Hello! Here’s a request I’ve been working on; I had fun with this one!
Request: @dragoncharmwitch - Could you make a text where you’re michael’s older sister and he finds out you fancy ash. And the boys set you up please :) // Sorry this one took so long!
Title: Brother’s Best Friend
Summary: When her brother and his friends find out that Y/N has a crush on Ashton, they decide to take action.
Warnings: Lil’ bit of language. Nothing horrible.
“Shit,” you mutter, digging through the refrigerator. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you turn around and run a hand through your hair. “Michael!” you shout. You wait a few moments and, when he doesn’t reply, you cup your hands around your mouth and yell a bit louder. “Michael!”
You hear a muffled “What,” from upstairs and groan in frustration.
“You took the last bottle of water, you prick!” you call again, but you’re met with silence. Naturally, of course; you can only assume your brother is in his bedroom with the door closed, his music up loud, and his headset glued to his ears so he can talk to his friends as he plays his video games. “Moron,” you grumble to yourself, slamming the refrigerator door closed and grabbing your keys from the table. Looks like you’re making a grocery run. Oh, well. You need snacks, anyway.
You head to the door, but when you open it you yelp in surprise as you nearly collide with another body. “What the hell!” you exclaim, blinking in surprise before your gaze focuses on a face you know all too well.
“Well, hello to you too, Y/N,” Ashton says with a cheeky grin.
You roll your eyes and smile, shaking your head. “Move over, Irwin,” you tell him, and you can only hope your face isn’t as red as a tomato.
So maybe you have a tiny, little crush on your brother’s friend. You’re honestly not sure how someone with a working pair of eyes couldn’t have a crush on Ashton. The guy is gorgeous. Half of your grade drools over him, including you. You suppose you’re lucky that he’s one of Michael’s best friends, granting you opportunities to see him outside of school several times a week, although you never quite understood why Ashton hangs out with a bunch of kids in the year below him.
“Well, what’s the password?” Ashton quips in regard to your demand, crossing his arms. He unknowingly flexes in the process, and your heart skips a beat.
“The password,” you say, still smiling, “is back up before I make you.”
Ashton lets out a laugh (you’re pretty sure a swarm of butterflies was just set loose in your stomach) and steps away. “As much as I’d like to accept your challenge, Y/N,” he says, “you’re awfully intimidating when you threaten.”
Your smile grows and you step out of the doorway, making your way down the driveway before turning around to glance at Ashton. You could swear he just winked at you before he walked into the house, but you tell yourself it’s just wishful thinking. Still, though, after you’ve settled behind the wheel of your car, you pull out your phone to text your friend.
Ashton Irwin just got here and the boy looks too good. I have actual tears in my eyes.
You add a heart-eyed emoji at the end of the message for exaggeration before you toss your phone into the center console and start up the car.
“Honey, I’m home,” you mutter sarcastically as you walk through the door. You’re juggling a six-pack of bottled water and two grocery bags as you stumble into the kitchen, dropping everything onto the counter at the first chance you get. You hear laughter from upstairs and realize that Michael has a few other friends over as well as Ashton; probably Luke and Calum.
You set to work putting away the few groceries you bought and take a bottle of water for yourself. You hear footsteps behind you, and when you turn around you see Michael standing behind you. “Uh, hi?” you say with a frown. Your brother looks slightly puzzled as he scratches at the back of his neck.
“Do you like Ashton?” he asks bluntly.
You blink, taken slightly aback by the question. “I—what? I mean, yeah. Obviously I like him. I kinda have to, considering he’s your friend and—”
“No,” Michael shakes his head. “Not like, platonically or anything. I mean it as in, like… more than platonically?”
A feeling of unease settles over you. How would he—
And then your eyes widen. You reach for your phone, quickly unlocking it and opening your messages. “Fuck,” you whisper when you realize that you didn’t, in fact, send your Ashton-related text to your friend Michaela, but instead to Michael. Damn them and their similar names.
You look up from your phone and notice that Michael is still there, standing awkwardly. “I…” you begin, trying to figure out the best way to word your next sentence. It’s no use lying at this point, you figure. Might as well admit. “I… find him… attractive,” you say, and it comes out sounding more like a question than anything else.
“You think Ashton is attractive?” Michael repeats, furrowing his brow.
“Yes?” you reply sheepishly, cringing slightly.
Michael shakes his head and you think you might die from awkwardness. There’s no way he won’t tell Ashton. Even worse, Ashton probably already saw the message. Shit, shit, shit, sh—
“I mean, coming from a straight guy, you’re not wrong.”
“Huh?” you ask, looking at your brother. Michael only shrugs.
“Ashton Irwin is an attractive male,“ he clarifies. “I’m straight, not blind.”
“Wait…” you begin, “so you’re not like, mad or anything?”
“I mean I’m not gonna lie, it kinda weirds me out,” Michael admits, “but in all honesty I think he’s sort of into you too, something I will never be able to understand—”
“—but, I guess it’s whatever. You guys flirt all the time and it’s kinda nasty, so Luke and Cal and I talked it over and figured we might as well help you guys out.”
At this point, you’re thoroughly confused. So, Michael is okay with the fact that you like Ashton? And he thinks Ashton likes you too? And he and his other friends are going to help you out? “What… what does that even mean?” you say skeptically.
“Just don’t worry about it,” Michael sighs. “It wasn’t my idea; Luke just thinks he’s a genius or something. I’m gonna go back upstairs now before I puke at the thought of you dating one of my best friends.”
“O-okay?” you stutter, watching as your younger brother heads back upstairs. You press a hand to your forehead and lean against the counter, letting out a deep breath.
What the hell just happened?
You groan as you hear Michael’s voice from down the hall. You just got comfortable on your bed. “What?” you holler back.
You don’t receive a reply, and you groan again, closing your laptop and standing up from your spot. Stretching your back, you slowly pad your way down the hall to Michael’s bedroom. The door is closed, so you knock. “Mike, what the hell do you want?” you demand. You can hear laughter and gunshots, meaning they’re still glued to their video game. “Mi—” you’re about to knock one more time before the door opens to reveal your brother’s friend Calum.
“Oh,” he says. “Hey, Y/N.”
“Hi?” you frown, trying to peer around him into the room. “Why did you guys call?”
Michael materializes behind Calum and grins. “We sent Ashton into the garage.”
“Congratulations,” you deadpan. “Why, though?”
“We told him to find a ball. We want to play some pickup in the yard,” calls Luke from his spot in front of the TV.
“Cool…” you say, your frown deepening.
“We’re in the middle of a game, so could you just go help him?” Michael suggests, rolling his eyes.
You make a face of exasperation, letting out a sigh when you realize what’s going on. “Seriously, you guys?”
“Take the opportunity or leave it, Y/N,” says Michael. “Naturally I’d prefer for you to leave it, but I’m outnumbered.”
You look up at Calum and he shrugs, smiling innocently at you. “We just want to play some football.”
You close your eyes and press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Fine,” you say finally. “I will go help Ashton look for a ball.”
Without another word, you turn and head back down the hall.
You wish you were wearing something other than sweatpants and a tank top as you step into the garage, where Ashton is rummaging through the piles of junk. “Need a hand?” you call, straining to see him.
“Huh?” his head pokes around from behind a cardboard box and he grins when he realizes it’s you. “Oh. Hey, Y/N. How’d you know I was struggling out here?”
You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just had a feeling. I can always tell when there’s a damsel in distress nearby.”
Ashton stands to his full height and stretches. “Damsel in distress?” he asks. “I take offense to that. Very emasculating.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” you tell him. “Nothing should be emasculating. But, if it makes you feel any better, Mike and the other guys told me to help you.”
“Ah, so they’re the ones who can sense a person in distress.”
“More-or-less,” you agree, stepping forward. “So, you can’t find a ball.”
“I’m afraid you’re correct,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing around.
You follow his line of vision, looking around the garage before your gaze lands on exactly what you’re looking for. “Well,” you say triumphantly, walking over to a box hidden behind Michael’s old bicycle that he’s used maybe like once in his entire life and reaching over to grab the black-and-white ball. “Clearly you didn’t look very hard.”
Ashton purses his lips and exhales through his nose. “Guess not.”
You giggle and walk back over to where he’s standing, holding the ball out. However, when he goes to grab it, you pull it back toward you. “You know, this is gonna cost you,” you snicker, looking at him with arched eyebrows.
“Oh, really?” he replies with a grin, stepping closer. In response, you take a step back. You nod, and his smile grows. “Well, what’s your price?”
“Hmm,” you pretend to think, tapping your index finger against your lips and looking up. “I think—” Before you can finish your sentence, Ashton lunges forward and grabs the ball. However, you had a strong grip on it and as a result, he pulled you forward as well. You end up a few inches away from him and laugh nervously, hoping your face isn’t growing red at the proximity. “You think you’re quick!” you remark, looking up at him and immediately wishing you didn’t.
The two of you hold eye contact for what can’t be more than one second before he speaks, but you’re like 80% sure it really lasts closer to five minutes (have his eyes always had that much green in them?), before he speaks. “Actually,” he says lowly, and you can’t stop your breath from hitching, “I know I’m quick.”
You steel yourself and tilt your head to the side in faux innocence. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” you challenge.
“You want proof?”
“Yep,” you smirk. “Full proof, and maybe an essay written in MLA format with—”
Your sentence is cut off by Ashton’s hands on either side of your face and his lips on yours. You drop the ball, letting it bounce away across the concrete. You’re about to respond when Ashton breaks the kiss. “You talk too much,” he says, smiling at you. “How’s that for quick?”
You’re pretty sure you resemble a fish right now, your jaw dropping only for your mouth to snap closed, then fall open again as you try to process what the hell just happend. “Oh my god.”
Ashton’s expression changes to one of fear, maybe doubt, and he lets go of your face. “Wait, did I overstep?” he asks, taking a step back. “Shit, Y/N, I thought… should I not have…? Shit, I’m sorry, I—”
This time, however, you’re the quick one. Having (mostly) recovered from the first kiss, you don’t waste any time in closing the distance between the two of you, lightly grabbing the material at the collar of his singlet and pulling him toward you. “And you said I talk too much,” you say before leaning forward.
It feels nice to kiss Ashton. He’s good at it. The two of you break apart again, only to grin at each other and lean in once more. “You’re supposed to be bringing that ball up to the other guys,” you remind him against his lips, and he lets out a breathy laugh in response.
“They can wait a little bit longer.”
So where does this leave us?
You chew on your lip anxiously as your thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button, and you close your eyes when you tap it. The familiar whoosh of your message sending causes you to cringe. Do you sound desperate? Clingy?
Ashton and the other guys left about a half hour ago. The garage incident escalated to a brief makeout session before you and Ashton finally decided you were gone for too long. Exchanging awkward smiles, he left the garage and you followed a few minutes later. You didn’t see him for the rest of the night.
So now here you are, sitting on the couch while a movie plays on the TV and serves as background noise to your inner suspense.
Suddenly the telltale bubble appears on Ashton’s side of the screen, showing that he’s typing. “Shit,” you mutter. You close your messaging app and wait for his message to come through, and when it does, your heart lurches anxiously.
You tell me, princess.
You roll your eyes before typing back a quick response.
Don’t do that. You kissed me first.
He continues to type and your heart rate picks up. You look up at the TV in front of you. A clearly-suspenseful scene is playing out, and the lead character’s heartbeat is illustrated through the pounding of drums. Me too, you relate. A whoosh tells you that Ashton has replied.
I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m into you, if you couldn’t tell earlier. And it seemed an awful like you’re into me, too. So, I’d like to act on this mutual interest, as long as you’re up for it.
You bite your lip again, but this time it isn’t out of nerve. You fight a smile as you type back.
Sounds good to me.
Oh, but you’re not asking me out over text. Just a heads up.
When Ashton’s reply comes in, you can’t help but kick your legs and laugh out of giddiness.
Wouldn’t have it any other way. Talk to you tomorrow xx
“You’re welcome, by the way,” comes Michael’s voice as he enters the room with a soda in his hand, plopping down on the recliner that rests diagonal from the couch you’re on. He takes a swig from the aluminum can and raises an eyebrow smugly.
“Shut up,” you tell him, but you can’t bring yourself to be mad. The smile on your face is more than enough proof.
There is a windmill in the middle of the village you are visiting. You see it looming omniously over the rooftops as you drive by. It seems old. You are surprised to find it in the middle of a village while you’ve been looking for it in the countryside all day yesterday. You take a turn left. Then a turn right. You try to get to where you think the windmill will be. It is gone. You can not find it.
Everyone rides bicycles. There is literally more bicycles on the roads than cars. No one wears helmets. You do, and everyone gives you odd glances.
Everyones bicycles are old and rusty with pieces missing. They break down often. The Dutch person just sighs, gets of the roads and puts the bicycle upside down. Three minutes later they are riding again, hands covered in black grime.
You arranged a meeting at six am. You show up a quarter past six. The Dutch person isn’t there. You wait. They don’t come. They’d already been there at six but left ten minutes later, figuring you weren’t going to show up anymore. They are mad. They blame you.
In the north by the coast there is Friesland. By car you can cross it in an hour. The people there speak Frisian. The Dutch can not understand Frisian. Not a word. They prefer English and German over Frisian any day. No one knows why the people from Friesland insist on speaking Frisian. Everyone is annoyed by this.
You growl when you speak. G’s rasping and R’s rattling even in the kindest sentences. The foreigners laugh at you (all but the Germans, of course). You hide your blush and lick your wounds, figuring you’re just going to speak English from now on. Everyone around you speaks English. They feel your pain.
Since a few years the north has earthquakes. They are caused by the government sucking all the gas from the ground. People are fleeing from the countryside, leaving deserted ghost villages in their wake. The people from the North are mad! They keep saying they will become independent and keep all the gas for themselves. Another microcountry. As if Friesland wasn’t enough.
A foreign friends comes to visit. You want to cook a nice typically Dutch dish for them as a surprise. You stare at the kitchen counter blankly. All you can think of is mashed potatoes.
Spring comes. The people from the south go crazy. The names of all cities and villages are changed. Everyone dresses up in weird costumes as if to disguise or hide their whole land. From what? You wonder. You cross the river northwards. Suddenly it is silent. Everything has gone back to normal.
The winter comes. There is no elfstedentocht. Everyone panics anyway, especially in Friesland.
There are five small islands off the coast. You have always gone to one of these islands on day trips with your family. You know every single road on this particular island like the back of your hand. You know every rabbit by name. You know nothing about the other islands. You won’t go there. Ever.
No one talks about the ocean. Everyone knows it is there, but it has been a threat for so long everyones fear has dimmen and dulled. Like a looming apocalypse that keeps being postponed. Uninteresting.