#I had to do a reverse image search to find out who he is. ‘cause the ask didn’t say a name.

[icanfixthempolls]

[catzy88]

Butchlander Hanahaki Disease AU with Homelander who has always craved love, looking for it in all the wrong places, falling in love with his nemesis Billy Butcher who hates him and wants him dead. All the emotional hurt and angst in the world with Homelander's already unstable mental health declining further into deep depression and self-hatred. His physical health deteriorating slowly as well, because even the strongest supe alive isn't immune to the deadly flowers blooming inside him.

Butcher finds out and is gleeful, rubbing it in Homelander's face when they meet. Saying, that it's no wonder the supe has fallen victim to the sickness caused by one-sided love, because who could love a monster like him?

At this point Homelander is already quite far gone with the disease, and hearing the object of his love telling him that he's "an unlovable cunt" causes Homelander to start violently coughing and vomiting a blooming Trillium recurvatum. Looking up at Butcher with wide and terrified eyes, Homelander takes wobbly flight.

Naturally, Butcher doesn't recognize the crimson flower, coated with more crimson of Homelander's blood. But he takes a photo of the mess, and when he shows it to the Boys, they make a reverse image search.

Trillium recurvatum. Bloody Butcher.

And when all heads turn to look at Butcher, there's not much else to say than, "Fuck me", paired with a diabolical grin. Because Butcher just found a way to finally kill the worst supe cunt on Earth. And what a poetic way, too. Homelander destroyed the love of Butcher's life. Now Butcher's going to do the same to Homelander with his mere existence.

But a supe of Homelander's caliber doesn't succumb to any illness or ailment nearly as fast as a regular human would. So, there's a lot of time for Butcher to find more dirt about Vought, since getting rid of Homelander is only one part of dismantling the megacorporation.

So, one day searching an abandoded facility that looks like it had been a lab of some sort at one point, Butcher stumbles on a box with old VHS tapes simply named "John #001", "John #002", "John #003", and so on.

Butcher begins watching the first tape, where there's a small blond, blue-eyed baby that makes Butcher feel at unease. The feeling increases with every video as the child grows and is subjected to absolutely inhumane conditions and torture. And when the child finally gains blood red eyes, shooting lasers from them, there's no doubt about the child's identity anymore. John is Homelander.

Butcher's conflicted. Very conflicted. Because he has this image of Homelander as a ruthless and sick psychopath set in stone. But these videos have made his conviction waver.

So, after all the emotional hurt and angst (not depicted here, because I fail), there's a happy ending with Butcher having snatched Vought's crown jewel right under their nose, slowly warming up to the man known as John, finally returning his feelings, and becoming a real family with their son Ryan.

[scienceoftheidiot]

I hope you don't mind I reply here @tinyfrenchowl it's such a weird thing. Indeed I would never use an FC that's not an actor and even then it doesn't sit that well with me at times (I do have FCs for my OCs cause it's easier, but in the end there's always something that makes me feel bad about it). But that's what happens when you put your face on the internet. You don't control what people do with it. I still do it, so it hasn't traumatized me haha, I mean it's pretty innocent and could be so much worse, but it's good to keep it in mind.

Yes, from reenactment stuff ! I found out some years ago, I have stopped reverse searching pics lately because for some reason it doesn't work as well anymore (I suspect Google/AI shenanigans).

I had actually just found the first one because while they had not asked him permission, they credited him, and I had been searching for his old DA account (which I just did to find these pics lol). The other ones (there were three instances) I found when I was so shocked this had happened I wanted to see if it had happened other times... And... Yeah it had.

Benj is okay with it, it made him laugh for days. I think it makes him feel good, he hates his own face and has self image issues, which is why he only likes his picture taken when he's reenacting.

These are the pics they used... They're 10 years old now, haha. I'm the one who took and "aged" the pic on the left. The right one was taken by a professional photographer.

So yeah, I mean, Benj's fine with it, so. But maybe ask ? Lol. I know some people have asked if they could use pics for art and he's always agreed.

[ggitty]

(JN anon) Duly noted, rendering can absolutely fry a system if not accommodated properly.

I mean, having a voice akin to old Macintosh text-to-speech makes sense for him than having normal human voice; that isn't recordings. Not sure what was going on in the Movie PC game though.

RIP to the squirrel that got destroyed by the Twonkies.

It kinda reminds me of the movie posters in the "El Magnifico" episode, which was also just stills from previous episodes. Funnily enough, one was another Jimmy x Cindy one, from "Stranded".

Heh, probably. The Girl-Eating plant was his replacement.

They should all combine and make the ULTIMATE ANTI-JIMMY.

(Moving the movie stuff over here>)

It seems some other details were changed on the page too. Really hope the attention doesn't end up causing too much trouble for the guy. It definitely something you can get fired over.

As such, yeah. Not getting my hopes up right now. (Keeping on the subject, wasn't Danny Phantom getting a live-action film?)

DUDE, I NEVER NOTICED THAT

Okay this is going to be a long one because I love doing this lol

And these aren't stills from previous episodes, these are separate created images! Oh you sent me down an interesting little rabbit hole for an 2 hours lol

Sooo, the images with Sheen and Jimmy and Carls are actually separate renders made by Thomas Wright who worked as a lighting artist for the show!

Aperiently, both of these images were created as wallpapers, the second one was actually originally created for his computer in the DNA office lol (It was also posted on the cgsociety website back in 2006, but the site closed, and I couldn't find snapshots in the internet archive with this image or Thomas profile)

And J/C is this one! (I honestly thought it was a fanart for a long time and when you pointed it out I choked a little bit lol)

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a direct author, but Reverse Image Search pointed me to an Animation insider interview with Keith Alcorn from 2012 and, as far as I could find, this is the first appearance of this image on the Internet!

Keith Alcorn also posted image, which can be seen third in the screenshot, on his FB and in the comments he said that it was created by one of the lighting artists! Sooooo either all 3 were created by Thomas, or at least two of them

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk!

Not the first time squirrels in this franchise have suffered T.T

The only explanation we got for where this thing went after the movie lol

And I don't remember Goddard speaking much in the PC game, but Vox had a lot of lines, especially at the beginning of the game as a tutorial

Preferably with a Dragon Ball reference! lol

Yeah, I mean, it would be pretty sad if he got fired because someone randomly opened Linkedin and saw this

Ah, Danny Phantom is not my field at all lol I watched the show but somehow didn't really get attached, so I honestly don't know about the news (the only thing I have is an endless bias against live action adaptations lol)

I also randomly found this lol

[clouded-dreams2]

Request idea: Sinister Strange’s universe is dark, lonely and collapsing and the Darkhold is eating him up alive. He uses his final days to look through the different universes and their outcomes, trying to find even a glimpse of a happy ending to cope with his sadness. That’s when he finds a timeline/universe in which the Reader’s (who’s not a sorcerer) growing love for Sinister Strange slowly fades the black hue on his fingers and makes the once dead flowers bloom again. She could be the key to saving Sinister Strange’s dying soul and his universe. He becomes obsessed with this image and the warm feeling he briefly got to feel and frantically tries to find her to experience it again. And when he does find her, he has no idea how to make her fall in love with him without scaring her but he’s determined to find a way (sorry if it’s not any good! It’s just a little thought I had!)

a/n: It’s a great idea! I loved writing this, there might be a second part depending on how I feel. I hope this was satisfactory!

Warnings: ANGST, Possessiveness, Mentions of death, SPOILERS for Multiverse of Madness, Obsession, Darkhold, There are probably more so tread carefully.

Paring: Sinister Strange x Fem!Reader

It was another dark and gloomy day, one after another. Stephen had learned of the power of the darkhold, the consequences. He had left the black on the tip of his fingers reminded him of it continuously. He had accepted his fate, but hadn’t accepted to die without some sort of happiness in his life. After his incursion his reality left him the only man alive, the idea of being so alone in this reality made him insane. He craved someone else which became anger and anger became power and power became the darkhold. The whole reason his incursion happened. He was staring out of the window of his sanctum watching as his reality ripped itself apart, it was a matter of days until it fully died and he with it. He wanted to find a place where he was happy, his depression and anger not getting the best of him. He knew the dangerous act of daywalking, he knew things he would be criticized for if anyone else was around. 

“I don’t understand it.” He spoke, voice deep and filled with anger. Feeling his belt for the darkhold, the thing that caused this. The thing that was tearing him up from the inside out. Decaying his body, controlling his mind and eating away at his soul. The power of universes so desperately at the palm of his hand came with consequences he wasn’t ready to deal with. There were times where he wanted to start over, stop himself from causing an incursion, warn himself of the consequences of the darkhold. To show himself what he became and have the happiness he had back then. To relish in what he had. 

“Enough.” He spoke to the darkhold. It was dragging him to the depths of his brain, the damned place the darkhold controlled, the pit of hell it created. He wanted everything and nothing to do with the book. He was compelled to sit and open it. He sat under the window of the sanctum. If the darkhold could do as much harm as it did, if you learned how to use it well enough, you could use it for a glance of some sort of happiness. He casted the spell, what did he have to lose? He searched through the red and black corrupted spheres the darkhold allowed him to see, searching through each reality he could lay his hands on for the happiness he craved. Finally picking one to observe, he watched as the course of the reality given to him unfurled. There was a woman, a woman who for a split second made him feel, for a second melted the icy decay of his soul, reversed the black of his fingertips. He knew at that moment that he needed the warmth she provided him, she could be the key to rescuing his reality and himself. He kept watching the subtle movements she made, he was growing obsessed with her. He already missed the warmth she provided for that brief second. He stopped the spell, closing the darkhold and stood. He clenched his jaw, how was he suspected to make his way to a new reality? He could use the darkhold, he considered using the darkhold. He didn’t want to scare her, he knew he would. Though a gut feeling told him she was already his, and that’s when his possessiveness kicked into overdrive. 

“She’s mine.” His tone was laced with darkness, anger, and a certain disappointment. The image of starting a new life with the woman who could save his reality the idea grew a hope in his mind that was almost strong enough to withhold the darkhold. The idea that he could be happy, the idea that he could have what he wanted. He was thinking of possibilities, ways he could get her as his. Ways to have his saving grace, his savoir, his wife. She would be his. He just had to find a way. There had to be a way, there always was a way. Even if he had to steal another darkhold from a different reality, he would daywalk. He needed what he was rightfully his. He walked into his library throwing books off the shelves until he found what he needed, snapping his fingers as the books rearranged themselves and he read. He would get to her even if caused another incursion. 

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours (II)

Content: part 2 to an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time!! includes a karaoke bar in Cleveland, Ohio, sharing of motel rooms (oh my god there was only one bed 👁️👁️), and a lesbian wedding in the Catskills

Warnings: language, alcohol, NSFW content, making fun of Nebraska and The Notebook

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

A/N: okay can I just say that I am so glad this is finally done. I have been working on this fic for over a month!!! the entire thing is over 51k in length!!!!!! my word doc is almost 100 pages!!!! this was meant to be a fun story about enemies to lovers stuck on a road trip!!!!! what happened!!!! but thank you guys so much for all the love and support and interest in this story <3 I was really nervous about splitting it up (which looking back was a good choice because again. it’s so long.) but you all showed so much love for the story and the characters!!!! I’d like to give a special shout out to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for proof reading, and miss andrea again for this pretty header image!! if you’re looking for any good reads after this, I highly recommend checking out their masterlists!! and as always, if you like this fic, please like it AND reblog it!! and shoot me a message about it!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by ALL content creators, and is the main motivation for us to create more for you all to enjoy!!

{masterlist}

{masterlist}

here is everyone’s wedding looks!! and HERE is a lil moodboard of Jo and Laure’s wedding so you can sense the vibes!!

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

It’s almost instantaneous, Y/N notices, how quickly and easily she and Harry fall into a rhythm of friendship. From the moment she wakes up the next morning to a blue sky, the storm long passed, and Harry holding out a cup of black coffee for her, the stress and anxiety of the previous day is gone. There’s no watching herself around Harry, biting her tongue to stop herself from snapping over every small motion he makes as he fidgets in the driver’s seat.  There’s no irritation caused by the way he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, or how he asks any question that crosses his mind, speaking out his random chain of thoughts just as often.  

The thing that Y/N’s come to realize is that Harry is so much more interesting than she’d ever thought. He’s certainly more interesting than the endless fields of corn that whip by her window as he drives down the interstate.  His jokes are dumb, but he says them with such a big grin on his face that she can’t help but laugh.  His comments are strange, but Y/N finds herself enjoying the weird words that slip from his mouth without being caught by a filter.

“If we were in a Children of The Corn situation,” Harry begins, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel. “Do you think you’d be able to outsmart the cult?  Or would you get sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows?”

Y/N half chokes on the bottle of water she’d just raised to her lips, and coughs the liquid from her lungs as she turns to give Harry an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“We’re in Nebraska. That’s where it takes place, right?” Harry asks, glancing at Y/N from behind his sunglasses. “There’s, like, a weird child cult, and they kill all the adults in town for the corn harvest, or something, and then this couple on a road trip discovers them, and tries to stop them.  Do you think you’d be able to?”

“Do I think I’d be able to stop a child cult?  Or would I get sacrificed to their weird corn god?  That’s what you’re asking me?” Although she can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of the question, her mind is already appraising the situation Harry’s proposed. “I think I’d be able to stop them.  They’re just kids, right?  You just can’t be afraid to—you know—” Y/N drags her thumb across her throat, and Harry quirks up an eyebrow at her casual response.

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

“If the kids were evil and wanted to kill me?  Absolutely.” Y/N leans her head back on the head rest, still keeping her eyes locked on Harry. “Wouldn’t you?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in response. “I don’t know.  I’d try to reason with them, I think.”

Y/N extends a finger gun at him, clicking her tongue in sync with the motion. “And that’s why they’d sacrifice you and not me.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head slowly as he turns his attention back to the road. “Lovely. Wouldn’t you try to save me?”

Y/N hums, pretending to think the question over. “That depends on how annoying you’ve been that day.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Y/N, you really are.” Harry laughs more, but stops abruptly as he spots a sign to the right of the road. “Oh!  There’s a souvenir shop at the next exit!”

A groan falls from Y/N’s mouth as her head flops back, already sensing defeat. “No, Harry, you don’t need another keychain—”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I could get a corn stalk keychain!”

…

“You know, I could drive for a bit.  If you’d like.”

Harry looks up at Y/N with an apprehensive gaze, his nimble fingers halfway through attaching a new silver key chain in the shape of Nebraska to his key ring. “What?”

“You’ve been driving for three days straight.” Y/N leans over the passenger side of the car, resting her arms on the sun-warmed roof. “I could drive.  I know how to; I just don’t do it in L.A. because the traffic is annoying. But the interstate is practically empty, so…”

“Uh, no offense, Y/N, but…” Harry opens the drivers door, a small smile curving the corner of his lip. “No one drives Stevie but me.  And besides, she’s a stick.  Have you ever driven one?”

“Well, no.” Y/N admits, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “But you could show me.”

Harry inhales deeply, glancing around the souvenir shop parking lot.  Y/N can tell he’s surveying the area, searching for a reason to say no, but as far as she can tell, there isn’t one.  There are no other cars around, and the area is mostly flat, giving her a good space to practice driving in.  With a defeated look on his face, Harry exhales sharply and gives a quick nod as he takes a step back from the driver’s side. “Fine.  Get in.”

Y/N and Harry swap sides in the car, although Y/N is much more enthusiastic about it than Harry is. From the moment she climbs in and begins adjusting his seat, a pained look comes over Harry’s face, making her roll her eyes.

“Oh, come on.  You’re a giant, Harry, I have to adjust things so I can reach the pedals.” Y/N scoffs, reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror. “You can put them all back later.”

“Yeah.” Harry sucks in another breath before pushing his sunglasses up into his chestnut curls. “Okay, so…there’s three pedals on the floor.  The right one is gas, the middle is the brake, and the left is the clutch. And then here—” Harry takes Y/N’s right hand and places it over the gear shift. “This is how you shift.  There’s six gears, right?  And their use depends on the speed you’re going, so you’re going to start with one—” His hand squeezes hers as he shifts the gear shift over and up to the left with ease. “Which is here.  Here’s two—” He shifts the gear shift down to the left, and continues to move it as he speaks. “Three.  Four.  Five. And reverse.  Got it?”

“I think so.” Y/N nods, her hand flexing beneath Harry’s large palm.  His rings feel cool against her warm skin, and she has to admit, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. “Up left, down left, up middle, down middle, up right, down right.  Right?”

“Right.” Harry lifts his hand off hers to point towards her feet, which are sitting on the carpet cover in front of the pedals. “You want to start with your foot pressed firmly on the clutch, the one—yeah.  There, to the left.  Keep it pressed there.  Is it pressed there?”

“Since you first told me to press it, yeah.” Y/N furrows her brow in concentration, which is caused both from learning how to drive manually, and the effort it takes to stop herself from laughing at the nervousness in Harry’s voice. “Now what?”

“Take off the parking brake.” Harry pulls the lever down himself, making sure Y/N is focused on her other movements. “And the car is in neutral, so you can turn the key in the ignition.” He holds out his keys towards her.

Y/N takes the cool metal from his hands, quickly finding the right key for the Impala and slipping it in. The car roars to life, a sound which is now familiar to her ears. “Okay.  There.”

“Good.” Harry pauses for a moment before reaching across Y/N’s body and buckling her seatbelt, which she had forgotten in the excitement to drive. “Safety first.” He sits back in the passenger seat, fixing his seatbelt across his own body. “I have a feeling we’ll be needing these.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, her eyebrows and nose wrinkling as she makes a face. “What do I do now?”

“Now…” Harry fidgets with his seatbelt again as he moves forward in the passenger seat, one hand bracing against the dash as he directs her. “Press the clutch and the brake at the same time, like that.  Now move the gear shift into first gear.”

Y/N does as he says, pushing the gear shift over and up to the left.  It takes much more pressure for her to move it without Harry’s help, she notes, but doesn’t let the effort show on her face. “Then?”

“Take your foot off the brake.” Harry instructs, caution laced through his voice. “And slowly—slowly! —release the clutch as you press down gently on the gas.”

“Okay…” Lifting her left foot first, Y/N does her best to match the motion with her right foot, pressing down at the same pace as she lifts the other.  Her movement, however, isn’t as smooth as she wants it to be, and the car lunges forward in a choppy motion.

“Careful!” Harry says loudly, twisting his body to face Y/N as he continues bracing himself.  His entire body is tense, his shoulders practically up by his ears as he appraises Y/N. “You have to do it at the same time!”

“Alright, alright—” Y/N tries again, focusing on matching her feet to each other.  This time, the movement is smoother, and the car begins to drive forward slowly, moving faster as Y/N presses down more. “Is that—am I doing it?” Y/N asks nervously, navigating herself slowly through the parking lot. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.  You’re doing good, yeah.” Harry nods slowly, but Y/N can see the strain in his jaw from the corner of her eye. “Now let’s try…let’s try shifting gears, so you can speed up.”

“Try not to sound so terrified.” Y/N mutters, turning the wheel to guide the car around a lamp post.

Harry ignores her comment. “You’re going to do the same motion, but this time release the gas while pressing down on the clutch.  Then move the gear shifter to two, like before, and—”

Before Harry can finish speaking, Y/N attempts to change into second gear.  The car lurches again as she releases the gas and presses on the clutch, and the jagged motion only gets worse after she shifts into second.

“Slowly, Y/N—” Agitation is clear in Harry’s voice, and his knuckles turn white as he grips the dash. “Slower!”

Another lunge of the car shifts Y/N to the side, and her foot slips off the clutch completely. With a sickening sound, the car lurches to a stop, despite Y/N’s foot still pressed on the gas.  “What—?”

Harry, who’s been wincing throughout the entire ordeal, sucks in a sharp breath. “You stalled her.” He says, shaking his head with a quiet horror.

Y/N tugs on her bottom lip as she glances at him from the corner of her eye, her voice hesitant. “Is…that bad?”

“Is that—?” Harry’s green irises snap to meet hers, wide open and shocked. “Yeah, it’s bad. That’s enough practice for today, I think.  I’m driving again.”

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

“Nope!  Out!” Harry shakes his head firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car in one swift motion. “Come on!”

With a defeated sigh, Y/N unbuckles herself, climbing out of the driver’s door that Harry’s just opened for her.  “Sorry.” She mumbles, walking around to the passenger’s side and climbing back in.

Harry gives her a small smile, albeit a pained one, as he begins to move his feet over the brake and clutch, shifting the car into neutral. “It’s fine.  That was pretty good for a first practice, really. Just…maybe it’s too soon for highway driving.”

Y/N buckles her seatbelt as Harry restarts the engine, and within a few minutes, he has his signal flipped back on to head back to the highway. “You know, mostly I wanted to drive so that I could pick the music.” She says casually, resting her chin in her hand after propping it up against the arm rest. “I’m getting a little tired of The Beatles on repeat.”

Harry laughs, raking his hand through his curls before shifting gears with ease. “Oh really?  What would you put on, if you had a choice?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugs, taking a moment to think. “We could listen to a nice sonata, maybe. Oh!  Or Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.  I haven’t listened to it in full in a while.”

A sound of surprise and indignation leaves Harry’s mouth. “Tchaikovsky—?  No!  No, you can’t listen to classical music on a road trip!  You need music that you can scream the lyrics to!”

“Is there a rulebook about what you can and can’t listen to on a road trip?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she poses the sarcastic question. “I wasn’t aware.”

“There’s an unofficial rulebook, yes.” Harry risks a glance over at Y/N, his green eyes alight. “And one of the most important—if not the most important—rules is that any song you listen to has to be able to be sung loudly while driving down a highway. Everyone knows that.”

“My bad.” Y/N says sarcastically, toeing off her shoes to better cross her legs beneath herself. “So, in short, we’re stuck listening to your playlist, huh?”

“Now you get it.” Harry shoots her a cheeky grin, pointing with his free hand. “You can change the song, though.  If you’d like.”

“Really?” Y/N reaches down to the small catch all tray between them, where Harry’s phone sits connected to a car charger.  She picks it up carefully, raising an eyebrow in question. “May I?”

When Harry nods, Y/N clicks on the screen, which displays the controls to the Spotify playlist currently being projected through the car’s speakers.  Unsurprisingly, a Beatles song is moving across the scene, causing Y/N to press the skip button immediately.  The next song is by The Killers, called “Spaceman,” and while she likes it, it’s not really something she feels like listening to in the moment. She hits skip again, passing over “Night Moves,” “Piano Man,” and “Seven Wonders,” (the last skip earning a sound of protest from Harry) before a familiar album cover pops up on the screen.

“Hold on.” Y/N says, mouth agape as the 1990s Vocoder sound fills the car. “You listen to Cher?”

“Are you kidding?” Harry’s surprised expression matches hers. “Of course!  She’s a treasure.” He taps his fingers to the beat of “Believe” while his head bops to the same pattern. “I love this song.  It’s a good one.”

Making a sound of agreement, Y/N lets her gaze drift to the window, watching the agriculture fields that whiz by. “Yeah.” She murmurs, losing herself in the beat. “‘No matter how hard I try…you keep pushing me aside’…”

“‘And I can’t break through’…” Harry’s voice joins with hers, louder and surer of himself than hers had been. “‘There’s no talking to you’…”

Y/N’s head turns from the window, locking eyes with Harry for the split second he looks away from the road ahead of them. “‘It’s so sad that you’re leaving…it takes time to believe it’…”

“‘But after all is said and done’…” The grin playing on Harry’s pink lips grows, popping out his dimples as he continues to sing. “‘You’re gonna be the lonely one’…”

With a grin pasted across her own face, so big that her cheeks ache, Y/N joins Harry for the chorus, yelling the lyrics more than singing them. “‘Do you believe in life after love?  I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!” Harry’s hand drifts down to the volume dial, turning the music up until the bass thumps through the entire car.  Y/N can feel it in her chest like a second heart beat.

“‘Do you believe in life after love?’” Encouraged by each other, Harry and Y/N scream the lyrics even louder on the repeat, straining their necks as much as their vocal cords. “‘I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!”

When Harry’s hand moves again, Y/N thinks that he’s reaching for the dial again, perhaps to turn it down, but then his hand makes a questioning motion, and Y/N realizes that Harry, ever the one for dramatics, is acting out the lines.

“‘What was I supposed to do?  Sit around and wait for you?’” Harry points at Y/N then, an exaggerated look on his face as his whole body moves to the beat. “‘Well I can’t do that!  And there’s no turning back’…”

Not wanting to be one upped, Y/N pushes up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her wrist enough that she can tap on it. “‘I need time to move on’…” A fit of giggles interrupt the next line as she and Harry both raise their arms to flex their muscles. “‘I need a love to feel strong’…” Y/N taps on her temple as she sways her body to the beat the best she can in the car. “‘Because I’ve got time to think it through’…” When she turns to point at Harry, she finds him already pointing at her, once again in sync with her thoughts. “‘And maybe I’m too good for you, oh’!”

They repeat the chorus in the same way as before, screaming the lyrics as loud as they can, pulling dramatic facial expressions and dance moves to match.  Halfway through the repeat, Harry attempts to mimic the classic Cher move of pushing hair over the shoulder, and the ridiculous sight is enough to send Y/N into another fit of laughter.  She almost misses the entrance for the bridge, but recovers just in time to yell the lyrics in sync with Harry.

Forming fists and dragging her arms towards her dramatically, and Harry doing the same with his free hand, the two of them screw their faces up as they sing passionately. “‘Well I know that I’ll get through this…because I know that I am strong’…” The flexing of arms returns for a moment before being replaced by impassioned pleading hand gestures. “‘I don’t need you anymore…I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore’…”

Although they’d been energetic in the previous choruses, Harry and Y/N give their all for the final chorus, bouncing and yelling and gesturing as much as they can as they drive down the interstate at sixty-five miles per hour.  They quiet for a moment as the beat falls out, singing the lyrics at a slightly lower volume, but when the beat returns, they scream the lyrics one final time in unison before the music fades out.

The song changes to “Baby Driver,” and Harry reaches to lower the volume as he and Y/N both struggle to catch their breath.  They laugh between pants, hands on chests as they rapidly rise and fall.  Y/N lets her head fall back against the back of the seat, shifting her legs so only one rests on the seat beneath her thigh.

“That was a good one.” She admits, pushing her now-sweaty hair out of her face. “I’ll give you that. Cher was a good choice.”

“Do you see what I meant, now?” Harry asks breathlessly, his grin still plastered to his face. “Do you still want to listen to Tchaikovsky?”

In lieu of a reply, Y/N reaches for Harry’s phone again, skipping songs until “Jessie’s Girl” begins to drift through the speakers. “Turn it up again, Harry.”

There’s a twinkle in Harry’s eyes when he does as she says.

…

“I can sleep on the floor.” Harry volunteers, tugging his hand through his stretched out curls as his eyes scan the interior of the motel room. “Make a little bed out of pillows.  Then you can have the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, setting her bag on the small table in front of the room’s mirror. “You can’t sleep on the floor!”

Harry purses his lips. “I’ll take the chair, then.  I can stretch out on it—”

“Please, you have limbs like Gumby.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N unzips her bag and pulls out her toiletries. “You can’t sleep comfortably in a chair.  We can deal with one bed for one night.  It’s not the end of the world.”

Four days ago, Y/N might have considered having to share a bed with Harry the end of the world.  If someone had told her about the lack of available motel rooms on the road, Y/N might have never left L.A.  And that first night in Utah, she remembers, she would have rather smother Harry in his sleep than share a bed with him.  Now, however, they’re in Iowa City, and for all her talk of how much she despised Harry before, she’s found herself quite fond of him in a short period of time.

There’s a list of reasons why that’s happened, she thinks, as she pulls out her charger to plug into the wall.  Their forced close proximity in the car and motel rooms probably has something to do with it, as well as Harry being her only company for the last four days.  And maybe, just maybe, a small part of it is due to the way Harry looks in the dim motel room light as he flops back on the bed, his red and black striped t-shirt riding up just the slightest bit to expose the fern tattoos lining the bottom of his stomach.  The way his jade irises manage to sparkle in the light of the lamp, or how his chipped nail polish still manages to look elegant as his fingers dance along his chest and twist his rings over his knuckles.  The way his lips, despite his constant habit of biting them, look so soft and so pink, and how Y/N thinks she could just—

Y/N clears her throat, stopping her thoughts in their tracks.  It’s really been too long since she’s been around another human being, she thinks, keeping her back to Harry as she roots through her suitcase for her pajamas. Four days is too long for her to be with the same person, with hardly any alone time, and she’s wondering if she’ll be able to have alone time any time soon when her fingers brush over the familiar smooth silicone surface of her vibrator.

Y/N pauses, pulling her fingers back as if she’s been burned.  Right.  She’d tossed that in there just before leaving L.A., just in case she needed some stress relief.  Glancing back over her shoulder subtly, Y/N sees that Harry has his phone out now, his nimble fingers tapping along the screen as he lays on the bed.  Maybe some stress relief is exactly what she needs.

Grabbing the first articles of clothing she can get her hands on, Y/N carefully wraps her vibrator within the fabric, trying to fold it so that it doesn’t look like its hiding a small purple sex toy.  Once that’s done to the best of her ability, she grabs her toiletry bag, tucking it under her arm as she quickly makes her way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower.” She mutters, closing the door behind her without waiting for Harry’s response.

Although the ritual of stripping from her clothes, starting the shower and adjusting the temperature settings, and relaxing her muscles underneath the (albeit low pressure) stream of water is familiar, it takes Y/N a few minutes to work up the courage to run her hands down the length of her body.  She takes her time as her fingers dance over the planes of her breasts, down her stomach, fluttering over her hips before making their way to the crevice where her thighs flow into her core.  Taking a deep breath, Y/N begins with just her fingers, running them through her wet folds slowly and carefully.

She allows herself the time to warm herself up, waiting until she can dip her index finger inside her slick entrance and circle its way around her clit before grabbing her vibrator from the shower ledge.  She flicks it on to its lowest setting, making sure the electronic buzz is hidden beneath the sound of the shower before gently circling the tip around her clit.

The relief, Y/N finds, is instantaneous.  A breathless sigh slips past her lips as she rubs the toy over her folds, delighting in the fluttering sensation it leaves behind.  Without breaking contact, Y/N turns the toy up a level, biting her lip to keep from moaning as she presses it back to her clit.

Despite the tension building up in her body as Y/N works herself to an orgasm, this is the most relaxed she’s felt in days.  The tension, she finds, is so much sweeter than the anxiety and stress she’s been experiencing throughout the road trip.  Although her shoulders tense, it’s different than the knots worked into her muscles from hours in the car.  Although her leg feels as though it may cramp from its position perched on the bath tub ledge, the burn is more welcome than the ache of being stuck in one seated position.

If someone were to ask her what crossed her mind when Y/N brought herself over the edge, what thoughts drifted into her head as she gripped the wall of the shower with one hand as her core convulsed in the most delightfully sinful way, Y/N would tell them that it was nothing specific.  Strong hands, she’d say, smoothly and knowledgeably caressing her body.  A low voice whispering dirty nothings in her ear. A deep breath flowing down her neck as cherry lips and white teeth nipped and kissed down her skin and across her collar bones.  Nothing specific.  And Y/N would believe it when she’d say it.

But if anyone were to be listening at the exact moment that she thrust the vibrator inside her, panting and whimpering as her index and middle finger worked over her clit and brought her to climax, they’d hear the breathless whisper of a name that Y/N herself didn’t even know she was saying.

The nice thing about getting off in the shower, Y/N thinks, once she’s regained enough function in her head to do so, is that cleanup is a breeze.  Within fifteen more minutes, Y/N’s washed her body, shampooed and conditioned her hair, and is climbing out of the shower with the motel towel wrapped tightly around her body.  Within another few minutes, she’s towel dried to the best of her ability, and finally realizing that the pajamas she’d grabbed in her quick bid for the washroom happened to be the pink silk set that she’d tucked at the bottom of her suitcase four days ago.

Cheeks burning, Y/N weighs her options.  She could wrap the towel around herself, she thinks, and instruct Harry to look away as she snuck back to her suitcase and grabbed the sports bra and boxers she’d been sleeping in for the past few nights.  Or…she runs her fingers over the lace trim of the set.  These pajamas were quite comfortable, and the silk would feel so nice on her body after multiple nights of scratching motel sheets.  And, if she’s being honest with herself, her other pajamas are quite dirty from a new nights of use.  Now that her body feels completely relaxed and clean, she’d like to put on something to match.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Y/N does her best to seem casual and calm, still running her towel through her set hair, her clothes and toiletry bag (where she’s hidden her vibrator) tucked under one arm. “The shower’s free.” She says to Harry, barely glancing at him as she returns her items to her bag. “Although the water pressure is pretty shit.”

A low chuckle echoes from Harry’s mouth. “I expect nothing less.” He says, and Y/N thinks she may be in the clear when the laughter stops abruptly.

Biting back a sigh, Y/N straightens her back, knowing that she can’t avoid the conversation forever. “What?” She asks, tossing her towel on the motel room chair.

Harry is sitting up on the bed, his phone still held loosely in his right hand as his left props his body into an upright position.  As his eyes scan over Y/N’s body, his tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips without Harry being aware he’s doing it. “What—” His voice cracks, and a flush creeps up Harry’s pale neck as he clears his throat. “What are you wearing?”

Y/N begins to comb her fingers through her hair, sectioning it off before she begins to braid. “Pajamas.”

A scoff leaves Harry’s mouth. “No, no, those aren’t pajamas.  That’s…lingerie.”

“Yeah, well…I brought them as pajamas.” Y/N mumbles, twisting her hair into the desired pattern before tying it off with the ponytail on her wrist. “Look, I—my other ones are dirty, and I didn’t want to put a sweaty sports bra back on right after showering.  But…if it makes you uncomfortable, then I can—”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Harry cuts over her, giving a quick shake of his head. “I just—we’re sharing the bed tonight, so I wasn’t sure—as long as you’re comfortable—”

“I am.” Y/N says quickly, cheeks beginning to burn as the conversation continues. “I’m comfortable.”

“Alright then.” If Harry’s cheeks are any indication, then he’s feeling the same thing Y/N is. “I’m…going to shower, then.”

And that’s how, two hours later, after watching a rerun of When Harry Met Sally, Y/N ends up in bed next to Harry Styles in lingerie that she’d bought to impress her ex-boyfriend.

Harry, to his credit, is doing his best to draw a line between them.  His lanky body is practically hanging off the edge of the bed with how far he’s pulled himself from her, his defined back turned towards Y/N. Her own posture mimics his, back turned from Harry, clinging to the edge of the bed in an attempt to respect his personal space.  The problem, Y/N thinks, exhaling hard as she shifts under the covers, is that she doesn’t like sleeping on her side like this, and she especially doesn’t like tensing up to make sure her limbs stay in their designated zone.  It feels awkward and uncomfortable, and after laying in bed for over an hour, she finally huffs before turning onto her back, her hands settling down over the sheets.

“Harry.” She whispers, twisting her head to the side as she struggles to make out the shape of his body in the dark. “Are you awake?”

The bed creaks as Harry’s body shifts towards her, twisting on his hip to be able to meet Y/N’s eyes. “Yeah.  Can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” Y/N rolls over again, propping herself up on her side to face him as he matches the motion. They’re closer now, their faces about six inches away as they rest their heads on their pillows.  Y/N can smell the mint of Harry’s toothpaste on his breath. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder as best he can while horizontal. “Dunno.” He mumbles, voice low in the quiet darkness. “Don’t think I’m used to sharing a bed with someone and not…being close to them.”

“Yeah.” Y/N matches the tone of her voice to his, as if speaking quietly and gently will preserve whatever it is hanging between them. “Feels weird.”

Moving his hands from his chest to tuck them under his pillow, Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous look apparent in his eyes even in the darkness. “Would it be okay if I moved closer?” He asks, caution written into every word. “It’s just—staying on the edge isn’t very comfortable.”

Four days ago, Y/N would have shoved him off the bed.  Now, however, she finds herself nodding, pulling her top leg into a bent position, her bare knee brushing over Harry’s beneath the sheets. “That’s fine.”

Y/N watches the way Harry’s body visibly relaxes, the tension she didn’t even know he had leaving his body.  Trying his best to move without disturbing her, Harry turns over to lay on his toned stomach, and the sheets pull down around his body enough that Y/N can see how his Rolling Stones t-shirt has ridden up his back.  Without thinking, Y/N pulls one hand from beneath her pillow and reaches for the sheets, pulling them back around Harry to his mid back.

“Thanks.” His voice is raspy, half muffled by the pillow as he tucks his hands beneath his head, eyes still locked with hers with an intensity that, during daylight hours, would have made her cheeks burn.

But in the safety of the darkness, Y/N simply returns her hand to its previous position, allowing the lack of light to masquerade the concern written onto her face. “You’re welcome.”

…

“I’m not saying The Notebook is a bad movie, I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense!”

Harry gives Y/N an incredulous look as he flips on his turn signal, shifting gears in the car so he can exit the highway and head towards a gas station. “What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?” He demands, turning the car over the curve of the road. “They’re in love!  Noah reads to Ally to help her remember that!  What about that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well, the dialogue for one.” Y/N shrugs, tapping her fingers to the beat of “Heroes” that’s drifting through the speakers.

Harry scoffs as he pulls into an empty gas station, slowing the car to a gentle stop in front of a pump. “Give me one example of the dialogue not making sense!”

“‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she quotes the movie. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Harry demands, shifting the car into neutral and pulling the emergency brake before turning off the ignition. “It’s romantic!  It’s talking about—about reincarnation, and past lives—”

“And what about how Noah and Ally first met, huh?  She was on a date with someone else!  She wasn’t interested in him!” As she rants, Y/N’s volume grows, almost drowning out David Bowie completely. “And then he climbed up a Ferris wheel, demanded that she go out with him, and said that if she didn’t, he was going to kill himself!”

Harry points an accusatory finger at her, his expression fierce. “Don’t!  It was romantic—”

Y/N pushes his finger away, holding her stance adamantly. “It was creepy!  And don’t even get me started on the arguments, and the lying, and—and she was engaged to someone else!  Noah was a homewrecker!”

Harry takes a deep breath, squeezing his keys in his hand as his eyes close for a moment. “I’m going to fill Stevie with petrol.” He says, his tone careful and controlled. “And when I get back, I am going to give you a very long lecture on why you’re wrong.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she grabs Harry’s sunglasses from the cupholder next to her, slipping them onto her face as she sticks her tongue out at him. “Whatever.  Go pump the gas, Styles.”

With one last withering look, Harry climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him, turning his attention to the rusted gas pump in the middle of nowhere along the Illinois interstate.  Y/N can’t help but laugh at the irritated look on his face, and how he flips her the bird when he catches her laughing.  Small giggles still roll through her as she turns her attention to Harry’s phone, choosing a new song as David Bowie slowly begins to fade out. She’s just begun scrolling through her options when her own phone begins to vibrate from where she has it tucked underneath her leg.

Y/N sets Harry’s phone back down on his seat as she grabs her own, her eyes widening when she sees Brant’s name lighting up her screen.  She should answer, she thinks, as she hasn’t spoken to him in person since their conversation in Colorado.  That conversation seems like a lifetime ago, and Y/N’s thumb hovers over the “accept” icon, her teeth tugging her bottom lip over and over.  She should answer.  She should.  Brant will probably want to discuss work, and find out when she’s coming back so they can plan another dinner, because he always likes to schedule things at least a week in advance.  He’ll tell her about his coworkers, what the weather in L.A. has been like (as if it ever changes), and maybe, just maybe, if he has time, he’ll tell her about a new Netflix series he’s just starting to watch.  Y/N should answer.

The driver’s side door opens with a creak, and Harry bends down to poke his head inside. “Alright, I’m going to go inside the petrol station and get us some snacks, and then I’m going to explain to you exactly how wrong you are.” He says firmly, mouth pressed into a flat line of determination.  His expression falters for just a moment as he sees the conflicted look on Y/N’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Y/N says quickly, pressing “ignore” and tucking her phone back under her leg. “Just go get the snacks while I create my counterargument, alright?”

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching into the car and pulling his sunglasses off Y/N’s face.  He slips them over his own eyes, his expression back to its determined look. “Fine.  Do you want Cheezies?”

“Uh huh.  The crunchy ones!” Y/N reminds him, grabbing his phone from the seat again to continue selecting a new song.

“Right.  The crunchy ones.” Harry shoots her a finger gun as he shuts the car door. “You can eat them as I prove you wrong!”

“You wish!” Y/N yells back, the phone call all but forgotten as she watches Harry walk into the gas station.

…

“We should go out tonight.”

Y/N sets her duffel bag on the queen-sized bed situated in the center of the motel room, giving Harry a confused look as she registers his words. “Go out?” She asks, tugging on the zipper of the bag. “Go out where?”

“To a bar.” Harry flops down on the bed next to her bag, leaning back on his elbows as he speaks. “All we’ve done this entire trip is drive, and we’re getting to the Catskills tomorrow.  We can have a bit of fun tonight, can’t we?”

Y/N snorts as she rifles through her bag, pulling out her phone charger and favourite book. “It’s a road trip; driving is the point, isn’t it?  Besides, what kind of bars are in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Harry shrugs lightly. “We passed a sign for one on our way into town.  And we haven’t had dinner yet, so we should go get something to eat anyways.  And I haven’t had a pint in forever.”

“I doubt you’ll like the pints from a dive bar in Cleveland, Harry.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she plugs her charger into the wall. “I don’t think they’ll be up to your standards.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Harry matches her eye roll with ease before turning his expression into something more endearing. “Please?  We don’t have to stay too long if you don’t want to!”

Y/N sighs as she sits down on the bed next to him. “Harry—”

“Just one drink!” Harry pleads, pouting out his bottom lip. “Please?  To celebrate not killing each other on this trip?”

In spite of herself, a small laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “The trip’s not over yet, Harry.  Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.”

“Y/N…” Harry whines, turning onto his side as he looks up at her. “Come on!”

Y/N tugs her lip between her teeth as she looks down at Harry.  It’s true, she thinks, that all they’ve done for the last five days is drive and sleep in motels.  Maybe they could use a break before tomorrow’s final day.  And they’ve been getting along so well today that Y/N would hate to put a damper on their moods now…

“Fine.” She relents, ignoring how there’s a turning feeling in her stomach when she sees Harry’s green eyes light up. “But just one drink!”

…

“I’ll take another Old Fashioned, please!” Y/N says to the waitress, raising her voice to be heard over the man singing a bad cover of “Take on Me” on the small bar stage. “And—Harry, do you want another?”

Harry bites back a laugh, barely managing to cover it with a cough as the waitress turns to him. “Uh, yes, please.” He smiles charmingly, flashing his eyes to Y/N between his words. “I’ll have another pint.”

With a quick nod, the waitress begins to work her way from their table to the bar, pushing through the crowds of people scattered around the bar.  

Y/N leans over to Harry as she twirls her straw through the remnants of ice in her empty glass. “You picked a good bar!” She says loudly, gesturing to the people around them. “Who knew this would be the center of Cleveland’s drinking scene?”

“I did!  I have good taste!” Harry replies with a laugh, lifting his pint glass to his lips to drain the remnants. “And here I was, thinking that you’d be whining to go home after the first drink!”

There’s something about the way Harry says “home” that turns Y/N’s stomach.  Or maybe it’s the Old Fashioneds, she thinks, as she eyes the three empty glasses sitting in front of her. “Oh.  Yeah.  Maybe we should go…?”

Harry groans, waving off her suggestion without a second thought. “No!  We’re having fun!  When was the last time you went out?”

“Uh…” The alcohol makes it hard for Y/N to think back in her memory, but she does her best to focus for a few moments to search for the answer. “I think…a few months ago?  Jo came to visit, and we went out for drinks…”

“That’s just sad.” Harry shakes his head, feigning disappointment.  Or maybe not feigning it, Y/N thinks, because a deep sigh leaves his lips right after. “You live in L.A., a place with so much culture and so many opportunities, and you don’t take them!”

“I take opportunities just fine!” Y/N defends herself, a pout working its way onto her lips of its own volition. “I’m just busy—”

“You’re always going to be busy!” Harry argues as the waitress approaches them with their drinks. “You—thank you—” He says to her as she hands him his pint and Y/N her Old Fashioned. “You have to take time for yourself, to enjoy things!  Or else life is just going to pass you by, and soon you’ll be old and grey in your apartment, with no cool stories to tell!”

Y/N takes the straw from her previous drink and slips it in her new one. “I have stories!” She argues hotly, a flush coming over her face from both the alcohol and the argument. “I have plenty of stories!”

Harry takes a gulp from his pint, wiping away the drop of beer that drips from the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?  Tell me one.”

“Like—” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “Like now!  The story of how I had to go on a road trip with a guy I hated to make it to my best friend’s wedding on time!”

“I’m not really a fan of that title, honestly.” Harry purses his lips, his brow furrowing as he sets his pint back down on the table. “How about we call it the story of how you had to go on a road trip with a guy you hated to make it to your best friend’s wedding on time, and along the way, you and the guy actually realized that you got along pretty well, and became friends?”

A small smile plays on Y/N’s lips, and she raises her glass towards Harry. “Sounds like a plan.” She says softly, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.  Harry lifts his pint glass and clicks it against her drink.

They both take a sip of their drinks, and when Harry lowers his glass, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately makes Y/N uneasy. “I have another idea for a story.” He says, setting his glass down and pointing towards the stage. “How about the story of us singing karaoke at a bar in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Y/N snorts, half folding herself over their table as the snort turns into a full laugh. “Not a chance in hell, Styles!” She says through her laughter, tapping her fingers against the wood table top.

Harry pushes her shoulder, making her sit up again as he tries to convince her. “Come on!  We’ve been singing in the car for two days straight! There’s tons of songs we could do—”

“The car is completely different than a stage!” Y/N argues, shaking her head firmly. “No way!”

“What, are you worried about making a fool of yourself?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he gestures around the bar. “Is there anyone you know in the audience?  The audience that’s full of people who are pissed out of their minds?”

Biting her lip hard for a moment, Y/N gives a reluctant shake of her head. “No.” She mumbles, looking down. “But I just—I don’t sing karaoke.”

“And you didn’t spend five days in the car with me, either.  Until you did, and we had fun.” Harry points a ringed pointer finger at her, and the annoying glint in his eye means he knows he has her trapped. “There is literally no better place to try it than right now, in this bar, where you know no one.”

Y/N glances around the bar, appraising her surroundings.  She knows Harry has a point; besides himself, she knows not a single soul in the building.  They’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, and she won’t ever find herself in this bar—or, honestly, Cleveland, Ohio—again.  If there was ever a time to try karaoke, it would be now.  

And hasn’t this trip been full of trying new things?  New foods, new conversations, new ways of thinking…Y/N finds herself locking eyes with Harry, losing herself in his intense gaze.  Y/N’s not sure what’s swirling around in his irises, whether it’s alcohol or something else entirely, but it’s intoxicating.

Y/N lets out a harsh exhale, pulling the straw out of her drink and downing it entirely in one swift motion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she slams the glass back on the table before looking back at Harry to find a new grin pasted across his pink lips.

“Alright.” Y/N slips off her stool, stumbling for just a moment until Harry catches her elbow. “You go pick the song.” She says, pointing towards the DJ near the stage. “I-I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

Harry nods, catching his lip between his teeth as his hand squeezes her arm. “Are you alright?  You stumbled there—”

“I’m fine!  Perfect, actually.” Y/N assures him, pulling away and walking towards the washroom.  She calls over her shoulder to him as she does. “Go pick the song!  I’ll be back in a moment!”

When Y/N reaches the washroom, she’s surprised to find it empty, and she’s even more surprised when she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Is that really her? She wonders, propping herself up on the counter as she leans closer to examine herself.  Her skin is flushed from the alcohol, all across her cheeks and neck, and it only gets warmer as the heat of the bar finally hits her. Y/N undoes the top few buttons of her plaid shirt, exposing her chest to the air.  Cocking her head to the side, Y/N studies herself for a moment before undoing the rest of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves to wear the shirt like a cardigan, leaving her bralette exposed.  It’s a different look than anything she’s ever done, but…she likes it, she realizes, as her eyes scan over her reflection.  She likes this.  Being somewhere that no one knows her, somewhere filled with people that won’t judge her for drinking too much, somewhere that she doesn’t have to worry about stories getting back to her work.  Y/N likes the wild look in her eyes, the breathlessness stirring inside her, the plumpness of her lips from the ice of her drinks.   When she looks at herself, she sees a different person. Someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone who seems to know what they want.

Her phone vibrating in her back pocket pulls her from her thoughts, and it takes Y/N a moment for her intoxicated self to manage to pull it out.  When she sees Brant’s name flashing on the screen, she only hesitates for one second before hitting decline.  That one second of hesitation, however, is all it takes to make her contemplate herself in the mirror again, second guessing what she sees.  She tucks her phone away before washing her hands, and splashes a little bit of cold water on her cheeks to help cool herself down. Giving herself one last look over, Y/N buttons the few bottom buttons of her shirt back together, tying it into a neat knot to cover her stomach.  Even if no one here knows her…she can’t get too wild.  She still has to be who she is.

After exiting the bathroom, Y/N returns to the table, expecting Harry to be waiting there for her. All she finds, however, is his jacket tossed over the back of his chair, and his now empty pint glass sitting on the table. Y/N turns in a small circle, wondering where he is in the crowd when she hears his slightly slurred voice magnified over the speakers.

“Y/N.  Up here, love, c’mon.”

Y/N turns towards the stage, her eyes wide as she realizes Harry has a microphone in one hand and has the other hand wrapped around the microphone stand.  His smile is practically glowing underneath the stage lights, and his eyes seem to be doing the same.  He releases the mic stand to run a hand through his hair before beckoning her forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Cleveland, this—” Harry points towards Y/N, and she almost swears that every person in the bar turns towards her. “This is my very good friend Y/N. And five days ago, she hated my guts!” The crowd boos, and Y/N stares at Harry with incredulous eyes.  What is he doing?

“No, no, don’t boo, it’s alright.  I hated her guts too.” Harry says with a shrug, leaning against the mic stand again. “But everything’s alright now!  We’re getting along, she’s stopped being such a control freak, and she even said she would let me pick a song for us to sing tonight, isn’t that nice?”

The crowd cheers as Y/N walks towards the stage, stopping just before it to stare up at Harry as he continues his drunken monologue.  If she was sober, she’d probably pull him down from the stage, grab the front of his patterned button down shirt, and drag him back to their table.  But the alcohol running through her system is making her bold, and with her head swimming in the amber liquid she’d been consuming, all she can do is laugh and stumble her way to the stairs to the stage.

Someone wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it helps her up the stairs, handing her a microphone once she makes it onto the stage.  Harry, realizing she’s where she needs to be now, motions to the DJ behind her, and a familiar beat that Y/N can’t place begins to play.

“Harry—” Y/N speaks without raising the microphone to her lips. “What song—?”

“Don’t worry, you know it.” Harry assures her, his eyes flickering over her appearance quickly. “You look great.  Just go with it!”

There’s really no choice but to go with it, she thinks, because within a moment, Harry has a simpering smile on his face as he lifts the microphone to his lips, his body turned towards the audience but his eyes flickering to you.

“‘I wasn’t jealous before we met…now every man I see is a potential threat’.” He sings in a confident voice, and Y/N watches the split second it takes for the crowd to realize he’s actually good.  And it’s not just his voice, she thinks.  It’s his demeanor.  The part of Harry’s personality that had first irritated her, the part that lives for a spotlight, the part that can draw someone in with a snap of a finger…that part shines on a stage.

In contrast, all Y/N can do is stare with a shocked expression painted across her face as Harry continues to serenade the crowd.  He makes eye contact with specific people as he croons the next lines, his hand confidently wrapped around the microphone “‘And I’m possessive, it isn’t nice…you’ve heard me say that smoking is my only voice’.”

It’s then that Harry’s attention turns back to Y/N, his eyelids hooded, half hiding his emerald eyes as he saunters back towards her.  It’s like a switch has flipped in his head, because Y/N is certain that he’s never looked at her in this way before. “‘But now it isn’t true…now everything is new’…” The closer Harry gets to her, the less Y/N can breathe. By the time he’s a foot away from her, she feels like her breaths are stuttering in her chest, giving barely enough oxygen to her body to keep her going.  

Harry, it seems, is unaware of the affect he’s having on her.  His long limbs are loose and free as he continues to move closer, the smirk on his face intertwined with something deeper that Y/N’s drunken mind can’t quite put her finger on. “‘And all I’ve learned, has overturned…I beg of you’…”

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and sweat that emanates from Harry as he gets close enough to press his forehead to hers reminds Y/N exactly where she is, and what she’s supposed to be doing.  Just managing to bring the microphone to her lips in time, Y/N shoves Harry on his shoulder, pushing him away enough that she can walk past him and distance herself. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion’…” She sings, glancing at him over her shoulder as she moves away.  Harry watches her with darkened eyes, a hungry look on his face as Y/N begins to sway her hips to the music.  It’s fun, she realizes, being on stage like this, and playing the part with Harry as she sets down a challenge. “‘Lay all your love on me’.”

The crowd cheers as Harry begins to take measured steps towards Y/N again, looking like the cat who wants to catch the canary.  Y/N, ever the competitive player, refuses to give in so easily, and quickly extends a hand to two people sitting in front of the stage.  They give her support as she slides down from the platform, working her way through the tables without so much as a glance behind herself at Harry, who she knows is following her.

“‘It was like shooting a sitting duck…a little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck’.” Y/N finally turns around, pausing her walk to see Harry hopping down from the stage. She points at him slowly, giving a small shake of her head as she sings the next line. “‘I still don’t know what you’ve done to me…a grownup woman should never fall so easily’…”

Harry’s smirk only grows, and he runs a hand haphazardly through his sweaty curls.  He’s enjoying playing the part too, and Y/N can tell by the way he allows her to cross the seating area, so that they’re walking parallel to each other towards the bar.  He’s not chasing her down.  He’s taking his time, knowing that he’ll get her in the end.

“‘I feel a kind of fear…when I don’t have you near’…” Y/N pauses at a table of two men and a woman, leaning down between the latter two.  She only takes her eyes off Harry for a moment to give a questioning look to the man, who gives her a smile of permission.  Y/N runs her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm, but keeps her eyes glued to Harry the entire time. “‘Unsatisfied, I skip my pride…I beg you dear’…”

When he sees Y/N’s fingers trace down the collar of someone else, Harry’s brow furrows in jealousy, his jade eyes shifting even darker than they were before.  He keeps pace with Y/N as she begins to move again, but there’s an air of tension in his saunter that wasn’t there a moment ago.  When he sings, it sounds like half plea, half demand. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry rounds a table of people before beginning to close the distance between him and Y/N, each of them now standing in front of the bar.  With the tension between them now palpable, the crowd is moving out of their way discreetly, watching as the two approach each other. Harry licks his red lips before singing the next line. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion…lay all your love on me’.”

Y/N releases her bottom lip from between her teeth, running her fingers over the finished wood of the bar before pulling herself to sit atop it.  She crosses her legs carefully before leaning her weight on one hand, giving a small shrug, knowing that Harry’s eyes are glued to her every motion as the bartender pours him a shot. “‘I’ve had a few little love affairs…they didn’t last very long and they’ve been pretty scarce’…”

Harry’s lips wrap around the shot glass, throwing it back just in time to sing the next line as tequila drips from the corner of his mouth.  The drop of alcohol runs down his chin to trace the muscles of his neck, and as Harry pulls himself to sit next to Y/N on the bar, the only thing she wants to do is lean forward and lick the liquor from his skin.

“‘I used to think I was sensible’…” Harry passes a newly poured shot to Y/N, meaning for her to take it from him, and he nearly stutters over his next line as Y/N wraps her hand around his own, guiding him to guide the shot to her mouth.  There’s a sharp intake of air into the microphone before Harry can sing again, and Y/N smirks at the small victory as she wipes her mouth doing her best to hide how the bitter taste of the tequila affects her. “‘It makes the truth even more incomprehensible’.”

Y/N brings her microphone to her mouth again to sing the next verse with Harry, their eyes locked together as they lean forward into each other.  Despite the cheering of the crowd, Y/N can’t help but feel as though she and Harry are the only two in the bar, as if this—very public—performance were small and intimate and just between them.

“‘Because everything is new’…” Harry grips the knot in Y/N’s plaid shirt, easily pulling it undone with one hand.  His eyes break away from hers for only a moment to canvas over her newly exposed midriff and lace bralette before snapping back to her gaze with a renewed vigor. He keeps the tails of the shirt clutched within his strong hand as he begins to lean back on the bar, pulling Y/N down with him.

“‘And everything is you’…” Y/N almost falls over before she catches herself, bracing one hand beside Harry’s head on the bar to support her weight as he lays down fully. She can feel how tightly he’s gripping her shirt by how the hem of it is pressing into her skin, and the pressure of the fabric cues another kind of pressure to begin to curl inside her stomach. When she sucks in a breath, she can taste tequila and Harry’s cologne on her tongue, and she struggles to bite back a whine while Harry wraps her shirt tighter around his hand.

“‘And all I’ve learned has overturned’…” Harry releases the wrinkled fabric of her shirt, his now freed hand trading the cloth for the skin of her exposed waist.  The coolness of his rings against her flushed skin makes Y/N’s breath stutter, and she curls her body over him more in response.  The taste of Harry’s touch has sparked a need to be closer, as well as a new fluttering in her core, and judging by the way Harry keeps licking his lips, he knows it.

Refusing to be the only one affected by their close proximity, Y/N moves her supporting hand from the bar to Harry’s hair, tugging on it harshly as Harry opens his mouth to sing the next line.  As Y/N sings “‘I beg of you’…” with a pleading glance, Harry grunts deep in his throat, just managing to pull the microphone away from his lips so that Y/N is the only one to hear it.

Although getting a reaction out of Harry was her goal, actually hearing that reaction is another story entirely.  Heat rushes to Y/N’s face as Harry grips her waist tighter, pressing her thighs and hips to his own as he guides the two of them to the beat of the music.  The cheering and wolf whistles from the crowd are the only thing that keep Y/N grounded and in the moment, reminding her that—despite how it feels—there are people watching the two of them.

“‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry grinds his hip against Y/N’s once more, moving them in a steady and consistent pace.  Y/N repositions her body in return, spreading her legs so she can straddle Harry’s hips more easily.  She knows, though, that she needs to start pulling back.  She has to do something to get away from him, to break the trance that his touch has her in, before she does something she’ll regret.

“‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Y/N slowly sits back up, letting go of Harry’s hair in order to trail her free hand down his chest. Although she knows that she’s supposed to be distancing herself from him, she can’t resist digging her nails in just the slightest bit, delighting in the hiss that leaves his mouth. “‘Lay all your love on me’…”

Harry sits up slowly as the key changes, his eyes glued to Y/N’s lips as she sings a line by herself, her voice growing ever so slightly fainter every time Harry tugs on his red lips with his teeth, soothing the mark with his tongue a moment after. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’…”

Now that they’re both sitting upright, Harry grips their bodies and turns them so that their legs once again dangle off the bar.  Y/N can feel the blood rushing from her head as she drapes her arm over Harry’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as Harry digs his fingertips into her waist. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Harry’s pupils are so blown that his irises practically look black.  His chest is heaving with every breath, his exposed skin flushed and sweaty.  His curls are a mess from Y/N tangling her fingers in them.  If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d say Harry looks freshly fucked, and then she wonders if she looks the same.  By the way Harry’s looking at her, she thinks it’s safe to say that she does.

“‘Lay all your love on me’.” They finish together, hungry eyes locked with each other while the wolf whistles and clapping gets louder as the final notes of the song trail off.  This is where they should break apart, Y/N thinks, her chest moving rapidly with every ragged breath she takes.  This is where she should climb off Harry’s lap, climb down from the bar, return the microphones to the DJ, and gather her things and go.  This is the end of whatever the hell just happened during that song.  This is where she says “Harry, we have to be up early tomorrow to drive, so we should go back to the motel.”

To her credit, Y/N tries. She swallows hard, her mouth as dry as it’s ever been, and sucks in another breath, almost whimpering at the taste of his cologne in the back of her throat.  Don’t, she tells herself.  She needs to say what she needs to say.  Their game is done.  It’s over.

“Harry—” She begins, and that’s all she manages to say before Harry is kissing her.

Her body reacts before her mind does, but between the overwhelming sensations all around her and the copious amounts of liquor that her brain is swimming in, Y/N can only register every third movement.  The microphone falling from her hand onto the bar as she tangles her fingers back in Harry’s curls, twisting and pulling and receiving the most delightful gasps from him in return.  Harry’s teeth catching her bottom lip, just barely tugging on the tender flesh. Ringed hands keeping a firm grip on Y/N’s sides as Harry helps her down from the bar, his lips still pressed firmly against her own.  The lingering taste of tequila on Harry’s skin as Y/N kisses down his jaw, unable to completely pull away as Harry struggles to settle their tab with the bartender.

She’s never felt like this before; Y/N didn’t even know it could feel like this.  She didn’t know that she could feel an ache so deep inside her, both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and be so completely aware that the only cure for it is the touch of another person.  Y/N had been convinced that this rush was something that was fiction, made up by steamy romance novels to entice lonely housewives to dive beneath their pages. And yet here she is, stumbling out of a bar in Cleveland, Ohio, with Harry Styles, someone that she swore up and down that she hated five days ago.  Here she is with Harry’s jacket draped over her heated shoulders, his hands slipped underneath, rubbing at her exposed skin as he guides her back to the motel.  Here she is with his lips connected to her neck the moment their motel room door is closed, his fingers fumbling with the locks on the door as he refuses to pull away from her.

Yes, Y/N thinks, as she grinds her hips against Harry’s, relishing in the strangled moan that he breathes into her mouth: it’s never felt like this.

“Y/N—” Each pant of her name from his lips sounds like a song. “Fuck, Y/N—” Harry pulls back from her just enough to suck in a full breath, the first in what feels like hours. “I—we—”

“Shut up.” Y/N uses her grip on his hair to pull his head back, trailing open mouthed kisses over his jugular. “Just shut up, Harry, I need—I just need—”

“Need what?” Harry demands, eyes dark as he pushes himself away from her.  An involuntary whine at the loss of contact escapes from Y/N’s throat, and Harry has to steel himself again before he can continue. “What do you need?” He asks, struggling to keep his voice controlled. “You—you have to tell me, so that—I need you to be clear.”

Y/N licks over her swollen lips, eyes blown wide with lust as she stares up at Harry, struggling to find the words.  “I need…” She swallows once more, inhaling sharply as he grips her shoulders to steady her. “I need you, Harry.  Just fuck me. I-I need you to—”

Before she can finish her request, Harry has scooped her up into his arms, tossing her on the creaking motel bed as if she were a rag doll.  A gasp of shock leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she’s barely managed to sit up before Harry is caging his body over hers, forcing her back down as he kisses her hard.

Y/N’s hands go straight to the hem of his shirt, tugging roughly on the fabric, shoving it up Harry’s body before he gets the clue to half sit up and pull it off himself. After that, it’s a rush to remove clothes, each of them blindly pulling off shirts and bras and pants.  Everything is rushed, and that’s what Y/N wants. She doesn’t want time to lay down and explore, and allow herself space to second guess her decision.  All she wants is Harry to do something about the ache in her core, to fill her up so completely that she’ll be feeling him for days. It’s that need that makes Y/N tug on his hair to get his attention as he begins to kiss her thighs.

“No.” She shakes her head haphazardly, and the room spins slightly when she finishes the motion. “No, I just—I just need you to fuck me.  I’m ready, Harry—”

“But—” His teeth tug roughly on his bottom lip, mimicking Y/N’s actions from moments ago. “I want to taste—”

“Please, Harry.” Y/N whines, throwing her head back on the motel pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve been full…please…”

The lewd admission catches Harry off guard. “Fucking hell—” He spits out, his hands tugging on his hair as he sits up. “Yeah, I—okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself, the struggle to have a coherent thought clear on his face. “Okay, I need…”

Harry’s eyes begin to search the room, and the moment they settle on his bag in the corner, he rushes towards it.  Y/N watches the muscles in his back shift beneath his smooth skin as he unzips the bag, rummaging through it before pulling out a tiny foil square.  He tucks the package between his teeth as his hands fumble with his belt, undoing it quickly and pulling it off to toss to the floor.  He undoes his button and fly as he climbs back onto the bed, doing his best to waste no time as he situates himself between Y/N’s still spread legs.  

“Y’look so hot like this, y’know that?” He can’t stop himself from muttering the words as he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock.  Y/N stares hungrily at how swollen he is, only half listening to Harry’s words as she watches his hand stroke himself, the other lifting the condom package to his teeth.  He tears the foil open, spitting the little tag from his mouth as he removes the condom from the foil.  That foil is soon tossed to the ground before Harry gives himself one last stroke, quickly but carefully rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

Placing his hands on either knee, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs even wider, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of her bare core. “You’re dripping.” Harry says in a low voice, and before Y/N can reply with anything, he runs a ringed finger over her folds and slips it into his mouth.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasps at the unexpected sensation, the minimal contact enough to send her reeling. Harry grins at the response, loving how the pleasure from the small action is clearly written across her face.

“Sorry.” He says with a small shrug, lining himself up with her entrance. “Just wanted a little taste, tha’s all.  Couldn’t resist.” Harry drags the tip of his cock along Y/N’s slick core, a look of concentration overtaking his features. “I’ll go slow—”

A sound of protest leaves Y/N’s mouth. “No.  Go fast. I need it, Harry, please—” Her plea is cut off by Harry thrusting inside her with one sharp movement, and then Y/N stops talking completely.

There’s a slight feeling of pain, as she wasn’t lying when she said it’s been a while since she’s been with someone, but underneath that pain, pleasure is quickly building as Harry begins to snap his hips towards hers, finding a rhythm within a few thrusts. Y/N knows immediately that Harry is probably one of the largest men—if not the largest man—she’s ever been with, but that’s exactly what she needs right now.  The moment he filled her for the first time, there was a feeling of completeness that she’s been missing in her life for a long time.  She needed this, she thinks.  She needed to be stretched, to be filled, to be fucked, and Harry is the only one that could have fulfilled those needs this well. She’s convinced of it.

It’s far from the most romantic sex Y/N’s ever had; it’s all teeth clacking, biting, scratching, tugging, and growling.  And she knows that she should be concerned about how Harry’s teeth biting down on her shoulder is going to leave marks, especially when she has to wear a bridesmaid dress in less than 48 hours.  But all of that is exactly what she needs.  She doesn’t want Harry to whisper how much he loves her, how close he feels to her, how happy he is to be with her.  She doesn’t want to hear him say anything, except—

“Feel so fucking good around my cock.” He growls, his fingertips digging deeper into the flesh of her hips. “So bloody tight, Y/N…”

A sharp gasp tumbles out of Y/N’s throat as Harry swivels his hips, finding the exact spot she needs him the most. “Oh God, Harry, I—” Y/N scratches her nails down his back, surely leaving a trail of angry red marks in her place, as her other hand twists the sheets within her grip. “Fuck, right there, right there, right there—”

“Feels good, yeah? You like it?” Harry manages to bring a hand to her hair, tangling it within her locks and pulling hard. “Tell me.” His voice is so much lower than she’s ever heard it, his accent so much thicker, and the combination sends Y/N’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Tell me how much you love my cock, and—fuck—how much you love me fucking you.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open, a strangled whine echoing from the back of her throat as the head of Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot again. “I-I love it, Harry, I—your cock fills me so well—don’t stop, please don’t stop—!”

Using her moans as fuel, Harry begins to thrust faster, tugging on Y/N’s hair one last time before grasping her hips between his hands to gain more control.  If his flushed skin and the sweat covering his entire body is any indication, Y/N can tell that Harry is just as close as she is.  Her breathing quickens just as the sound of the bed creaking does, and she brings one hand down to her clit to rub fast circles, desperate to reach her release.

“Harry—” She gasps for what seems the millionth time that night, her body shuddering as she pushes closer and closer to the edge. “I’m so fucking close, Harry, please—”

The growl that falls from Harry’s mouth almost doesn’t sound like him.  It’s deeper, more animalistic, and so unlike the careful and slow voice that she’s gotten used to over the last five days.  Releasing one hand from her hip, he pushes her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his own to rub circles over her clit. “Cum for me, Y/N. I know you need it, baby, so just—” Harry groans as her walls squeeze his length. “Just cum.”

The command combined with his motions is all it takes to push Y/N over the edge.  A breathless gasp falls from her open mouth, and she screws her eyes shut as pleasure courses through her body.  It’s so much more intense than anything she’s felt before, so much more pleasurable, so much more dizzying, and just so much more. Small whimpers and Harry’s name are the only things she can think to say as her orgasm makes her movements stutter before falling limply back onto the bed.

“Fuck—” Harry moans roughly as he kisses her one more time, his mouth falling open against hers as her orgasm triggers his own.  Although the rhythm of his thrusts stutters, they don’t completely stop, and he continues to slam his hips against her own as he rides out his orgasm. “That’s it, baby—squeeze me tight—” Harry pants into Y/N’s mouth, barely registering anything he’s saying, let alone the pet name that’s begun to fall from his lips. “Christ…”

Things become a blur after that.  After Harry pulls out, all Y/N can focus on is how empty she feels without his thick cock filling her to the brim, and she doesn’t even realize that he’s gotten off the bed until he returns, his weight causing the whole bed frame to creak once more. With both of them so sweaty, Harry only pulls the top sheet over their panting bodies, pressing his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck as his eyes close.

Neither of them says anything, and for multiple reasons.  What exactly is there to say?  And, more pressing, what exactly is Y/N capable of saying right now?  There are no words running through her mind. All she can do is think in terms of physical contact and needs, and those two things tell her everything she knows in this moment.  She knows that Harry is in just his boxers now because she can’t feel the rough fabric of his pants against her bare skin.  She knows that she needs his hands on her, cupping her breasts the way he is. She knows that if he were to move away from her, she’d go chasing after him.  She knows that she’s completely worn out—completely fucked out, really—and above all else, she knows that whatever needs to be discussed between them can be discussed the next morning.

Harry, however, seems to have a different approach.  His face still pressed into her neck, he mumbles something against her sweat soaked skin, low and deep and completely inaudible.  Y/N feels an open mouthed kiss pressed to her neck, and then hears another mumble, this one even quieter than the last.

“Hm?” Y/N barely manages to hum the syllable in her exhaustion.

There’s no response, no repeat of the quiet phrases, and it takes Y/N a few minutes of feeling Harry’s breathing even out to realize that he’s fallen asleep.  If she were sober and had the mental capacity to examine things, Y/N would wonder what it was that Harry whispered into her skin.  But her brain is swimming in exhaustion and endorphins and tequila, and the only thing she can do is close her eyes and allow her breathing to sync up with the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.

…

The first thing Y/N registers the next morning is the shrill ringing of her cell phone, which somehow made its way to the bedside table in her drunken fervour the night before. The second thing she registers is the pounding of her head, like she can feel each pump of blood to her brain, and the uncomfortably dry feeling in her mouth, as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton. The third thing Y/N registers is—

“Christ.” Harry groans into her neck, his voice raspy from sleep and laced with irritation. “God, who is calling right now?”

Right.  The third thing she registers, probably the most complicated of all, Y/N thinks, is just how much of Harry’s taut and tattooed bare skin is pressed against her own.  His strong arms are thrown over her waist, clutching her tight to his chest. In the back of her mind, she’s vaguely aware of the chain of Harry’s cross pressing into her breast, probably leaving a small red indentation along with the other marks he left on her last night.

Last night.

Y/N lets out a small whine as the previous evening comes rushing back to her.  It’s a blur of alcohol, ABBA, and Harry.  Harry is everywhere, in every blurred picture her hungover brain can conjure.  Laughing at her from across the table.  Smirking at her on stage.  Staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes as he pulled her down on top of him on the bar, grinding his hips into hers.  Kissing her.  Kissing her multiple times.  Coming back to their room with his hands leaving scorching imprints over every inch of her.  And now, him laying next to her, clutching the two of them together like they’ve always done this.  Like it’s natural.

The phone rings again, louder than the last time, and Harry curses under his breath, the short exhale of air leaving goosebumps along Y/N’s neck.  He lifts his head just barely as he reaches across Y/N’s body, grabbing her phone from the bedside table and not bothering to check the caller ID as he answers.

“Hello?” He says, the rasp of sleep still clear his voice.  Within three seconds, Harry’s entire body tenses against Y/N, his arm constricting around her waist enough to shift her on the bed.

Y/N lifts her head up when she feels the change, finally opening her eyes just enough to read the change in Harry’s body language.  What she finds are dark and stormy green eyes, a swollen red mouth pressed into a thin line, and a deep crease between his furrowed brow, all of it such a contrast from the hazy memories of him the night before.

“I—yeah, she’s right here.” Harry mutters, his eyes snapping to Y/N’s face for just a moment. “I’ll—oh. Yeah, no, the trip’s been…good. Yeah.  Not too much traffic.” His arm moves off her waist as he pulls away from her, rolling onto his back as the bed creaks beneath them.  With his newly freed hand, Harry covers his eyes, rubbing them for a moment as the irritation on his face grows. “Yeah, it was nice of me to give her a ride.  Yeah.” He sucks in a breath. “Well, she’s—she’s awake now.  Here.  I’ll let you two talk.”

Y/N props herself up on one elbow, careful to keep the sheet pressed to her chest so that she’s not exposed. She knows that Harry’s already seen everything, touched everything, and kissed everything, but the sudden change in his demeanor is telling her that she needs to be guarded, even if she has no idea what caused it.

Harry holds out her phone for her, his face stony as Y/N slowly accepts it. “Harry—?” She begins, but he just gives a rough jerk of his head, and offers no other explanation.

Eyes still glued to Harry’s face, Y/N brings the phone to her ear, clearing the sleep from her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The familiar cadence of Brant’s voice crackles through the phone speaker, an indication of how far away he is from her. “It’s good to finally hear your voice; I haven’t been able to catch you the last few days.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Harry as her body goes cold, pressing the sheet tighter to her chest. “Brant.” She whispers his name unintentionally; her body won’t allow her to say it any louder. “Hi.”

At the sound of Brant’s voice leaving her lips, Harry throws the covers off of himself, jerkily pulling himself off of the low motel room bed.  He snatches his jeans off the floor, and doesn’t give Y/N another glance as he walks to the small bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

“Hi.” Brant says again, completely unaware of what’s happening on the other end of the telephone line. “I’ve missed you.  Where are you now?”

“Uh, Cleveland.” Y/N says weakly, stumbling her way out of the bed to her duffel bag.  She grabs a new bra and t-shirt, along with her comfiest pair of pants.  Without Harry beside her, she’s freezing. “Today’s our last day of driving.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Brant replies easily. “The wedding is tomorrow, then?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N’s eyes flicker to the bathroom as the sound of the shower starting travels through the wood of the door. “And tonight is the rehearsal dinner.”

Brant makes a sound of acknowledgement on the other end of the phone. “That’ll be nice!  Do you know if you’re flying back?”

“Uh—” Y/N pauses her movements, her pants half pulled up her legs.  That, honestly, is a good question, and one which seems as though the answer is changing with every passing moment. “I guess I’ll call the airline and…see if I can fly back.  Maybe the storms will have passed.”

“You must have driven through them, right?  In Utah, or wherever they were?” Brant asks curiously. “Did they seem that bad? Honestly, I’ve always found thunder to be relaxing.  I think most people do.”

Y/N tugs her t-shirt over her head with one hand, accidentally bumping her chin as she does so.  The motion causes her to bite down on her tongue, and she lets out a curse under her breath, not even bothering to correct Brant.  It doesn’t matter, she thinks.  He probably wouldn’t remember. “Yeah.  Relaxing.”

The sound of the shower turning off catches her attention, distracting her from what Brant says next. “I—sorry—” She mutters in a distracted tone, raking her fingers through her sleep and sex mussed hair. “What was that?”

“I said let me know when you’re on your way back from New York, so I’ll make us a dinner reservation.” Brant repeats himself without suspicion of Y/N’s distracted tone. “We just got some new files at work that I think you’ll be very interested in.”

The bathroom door creaks open, and Harry emerges from the cloud of shower steam.  He’s dressed in just his pants, his marked chest still damp from the shower.  Although he catches Y/N’s eye for a moment, he quickly looks away, rubbing his towel through his wet curls as he turns to search for a shirt.  The red marks of Y/N’s nails are prominent on his otherwise unmarked back.

“Dinner?” Y/N repeats slowly, chewing on her cuticle as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you—you still want to get dinner?”

“Of course.  I enjoy our weekly dinners, don’t you?” Brant asks, confusion finally slipping into his voice. “I’ve missed them.”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over her bottom lip. “Okay.  Yeah.  Dinner. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know when I book a flight home.”

“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ll let you get on the road. Let me know when you’re available.” Brant’s voice already sounds more and more distant. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Y/N replies lamely, letting her phone drop to the crumpled bed sheets.

There’s a rustling behind her, the sound of a belt clicking, of the zipper on a duffel bag being pulled shut.  Y/N waits for a moment, to give Harry the chance to say something to her, but nothing comes.  Finally, she twists around on the bed, her nerves running on high.

Harry is completely dressed now, a black t-shirt covering his previously bare chest, and he’s tied his familiar green bandana into his damp chestnut locks.  His sunglasses are hanging on the neck of his shirt, but even without them covering his emerald eyes, Y/N can’t decipher anything that’s swirling within them.

“That—that was Brant.” She says finally, scratching a nail over the palm of her hand.

Harry jerks his head in a nod as he shoulders his duffel bag. “Yeah.  I heard.” Tapping his fingers against the leather strap, he finally spares a glance at Y/N. “He wants to take you to dinner, huh?”

Running her teeth along her bottom lip, Y/N takes a moment before she replies. “Harry, I—”

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters, taking long strides to the door and unlocking it with a harsh turn of his hand. “Just hurry up, yeah?  I want to get on the road soon, so we’re not late to the rehearsal dinner.”

When he slams the door behind him, Y/N breaks.

…

And just like that, it’s like they’re back at square one.

It really feels like the first day all over again, Y/N thinks, in every sense of the sentiment. From the way she and Harry sit in silence, each avoiding the other’s gaze, to how every single one of Harry’s movements is filled with a tight and tense irritation.  Even the sound of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” is familiar, echoing through the speakers of the car like a soundtrack to an old memory.  

After four hours, the silence is finally getting to her.  She can’t stop shifting in her seat, her muscles seizing from hours on end in the same position—although, frankly, her soreness may partially be a result of her and Harry’s activities from the night before—and with every short and hard breath Harry sighs, Y/N gets more and more antsy.

“Harry.” She says finally, risking a glance at him from the corner of her eye.  He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift, both grips tight enough to stretch his skin over the bones of his knuckles until it goes white.  At the sound of Y/N’s voice, his jaw flexes, but he shows no other evidence that he heard her.

A frustrated sigh falls past Y/N’s lips. “Harry.” She says again, firmer this time. “Are you going to ignore me all the way to the Catskills?”

Realizing that he can’t feign deafness, Harry lets his shoulders lift once and drop down again in a quick motion. “’M not ignoring you.” He mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“We’re not talking. At all.” Y/N taps her fingers against her knee, just slightly off the beat of the music. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?”

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice flatter than she’s ever heard it. “What’s there to talk about?”

Y/N twists her body in her seat, her seat belt nearly cutting into her throat with how quickly she moves. “What the hell do you mean, what’s there to talk about?  There’s plenty!  Last night—”

Harry cuts over her with a sharp tone, still refusing to look away from the road. “Last night we got drunk, and we made a mistake.” His grip tightens even more on the gear shift as he moves it to accelerate the car. “And it shouldn’t have happened.”

It takes a few moment for the words to register in her brain, and Y/N blinks slowly as the process unfolds. “You think it was a mistake?” She tries to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible.

“I do.” Harry nods tightly, and while Y/N thinks that she can detect something else underneath his tone, his dark sunglasses hide the truth of his thoughts from her. “We got caught up with trying to—to pretend we’re not who we are.  But we know who we are.”

If Y/N’s brain couldn’t process Harry’s words a moment ago, it’s working in overdrive now as she draws a million different conclusions from the conversation.  What the fuck does “we know who we are” mean?  Wasn’t the whole point of this trip—the long lesson they’d learned together—that both of them were different than the other had thought? Hadn’t Harry proved to her, over and over, how he was so much more considerate and empathetic than she’d previously imagined?  Hadn’t she shown him that she wasn’t the Ice Queen he thought she was, wasn’t as controlling, wasn’t as perfect?  Hadn’t that been a good thing?  Hadn’t they bonded at roadside fruit stands, small souvenir shacks, ghost town gas stations, and dingy motel rooms?

But maybe…maybe she had imagined all of that, because the way that Harry is actively avoiding her gaze is telling her that he isn’t thinking the same thing.  Everything from his body language, to his tone of voice, to his attitude, is telling her that he’s just as stubborn and closed off as he was when they first met.  He hasn’t changed.  If he had, he wouldn’t be refusing to do something as simple as look at her.

Still, something about the interaction doesn’t sit right with Y/N.  Although she turns to face the windshield again, she keeps Harry in the corner of her gaze. “Is this…” She swallows hard. “Does this have something to do with Brant calling?”

A harsh snort is all the response she gets. “Christ, no.  Trust me, nothing that prick can do has that much of an affect on me.” Even from behind his sunglasses, Y/N can tell that Harry is rolling his eyes. “Although I suppose it is a reminder of where you belong.”

A flash of irritation rips up Y/N’s spine. “A reminder of what?” She repeats, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me, Y/N, don’t make me say it again.” Harry taps a finger to the song, perfectly on the beat. They’re out of sync, Y/N realizes. Had they ever been in sync?

No, she decides.  They hadn’t.  She’d just been fooling herself.  Being in the car for five days with only Harry for company had deluded her, but soon she’d be with Jo, and a million other people, and when she’s not in stuck in Harry’s car, smelling Harry’s cologne, listening to Harry’s music, she’ll have a clear head.  She’ll be able to think straight.

“Fine.” Y/N crosses her arms firmly over her chest, leaning her head against the cool glass of the passenger window.  A sign welcoming them to the state of New York whizzes past. “I won’t make you say it again.  You don’t have to say anything.”

…

“So?  What do you think?”

Y/N steps over the threshold of the cozy cabin, analyzing every little detail of the room as quickly as she can.  The interior seems to be one open concept room, cleverly split up with small architectural dividers.  The living room and kitchen flowed into each other smoothly, with a kitchen island dividing the space.  To the left of the living room is a small reading nook, holding a comfortable looking wicker swing chair and a half-size bookshelf that seems to be well stocked. Separating the reading nook from the rest of the cabin is the staircase, which Y/N presumes leads up to the master bedroom and bathroom that’s lofted above on the halved second floor. Between the wall of windows giving a beautiful view of the forest, the fire quietly cracking in the living room, and the potted plants scattered around the cabin, Y/N has to admit that she thinks she could live in this space for the rest of her life.

“It’s beautiful, Jo.” She finally replies, setting down her suitcase and duffel bag as she continues to look around.  She walks to the living room first, brushing her fingers over the cable knit blanket that’s draped over the back of the comfortable looking couch. “Is this for you and Laure?”

“Nope.  It’s for me and you.” Jo replies, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge.  She pulls out a bottle of rosé, motioning over her shoulder to the cupboard. “Grab a couple wine glasses, would you?”

Y/N crosses to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards until she finds the glasses.  Setting them down on the island, she gives Jo a confused look. “Me and you?”

Jo gives her a familiar grin as she uncorks the wine, and the sight of it lights a warm fire in Y/N’s chest.  It feels like home. “It’s tradition for the bride not to see the bride before the wedding, isn’t it?  So after the rehearsal dinner, Laure and I will say goodbye until the ceremony tomorrow, and you and I—” She fills Y/N’s glass liberally. “Will have one last night of single girl fun.  And then you can have the cabin to yourself tomorrow night, because I will be on my honeymoon, and, hopefully, getting laid.”

Y/N smiles back at her as she lifts her glass, clinking it against Jo’s. “Sounds like a plan.” After taking a long sip, Y/N leans her elbows on the counter, propping her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow.  Married!”

“Yeah, well, that’s old news.” Jo waves her hand as she lowers her wine glass from her lips, her inquisitive eyes alight with mischief. “I’d rather know how the trip with Harry was. Are you two finally getting along? The last time I called, you actually sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

Y/N pauses with her wine glass half lifted to her lips.  Part of her wants to tell Jo everything, because she always tells Jo everything. It feels wrong to have a secret from her.  But then again, she’s never had a reason to have a secret before.  Right now, however…the last thing Jo and Laure need the night before their wedding—three hours before the rehearsal dinner—is to be stressed because the maid of honour and the best man had a drunken one night stand in Cleveland, Ohio.  

“I wouldn’t say we’re getting along.” Y/N says diplomatically, taking a sip of wine between her words. “We’re…a bit better, I suppose.  But we’re not that close.”

“Really?” When Jo raises an eyebrow, Y/N almost swears that she can detect a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But Harry said—”

“He said what?” Y/N asks quickly, the diplomatic tone disappearing immediately.

Jo tugs on her bottom lip as she gives a small shrug of her shoulders. “Nothing, I guess.  I don’t know.  I overheard him and Laure talking last night, but I couldn’t really make much of it out.  It sounded like you two were at a bar.”

The new information makes Y/N pause.  Harry had called Laure while they were at the bar last night.  Harry had felt the need to call Laure while they were at the bar last night.  What had been so urgent, so pressing, that he needed to speak to her right then and there?

“A bar, yeah.” Y/N finally replies after a moment. “It was alright.  We just had a couple drinks to relax from being in the car.”

“Just drinks?  That’s all?  Nothing else?”

Y/N clears her throat, gulping down the rest of her wine before answering. “That’s it.  Nothing else.”

…

“Here you go, Miss Bride.” Y/N grins at Jo as she tops off her mimosa, fixing the tie of her pink silk robe as she settles back down in her chair. “Something to relax you, yeah?”

Jo glances up at Y/N, her pen pausing over the page of her notebook.  She’s careful when she moves her head, so as not to disturb the hairstylist that’s carefully curling her hair, but still manages to meet Y/N’s eye. “I’m relaxed.” She argues, but takes a sip of the drink nonetheless. “I just love mimosas.  You can’t blame me for that.”

Y/N gives a slight shrug as she brushes a strand of her own carefully styled hair over her shoulder. Jo, being Jo, had insisted on sleeping in as much as she could that morning, so when the hair and makeup lady had arrived two hours ago, Y/N had been the first one to get made over. Which, honestly, she quite enjoyed, but the real feat would be remaining picture perfect until the ceremony, which is still two hours away.

“Will you do something for me?” Jo asks suddenly, her pen still scratching over her notebook.  She finishes signing her name with a messy signature, waiting until the hairdresser has paused her movements to rip the page from the notebook and fold it up.  She quickly writes Laure’s name on the front and extends the note to Y/N. “Will you bring this to Laure?”

Although Y/N accepts the note from her automatically, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “This isn’t an explanation of why you’re leaving her at the altar, is it?”

Jo flips Y/N off with an elegantly painted fingernail. “No, you jerk.  We agreed to write letters to each other right before the wedding.  As a little keepsake.”

A sudden lump develops in Y/N’s throat as she turns the note over in her hands, her mind flickering back to the last time she’d read something Jo wrote for Laure.  How Harry’s voice had sounded reciting Laure’s words for Jo. “You two are sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Y/N finishes her mimosa before standing up, tightening her robe once again. “I’ll take it to her now. Where’s her cabin?”

“Just down the path towards the resort.  Take a left when you reach the arrow sign.” Jo instructs her, setting her notebook down beside her before relaxing back into her chair.  Her eyes close as the hairdresser continues styling her hair. “You’ll find it.”

Y/N nods, slipping on her scuffed up Vans before dashing outside.  When the slight chill in the morning air hits her, she pulls her silk dressing gown around her tighter, and debates whether or not she should grab a proper jacket.  She decides against it, however, and ignores the goosebumps popping up on her bare legs as she begins to walk down the path Jo mentioned.

It’s a quiet and calm morning, and Y/N can hear birds chirping and flittering through the pine trees around them.  The trees themselves add a wonderful scent to the air, in addition to the faint smell that indicates it may rain later.  Glancing up, Y/N can see that the sky is overcast, giving another indication of future weather patterns.  A small sigh escapes her.  A storm would be just the thing that’s needed today, she thinks wryly.  

When Y/N reaches the arrow sign, which points towards the lake, the main resort building, and the cabins, she takes a sharp left.  And practically slams into Harry’s chest.

On instinct, Harry’s strong hands grip her arms, steadying her as she stumbles back from him.  Y/N’s eyes widen as she registers who she almost walked into, and she can tell Harry is just realizing it’s her.  His grip on her tightens for just a moment before it releases, and he takes a step back from her, creating space between their bodies.

“Sorry.” Y/N says after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was just—”

“Yeah.” Harry holds up his hand, and for the first time Y/N realizes that he’s holding a note identical to hers. “You’re on messenger duty too, huh?”

Biting her lip, Y/N nods slowly, holding up her own note. “Mhmm.”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Y/N doesn’t miss how Harry’s green irises pause during his scan of her bare legs.  Crossing her ankles together, Y/N lets her eyes wander too, admiring for a moment how Harry’s grey sweatpants cling to his hips.  But only for a moment.

“Well, here.” Y/N pushes the note towards him, taking the note that he trades her in return. “How’s Laure doing?”

Harry gives a half shrug, turning Jo’s note over and over in his fingers. “Pretty decent, except she won’t eat anything.  Says she’s too nervous.”

Y/N cracks a small smile at the image of Laure, someone who is usually so self assured and confident, being too nervous about anything. “Tell her she can’t have a drink until she eats.  That’s how I got some toast into Jo.”

“I’ll do that.” Harry says with a terse nod.  

A beat of silence falls between the two of them, the only sounds audible being the chirping of birds and the wind in the trees.  The latter sends a shiver through Y/N, and she wraps her arms around herself to rub her bare skin, trying to find a bit of warmth in the shade of the forest.

A crease appears between Harry’s brow as he registers the motion, and he quickly shrugs off his own jacket.  Before Y/N can refuse, he’s draping the fabric around her shoulders, careful not to touch any bare skin.

Although Y/N fixes the drape of the jacket, her mouth opens to protest. “Harry—”

“I should go.  I have to give this to Laure, and get her to eat something.” Harry’s voice is gruff as he takes a step back. “I suppose I’ll…see you at the wedding?”

Y/N nods slowly, her fingers still grazing over the hem of the jacket. “Yeah.” She should say more, she thinks.  She should voice her anger, or her hurt, or whatever the hell it is that’s curdling like a hot ball of lead inside her stomach, but she can’t think of the words. “Yeah, I—” I’m sorry.  I miss you. I wish I could take it back.  I wish I could do things over. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

…

“Uh, hello.  Can everyone hear me?”

Y/N watches with expectant eyes as Harry leans forward over the podium, his pink lips brushing against the microphone for just a moment before he takes a step back.  He looks so different than the last time she’d seen him with a microphone, she thinks.  He’s dressed so much more formally, in a striking emerald suit that matches the colour palette of the wedding, along with Y/N’s dress.  His cheeks are flushed from champagne, his eyes bright, but there’s a hint of nerves under his thick accent.  

Harry raises his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat quietly as he unfolds a piece of paper and smooths it on the podium. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Harry Styles.  I have had the honour of being Laure’s best man today, as well as her best friend since we were teenagers.” Harry pauses his speech to smile at Laure, the fondness for the bride apparent in his eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together—I’ve watched her go through a lot, too—and she’s always come out on the other side better than ever.  An example of this is when she made the decision—after living in England her whole life, never leaving, living in the same small brownstone for eighteen years—to move to America for university.”

Y/N lifts her champagne to her lips, taking a small sip while keeping her eyes glued to Harry.  The more he talks, the more relaxed he appears, as he naturally falls into the role of a performer again.  Out of the corner of her eye, she can practically see him charming every woman in the room, and it takes all her concentration not to roll her eyes.

“She’d made the decision a bit impulsively, and—in true Laure fashion—stuck to it like the stubborn person she is.” Harry laughs lightly, shaking his head at the memory as Jo nods in agreement beside Y/N. “She was so certain that moving was what she wanted, so determined to do it—and then the night before her flight, she showed up at my house in tears, talking about how she couldn’t possibly go through with the move.  She couldn’t leave behind everything she’d known.” Glancing down at his notes for a moment, Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. “It freaked me out a bit, I won’t lie.  To see someone who’s usually so sure of themselves question such a big decision. But I assured her that everything would be fine, that moving forward was always scary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.  Life always pushes us forward, whether we’re ready for it or not.  So Laure left, and a month later, I decided to go visit her in America, expecting to find her incredibly homesick, in tears, a mess.” A small smile begins to play at the corner of Harry’s lip. “Instead, I arrived to find her adjusted, happy, and about to go on a date with a girl she had met named Jo.”

A laugh ripples through the wedding guests, and Y/N can’t help but smile in spite of herself.  

“And I, uh…I was at a loss for words that day.” Harry’s eyes flicker to the head table, settling on the two brides with a happy smile, and yet…something in his eyes looks flatter, like he’s trapped in a deep thought. “I thought I was going to visit my friend, and comfort her, and instead I found her on a date, completely fine.  She didn’t need me to comfort her.  She was—and still is—so incredibly resilient. She always has been.”

Harry’s eyes travel again, but this time, they settle on Y/N.  She shifts in her seat as he looks her over, his eyes phasing emotions again while his tongue swipes over his lips quickly. “So anyways—” Harry quickly looks away when he catches Y/N’s eye, turning his attention back to the audience of wedding guests. “I suppose I’m the one to thank for this marriage, because if I hadn’t pushed Laure to come to America, she would never have met Jo.” An easygoing smile pulls at his pink lips as the crowd laughs lightly. “And now, Laure…you’re at that same place again.  A new beginning.  Except this time, you’re not alone.  You managed to find something that most of us…” Harry hesitates again. “Most of us spend our entire lives searching for, and when we find it, we manage to f—screw it up.” His eyes flicker to Laure’s grandmother when he catches the curse word, and Y/N hides a small laugh behind her champagne glass. “But you didn’t. You and Jo…you’re lucky.  You figured out what you wanted, and you didn’t let anything—fear, anxiety, or your…your own pride—” Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering to Y/N once more, and the glance makes her skin burn beneath her dress. “—stop you.  You’re both an inspiration to all of us.  I love you two.  To Jo and Laure!”

Y/N murmurs the toast with the rest of the crowd, raising her glass of champagne and draining it as her head spins with Harry’s words.  A waiter walks by and quickly refills the glass, grazing by Harry as he makes his way back to his seat on Laure’s right side.  Y/N barely gives herself a moment to catch his unreadable emerald eyes before she stands, carefully picking up the hem of her dress as she walks to the podium. It’s her turn now.

Stepping up to the microphone, Y/N clears her throat, resting her free hand against the wood to steady herself. “Thank you, Harry, that was…lovely.” Y/N begins, allowing herself one more stolen look at him.  His brow is furrowed, hands folded together over the cream tablecloth as his eyes focus on her.

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the maid of honour.  Jo and I have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, when she punched a boy in the nose for me, which, funnily enough, wasn’t the last time she’d have to do that.” A laugh rolls through the room, and Y/N gives an endeared look to Jo’s sheepish grin before turning to face the wedding guests again. “I’ve had the good fortune of having her on my side from day one, and…I know just how lucky that makes me.  There’s so many times where I’d…I wouldn’t have been able to handle what life threw at me if I didn’t have Jo with me.  She’s kind, and compassionate, and fiery, and just…the very best person I know. And if you know her, then I’m sure you’d agree.”

Y/N takes a moment to breathe, her parched tongue swiping quickly over her lips. “I’ve, um, I’ve never been a perfect person.  I’ve never been very good at…articulating what I feel, or—or making a hard choice. I’ve always followed a safer path, out of…fear, I suppose.” Not for the first time since she began talking, Y/N’s eyes travel to Harry.  He still has the same stoic expression over his features, but his eyes…she can tell he’s hanging on every word she’s saying, and is analyzing every syllable.

“But Jo has never done that.” Y/N continues, shaking her gaze from Harry to settle on her best friend. “Even when she’s been afraid, she’s pushed forward, usually dragging me along with her.  And it’s a good thing she has, because I wouldn’t have half the stories I have now if not for her.” Y/N cracks a smile. “But she just—when Jo loves you, you know it. She never hesitates to tell anyone. She never worries about it being too much.  She has the biggest heart, and if you’re lucky—really lucky—she’ll keep you inside it. And I used to worry about her, because in my mind, that was dangerous.  Being so open was so terrifying to me, I was certain that it would backfire for Jo.  And then she met Laure.”

Although it’s a struggle, Y/N manages to train her eyes on Laure without letting them travel to Harry. “Laure and Jo may seem different on the surface, but they both share giant hearts. And their differences balance each other out so perfectly.  You two—I never really believed in soul mates until I saw the two of you together.” Y/N admits, biting down hard on her lip when she catches Harry shifting in his chair from the corner of her eye. “But the way you two know each other, and speak to each other, and love each other…anyone who sees it can’t help but know that you’re meant for each other.  That you’ve been meant for each other since the beginning of time. Every choice you made, every path you took—all of it led you two to each other, because that’s what was destined to happen.  You—” Y/N’s voice catches in her throat, and she takes a moment to compose herself before speaking again. “You’re going to be happy together, because you were meant to be.  It’s as simple as that.”

Y/N knows that she can’t say anything else without beginning to unravel, so she simply raises her champagne glass in the air, deciding it’s best to leave it at that. “To Jo and Laure.”

Above the echoes of the wedding guests, Y/N can hear Harry’s unmistakable voice.

…

“‘She’s like the wind…through my tree’…”

With her champagne glass raised to her lips, Y/N pensively watches as Jo and Laure turn to the music in each other’s arms, holding one another close as the voice of Patrick Swayze drifts through the speakers.  When the pair had originally told Y/N that they wanted to dance to a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for their first dance, Y/N had laughed at the choice.  Now, however, as she watches Laure brush back a strand of hair from Jo’s face, her lips drifting down to whisper something in her new wife’s ear, Y/N has to admit that the song is the perfect choice for them.

“They look happy, don’t they?”

Y/N recognizes Harry’s voice, not needing to turn her head away from the couple on the dance floor to know that he’s moved from his chair three seats down.  Although the feeling of his warm breath on her neck is enough to make her shudder, as well as bring back memories of the nights they spent together, Y/N does her best to keep herself composed.

“They do.” She agrees after a moment, setting her fluted glass down on the table.  She keeps her fingers around the base, gently gliding them over the smooth crystal absentmindedly as she finally turns her head just enough to catch a sight of Harry.

He’s moved himself to Jo’s chair, with one hand braced against the table and one hand lightly settled on the back of Y/N’s seat.  He removed his suit jacket after his speech, but his waist coat is still buttoned properly, despite the sleeves of his dress shirt now being rolled to his elbows, exposing his tattoos.  His face is just as pensive as it’s been all day, but there’s some sort of change that Y/N can’t quite put a finger on.  There’s less of a guard in his emerald eyes, she thinks, before turning her attention back to the dance floor.

“Do you…” Harry licks his lips once, swiping a hand through his carefully styled curls before brushing over the back of his neck. “Would you like to dance?  With me?”

Y/N’s movements against the crystal flute pause.  That question was the last thing she expected him to ask. “I…” Clearing her throat, she keeps her eyes focused on the swaying of Jo and Laure. “I don’t know.”

A vibration on the back of Y/N’s chair lets her know that Harry’s tapping his fingers against it, the pattern familiar after watching him play the same rhythm on the steering wheel for five days. “You don’t have to, so—don’t feel like you have to say yes.  But I just…I don’t know.  I thought it would be nice.”

Yes, Y/N thinks wistfully, pursing her lips slightly at the nervous tone in Harry’s voice.  It would be nice.  To be wrapped in his arms again, his body close enough that she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath his formal clothing.  To feel his calloused hands within her own again, and resting on her waist, pulling her closer to himself with every passing moment…

“It…” Y/N glances down for a moment, fixing a crease in her dress with careful attentiveness. “It would be nice, yeah.  Until we try ripping each other’s throats out in the middle of the wedding.”

The joke is only half a joke, and Harry’s laugh is only half in amusement. “I didn’t really plan on that.”

“Well, it seems that things we don’t plan on keep happening, so…” As the music begins to fade out, Y/N finally turns her head to look at Harry straight on. “That’s not really a reassuring statement.”

A flicker of irritation flits through Harry’s eyes, a sight that’s become familiar in all her years of knowing him. “It was a simple question, Y/N.  Do you want to dance or not?”

As Y/N’s own irritation escalates, she knows that she should say no.  The best thing for her to do right now would be to distance herself from Harry, to get some space to clear her head, and to keep herself from making a scene.  Whatever there is to talk about—if there even is something they need to talk about—can be done at a later date, preferably not in the middle of a wedding.  And yet—

“Fine.” Y/N finished off her champagne glass, setting it back down on the table gingerly as a new song begins to drift through the speakers.  “Let’s go.”

Harry stands from his seat first, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up.  Although she’s wary, she takes it, the sensation of his cool rings against her own fingers growing more and more familiar with each moment she spends touching them.  

A few more couples have joined Jo and Laure on the dance floor now, and Y/N and Harry fit right in as he leads her to the center, keeping her hand held firmly in his own as his free hand finds her waist.  Y/N rests her own hand on his shoulder, gripping his sturdy frame carefully.

“‘Is love so fragile…and the heart so hollow’…”

The song, Y/N realizes, doing her best to focus on anything but the way Harry’s gaze is locked onto her with a frightening intensity, is one that she’s heard a few times over their road trip together.  The beat of the song is as familiar as a memory as the two of them sway to it, their motions careful and controlled.

“‘You’re saying I’m fragile; I try not to be…I search only for something I can’t see’…”

Harry’s hand on her waist, Y/N can’t help but notice, is so much more unsure than it was a few nights ago, when he pulled her close on top of the bar.  When he guided her movements in a way that was so much more frenzied than he’s doing now, and in a way that she misses.  She’s missed it, that breathless feeling.  The feeling of not knowing what’s coming next, and being enthralled by the unknown of it all.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today…give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirking up ever so slightly lets Y/N know that he’s listening just as intently to the lyrics as she is, and has the same events and memories floating through his head.  His hand begins to get braver, tightening his grasp on her as his hand begins to rub gently over her hip.

“Harry…” His name slips from Y/N’s lips involuntarily as she meets his jade eyes in question.  From the corner of her eye, she can see Laure and Jo watching the two of them as they dance, whispering into each other’s ears like girls gossiping in a school hallway. “What—?”

“Sh.” The sound is soft as it falls past Harry’s red lips, the crease between his brow slackening slightly as he sighs. “Just…don’t speak.  Not right now.”

“‘You in the moonlight…with your sleepy eyes…could you ever love a man like me’…”

The request is easy enough, but Y/N can’t make herself listen to it as she cocks her head to the side, the furrow of her own brow matching Harry’s. “Why?”

“‘And you were right…when I walked into your house…I knew I’d never want to leave’…”

The breath that Harry sucks in is mostly taken through his teeth, his lips pursing immediately after as he contemplates his answer. “I just want to…remember this moment. Properly remember it, before tonight ends, and we…”

“‘Sometimes I’m a strong man…sometimes cold and scared’…”

“…We go our separate ways.” Harry finally finishes, his eyes shifting to the floor as he pulls Y/N even closer to his chest.  Her elbow is completely bent to her body as her fingers drift further from his shoulder, moving closer to where the slope of his neck begins.

Although the explanation makes sense, the thought of going a separate way from Harry catches Y/N’s breath in her throat, so much so that she can barely choke out a reply. “Okay.” She manages, the lump in her throat growing with every passing second.

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Eyes drifting closed of their own accord, Y/N leans her head forward, settling her cheek into the curve of Harry’s shoulder.  The smell of his cologne lingers in the fabric of his emerald waistcoat, intoxicating her further with every breath she takes.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Something warm and soft presses against the top of Y/N’s head, and she knows that it’s Harry’s own cheek resting against her.  A gentle sigh falls from his mouth, and Y/N feels every moment of it, from the rise and fall of his chest against hers to the breath of air that blows slowly from his lips.  She memorizes the motions, something for her to play in her head again later when she’s alone on a plane back to L.A., where her regular life is waiting for her. Where Brant is waiting for her.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

Y/N quickly lifts a finger to her eye, wiping away the moisture that’s pooling on her lash line before returning her grip to Harry’s shoulder. “If I said…” She hesitates, taking the time to choose her words carefully.  She needs to choose them carefully. “If I said that I loved every moment of the road trip…would you believe me?”

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Harry squeezes her hand in his own, his entire body tightening in response to her words, and for a moment, Y/N fears that she’s overstepped.  An apology is already forming in her mouth, about to spill from her tongue, when Harry’s response cuts her off, his voice hesitant and anxious and so quiet that she almost can’t make out the words.

“If I said that I loved every moment I’ve ever spent with you, and not just these last five days, would you believe me?”

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Y/N’s eyes snap open, her head quickly lifting from Harry’s shoulder to look at him with wide and astonished eyes.  Although the struggle is written clearly upon his face, he doesn’t shy his eyes away from hers, and instead holds her gaze as the voice of Stevie Nicks continues to croon over the speakers.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

As the music fades out, another song begins to fade in, increasing the tempo and causing the other couples around them to break apart and mill around the dance floor.  Only Y/N and Harry stay pressed together, stuck in a bubble of all their own, frozen in a moment of change, and unable to move forward or back in the same way they once had.

Over the fabric of her dress, Y/N can feel Harry’s thumb brushing against her hip, sending electrifying pulses throughout her body.  A loose curl has fallen from his styled hair into the path of his eyes, dusting over his eyelashes lightly as he blinks.  Did she believe him, she wonders?  Could she believe him?

“Can we…” Her mouth is dry when she tries to respond, and she licks her lips quickly, noticing how Harry’s eyes flicker to follow the motion. “Can we discuss this after the wedding? I just—I don’t want to take attention away from Jo and Laure—”

“Yeah.” Harry nods roughly, his hand squeezing hers one last time before he slowly drops it, stepping back from her with great care.  Y/N has to bite her tongue to stop herself from whining in protest.

“Yeah.” Harry repeats the word as he fixes his hair, his eyes drifting from hers. “We can discuss it later.”

…

Later, after Jo and Laure cut the cake, after each of them danced with their parents; later, after the staff members began to clear the plates from every table, after everyone waved goodbye to Jo and Laure as their car drove off to the honeymoon cottage snuggled further up the mountain side; later, after guests began to depart in their own cars; later, after Harry snagged a bottle of merlot from the kitchen, after Y/N slipped off her heels during the walk back to her cabin, the feeling of the ground beneath her feet oddly comforting; later, after Y/N opened the door, allowing Harry to step in first before following…

Later is each of them standing in the kitchen, still in their formal clothes, more disheveled than they were at the start of the day, as Y/N opens the cupboard and reaches for the two largest wine glasses she can find.

“Here.” She sets them down on the counter, allowing Harry to fill them to the brim with the crimson liquid. He pushes a nearly full glass towards her before taking the other in his hand, each of them bringing the glasses to their lips for a long drink.

Harry is nervous, and Y/N can tell.  She’s gotten a bit better at reading him over their journey together, and she can see the anxiety that’s running through him in his body language.  However, although the tapping of his fingers, the rubbing of his lips, and the crease between his brow is a major indication, she knows the real reason she’s aware of Harry’s nerves is because she’s hyper aware of her own.

“You, uh—” Harry clears his throat quietly, the action half reflex, half habit. “You looked really pretty today.  Beautiful, actually.”

A light flush heats Y/N’s cheeks, both from the wine and his compliment. “Thank you.” She murmurs, glancing down at her forest coloured dress. “I’m just glad the dress survived the car.”

A chuckle falls from Harry’s lips as he lifts his wine glass again. “Yeah.  A real miracle, huh?”

Y/N taps her fingers anxiously against the kitchen island, the coolness of the countertop a nice contrast to her heated skin. “Well, considering all the things that didn’t survive…” She trails off, watching as Harry’s face falls when the meaning of her words washes over him.

Still, Harry steels his shoulders, resolve painting itself over his pained features. “You mean us, yeah?” His tone is blunt and to the point. “After we…?”

“I just—what the fuck was that, Harry?” Y/N asks, her voice every bit as exasperated and exhausted as she feels. “I thought we—and then you—and now, saying you—you’ve always…?”

“I know I’ve been—I know I fucked up.” Harry drops his head, shame clear in his voice as he twists a ring around one of his fingers. “I know that, Y/N.  I’m so sorry—”

“I’m just so confused, Harry.  Really, I—” The words spill out of her now, faster than they ever have. “I know we were drunk when we fucked, but I…I liked it.  And the next morning felt so good, and so right, and then Brant called, and it was like…a switch flipped inside you.  And you called us a mistake.  So I just—I don’t understand how you could say that less than forty-eight hours ago, and then tell me you’ve always loved being around me tonight.”

Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips once before he inhales slowly, collecting and preparing himself for the conversation. “I’m sorry.” He says lowly, his accent thicker with remorse. “I didn’t want to—I felt like it was a mistake, but not because of anything you did.  It was because I knew that I had feelings for you, and I knew that you didn’t have feelings for me.”

The admission of his feelings was clear in his speech before he actually spoke the words, but the verbal acknowledgement of them still leaves an ache in Y/N’s chest as she refutes the statement. “You didn’t know that!” She says hotly, her hand tightening around her glass with every breath. “You wouldn’t let us talk about it, so how could you know?”

“Because Brant called!” While Harry’s voice doesn’t raise in volume, it does in intensity. “Brant called, and asked you to dinner, and you said yes!”

“What, did you want me to break things off with him right then and there?  Over the phone?” Y/N demands, an incredulous look on her face as she appraises Harry. “I’m not a bitch, Harry.  That would be heartless, and I’m not—I don’t want to hurt anyone. And maybe, maybe, it would be different if I felt anything for Brant, anything that was even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you, the good and the bad, but I don’t!”

Y/N’s words hang heavy in the air between them, flickering through the room like the dim light of the light fixture above them.  There’s just enough light, however, that she can watch as her words roll over Harry, sinking into every pore of his body until all the defiance rolls out of him.

“What—” His voice cracks with emotion, and he takes a moment to compose himself before he tries again. “What do you feel for me?”

Turning her eyes down to her wine, she raises the glass to her lips, draining more than half of it in one swift motion.  When she speaks again, her voice is slick with the liquor. “What does it matter?” She asks softly. “If you couldn’t believe it enough to not try to push me away the moment I let myself be vulnerable?”

“It wasn’t—your vulnerability wasn’t apparent to me.” Harry lifts the wine bottle automatically, refilling Y/N’s glass with merlot. “It was mine that scared me.  Brant called, and you spoke to him, and I felt like—it was like that first date all over again, when you gave your attention to that guy from your class.  I felt…” Staring into his own wine, Harry mulls over his words as if the liquor can reveal the perfect thing to say. “I felt like a jealous teenager again, like a proper idiot.  And I—you’ve always been so much more put together than me, and refined, and steady, and Brant clearly fits into your world neatly, so I—”

“Stop fucking doing that.” Y/N’s voice is as sharp as ice, as harsh as frostbite. “How many times can we prove to each other that we’re more than our projections of the last seven years?  How many times until it sticks?”

Harry studies Y/N’s face, his emerald eyes scanning over every slope and curve of her expression before he replies. “I didn’t think you felt anything for me.  I’m still not…sure…”

“Harry, I feel—I feel everything with you.” Y/N’s voice drops to a hushed whisper, as if what she’s admitting is top secret. “I feel like I can be myself.  I can be as stupid or serious as I need to be, and you’ll just…accept it.  The only person I’ve ever felt that with before is Jo.  No one else.  And it—it’s terrifying, but good, and then you pushed me away again, and that fucking hurt.  You have the ability to hurt me now, and the moment you got it, you did.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry mumbles the words, rubbing his hand over his flushed cheeks slowly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.  If I’d known—”

“But you didn’t even ask. You can’t do that, okay?” When Y/N looks up at him, she can see the vulnerability on her face reflected in Harry’s eyes. “Please.  I don’t care if you get jealous, or angry, or—or anything else that’s as irritating as I know you can be—” A soft snort echoes from Harry. “Just be honest with me. Tell me.  Ask me.”

“What about…” Harry reaches across the kitchen island, taking Y/N’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What I said to you earlier?  I told you how I felt.   And I asked what you feel for me.  Can you be honest with me about that?”

“I can.” Y/N says carefully, pursing her lips for a moment. “I…I’m not sure if I’m ready to say something as…decisive as you do.  I’ve never really—I know that I feel…more intensely for you than I ever have for anyone else.  I just don’t know…how intense, or…I can’t describe it.”

“Maybe I can help.” Harry tugs gently on Y/N’s arm, bringing her around the kitchen island to his side of the room.  With his hand still holding hers, he leads her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her with him.  He’s mindful of the skirt of her dress, fixing it carefully so that it doesn’t get caught beneath her. “To me, love is…wanting to be near the other person. Do you want to be near me?”

Y/N nods softly. “I do.” She whispers into the darkness, the cabin quiet save for their breathing and the chirping of crickets outside.

“And what about…” Harry lifts a hand to caress her face, his calloused fingers gentle against her warm skin as he brushes over her cheekbone. “This?  Do you like being touched by me?”

Y/N’s skin burns beneath his touch. “I do.  A lot, actually.”

“And even when we were arguing…when we weren’t speaking to each other, and wouldn’t look at each other…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, the motion staining his lips an even darker pink than they were before. “Did you want me as badly as I wanted you?”

Harry’s other hand begins to rub Y/N’s thigh over her dress, still heating her skin even with the layers of fabric preventing actual contact.  Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. “Yes.” She breathes, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “I did.  I still do.”

“Obviously, I…I’d like it if you could know exactly how you feel, but…” Harry shrugs slightly, his hand drifting down to rest on the side of Y/N’s neck. “I know that it’s different for you.  You’re not used to it.  You don’t have to put a label on it, yeah?  I just want you to be comfortable with me.  As long as you’re mine, you can take as long as you need to express how you feel.”

Relief spreads through Y/N’s body at Harry’s words.  The freedom to take her time, to feel like she doesn’t need to have all the answers right away, is something that none of her past partners have ever offered her, and a familiar sensation begins to curl itself around Y/N’s core as Harry caresses her neck. “Yours?” She repeats slowly, her senses feeling like they’re processing through molasses. “Am I yours?”

“I’d like you to be.” The corner of Harry’s pink lip pulls up, but there’s an air of anxiety in his words. “Are you?”

The fabric of her dress swishes beneath Y/N as she pulls herself into Harry’s, managing to settle one knee of either side of him beneath the layers of tulle. “I am.” She murmurs, her hands wrapping themselves around his sturdy shoulders.  Their noses bump together as she moves closer, breath mingling in the small space between their lips. “I’ll be yours.”

Harry’s breath washes over her as he sighs gently, the fragrance of merlot and champagne settling on the back of her tongue. “Laure and Jo will be happy.”

A small laugh, mostly an exhale of breath more than anything else, sounds from Y/N as she twists the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck between her fingers. “Mmm.  Probably because they won’t have to break up any more fights.”

“No, no, we’ll still fight. It keeps things interesting.” Harry’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, his nose brushing over Y/N’s once more as he tilts his head to the side. “We’ll just have a lot more fun when we make up with each other.”

Harry’s fingers find the bare expanse of Y/N’s back between the straps of her dress, gliding his fingertips over her warm skin.  The sensation of his cool touch against her sends a shiver up her spine, and she twists herself closer to him in return, but keeps the inch gap between their lips. There’s an anticipation between them, but also a stubbornness.  A refusal to be the first one to break.

“A lot more fun?” Y/N questions, massaging the tips of her fingers into Harry’s scalp.  She lets her painted nails scratch along him gently, just enough to make his eyelids flutter at the sensation. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I could tell you…” Harry purrs his words, pressing his head back into the palm of her hand. “Or I could show you.  It’s up to you.”

His words offer Y/N a choice.  Will she continue to push him?  Or will she give in?

When her hands retreat from his hair, Harry whines quietly, his half lidded eyes staring up at her in confusion.  Y/N braces herself against his shoulders as she carefully removes herself from his lap, picking up the fabric of her dress with one hand while grabbing the half empty bottle of wine with the other.

Harry watches as she takes a step backwards, her eyes glued to his as she appraises him.  As comfortable—and as attractive—as he looks on the couch with his emerald slack covered legs spread, sleeves half rolled up, chest heaving from their close contact, Y/N needs him somewhere else.

Harry’s tongue glides slowly over his parted lips as Y/N raises the bottle of wine to her mouth, taking a small sip before turning on her heel and walking to the staircase that leads up to the master bedroom of the cabin.  She only gets two steps up the stairs before she feels Harry’s hot breath on the back of her neck, his back and arms bracing against her as she climbs slowly.  With one hand still holding her dress out of her way, Y/N steps over the summit of the stairs, not waiting for Harry before she makes her way to the bedroom.

The bedroom itself has been tidied by the hotel staff since Y/N last saw it, and she’s never been more thankful for it; she and Jo had left it in a mess in their efforts to get ready that morning.  Instead, the staff have perfectly made the bed, complete with all the decorative pillows that Y/N had tossed onto the floor the night before, set fresh candles on the night tables and dresser, and left carefully rolled white towels on the edge of the bed.

A pair of tattooed arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, and a smile lights up her face as she falls back into Harry’s strong chest. “Your room is lovely.  Much nicer than those motels.” He rasps in her ear, teeth just barely grazing her lobe as he speaks. “Do you have a lighter for the candles?”

“You want to light candles?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she drops her dress from her hand in order to trail her fingers over Harry’s wrist. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Pressing a light kiss to her neck, Harry shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He murmurs. “We were so rushed last time.  I want to enjoy tonight.”

A smile creeps over Y/N’s face as she carefully unlaces Harry’s hands from her waist. “The lighter is in the bedside table, on the left.”

As Harry turns his attention to searching through the drawer, Y/N sets the wine down on the dresser, appraising her reflection in the mirror propped on top of it.  She begins to unpin the hair that had been carefully styled that morning, her hair only a fraction as put together as it had been. Setting the pins down on the wood surface in front of her, she takes her time taking off her earrings and bracelets, her eyes following Harry’s movements in the mirror.

The broad expanse of his back is still covered by his green waistcoat, rumpled as it stretches over the slope of his body.  With each movement, a new flicker of candlelight begins to glow in front of him, illuminating the silhouette of his body with soft flickers of orange and yellow.

“You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?” The question slips from Y/N’s lips before she’s turned around completely to watch Harry’s actions without the aid of the mirror. “You like this sort of thing—the candles, the cabin in the forest, coming from a wedding…”

Harry’s body shakes as a laugh rolls through him, his side profile barely visible as he turns to light another candle next to the bed. “I suppose I am, yeah.  Are you not?”

Y/N gives half a shrug, tucking her now loose hair behind her ears as best she can. “I don’t know. I’ve never really considered myself one…never saw the point in grand gestures.  They’re not very realistic.”

“They don’t have to be realistic.  That’s why it’s a grand gesture.” Harry says easily, sauntering towards her with a dimpled grin on his face.  He reaches carefully behind Y/N, his thumb flicking the lighter to spark as he tilts the candle towards the flame. “And I’d hardly call candles a grand gesture. Haven’t you ever been properly romanced?”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplates the question. “Not…really? I mean, there’s been a few things, but nothing…I don’t know.  We were always busy—”

“You can always make time for someone if you want to.” Harry sets the lit candle back down on the dresser, repeating the motion with two more before setting the lighter down as well. “Hasn’t Brant ever—well, I know he hasn’t, actually—” A snort leaves Harry’s mouth as he begins to run his hands over Y/N’s bare shoulders, massaging the skin gently. “Haven’t any of your exes asked you what you wanted, or…done something spontaneous for you, like a surprise gift, or trip, or…?”

Harry trails off as he registers the expression on Y/N’s face, and feels the tensing of her shoulders beneath his hands. “Um, not really.” She says, doing her best to keep her tone light. “We were always very…scheduled.  A surprise trip wasn’t really feasible.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth tugs down into a frown, his hands continuing to work over the knots in Y/N’s shoulders as he turns her around.  He presses himself behind her, moving her hair to one side of her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her spine. “The more we speak, the more I see why you’re so guarded, love.” He murmurs, his tone carefully controlled. “You don’t need to be like that with me.  If you’re…afraid of what I’ll think, or…you know I tease you, but you’re always fine with me.  We can be serious—”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, glancing at Harry over the curve of her own shoulder as she rests one hand over his own. “I don’t want to be serious.  I’m so sick of being serious.” She maneuvers Harry’s hand to her back as she speaks, guiding his fingers until they find the zipper of her dress. “I like that you tease me, and aren’t afraid to irritate me, and how you care enough to listen to what I say…”

The sound of her zipper slowly being tugged down pricks Y/N’s ears, and she watches Harry’s movement in the mirror.  There’s a clear look of concentration painted onto his expression as he helps remove her dress, but the moment he catches her eye, he locks into her gaze.  As he finishes pulling down the zipper, he keeps his emerald eyes glued to hers in the reflective surface, his stare becoming more and more hypnotic with every passing second.

“So what you’re saying is…” Harry’s lips brush against her ear as he leans closer to her, pressing a sensual kiss right over her pulse point. “You want me to romance you, but still annoy the shit out of you?”

Although it’s breathless, the sound that leaves Y/N’s mouth is unmistakably a laugh as Harry begins to trail kisses down her neck, slipping the strap of her dress down her shoulder. “Yes. It’s oddly endearing.”

“Oddly endearing is my middle name.” Harry’s laugh matches hers as his hands continue their task of removing her clothing.  Once Y/N’s straps are free of her shoulders, Harry helps her step out of the hunter green dress, carefully maneuvering the full skirt to the corner chair without creasing it.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty dress, now would—” Harry freezes mid sentence as he turns back around, his mouth falling slack as if seeing Y/N for the first time.

Despite having been naked and underneath his body less than forty eight hours ago, Y/N crosses her arms over her body.  The black teddy bodysuit she’d purchased to wear under her bridesmaid dress had, at the time of purchase, been more for practicality than anything.  The underwire of the strapless bra supported by the corseted middle was comfortable enough to keep her properly situated in her dress without a wardrobe malfunction, as well as serving as a barrier between Y/N’s sensitive skin and the stitched seams of the gown.  It’s not until this moment, with Harry staring at her with a hungry stupor in his eyes, does Y/N realize how racy the undergarment is.

“What?” She says after a moment, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I—it’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”

The nerves woven into her tone are enough to snap Harry from his thoughts. “This is…different.” He approaches her again, his steps slow and measured as he lays a hand on her lace covered side. “I was pissed last time I had you…didn’t get to properly take in the sight of you…” Harry scratches his nails over one of the mesh panels, his jade eyes darkening another shade once more.

“I didn’t get to enjoy you, either.  And yet you’re still fully clothed.” Y/N begins to fiddle with the buttons of Harry’s emerald waistcoat, working them open one by one as she forces herself to steady her breathing. “That’s not very fair, is it?”

“I suppose it’s not. Not fair at all.” Harry allows her to pull his waistcoat from his body, and it’s not until Y/N reaches the third button of his button down shirt that she realizes how much he’s enjoying her undressing him.

Every breath that Harry takes is ragged and shallow, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself controlled as Y/N’s fingers trail down the exposed skin of his chest.  The sight of Harry’s throat tightening as her nails scrape his skin is too much for her to resist, and she quickly attaches her lips to the base of his neck as she pulls the now unbuttoned shirt from his body.

Swiping her tongue over the new mark at the base of his throat, Y/N manages to pull a moan from Harry, and her lips pull back into a small smile against his hot skin at the sound. “You sound really nice when you do that.” She murmurs, her hand trailing down to his belt as she speaks.

She can feel Harry swallow again, and when he replies, his voice is as low as she’s ever heard it. “Then you’ll have to make me do it more, won’t you, pet?” His eyes are blown darker with lust as he grips Y/N’s hips tight, pressing the pads of his fingers into her flesh. “Are you going to give me moans that are just as pretty?  Or am I going to have to pull them from your stubborn little mouth?”  

Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest at his dominant tone, her mouth falling open in a gasp against Harry’s collar bones.  She can feel the vibrations of his laugh in her lips, the tingle not unlike the burning she feels in her core, and Harry’s hand travels from her hips to her chin as the burning increases.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Harry grips Y/N’s chin between his thumb and forefinger as she fumbles with his belt, the action clumsier without her looking at her movements. “Don’t get all shy now, m’love.  It’s just me. We’ve been here before.”

Pulling his belt from his dress pants, Y/N tosses it to the side, her fingers resting on the warm skin of Harry’s abdomen. “I know.  It just feels different now, that’s all.  After everything we said, and…” Her eyes are unable to hold his as she drifts off, and she drops her gaze to his swallow tattoos as her cheeks redden.

A gentle tap on her chin brings her eyes back to meet Harry’s intense gaze. “I know it feels different, but that’s not bad.” Harry’s voice softens as his thumb begins to stroke over her skin, the motion slow and gentle. “It can be really good, actually. I told you, I can properly enjoy you now.  If you’ll let me, that is.  It’s up to you.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she reaches behind her back.  Her fingers quickly find the laces at the back of the garment, and she pulls the tie undone slowly, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Harry’s the entire time. “I want that.  I want you, Harry.  I want…all of you.”

She barely has her laces undone before Harry is grasping at her hips, pulling her body tight against his again for another desperate kiss.  His lips glide between hers smoothly, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle before he lets his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging at the flesh in a hungry way.  With her lingerie hanging loosely off her body, Harry easily yanks the material down her body, fully exposing Y/N’s breasts and stomach.  

The sight of her exposed skin is enough to grab Harry’s attention from the removal of clothing, and he leaves the lace bodysuit hanging at her hips as his kisses begin to travel down her jaw, her neck, her collar bones, to her breasts.  A breathless gasp falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s open mouthed kisses become wetter and longer, until his hot mouth is wrapped around her stiff nipple.

“Harry—” Y/N tangles a hand in his already ruined curls, yanking hard at his hair as his teeth scrape against her sensitive skin. “God, be careful—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry murmurs the phrase against her breast, barely pulling his mouth off enough to speak.  His eyes, although half lidded with lust, flicker up to her with a playful look. “Y’really want me to be careful, pet?  Or do you want me to devour you?”

His words send another flood of heat to her core, and it takes all of Y/N’s focus to keep herself standing upright. “Shut up.” She mutters, voice pitched higher than normal as she tugs on Harry’s hair again, half in need and half to solicit a groan from him.

The groan he emits, however, just adds more sensation to his teasing as the sound causes a vibration against her nipple, and Y/N barely manages to pull Harry away from her before her knees buckle.

Harry, however, wastes no time, and it’s only the moment after Y/N pulls him off of her that he’s kissing her again, teeth clacking against teeth as he backs her up towards the bed.  When the back of her legs hits the mattress, Y/N stumbles back, but Harry catches her in time to lower her gently to the bed.

There’s an unmistakable tenderness in the movement, and the action catches Y/N right in the throat. “Thought you weren’t being careful?” Despite her ribbing tone, Y/N’s voice is breathless as she settles back into the soft sheets. “Isn’t that what you just said, pet?”

A growl rips from the back of Harry’s throat as he cages himself over her shaking body, his mouth already reattached to her chest to leave a fresh trail of bruises from her sternum to her abdomen. “You’re such a bloody minx, y’know that?”

Although she opens her mouth to reply, the only sound that leaves Y/N’s lips is a gasp as Harry quickly lifts her hips to pull her teddy completely off, tossing it to the side without so much as a glance.  He leaves one last bite on her lower abdomen, just hard enough to leave an imprint of his mouth, before soothing the mark with a wet swipe of his tongue over the red skin.

“Knees up, minx.” Harry’s accent is thick, dripping from his voice like honey as his hands rub her lower calves, helping to push them up on the bed until Y/N’s legs are bent and spread open in a position he likes.  The way that Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips tells Y/N of his intentions right away, and she braces herself on her elbows on the bed before pulling back.

Harry, who had been leaving open mouthed kisses along Y/N’s knees, makes a disgruntled sound at the loss of contact. “Where do y’think you’re going?” He asks in frustration, pulling himself onto the bed and crawling after her.  Gripping one of her ankles, he spreads her open again, resuming the path his mouth had been making to her core a moment ago. “Trying to get away from me?”

A breathless laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “More like trying to get comfortable.  It’s been so long since I’ve had someone…” Despite Harry’s position between her legs, Y/N can’t bring herself to say the words.

“Had someone what? Eat your cunt?” Harry asks crudely, raising an eyebrow as he kisses her inner thigh.  His hot breath rolls over her core, causing Y/N to sigh as she relaxes back into the sheets. “That’s a tragedy, love.  Especially when you taste so sweet.  I remember from a few nights ago…I just barely got a taste when we…”

She should know better, Y/N thinks.  She should know, now that she knows Harry well enough, that something like this is coming, especially since it’s exactly what he did last time he was between her legs. Still, when his ringed index finger runs quickly between her folds, becoming coated in her wetness just for Harry to pop it into his mouth like a satisfied and smug ass, Y/N half jumps off the bed.

“Sensitive, are you?” Harry laughs around his finger, taking great care to lick off every bit of her wetness. “Just as sensitive as you are sweet.”

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, doing her best to give him a scathing look. “You could’ve warned me, you—”

Her complaint is cut off abruptly by Harry licking over her slit with the flat of his tongue, collecting every drop of arousal before suctioning his lips over her clit. “What was that?” He mutters between his actions, flicking his tongue over Y/N’s clit as she grasps the sheets between her fingers. “I didn’t quite catch it, love.”

Falling back onto the pillows, Y/N allows her eyes to close for just a moment as she twists the cotton sheets between her hands. “Shut—shut up.” She moans, one hand releasing the sheets to latch onto Harry’s curls.  She tugs harshly, and the moan he releases sends shivers from her core into her spine.

Although Harry laughs against her, his smirk detectable against her folds as his tongue continues to work over her, a silence falls between them as he continues to eat her out. It shouldn’t be surprising, she manages to think as she tugs on his curly locks, that Harry is giving her the best oral she’s ever received.  Everything he does to her, from irritating her, making her laugh, to pleasuring her, is so intense that it only makes sense.

Harry’s tongue dips inside Y/N’s entrance, proving that thought to be true for what seems to be the millionth time that night.  Y/N can’t help but writhe on the sheets now, her body unable to contain the pleasure that’s building inside her core like never before.

When a gasping whine echoes from Y/N, a sound she’s never even heard herself make before, one of Harry’s hands moves from its position on her thigh, where he’s been holding her open so he can continue to work.  It travels up her leg to her pelvis, pressing flat on her lower abdomen and keeping her hips secure to the bed.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, pet?” Harry’s mouth is red, coated with her wetness when he glances at her.  He begins to rub circles on her abdomen, both soothing her and creating an ache deep inside her that she knows can only be satisfied by his cock. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum on my mouth, yeah?”

Y/N whimpers in response, barely managing to keep her eyes open as she nods desperately. “I-I need—your fingers, or—”

“No, no, pet, you don’t need that.” Harry assures her between long licks over her clit. “I’ll fill you later, but you’re going to cum from my mouth.  I know you can do it, love.  I know you can.”

“I—” Harry’s hand pressed to her abdomen is the only thing keeping Y/N from rutting her hips into the air in desperation. “Please, Harry, I—”

“You can do it.” Breath hot against her entrance, Harry dips his tongue within her again, moving it in and out slowly as his nose brushes against her sensitive bundle of nerves. “You—fuck—you’re so ready, Y/N, I know you can do it…just relax, pet…let go…”

Let go.  The command is so simple, and yet, isn’t that all Y/N’s ever wanted?  Isn’t that exactly what Harry has managed to allow her to do this entire trip?  No sooner does the thought cross her mind that Harry’s teeth graze over her clit, tweaking it ever so gently before pressing the flat of his tongue against it once more.  He gives a harsh suck, mouthing something she can’t understand, and then Y/N is tugging on his chestnut curls with a renewed desperation as she falls over the brink of pleasure.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” His name is the only thing Y/N can repeat as she orgasms, her head falling back against the pillows while the waves of her pleasure wash over her.

Harry untangles her hand from the sheets, weaving his fingers through her own to give her something solid to hold onto as she loses herself in the sensations.  Although he keeps his mouth pressed to her, his actions are gentler, just licking the wetness that drips from her entrance as she rides out her orgasm.

It takes a few moment for the pleasure to recede enough that Y/N can become aware of her surroundings again. Chest heaving, she lolls her head to the side, her hand falling from Harry’s curls and onto the crumpled sheets.

Harry finally pulls away from her then, pulling himself from between her legs to the side of Y/N’s shaking body.  He licks his wet lips, savouring the last drops of her arousal before pressing softer kisses to her stomach, her sternum, her collar bones, until he reaches her lips.

“You alright, love?” Harry asks, voice quiet in the hum of the night as he settles beside her.  He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, and the motion is so gentle that Y/N almost tears up. “Just take some deep breaths.”

“I—” Y/N sucks in another breath as Harry wraps an arm around her stomach. “I’m alright.  Just…trying to catch my breath.” She laughs nervously as her cheeks redden in a post-orgasm haze. “You’re, uh, you’re really good at that.”

Harry’s laugh is much more amused than hers. “Thank you.  I quite enjoy it, so it would be rather sad if I wasn’t good at it.”

“That’s true.” Y/N hums, rolling her head onto Harry’s shoulder.  He rubs small circles on her waist, and the action gives her something to focus on as she evens her breathing.

Harry sighs in satisfaction. “You know, if you had shagged Brant, I doubt his cunnilingus skills would have been as good as mine.” He says thoughtfully, as if he’s been pondering the idea for a while.

Y/N groans, bracing her hand against is muscled chest to shove him away. “Do not mention Brant while I’m lying next to you naked!  Christ, I shouldn’t have to say that!”

Harry laughs as he readjusts himself, pulling his body over hers while his lips work against her neck. “I’m sorry.  I won’t bring him up again, I swear.”

Huffing slightly, Y/N settles herself back into the sheets. “Good.”

“But for the record—”

“If you keep speaking, I’m not giving you a blowjob.” Y/N warns, shooting Harry a warning glance. “Are you prepared to give that up?”

The speed at which Harry’s face falls is almost comical.  His brow creases as his ruby lips pull down into a pout, his arms keeping himself suspended above Y/N as he relents. “Alright, I’m sorry.  Truly, I am.  I’ll stop.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes focus on Harry’s shining green irises. “Good, because I really want to blow you.”

The crude admission catches Harry by surprise, his eyebrows jumping up in shock as he rolls to the side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he rakes a hand through his messy curls as he answers with a measured tone. “You do?”

Y/N nods slowly, pushing herself up to sit on her knees as one of her hands begins to trace over the muscles of Harry’s chest. “I do.  Like you said…I didn’t get to last time.  And I bet you taste good.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth as he gives a sharp nod. “Yeah.  Okay.  If you want to—”

“I do.” Y/N presses on Harry’s chest to push him back again, but this time she does it carefully, settling him back into the sheets like he did for her.  Moving so that she’s on her knees beside him, she gives him a quick kiss, only letting herself enjoy his slightly chapped lips against hers for a moment before she directs her attention to the bulge in his Calvin Klein boxers.

Y/N trails a finger over the line of hair leading to the waistband, feeling the muscles of Harry’s abdomen contract under her finger. “Sensitive, huh?” She asks quietly, mimicking what he had said to her before earlier.

Harry inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Yeah.  So don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.  I’m just…warming you up.” Y/N continues the motion for a moment before her fingers drift to the elastic of his boxers.  She dips a finger beneath it, continuing to tease his abdomen before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his clothed bulge.

Harry’s hips jerk in reaction, his mouth falling open as he spits out a curse. “Bloody hell…”

“Feel good?” Y/N only lifts her mouth enough so that the soft murmur can be heard.  She can feel Harry’s cock twitching as her lips move over it, and the thought that she’s turning him on enough for him to twitch in his boxers sends a flood of heat between her thighs.

“Feels really good, yeah.” Harry’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and the effort it takes to keep his voice controlled is apparent on his face. “Keep going.”

Y/N hums in response, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulling them down his legs as Harry lifts his hips.  She waits until his boxers are completely removed to turn her attention back to his cock, and the sight of it makes her mouth water.

It’s just as big as she remembers, with a slight curve along the length leading to the red and leaking head. Y/N can practically see the heat radiating off of it, she thinks, and when she wraps her hand around the base, her suspicions are confirmed.

The weak groan that falls from Harry’s cherry red lips is the only thing that keeps Y/N from getting completely distracted by admiring him.  She pumps him slowly a few times, and his length throbs in her hand as more blood floods to his pelvis.  Licking her lips once, Y/N leans down and gives a small kitten lick to the leaking tip, collecting the precum on her tongue.

A garbled moan sounds from Harry’s chest, and Y/N watches from the corner of her eye as one hand tucks into his own curls before the other gathers her hair within his fist. Although he’s holding her, he doesn’t force her down, or try to guide her motions.  He wants to see what she’s going to do of her own accord.

Y/N takes her time, licking slowly from the head of Harry’s cock to one of the pulsing veins that runs down his shaft.  She traces the line with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the sounds that the action pulls from Harry before taking the head of his cock between her lips. Mindful of her teeth, she sucks slowly, pushing herself further and further down his length until her nose is just touching his pelvis.

“That’s it, minx.” Harry moans his words, his voice breathless and strained as he cards his fingers through her hair.  His flushed chest is rising and falling prominently as Harry takes deep breath after deep breath. “Doing so well, aren’t you?”

The praise sends a wave of delight through Y/N, and she begins to bob her head faster, working what she can’t fit into her mouth with her hand.  Harry, she learns, is extremely vocal during sex, which isn’t exactly surprising now that she knows him better.  Still, his moans and whimpers are all the encouragement Y/N needs to keep her pace, slowing down only to tease him.  And she loves to tease him.

“Fuck—” A groan rips from Harry’s chest as Y/N slows her motions again, trailing her tongue up his length before focusing on his tip with great interest. “C’mon, darling, don’t be mean to me.  I wasn’t mean to you.”

“I’m just enjoying myself, Harry.” Y/N says innocently, batting her eyes at him as she kisses the head of his cock. “Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?”

The question is simple enough, but the sinful context makes Harry buck his hips into her hand. “Y’know I do, pet, but you’re torturing me…”

Y/N lifts her mouth from his length with a quiet pop as her strokes slow down. “Am I?”

“Fucking hell—” Another moan forces its way through Harry’s clenched teeth. “You won’t be laughing when I’m fucking you at the same pace you’re teasing me right now.”

Y/N’s movements stutter for the first time since she began. “What?”

“Didn’t think of that, did you, minx?  Thought you could tease me, and I wouldn’t get you back?” Although Harry’s words are domineering, he pants through them, throwing his head back against the pillow. “That—Christ—That’s not how it works.”

Speeding up her stroking of his length, Y/N leans over Harry’s body, sponging a kiss just at the corner of his lips. “You don’t mean that, Harry.  You need to fuck me just as badly as I need it.”

“You need it, do you?” Harry’s eyes snap open, lust completely clouding the jade green of his irises. “How badly?  Tell me.”

Y/N kisses him once more, pulling back the moment his tongue tries to pull her in for more.  She returns her mouth to the tip of his cock, letting her tongue flick over his slit before sucking on him again. “So badly, Harry. I’ve never felt as full as I did with you in me…”

“Oh fuck…” Harry’s words slip into drawn out moans as he tugs on his own hair, his hips stuttering up into her hand again. “Stop.”

The sudden command makes Y/N pause, and she pulls her mouth off of Harry’s length to stare up at him with wide eyes. “What?” Her hand pauses its motions, but stays wrapped loosely around his base. “Is—is everything okay?  Did I hurt you?”

The concern and fear in Y/N’s voice is enough to snap Harry out whatever headspace he had been slipping into. “No, pet, you didn’t hurt me.  I just need to be inside your tight cunt.  Can’t stand another moment without it, if I’m honest.”

The twitch of his cock in her hands confirms his words, and Y/N gives one last lick to its biggest vein before releasing him.  She keeps her mouth in use, however, by sponging kisses up Harry’s already marked chest, stopping only once she reaches his lips.

The kiss they share is passionate, with a rhythm finally established between the two of them as Harry slots his plump lips neatly between hers.  There’s no awkward turning of their heads, trying to find a way to slip a tongue into a mouth, and no teeth clicking together.  Already, each of them knows the best way to fit together, as if they were meant to all along.

“How do you—” Harry mutters the words against Y/N’s lips, his breath flowing into her own panting mouth with every gasp. “How do you want me, love?”

Y/N takes a moment to think, but only a moment. “On top.  I like…” Her cheeks flush with even more heat. “I like feeling you over me. And holding your hands…”

Harry raises a surprised brow at the confession she spills into his mouth. “My hands?”

Forehead still pressed against his, Y/N nods, picking up one of his hands and lacing his ringed fingers through her own. “Mhmm.  They’re strong, and…and they fit in mine so nicely.” Y/N glances at Harry through her lashes, shy despite having his cock in her mouth less than a minute ago.  It’s the intimacy, she realizes.  A sexual act is nothing new to her, but putting emotion behind it…

“They do fit together well, don’t they?” Harry agrees, squeezing her hand as he leans forward, pressing puckered lips to her forehead. “Alright, then.  Lie down for me.”

After Harry grabs a condom from Y/N’s bag and rolls it on, it takes a moment for the two of them to get positioned comfortably.  Y/N leans back on the rumpled sheets, fixing one of the pillows behind her head with Harry’s help.  Once he knows that she’s comfortable, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs again, situating himself between them with his arms propped up on either side of her body.

Although it’s the same position as the last time they had sex, Y/N can’t help but feel like it’s entirely different in every single aspect.  While the drunken need that she felt for Harry had been exciting, and while he had satisfied her incredibly, there’s something different about knowing that she has feelings for the man who’s so interested in pleasuring her, and that he has feelings for her in return.

Harry moves one hand to his length, rubbing the tip of it between Y/N’s soaked folds as his other hand grasps her own. “Are you ready?” He murmurs, his lips hovering just over her own.

Y/N nods quickly, squeezing his hand tightly. “Please, H.  I need it.”

The first thrust into her is slow.  Painstakingly slow.  Y/N knows that she should be appreciative of the restrain Harry has, and that she needs a moment to adjust to his size, but the way he stretches her makes her feel so complete that she can’t help but whine for more.

“Faster, Harry.” She pants, squeezing her eyes shut as he continues to enter her slick entrance. “I…”

“Sh, love.  Just spreading you open first, yeah?” The effort to control himself shows through the strain in his voice, but Harry still manages to sponge a quick kiss over her lips. “Besides…I warned you, didn’t I?  Said I’d tease you if you teased me…”

Y/N whines loudly as Harry finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush to hers and bringing a kind of euphoric fullness that she’s never felt before. “Oh God…” She drags out her speech, her eyes barely managing to flutter open in time to catch the look on Harry’s face as he feels her walls squeeze him.

His brows are drawn together, an all too familiar crease appearing between them.  It’s a look of concentration, but the pull of his mouth and the quiet pants leaving it tell Y/N that it’s so much more than that. His pupils are blown out, dilated so much that she can barely see the green that she loves so much, and every few moments, Harry’s eyelids flutter, times perfectly with the contraction of Y/N’s pussy around his length.  

“Move, Harry.” Y/N begs, grasping his free hand and squeezing it along with his other hand. “Please.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, and he begins to thrust in and out of her slowly, letting her adjust to each pace before gradually increasing his movements. “Like that, pet?” He asks, voice low and thick with pleasure. “Is that what you wanted?”

A whine is all the answer he gets, as Y/N is so far gone past the point of being able to reply with a coherent sentence.  The only thing she can think of is how good it feels to have Harry fill her.  How the feeling of his cock inside her is simultaneously too much for her, the most content she’s ever felt, and not enough to satisfy the ache deep within her.  Every one of her senses is consumed with Harry—the touch of his skin to hers, at her pelvis, over her abdomen, his hands squeezing hers with desperation as he thrusts inside of her repeatedly.  The scent of his cologne mingled with his sweat, so hot and all consuming that the air feels thick with it.  The taste of that scent on the back of her tongue, along with his Merlot flavoured kisses that linger in her mouth.  The sight of him caged over her, his sweaty curls and flushed skin being all that she can see.  The sound of his moans, hot and low in her ear.

Everything is Harry. Had there every been a time where it wasn’t?

When Harry pulls his hands from Y/N’s, a small whimper stumbles out of her mouth, growing louder when his thrusts begin to slow and the ball of tension in her core begins to uncoil. “What—?” She begins, the question still half formed on her tongue when Harry moves his grip to her knees.

In one swift motion, Harry has her left knee over his shoulder, quickly repeating the movement with her right leg as he sponges stuttered kisses over the newly available skin.  “Need to be deeper.” He mutters, pressing a wet and breathless kiss to Y/N’s lips before sitting up for more leverage.  Weaving his fingers back through hers, Harry begins to thrust again, the head of his cock rubbing against new areas with every motion.

And oh.  It’s like an entirely new feeling.  The moans and whimpers are leaving Y/N’s mouth in a steady stream now, with any ability she had to filter her volume gone the moment Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot.

“Fuck, Harry, right there, baby—” Y/N releases one of his hands to throw her arm around his shoulder, digging her nails into the muscled skin as the words of pleasure slip past her lips. “That’s it, that’s so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts, bracing himself against the bed so that he can increase the speed of his movements. “You like how my cock fills you?”

Y/N nods desperately, the movement stuttered as she shakes from both her pleasure and the force of Harry driving his hips into her own. “Yeah, I—fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”

Harry’s face twists in concentration as he removes his braced hand from the bed and trails it down Y/N’s body, pausing just enough so that he can tweak her nipple as he passes by. He continues on until he reaches his destination, and settles his large thumb over her clit to rub fast and concise circles on the bundle of nerves.

“Oh—” Y/N’s back arches off the bed as her nails dig into the skin of Harry’s shoulder, as well as the back of his hand.  She barely manages to pant through her whimpered words. “Fuck, I’m going to cum—”

“Please, baby.” Harry pleads with her, his expression desperate as he stipples more kisses to Y/N’s knees, the only inches of skin that he can get his mouth on as he drives himself harder into her. “Need you to cum for me, I—fuck, minx, I need it more than you know.”

A sharp gasp falls from Y/N’s slick mouth as Harry hits her G-spot again, and the sharp repeated motion combined with his stimulation of her clit is enough to send her barrelling headfirst over the edge.  A desperate sound leaves her mouth, half moan, half whine, as the coil in Y/N’s core snaps, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of her body.  

The reaction is almost instantaneous.  As her body shakes with pleasure, abdomen contracting and releasing over and over, Y/N feels Harry’s hips begin to stutter, his movement growing sloppier as the constriction of her core works Harry to an orgasm.

“Y/N—that’s it, pet, just—yes—” Harry’s words are more coherent than hers, but still just form a string of half put together phrases as he presses himself deep inside her, his eyes snapping shut as he spills inside the condom.  A choked sound works its way out of his throat, pulling from deep within his chest, and the pads of his rough fingers dig into her thighs as he grounds himself throughout his orgasm.  

Y/N’s shuddering climax finishes before Harry’s does, and all she can do is collapse back in the sheets, enjoying the feeling of his cock throbbing inside her one last time before he pulls out slowly to clean himself and throw away the condom.  An involuntary whine, quiet but audible, falls from her lips at the empty feeling that’s left behind, but it’s soon satiated after Harry returns to the bed, wrapping his shaking arms around her and pulling her tight into his chest.

His chest, like her own, is soaked in sweat, covered in dark bruises, and heaving from the aftermath of the orgasm he’s just finished, but it’s the only place Y/N wants to be.  She presses her ear into his skin, his racing heartbeat thumping beneath her head, and she focuses on the pounding pattern as she attempts to catch her breath.

Harry speaks first, clearing his throat before his wrecked voice fills her senses. “That was…that was so fucking good.  I was worried that it wouldn’t be as good as the last time, because we were more sober, but…”

“It was better, yeah. I know.” Y/N agrees, her voice filled with exhaustion and contentment as she kisses over a purple bruise forming on Harry’s collar bone. “I think…I think knowing how we feel made it better.”

“I agree.” Harry’s hands move over her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns onto her sweaty skin. “Passionate sex with someone you care for with candles lit…all after the wedding of your best friend…was that romantic enough for you?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, just barely audible beneath the rasp.

A tired smile lifts the corners of Y/N’s swollen lips. “I suppose so.  But it’s not hard to be, in comparison to others…”

“Well, from now on, you’re going to be comparing to me, yeah?” Harry shifts his arms around her, tightening his grip before reaching for the crumpled sheet to pull it over their bodies. “This’ll be the marker, I suppose.  And I’ll have to work on raising the bar with everything I do for you.”

“What about what I’ll do for you?” Y/N just barely manages to raise her head off Harry’s chest enough to look at him. “This is a two way street, you know.  I have to romance you, too.”

“Mm.  True.” Harry hums as he resumes tracing patterns on Y/N’s skin. “How about you stop making fun of my taste in romantic movies?  I’d like to watch The Notebook without you poking fun at it.  If you’re laughing at all the emotional scenes, it makes me feel pathetic when I cry at them.”

Y/N laughs quietly as she rakes her fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. “That’s asking too much from me. How about…I can still make fun of your taste in romantic movies, but I’ll hold you and comfort you when you cry at the really dumb scenes?”

An exhausted snort rolls through Harry’s chest, but there’s a degree of tenderness hidden in the sound. “I suppose that’s the best offer I’ll get, isn’t it?”

“You suppose right.” Y/N sighs contently, her eyes drifting shut as she settles herself into Harry’s chest.  The feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his muscles is enough to soothe her to sleep, and she’s just settling in for what she thinks may be the best sleep of her life when her head suddenly drops as Harry abruptly pulls away from her.

“Harry—” Y/N’s eyes snap open as she pulls herself into an upright position, any feeling of calm that she had a moment ago gone out the window. “What the fuck?”

A sheepish Harry smiles at her from the dresser. “We left the candles lit, love.” He says, blowing out the three lit candles on the wooden surface before walking to one of the bedside tables, where four more candles are lit. “It’s not safe.”

“No, you know what’s no safe?  Jerking your girlfriend from her sleep when she’s exhausted, and has to be up early tomorrow.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she flops back into the pillows.

Harry blows out the last candle before sliding back into the bed. “Would you rather I let the cabin burn down?  That wouldn’t be very romantic of me, now would it?”

Turning over on her side, Y/N faces the wall away from Harry. “You’re an asshole.”

“Don’t be mean.” Harry’s pout is tangible in the press of his lips to her bare shoulder. “We were having a moment!”

“Not anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Harry laughs as he wraps his arms around Y/N, pulling her to spoon into his chest. “Just go to sleep.  You’ll be less grumpy in the morning.”

“Fuck off.” Y/N mutters, but she allows herself to be held against Harry as his breathing once again soothes her to sleep.

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

Harry laughs as he shuts the loaded trunk of the Impala, the sound echoing off the trees around them and scaring a few birds that had settled in the branches. “After that disaster in Nebraska?  No way.”

“Did you let her drive Stevie?” Laure asks, shock woven through her voice as her eyes flicker between Y/N and Harry. “Really?”

“No, I let her try to drive Stevie.  And then she stalled her, and lost all driving privileges forever.” Harry replies with a snort, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders as his keys jangle in his hands. “So I’ll be driving the forty-two hours back to L.A.”

Y/N crosses her arms with an irritated sigh. “Whatever.  Don’t complain to me when you get stiff from being in one position for eight hours a day.”

As Harry rounds the back of the car, he shoots Y/N a smug grin, walking up behind her to wrap his warm arms around her waist. “But you’ll give me massages, won’t you, baby?  I’d really appreciate them…”

“Okay, this is still weird for me.” Jo says slowly, shaking her head as her eyes flicker between their intertwined pose and Laure, who looks equally as bemused. “A week ago, we had to practically beg Harry to drive you, Y/N, and now you’re…?”

“It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?” Harry asks, resting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder with a smirk. “No woman could last five days with me while resisting the Styles charm…”

Y/N shrugs his chin off her shoulder with a snort. “Right.” She scoffs as she unravels his hands from her waist. “The Styles charm.  We’ll pretend that’s a thing.”

Harry pouts as Y/N pulls away from him, his arms still outreached and trailing after her. “It is a thing!”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N walks over to Jo, wrapping her arms around the girl tightly as the crisp morning air sends a shiver down her spine. “Congratulations, Jo.  Have fun on your honeymoon.”

Although Jo hugs her back with a smile, there’s something lingering under the sweet expression. “Thank you.” She speaks in her normal tone, but waits until her lips are right by Y/N’s ear to lower her voice. “The moment you arrive back in L.A., I expect a three hour phone call explaining how all of this happened.  Is that understood?”

“You’re so demanding. I would have thought you’d be more mature now that you’re married.” Y/N laughs as she pulls out of the hug, turning to Laure and giving her a tight squeeze before walking to the car.  She leans against the cool metal of the passenger side as Harry rounds around to the driver’s side, having said his goodbyes right after she did.

“I’m serious!  The last time we talked about Harry, you threatened to cut off his—”

Laure takes Jo’s hand, squeezing it hard as she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, darling, that’s enough.  Just be thankful they’re not arguing anymore, yeah?  Maybe we’ll finally be able to have a wine night that doesn’t end with someone flipping a charcuterie board.”

The memory of Laure and Jo’s four year anniversary party brings a sheepish smile to Y/N’s face, and she watches as the realization hits Jo, who gives a satisfied nod to Laure before the latter presses her lips to her cheek.

Harry, however, is less amused, and shoots a questioning glance at Y/N over the hood of the car. “Wait, when did you threaten to cut something of mine off?”

“Oh, it was just a joke, Harry.” Y/N waves off his concern as she opens the passenger door with a click. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, as long as you don’t piss me off too much.”

“Right.” Harry says slowly, climbing inside the car as Y/N does the same.  “I’ll do my best.”

Harry starts the car with an easy and practiced motion, shifting it into reverse and pulling away from the mountainside resort as the two of them give one last wave to Jo and Laure through the passenger window.  Once they’re back on the winding mountain road, Y/N grabs Harry’s phone from its usual spot in his cup holder, scrolling through his music library with interest.

“What do you feel like listening to?” She asks curiously, her eyes scanning over the now familiar titles indecisively. “Something fast?  Something mellow?”

Harry shifts the car into second gear before grabbing Y/N’s free hand, brushing his pink lips over the back of her knuckles in a gentle motion. “I don’t really care.” He says with a shrug, winding his fingers through her own before lowering their hands between their seats. “Anything you want.”

The comment of free reign causes Y/N’s eyes to widen in disbelief. “Really?” She asks incredulously, and when Harry gives a confirming nod, she quickly settles on “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” leaning back in her seat as the familiar guitar riff fills the car.

From the corner of her eye, she watches Harry’s nose wrinkle as his eyebrows crease beneath his sunglasses. “Actually, I changed my mind.” He says lowly, swiping his thumb over her knuckles in a motion of apology. “Not this song.”

Y/N lets out a groan as she presses her head back into the head rest. “For fuck’s sake, H—”

“I’m not feeling it! It just doesn’t suit this time of day, or this scenery—”

“We have forty-two hours left in this trip, and you’re already pissing me off.  Do you want something to get cut off?” Yanking her hand from his own, she grabs his phone again and opens it with a harsh sigh. “Okay, what do you want to listen to?”

“I told you.” Harry taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he risks a glance at her, gauging if the irritation in her voice matches the irritation on her face. “Whatever you want to listen to.”

Y/N allows herself a quiet snort, but makes no other comment on the contradictory statement. “Fine.” She says shortly, scrolling through his songs for another moment before clicking on “Strangers”. “How’s that?”

Harry raises his now empty hand defensively before finding her own again, squeezing it gently. “Good, love.  It’s good.”

“Good.” Y/N gives a short sigh of relief, settling back into her seat again as a new guitar riff begins to sound through the car speakers.

The first verse of the song has barely finished when Harry clears his throat thickly, the corner of his lip just barely twitching up. “You know, actually—”

“Stop the car.”

[haztory]

hi mcdonald’s can i get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh nanami + “nice tits”

“Nice tits.” from my writing event that ends today! 

 warnings: adult language and sexual themes, but that’s about it!

a/n: 3k words all for sanju that probably strays from the prompts but its fine bc i love you biiiiitch. thanks to everyone that requested a prompt! they will be out momentarily!!

nanami kento x gn!reader

There’s a universal understanding amongst the adults in the general realm of well-formed maturity and a sense of responsibility that there is no situation to ever exist in which listening to Gojo Satoru’s advice is a viable option. 

Much less any advice about love.

“You know,” His voice sings to your left, interrupting the tranquil silence of your office by his surprise warping, “If you needed help in satisfying your urges, you only had to ask. Looking at porn during school hours is a bit of a cry for help, (Y/N).”

“Go away, Gojo.” You reply, hardly perturbed at his unannounced visit and continuing the matter at hand. Your index finger continues its motions, pushing the wheel of the mouse downwards and studying the plethora of Google Search images the float past your eyes on your computer monitor.

Gojo leans his elbow on your desk, perching himself on the left side of your body, “Hey, I don’t judge! I’ve done it once or twice myself. I just always pictured you as more of an ass-person.”

Landing on an appropriate image for your task you click it, enlarging it on your screen. Gojo whistles.

“Now that’s just obscene, isn’t it?”

A finger enters your line of sight, pointing itself obnoxiously at the screen, specifically at the rather large pectoral belonging to that of a male model. An image that is necessary for your study of a new cursed technique that you witnessed on your last excursion with Nobara, and not at all the focus of sexual release as Gojo might insist. Even if they are rather admirable in their size. 

You would rather die before ever telling him that, though.

“They should really put a warning on those honkers—”

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me?” You ask bluntly, printing the image and retrieving it from the printer tray beside you.

“I just wanted to see what my second favorite teacher was doing, but never did I think I would catch you in the act of making a shrine to tits, so—”

You roll your head to the left, meeting Gojo’s shit-eating grin with a deadpan stare. With a sigh, you shake your head, “I’m studying.”

Even beneath the blindfold, you can see the waggle in his brows as he props his head on the bent elbow. “Oh suuure.”

Huffing impatiently, you swivel your desk chair to face him, placing a singular finger on his chest to push him back from your immediate space. He only continues to grin in his usual unabashed manner, as though he’s caught you red-handed. It makes you roll your eyes once more.

 You didn’t need to explain yourself; it wasn’t like you were doing anything immoral. Sure, staring at a number of pectoral muscles might seem inappropriate to the passing eye, but it was easily explainable. 

But as it always is with Gojo, he manages to rub that small part of you that just has to fight back. Fuckin’ prick. “We came across a cursed technique two days ago that targeted the chest. It caused—”

Gojo waves his hand in your face, “Seismic tremors in the pectoral muscles that affected a cursed energy point, yeah, yeah. Nobara told me all about it.”

“If you knew what I was doing why are you making me sound like such a creep?!” You exclaim, kicking his chest with the heel of your shoe. He catches your foot with a laugh, dropping it and holding his index finger upward.

“Because it’s fun to tease you.”

Huffing, you turn back to your monitor and point at the door, “Leave.”

“Oh, come onnn,” He warps in front of your computer, leaning himself over the top of the screen, “I’ve brought you a little gift of knowledge to help your studying.”

Even as he desperately tries to insert his gangly arms into your line of vision, you continue typing into the search bar. Some variations of “pectoral”, “muscles”, and “large men”. For research purposes, of course.

“Oh yeah?” You ask noncommittally, knowing full well the manner in which Gojo dangles his plots of mischief disguised as help, “And what would that be?”

Smiling largely once more, he lets out a giggle, “The larger the muscle, the more potent the attack on the cursed energy.”

Sparing him a quick glance, you mumble, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

“No, but it does take a genius to figure out how to reverse the effects.”

He stops the statement there; grin audible in his words. After having spent years in the presence of the obnoxious Gojo Satoru, you already know there’s an ulterior motive to his words, something that is going to bite you in the ass rather aggressively.

And as much as you want to avoid being in the line of fire, especially the one directed by him, you’re simultaneously dying to know where this is going.

You hesitate to ask, but it comes out. Dripping in all of its cautiousness. “And?”

“And it also takes a willing participant to study.” His smile, in all impossibility, became even wider.

“I’m still not getting the picture.”

“A participant with rather large pectoral muscles.”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Someone who would willingly participate for the sake of education.”

Of all the people to have figured out about your (not so) little crush on a fellow sorcerer, it had to be the world’s largest idiot and nuisance. You had to end this, now. Before he does something so irrevocably stupid— 

“Shall we go ask Nanami?”

And that’s how you find yourself flushed with absolute mortification, gripping your clipboard with tight knuckles against your chest, wondering how you ever managed to forget the utmost important rule when it comes to Gojo Satoru.

Never listen to him, especially on the matter of love. 

Maybe that’s indicative of the state of your crush as a whole, something you should probably pay more attention to, seeing as the minute Nanami Kento was mentioned, you’ve forgotten the extent of logic and reason and followed the whims of Gojo without hesitation. 

It’s problematic, horrifying, and ultimately a monumental issue at the moment considering your mouth is as dry as a desert and your brain absolute mush, rendering you completely unable to formulate any words.

“Wow, Nanami,” Gojo shamelessly says, one hand shoved in his pocket as he stands beside your frozen figure, “Nice tits.”

Nanami hums unenthusiastically, unbuttoning the last button on his blue shirt and elegantly removing it from his large, muscular frame. Folding it neatly on the expanse of the couch beside him, he turns his stoic gaze back to you, hardly even concerned about his half-nakedness. 

Whereas you felt yourself almost drooling at the revealed expanse of firm muscles peppered with sparse hair. The fact that it was that easy to get to see this, to almost be able to touch it— 

Maybe listening to Gojo isn’t a bad idea after all.

“Shall we begin?” Nanami asks, pulling his glasses off of his face with his (large) hands and folding them on top of his shirt. A strand of blond falls onto the front of his face and his gaze trails from the impassive stare at Gojo, to you. 

And by all that is sweet and holy you swear that you’ve ascended to an ethereal plane and before you sits an angel waiting to take you to the pearly gates. No longer stares a man unamused at the teasing of the white-headed idiot beside you, but instead a celestial being with a body made of pure stone and dare you say, looking at you with a tenderness in his gaze that was absent only a moment before.

An elbow digs into your side, pulling you rather dramatically out of your stupor and towards the smug grin of the man beside you. 

“Well?” Gojo asks, “If you’re not going to touch him, I will.”

“Thank you, Gojo, but I can take it from here,” You all but hiss, pushing him once more away from your body, accompanying the action with a pointed glare. Beginning a backward trek towards the door, he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I can see when I’m not wanted. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Opening the door and stepping out of it, he halts, turning his head to look over his shoulder and says, voice coated in that familiar tone of teasing, “Remember to use condoms, lovebirds!”

He shuts the door quickly, hardly giving you a chance to spear your ire at his retreating figure, but you have half a mind to chase him down the hall when you hear his echoing laughter ring out. 

An awkward silence settles between you and the man of your horrid fascination that not even an uncomfortable laugh can ease. Clearing your throat and trying to remember your sense of professionalism, you straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath, facing the handsome man with a confidence that was growing incredibly difficult to face. 

“I’m going to touch you. For research. Your chest, specifically.”

In a move you’ve never quite seen before, Nanami sheds that formidable air of quiet stoicism and lets a small smile grace the features of his face. It gently pushes against the corners of his mouth and his bare shoulders move the slightest bit with the exhalation of his amused breath. 

“For the tremors in the pectoralis.” He says, leaning his body to rest against the backing of the couch, straightening his legs wearing their usual tan slacks to rest naturally in the position and hands folding in his lap. 

You gulp. “Y-yes.”

“I read your report.”

“You did?”

“I always do,” With his eyes still trained upon yours you can see them widen a bit at the realization of what he’s said as if that were an intimate detail he hadn’t meant to make you aware of. He quickly brings his fist up to his mouth, clearing his throat, “You are one of the few sorcerers here that fill them out correctly. I learn a great deal from your detailing. It’s… very helpful. You’re very thorough.”

Blinking repeatedly, you only nod at the compliment. Despite wanting to combust internally at the growing flames that burn inside of you, you take a step forward. Then another until, in an unforeseen reversal of circumstances, you’re towering over the man of great strength and respect. The man you’ve admired for the longest time.

The man that continues to stare at you with a softness you’ve never seen him reveal before. 

You can see the spattering of freckles that have intricately placed themselves over his broad shoulders resembling that of an artistic constellation and the delicious protruding of his biceps, great in mass yet telling of his of strength as your try to conservatively trail your eyes over his torso.

He’s beautiful, incredibly so. Baring himself to you in this way only affirms that.

 “Thank you,” you breathe out, and it’s more intimate than you intended it to be, but truthfully, it’s as fitting a phrase as it can be considering the proximity and the intensity behind his stare.

It’s all you can give him without crumbling at his feet. Placing your fingertips against his shoulder, you gently push him back, silently instructing him to lay on the couch. He follows suit like the dutiful sorcerer he is.

“I’ll just be examining the way in which your cursed energy extends from your chest. It shouldn’t hurt, but if you feel uncomfortable, just let me know.”

He hums once more from his supine position on the couch. Despite being much larger than the couch allows, he hardly looks uncomfortable. Only watches the way in which you press your fingers into his chest, pushing into his muscle and slowly massaging your finger in a circle. You circle around the left side, trailing around the outer edge of the muscle and above the rib cage, stopping and pressing rather firmly when you feel a surge in an energy presence beneath the skin. Almost on the center of his chest.

You snort a quiet laugh when you realize where it is.

“Should I be worried?” His deep timbre vibrates your indented fingers drawing your focus to his interested stare. He looks relaxed, the usual crease between his brow hardly recognizable. A stark refute to the question he posed.

You quickly shake your head, smiling growing wryer, “No, not at all. I just… think it’s funny that your energy presence is strongest where your heart is.”

Nanami quirks an eyebrow, “Isn’t that the same for everyone?”

“Would it be much of a surprise if I told you Gojo’s comes from his mouth?”

Nanami rolls his head, a breathless laugh exhaling as he stares at the ceiling. “No, I guess it wouldn’t.”

“Everyone has a different point from which their energy roots itself. Each one gives a different feeling of sorts. It doesn’t really mean much in terms of power and technique, but it is noticeable. You have an overwhelming presence as is, I just…” Your shoulders drop with a sigh, one stemming desperately from loving admiration and instead try to disguise as just an exhalation, “…never realized it came from there. Kind of fitting if you ask me.”

His brows furrow in contemplation, unsure if whether he could accept the statement. Unsure of whether it was a fitting examination or compliment for him. He must deem it something insignificant of his ponderance because he quickly moves on.

“And yours?” He asks, alight with curiosity, “Where does yours come from?”

You hum, grateful to finally shed the last remnants of awkwardness and engage in the usual friendly conversation you tend to have with him. The brief discussions that always prod a little too close for friendly discovery, but never breach the line of professional respect. That self-imposed limitation that you desperately wish he’ll cross, that this conversation is once again coming toward.

“Take a guess.” Allowing that lilting tease to infiltrate your words, you watch as Nanami adjusts himself on the couch. Bracing his arms against the cushion, he pushes himself into a sitting position and crosses his arms. Trailing his eyes over your seated body next to him, he leaves a burning trail in his wake.

He fixates on your face for a second and your breath hitches, before he travels downward over the column of your neck, then your chest, to your legs. Drinking you in as per your consent and request. Then, he extends his hand. Palm facing upwards in a silent request. You understand.

Placing your own hand in his, he turns your hand upward, allowing full access to the center of your hand and tracing his finger over the lines.

“Your hands. That’s your center.” He says with finality, monotonous but confident. With a small smirk, he looks up at you, “You are a healer after all.”

You give a small nod, “I’m not sure if it comes from my fingertips or my palm, but yeah. My hands.”

Looking back down at your hand in his, he traces the finger in a circle, “Palm. That’s where I feel it the most.”

“What does it feel like?” You ask with a laugh, expecting something asinine and noncommittal considering Yuuji once said your presence felt like a cool wind on a summer’s day and Nobara insists that it feels like a warm shower.

Two entirely opposite feelings, yet somehow categorized in the schema of comfort. You hardly expect Nanami to give something so introspective, nor anything that reveals too much considering the extent to which he tends to maintain the boundary of respect in the conversations of explorations. The kind in which two people teeter on the thin ice of interest, yet never voice it.

And yet, his eyes connect with yours again, and it's entirely too overwhelming for you to process. Too interested, too warm. His face betrays no nervousness nor any hesitation as he stares, entirely convinced that this is what was meant to happen. As though he knew from the moment Gojo asked that it was going to unfold this way.

Like he prepared for it. Like he decided today was the day that he crossed that line.

“Home. Warm and comforting.”

Slow heat the creeps its way up your spine that makes your brain halt thought altogether and sputter intelligently, “Gojo’s kind of feels like… tar. Thick tar. Super gross.”

His hand, large and warm, encompasses your hand once more, lays it flat against his chest to feel both his exuding energy and the steady beat of his formidable heart.

“And mine?” He asks, low and gravelly. Like sweet honey that has you captured entirely, unable to escape. Not like you want to. No, you’d rather drown in this overwhelming redolence than ever live without it.

You don’t even realize your breathing heavily, nor that his face has gotten closer to yours. When did he move there? Did you move there?

Either way, his face is in front of yours, noses almost touching and the compulsion to answer him on the tip of your tongue.

“Addicting,” you whisper.

And then his lips are on yours, molding sweetly into you, and it's everything you have ever imagined it to be. Slow, yet firm. Warm and craving, and you can only fight for more, more, more.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in impossibly closer and you place your hands on his bare chest, the great reason as to your current predicament entirely, to steady yourself and your erratic heartbeat. Time seems to slow in the passion of his kiss, and yet when he parts for air, you feel as though you only had him for a second.

All the months of pining could barely make up for that singular moment.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a while,” He says, leaning his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your aching lips. You scoff in laughter, meeting his smile with one of your own.

So, maybe, just maybe, listening to Gojo wasn’t a bad idea. And maybe, sometimes, he’s right about some things.

“Hey Kento?”

“Yes?”

“You really do have nice tits.”

“Likewise.”

[slashbitch2]

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Hello!! I'm kinda embarrassed but could you do an uno reverse with the chubby Arthur fanfic but its with a chubby reader instead?? (your choice to make Arthur also chubby or not) Thank you!!

A/N: Don’t be embarassed (I spelled that wrong but autocorrect won’t work right now and I’m too dumb to know how to spell it off the top of my head lol) I absolutely love to write for Arthur! I feel like he doesn’t get enough attention anymore. Thank you for the ask!! I hope you like this! The ending got a little messy and not great cause I didn’t know how to end it but I hope you like it!

Warnings: mentions of poor body image and Micah being a fucking douche, but there’s fluff! Arthur makes things better

***

“Y/N!” Mary-Beth called your name. 

You turned your head to look at her. Karen and Tilly stood with her by the wagon. John was hitching up a couple horses to the wagon with Lenny’s help.

“Hi, ladies.” You greeted them as you approached the tent. 

“We’re gonna go into town. You wanna come with us?” 

“What are you plannin’ on doing in town?” 

“Oh you know, just the usual.” Mary-Beth answered with a little wave of her hand. “Seein’ what the folk around here are like.”

“And maybe robbin’ them.” Tilly giggled. 

“But we aren’t gettin’ into too much trouble.” Karen added. “John won’t let us, will you John?”

“I hope not.” He sighed, buckling a strap on the horse. 

“So what do you say, Y/N?” Tilly asked you.

Arthur watched from across camp as you declined the ladies’ offer to join them on their trip into town. His eyes stayed on you while you watched them leave in the back of the wagon John and Lenny were driving. 

You began to pick at your nails, the furrow between your brows becoming more prominent. The picking at your nails was a bad habit of yours, one you only did when something was clouding your mind. 

“Are ya even listening to me, Arthur?” Uncle asked him.

Arthur took the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it into the fire as he stood up. You were going to your tent so that’s were he planned on going. 

“Stopped listenin’ a while ago, Uncle. Thought you would’ve noticed.”

Uncle began to complain about Arthur’s inattentiveness but the outlaw was already leaving the table, making his way across camp to check on you.

Arthur ducked inside the tent he shared with you, taking his hat off. 

“Hey, pumpkin.” He greeted you.

You turned to face him, offering him a little smile. 

“Hi, Arthur.”

“What’re you up to?” He asked. Maybe you were too busy to go into town. 

“Gonna go read out by the cliffside for a bit.” You picked up your book from the end table. “Do you want to come with me? Or are you busy?”

“I’m never too busy for you, pumpkin.” He flashed you a little smile as you moved towards him. He was expecting you to stop, even if only for a moment, to give him a kiss on the cheek or to brush your hand along his chest like you always did when you passed him by. But you simply walked by him without even looking at him.

Something was definitely wrong. This confirmed his worries. 

“How was meetin’ up with Mary?”

“Went about as pleasant as you’d think. Wanted me to get her brother back from that religious group, the Chelonia.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Depends on your definition of fun.” Arthur muttered.

You were thankful that no one was down by the edge of the cliff. You wanted to have some peace and quiet away from everyone. 

You decided to sit beneath a tree, placing your book in your lap. Arthur grunted rather dramatically as he got down next to you.

“M’too old for this kinda shit.” He sat facing you. One of his legs was loosely crossed while the other was spread to cross over yours, though he didn’t put any weight on your legs. 

“You don’t gotta follow me around, you know.” You giggled softly.

“I know. Just like spendin’ time with ya.” He took his hat off and put it in the grass beside him. “I, uh, I heard the girls were askin’ you to go to town with them.”

You nodded your head, opening the book in your lap so that you didn’t have to look at him. 

“Why didn’t you go? Thought you were tellin’ me just last night you had some errands to run in town.”

“I can do them another time, Arthur. It wasn’t anything important.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say next.

“Mary-Beth sounded a little eager to have you go with them, don’t you think?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“She was just bein’ friendly though, wasn’t she? She’s a good kid.”

“Arthur, what are you getting at?” You looked up from your book, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t know.” He sighed heavily. He ran a hand over his face. “I-I saw that look on your face when you were watchin’ them go, pumpkin. You looked upset about somethin.’” He paused to gauge your reaction. “Did something happen with one of the girls?”

“No, Arthur.” You dropped your attention back to the book.

“Karen’s not bad unless you get her drunk.” Arthur thought out loud. “And Tilly’s a nice girl, least from what I’ve seen. Mary-Beth too. Abigail can be.... something else. Did she do something?”

“Arthur, please.” You closed the book firmly. “Just stop.”

“Pumpkin, I’m just concerned is all.” Arthur reached over to place his hand on yours. “I don’t like that look I saw on your face. It don’t belong there.”

“The girls didn’t do anything to me, Arthur.” You murmured quietly, feeling a scratchy sensation begin in the back of your throat. “It’s all okay, I promise.”

“You say that, but I don’t see it in your eyes.” He shook his head. Cerulean blue eyes gazed at you with such a softness that you could’ve melted right there, but the torment you felt in your chest and in your head were too much. It pushed that softness he was able to make you feel away and brought in a dark feeling. 

“It doesn’t matter, Arthur.” You stood up, brushing off your skirt, and began to move back towards camp.

However you didn’t get very far. Arthur’s hand found your arm, bringing you to a stop. 

You turned your head to look away from him, taking a steady deep breath through your nose in an attempt to make the tears go away. If you could calm yourself down, they would go away. 

Arthur’s hand slid down from your bicep to your hand and his thumb began to trace small circles on the back of your hand. You turned your hand over so that you could lace your fingers together. 

“You don’t gotta tell me, pumpkin, but I just hate to see you so upset and so quiet about it.” He stepped closer and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. 

“I just…. I can’t stand some of these people, Arthur.” You tilted your head down, unable to look up at him. You focused your eyes on his boots. “Just can’t fucking stand them. They’re just….” You couldn’t find the words to accurately describe what you wanted to say. 

“Who was it?” Arthur had a very short list of who would put you on the verge of tears. Possibilities and scenarios began to race through his mind. 

“Micah just…. He was just being a bastard.” Your voice cracked. “He said you were going into town to see Mary Linton. I knew that’s where you had been earlier today. But he just…. He started saying that you were going to…. That you and her…. Because she’s-she’s thin and pretty and I’m as big as one of the pigs Pearson butchers.”

“He what?” Arthur had to pull his hand away from you as to not cause you any harm. His fingers automatically curled into tight fists and he felt the need to seek out Micah Bell to cause him serious damage. 

His eyes left yours and he tilted his head up to search the camp behind you. Micah was sitting at a table with Bill, sharpening his knife. 

“It doesn’t matter, Arthur.” You sniffled, looking down at the buttons on his shirt. “He wasn’t wrong. No use in sugar coatin’ it.”

Arthur stared at you for a few moments, his brain still trying to process the anger he felt. Then he took a breath and ran a hand over his face. 

“Micah Bell is a miserable son of a bitch, Y/N. He ain’t right about nothin’. Not a damn thing.”

“But Arthur, I don’t-I don’t look like other girls, like Mary or like Karen.” You whispered, tears trailing down your cheeks. You crossed your arms over yourself, suddenly feel extremely self-conscious. “I-I didn’t go into town with them because every time we go into town, people stare at me.”

“Pumpkin, they stare at me too. They’re just a bunch of judgemental pricks.”

“That’s different, Arthur.” You shook your head. It was sweet of him to try to make you feel better, but they stared at him for different reasons than they stared at you. “It’s-It’s just not the same. You.... You’re a normal size. You just come across as intimidatin’ and sometimes folk don’t know how to take that. But me.... They see me and all they see is a pig in a dress.”

“Don’t you say that, Y/N.” He reached up to cup your face, calloused thumbs brushing away your tears. “You don’t look nothin’ like a pig.”

“Mary, she’s just…. She’s so different from me, Arthur.”

“Course she is, pumpkin.” Arthur leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in for a proper hug. His slipped around you, providing you with a sense of protection. “I don’t see nothin’ wrong with that. And I definitely don’t see nothin’ wrong with you. You’re absolutely gorgeous in my eyes, pumpkin. Wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

“But Arthur, I look like a cow.”

“Stop comparin’ yourself to farm animals, Y/N.” He kissed the side of your head. “It’s breakin’ my heart.”

You frowned, leaning your head against his shoulder. Arthur pressed his lips against your head. 

“I know you’ve never had the best thoughts about yourself.” He murmured into your hair. “But I got plenty of good thoughts about you for the both of us. I’ll make sure to share them with you until you start thinkin’ about yourself differently. I need you to know that it don’t matter that you’re different from Mary or Karen or anyone else. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. It’s who you are.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” You sniffled. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“Only ‘cause I love ya, pumpkin.” 

***

Hosea caught sight of Arthur as the burly outlaw made his way across camp, a dark look in his eyes.

“Arthur-,”

“Not now, Hosea.” Arthur waved him off. His eyes were set on Micah who wasn’t even looking at him. His back was to Arthur. He sat at a table with Dutch talking about something Arthur didn’t care to listen to. 

Arthur grabbed the back of Micah’s chair and tipped it back, knocking Micah out of his seat and on to the ground. In the same heartbeat, Arthur drew the revolver from his hip and cocked the hammer with his thumb. 

He put his foot on Micah’s shoulder and aimed the gun at Micah’s chest, glaring down at the man. 

“Whoa, cowpoke!”

“Arthur!” Dutch shouted. “Put that gun away!”

Arthur ignored Dutch. The anger bubbling and festering in his veins made him focus solely on Micah.

“It’d be in your best interests to leave Miss Y/L/N alone.” He spoke lowly.

“I was just havin’ a conversation with her while you were out with your old fling-,”

“What I do ain’t none of your goddamned business.” Arthur cut him off. “If I find out you’ve said anything out of line to Y/N again, Micah Bell, I’ll be puttin’ a hole through your goddamn chest.”

Micah said nothing, locking his jaw as he glared up at Arthur. Arthur lowered his gun and then removed his foot from Micah’s shoulder. 

Hosea watched as Arthur moved towards his tent, holstering his weapon. 

“You’re a funny guy, Arthur Morgan!” Micah stood up, angrily brushing off his clothes. 

“And you’re a dumb bastard.” Hosea muttered, shaking his head as he walked away. “Surprised it’s taken this long.”

Taglists:  @winterwolf @doggone-cowgirl @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @nonodino @krenee1drful @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @zodiacaldust @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 6

A/N Where does the time go?  I lugged my laptop 7,000km round trip with the sole intention of working on this fic, but that apparently didn’t happen.  For those who found the last chapter hard to bear, I apologize in advance.  I am not quite finished being cruel.  With that said, trigger warning for character death, childhood disease, suicide ideation.  The chapter title is Sleeping in the Clouds.

The first five chapters are available on my AO3 page.

Five Months Later

A persistent mechanical bleating lifted Claire from the indeterminate depths of medicated sleep.  The emergency contact number she provided to all her patients was programmed to forward to her mobile, where a particularly aggravating ringtone ensured she would never miss a call.  Even at one am on a Tuesday night.

Fumbling for the device, she glanced at the unfamiliar number before answering.

“Doctor Beauchamp speaking.”  Her voice was gritty and rough.  She reached for a half-filled tumbler of water while waiting for the caller to identify themselves.  Over the line she could make out muted traffic noise, and perhaps a distant foghorn, but no-one spoke.

“Hello?” she inquired, torn between concern that a patient needed her and frustration that she might have been woken by a misdialed number.

“If you’re one of my patients, you need to talk to me so that I can help you.”

There was an intake of breath, a weepy sniffle, and then the click of the call being terminated.  A prickle of gooseflesh washed over her.  She couldn’t say exactly how, but she knew who had called, and that he needed her.

One of the grim perks of her job was that she had backdoor access to reverse look-up for telephone numbers, in cases where there was a threat of self-harm or harm to others.  As Claire hastily donned socks and grabbed a winter coat, she waited on hold for the PSAP operator to provide an address.

“We’re in luck, Doctor Beauchamp.  It wasna a mobile number.  In fact, tis a telephone booth.  Gote Lane, in Queensferry.  Down near the... umm, next tae the bridge.”

Without so much as a thank you, she hung up and frantically punched the app for an Uber.

Fifteen nail biting minutes and an excessive tip later, she stood in front of an empty phone booth.  Predictably, the directory had been torn out, leaving only a thin metal cord and car-key graffiti inside the cramped interior.  But on top of the phone itself she found a familiar ecru business card, her name and credentials embossed in black font.

“Damn it, Jamie,” she muttered to herself, palming the card.

If he’d hung up and started walking towards the bridge, she might be able to catch him if she ran all out, but something called her towards the nearby shore instead.

The tide was out, leaving a narrow strip of beach and sharp, slimy rocks exposed to the heavy air.  Her nostrils were assaulted by the briny vegetative rot of the retreating sea.

On a weathered bench facing the river, encircled by a cone of foggy streetlight, sat a man, his eyes trained on the smudgy lights of the Queensferry bridge hovering high above.  Even bundled in a heavy black jacket and watch cap, she would recognize his long limbs and the set of his shoulders anywhere.  She let out a long breath of relief.

She approached the bench cautiously, not certain if her presence would be welcome.  Instead of turning to greet her footsteps, Jamie addressed the bridge.

“Maggie passed t’day.  I called ‘cause I wanted ye tae know, but then I couldna find the words tae tell ye.”  Despite his refusal to look at her, his words were calm and without a hint of the bitterness she’d expected.

“Oh, Jamie.  I’m so terribly sorry.  I didn’t know her well, but she was a very special little girl who loved you dearly.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of her words, but didn’t reply.  She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, suddenly aware that she was still wearing her pajamas, her hair doubtless a veritable cumulus of tangled curls.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.  “I still have some contacts at the hospital, I could...” she broke off, knowing it was ridiculous to offer professional assistance when she’d been the one to sever their relationship.

“Would ye, if it’s no’ too much tae ask, would ye mind jus’ sittin’ here with me fer a bit?”

He finally turned to look at her, and she could see the spider web of red veins that surrounded his irises, testimony to his heartbreak.  His mouth, usually such an accurate barometer of his mood, was strangely inert.  She nodded, unable to deny him such a simple request.

It was the time of night when the daytime symphony of the city broke into its component parts, every passing car, every lapping wave a single instrument singing its own plaintive song.  They sat in silence for long enough that she could feel the damp creeping up the legs of her pajamas.

“Maggie loved tae cross that bridge,” Jamie said at last.  “She’d lower her window, rain or shine, and stick her wee arm out, sayin’ it felt like she was flyin’.”

Claire smiled at the image, trying to picture the little girl with the giant imagination.

“What colour was her hair, Jamie?” she asked.  “Was it red, like yours?”

“Nah, dark, like Jenny’s and our Da.  But wi’ curls like mine and my Ma’s.  A little like yours, actually, Sassenach.  That is, before the chemo took it away.”

She grimaced, not knowing what topic to choose that wouldn’t lead Jamie on a path directly back to his grief.

“She fought sae hard,” he continued before she could attempt another distraction, “but the cancer wouldna let her win.”  Tears were rolling down his cheeks, glinting in the sodium light like stars, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.  “She was the best person I knew.  Sounds strange tae say of a wee lass, but she truly was.  An’ it made me a better person tae love her.  What the fuck am I gonna do now?”

Jamie was looking straight at her, as though he truly expected her to offer useful guidance.  All her training, her professional distance, fell away in the face of one broken man.  She swallowed, searching for words that weren’t a platitude.

“You’re going to go on living, because she can’t.  Because your happiness, when you are ready to feel it again, will be a gift to her memory.”

Jamie sniffed, then wiped his sleeve across his face.  He placed his hand on the bench between them.  Without allowing herself to think, Claire reached for it, finding his skin surprisingly warm.  There was an agonizing fermata, when all the instruments held their breath, and then he turned his palm upwards to meet her own.  Beneath the fog the river slipped by, blending endlessly into the sea.

"Look, Jamie, I know it’s not the right time, but I want to tell you that I’m sorry.  For the way I treated you, and ended things, and...”

“Nay, Sassenach, it’s me who should apologize.  I had no right tae throw my diagnosis at ye like some kinda weapon.  An’ when I think of how I heedlessly brought up yer becoming a mother.  I, of all people.  Weel, suffice it tae say I’ve spent many an hour regretin’ my words an’ actions.”

She squeezed his hand, wordlessly declaring them equal in remorse.

“How have ye been?” he inquired, peering at her as though trying to read her state of mind on the planes of her face.  She chuckled, looking away when the intensity of his gaze became too much.

“About the same, I suppose.  Better some days than others.  Geillis has started ordering my lunches for me, so I no longer have any excuse not to eat.”  Jamie nodded, seemingly pleased with this news.

“And you?  Are you still seeing Dr. Rafferty?  I... uhh, I know his office requested your file.”

In fact, Giles Rafferty had called her the week after her confrontation with Jamie, wondering why his new patient’s record of treatment contained no more than his biographical details and the time and date of each of his appointments.  She told him the same thing she’d told Geillis when she asked the same question in significantly cruder terms: that her weekly interactions with Jamie had never led to a professional diagnosis or a recommended course of treatment.

“Aye. He’s a good man, although tragically immune tae my charms.  Unlike some.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Fraser,” she warned, although his rakish grin warmed her from the inside out.

“I’ll be darkening his doorway wi’ some frequency, after t’day,” he continued with a return to solemnity.

And yet you called me, Claire wanted to say, but didn’t.  When his beloved niece had slipped away, hers had been the number he had dialed, despite everything.  The very idea made her thoughts flit about like fireflies.

“I missed ye, Sassenach,” he confessed quietly after a time.

“I missed you too, Jamie.”

They sat together through the thin hours of the night, talking, sharing memories of Maggie, but mostly in silent companionship.  As dawn brightened the eastern sky, the fog began to lift, revealing an overcast sky.  The lights of the bridge blinked out, and the city’s music began anew.  Claire wished futilely that day would never break, knowing that it would bring them both the pain of two very different kinds of goodbye.

Her hand, when Jamie finally let it go, felt strange, as though it had been separated from its source.  She tucked it quickly into her pocket.

“I.. errr, I need tae be goin’,” Jamie said by way of apology.  “Ian and Jenn will be needin’ me.”

“Yes, of course.  I’ll just, um, call myself an Uber.”

They were both standing, neither seemingly knowing how to part.

Jamie opened his mouth, paused, shook his head in frustration, then looked away.  Her traitorous hand escaped her pocket and found its way to his chest.

“I’ll be thinking of you.  All of you.  If there’s anything, anything at all..”

“How long until your no’ my doctor anymore?  Ethically speakin’.”  He was looking at her in a way that made the fireflies whirlpool about.

“What?” she asked to buy herself some time to breath.

“Before I go an’ face everything that is wrong about t’day, I want tae ken, how long must I wait before I can kiss ye again wi’out riskin’ yer reputation?”

“There’s no written timetable,” she stalled.  “It’s a question of a doctor exerting undue influence or the exploitation of the patient’s trust, and there’s really...”

“Those rules are meant tae protect the patient, aye?  So I should be allowed tae waive them, no’?”

“Jamie...”

“Fine, let me rephrase my question.  Doctor Claire Beauchamp, when can I, James Fraser, ask ye tae look upon me as a potential suitor and no’ a former patient?  Six months?  A year?  Two years?”

“You really are the most infuriatingly stubborn man,” she huffed.

“Aye, I ken.  Sae, two years?  Do we have an agreement, Sassenach?”

“Fine, yes, two years, but Jamie, I don’t expect you to...”

A finger was placed across her lips, silencing her protests.

“Two years are naught if I can kiss ye again once they have passed.  Until then, Claire, please take care of yerself.”

She stood by the bench long after Jamie was gone, staring out across the river.  A flock of geese flew by in formation, broad wings nearly touching the surface of the water as it reflected the steel gray clouds above.  She thought of little Maggie, and her birdhouse surrounded by clouds.  A sob wrestled its way up her throat, surprising in its urgency.  And then, she allowed herself to cry.

[popurikat]

Trying to make sense of parts of Future (Mystery Skulls)

Since my last analysis went so well I thought I’d make this post as well, especially because Future really did confuse me and I know others might be lost as well; so lets discuss this together! It will be lengthy as I am basically spewing my thoughts out right on the videos immediate release date (there will be a read more option after my first thought to avoid long positng). Well first things first, I wanna address that I've been curious about what kind of spirit Arthur's arm could be (since I am not too well acquainted with any canon on its background part at least) and I think I have concluded that the closest thing to it could be is a Tenome; which is a Yochai that possesses a man's body and moves the eyes to the palms. "found lurking in cemeteries, hands outstretched, as if he has only recently lost his vision and is searching for something. Get close enough, and you’ll find out in quick succession that a) he’s not blind, but looking with eyes embedded in his hands, and b) what he’s looking for is a snack." (fyi, most of my mythos information is coming from Wiki just as a heads up)

And sure enough he found a great source for his hunger. Something he has been EYEING since the start. Which now leads me to my next points on the video...

At first watch I was convinced that each strand found on Mystery’s heart represented a singular soul bond, I thought that blue was for Vivi, Green was for the hand, pink for Lewis, purple for Shiro, Yellow for Lance, Orange for Arthur, and black and white were unknown. Which, didn’t settle right for me. SO I went in and re-watched the clip a couple more times and saw this:

Vivi’s (blue created after she got hurt) and Shiro’s (white created after she died) strands were connected to the strands located next to them. A start and an end. Mystery’s promise to Vivi to stay at her side for generations as he was spared upon prior defeat of Mushi. And then of course we have the promise of power and sustenance for Shrio as they held a symbiotic relationship for most of their lives that was only severed due to an interference. These double strands of fate are especially clearer in the scene with Shiro in Future. As the black strand gets clearer the more she gets injured or emotionally hurt, it eventually leads to the leak of the white strand on her death. Meaning; Black/white=Shiro; Purple/Pink=Lewis; Blue/Green: Vivi; and Orange/Yellow: Arthur. And why am I inclined to believe Lewis and Arthur are apart of Mystery’s heart? Well that's because those two were the only ones fully streaming before Vivi’s and Shiro’s appeared. We know that Arthur lost an arm to Mystery and discovered his identity (ergo losing most of his trust in him) insinuating both strands to arise early on of his color scheme, as well as with Lewis’ death occurring under the protection of Mystery when they were grouped and having his soul go restless/ in pain. It wouldn’t make sense to add family members or side characters not included in the mainline story to this grouping unless they would play an important role in the finale, which isn’t likely since we have only one more video left as Ben stated it was going to be a 5 video series. I am also inclined to believe each person has two strands because of Kitsune lore: “ Kitsune keep their promises and strive to repay any favor. Occasionally a kitsune attaches itself to a person or household. They follow their word of honor. They become self-destructive if they break a promise, and when someone else breaks a promise, they become deadly enemies.” Plus, It would make sense as to why in this short battle Mystery sprouted his last 3 tails when it came to Vivi and Shiro and how their connections affect his power. (more on this in a bit) But, furthermore; if anyone else notices, the Band-Aids on the heart are also remotely located on the sections of Vivi’s and Shiro’s strands specifically because for both, Mystery has vowed to protect them and has failed. 

Now then lets talk about a few things on Mystery’s ultimate form shall we? The final form of a Kitsune, its celestial form as shown here is called a Tenko. (yes I am aware of the Kumiho, but that is a fully evil, flesh eating, 9 tailed fox that specialize in illusions and well Mystery has never been portrayed as human). The Tenko makes even more sense when taken into consideration that Mystery’s third eye (typically a form of wisdom connected to overpowering the mortality of ones self) opens. So how was this done in such a short amount of time? “Kitsune do not accept aid from those who are not willing. they do not ask for help, and as such, most aid must come from another's initiative. Kitsune are emotional and very vengeful. Kitsune will lose their temper at the slightest provocation. Once someone has earned a kitsune's enmity, the kitsune will begin enacting revenge that can become quite extreme. On the other hand, those who have earned a kitsune's trust and loyalty will see a friendship that can last through many trials. Freedom is very important to the kitsune. They do not accept being forced into something they do not wish, and do not like being bound or trapped. Doing so weakens the kitsune.” Mystery as we know is very much controlled by his emotions, going head first into things constantly based on reaction and his inability to control his power under distress. His tails arose in the fight sequence every time he fulfilled his oath AND used 100% of his form/power. Therefore, his tails grew because he wasn’t holding back anymore, not his grievances, not his appearance, nor his hesitance in his evident distress of being bound to two entities that both required his aid.  My last note on these images comes from a tumblr user’s reverse audio clipping (https://nebulous-rain.tumblr.com/post/633555549749952512/ok-so-yknow-that-one-reversed-part-of-future). The rewind of the clip of Mystery’s transformation plays “When I’m With You”, which yes, cool a possible Easter egg to the next song! BUT what is this song about? Let me just bring up the first line of the song: “You got me hanging by a THREAD...I wish I could turn back time...I wish I could rewind life...” and before the chorus “I’m gonna make it right”. We know that this can refer to rectifying the wrongs of Lewis’ death, but more accurately to do so we need to defeat the evil inside this mutt that is pulling the strings of this whole fiasco. And this might just be the intro portion of the next mystery skulls mind you as we’ve also gotten many false starts with the previous two videos where hellbent used “every note” and future used “enemies” alongside the main song. BUT WE HAVE TWO YEARS ANYWAY, WHY BABBLE ON ABOUT THIS. LETS MOVE ON!

Hearts in this series have not been just for identifying the dead or for aesthetic purposes, they are the life force of each powerful legend. I am actually surprised to see Shiro have a heart as she started off as a creation from Mystery and therefore her lifeforce is just his blood and without it she is nothing. I am curious about her color pallet though, her heart is purple and pink. Lewis’ is gold/yellow with touches of orange. And Mystery’s is just red, but it has a mix of everyone’s essence within it to keep it tied and whole. Shiro’s could be colored this way in reference to Lewis’ aid to help find her creator; which would explain why Mystery surrounds himself by color as he required outside help and how Lewis’ heart is yellow in reference to how recently Arthur helped him remember his friends/hidden memories. One thing we have learned about hearts is that they can be broken repeatedly and can be ripped apart from the body, but they can be repaired too through resolution/hope. Lewis restored his heart in hellbent by using Vivi’s flower petals and finding hope that he will get revenge, only for his heart to be repaired again through Arthur’s touch. Shiro may have withered away, but her heart is essentially not broken, she’d need Mystery to restore it as it was flung into space (and that again relies on Mystery finding his sanity and finding it in himself to even bring her back). And as for Mystery himself, he’s gonna need the whole gang to reach out to him to extract the parasite within and restore balance. I really want to know more about the heart properties and how they give their users their powers as well Vivi is able to summon her strength through a material connection (bat) that function in its own way as the vessel a heart does since its connecting her to her ancestry.

NOW to finalize, I offer you two queries:

WHO IS ARTHURS HAND REACHING FOR!? I know it seems like Mystery, but that would be counter productive for the hand demon if he has Arthur interfering with his control. Is it still after Lewis as we’ve seen previous times where his arm acts up only in Lewis’ presence and when specifically other “magic” is at play? If so, is the goal to ward off Lewis and Vivi from defeating Mystery? Is Arthur gonna use the arm to find his own power as we’ve seen when he is able to momentarily cease control of it he kinda ruins anything electrical he touches and well, electricity is currently running rampant in there.

and lastly, I am really curious how touch sensitive hearts are, We know that even the smallest of brushes can detect memory/links to the person holding it (as seen with how Shiro managed to get soul flowers in hellbent), but the fact that Lewis was so in touch with the feeling of Arthur EVEN THOUGH ARTHUR GRABBED HIS HEART THROUGH HIS METAL HAND MIND YOU!, that he still managed to feel the disturbance instantly. So my question is, is the touch sensitivity reliant on how close someone is to someone? I would like to say yes cause when Shiro touched his heart he didn’t react instantly, he felt her rummaging his memories and was awoken, but he didn’t kick her butt by fully reforming until after she had long since stepped on his heart and then forced the memory of Mystery to arise. But yeah, its a nice little detail.

Either way, thanks for reading! Feel free to add on, comment, or even dm me about more Mystery Skulls information and theories! Love to hear them!

[highviewsmoved]

✽ overhaul x oc (NSFW) ✽ with the promise of a cure, a young woman uses the contents of her grandfather's will to her own advantage.

CAUTION WARNINGS: stockholm syndrome, references to illness, mental instability, emotional manipulation, unresolved sexual tension, voluntary imprisonment, voyeurism, obsession, dubious morality, masturbation. 

“A gentle hand upon a flower, causes it to bloom with love, you see. It takes a caress similar to that of a partner. It’s been a part of our family for generations, this ability.” He uses his hands to cup the sunken plant before him, slowly examining it as it blossoms upward to a renewed state.

The child blinks up at the older man, his eyes wrinkled with a faraway smile.

“But grandmother says I have a curse.”

The older man frowns, eyes downcast. “It may be, but to me, it is a gift.”

The child continues in a monotone that no one should possess at such an age. “All the flowers I touch, they come out of me, grandpa.”

The grandfather doesn’t know how else to respond, but goes and provides aid to the flowers dying from heat, the shade of brown passing over to a healthy green.

“It is a blessing, child,” he reaffirms. He is certain as the flowers that bloom from his hand that his granddaughter is special. “Always count them for yourself.”

Her grandmother lays bedridden. A restless thing that looks so close to the doors of death. Ume feels the tears spill from her eyes. It is a foreign thing to cry with meaning behind it, but it’s what she feels.

“Ume, my flower. Yuzuki left you something you must know. The Hassaikai, our business partner, can take you in. They can heal you.”

She sniffles, wiping her eyes. “Grandfather always told me it was a gift,” she coughs into her hand, an azealia appearing on her lap. Her grandmother coughs, but for a different reason.

“You’re ill, find them, show them this,” her hand is skeletal, like the gnarled twigs of a tree in winter. She nods, taking her hands. “I will, I’ll find them,” she promises.

Her grandmother heaves a shaky breath, passing quietly while the heart monitor keens a high sound, leaving her alone with the paper in hand.

Ume thinks of another time of when her grandparents were just with her moments before, still alive. Still there.

The hospital staff come bursting through, calling out to her and moving her away from the sight. She watches as they cover her grandmother’s face, they push her to the outside of the room.

Ume opens the letter, the will being precariously typed, the calligraphy neat and organized. Something her grandfather was always meticulous about.

It is written on this piece that she is property of the Boss from the Hassaikai. The newly appointed young lord of the organization.

When she returns home, doing a simple search through the calculated books her grandfather left behind. She sees the face of the older Shie Hassaikai and a photo of a young man she’s met and seen before.

A slow smile forms across her face.

Her finger tracing lines against the image of the younger man.

She finds them easily. Ume had to pull some strings. The company her family has owned had ties with the Hassaikai for many years. They developed pharmaceuticals together for people with quirks. They lobbied with one another.

It was all to keep themselves afloat.

And now she’s here. She feels an ebbing of excitement when she’s welcomed into their headquarters.

Ume sits across from the leader of the Shie Hassaikai. The young man was adorned with a plague mask. It’s a signature look for them. The massive paper is being read by the other henchman, a man by the name of Kurono.

“It reads here you are a part of the will that was granted by your grandfather, Yuzuki. The boss knew him for quite some time. And you’re fine with this?” Kurono is skeptical. He is clearly unsure of what sort of play is happening here.

She sits up a bit taller, attempting to seem much more presentable. She must play her part in this as best she can. “I am.”

The man, Chisaki Kai, one she has seen come across her family’s estate many times before. The one from the photo in her grandfather’s files. A young man who seemed quite lost when she saw him. Now looks much more hostile and methodical. He tilts his head curiously.

Mimic below makes a curious noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t think that’s a little off, miss?”

Ume smiles amiably, causing the men around him to shift uncomfortably. Her gaze was pinned on the leader. “I understand my duties entirely well, and I have been raised to meet them. Our families have had a partnership for decades. It’s to continue the union as we see it.”

Overhaul’s gloved hands she notices start rubbing against each other, she glances quickly at the motion but removes her gaze before he can notice. When she meets his eyes they’re locked on hers in a challenge. A heated fire in them, he surely must’ve seen.

“What do you gain from this, Miura? What's your endgame if you were to be kept by the Hassaikai? Is it a business alliance you wish to continue?”

Ume hearing his voice is all she wanted and she exhales shakily, heart giddily pounding. “I’m sick,” she says in a false, weepy tone. “I want to be cured and you have the capabilities to help me.”

Overhaul tenses considerably. Kurono passes a nervous glance towards his boss. Overhaul looks terse, Kurono can sense his hands twitching to rid this woman before him like an infection.

“What’re you ill with?”

Ume’s eyes glitter, the rumble coming from deep in her stomach, rising to unfurl out of her mouth. A flower upon the table. It was a shade of vibrant purple, shaped similar to that of a star with the center protruding yellow. Kurono makes a disgusted noise and Mimic reels back.

Overhaul feels his nostrils flaring at the flora before him. The belladonna, the nightshade resting against the wood of the coffee table. Ume in tears coughs into her mouth.

Disgusting, he thinks. A sickness waiting to flourish if he does not cut it out.

Ume is in a room of white. An area so pristine that she feels she will blacken it with her sight. She lays herself down on the bed as instructed and allows the men to enter with the needle. They say it’s supposed to be a prep, to see if this can really work to nullify the quirk enough to not be a bother for her any longer.

“We’ll remove the illness from you entirely, Miura,” the voice comes from the intercom belonging to Overhaul. She wants to laugh happily, she’s content with how simple it was to get herself here. They were so easily swayed. The tears leak from her eyes.

“Please," she begs. "I no longer wish to be this way.”

“Begin,” comes the buzz from the intercom and one of the men comes close towards her with the needle. The liquid is an odd shade and she forces herself to relax, the lower half of her body shaking.

When she can sense the press of the sharpened needle against her thigh she wants to pull away but she stares straight into the camera in the corner of the room, her eyes never leaving the tiny blinking dot. She knows he’s watching. He is alone and she is here with him.

“We’ll be recording you for updates on the serum we’ve injected. It’s still something roughly in the works, but there’s no reversal for it which you should already have known about—” The man before her continues to drone on about the nullifier and Ume frowns.

She feels disconnected, she’s been in this room for the last seventy-two hours and is beginning to feel restless, her mind drifting to someplace else. In her thoughts she sees Overhaul, with his face against her hand, her lips grazing his temples. She purses her lips and continues to nod as if she’s understanding. She hasn’t listened to a word.

The man coughs. “Well, we’ll leave you to yourself.”

Ume stands up quickly, reaching out. “Please, wait a moment,” her voice light and sweet.

The doctor of some sort seems rather nervous to be in her proximity, his body language on high alert. Ume notices this, thinking of how this room is on heightened surveillance.

She poses herself to be the perfect angel, a young woman in fear of the unknown. “I don’t want to be alone,” her gaze underneath the fluorescence like a sharpened jewel. The man’s entirely stumped, uncertain of what to do or say.

The blinking from the camera seems to analyze every inch of the interaction. She moves closer, her eyes watering with a pleading look. “I’m here alone and I don’t have anyone else, will you let them know that?”

The man swallows heavily, feeling the blood rush to his head, she has a mind-numbing effect on him. “Ah, yes,” he clears his throat rather loudly. “I’ll let the boss know, of course. Pardon me.”

He exits the room quickly, terrified Overhaul may have seen the odd display between them. Entirely unaware the young woman was smiling the moment he turned his back.

Overhaul sits up quickly, moving out of the observation room with a purpose. He feels overwhelmed by the sudden scene he witnessed. Ume was too vulnerable. No longer is the young woman with a horrific ailment, but now someone without it. It was gone and it could not harm her anymore.

She was as clean as that room she was in. She was a sight to behold and he watched her every waking moment bewitched by her. Seeing her with one of his men, alone and so close. It drove him to leave, it’s what’s making him go to her room to ensure the man did not linger or stay.

“Overhaul,” Kurono comes to his side, matching his quick strides. “What’s happening?” The boss doesn’t respond. Overhaul only waves him off dismissively.

Kurono stops, leaving through a different part of the headquarters, not wanting to bother him any longer. A part of him knowing full well where he’s going

Overhaul reaches her area of the base and stops outside the door. He could easily go in and see what’s happening. She’ll be there, in her room with her own personal belongings, and see her. He’s been watching her.

His first memory of Ume was back when she came to the old Hasaikai office, where the boss was in talks with Yuzuki. She was a dainty thing, with a twinkling gaze and an amicable aura about her. She seemed serene, something he was not during his early years. He remembers glancing at her, words not spoken between them, but her gaze held his. It never once left his, as if she could see right through him into the core of his head.

The memory dissipates immediately when he hears a gentle moan, he wavers. An odd feeling washes over him. Why is he here exactly? He is the one in charge and so he thrusts open the door, and he sees an image that will be seared into his memory.

Ume on her back, her hand in between her legs that are spread apart for him to see. He stands there, locked into place with the door closing with a puff of air and she looks up to see him, her hands hiding as she sits up, looking ashamed.

Her cheeks heated and a look of worry flashes across her. Overhaul hasn’t moved.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her eyes watering and he feels a rapid emotion overcome him.

“You—” he can’t seem to get the words out. It was like he completely lost his purpose for being there in the first place.

His mind was screaming in itself.

Ume lifts herself away from the bed, her skirt covering the legs he saw moments before. She drifts to him like a phantom.

“I’m still not well, my display must’ve concerned you,” she tells him. She is now only a few feet away. Overhaul attempts to rein in his muddled thoughts.

“Clearly,” he spits. He wants to flee, he wants to tear her apart and then rebuild her back again.

Ume was a striking beauty, the mole beneath her lips. Her eyes were a shade of pink, her hair the color of mulberries. She was such a captivating individual that he seems to understand why he feels such a magnetism towards her.

It must’ve been the number of times when she has held his gaze evenly. So at odds with what he expected her to be.

Ume snares him with a hook. “You’re just as twisted,” he feels an odd anger bubble up in him at her.

“What do you know? You’re here on account of your family selling you like a business offering.”

Ume’s eyes flash. “I am here on my own volition with what was provided.”

Overhaul doubts her, she can’t be serious.

She steps closer, her lips a beautiful shape. She reminds him of a spider creating a web. “You’re a sick man yourself. You come into the room of a woman who has no way to defend herself from someone like you.”

“You’re a witch,” he hisses. He feels an emptiness in his core with this talk. He can’t understand what this is.

Ume is unsettling, he realizes. She’s not what he thought she was. “I’m not a danger to you, Kai.” The way she says his name so tenderly, like a woman in love disturbs him more than anything.

She’s suffocating. She’s a boa constrictor wrapping herself around him ready to squeeze.

The effect she has on him is vexing. “I’ve always watched you,” she tells him like a shared secret between lovers. He shakes his head. “Just like you have been watching me.”

He turns on his heel and leaves, shutting the door. Overhaul feels his pulse rising with each step he takes. The way she looks at him, the way she has him in her hands.

Overhaul feels a genuine moment of horror.

What is she?

He returns with an ultimatum. She could finally be released, with the exception of constant surveillance on her. She could return to her old life of doing what she was before.

Overhaul does not want to push her away but his mind keeps thinking of seeing her in that specific position from that day. He wants to get rid of it. He needs her gone.

“I’m still unwell,” she tells him. She watches him warily, but something in her is telling him it's a ruse.

“You’re still sick?” He asks, his hand moving to hover across her face. Overhaul feigns his own concern for her. Ume’s eyes drift downwards. Her day-to-day was a cycle. An endless myriad of nothingness except her own thoughts to please herself with. She’s been in this room for days on end and after their last moment together, she was hoping she had finally gotten through to him. Finally, the object of her attention returned. She has him all to herself.

Ume shifts closer. Overhaul looking down at her, and he does not side step or moves away. “I’m here to get better, aren’t I?”

He tilts his head curiously to her advancing. “And you are? We’ve already given you the antidote.  Don’t you want to leave here?” Ume smiles, eyes bright. She looks similar to a specific painting he’s seen in a galleria. The piece being a ghostly woman standing across the moors in a European isle.

“But you’re here. You keep me company.” He came here on a whim hoping this offer would be one that she would comply with.

Overhaul may have underestimated her, she's like a siren calling him softly from the sea, coaxing him to shore. Her words simply hold that much power.  

His lips feel dry beneath his mask and he swallows. Her gown is loose, revealing her skin below and a part of him feels he could move to coast his hand across. To be able to hear her breathing hitch, close to his ears. To be able to see that display of her legs opening. He ceases the thoughts. She’s at his mercy. He has control.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, more to himself. His mind has become a frenzy. A demented voice in his brain begging him to lay his hand upon her. One touch won’t hurt, it won’t. It would be quick, a simple thing.

Ume drifts from side to side, her hand reaching above to move a piece of his hair. Her fingers dance across his forehead. He grits his teeth, his gloved hands twitching. His mind suddenly gearing up for a tirade. It’s filthy. It’s disgusting. It feels wonderful.

“Then leave here,” she whispers. “Don’t come back.”

“You’re a vixen. You’re sick,” Overhaul emphasizes. This time he means it, but he can’t help but let himself be entranced. She’s maddening. Enticing, his mind supplies.

Ume laughs, she’s infuriatingly beautiful. “And yet you come, again and again. For me.”

Overhaul retreats, her eyes twinkling with mirth. He leaves her there, walking quickly away, his steps echoing down the halls as he moves around the labyrinth. “Overhaul, where are you going?” Kurono asks in shock, he’s never seen his boss move in such a hurry.

“To my private quarters.”

He shuts the door to his room, locking it, hurriedly taking off his jacket stripping himself of the ailment. His thoughts cause images to be projected into his mind. Seeing himself close to Ume, pressing his lips close to her breasts, and his hands placed where hers was between her thighs.

He feels tight all over, collapsing onto the ground in a mess. His breathing is all over the place as he removes his mask from the heat of it all.

Ume was dangerous.

His hands moving on their own as if she was puppeteering them herself. He imagines her there with him. She could be, his mind adds. That filthy part of himself could go in there and take her. Keep her with him all the while. It’s what she would want. It’s what he wants.

Overhaul unzips his pants, his hands grabbing his cock, feeling the girth against his palm. He imagines her there, she’s so real against him. She is stunning as her mouth presses against his dick.

Fuck.

He begins moving, pumping to get to a fast release. The image of Ume licking his shaft, her fingers dancing across his body. Her touch is absolutely vile, but it causes his heart to pound.

He fondles himself more, beginning to feel his body clench around him. This is sickening, he thinks. It’s not right. Ume is still there, the image of her never left.

Overhaul could’ve taken her into his room. Having done everything his filthy mind was displaying out for him, his pleasure exceeded all logical thoughts.

The idea of her as his alone. “Come for me again and again.” He hears her voice so close to his ear, the way she said his name. Kai. Fuck.

He’s so close.

Her pussy would be pressing against his shaft, she would be so wet, so tight. Her moans would be sensual when she continues to take him how she wants. The way it would spasm against his dick. He grabs his balls roughly at the thought.

Overhaul comes with a grunt, a desperate sound freeing itself. He shivers at the sensation of his own cum warm against his body.

A harsh breath rakes through him and he stumbles his way into the bathroom. He starts the water, the steam rising above when he takes a step in. Overhaul hisses, the water scalding against his skin.

He thought with this he could exorcise the thoughts of her, but knowing that she could be doing this too. Ume’s own fingers deep inside of her, imagining himself was something he never experienced before.

A pleasure all their own.

Ume imagines what she would do if Kai would come and stay with her. If he would be willing to let her touch him, to touch her. His large, gloved hands caressing her thighs, reaching up to grab her breasts.

She begins trailing her own fingers down to her thighs, reaching the clit, the gentle motions budding into herself.

The thoughts of Overhaul down on his knees for her, what a simple touch could do. She moans, her fingers working with a quickened pace to reach her own orgasm. A fast one to rid herself of her desire. She needed to continue her control. She was the one above him. He couldn’t kill her even if he tried.

He kept her here offering whatever possible to release her, but her devotion to him and her own cause kept her to stay in this room so he could return.

Ume puts him through a hideous pattern and it pushes her to the edge. The tightening of her abdomen is ready for her to cum and she does. She arches her back, the sensation of her quivering pussy overwhelming.

The arousal of her knowing that he’s in his room, touching himself despite his abhorrence to it. She licks her juices off of her fingers, her breath heavy as she watches the familiar red dot of the camera.

Ume’s awakened by the opening of the door, and one of the many men announcing she’s allowed free reign to wander their base. That her status was cleared, that the nullifier accomplished its effect and healed her.

She was now free.

It was another offer she realizes, to really get her to leave this place. But she’s having so much fun here, in her own little space. She wishes to be a blight.

A stain that is so deep that it leaves Overhaul a crumbling, cumming mess every time he leaves her room.

He doesn’t touch her, there is no tenderness. Just her words and his own, and a continuous cycle of touching themselves at moments she hopes are timed at the same.

She smiles at the men, a coy thing that holds so much, but does not provide them with what exactly she’s thinking.

Ume’s not done here. She’ll see this through in its entirety.

“I won’t be going,” she sits against the wall, her hair so long that she toys with one of the strands. “I want to be here.”

They seem a bit nervous about her response. Not exactly sure what the procedure for a willing asset is.

“You can leave now,” Ume says. “I won’t be asked again.” They can hear the threat in her tone, her eyes narrowing as the men shuffle out in fear of incurring her terrifying attitude.

Overhaul returns with a quickened haste. Not even bothering to knock on her door and she grins.

“You’re a wretched thing, aren’t you,” he states. His finger pointed at her. She stares at the appendage; wishing to take it deep against her throat.

“I am, but aren’t you?” She’s challenging him. Miura Ume is a shogi piece on the board. The way she calculates his every mood, her eyes gauging him. She could eat him alive. It’s nauseating.

“I could kill you,” he’s trying to convince himself it’s the only rational thing to do. She sits up, the chemise sliding down her shoulder exposing her supple skin. He yearns, a sick part of him wants to see her exposed for him.

He wants to touch her just once.

No! His mind screams. She’s foul. She’s stunning.

Ume moves her hands to hold his, he begins to tremble. He wishes he could grapple with his failing control. To get back at her. She purses her mouth against the tip of his gloved finger, tongue brushing against the leather. When she bites down she never looks away from his sight.

He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. Ume releases her hold on him and licks her lips. The pink of her tongue swipes the redness of her mouth. Overhaul is a mess of a man. What kind of the leader of this organization is he, that he is seduced by a single woman.

Ume lowers herself onto her knees, a wicked gleam in her eyes. She’s close to the crotch of his pants and he wants to run. So he can rid himself of these thoughts she’s causing.

“You won’t break your favorite toy,” her silky voice slithers in his ears. Her fingers feather across his thighs.  Ume’s own hands wishing to dig into him.

The light sensation causes shockwaves across his flesh. Overhaul is enraptured. What else could she possibly attempt to do. He replays the image of her mouth around his finger. A dark rumbling in his gut jolts him away, and she smiles. It breaks him away from the reverie of this siren below him.

He stands above her, he could press all five fingers deep into her neck, ceasing her diabolical wishes. “You’re heinous,” he grits out. A realization blooming in his mind that he’s lost this power play. He was already in her clutches the moment he saw her.

She owns him. Every touch, every single way he jerks himself off, the orgasms he has. It’s all for her.

He’s mortified. He feels the room is like a cage. He’s the canary in the cat’s mouth.

Ume pouts. “I could make you feel so good,” she says this as if it’s the only thing he needs.

Overhaul wants to throttle her. He wants to hike up her gown and shove his cock so far deep into her that it makes her hold onto him.

This is dangerous, his mind says. You need to clean yourself.

“You’re a plague,” he spits. “You’re just a wretched thing who wants too much.”

She laughs as if he said the funniest thing in the world. “I am, but you enjoy this just as much as I do.” Ume sits up no longer on her knees. He still towers above her.

Overhaul could end it right now. He just has to touch her. Let her rot against the floor. He’s torn, he fears she’ll reanimate on her own. His own personal karma.

“You want me on my knees for you, telling you the dirtiest things imaginable.” Her eyes were that of a feline.

She backs him against one of the corners of the room. Overhaul slides down against the wall.

He wants this to end.

Ume lowers herself to his level, her lips grazing his ear. “You want me to fuck you senseless.”

Overhaul grunts. “I don’t—“ he can’t get the words out. He’s completely losing himself. He can touch her. He can. He can’t.

Ume’s tongue prods against his neck and he nearly groans. The way it slides up to his chin. He would let her take a bite out of him. It’s what he wants.

He feels his cock hardening against his trousers.

She leans a bit away, getting a good look at him in this state. That longing look in his eye. The lust in his crotch. He’s only wearing his medical mask and she wants to tear it off of him.

“You’re spineless,” she mocks. “You can’t even help yourself or your boss.”

He snarls. “What do you know,” he fires back. “You come here like a leech wanting a cure.”

“I know more than you do,” she tells him.

“Your teasing routine ends here,” he stands. The way she moves away from him pushes him to continue backing her against her own bed.

“Is this what you want? Do you want me to fuck you senseless? Or do you just want my finger in your cunt?” Overhaul feels a recharge in his power. He could finally see her resolve falter.

“I do,” Ume flushes, looking away from him. A gentle admittance. “I want all of it.”

The room is silent, save for the labored breaths from Overhaul and the quiet words from Ume echoing.

They look at each other for a long moment.

Overhaul makes the move first. He presses his lips harshly against her mouth.

She makes a noise but tries to remove the mask he’s kissing her through.

He rips it off and his hands lift her gown as she lays back against the bed.

Her legs wrapping themselves around his waist pulling him to her. Her touch causes him to groan. Overhaul feels his head swimming. She’s delicious. The way her lips form around his, her tongue gliding against his own.

He refuses to lay his hand on her, that part of him with his clear disdain for touch still scratching in his mind. It tells him to stop. To cease.

She’s a drug. Her moans are intoxicating. Her lips drag against his cheek and she suckles his neck.

“I want you,” she presses into him, reaching to unbuckle his pants. Ume grabs his cock through the fabric. No, she’s filthy.

“Fuck,” he exhales. She’s pliant against him.

“Touch me, Kai,” she moans, her legs tight around him. His hips are close to hers. His hands are still balled into tight fists.

“Just one finger,” she prods. “Make me cum.”

He snarls. Overhaul bites her shoulder and she yelps. “I’m not touching you.”

She laughs against his lips. “Your loss.”

They continue like this, lost in the sensation of each other's lips. His hips thrust into hers and she groans a needy sound.

She unbuckles his pants, freeing his cock. He feels dizzy. Ume guides him towards her wet entrance.

“Fuck me,” she moans. Overhaul gnashes his teeth together, his balled-up fists feeling like an anchor.

He’s imagined this so many times. This exact image, her voice right at his ear.

“Please, Kai,” her voice calls again.

Overhaul grunts, thrusting into her. Ume’s cries were delightful. “Oh, Kai.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, and she hugs him tightly to herself, caging him in her arms.

She looks elated, something he hasn’t seen in her expressions. Her controlled, manipulative faces have only been used against him. At this moment she looks genuinely content.

His fists begin to uncurl. Just one touch to wipe the way her tendrils are covering a bit of her face.

A loud knock stops them from going any further, startling them both.

“Overhaul!” A panicked voice comes. “There’s a plan of attack from the heroes.”

Overhaul and Ume look at each other for a long moment. “Put your clothes on.”

He pulls out of her. The feeling of it winding them both up. He would let his men take care of it. He could finish here, before going out there to fight. No. He stumbles away from her. He doesn’t have time to clean himself and he shudders.

Ume is unnervingly complacent through it. Once he readjusts himself, setting his mask on.

She’s back to being fully clothed, her eyes blankly staring ahead.

“I’ll be back,” he says. His head dips, to get her to look at him. Her bright eyes stare into his. “I’ll finish this.”

Ume releases a laugh. “You won’t.”

Overhaul stands at his full height, eyes narrowing. “I will,” he promises.

He shuts the door leaving her alone.

Ume's trademark grin returning.

She walks back to her bed, curling into herself as she waits.

It’s been hours and there’s a breach in her room.

A team of heroes enters and there's a multitude of voices.

“Someone’s in here!”

“It’s a woman! We need a medic!”

They come in a cluster, checking her, and Ume’s tears come falling forth. Her character this time is a hysterical woman who was wrongly experimented on.

“We’ll get you out of here, miss. What’s your name?”

She is inconsolable as she gives them a name, a fallacious one. “Yumi, my name is Yumi. Please, I want to go home.”

The heroes escort her out with a blanket over her shoulders. She looks around the base and it is destroyed. The walls are crumbling. Nothing looks the way it did when she first arrived.

Ume tries to hide her grin. A beautiful downfall that Kai went through, she thinks.

So pretty.

The trip to Tartarus was a vicious one. The seawater lapped against the tides of the boat. The young charge, in connection with the Hero Commission, shields himself from the onslaught of the rain.

“Fujita! We’re almost to the island.”

Agent Fujita, one of Ume’s many disguises only clad in a suit and raincoat, nods affirmatively. “Good.”

The man calls for the steering of the boat to the dock, the entire vessel moving onwards and the agent does not budge. She stays with the breeze against her face, whipping her face as the boat’s sound alerts the officers on Tartarus of an arrival.

The ship is stopped against the steel dock as they rein in the anchor, wrapping the sails against each other as the young escort jogs to her.

“We’ve arrived. Please go this way to the base.”

Ume follows down the ramps. The clanking of the steel-toed boots beneath her into a rhythm.

“Private Personnel coming through please.”

“Identification is needed for passing into Tartarus.”

“I have it,” Ume says, her fingers handing over the passes and a note from the Hero Commission granting the access.

“Agents Gentaro and Fujita?” The man in the dark outfit is splashed by the nearby tide. “Dammit, alright. That’s fine. If they know you’re here. We’ll send them word you’ve arrived.”

Gentaro steps forward. “We won’t be here long, it’s a quick interview with one of the prisoners.”

“It’ll be a fast one,” Ume adds.

One of the other guards snickers. “As long as you both don’t try to break these monsters out.”

Ume smiles a familiar grin that halts the guard's laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The massive gates open forward walking into the long corridors of Tartarus.

“This place is bright,” Gentaro hisses. Ume doesn’t react, only blinking in response.

“The criminal you’re about to meet is infamous, you know? He’s pretty vile, kept a woman and a child, using them for test subjects.”

Ume’s new voice has a low tone. “I’ve seen quite a bit in my heyday, Gentaro.”

He snorts. “Alright, alright. Gotcha, well, I’ll tell the guards you’re ready to see him.”

The room they entered was accessed only through a fingerprint scanner, which Gentaro uses. Ume walks in, standing across a reinforced glass, waiting for them to bring him in.

Ume feels her heart rate pick up. It’s been months on end since the disbandment of the Hassakai, since their separation.

Ume was taken in with the heroes, saved by them. Or so they think. But Ume returns as Agent Fujita now.

She hid her identity, easily enough with a modifying bullet she received from the underground which gave her a new quirk.

It was the ability to change the face, so one does not recognize her immediately as the woman who was captured. Ume had many ties, connections her grandfather left behind; she was able to put them to good use. She used them all to give her this gift before her.

To be able to see him again.

Chisaki Kai enters, completely wrapped in a straight jacket, pushed forth on some sort of mechanism that was strapping him in.

“Agent Fujita, Prisoner 23554 is here. Chisaki Kai, Overhaul, reporting in.” The bleeping over the intercom disperses and she is granted some privacy when the guards leave. They had nothing to worry about since Overhaul could not wield his quirk nor did they know that Ume didn’t even have one.

She smiles.

He looks pathetic, still facing downward, refusing to look up. His hair is overgrown. He has tired eyes, stubble coming in and she wishes to grab his face and rub her lips against the roughness of his chin.

“Kai,” she calls softly. Her voice is the sound of honey dripping from the corners; like it was seeping through the glass. He shifts, raising his head slowly. When he comes to, his eyes widen in shock. “You,” he swallows roughly. His throat feels dry.

She coos, walking closer to the glass, her hands resting on the counter. “Kai, my destroyed, beloved,” she grins all white teeth and red lips. Overhaul quakes, feeling overcome with the oddest emotion. Is he excited? Is he terrified? It’s a rush of cold pouring through his veins. He feels the familiar ache of the loss of his arms, wishing to thrash in his restraints, but the poisonous woman is here and she still speaks.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ume says in that deceptive tone of hers. It sounds as if she were in awe, but her eyes. Her gaze is so dark that he imagines himself devoured by her.

The reversal of the situation. The way he had her for months on end, trapped in his own area. He should’ve had the upper hand to take back his own control of her relying on him and the odd web of seduction they found themselves in.

Before he was free, he could’ve left her to her own devices. He should’ve killed her when he had the chance, but she stands before him on the other side of the glass. This time, she is where he once was. Now she could continue to see him, the vicious cycle continuing. He wants to yell, scream out to the guards. The rush of blood goes to two places, his head and to his dick.

“You’re here,” he says. She laughs lightly, nodding. Ume was a wretched woman for this. A parasite burrowing her way into his flesh, never coming out. He wants to heave. Her constant advances were intoxicating, they cursed his life. He loathes his own weakness for not denying her. He couldn’t have. He was so close. He aches for her.

She tsks, her fingernail scraping against the glass. The sound high pitched and torturous to his ears. He gasps, not knowing how to make her stop.

Ume presses her lips too close against the mirror, the shape of her lipstick leaves a mark there. He clenches his teeth tightly together so he doesn’t groan.

She leans back, admiring her handiwork. Him on the other side, just how she always wanted to see him. Overhaul, the methodical, locked away in a small room just as she was. He was her likeness.

Ume’s voice points out the obvious, but he can’t bear to think of it, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Kai,” she says, observing him as if she’s viewing a virus through the lens of a microscope. His head hits against the steel of the odd-standing chair that he’s restrained in. “You look ill.”

The contamination has already made its home in him. In her. He can’t escape it. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s wheeled away back to his cell. Once the resounding click of the door encloses him in. He can feel her still there with him, the moaning in his ear returning and the tears are hot against his face.

Your loss, her voice returning from that time. Replaying itself over and over.

[shikonotama]

Noragami Reverse Bigbang 2021

Hello! This is my piece for this year's @noragamibigbang. The idea for this fic came from @littlessushi who was my partner for this reverse bigbang. Please make sure to check out her beatiful art! As this was the first time I participated in a reverse bigbang I was quite nervous at the beginning but thanks to my partner's help it was a really great time and I enyojed the writing a lot. Have fun reading! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ »That’s all. Thank you very much.« The young woman took the bag in front of her, bowed politely and left the supermarket she often used to visit on her way home. Right after stepping into the already fading sunlight that warmly lit the surroundings; she stretched both her arms high up into the air, closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. It had been a tough day so far.

Since she had finished medical school and started to work at the local hospital some weeks ago, starting from tomorrow she had her first days off, so she could take things easy today.

‘Alright, Hiyori’, she told herself, ‘time to head back home, get some warm tea and a blanket and just chill on the couch.’

Meow…

Surprised she lowered her arms and opened her eyes to look around.

»Meow…« It took her quite some time to get a glimpse of a tiny black cat. It sat on top of a trash can cover and had its eyes strictly focused her way.

»… me…ow…«, the sound coming out of the small mouth got quite a bit lower after she took some steps into the small cat’s direction.

»Don’t be afraid…«, she smiled, stood still and squatted down while leaning forward a bit. At first Hiyori feared the cat would jump up straight away and run, but it just kept watching her, then the black head rose, the cat closed its eyes and the tiny black nose started to wiggle.

»What’s wrong?«, she asked, knowing well a cat wouldn’t answer. Instead it opened both eyes in an instant: »Meow!«, the big green eyes were now focusing the white bag Hiyori just bought. The woman smiled, stood back up and put one hand into the plastic bag.

»Are you hungry? I only bought some buns, you know?«, she laughed and held a piece between her fingers, so the small animal could reach it without any trouble. When their eyes met again, Hiyori’s smile vanished in an instant and she froze.

Even though the weather hadn’t changed the slightest, the sound of raindrops falling onto the ground reached her ears: raindrops that hit the ground, the roof, the rain drain, her umbrella and the trash can cover.

“I will keep my promise!” Her own words echoed in her ears, “I will never ever forget about you…!”The young woman shuddered and held her breath.

»Ya…to…?!«, she whispered while barely getting any kind of sound out of her mouth and took a closer look at the pair of light green eyes that carefully watched her. The bun she just held dropped on the floor. Just one second ago, Hiyori believed that the cat’s eyes’ colour had changed from green into a deep and light blue – but she was wrong: It was still the same.

‘Why …?’

“Will you really keep that promise, I wonder…?”

Not caring about some people who would probably think she had gotten crazy, Hiyori let the entire bag fall on the ground, turned around and ran.

The park she just entered was still filled with people, mostly families and friends. Many of them already started to prepare their way home, but some were still enjoying their time together. The cherry blossom trees throughout the city had just started to bloom and drew everyone’s attention towards them. Tiny pink petals were dancing through the air, swirling around and lightening everybody’s mood, or so it seemed.

Countless children were running around, screaming and dancing with both leaves and their friends while on the other hand older people were sitting on blankets, drinking, chatting and laughing with their beloveds and family – meanwhile Hiyori was still caught in her thoughts, not fully aware of what just happened or where she ran to.

It was only some minutes later when she finally recognised she ran quite a distance. She abruptly stopped and leaned against a trunk, her eyes still closed to get back a hold of her breathing.

As her emotions calmed down and the surrounding sounds started to reach her consciousness again, she carefully blinked and reopened her eyes. Even though she could still feel her heart pounding against her chest, her breathing tempo went back to normal and her brain had started to work properly again. Even her hands had stopped shaking.

‘What’s wrong with me, all of a sudden?’ She led out a heavy sigh and watched the children play on the grass right in front of her eyes. Hiyori couldn’t help herself but bring back a smile to her face. It felt like ages, since she last went out for a walk during the Hanami. When she was younger, she used to go out with her family and play with her brother and friends like those kids did just now. Later, when she entered middle school, she used to come visit the blooming trees together with her friends, but since she went afar to study to become a physician, she simply didn’t have the time to take a relaxing walk around the park.

Just now, when her eyes tried to follow the petals swirling through the air, she felt like a heavy weight was lifted from her chest – a feeling she hadn’t felt in quite a while. Like a vanishing mist that lay upon her soul for the past… days… maybe weeks… or even years?

»This place sure is amazing, isn’t it?! We definitely have to come back here again next year!«

»You bet we will!«

»For real?! It’s a promise! You better not forget, okay?«

»Of course I promise. How could I forget something that important?!«

The three people, walking by Hiyori who still leaned against the trunk of one of the biggest cherry blossom trees around, laughed and giggled up until she lost sight of them.

»… a… promise…?« Hiyori murmured, softly pushing her body away from the cherry tree trunk. Slowly she continued her way through the park, passing by several trees – some of which were lit by nearby street lamps that had just been switched on one second ago. As she moved on, the amount of people crossing her way decreased, until she finally found herself at the edge of the park, looking over a beautiful riverside, while the sun had continued its way, so it was just about to touch the ground in the far distance now. This caused the white and pink petals swirling around Hiyori’s body to be touched by the fading sunlight, turning the already beautiful view into an even more mysterious one. The tree right beside her, which had its trunk wrapped up in a mat of straw, didn’t seem to be one of the strongest or biggest ones she passed today, nevertheless its petals rained down and spread across – some of them might even reach the other riverbank.

She carefully approached the tree and put her palm on top of its somewhat familiar bark.

‘So warm…’ She lifted her eyes and waved her gaze to the treetop. In an instant she could feel a fresh breeze of wind playing with her hair.

“The Sakura’s in full blossom.”, her own voice echoed in her ears. She shrugged.

“Whoa… they sure are pretty!” It was the voice of a young man, maybe still at a kid’s age. Startled, Hiyori took some steps back from the tree she just put her hand on and searched her surroundings.

“They are… Let’s come back next year, too, okay?!”

“Definitely…” The blonde boy beside her, his eyes sparkling in joy, nodded, still gazing at the big cherry blossom tree. Just one second later he snapped out of his current mood, turning his attention to the back while shouting: “Yo – You dumb old stalker. We did you a big favour by letting you come with us, so you better be careful!” Following his voice, Hiyori turned around as well. Some meters behind them stood a young man dressed in a black track suit. His gaze was locked on the cherry tree as well, but in contrast to the boy, his eyes didn’t sparkle, nor was there any joy visible on his face. His expressions hadn’t changed since Yukine spoke to him, he didn’t even spare a glance on the two. Hiyori couldn’t help herself but feel unease: It was rare for him to put up that kind of face. She wanted to ask him, wanted to know if something happened she didn’t know about, but on the same time she didn’t find the right words to do so. His mind seemed to be in a place far away from here, would he even bother to answer?

Then suddenly, he started to mumble some words. Not loud enough to understand completely, even though she really tried. The wind made the young man’s black hair cover his eyes, so she couldn’t get a hold of his expression anymore. ‘What’s wrong??’ Just as she started to make a move to turn around and walk in his direction, some of his words made it through to her.

“… huh? … can’t even remember… when I last saw…”

‘When?’

“What are you rambling about?! Cherry blossoms are everywhere in Japan…!” The boy’s voice snapped both of them out of their thoughts.

“Hmph… Dumplings over flowers for me any day.”

Without any further word, Yato headed straight to the bento boxes Hiyori prepared for today, sat down on the blanket and pinched a bit out of the box next to him. “SO MUCH FOOD!”, he picked up one of the sausages shaped like an octopus. In contrast to his appearance just some moments ago, he wore a big grin on his face, his cheeks rosy from excitement.

“Ahh, just looking at these adorable octopus hotdogs makes me warm with Hiyori’s love…”

“Wait ‘til everybody gets here, okay?”

“Everybody?”

Just as they spoke, a bunch of people appeared in the far, strictly heading for the cherry blossom tree they prepared the picnic at.

Hiyori couldn’t help herself but giggle at the images that just flashed before her eyes. Both Yato and Bishamon sure were energetic that day. Everyone else probably had a lot of fun, too!

»You should quit drinking that much if you lose the capability to control your actions, you know? Don’t blame me, Yukine or anyone else for the things you did!«

Hiyori had turned around, rolling her eyes and both of her hands rested on her hip.

‘At least he doesn’t make that gloomy face anymore.’

The annoyed look on her face vanished and turned into a happy smile as their eyes met.

»Whatever… this day turned out to be a lot of fun, huh? Well… it was even more chaotic as I could’ve ever imagined beforehand…«

After a short pause, she continued: »Yato…!« It was just then, when she finally realised that neither Yato, nor Yukine nor one of the others had been with her to begin with.

In front of her eyes there was still that cherry tree which had a small part of its trunk covered, the same petals dancing around her body and the same river some steps ahead.

»Right…«, she told herself, »… it’s already been some years.« ‘How could I forget? … Again…’ The whole amount of energy she just felt some minutes ago had already left her body, so she leaned against the tree behind her, slowly sliding to the ground. In silence, tears had gathered in both of her eyes, blurring her vision before they rolled over and left a wet mark on her face.

Back then she couldn’t even think about a life without them – a so called normal life. A life where she simply went to school to learn, have fun with her classmates and friends and then starting to think about her future goals.

After she was hit by that truck when she was trying to save this reckless god running over the street to catch a stray, she tended to leave her body from time to time. Even now she couldn’t fully understand what happened back then. As a so called half Ayakashi she could jump up high and her kicks were even stronger than Tono’s. Yato had promised to find a cure for her state. ‘Right… I even payed him the five Yen he requested.’ As time went by, she had started to stop regretting her new state and used the power given to her to help her friends and fight. What started as something alarming and scary turned out to be a way full of friends and mysteries to solve. Never could she have imagined that it would not stay like this forever.

Even though Tenjin had warned her to stay alert and thus suggested that cutting ties with Yato and everybody else would be for the best, she refused and stayed. She wanted to stay by their side – by his side. After she almost forgot about everybody once, she treasured her dairy even more, closely paying attention to reread and write something down every single day.

‘Why did I forget about them again? Did he cut the ties for real this time? That night?’ – He didn’t, she just remembered. After her cord was heavily damaged and her physical body had gotten weaker, Tenjin brought up the matter of cutting ties again.

“I’m sorry… if it wasn’t for me, your condition wouldn’t be that bad right now…«, Yato stood some steps away from her, his eyes strictly directed to the floor. It wasn’t easy to understand every word he said, because his voice was about to start trembling any moment. To cover up, he kept it low.

“That’s not true! Why do keep blaming yourself for things you can’t change?!!”

Hiyori’s voice was filled with anger and despair. If he really wanted to cut the ties that connected the two there wasn’t much she was able to do against.

“Yato…”, after a while she lowered her voice too, slowly closing the gap between them until she was able to touch his chin with her fingertips. Gently and yet firmly she lifted his head so his eyes had to make contact with hers. His were cold and without the sparkling deep blue she loved about them the most. His face was covered in bruises from the many fights he had to endure and despite her having bandaged them the best she could, he really looked like someone who should rest rather than standing here at night, chatting.

“… please.”, she continued her talk, “I don’t want to forget, I will be fine, I’ll-…!”

She felt cold sweat running over her face and her breathing was unsteady and fast. It was just at that moment, when she suddenly felt dizzy and was about to tumble. Yato quickly had put his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his chest. She could feel every finger of his tightly holding onto her shirt while desperately trying to cover the fact that his hands were shaking.

“Please… I don’t want to forget… again…”, she whispered and could feel him strengthen his grip even more.

She tightly wrapped her arms around her knees as she remembered what happened more than six years ago. Her condition kept getting worse, so everyone suggested it may be best for her to continue living a normal life. That’s why she decided to sign up for medical school far away from Kofuku’s house. If she studied far away, kept her distance and regained her health, she would be able to meet with them again – at least that was what she had hoped for.

Her condition did indeed get better throughout the years passing by, she felt a lot healthier now and

could not remember a single day she left body again. ‘But… I ended up forgetting about them… about all of them nonetheless.’

‘I wonder… are they still arguing day for day? Fighting evil spirits? Did they get into a fight again and got hurt? Are they… still ali-…!’

Hiyori stopped her own thoughts, opened her eyes wide and held her breath while covering her mouth with both her hands.

“The only kinds of believers Yato could ever relay on were those one-time customers, not to mention he was never really blessed with a good shinki… I’m sure he had his fair share of fears and doubts. I bet there wasn’t a day when his mind was at ease, since he had to cling to one person’s memory at a time to stay alive…”

‘Right… without his lifeline, an unknown god like Yato would…’

Her chest hurt and her head was filled with dust. Hiyori could feel her knees shaking, as she tried to stand back up on her feet again. After she forgot about him during the past six years, did he…? No…

»This can’t be… right!« Hastily the woman grabbed the bag she was carrying her mobile in; at least she tried to. Where she remembered her bag to be, she could just grasp thin air. She must have lost her bag after encountering the black cat next to the supermarket this afternoon.

»Damn…!« With one jump she ignored her still shaking knees and jumped back on her feet.

‘It doesn’t matter if we’re supposed to cut ties… I don’t care…’ Her body ran back into the park she came out of some minutes ago. All its ways were lit by streetlamps, now that the sunlight was almost completely gone for today.

‘I have to call him… I have to know whether he and Yukine are safe… Please – be safe!’

The tears had flooded her eyes, making it difficult for her to follow the path she was heading properly.

‘Please…’, she begged in her mind, not able to think of something different anymore.

»YATO-…!«

Some birds that were sitting on nearby branches to enjoy the last warmth of the sun flew away in fright – not because Hiyori suddenly shouted out a name into the dark, but because of the sound of two bodies crashing into each other. The uninspected impact made the woman stagger backwards; therefore she was now sitting in the grass, heavily breathing.

»I’m terribly sorry… I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Are you hurt?«, the calm voice of a young man dispelled the rising panic occupying her mind.

»No, I’m… I’m fine. Sorry.«, she answered in a low voice and raised her head. Since it already got dark and the last piece of sunlight couldn’t reach the centre of the park she was now in, the big cherry blossom trees around her were all lit by some streetlamps. One might say the contrast of the dark night with its deep blue sky made a beautiful contrast to the white and pink petals still swirling to the ground, but Hiyori didn’t care about anything like that right now. She was looking into the direction the young man’s voice had reached her ears from. Even though she could only see his silhouette because he stood right in front of one of the lights, he had a somewhat calming aura around him. As she took a closer look she noticed he wore some kind of tracksuit. Maybe he was one of the students or freshmen who spend their time after work for some fitness runs through the park.

‘Whatever… I have to hurry!’

As she made a move to stand back up again, the person in front of her came some steps closer and made something swing right before her eyes.

»This happens to be yours, doesn’t it?«

Just now she realised that it was indeed her mobile phone the stranger was holding. She nodded.

»I figured.«, he replied and straightened his back again, »Well then…«

»How did you kn-…?«

»Be careful – tonight’s gonna be a gloomy night.« The young man in front of her avoided to answer her question and turned around, just to be gone not even a second later.

»Wait!« Hiyori put her hand in front to push her body on her feet again, when she realised her phone lying right before her eyes. Hastily she picked it up and unlocked the screen when she suddenly paused. Attached to the upper right of her phone, there was a small keychain she did not remember putting there in the first place. It was a golden crown which was attached to a thin string, shining even in the pale light of the street lamps.

The tears that had stopped once she fell to the floor continued to run all over her face, as she embraced the small keychain and squeezed it close to her chest.

»Thank god…«, she murmured and couldn’t hold back the sobbing that echoed through the dark, while a gentle wind, which brought a lot of cherry blossom petals with it, gently caressed her body, as if it wanted to give her at least a little comfort.

************************************************************************

Close to the riverside the young man was looking back at the park full of cherry blossom trees, when the woman’s whispers reached his ears and a relieved smile hushed over his face. He closed his eyes and turned around to leave.

»Stupid… I won’t disappear that easy.«

[phidippuss]

Lovers

After hours of cursing at my laptop, I have finally finished my secret santa fic for @artemiseamoon​ (hope you like it!!!)

Ezra x reader (written with an AFAB reader in mind, though it’s entirely possible I accidentally made it gender neutral)

Warnings: insecure Ezra, discussion of body image (Ezra), light angst, but mostly fluff, possibly OOC Ezra? idk I haven’t written a lot of him yet... umm marriage is discussed just but it’s left ambiguous as to whether it’s legal or if y’all just decided to say you were 🤷 ...um possible inaccuracies with the tarot content?? i did my research but I had zero knowledge to begin with so idk if I got everything right?

Word count: 5098

A/N: Important!!! This fic is separated into sections... Italics take place in a different point in time. The three middle sections (which each have titles) are to represent each card in the tarot reading, the first titled section (in italics) is a flashback, the second is present time, and the third (in italics) is a snapshot of the future. the beginning and end also take place present time. 

before you continue, did you read the author’s note?? it’s important to understanding the fic!!

Ezra lets out a soft sigh, burying his nose deeper into your chest. You card your fingers through his hair, a soft smile appearing on your lips at the way he leans into your touch.

These moments are your favourite: when the weather outside is too dreary for work, and the two of you curl up together on the small cot you share.

Ezra insists he hates days like this. A day without work is a day without pay, after all. You’d always laugh at his complaints.

“Surely a day in bed with me isn’t that unbearable,” you’d always tease.

“A day in your arms,” He’d reply, pressing a kiss to your lips, “is the only satisfactory substitution for a day’s work.”

Ezra shifts in your embrace until he can reach to brush his lips against your neck. You tilt your head, allowing him easier access.

Ezra begins murmuring against your skin. Between every kiss comes a compliment. You have no idea what most of them mean; you can only guess by the love with which they’re said. “There are,” Ezra kisses you again, “no words,” kiss, “impressive enough to describe you, my Star.”

You slowly sit up, Ezra following suit, not allowing any significant distance to come between the two of you.

You cup Ezra’s cheeks, steadying his face between your hands. Softly, as if he might shatter if you’re not careful, you brush your thumb across his lower lip.

Your lover stares into your eyes, almost as if they are the night sky and he’s searching for constellations. Just as you begin to wonder if he’s lost himself, Ezra breaks the silence, his voice barely more than a breath. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to hold the universe in my hands,” you reply, and as if to prove your point, you pull Ezra into a kiss that is as gentle as it is passionate.

“You are mistaken, Star,” Ezra lifts his hand to your face, desperately wishing he had his other, so he could properly mirror your touch. He places a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

“Oh?” you breathe, preparing yourself to argue when he says that he’s the one holding the universe in his hand. Just as he always says.

But his touch falls from your face. With a feather-like touch, he pulls your right hand from his cheek, turning it to place your palm on your left one. He mirrors it with your left hand.

“Now you hold the universe in your hands,” he whispers with a subtle quiver in his voice.

You drop your arms, lips parting to argue with him; to insist you had it right the first time. But your words catch in your throat when a single tear spills down Ezra’s face.

He tries to swipe it away before you see, but you catch his wrist. “What’s wrong, love?” you dry his cheek with your thumb, allowing your fingertips to linger against his jaw.

You watch the wheels turn in Ezra’s head as he chooses his words. “…Me,” he replies simply.

For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “…you?”

Ezra nods, pulling away from you to lean against the wall.

“What does that mean?” you try to brush a strand of hair out of Ezra’s face, but he shies away from your touch.

“You deserve… more,” Ezra refuses to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” you search Ezra’s face for clues.

“You deserve someone who can give you everything,” he sniffs, “You deserve more than a forlorn pod and allocating freeze-dried rations.” More tears escape from Ezra’s eyes and drip into his lap.

“Ezra,” you soothe, “I don’t care about any of that.” Ezra opens his mouth to argue, but you continue. “Is it not enough to love each other?” you question, not bothering to wait for an answer. “If I only cared about material possessions, do you think I’d really have stuck around this long? I love you, that’s all I care about.”

Ezra wordlessly stands, shuffling across the floor to rifle through a canvas bag.

“What are you doing?” you sigh. You’re met only with a hollow silence.

After a moment, Ezra returns. He delicately sits beside you, placing a small object in your lap. Your gaze drops to find a stack of well-loved cards.

“Ezra,” you protest, setting the cards aside.

“Please,” the desperation in Ezra’s voice breaks your heart.

“You don’t need a tarot reading to tell you that I love you,” you try to meet Ezra’s eyes, but they’re glued to the floor.

“I just—” Ezra sighs. “Forgive my trepidation, but I need to know… where are we headed? I comprehend that you love me at this moment in our journey, but what about years from now? Will you still be enamoured by me?”

You give in with a sigh, realising that Ezra won’t be satisfied by just your insistence that you’ll always love him.

“I’d like to believe you when you say you love me, but I can’t help but speculate that your judgement may be clouded,” Ezra continues. “Our ceaseless wayfaring, our lamentable career… It’s all beneath you. You deserve better.”

You finish shuffling the cards and lay them in front of you. After taking a moment to examine the spread, you open your mouth to speak.

---

Reversed Ace of Cups

Ezra sat back, frowning at the canvas bag. It was stretched at odd angles, stitches pulled tight. He didn’t even attempt to close it, the zipper would tear right off.

“You’re certain all your possessions fit in here?” he asked. He wasn’t able to fit half your things in the bag, let alone all of them.

“Yes, Ezra, I’m certain it all fits.” You lifted your attention from scrubbing filters to examine Ezra’s progress. Laughing at his lost expression, you crossed the floor to kneel across from him.

“You just have to reorganise so it fits,” you explained, shuffling items around until there was room for more.

Ezra watched your hands dig through the bag. They looked like they’d fit perfectly in his. He watched your eyes analyse your work. Just like they do in the field.

Ezra could tell there was a lifetime of stories behind that gaze. He wondered which story caused that slight frown that only seemed to disappear when you were asleep. Or, perhaps, it was a collection of stories.

“There,” You sat back on your knees.

Ezra dropped his attention to the bag. Everything fit. It was still a bit stretched at the seams, but the zipper would no longer struggle to close.

Something caught Ezra’s eye. He reached in, lifting a deck of cards from the top of the bag’s contents. He removed the string holding them together and spread them out in his hands to admire the art on each of them.

“I, um…” You stuttered, watching Ezra’s fingers trace the worn ink and well-used edges.

“I was not aware that you read tarot,” Ezra murmured with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Keeps me sane,” you shrugged.

“Would you feel inclined to do a reading for me?” Ezra asked, offering the cards out to you.

Your fingers brushed against his and Ezra’s heart jumped into his throat. The contact only lasted a moment, though, before you began shuffling the cards. You were saying something. Your voice was beautiful. Ezra could listen to you talk forever.

You were staring at him expectantly. Ezra’s face heated up—he hadn’t heard what you said.

“I apologise, I didn’t quite catch that, Star.” He chewed his lip, praying that you didn’t catch on to his train of thought.

You fought the urge to smile at the nickname. Ezra has called you that since the day you met. You always pretended to be annoyed, insisting he use your name. You don’t hate it; you just wish it meant the same thing to him that it did to you.

“I asked if you had a question? For the reading.”

“Oh,” Ezra exclaimed. “My apologies, my cognizance was elsewhere.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you laughed, your usual frown melting away. Ezra’s chest swelled with pride at being the reason you’re so relaxed, despite his embarrassment.

“This assignment is approaching its end,” Ezra took a moment to sweep his gaze across the room that had been your shared home for the last several months. “How should I converge with the coming weeks?”

‘will you stick around?’ Ezra meant to say. But you couldn’t know how he feels. Not yet.

You nodded to acknowledge Ezra’s question before you finish shuffling.

Ezra wasn’t even sure how many cards you laid down.

Even through your concentration, you looked happy. Relaxed.

You began to speak. As you shared your interpretation of the cards, Ezra watched how different emotions transformed your face.

Some of them, he had seen before; the passionate look you get when you talk about the stars, the way your brows furrow in an excited concentration. He only saw your eyes light up like this on occasion; at night, usually. When it was too dark to work but neither of you are quite ready to go to sleep, so you settle on opposite ends of the bed, each doing your own thing. He’d sometimes watch you from the corner of his eye, and when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d glance up at him with that same look in your eye, Ezra had always wondered what it meant, but has never dared ask for fear you’d stop letting him see it. It was a look that felt rare and intimate. As if only those who you’d trust with your life would ever have the privilege of seeing it.

But some of those expressions, Ezra had never seen on your face. The way you looked when you paused for a breath, it was as if you were doing so much more than interpreting the message the cards were telling you; you were the connection between this reality and the next, watching a story unfold and telling Ezra what he needed to know to make it his reality.

Your expressions confirmed what your words were telling him: everything was about to change. His lifestyle. His relationship with you. Everything.

It should have scared Ezra. But this was the safest, the calmest, Ezra had felt in a long time.

You fell silent, finished with your reading. You searched Ezra’s face for a reaction.

“I love you,” Ezra blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your jaw dropped. “Ezra, I—” You didn’t know what to say.

“I understand if my feelings are not reciprocated. And I apologise if this puts you in a vexatious position, I assure you, that was not my intention.” Ezra paused, wringing his hands together. “I simply needed you to be aware of my feelings towards you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. A million words sat at the tip of your tongue, but none of them seemed right. With each passing second, Ezra could feel his stomach drop further and further into the floor.

“Oh,” Ezra breathed, taking your silence as rejection. He backed away, shoulders threatening to collapse around him. Tears stung at the backs of his eyes. His stomach was turning. How could he be so stupid as to think you’d fall in love with a man like him?

You dove forward suddenly, pulling his face toward yours, your lips crashing against his. It took Ezra a moment to register your actions, and another to react. He was soon pulling you into his chest in a bruising embrace, his lips engulfed yours in a way that was almost overwhelming. Ezra let out a soft moan when your fingers found his hair. His nose bumped yours and his breath tasted like the stale, nearly unbearable rations you’d been living off of for months, but you didn’t care—yours probably wasn’t much better.

The kiss was rushed, desperate. Your teeth kept hitting his. He couldn’t decide where on your body he wanted his hands to be.

You finally broke away for a breath. “I love you too,” you whispered into Ezra’s lips.

___

Reversed Judgement

It’s been years since that night. You’d gone through everything together; Ezra nursed you back to health when you got sick, you’d taken care of him when he, inevitably, caught whatever you had. It’s been ages since you stopped counting how many times you’d stitched each other’s wounds. You’d been there for him when he lost his arm, he’d been by your side for every injury of your own. It has never been a question that you have each other’s backs.

Ezra smiles softly. You’re so beautiful like this. The way your eyes light up as you speak, as if you’re a prospector who has just uncovered a valuable gem. It’s an expression Ezra has seen a million times, but his heart aches to see it a million more.

But his smile quickly fades. You’re happy right now. But how long until you realise you deserve better? You don’t deserve this life. You deserve more than a creaky pod and a lumpy cot much too small for one person, let alone two.

And what about the loss of his arm? The jobs Ezra can take now are restricted, the people who will hire him even more so. In bed, he can hardly figure out what to do with himself. You keep insisting that it’s okay, that he’ll learn. But how long are you willing to wait?

Ezra closes his eyes and listens to your voice; it’s his favourite sound. And the passion behind it now, during a reading? It’s overwhelming.

Ezra wants the rest of his life to be spent by your side. He can’t stop thinking about his future with you. Will you settle down together? Or spend the rest of your lives travelling the galaxy together? He’s not sure which he wants more. But either way, he can’t imagine a story for himself that doesn’t include growing old with you. If he’s honest with himself, Ezra can’t even remember a time he’s thought so much about the future. It’s always been about now. About surviving to see tomorrow.

Why does that have to change now that he’s in love? Why is he suddenly afraid of the future?

You’re happy now. Your kisses, the way you seek Ezra out even in your sleep, how your hand finds his almost constantly, proves how happy you are.

Ezra’s never been this happy. He’s never known someone who makes him feel so safe. Around you, Ezra can put his guard down. He doesn’t have to be so cryptic all the time. With you, Ezra can just exist.

Ezra’s hand finds its way into his pocket. His fingers wrap around a small stone.

He watches your hands accentuate each point you make. Ezra loves your hands. Especially your right hand; it’s the one he gets to hold when you walk beside him. It fits so perfectly in his. He loves the way your hands bury themselves in his hair when you kiss him. He loves how gentle they are when you’re patching him up. He pretends to hate it when you slip your hands under his shirt when you notice how cold they are just so you can press them against his chest and laugh at him when he squirms. Ezra loves that laugh.

He fidgets with the gem. He’s forgotten exactly how long it’s been there, though he remembers the day he got it as if it were yesterday. It was one of your first digs together. The gem was too small to be worth anything. So Ezra pocketed the stone, and it’s become a bit of an extension of himself.

Ezra watches your lips move in sync with your words. He loves your lips. The way they taste against his. The way they trace along his jaw when you’re teasing. Ezra’s kissed you a million times, and yet he always yearns for another.

“My Star,” he’d always say whenever you noted that he could never seem to stop kissing you, “a single touch shared with you could console even the most pained of men. And therefore, what motivation do I have to add to the distance between us?”

My Star. Ezra��s called you that… Forever. Ezra loves your name. But to call you his Star is a privilege only he has. Every time he says it, he remembers the countless times the two of you have laid on the ground, examining the night sky in search of constellations. No matter where you are, you always find a way to stargaze.

Through the window of your shared pod.

Passing glances through your helmet when the air outside isn’t safe to breathe.

But by far, Ezra’s favourite is when the air outside is breathable so you pull him outside to lay on the ground, held in each other’s embrace.

On those nights, you’ll continue to talk about the stars long after Ezra’s coaxed you inside to bed. He loves to fall asleep to the sound of your voice in one ear, the rhythm of your heartbeat in the other. Those nights fill Ezra’s chest with a lightness that washes away years of trauma.

But tonight, the stars are hidden behind a veil of clouds. Rain echoes through the trees outside. It reminds Ezra of the nights you’re curled under threadbare blankets and you’re whispering sweet nothings in Ezra’s ear.

Ezra smiles at this. Rainy days are his favourite. It stresses him that he often can’t work on those days, though in your company, that stress quickly melts away.

Ezra is never happier than when he’s with you.

___

Ten of Cups

“Star,” Ezra calls out to you.

You’re on your knees, elbow-deep in a sticky black mud. “Yeah?” you grunt back, nearly toppling forward into the mud in your distraction.

“The spoils of these pits appear to already have been claimed, and the sun is beginning to set.” Ezra sits back on his knees, pulling his arm from his own mud pit. “I suppose it’s time we get cleaned up for the remainder day.”

Ezra stifles a laugh at your disgusted grimace when you free your arms from the mud. After a brief examination of the sun-streaked sky, you let out a frustrated huff, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Yeah,” you give in. You have to resist the urge to wipe your hands on your clothing. You accept Ezra’s outstretched hand, lacing your fingers in his.

The stream isn’t far away—close enough that its inviting babbling has called out to you and Ezra all day.

Ezra leads you hand-in-hand to the edge of the murky water. He sinks to his knees first, wasting no time in submerging his arm into the icy liquid to wash away the itchy layers of chemically contaminated mud.

With a desperate splash, you follow close behind.

It’s jobs like these that makes Ezra wish gloves were a luxury the two of you could afford. But gloves strong enough to not break down upon contact with the mud would cost a fortune to buy and would require frequent replacements.

And so, after a long day buried in the acidic material, your arms are left itchy and raw. Ezra frantically rubs his forearm back and forth over a rock just below the surface of the water in a desperate attempt to wash himself clean, and, perhaps relieve some of the painful itch. If he notices the blood staining the water, he doesn’t care; in this moment, the temporary relief overpowers the regret that will later come from allowing the rock to break through his skin.

Ezra startles when your hands close around his wrist. Gently, You begin rubbing away the mud with your already clean hands. You’re conscious to take extra care around the steady trickle of blood.

“You’ll only make it worse like that,” you murmur, focusing your attention on making sure no mud is left under Ezra’s fingernails.

“Thank you,” Ezra closes his eyes in pleasure when you begin massaging his raw skin under the cloudy water to remove the last traces of mud.

“Mhm,” you reply absentmindedly and pull his hand from the water.

Ezra stands, hoisting you to your feet and pulling you into your shared pod.

You help each other dry off and spread an ointment over each other’s arms that makes tears of relief spring to Ezra’s eyes. After stripping yourselves free of your dirty clothes, Ezra collapses onto the cot, pulling you into his chest.

You shift until your head is resting on his shoulder and your body is curled around Ezra’s side leaving his arm free to reach what he needs to.

This position makes it difficult for Ezra to wrap his arm around you, but after a long day of work, neither one of you wants to move if he needs to reach something from the rusty bedside table.

You wrap your arms around your lover’s neck. Reflexively, Ezra’s fingers lift to find yours. He silently fidgets with the thin metal band around your finger, which had been returned to its rightful place upon arrival at the pod.

The pads of his fingers trace over the small gem embedded in the metal. Ezra smiles, remembering the cold winter’s day you’d finally said “I do.”

A soft chuckle escapes Ezra’s throat as he recalls the night you’d agreed to marry him, despite the many years you’d spent telling him about your distaste for the idea of being married.

“What’s that about?” you ask, not seeing a reason to laugh.

“I’m so fortunate to have you, Star,” Ezra whispers back, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You murmur and lean up to press a kiss to Ezra’s jaw, at the same place you always do; the little patch in his scruff, where Ezra seems unable to grow any hair.

You love those spots on either side of his face. “They’re built in places for me to kiss,” you’d always insist whenever Ezra was feeling insecure about his patchy stubble.

“Still?” Ezra asks. “You still love me after all these years?”

“Why not?” You can’t think of a single thing Ezra has ever done that might make you rethink your feelings. Sure, he has his habits that never fail to get on your nerves. But, if anything, that makes you love him all the more.

“You’re not growing exhausted by my presence?”

“How could I ever get bored of you?” You sit up enough to meet Ezra’s gaze. “I love you more than anything. If I didn’t, what reason would I have to follow you on all these jobs and crazy ideas you get to make a living?” You caress Ezra’s cheek with your knuckles. “Ezra, I stay because I love you. Those feelings are never going to change. And, if they do, it will be because I’ve fallen further in love with you. If that’s even possible.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Ezra smiles softly.

You let out a hum of contemplation. “I’m just here for the kisses,” you tease, placing a brief peck on his lips.

Ezra hums contentedly, and you snuggle back into his chest. After a few moments of a loving stillness, Ezra’s fingers find their way back to yours to toy with your ring.

“Do you remember the night I gave this to you?” Ezra whispers, tracing circles over the tiny gem.

“How could I forget?” You whisper back.

___

You finish your reading and lift your eyes to gauge Ezra’s reaction. A small smile tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t respond.

Silently, Ezra rises to his feet, gathering the cards and stowing them back in your bag.

“Lay down,” Ezra commands. With a grunt, he pulls a strange machine from under the cot. You obey, too curious to argue. Ezra shoves the machine to the centre of the floor.

Ezra switches off the lamp, plunging the tent into absolute darkness. “My mother had one of these when I was a child,” Ezra explains, “I had to construct this one from scrap parts, so it’s not as impressive as the one I grew up with.” With a soft click, the machine turns on and the ceiling is decorated with small flecks of light.

Ezra continues to explain, but you’ve already figured it out. “It’s the stars on Wehouf,” you interrupt with a gasp. Wehouf was where you first met Ezra.

Ezra lays on the cot beside you, wrapping you into a firm embrace.

“You built this for me?” you murmur in disbelief. How did he find time to work on this without you noticing?

“Took me two years,” Ezra presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “The majority of the parts I required aren’t easy to come by in the green.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“The entire time I was assembling it, I couldn’t help but meditate over how intensely I feel for you. I never thought I was capable of these feelings. When we first met, you were nothing more than an associate on an endeavour to make a living. I’m not certain when I fell in love,” Ezra’s hand slips under your shirt and he begins tracing gentle circles against your skin with his fingertips. “I don’t think I ever stopped falling. I don’t believe I ever want to. I crave to spend my whole lifetime by your side. I want to chart the view of the stars from every planet, every moon. And I want to do it with your hand in mine.”

“Ezra, I—” You start.

“You could count every single star in the sky, and still only know a fraction of the love I feel for you,” Ezra continues. “And I know you’ve expressed a distaste for it in the past,” Ezra shifts to pull the tiny gem from his pocket. Gently, he slips the metal band around your finger. A perfect fit. “But, I was hoping you’d consider marrying me? I wouldn’t expect it to be legal if that’s not what you want, but—”

“Of course I’ll marry you, Ezra,” You interrupt, shifting to meet his gaze. “I love you more than anything. If it makes you happy, of course, I’ll marry you. And besides, we’re out here alone a solid 98% of the time. So marriage can be whatever we want it to be. Right?”

Ezra breathes a sigh of relief. He wasn’t afraid of you saying no, per se, but he was terrified the question would make you uncomfortable and perhaps cause you to push him away.

“I know I can be an arduous man to love sometimes,” Ezra begins to tear up. “And I still think you deserve better than me. But, you make me exultant beyond any doubt, and you seem content by my side as well. I can’t promise that things will be perfect, because they most certainly won’t. But I will love you eternally, with every fibre of my being. And that, Star, is a promise.”

“Oh, Ezra,” you whisper, “I don’t expect things to always be perfect. I’ve lived with you long enough to know that life will go to shit. A lot. But I’ve also lived with you long enough to know it always ends up okay.” You rest your forehead against Ezra’s. “You deserve more than you think you do. I know you’ve made mistakes. Fuck, I’ve watched you make some seriously questionable decisions. To the point where I sometimes wonder how you’re still alive. But you have more love in this little tuft of hair than most people have in their whole body.” You gently tug on Ezra’s little blond patch of hair to emphasize your point. “And that’s all I care about.” You finish with a brief but passionate kiss.

Ezra doesn’t know how to respond. Tears threaten to escape down his cheeks. “Fuck,” he sobs, pulling you closer until your nose is buried in his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ezra,” you hum.

Your fingers begin to toy with the ring on your finger. “How’d you manage to get this?” Ezra doesn’t even have to see to know what you’re talking about.

“The gem is from one of our first digs together,” He explains. “It was too diminutive to sell, but I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of it. I got it fixed with a ring two planets back.”

“That must’ve cost a fortune,” you say, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that he felt the need to do such a thing to please you. Sufficient jewellers aren’t easy to find this far out, and because of that, it can be quite expensive to so much as repair a simple ring.

“Nearly depleted my personal savings,” Ezra answers. “But I couldn’t think of a superior way to spend it; now whenever my gaze falls upon your hand, I am reminded of our years spent in each other’s presence.”

“You didn’t have to,” you kiss the soft skin at Ezra’s neck. “I’d have married you without it.”

“Do you not like it?” Ezra asks with a touch of panic to his voice.

“Oh, I love it,” you reassure. Ezra visibly relaxes. “I love everything you get for me.” You pull the ring off your finger to inspect it as you talk. It’s a simple band, with just enough width to have room for the gem embedded in the smooth metal. Upon closer examination, you find a tiny engraving inside. ‘I love you, my Star.’ “I love everything you do for me,” you turn your head to admire the speckles of light above you. You return the ring to your finger. “I always will. Just know I don’t expect to be spoiled. I enjoy it, but your love is enough for me.”

“I know, my Star,” Ezra sighs. “I can’t provide you the life of luxury you deserve. I enjoy doing what I can to make up for it.”

“I have everything I want right here.” You snuggle deeper into Ezra’s chest to admire the stars projected across the ceiling.

He doesn’t respond. For a few moments, the only sounds are the rain, the soft whirring of the star machine, and your breaths combined with Ezra’s. You never saw yourself in this position. But Ezra has a way of turning the lives of those around him upside down. And for you, it somehow feels right.

“I love you, my Star.”

“I love you too, Ezra.”

[knchins]

Pegged - Bakugou Katsuki

Summary:  After discovering Bakugou's secret sexual fantasy, you decide it's time to try something new in the bedroom. The only way to get him to agree is to take him by surprise. (masterlist)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Rating: E+

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Handcuffs, mild dubcon, dirty talk, mirror sex, anal fingering, pegging, hand job, mild choking

Notes:  Hello all! So this is for the @bnhabookclub​ NSFW weekly prompt (in italics) as well as my first NSFW Bingo prompt! You can find my bingo card at the end. There will be a follow up to this at some point :) This was also 100% written for @gallickingun​! Love you, Moe!

The handcuffs clinked as you locked them into place. Bakugou’s eyes shot open, fiery red as he violently pulled at the restraints. “What the fuck?!” He shouted, voice still bleary from sleep. “You better fucking unlock these right now or-”

“Or you’ll what, Katsuki?” You asked, swinging the key ring around your index finger. “Doesn’t look like you can do much from where I’m sitting.”

He attempted to use his quirk to blow his way to freedom, only to find that he was unable to create even the tiniest of sparks. You tutted at him, leaning over to observe your handiwork. “That’s not going to work this time, darling.” You had given him a temporary quirk negating drug. It would wear off in a few hours, but until then he would be unable to create any kind of explosion.

His eyes were dangerously narrow. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He asked, voice itching for a fight.

“I’m the one that’s going to fuck that tight little ass of yours.” You said, a wild smile spread across your lips. “I saw your browser history, Katsuki. I know that you’re into it. You’re just too stubborn to ask me to try something new, so I’m taking a little...initiative.”

The tips of his ears heated to a bright red, the flush spreading down his neck and across his pale cheeks. Pegging had always been a kind of secret fantasy for him. He thought, however, that it would be seen as a kind of weakness. That you would think less of him for wanting it. As the number one hero, he couldn’t bear the thought of appearing anything less than on top.

You got up off the bed, tugging down your underwear and hooking the black leather harness around your hips and thighs, the hard purple dildo stood at attention, vibrating in place after you flipped the tiny switch at the base. You had to hold back a moan at the static sensation against your clit from the rumbling toy.

Bakugou was staring, eyes wide in disbelief at just what was happening. Was this real? Was he still asleep? Could his asshole even take a silicone dong of that size? He was totally unprepared, and while he had done some anal play with his fingers, he’d never used anything wider than that before. Anticipation, anxiety, dread, and excitement all commingled inside of his chest, causing his heart to hammer in a rampage.

“And one more thing,” You mused, glancing to your right. “I’m going to fuck you in front of this mirror so you can watch.” His eyes followed your gaze to see that you had set up your floor length mirror beside the bed. He took in the unfamiliar expression splayed across his face. The embarrassment, the arousal, the wonder, and naturally the most familiar emotion: anger. If you thought you were going to get away from him when you finally released his binds, then you had another thing coming.

“Don’t look away from that pretty face,” You cooed at him, uncapping the bottle of astroglide and coating two fingers with it. You weren’t about to go in without any sort of preparation. You weren’t that cruel.

Bakugou shot you a glare before relaxing into the bed, he stared into his own eyes and watched them twitch as you slowly inserted two fingers into his tight asshole. You watched for any signs of discomfort or displeasure. If he appeared to not enjoy your fingers then you definitely weren’t going to fuck him with the dildo. However, his so far lack of protests had you fairly certain that he was very much into this.

You watched his jaw clench as you pumped your two fingers in a slow rhythm. It was obvious that he was trying not to make a pleased sound, as if doing so would somehow emasculate him. Surely he’d loosen up once he started to really feel it.

You prodded around inside the body cavity, searching for that sweet spot that you knew to be within. The pad of your index finger brushed against something that caused him to inhale sharply. Suddenly he tensed as a lewd expression crossed his face. You couldn’t help but smirk deviously as you made sure to press and rub against the spot with each thrusting of your fingers.

His muscles relaxed further and you noticed his jaw went slack finally. Bakugou was unable to stop the soft grunts from coming forth as you picked up speed, adding in a third finger that seemed to cause him no sort of discomfort. He was struggling to remain still, not wanting to buck his hips less he wanted to show how eager he truly was. Though you could tell by how hard his cock was that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“You’re going to pay for this,” He hissed threateningly, teeth clenched together to cage in a moan. Despite his tone, he was unable to look away from the image of the two of you in the mirror. You were knuckle deep into his ass while the purple dildo vibrated and bounced. The sight of it was so damn enticing. “Just wait until I get out of these goddamn handcuffs, princess, I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

You removed your fingers with relative ease, despite the way his muscles seemed to suck your digits inward. The lurid slurping sound they made caused you to giggle, completely unaffected by Bakugou’s threat. A mixture of rage and desperation crossed his features as he licked his lips slowly, eyes darting to watch as you poured a lavish amount of lubricant onto the shuttering toy.

Once finished you grabbed the backs of his thighs, pushing them apart and backwards towards his body. “Ready for my dick, Ground Zero?” You asked in a husky whisper as you held the base of the dildo with your left hand and pressed it against his asshole. You watched the Adam's apple in his throat bob up and down and his head moved in the slightest of nods.

You pressed on, moving your hips so the head and shafted plunged into his asshole. An enthusiastic groan was ripped from Bakugou’s lips, unable to hold himself back any further. The vibrating sensation seemed to send him into overdrive as his mouth hung open as you moved until the smooth hilt of the harness was against his skin.

You took a brief moment to let him adjust to the length and girth of the purple penis, not wanting to overwhelm him just yet. Only when he let out a small sigh and his shoulders dropped, did you begin to move your hips in a slow but steady rhythm, wanting to build up friction and speed over time.

The bucking of the strap-on created a pleasurable sensation against your clit, the gentle motions and subtle vibrations make your core slick with arousal. You knew he’d hold to his threat whenever you were finished with him, and the knowledge of just how well he could plow you into the mattress was making you wild with want.

Taking the backs of Bakugou’s knees in your hands, you pinned him down further to the bed. He was just so fucking flexible for a guy that you couldn’t help but render his limbs into a pretzel like hold. The light grunts he made at the change in angle suggested that it pleased him more than anything, urging you to increase your speed.

The purple dick moved in and out effortlessly, unhindered by the small space or the muscles that had clamped down around the smooth surface. Within moments your boyfriend was reduced into a moaning mess and for the first time the roles had ever been reversed. It was you fucking him senseless instead of the other way around. Honestly, you could get used to this.

You took your right hand off his inner knee and wrapped it around his throbbing cock, pumping it in rhythm with your thrusts. Bakugou jerked, trying (and failing) to free himself. The overstimulation caused tears to spring to the corners of his eyes as saliva dripped from his open mouth. “You’re taking my dick so good, baby.” You said softly, going in harder this time as your thumb and forefinger lathered his shaft with his own pre-cum. “Look at that face you’re making, fuck.”

Bakugou was entranced by his own mirrored image. The way his body lurched with every thrust, the arching of his back as he tried to meet your movements to maximize his pleasure, the wild look in his red eyes that couldn’t be tamed even if you tried.

You pushed him further, going at a quick speed that caused the wooden headboard to ram against the white wall behind it. The old bed squeaked as if it had arthritic joints that could hardly handle the constant motion. You were so fucking close to the edge, the continued friction against your clit driving you absolutely up the wall as you chased your own high as well as trying to please him. Your grip on his cock tightened slightly, jerking him faster until his moans and loud curses crescendoed.

He came hard, his seed spilling all across his abdomen and chest, some even making it to the headboard where his wrists were chained. His ass seemed to suck in the dildo, making it difficult to pull out at first. You remove yourself from him just in time to see sparks fly from his palms. The tiny explosions shattered the weak metal of the handcuffs and Bakugou flew into an upright position as he caught his breath, his face telling all of his intentions. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a bruising grip as he switched places with you.

With a hand on your throat, he kept you pinned to the mattress, his breathing still heavy as he fought to lower his heart rate back into a manageable speed. “You’re turn,” he hissed as he wrestled the harness off of your sweating lower body. The drug wasn’t supposed to wear off that fast, what had gone wrong?! Had it not been enough? You couldn’t even process another thought before he started your punishment.

[theblekromantik]

somewhere new

Erik Stevens x Black Reader

a/n: hello lovelies, i hope you’re well and i hope that you enjoy this! i’ve been experimenting with writing lately, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!!!

summary: you and Erik go decide to go grocery shopping, but you switch things up a little

warnings: fluff-ish with some sexual tension and implied smut

word count: 3189

A booming,

“Yo, ma!”

Accompanied by a knock at the door rattles you, causing you to drop your eyelash into the sink. Your good, very expensive eyelash that requires much focus in order to be applied to your upper lash line.

Grunting and twinging your face in disgust of the sight before you, you fish it out of the sink, blowing on it to determine if the glue is still salvageable.

“Come on, E! Five minutes!” You respond with your mouth slightly parted, a strange requirement for impeccable eyelash placement.

“Princess, we gotta hurry up before the store closes,” Erik protests, pulling up his sleeve to check his diamond-encrusted AP watch. It’s almost seven o’clock, and Erik hated shopping minutes before a store closed. It made him feel like he was being rushed to gather his items and head to the register.

You and Erik frequently ran errands together, only this time you were grocery shopping. Staying in was nice and all – really quite enjoyable – but an end had to come to the endless Netflix bingeing and takeout from your favorite spots. You both, mainly Erik, decided that it was time for a nutritious, home-cooked meal, one that wouldn’t lead you down a road of clogged arteries and hypertension. But Erik was a phenomenal chef, so you could hardly complain that your ongoing DoorDash expenditure had been interrupted.

“Damn! One second!” You holler. “One second…there.”

You step back and look into the mirror, admiring yourself. Thirty minutes of hard work and determination had really paid off! You grab your phone from the sink’s surface and proceed to snap some photos of yourself.

SHUTTER! SHUTTER! SHUTTER! SHUTTER!

Beauty must always be captured, no matter what the time restraint.

“Princess! You taking pictures in there?” The dreaded man pounds on the door, harder this time. Banging, nearly shaking the hinges out of the door until you swing it open.

And there you are, dolled up and all, from the 26-inch deep wave hair to the Adidas tracksuit, the top zipped down nearly to the level of exposing the full extent of your breasts. Just the way you liked it.

Erik can hardly contain himself as he looks further down at you, ogling how your recently-manicured toes fit perfectly between each slot of your sandals. Man, he knew you were one for dressing up, but to the grocery store? Maybe he needs to step his game up.

“Well?” You jest. “You were so loud banging on the door, you got nothing to say now?”

Catching his lip underneath his teeth, he smugly looks you over once more, trying to gather words to say, for you’ve left him speechless.

He inches closer to you, “My babygirl likes to talk back, huh?”

“Yup, she do,” Boldness courses through you, nearly shattered as you maintain eye contact with your boyfriend.

His eyes were boulders, but you were just as unyielding. This game the two of you liked to play – this perpetual exchange of power – rarely ever ended with you emerging victorious. And you knew this, but you wanted to have your fun.

Finally, though smirkingly, you divert your gaze to your phone, shuffling through your gallery to decide which photos to keep, which photos to delete, and which photos to post.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” Erik chuckles after pressing a kiss onto your lips. “Now let’s go.”

While you knew you had lost the battle in the bathroom, you couldn’t wait to enjoy the war you and Erik would have in the bedroom later.

–

“Shotgun!” Erik shouted as you were fumbling in your purse for your keys, making a sprint for the car through your apartment complex’s parking lot.

The sun was setting beneath the horizon, and it illuminated the sky a burnt orange, a hue that began to embellish the surfaces of each object it touched – buildings, vehicles, windows, trees, the reflective skin of Erik’s custom-designed Air Max 97s as he raced further away from you.

After some time, your nimble fingers reach the item of your search, which results in a chime. You pull the keys out, contemplating whether to unlock the car doors for dreaded man in order to relieve him from the heat of the California sun, or let him suffer. Though it was setting, this sun still could extract a cup of sweat from one’s body. But hey, Erik was grown, he could wait.

You strut up to the car to see your boyfriend leaning on the door, panting, condensation forming on his forehead.

You release a sound of triumph, “I was gonna drive anyway.”

The car unlocks with a chirp, and you open the door and sit down. Dumbfounded, Erik was clutching the hood of the car still, trying to catch his breath.

“You getting in, or…”

He opens the car door and slumps down into the seat.

“You didn’t have to have a nigga looking dumb, baby.”

“I don’t think you need me for that, E.”

Erik snickers, “So it’s like that?”

“Yeah, it’s like that,” you tease, pressing the car to start and reversing out of the lot.

The two of you were buckling in for a long evening, and quite frankly, you couldn’t wait to see how it would progress.

–

As you drive on the road, the city and all its structures – both new and old – vanish behind you as a multitude of cool currents of air whip into the car through the windows, blowing your hair in all sorts of directions.

The vehicle vibrates as you blast a playlist full of new releases through your aux, and Erik grips your thigh as he sings to you, gold canines flashing and all.

You gently place your foot on the break, easing the car to a stop before the upcoming red light.

Erik, nearly louder than the music, starts to grind on the seat à la Magic Mike, and you couldn’t help but to laugh at the dreaded man and his silliness, a behaviour that is a pleasant break from his usual brooding nature.

But your laughter is cut short by a car honking behind you, indicating that the light had just turned green. You roll your eyes, because it had literally just turned green, and you press on the gas, revving your vehicle to the speed limit.

You pass another number of buildings a before making a sharp left turn.

“Shit!” You mumble to yourself.

You had almost missed the turn.

“Babygirl, that wasn’t the turn. Where we going?” Erik questions, for the route you’re taking was not your usual one.

“A little change of plans. I wanted to go somewhere else this time.”

“’Somewhere else’?” Erik probes. “What’s wrong with Ralph’s?!”

Now this took Erik by surprise. He’s genuinely concerned about your decision. To him, Ralph’s is King.

“Nothing, just wanna try something different.”

Your boyfriend clutches his heart, feigning a heart attack. You snort and turn into the parking lot. Both the wind and the car’s engine settle as you drive into a spot and press the vehicle off.

“Trader Joe’s?!” Erik cries. “What they got up in there?”

You exit the car, grabbing your purse from the backseat. “Stop complaining. Let’s go.”

–

If boredom could be personified, it’s spitting image would be Erik, for he rests his forearms on the bar of the shopping cart, eyes drooping as he observes the eccentric packaging of Trader Joe’s products.

Picking up a container of salsa he says, “Why all this shit organic?”

But you just suck your teeth and let him sulk behind the cart, ignoring him and all his grumbling.

“And this,” His gaze sets upon another display, “Who the fuck needs all these types of dried fruit? Probably taste like tumbleweed anyway.”

“Yo, stop moaning and groaning over there,” You shoot back at him, grabbing two packages of dried mangoes and placing them into the cart.

But Erik persists, dragging his feet across the smooth, concrete floor.

Minding the grocery list you and Erik had created earlier on your phone, you head deeper into the produce section, searching for some leafy greens and other ingredients that would contribute toward Erik’s signature salad. He walks off with the cart, gathering some tomatoes and bell peppers before making his way into another section of the store.

You, on the other hand, stand in front of the illuminated display with every type of green you could think of: arugula, kale, spinach, and lettuce, just to name a few. Reaching in, you squish some of the bags in order to determine their freshness. And you grab some kale and return to your shopping partner, who was waiting patiently for you, his previous protesting done with.

Looking down at the list on your phone, there wasn’t that much left for you all to grab, just some seasonings that were essential for the completion of any dish. There’re so many to choose from, and quite frankly, you’d just grab them all if you weren’t on a budget. So, you place a couple in the cart. And when you look up again, there Erik is, a pouty look on his face.

“Birthday cake popcorn?” Erik suggests, holding up the multicoloured item.

“Put it in the cart,” You giggle, maneuvering to a checkout line with the least amount of people.

The line becomes shorter and shorter, with customers paying and leaving with their large brown bags. And before you know it, the cashier shouts, “Next!” and moves to take your cart.

“Find everything okay?” The cashier asks, briefly glancing up at the two of you before moving to scan the items in your cart.

“Yes, thank you,” you respond, blankly staring as more items appeared on the customer screen and the worker transferred your groceries into the bags adjacent to the register.

Erik, standing beside you, wraps his right pinky finger against your left one, linking the two of you before you adjust to hold his entire hand. He grips your waist and pulls you in to kiss your lips and lingers there for a short while, eyes boring into yours while also relishing the traces of your chocolate-flavoured lip gloss that had found its way to onto his tongue.

You’re flustered, of course, but not because he hadn’t kissed you this intensely before, but because you were reminded that you were still at the grocery store, for the cashier cleared their throat awkwardly, repeating the total cost you had missed in your fleeting moment of passion.

Scratching your neck, hoping to relieve the embarrassment that that crept up your spine, you ask, “I’m sorry, how much is it?”

To which the cashier responds, “That’s $43.96.”

“I got it, bae,” Erik interjects, pulling out his wallet and handing a crisp yet folded fifty-dollar bill to the worker.

And while the cashier hands Erik the change, you grab the red cart and head toward the exit but not before thanking them. A few steps behind, Erik acknowledges another cashier – the only Black cashier – with a head nod and a knowing smile, to which the cashier nods, shrugs, and returns the grin: the shared feeling of being the only Black person in the room. The automatic doors open, reintroducing the cool evening air upon your face and hair, and the rubber wheels of the cart greet the smooth pavement.

When you reach the cart return, Erik grabs all of the bags while you fit the cart among the lines of carts already present. The two of you begin to walk to your parked vehicle but instead accidentally stumble upon on one with a similar make and model to your own but was not yours.

“I swore I parked right here,” you huff, standing on the balls of your feet, searching the sea of identical cars in the well-lit parking lot. And the fact that there were so many other last-minute shoppers did not help your plight either.

“Lemme see the keys,” Erik says, intrigue in his voice. “I wanna see something.”

You hand him the keys to the car, and he places them under his chin, pressing the unlock button repeatedly.

“That doesn’t actually work, does it?” You quiz, doubt heavy on your words.

“We have to see.”

Supposedly, this little trick should increase the bandwidth of the key’s signal, using one’s head as a sort of antenna. But after a couple clicks, you hear nothing besides traffic on the neighbouring streets.

Pointless, you think, just wanting to hurry up and head home.

But then, you hear a series of chirps in the distance and Erik yipping about the fact.

“Over there,” Erik says, nodding his head toward the source of the noise.

He picks up the bags, and you both head to the vehicle.

–

Shutting the door to your car, you release a sigh. Finally, the bags are all placed on the floor of your car, and you can finally head home.

With your foot on the break, you reach to push the car to start but then Erik yelps, “Wait! I wanna try those mango joints.”

“Oh, now you wanna try them,” You jest, “Because if I can remember, you were just–”

“–Man,” Erik interrupts, reaching to the backseat and rummaging through the bags. “Found it.”

He surveys the clear package titled “Soft & Juicy Mango” with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled, a slight repugnance that he couldn’t even help hide. But ripping the bag open, his expression softens as the aroma fills his nostrils, the sweet, tropical scent soothing him.

You watch, rolling your eyes, as Erik cautiously lowers his fingers into the package. One would think that the former Navy Seal wouldn’t be so dramatic over something like trying a new food, but Erik never ceases to amaze you.

Mango slice in hand, Erik purses his lips as he brings it to his mouth, slowly. Tortuously. And chews, his head cocked to the side.

“Wait,” he says as he swallows the last bit. “These bitches smack!”

You release a sound of disbelief, start the vehicle, and pull into the street, heading home. Of course the mangoes were delicious.

–

The sound of the car door closing can be heard as you and Erik finish grabbing all the groceries and head to the entrance of your apartment building. Your boyfriend opens the door for you, his veiny forearm braced on it and towering above you as you enter.

“Damn, ma! You getting thick!” He hollers as he watches the sway of your hips in your fitted bottoms.

You feel your cheeks warm up as you push some hair behind your air. You had been getting thick.

The lobby as you pass through is empty except for the security guard looking down at a glow coming from their lap and a couple of young people with white wires cascading down from their ears, bopping their heads to music that you can hear but not quite make out specific lyrics.

You and Erik find your way inside the elevator, the flickering fluorescents easing you back home, a stark difference from the glaringly bright ones at Trader Joe’s. Erik presses the round “4”, and the aluminum doors begin to close before you, you staring ahead while Erik sneaks a glance at you, smirking before redirecting his gaze toward the sliding metal.

Watching the line of numbers flash as the lift ascends from the ground floor, you turn to Erik, kissing him softly on the lips, closing your eyes and feeling a tingling sensation coursing into him through you. An electrical current that ceases to meet its end, ravishing you both entirely.

And with a ding, the elevator doors open and there you and Erik are, standing chest to chest in the moment, biting your lips like a couple of anxious teenagers on a first date. You pull away from him, keys in hand, heading for the apartment while Erik watches you.

God, how did he get so lucky? You were a treasure to him, and not only because you were so extraordinary but the little things: how you treated him so tenderly and with love yet wouldn’t hesitate to call him out when he was acting like a fool, and how you were so receptive to him as he was to you. These were all things that he scarcely experienced, if he ever experienced them at all. You helped him learn how to love and to receive love, which is an astonishing feat that many cannot confess that they’ve accomplished for themselves. And as you look back at him and smile while you unlock the door, he feels a bit weak in the knees, your electricity overwhelming him once more. You’ve got him hooked, and he loves it. He’s entirely entranced by you, and he doesn’t mind.

You open the door and are welcomed by your apartment, which is completely shrouded in darkness, save for the streetlights, the headlights of passing cars, and the last sliver of the orange evening sky before it is overcome by those distant stars in the night sky.

“Whew,” you exhale, flipping on the light switch and opening the door wider.

Erik sets the bags down on the countertops and approaches you.

“What are you–” you begin, but Erik is sliding his arms around your midsection and turning you to him. He presses his forehead against yours, twirling the ends of your hair and breathes you in and attaches his lips to yours, gently, truly wanting to savour this moment and you in this moment.

He pulls away, slowly, and confesses for the first time aloud, “I love you,” in a voice no louder than a whisper in a public library, to which you respond, “I love you, too.”

And the two of you remain like this for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes, not even letting the ever-busy late-night traffic rattle you.

“So,” he starts, “About earlier in the bathroom…”

“Yeah, what about it?” You respond, seduction laced in your words.

“I’m thinking we need to address that.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yup,” Erik answers, popping the “p”.

“And what about the groceries?”

“They’ll be a’ight.”

“Hm,” You sound, lacing your hand with his and walking the both of you to your shared bedroom.

Erik walks towards you, making you both fall on the bed. And the dreaded man begins pecking at your neck, travelling up to the bone of your jaw and landing once again on your plump lips. He swipes his finger down them, and repeats, “I love you.”

You stand up to close the door, while Erik sits up, waiting on you to return to him. You cradle his head in your hands while you kiss him, deeper, all that former tenderness left at the door. And stripping him of his shirt, his impatient fingers also dance to the zipper of your top, lowering it. He slides the jacket over your shoulders as you kneel on the bed to straddle him. But before you could grind down on his crotch, Erik grips your hips and flips you onto your back, the sudden movement bouncing your body on the bed after it meets the comforter.

“Not so fast, babygirl.”