slept with?"

You nodded, glancing up at him for a second before returning your attention to your cuticles.

"Uh, three, I guess?"

You nodded again before tilting your head to the side, shifting your attention from your right ring finger to your left thumb.

"And were they like...girlfriends...? Or, I dunno, you know..."

Your gaze was fixed so intently on your hands that Tom couldn't help but look at them too, though he wasn't really thinking about them at all. He was more confused about why you were asking about this now, and he couldn't really gauge your reaction to his 'number' - did you think that three was too many or not enough? And did you want them to be girlfriends, or not? It was all too much to think about all at once, so he decided it was probably safest to just tell the truth.

"One was, yeah; one was sort of a one-time-thing, and uh, the other one's you, so..." he trailed off, not quite sure where to categorise you.

"Oh. Cool."

Cool? What does that mean????

You took a deep breath in and opened your mouth like you were about to say something else, maybe ask a follow up question, but then your shoulders slumped and you went silent.

"Go on, what were you gonna say?"

"So like-" you began, sniffing as you turned your attention back to your ring finger, rubbing at a pen mark on your knuckle this time instead of picking at your nail bed. "Are you still like, friends with her? Your ex, I mean."

"I guess? I mean we don't really talk or anything but I saw her over Christmas when we all went out..." Tom's brain ticktickticked away as he talked, still not sure where you were going with this - until it clicked. "Oh did you see her on Instagram or something?"

Tom's insides felt weird as he said it, his tummy going all squiggly - until you nodded, and it flipped over altogether. He had noticed you had been a bit quieter when he spoke to you the day after Boxing Day, but he'd figured it was just because of that Post-Christmas Emptiness everyone gets, plus maybe you were irritated that he'd been drunk texting you while you were studying, and then you kind of went back to normal again and he forgot about it. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe you were...jealous?

"I wasn't like, stalking or anything, I was just - I saw people tagged on your story and I was bored so I was just, I dunno, browsing, and I saw a picture of you on her page and I..." You rambled, your words skipping each other in their rush to get out. "I, yeah, I dunno why I even brought it up. Sorry, it's none of my business I—"

"It's cool," Tom cut you off then, sitting up properly because it was kind of distracting having you shifting about on top of him while you were having this conversation.

You got the hint, shifting off of him and sitting cross-legged opposite him while he scooted back until he was leaning back against the wall at the head of his bed.

"Yeah, I mean-" he started, not really sure where to begin. "She, we - Kim, and me, we were friends at school and then I guess we were together for like, a year or so? Then we both went to uni and it just kind of...fizzled out? Didn't see each other a lot and by Christmas we'd kind of realised neither of us really minded so we just kinda called it quits."

It was weird to talk about, sure, but not exactly bad. It wasn't a difficult breakup, and, as far as he knew anyway, they were both kind of ambivalent about it. They'd had a good time together, and he supposed he did love her in the way that you do love someone when you're 17 and they're your first real anything, but they grew apart as a couple and it was just kind of...fine. Honestly, he hadn't even thought about her in a while.

You'd nodded along as Tom talked, humming thoughtfully when he finished.

"Is that not weird? Hanging out as friends after you were...more?"

Your tone shifted back towards normal, that hint of nervousness fading away and your head tilting to the side curiously.

"Not really?" Tom shrugged, trying to cast his mind back. "At first it was, I suppose. Like last summer - the first couple of times we saw each other were kind of awkward but nah," he shook his head. "Not really. Just kinda went back to how it was before - kinda had to, like we have all the same friends, you know?"

You nodded once slowly, like you were considering it, then again quicker and more decisively.

"Fair enough."

You reached out and started playing with his sleeve, your fingers grazing over his wrist. The heaviness in the air had lifted, your face relaxed as your eyes focused on the ribbed cuff of his sweatshirt beneath your fingers. Tom's flicked back and forth between the two, keeping them on your face a little longer each time.

"What about the other person?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Tom mumbled, his brain taking a moment to catch up with what you were talking about. "I had this one weird Tinder date not long after we broke up."

You laughed, glancing up at him as you fiddled with his fingers. "Weird, how?"

Sighing, he flipped his hand over that so his palm faced upwards, both of you looking at your hands as he spoke.

"I mean the date was fine, you know, like it went well-"

"Very well, if they're on the list?" you chuckled.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, right?" Tom laughed dryly. "But it turned out that she, um, she was kind of in this open relationship where they were both allowed to see other people - but only once?"

You stopped playing with his fingers, looking over at him instead.

"Oh?"

"Yeah...I dunno, like..."

Tom mumbled under his breath as his brain stumbled over the words, trying and failing to find the right ones. Somehow this was more awkward to talk about than his actual relationship. Maybe because that made sense, at least to him, whereas this still had him pretty baffled.

He didn't know if it was just because it has been his first time putting himself back out there and it hadn't gone to plan, or if it was because he really had thought the girl was into him and it turned out he was wrong, but either way the experience had knocked his confidence. It sounded stupid, really, it shouldn't have been a big deal - people have one night stands all the time, right? So what if nothing else happened and it didn't lead to anything more. Perhaps he'd been naive to think it would have, perhaps that was all on him. He didn't think he was, though - it wasn't like they'd met drunk in a club and ended up going home together; they'd been texting for a while before they met up in person. They'd had time to get to know each other a bit - and more than enough time for her to mention that, you know, 'hey, I'm seeing someone so this is just a one-time-only just-sex thing'. Maybe it was just the ambiguity of it all that he didn't like, maybe if she had mentioned it beforehand then maybe he would have still gone ahead with it and he wouldn't feel so weird about it.

As it was though, he did feel weird about it, and he'd never really told anyone what actually happened before, so he was struggling for words a little bit. He looked up when you started tracing the lines of his palm with your fingertip, though - it tickled a bit, but it was enough of a distraction that he was able to formulate a sentence.

"Yeah so we like, went for a drink or whatever and...yeah. And then when I texted her a few days later or whatever she was just like 'yeah no so here's the thing'..." he shrugged, leaving the explanation at that - that was all he knew, really, anyway.

"What the fuck?" You chuckled incredulously. "Surely that's the kind of thing you tell someone going into it, like 'hey, heads up-' kinda thing?"

Tom just nodded, sighing.

"But yeah, anyway, so that was that I guess."

He twisted his wrist so that your palms were pressed together, fingers interlocked, and gave a gentle squeeze. You gave him a small smile, and he hoped that meant you interpreted what he was trying to say without actually saying it: that he didn't really want to talk about it anymore, but that he didn't mind that you asked - he understood the need for clarity all too well. He wanted to ask you about your past experiences - boyfriends, girlfriends, anything - but he figured if you wanted to tell him, then you would. So, he changed the subject slightly.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You hummed and nodded as you let go of his hand, moving to reposition yourself.

"Do you have a three date rule?"

"Do I have a what?" you looked at him quizzically as you uncrossed your legs, moving to they were tucked underneath you and to the side, leaning your body against his outstretched legs.

"I dunno, I saw it in a movie I think. Like, some girls won't sleep with someone until the third date..."

Saying it out loud it sounded pretty stupid, but he'd said it now. He kind of wished he hadn't though because it sounded like he was saying 'why didn't you sleep with me?!', and that really wasn't what he meant, but then you started to laugh.

"Oh no - I uh. Before...I was...on."

"Oh..." he nodded slowly, his mouth gaping and eyes widening once he actually understood what you were saying. "Oh!"

You're such a fucking idiot, mate.

"Yeah...so...sorry."

"It's okay!" he laughed quickly. "I wasn't - I didn't mean - obviously you didn't have to, you don't have to-"

You silenced him then with a hand on his thigh, your face softening as your laugh faded to a shy smile.

"I know what you meant. I wanted to - I mean I, I want to."

"Cool."

That settled that, then. Tom just nodded as he leant forward, bending his knee up as he reached out to cup your cheek. Your hand lingered on his thigh, the other coming to touch his neck as he kissed you. You leaned closer, into the kiss - or, at least, that's what he thought you were doing, so he did too - but then your mouths bumped together a bit more forcefully than intended and it turned out you were actually getting to your knees.

"Sorry," you giggled against his lips, pressing a soothing kiss to the spot where your teeth had grazed his lip slightly. Tom breathed out a laugh in reply as you pecked your way along his jaw and onto his neck, your breath hot on his skin — until it wasn't anymore.

"Wait, three dates?" You sat back on your heels, looking at him with a curious smile on your face.

Dammit.

"Oh, um, I mean," - so embarrassing, Jesus - "If you count the, uh-"

"-the library?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, feeling his face getting hotter by the second.

But then you smiled, a toothy grin that broke into a giggle as you shook your head.

"You're so cute."

Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending how he looked at it - Tom didn't have time to say something incredibly cheesy like 'no you're so cute' because your lips were already back on his, both of your hands holding his face firmly.

He could feel you shuffling closer, so Tom let his body slip down the bed as you kissed, your hands on his cheeks keeping him close while his hands slipped inside your open hoodie to grasp at the sides of your t shirt to pull you on top of him. Your thighs straddling his hips, warmth flooded his body wherever you touched him, his hands wandering over your hips and thighs as your tongue explored his mouth delicately.

By the time you shrugged out of your hoodie he was properly hard - he had kind of been getting there before and it hadn't really gone away which was a little awkward but it was full-on now, pressing against your thigh through his jeans. Plus the way you were shifting about on top of him trying to get your hands out of the sleeves without breaking the kiss wasn't exactly helping. Your lips stilled against his for a second as you struggled but you got there at last, tossing the hoodie aside and onto the floor. Tom expected your hands to return to their usual position in his hair, but they didn't. Instead they pressed into the mattress either side of his ribs, your lips leaving his with a wet smack as you got to your hands and knees.

You crawled backwards down the bed, Tom's hands falling to his sides once your waist was finally out of his reach. He watched you press kisses to his abdomen, a strip of his skin exposed where his shirt had ridden up. He tensed his abs involuntarily (okay, maybe a little bit voluntarily) when you pushed it up further, glancing up at him as if asking permission before undoing the top button of his jeans.

Tom bit his lip as he lifted his hips, tucking his thumbs under the waistband to help you push his jeans down to his knees. Your hands rested on his hips as you repositioned yourself back over him, your thumbs moving in slow circles in a gentle massage. His jaw tensed when the edge of one of your thumbs just grazed his balls through the cotton of his boxers, tenting over his hard cock. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he watched you lean down and scatter yet more kisses across his torso, sending butterflies and shockwaves and every-other-cliche-in-the-fucking-book shooting through him. You pushed his t shirt up further, your kisses travelling back down over his stomach until you were hovering tantalisingly over his cock, fingers poised at the waistband on his boxers as you looked up at him again.

"Can I...?" you murmured, the warmth of your breath spreading through the thin material.

Tom just nodded and made a noise he wasn't entirely sure was comprehensible, but you seemed to get the gist, pulling his boxers down and continuing your trail of kisses over his hip.

He tried to control his breathing as he watched you intently, getting closer and closer to his cock until you finally tilted your head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the side of his shaft. He grunted at the feeling, your tongue warm and wet and firm on his skin as you worked your way up towards the head. Once you reached the top, though, instead of taking him into your mouth like he so desperately wanted you to, you just let your breath ghost over his sensitive skin before leaving another line of kisses down the other side, and it took all his strength not to groan in frustration. He settled on balling his hands into fists at his sides, and he couldn't be 100% sure but he thought he heard you giggle, your breath tickling him slightly.

Trying to focus on his breathing again, Tom took a deep breath in - a breath that caught in his throat when you licked a long, wet strip along the length of his cock as you took it into your hand. Your fingers wrapped around the base as your lips wrapped around the head, and he remembered how to breathe - enough to exhale, anyway - as you bobbed your head, taking more of him into your mouth each time.

The fingers on your free hand dug into his hip as you began to suck properly, your cheeks hollowing around him.

"Oh fuck-"

You bobbed your head a few more times as he moaned, before coming off him altogether and sitting up. You swallowed as you looked up at him again, and between your tongue darting out to lick your lips before pulling the bottom one between your teeth, glistening and swollen, and your hand pumping the full length of his cock, Tom wasn't sure where to look.

"Have you got a condom?"

He only nodded at first, his mouth taking a second to catch up while you looked at him expectantly.

"Yeah, um," he turned his head towards his bedside cabinet where he'd stashed some earlier. "Top drawer, I can-"

"I got it."

You let go of his dick when you leaned over to open the drawer, and it was then when he felt a rush of cool air that Tom became aware that he was lying there with his knob out while you were basically still fully dressed - which, obviously, would not do at all.

He brought his hands to your waist, pushing up your t-shirt as you took a condom from the drawer and set it on top. You giggled as you leant back over him again; he felt it tickling his lips before you kissed him. He tugged at your shirt as you kissed, messier and deeper than before, pulling it up as far as he could until you had to pull apart for you to take it off over your head. Reaching up to cup your face once your shirt was cast aside, he pulled you back in for another kiss. Tom could feel the heat of your pussy through your leggings when his thigh rubbed between your legs as he kicked off his jeans and boxers, making you whimper into his mouth and grind against him, your fingers curling into his hair.

Keeping one hand on your cheek, he moved the other to the small of your back to hold you close as he rolled you over. He felt you breathing heavily in his ear as he kissed your neck once he was hovering over you, trying to pull your leggings down with one hand. You lifted your hips to help, but unfortunately you could only get so far until he had to stop kissing you and sit back on his heels to let you wiggle out of both them and your knickers, taking the opportunity to shed his t shirt and sweatshirt while you did so.

You smiled and sat up once you were down to only your bra, placing a hand on his chest and kissing him softly - in another setting, it would have been sweet; chaste, even. As it was, sweet was probably not the word he would have chosen. His hands held your hips but you were the one in control, maneuvering your bodies until he was flat on his back and you were straddling his thighs - where you belonged, as far as he was concerned.

Reaching between your thighs, Tom looked up at your face as his fingers spread you open. Your eyes snapped shut, your breathing hitching with a quiet oh as he dipped his middle finger inside you. The fingers on your right hand tensed where it rested on his chest, your back arching as your left hand toyed with your breast through your bra while he spread your wetness along the length of your pussy, his fingers circling your clit before moving back down to push two fingers inside you. Eyes opening as you rolled your hips, you held his gaze as you ground onto his hand, biting your lip as his fingers curled inside you. You moaned softly when he moved his fingers back to your clit, slick from inside you and sliding easily between your folds.

Just the sight of you on top of him like this made him swallow harshly, his dick twitching against his abdomen as if to say excuse me?? I'm here too, you know??? And maybe you saw him glance at his cock, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but you leaned over to grab the condom from the bedside cabinet.

"D'you want me to-" Tom started as you sat back down, trailing off when you passed the packet to him.

"Thanks."

He could feel you watching him as he rolled the condom on, but he was pretty sure he could only focus on one thing at a time in that moment so he kept his eyes down, fingers working as deftly as he could manage. You leaned forward to kiss him once he finally looked back up at you, and as you did he noticed he goosebumps that had erupted across your body, your skin bumpy and cool under his fingertips as he ran his hands over your shoulders.

"You cold?" he murmured in between kisses, feeling you chuckle against his lips, then another kiss before you mumbled back.

"A bit, yeah."

Another beat of silence passed, your sentences interspersed with kisses.

"Wanna" -kiss- "get under the covers...?"

-Kiss kiss-

"Yes, please."

You kissed him one, two, three more times before you pulled away. Between the two of you you managed to get the duvet pulled out from underneath Tom and up over you, and soon he was tucking it around your shoulders as you settled back on top of him.

"Better?" he smirked.

"Mmhmm."

Tom just caught your appreciative smile before you kissed him again, moaning against his lips when his cock nudged between your folds as you leant over him. Lifting his hips as you lowered yours, he finally slid inside you.

He held your waist under the duvet, squeezing your ass and thighs every now and then, but you were setting the pace, your face buried against his shoulder as you moved your body back and forth over his slowly and purposefully. He tilted his head to kiss you occasionally - sometimes slow and sensual, open mouthed kisses with your lips moving with his, and sometimes returning the marks you were sucking and biting onto his neck. Curses and grunts of your name passed his lips more and more once you started to clench around him, your hips faltering as your movements sped up.

Your fingernails dug into the back of his neck as you grasped his face, kissing him fervently before your mouth fell open above his when he started to thrust up into you more forcefully, his grip on your hips tightening.

"Oh fuck," you breathed as you reached a hand between your bodies to hurriedly rub at your clit. "M'gonna come-"

That alone was almost enough to send Tom over the edge, moaned breathlessly into his open mouth with your forehead pressed to his; so combine it with the way your wet, hot pussy was spasming around his cock, your free hand tugging on his hair, and he was done for, his mind going blank of everything except you and the feeling of being buried deep inside you as you came together.

Both of your thrusts slowed back to a lazy grind, his arms wrapping around your body as it went slack on top of his. You nuzzled your face against his cheek as you caught your breath, your arms looping loosely around his neck. Full disclosure, it was a bit too hot being under the covers and under you, but Tom wasn't complaining.

You must have felt it too though, because after a minute or two you pressed a more definitive kiss to his jaw before untangling yourself from him and sitting up. You were only just upright when the doorbell rang loudly, followed obnoxiously quickly by a series of knocks at the front door, both of you jumping and whipping your heads around to look at Tom's bedroom door as though it might spring open.

"Dominos?" You guessed, looking back at Tom where he lay beneath you.

"Must be, yeah."

You both glanced down at your bodies, both naked and him still inside you - it was his house though, so he figured he should do the chivalrous thing and volunteer.

"I'll go."

"Cheers," you laughed as you climbed off him and plonked yourself down on the bed.

Taking the condom off as he got up, Tom tossed it into the bin under his desk while he scanned the floor for some clothes. He found his boxers and jeans easy enough, but they were all tangled together and the doorbell was ringing again, so he ended up throwing them back on the floor with a frustrated groan and breathy chuckle when you laughed from your spot on the bed. He grabbed his dressing gown off the back of his door instead, tying it tightly around his body before going out to answer the door, glancing in the hall mirror to see how obvious it was what he'd just been up to (answer: very, but there wasn't much he could do about it seeing as it sounded like the delivery guy was about to bash the door down with his bare fists judging by how aggressively he was pounding on it).

"Hey, sorry. Was uh, in the...shower."

"Delivery."

For all his impatience to get someone to answer the door, the delivery guy had seemingly decided to take his sweet time pulling each box out of the insulated bag one-by-fucking-one. He didn't even look up, no matter how many different ways Tom thanked him as he handed him each box.

"Thanks, cheers, great, thank you—" he was running out of ways to say thank you, but he just wanted the entire interaction to be over so he could get away from the street and put some fucking underwear on. His agitation appeared to have no effect on the delivery guy though, who only murmured one sullen "enjoy" before turning away and going back to his car once he'd finally finished handing over Tom's order.

By the time he backed into his room with his arms full of boxes, you'd put your t shirt and knickers back on and were smoothing out the duvet on top of his bed.

"I can't decide if that was bad timing or perfect timing."

"Me neither," Tom laughed, setting the boxes on the end of the bed. "Both, I think?"

"I'm gonna go... you know..." you gestured vaguely to your lower half as you headed towards the door, leaving Tom to fill in the blanks. He just nodded sagely - he had some of that to do himself.

"You said no one's home, right?" you paused by the door, your hand resting on the handle.

"Yeah," he laughed. "You're good."

"Cool."

After cleaning himself off and putting on a fresh t shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Tom turned off the music and instead opened up the copy of Fight Club he'd downloaded to roughly the spot he remembered getting up to last time. Paused and ready to go, he sat on his bed to wait for you to come back before he opened the pizzas - though he was practically salivating at the smell.

"Should have put my leggings on anyway," you muttered the moment you pushed the door open, grabbing them off the floor and pulling them on before it had even clicked shut behind you. "Your house is freezing."

"Yeah, sorry - the heating's really shit," he chuckled apologetically as you peeled back the covers to sit beside him cross legged, pulling the duvet up over your knees and tucking it around your waist before pulling one of the pizza boxes into your lap.

"S'okay, I'll forgive you if I can swap you a chicken strip for a Twisted Dough Ball?"

"Deal."

By the time you had both finally admitted you were full and Tom mustered the energy to get up to put the leftovers in the fridge, you'd finished Fight Club and started Tropic Thunder. When he came back from the kitchen, a glass of water in each hand, he found you lying on your side and staring blankly at the TV, clearly not watching it at all.

"You alright there?" he asked, and he couldn't help but laugh when you nodded sleepily.

"Yep, I'm just...you know?" you mumbled, blinking furiously. "I'm awake, I'm watching."

"Okay, sure, I believe you. D'you want like, pyjamas or something?"

"Oh, uh..."

It was only when you paused that he realised he hadn't actually asked you if you were going to stay over, he'd just assumed you would be. It was only a fraction of a second though, and then you pushed yourself upright with a groan and leaned back against the wall.

"Yeah, please."

Nodding, Tom took out the same pyjamas he'd given you the time you stayed over after The Library, setting them on the bed in front of you as he climbed back in beside you.

"Thanks."

"No worries."

He tried to keep his eyes on the TV as you got changed by the side of his bed, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't sneak a glance and catch a glimpse of the side of your breast as you pulled the top over your head, your bra lying abandoned on the floor. You picked it up once you'd roughly folded your clothes, tossing them on top of your bag and coat before getting back into the bed.

"Thanks," you said again as you lay down beside him, smiling softly at him.

He just returned your smile, lifting his arm to wrap it around your shoulders. He was vaguely aware of his heartbeat in his throat as you lay your head down on his chest, but he tried his best to ignore it.

"So, what's going on here?"

"I thought you were paying attention?" he teased.

"I am! But just, you know, I missed a bit while I was getting changed."

Well aware that this was a blatant lie, Tom started to explain what was happening in the movie all the same. And, to your credit, you did hum and nod along like you were listening, and once he'd finished you did say "right okay", but he was about 99.999% sure you hadn't a clue what was going on and that you weren't even really conscious. He wondered then how long it was going to take for you to both actually watch all ten of the movies on your combined lists, but ultimately decided he didn't really mind if it took the rest of the year.

⋘NINE | ELEVEN ⋙

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