#I’ve also never been kissed so. that doesn’t help does it babes? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ozimagines · 2 months ago

Note

Hi :)

I finished Oz just a few days ago and I already miss them :( but I‘m so glad I found your blog! I love your writing and everything! 🫶🏼 and I have a bit of a weird request. Could you write something on how the Latinos (Miguel, Chico, hint hint (the others too)) would react if y/n would ask them to help them learn Spanish? (I don’t speak Spanish but I love listen to Miguel when he does.) If they would help them or not and if so, how they would try to teach them. You can add the Italiens if you want. But if you don’t feel anything of it, or if you think it’s shitty, you don’t have to write it, of course!

I hope you have a wonderful day/night and thank you for everything you already did on your blog :)

Literally stop having better ideas than me everyone!! Also thank you for your kind words. I’m trying to get back into things. I miss Oz as well. It’s the show that helped me find myself. So yes I’d love to do this request and yeah I’m gonna add the Italians in a later post because this one is long but also Jia and Adebisi and Stanislavsky later because I think all of them would have strong reactions to you speaking their mother tongue.

I’m poly lingual (English, Italian, and some Spanish, Korean, Yoruba, and Scottish Gaelic), and believe you me, I’ve had my share of international lovers and the look on their face when they realize you’ve been trying to learn their culture is like an insanely hot realization.

Miguel

Miguel and you are chilling on the couch, and Miguel starts laughing at something on his phone. You ask what and he replies it’s a Spanish meme. He tries to translate but it’s idiomatic and hard for a foreigner. The next day you’re both in bed waking up, staring at each other.

“Hey… could you teach me Spanish?”

“…?”

“Like… I don’t know… I’d like to talk to you in Spanish and I keep trying to learn on my own and I’m getting nowhere.”

“…you’ve been trying to learn on your own?”

“Yeah, but I’m shit right now. I still don’t understand a damn thing you say.”

Miguel chuckles deeply with that rough morning gravel. He leans forward and kisses you on the nose.

“Sure, babe. Sure.”

“Like… now?” You ask, and he’s smirking all over again. He pulls you so that your back is to him in bed, and he’s spooning you, face in your neck.

“¿Puedo ir al baño? Is can I go to the bathroom? Donde es is where is, cuanto-“

“No… I mean thank you… but like… maybe something I can use specifically with you?”

Another throaty chuckle.

“Okay, try this; buenos días, mi amor.” (Good morning, my love).

You say it and he gets this little electric sparks through his fingertips. He keeps teaching you.

“Say; te adoro.” (I adore you.)

When you do, his spine tingles. It’s overstimulating. Like those words just turned a key inside him and hit all the right spots. He tries something else, mumbling this one into your neck as he desperately kisses it.

“Say; Nunca volverás a estar solo.”

You do, and he immediately told you over and starts kissing over your body, rolling his own naked flesh in yours. It’s too much. You don’t even ask what you said.

(You’ll never be alone again.)

He makes little flashcards for you and tapes them all over the house like his mom did to make sure they didn’t become no sabo kids. You learn the command “en español” really fast. A few months later and Miguel takes you to his favorite Cuban restaurant, and lets you order for both of them. The waiter answers you in English, as you’re clearly struggling, but Miguel says;

“En español, por favor.”

And makes everyone speak only Spanish around you. He doesn’t care that they’re giving him looks. You’re learning and it’s too cool to watch.

He’s legitimately so proud when you ask for the bill correctly and roll your rs. Just beaming. He’s also so touched you wanted to learn this for him. Just makes him glow for months.

“Te amo, Y/N.”

“Te amo, Miguel.”

Chico

Chico is a BIG Spanish guy. Huge on his heritage, proud to be Latino. (In my mind he’s Mexican. There’s no reason for this other than I’m in love with Otto Sanchez and I grew up near Mexico so that particular brand of Latino culture is close to my heart.) He always has you try his food and listen to his music and such. You get into a really heated argument one night. Nothing too important, but he’s a hothead and good at bringing out the anger in others so… this was where you were at. When he gets passionate, in love or war, he finds himself snarling in Spanish at his opponent/lover. He shouts;

“¡Deja de ser tan jodidamente dramático!” (Stop being so fucking dramatic!)

Your face goes red and you reply:

“¡No puedes hablarme así!” (You can’t talk to me like that!)

His cheeks flush and his heart stops. It takes him a second to recover, if he’s honest. He thinks for a second and then turns to you.

“What did I say?”

You stare at him angrily for a moment, and respond with total seriousness.

“I don’t know. I just know you can’t talk to me like that.”

You two stare each other down for a solid minute before his face broke into a goofy smile and he’s cracking up so hard he can barely stand. Your anger melts away too. He’s got such a handsome laugh. When he composes himself, you finally sit down and talk like adults.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?”

“Soaps, mostly. I like it when they get angry and shout like that.”

He’s laughing again, completely forgetting what had you two arguing in the first place. You hold his hand and play with his fingers.

“I really don’t like that I can’t understand you.”

“I know.” He sighs, and pulls you close. “I’ll stop speaking so much Spanish around you.”

You shake your head and tell him you don’t want that either. You just want to understand him. So you ask.

“Couldn’t you like… I don’t know… teach me some? Like I know it’s complex and I don’t expect to be fluent immediately but goddamn a few words of phrases here and there wouldn’t hurt.”

It’s too bad he’s not a more touchy feely guy because his heart is so fucking full at the moment. Just absolutely bursting with admiration for you. He says of course and your lessons start right then and there.

“Kiss me is bésame, hold me is abrázame, and fóllame is fuck me. Any questions?”

“Couldn’t you teach me like how to say my name and address or something?”

He gives you a look like are you fucking serious right now like which ones are we gonna use more often. You sigh and smile.

“Fóllame.”

Damn if one simple phrase didn’t get his blood fucking boiling right there. It’s almost hard for you to learn Spanish, because every time you speak it, Chico jumps your bones like he’s dying and your genitalia has the cure.

He teaches you through mostly sexual phrases lol. You can’t really speak to anyone without an NC-17 rating.

You’re about two months into your lessons. You go to Chico’s work to surprise him with lunch. You do this from time to time, but today is special, unbeknownst to Chico. He comes out and greet you with the usual kiss, and leans in as always to smell your perfume/cologne. You take your opportunity.

“Te traje dos regalos... almuerzo y sexo. ¿Cuál quieres primero?” (I brought you two gifts; lunch and sex. Which one do you want first?)

His eyes go wide, and he almost knocks the food out of your hand pushing you into the wall and devours you with his kisses.

He takes the rest of the day off. You basically crippled his cock by speaking his language.

Carlos

Mayyyyyube not the most touchy feely guy lol. I think as a partner he’d soften a little but not by much. But he’s yours, and that scraggly gruff exterior didn’t stop you.

It’s a regular night out. You’re both walking to his favorite taco stand, just getting a bite. You love the street corn there and ask him to order you some, knowing this place is the real deal and the menu was entirely in Spanish. He nods and places your order when your turn comes. He just talks to the owner and you’re standing there a little awkwardly. You make out one word though that you definitely understand; (gringa/gringo or insert cultural slam here). What hurts most is you don’t hear Carlos say anything to your defense. You’re sort of wilting the whole rest of the night. He’s asks you several times what’s wrong. You don’t tell him. You just don’t know how.

You’re both home and getting ready for bed. You decide to test him.

“Carlos?”

“Hmm?”

“What does [redacted] mean?”

He pauses for a second and you’re really hoping he makes the right choice.

“Just a word for non-Latinos.” Was all he said, and your heart sank a little. He notices and comes over to you. “What?”

“I know what it means, Carlos.”

“Oh.” Was all he could think to say. “Wanna talk?”

You’re smiling a little at his clumsy attempt at being a decent boyfriend.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“It’s what you are.” He said before he could think to say anything else. “C’mon, Y/N, you’re not exactly Rita Moreno/Desi Arnaz.”

“So help me.”

“…huh?”

“Teach me Spanish.”

“Like all of it?”

“Enough to make that fucking taco guy shut his mouth.”

He barks out a laugh and tells you sure. He’s all about an elaborate revenge plan.

You get to the taco stand about a month later. You’ve been practicing the whole time. You get to the queue and the owner looks over you and directly at Carlos.

“¿Qué le gustaría?” (What would you like?)

You step forward, Carlos’ hand on there small of your back, not saying a word.

“Dos tacos de carne asada para mi novio, un taco de pollo y un krder si maíz callejero para el [redacted] y dos cocas para compartir, por favor.” (Two roast beef tacos for my boyfriend, one chicken taco and an order of street corn for the [redacted] and two cokes to share, please.)

The vendor looks at you, then Carlos, who is beside himself smiling, and then back at you. He nods and begins working. You beam at Carlos who is smoking his cigarette proudly.

So when he gets home the next night, he throws his keys in the bowl and grabs a beer from the kitchen to make himself a drink, and you appear behind him like the beer fairy, holding a michelada you just made. He’s a little stunned, but thanks you, winking at you as he leaves that;

“Te follaré muy fuerte más tarde.” (I’m gonna fuck you so hard later.)

You smirk as his back is to you, and you say;

“Eso espero”. (I hope so.).

He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel.

“Say it again.” He commanded, so you did, a little scared but more turned on at the moment.

He just sets down the michelada and walks over to you, picking you up over his shoulder roughly, and walks to the bedroom.

“Fuck this later shit” was all he said in English for hours.

Carlo

Awww. Good boy needs a hug. He’s also such a doting boyfriend. Like such a good guy. No notes. You’re just having one of those beautiful nights in that never go on as long as they should but somehow go on just long enough. You’re dancing to some silly Christmas song in the kitchen. It’s hardly Christmas yet but damn did he need a pick me up. This one is We Need A Little Christmas. He has it on top volume, swaying with you and spinning you when necessary. He doesn’t sing but you’re loud enough for both of you.

“Merry Christmas, Carlo.”

“Feliz navidad, mi amor.” (Merry Christmas, My Love)

“How do you say ‘present’?”

“Regalo.”

“Well, then, I have an early regalo for you.” You show him the little trinket you got for him. It’s an ornament that says: “con amor, Y/N”. He smiles and gives you one of those strong kisses that takes you a minute to recover.

“I also got a regalo for myself.” You say slyly, and he’s fully expecting you to pull out some kind of sex you, when it’s a book that says Spanish for Beginners. He asks you what it is.

“So you can teach me Spanish. We’ll do like a lesson a night or something. Start slow. I just want to be able to thank your mom for raising such an awesome son.”

Baby boy has tears in his eyes. Like he’s so genuinely and positively touched that you want to share something that important with him. He makes love to you all night, telling you what a thoughtful and loving person you are (but if his friends ask he fucked you raw). You do little lessons here and there together, until you can do words and then sentences. Then you have little conversations in Spanish that turn into long ones. Until he’s able to explain to you how he feels about you and have you understand it.

You go to Christmas that year with his family and find his mom in the kitchen alone.

“Señora Ricardo?”

“Oh! Hi, Y/N!” She greets you, giving you a little hug as always.

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Go on, mija/mijo.”

You take a deep breath and give it a go.

“Quería agradecerte. Gracias por Carlos. Criaste a un hombre increíble.” (I wanted to thank you. Thank you for Carlo. You raised an amazing man.)

She stops for a second before her eyes water and she pulls you into a deep hug. Out of the corner of your eye you see movement. Carlo is in the doorframe looking as happy as you’ve ever seen him. Looking so at peace with the world.

That night, you say goodbye and go home with Carlo. He’s driving silently in the car, as you watch the stars outside. He breaks the silence by speaking something to you in Spanish.

“Necesito que sepas esto; lo eres todo para mí. Todo. Y todo lo que tengo es tuyo. ¿Entiendes eso?”

You’re halfway asleep, and mumble;

“That’s nice. What does that mean?”

(I need you to know something; you’re everything to me. Everything. And everything I have is yours. Do you understand that?)

“…nothing.” He says with a small smile.

Raoul

Y’all I don’t decide what the pussy likes. She’s an enigma and apparently has a thing for five foot nothing pushing forty Latino daddies at the moment so without further ado…

You’re El Cid’s… something. No one really knows what they are to him. They just are. So you act like one of those fish that preens the shark. It’ll never harm you. It needs you. He likes talking in Spanish around you. You never understand and it lets him have some anonymity in your relationship.

“…El Cid?” (Yes he still makes you call him that.)

He grunts in response, not looking up from his paper. He’s checking the obituaries, you notice, and not sadly.

“Do you think you could teach me some Spanish?”

Now you have his attention. He looks up from his paper.

“Why?”

“Because I want to understand you more.” You answer honestly. That’s the part about you he finds most ridiculous, your honesty. He thinks for a second, not ready to give up his edge. He suddenly has an idea.

Look, he’s full of himself but he has eyes. He understands he’s not Ryan Gosling. And he also had eyes to see that other people want you. Want to take you away from him. He’s certainly not going to listen to T-Swift on repeat if you break up, but damn would he like to keep you around. He smirks and leans over to you.

“How about some phrases to start?”

You nod vigorously, having no idea what he has in mind.

“Aléjate de mí.” (Get away from me.) He has those unkind eyes on full blast now. “It means ‘let’s hang out’.”

You nod and start taking notes on your phone. You don’t notice he’s trying not to lose his head.

“Vete a la mierda.” (Go fuck yourself- idiom) He repeats it for you so you get every syllable. “It means ‘let’s have coffee’.”

“So… mierda is coffee?” (Mierda is shit)

He chokes back a laugh and nods.

“Una mierda, por favor.” (One shit, please.) You pretend to be ordering at a restaurant. Now he actually does crack up but when he composes himself, he tells you it was just your pronunciation that got him.

After a few more lessons, you’re excited to be taken around his friends. You’re really eager to try out the Spanish you learned. You’re hanging around the other guys, saying the phrases you knew before El Cid, like Hola and ¿Como estás?. The others pretend to be impressed with your Spanish to appease Raoul. Some suave younger gentleman comes up to you, not knowing you and El Cid are an item. No one automatically pairs you together anyway. You understand he’s flirting but have no interest in leaving your honey. He chats you up, and you mention you’ve been studying Spanish.

“¿Quieres ir al comer?” (Would you like to go eat?)

“¡Vete a la mierda!” (Go fuck yourself!) you respond with enthusiasm, happy to have made a new friend. He quirks his brow and asks.

“¿Qué dijiste?” (What did you say?) he asks incredulously. Raoul smirks into his tequila and lets the conversation run its course.

“Dije que eres un miserable gusano y ya le pertenezco a papi.” You think you said ‘I said you seem nice, my boyfriend can come too’. What you actually said was (I said you’re a miserable maggot and I already belong to Daddy). Now Raoul walks up and puts an arm around your waist, smiling confidently at the man trying to court you. The man walks away dejectedly and Raoul turns away and leads you with him, having already marked his territory.

You can’t seem to understand why none of your phrases ever result in a nice friend.

Enrique

Enrique rarely spoke Spanish around you. He knew you couldn’t understand anyway, so why waste anybody’s time? But he did have a sense of pride in himself as a Latin man. Thought of himself as inherently more passionate about life. So you two are on a date; fanciest restaurant he could afford, which is already a lot. You’re giving each other the fuck me eyes over the table. Enrique picks up your hand and kisses the top.

“Enjoying your night?”

“Enjoying the company more.” You reply with a smile, trying some of the insanely expensive canapés before you. Enrique grins at you genuinely. What’s the point of being top dog if you can’t spoil your loved one?

He gets a call on his phone suddenly and when he checks the ID, he sighs and tells you it’ll only be a minute. You’re not bothered. You have some understanding of his work and know why he can’t talk to you about it. He answers the phone and you sip some of your wine when your ear perks up.

“Escucha, pedazo de mierda, si ese paquete no llega al destinatario antes de la medianoche de hoy, tu próxima misión será conseguir un tambor de ácido en el que pueda disolver tu cuerpo. ¿Entendido?” He hisses into the phone, and hangs up with a huff. His eyes are stony now, and he angrily takes a sip of the wine in front of him. He notices the silence. You haven’t said a word. “Darling? Something wrong?”

“…I… I guess I just don’t hear you speak Spanish that often.” You mused, still looking him over. “What did you say?”

Enrique flushes.

(Listen, you piece of shit, if that package doesn't reach the recipient before midnight tonight, your next mission will be to get a drum of acid in which I can dissolve your body. Understood?)

“Um… just told an employee of mine that I had a new task for him.” He lies by omission, still sipping his Cabernet Sauvignon. You’re still looking. “Why?”

“I don’t know… you seemed angry.”

He tries to deflect but god help him he didn’t expect your next words.

“It was kind of hot.”

He’s taken aback a little. He’d been called slurs so many times, he’d forgotten Spanish was a Romance language. He’d not realized his unknown threats had gotten you hot and bothered. He quirked a brow at you.

“Really?”

“Yeah… could you teach me a little? Just so I can understand some basic romantic stuff?”

“…really?”

You nod, and smile at him over the candles. You look so perfect and happy that he can’t believe his eyes. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine his partner wanting to learn Spanish for him. He’s as touched as Morales can be.

“Sure.” He acknowledges but adds a second after, “anything particular in mind?”

“Can you tell me how to tell you that you’re handsome?”

He chuckled a little, because you sort of just did, but he tells you anyway.

“Eres muy guapo.” He replies. “It just means ‘you are handsome’.”

“Hmm… I’d like to compliment you more creatively.” You giggle. He smiling now too. Something about your genuineness just always amuses him. Life for him is always the game, always the hunt. With you, he can relax a little.

“Okay, say this; Eres devastadoramente sexy.”

He coaches you through how to say it.

“What’s it mean?”

“‘You’re devastatingly sexy’.”

You giggle at his ego but you love the lesson.

“Can you teach me how to say ‘I adore your eyes’?”

“Adoro tus ojos.”

“And ‘you’re the man of my dreams’?”

“‘Eres el hombre de mis sueños.’”

“And ‘I can’t wait to make love to you tonight’?”

“‘No puedo esperar para hacerte el amor esta noche’.”

“And-“

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, stop. I can only get so aroused.” He breaths and you laugh loudly, drawing too much attention from other tables. When they give you a look, Enrique demolishes them with his eyes. After you collect yourself, Enrique still smiling at you, you lean forward and ask one more question.

“How do you say…” you whisper something into his ear that makes him audibly growl and paw at your hands. He tells you how to say it, so you pull him close and say it into his ear.

“Fóllame tan fuerte que solo pueda gritar tu nombre.”

(Fuck me so hard that I can only scream your name.)

Enrique quickly gathers your belongings and is rushing you into the car waiting outside. His driver can only pretend not to hear the bestial things occurring in the backseat.

#hbo oz #oz meme #chico guerra #miguel alvarez #enrique morales #carlo ricardo #carlos martinez #Raoul Hernandez #el cid #fuck me this was fun #plus I got to practice my Spanish lol #only the brain rot phrases tho #genuinely enjoyed this ask and already working on the other bilingual boys #Hope y’all enjoyed because I got whiplash going from Carlo to Hernandez lol #like can you say total opposites lol #and also the more asks I get involving Enrique #the more my pussy lusts for that evil son of a bitch #y’all just awaking things inside of me like stop

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streakyglasses · 7 days ago

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If you’re taking sleepy otp prompts, can i request #3 (A snores loudly. B can't sleep and is torn between being annoyed and thinking A is cute when they snore) and/or #9 (A talks in their sleep, B can't get enough of it) for stris? I love your fics sm😭

happy new year!

yes, my dear, you can! i went with #3, although i do have an idea for #9 as well, so that might be coming? maybe? but i loved #3 so much, and this was a joy to write, so thank you thank you! please enjoy under the cut:

ordinary love

also on ao3 or ffn

Street isn’t used to sleeping in silence. All his life, he’s slept with some degree of background noise—and some degree of needing to be alert—that’s kept him from sleeping restfully at all. It’s not until he’s curled up with Chris in her queen bed, underneath the thickest comforter he’s ever felt, with her even breathing and comforting warmth next to him, that he begins to understand what it means to truly sleep.

Begins. Until the clock turns to a quarter past two, and he’s pulled from slumber by a low rumbling. It starts soft, then grows slightly louder, and then eases away again like a wave. But it’s repetitive, sometimes accented with a slight whistle at the bottom, and he almost can’t believe it when he cracks his eyes open and realizes the source.

Maybe his past is why he never noticed it in the bunk room at HQ, or maybe because she wasn’t really sleeping deeply there, either, but it’s undeniable now. Chris Alonso snores.

Huffing a gentle laugh, he rolls back onto his side and closes his eyes again. Mystery solved, he manages to fall back asleep within a few minutes. He doesn’t bring it up the next day, just shakes his head when she asks why he has that look in his eye like he has a secret, and silences her suspicion with a languid kiss.

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But the snoring only gets worse as fall turns to winter that wears on like a dry, scratchy sweater. He finds himself waking to her hot breath right against his ear, and is unable to get back to sleep without unwinding their bodies and sticking earplugs in to muffle the noise. Nights he gets home late, he hears it from the bathroom, breaking any idea of a peaceful sleep that he had. He thumbs at the foam plugs until they’re soft enough to push in his ears, then slides in next to her.

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“You look tired.” Chris says, eventually, her eyes unhappy as she notices the dark circles under his.

“It’s nothing,” Street brushes her concern off, flipping the eggs. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You’ve been sleeping here for weeks. Why didn’t you say anything? Are you too hot, is it the mattress?”

“Uh, no,” he treads lightly. “It’s really nothing.”

“Great, then tell me, so we can fix it. I don’t mind, really. I’ve had that bed for—”

“You snore.”

She stops dead in her tracks, lukewarm coffee splashing over the side of her hand, and jaw on the floor.

“I what?”

“For a couple weeks now.” He tells her the truth, but concentrates solely on getting the eggs onto their plates to avoid having to look her in the eye. “It’s really not a problem, I just didn’t know before. I’ll get used to it.”

“Okay, stop,” she interrupts, setting her mug down and pinching the bridge of her nose as confusion floods her head like the ocean. “I do not snore.”

He finally turns to her, lips in a line and nose scrunched.

“You do, Babe. Loud.”

“I think I would know if I did. My family would’ve told me.” She counters in her disbelief, but he just shakes his head.

“Did you ever ask them?”

“No! Because there was never a reason to. Because I don’t snore.”

“You should. Really, it’s okay. I bought some earplugs and they help.” And then, before she can jump on that, “You’re still my dream girl.”

She rolls her eyes even as a fire-engine blush paints her cheeks, then slides a fork across the counter to him.

“I better be.”

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“Does anyone in our family snore?” She asks over a beer the next time she sees her Aunt and Uncle.

“I used to. So did your mother.” Sarzo sips. Helena swats lightly as his shoulder.

“Used to? He still does—like a freight train. Why?”

“Got some forms for a new doctor. They asked about it.”

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Chris tries everything: sleeping on her side, sleeping elevated, falling asleep after Street. Allergy meds and deep breathing and hot showers. Nothing works. So, all other options as exhausted as her and Street, she finds herself staring down the nasal strips in the pharmacy aisle a few weeks later. Begrudgingly, she rips the store-brand box from the shelf, swipes it through the self-checkout, and tosses it in her medicine cabinet when she gets home.

Don’t say anything. She texts Street, but cuts through the ominous-tone by following it up with an I love you. It’s one of the nights she knows he’ll be home late, and she’s too tired to wait for him. The instructions on the box come easy, and she applies the strip with a sigh before sliding into bed and hoping it works. Pulling his pillow close, she lets his scent lull her to sleep.

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The first thing he notices is the silence. Not an almost silence, but a true, nothing-but-the-buzz-of-the-fridge silence. His shoulders drop from their position at his ears, a low breath escaping, and a soft smile graces his face.

He thinks of Chris in their bed and makes quick work of his night routine. The clock reads just past midnight, and her gentle, quiet breathing makes a rustling noise against his pillowcase. He’s like a moth to a flame as he slides under the covers.

“Love you,” he whispers, kissing her nose. Fabric meets his lips, and he laughs when he realizes what it is. He kisses her again for good measure. Another long day in the books, her soft body next to his, he closes his eyes.

Sleep does not come easy. Midnight turns into one and then falls into two, every fifteen minutes punctuated with a toss or a turn. His muscles ache, brain running like it’s a race, and, when he finally gives in with an exhausted sigh, patterns swirl in the ceiling paint he stares at.

Rolling onto his side, again, he tucks his arm under his pillow and traces over Chris’s sleeping face. Not a trace of tension belies her features, her eyebrow soft when he caresses it with his thumb. She’s as beautiful as ever to look at, and he’s happy, at least, to have her next to him even if he can’t sleep. Her lips are parted just so, and a sweet hum escapes as she nuzzles closer.

Just a hum. He knows what’s missing.

Careful as possible not to disturb her, he uses the side of his thumb nail to pick at the nasal strip until it starts to peel off. The rest comes off in one smooth go and ends up folded on his nightstand.

Her next breath starts with a low rumble that grows louder and then eases away, like a wave.

He’s asleep not a minute later.

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In the morning, Chris’s hands go to her nose, and she’s confused to not find the strip where she placed it last night. She searches her pillow and around her body, prepared to scratch that brand off the list and go for a new one, until she spies it on his nightstand. Eyes narrowed, she throws her covers back to stand and stretch, picking up her phone on her way to the bathroom

The text chime goes off as she sees the box in the garbage: Don’t say anything. I love you.

#stris #swat cbs #chris alonso #jim street #cbs swat #s.w.a.t cbs #my writing #chris x street #street x chris #otp: i just woke up next to my dream girl #first fic of 2025 yay!!!#anon ask

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senditcolton · 1 year ago

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First off, I am so sorry I am just getting to this now! I saw the notification when I woke up on Sunday but I had plans and then school and all those other excuses but now I am here and very VERY ready to get into this!

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” *throws the wedding invitation* “I want you to come with me.”

Luc, that 100% isn’t a question. But… considering the full details of that proposal, maybe that was the best way to start this convo

HANDS CUPPING FACES TO MAKE EYE CONTACT! Girl, how are you not kissing him?! This fic would be over in the first ten paragraphs if that was me.

I’m sorry, multilingualism is so attractive to me.

And Luc being all sweet and comforting about it!

But also, terribly relatable of not wanting help (or not wanting to ask for it).

AGAIN, GIRL HOW ARE YOU NOT MELTING INTO A PUDDLE?! JESUS CHRIST!

Him standing behind, caressing arms, lifting the jaw for eye contact, his face millimeters away? This is both the reason I hate to love slow burns because… aaah!

I feel like I am watching a movie with this getting ready scene. The shift in dynamic, the delicate touches, I can hear the soundtrack playing!

Oh, this is everything I love about fake dating: the ease, the comfort, but that lingering knowledge that it isn’t real or only temporary. YES

THE BUILD-UP! THE TENSION! “DON’T YOU TRUST ME?” THAT KISS!!!

Oh, and I love that magical moment stopped there and then turned into what now? What does it mean? Does this change things? I ADORE IT.

Ooooh I love this!! I thought earlier that Luc has already fallen and now, I think I can confirm that. We shall see!

I have already said this but, THE TENSION!!! IT JUST KEEPS TENSING!!

I AM JUST SCREAMING OVER HERE. THE CHAIN!

“No one to know that you had indulged yourself in the kiss of your best friend.” I’m sorry, this line?!?!?!

“You could lose him either way, so you would dive in head first.” WAIT, THIS LINE?! I CANNOT FUNCTION RIGHT NOW.

(you know how I said multilingualism is hot? reducing someone to their mother tongue is one of the many reasons why I find it attractive)

I HAD TO PAUSE AND TAKE A FEW BREATHS WHEN HANDS WERE GUIDED TO THROATS

JEUSUS FUCKING CHRSIT THAT WAS SO HOT I LITERRALY CANNOT RIGHT NOW

Am I that easy to know based by my online presence? Because I feel my personality infused into this story like oh my god (not complaining though because yes!)

No answers? But kisses. *insert kombucha girl meme*

Oh this another fav of fake dating; being able to answer questions because they are partially based in truth. And I like it because “yes blur all the lines!” which is a recipe for angst but maybe also happiness! You’ll never know!

NO! NO!!! OH COME ON!

NO! I mean I would be reacting in the same way but girl, let him finish the sentence! I’m begging!

Oh, I also love this how there is no major time-skip. We aren’t glossing over the aftermath, no we got to go through it all.

HE MADE THE PLAYLIST TO APOLOGIZE?! I’M-

“Explain.” YES PLEASE EXPLAIN I NEED IT.

I CHOSE YOU?!?!?!

IT WASN’T PRETENDING?!?!

I FUCKING KNEW IT BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I WASN’T KICKING MY FEET IN JOY AT THE REVEAL!!

Babe, when you prefaced the playlist like a rom-com soundtrack, you are so right about it because there were multiple moments in this fic that felt cinematic. Like I was watching a movie on a screen. I have absolutely no words except for a bazillion “thank you”s and incoherent keysmashes. So, that is what I will leave you with:

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THAKNISDBGBSAKNAVJANFIEAIHJYKLOU

;; You Are In Love

Dedicated to @senditcolton for her birthday bingo!

Summary: When your best friend Luc needs a plus one for his wedding, you don't question it. Even if the key term of pretending to be his girlfriend begs to be questioned.

Kinks & TW: unprotected sex (are we surprised?), mild choking, intoxication

Word Count: 11k+

A/N: I refused to be too late with posting this, so I stayed up late to finish writing it. Fair warning, it's not edited. So there are probably going to be some grammatical and spelling errors throughout. Now, with those cautions aside... Happy Birthday Nicole! I hope you had a wonderful day! Thank you for being such a wonderful part of the hockey rpf community! I hope you enjoy this mess of a fic that I threw together for you - and I apologize if it feels rushed. I know if I took the time this fic could have easily ended up being a whole novel.

Playlist.

Act 1.

Moving the prongs of your fork in circles around your plate, you pushed the contents that remained along the glass. You didn’t quite have the stomach to finish it, but couldn’t bring yourself to tell Luc you weren’t going to finish your plate. If you sat there long enough, if you held the casual conversation long enough, maybe you’d be able to finish it. But not even Luc had managed to clear his plate. Which you didn’t let go unnoticed. Luc had a routine, even during his off-season, and that included eating enough to maintain his busy training schedule.

That was your first clue that something wasn’t right. The second clue was that he hadn’t met your eyes since the two of you sat down to eat at the island in his kitchen. Instead, you found his eyes staring out the grand glass window overlooking Downtown Winnipeg. You had thought he might have been distracted by the bumper-to-bumper traffic down Portage Avenue as every nine-to-five worker headed out to their cabin for the weekend, or maybe the wail of the sirens that were so frequent you almost didn’t hear them anymore. That was until you saw his gaze flicker over your features for but a moment before falling to his plate. He too was just pushing around what remained.

Lowering your fork to rest across your plate, you pushed up to lean across the kitchen island, a little closer to your best friend. “Something on your mind?”

Your question drew his bright gaze back up to you, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk that was framed by the mustache you had been trying to convince him to get rid of or at the very least blend into the rest of his beard. But not even his awkward mustache could distract you from his small smile as he pushed up from his seat and made the few steps that carried him to his fridge.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Luc started slowly, piquing your interest and drawing a soft oh from your lips as you pushed your plate aside so you could rest your elbows on the countertop. He stood with his back to you for a moment, and you could see the muscles of his back grow tense as he reached up to pull a single piece of paper from beneath a magnet on the fridge. He only had to turn around to be able to toss the thick white cardstock down, the very weight of the paper and the flick of his wrist giving it enough of a push to send it drifting into your reach.

It was an invitation, the text was a beautiful gold cursive and the paper itself was embossed with a beautiful floral pattern that was synonymous with a wedding. You traced your fingers over it slowly, your eyes dragging the two names that were only familiar to you because of Luc. He had spoken of the wedding when he had first received the invitation months ago. He and his girlfriend were to take the trip to Montreal together. But Luc was single now, and the wedding date was a mere week away.

“I want you to come with me,” his words were a statement, not a question as he leaned back against the fridge, as if the distance between you both would make it less likely for you to reject his offer.

It was a statement that left you staring at him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape, “No, no I shouldn’t.” Your hands raised, shaking from side to side as you offered your careful rejection. Then your lips fell into a ramble of excuses, “It’s really short notice. I won’t know anyone there and I would have anything to wear to something like-”

As you rambled you looked around his kitchen at anything but him. So you didn’t notice as Luc left where he leaned against the fridge and rounded the counter to stand at your side. There he coaxed you to silence with the softness of his name on his tongue and the careful touch of his hands on each side of your face. His warm touch spread over your cheeks and carefully guided your face to look up at his.

“I already have the plane tickets,” his words were soft, his eyes staring right down into yours as you pouted up at him, “and I will buy you a dress for the wedding. And one for the rehearsal dinner too, even if you like.”

“Rehearsal dinner?”

“Yeah,” his smile was a little crooked now as he was about to reveal just how busy your weekend would be if you agreed to go, “I’m in the wedding party and I ah-”

“You what, Luc?” you questioned, your voice firm. What wasn’t he telling you?

“And I told them I would be bringing my girlfriend.”

“Luc!” You shouted at him, your eyes going wide.

He didn’t need to put it into words, you knew exactly what he was suggesting without saying it. Pierre-Luc Dubois, your best friend since he arrived in Winnipeg after a literal run-in at the airport, not only wanted you to be his date to a wedding in Montreal, he wanted you to pretend to be his girlfriend. Just the proposition of it all made your hands sweat. You weren’t girlfriend material. At least not NHL girlfriend material. You didn’t fit the stereotypical cookie-cutter mold that came to mind when you thought of a WAG - even if you knew those stereotypes weren’t always true. Being Luc’s friend, you had the luxury of meeting a handful of the Jet’s wives and girlfriends and they quickly challenged every belief you had about what they were supposed to be prior. Though, you would be lying if there weren’t a few that were the very embodiment of what a hockey WAG was believed to be. Which wasn’t always a bad thing. And maybe, just maybe, pretending to be one would be fun.

“Okay,” you sighed after a moment of leaving him hanging in the silence of your contemplation, “I’ll come.”

With your words, you could practically see the tension leave his shoulder. They seemed to fall away from his neck and ears as his hands left the hot skin of your cheeks. But his touch didn’t leave you. His hand instead found your back as his arms would around you in a thankful embrace that echoed the thanks in his words as he spoke them into your hair.

Act 2.

Growing up in Winnipeg, you didn’t know all that much about Montreal. You knew what your school taught you; that French was their first language and there were often discussions about how they wanted to be their own country but beyond that you knew nothing about it, which terrified you as the plane made its landing in the historic city. That terror sunk further into your gut when Luc led you out into the airport where you quickly discovered your beginner-level French wouldn’t cut it.

The rush of the French language being spoken so fluently around you left your head spinning and your stomach in knots. If you were alone, you surely would have thrown up and caught a flight back home, but Luc was your anchor. Your savior, as he reached out for your arm and kept you close as the two of you navigated through the airport and the city together.

Luc spoke so you didn’t have to, the French leaving his lips so fluently it left you jealous. While, if you wanted to say anything there would be a long pause as you thought about what exactly you had to say. Even then, it was probably wrong, and you knew it was when Luc would give you a crooked smile and his eyes would water as he held back a chuckle that was threatening to creep up his throat. He did it in the cab, and again in the hotel lobby as you tried to keep up with the conversation at the check-in desk. But he didn’t comment on it until you were alone in the elevator, making the ascent up to your floor.

“You know, you don’t have to force yourself to speak French, especially with me while we’re here. I have no issue with translating for you,” his words were kind, but they still tied your stomach into knots - or maybe that was just how quickly the elevator seemed to rise from the ground up.

“It’s that bad, huh?” You tried to hide your insecurity, but your own voice betrayed you. It had broken as you spoke, and that alone only brought you more embarrassment. It left your palms sweaty and had the handle of your bag slipping from your hold. It fell to the ground in an awkward clamor, leaving you flinching and apologizing as you reached out for it, but Luc’s hands beat you there.

He would be carrying your bags the rest of the way.

“You’re doing your best,” Luc assured as the elevator chimed, you had reached your floor.

He continued to speak as he led the way, “but you’re here as a favor to me. The least I can do is assure that you are enjoying yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re constantly trying to figure out what needs to be said.”

You stood behind Luc with your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes on his feet. You used them as your guide, not once looking up at him because you hated that he was right. The entire trip was going to be a struggle if you didn’t look to him for his help, but the last thing you wanted was to have to rely on a man’s help to do anything. You had gone years without a boyfriend. Years without needing a man to do anything for you, but now you needed Luc just to get through the simplest interactions. And it left you pouting.

“I don’t want your help,” you pouted at him, following in his wake as he opened the room’s door and led the way inside.

“Keyword, want,” Luc sighed, and you heard him place the bags down on the floor, “but you do need it,” he said your name so softly it had your gaze rising from the floor in search of his face.

Your eyes didn’t find Luc, they had been quickly distracted by the simple elegance of the room and the one bed that had been placed at the center of a beautiful accent wall. You looked around quickly. The room was small, with a grand window just beyond the bed, and a television on the opposite wall. Then there were two doors. One that would open up to a small closet and the other for the bathroom.

You swallowed hard, your eyes rolling back as you let out an exasperated sigh, “One bed? Really?”

You shouldn’t have been so surprised. He hadn’t been single when he originally made the reservations, and you couldn't blame him for not requesting an updated room. You were both adults. You both knew where your boundaries had been set. And while you were playing pretend, you were friends. Luc respected you. You knew he did. If he didn’t, he would have tried to pull something stupid with you a long time ago.

Yet, your stomach was left fluttering the nervous butterflies at the thought of having to sleep beside him. The thought of having to feel the warmth of his body so close to yours-

And you felt it then, pulling you from your thoughts before they could spiral as he came to stand behind you. Luc’s body was warm, so warm that you could feel it radiating against your own body before you could feel the touch of his hands against your arms. His touch dragged down in a reassuring caress before you could feel the strength of his chest brush against your back as you both stood together, looking over the king-sized bed.

“Don’t you trust me?” He punctuated the question with your name, his words teasing as he reached up and took your jaw in the hold of one hand. Luc guided your gaze back to look at him, his face so close to yours you could feel his hot exhale as you muttered out a simple, “I trust you.”

“Good,” Luc breathed out, then guided your head to the side just enough to place a sweet kiss on your cheek before every part of you was void of his touch and his heat as he returned to the bags, “because I was not going to offer to sleep on the floor.”

“Wow,” you gasped to mock him, “such a gentleman.”

“I’m going to be on my best behavior for you this weekend,” he promised with a grin that left you wondering how close to lying he may be. Luc always did like to cause a little trouble, “but only if you start getting ready, we have to be at the rehearsal in just over an hour.”

Raising a brow at him, you looked at an invisible watch on your wrist, “I don’t know, Luc. I can’t get ready for such an important function in less than an hour.”

“You just have to change into your dress-”

“And do my makeup, and fix my hair, and-”

Luc stood up, taking a single stride to bring him to stand toe to toe with you. His bright eyes narrowed, his stare dragging over your face as he tried to compose himself, but you could see the smile that tried to creep up at the corner of his lips as he spoke, “Just get changed before I have to drag you down to a Taxi. Besides, you look great.”

And he wasn’t wrong. You did look great. You had gone to the salon the day before to get your hair and nails done just for the occasion. The stylist had given you a tight curl, something that when you slept on it the curls would still be there but softened. You wouldn’t have to do much more than smooth out a flyaway. And you’d keep your makeup simple. Mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, and brows were all soft and natural. It would only take you a few minutes, but you still took the opportunity to tease him and be a little dramatic for the fun of it. You expected him to threaten to rush you out like he had, but what you hadn’t expected was the compliment. And it left you biting down on your tongue, unsure of how to accept it from him.

“That’s what the beauty sleep on the plane gifted me,” you joked after a minute of contemplation as you slipped into the bathroom, out of sight.

Luc mocked you with exaggerated snores as the two of you got ready in separate rooms. You were in the bathroom, while he remained in the main room. You didn’t need more than five minutes in front of the mirror with your makeup bag. Everything going on flawlessly for the first time probably ever. But when it came to putting on your dress, you struggled to reach the zipper that ran up the center of your back.

“I hate to do this but-” you spoke as you came to stand in the doorway, but your tongue seemed to swell before you could get your full sentence out.

Luc was leaning back against the dresser, his suit pants undone and his belt threatening to bring them down the length of his legs if the weight of the buckle dipped down a little too low, and he had yet to button up his pale dress shirt. It hung off his shoulder, his bare chest on full display, right down the treasure trail that ran down his abdomen and disappeared behind the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“What was that?” Luc’s hands were trying to fix his tie that had become unmanageable in his suitcase. But you barely noticed the silken fabric, you were too caught up in how his muscles tensed with his every moment. It left your skin hot, you could only hope you weren’t blushing.

“I’ll help you with your tie if you zip up my dress,” you offered, your words softer, less playful than you had intended them to be when you first entered the room.

“Can you tie one of these?” Luc arched his brow.

“You can’t?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes leaving you to glance anywhere else before he pushed up from the dresser. You couldn’t tell if Luc was embarrassed, or if he was just being kind and looking away from you as you struggled to keep the unzipped dress held against your body with the clutch of your own hands over your breasts. You clutched the fabric to your chest. Your own grip amplified your own cleavage as you went braless for the dress. It was a risk but also a comfort. But you couldn’t help but wonder if that was the very reason that Luc was so hesitant to be near you.

Your friendship with Luc in many ways was still young, even if the two of you were close. But that meant the two of you had a lot of firsts left to experience together, including some things you didn’t think you’d ever experience together, which included pretending to be his girlfriend and standing in front of him so vulnerably in the middle of the hotel room. Clutching your dress a little tighter on his approach you stiffened up and stepped out of the doorway to give Luc room to stand behind you. And you held your breath as his hands found the zipper of your dress. One pinching the sleek pull tab while the other made sure it guided effortlessly up the zipper’s teeth instead of pinching your skin.

His fingers dragged over your skin as the zipper traveled up, stopping only when the zipper had reached the very top and they were left to graze over your flesh. You could feel as the pads of his fingers stroked over you, in a way that you were sure was done without thought. Moving up until they found your hairline. Then, he followed it, finding where you had your hair thrown over one shoulder before fixing it to hang down your back. Even then his touch seemed to linger, leaving your breath held in your chest as your eyes fell to the floor.

Luc had never touched you like that before.

So carefully.

So slowly.

Hell, had he ever really touched you?

Sure, the two of you had shared the occasional hug. Your hands would bump and collide on occasion. When the confines were close, you could feel the heat of his body. And he was never shy about taking your head in his hands when you weren’t listening to him or he wanted to assure you that you were okay, but this? This was different. This was his skin against yours. His fleeting touch in places you were sure he hadn’t even thought of touching you before. And it lingered as you stepped forward, cleared your throat, and reached a near trembling hand out for his tie that lay limp over the end of the dresser.

It was only with it in your hands, distracted by the silken material that you found your composure. Then, you showed Luc how to tie his tie, pausing on occasion to make sure he was paying attention because you were only going to help him with this once.

If there was one thing you were good at, it was faking your way through awkward situations. You could put on a smile, and hide any feeling of awkwardness with false confidence with ease. And you couldn’t have been more grateful for that as you found yourself consumed by the rehearsal dinner. You had hoped that you would have been nothing more than a fly on the wall. That you could make your pleasantries with small smiles and sweet I’m great, how are you’s, but you were wrong. You found yourself to be a popular wedding guest, all thanks to Luc.

He wasn’t the only NHL player that was going to be in attendance, but he was the only one in the bridal party. Which made him a popular target for conversation outside the bride and groom. And by proxy, you were too.

After the rehearsal itself, and sitting down to eat, when there was time left to mingle every single conversation started with an introduction. It was always the same, with Luc’s hand finding the small of your back and stroking it slowly as he said your name and introduced you as your temporary, fake title: girlfriend. And every single time it had the same effect on you. His touch would coax you in closer to him, your body leaning into his so casually, so effortlessly it was as if you had done it many times before. It made you smile too, so wide, yet so softly that you looked excited to meet stranger after stranger. It hid that you were completely overwhelmed by the introductions and the switch from French to English and back to French again in the conversation. When in reality, you just liked how it sounded leaving his lips, you liked how it left you giddy with butterflies in your belly. And you liked how his hand never left you for in that moment, you were his.

It was so easy to play pretend with Luc. Your chemistry was so natural because that was how it had always been. The two of you had always been comfortable with one another, especially since you had always just clicked. It was all of the lingering touches and knowing glances that were new to both of you.

Luc would meet your gaze med conversation, his lips curling into a smirk almost as if he was on the verge of laughter before he forced himself to look away. You were sure it was his attempt at trying to find his composure, that and how his grip on your waist, or hip if it had slid downwards throughout the conversation, would grow a little tighter.

It left you on edge all night in the best way. Your heart racing in your chest right up to the moment the two of you took to the Montreal streets together after dinner.

The streets were left wet from the rain that had started to fall sometime after you had arrived at dinner. It reflected the city lights, glistening beautifully even as your rushed footsteps splashed through the puddles. The rain continued to fall, hitting the ground hard and leaving you to shiver as it dripped down the angles of your face and down the curves of your body. It would not be long until your dress was soaked right through, and Luc must have noticed.

The moment the two of you were forced to stop at a red light, a mere block away from the hotel, Luc was stripping off his coat. He draped it over his arms and held it up high over the both of you in an attempt to keep you dry. But it was already too late. Your dress was sticking to your skin, and Luc was only getting wetter. You could see it in the red glow of the stoplight. The cold, wet rain soaked into the white fabric, leaving it to cling to the muscles that had already threatened the tight shirt.

While he was failing, you appreciated the effort, your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you stepped in just a little closer to his cover to keep you from the rain. The close proximity, paid with your unsteady feet left your body colliding with his. It was a gentle bump, one that left you reaching out to steady yourself against his chest, and laughing out an apology as you looked up at him.

Luc’s features were aglow with the red tint of the stoplight, his expression one you could quite place. It left you to narrow your eyes, your lips parting in a slow, curious, breath. He wasn’t quite smiling, and his eyes fixated completely on you. It was a soft stare, one comparable to what you would have after a long night's sleep. After sweet dreams, and before you had to force yourself to get out of bed. But you weren’t dreaming. Neither of you were as you stared at one another, the glow of the lights going from red, to green and red again before Luc leaned in.

You held your breath, your bottom lip trembling as his smirk grew.

“Don’t you trust me?”

You let out an unsteady exhale, one that left your entire body shivering as you nodded.

Frozen, your eyes didn’t leave Luc’s face as he lowered his coat back down to hang off his shoulders. The cold rain met the skin of your face again, but it was only for a moment. Then, all you felt was warmth.

If came first with the touch of Luc’s hands against your cheeks. That touch alone had sent heat flooding through your entire body. It only burned hotter as Luc leaned, the very proximity of his face sending your eyes fluttering shut. And then you could feel him. His breath washed over your face in a heated wave that came crashing down on you with the kiss of his lips against your own.

If you had the air, you would have gasped.

But his kiss consumed you so fully, that all you were left to breathe was Luc.

Every single one of your senses was met by him. You could taste him, and the drinks he had consumed throughout the night on your tongue. You could smell that distinct scent of his cologne. You could feel him, and the strength of his chest beneath your palms as your hands rested on his chest, so close to clutching at the fabric of the tie. And he was the first thing you saw as you drew back and let your eyes open.

You wanted to ask him why he had kissed you, but you were at a loss for words as you stood there, and so was he. There were only smiles shared between you as his hand found your back and let him guide you through the crowded streets back to the hotel.

It was a silence that hung over the two of you as you returned to your hotel room and split off into separate rooms to get ready for bed. You claimed the bathroom once more. It was there you struggled to unzip on your own, and as you struggled you battled the simple thought that you could ask Luc to help you with it. That he could unzip it for you. Yet, you struggled alone. It took you a long time to work the zipper free, your body straining and weakening with every awkward reach that would send the dress to the floor in a wet heap. Then, you washed your face free of the makeup that had held up surprisingly well in the rain, before you used the fluffy white hotel towel to dry your hair.

Warm and dry, you went through the rest of your night routine which included brushing your teeth and pulling on a pair of pajamas you found yourself regretting. You had packed them thinking you would have your own bed. They were your favorite, comfortable, with fabric light to keep you from getting too hot during the night. And they cover enough. You had planned to wear them to lounge around the hotel room, knowing full well that Luc would see you in them. But sleeping next to him in them was different. You knew the fabric would shift and move in your sleep, and the risk of waking up with one or both of your breasts hanging out was a high probability.

The risk sat like a rock in the bottom of your stomach as you stepped out of the bathroom and stood awkwardly for a moment in the doorway. The kiss was still heavy in your mind. You didn’t know why he had done it, what his intentions may have been. Maybe he was just caught up in the moment. In the love that filled the atmosphere of the rehearsal dinner and bled into every interaction with everyone afterward. But you didn’t let yourself look too much into it. Not when you knew you were just here pretending to be his girlfriend. But that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous to crawl in next to him when you could practically still feel the warmth of his kiss against your lips.

“The bathroom’s all yours,” you told him from the doorway, and it drew his eyes straight to you.

During your time spent in the bathroom, Luc had shed his clothes and sat shirtless on his side of the bed. His shoulders were slumped and his neck craned down to look at his hands before your words piqued his interest.

“Thanks, I won’t be long,” Luc assured as you watched him place his phone face down on the bedside table, “just set the alarm. The downside of being in the wedding party is an early start.”

Your hands came together in front of your stomach, your fingers picking at one another as you stepped out of what would be his path to the bathroom. But you didn’t crawl into bed. You hovered around it, pacing up and down what you assumed would be your side of the bed as you listened to Luc beyond the threshold of the bathroom. He had left the door open, the water running and the buzz of his electric toothbrush too loud to be ignored, and it kept drawing your gaze.

“What time do you have to be there?”

“They’re asking before eleven,” he called back out to you after you heard him spit into the sink, “enough time to get ready, and the session with the photographer before the ceremony.”

“Which was at what time again?”

“Three,” he answered simply, “gives you lots of time to sleep in and get ready, that is unless you want to come with me.”

“I shouldn’t-”

“But you can, they wouldn’t say no - they like you.”

“Do they?”

It shouldn’t have mattered if they did. You probably wouldn’t be meeting them again after this weekend, but it made you smile to know that you had made a good impression. That was the reason you were there after all, right? To be good company for Luc? The question crossing your mind left your brows to furrow. You never really did come to understand why you were there. He had asked you to go because he already marked down going with a plus one before his breakup. But why did he have to tell people you were his girlfriend? That you had never been answered.

“Hey, Luc-” you started, moving to lean against the door frame of the bathroom. You peeked around it, the question on the very tip of your tongue only for it to be lost at the sight of him.

Luc stood hunched over the sink, his hands pressing a towel to his face but it didn’t stop the water from dripping down the angles of his bare chest. The sight of it was enough to leave you mute, but when his eyes found you, his expression consumed by the softest of smiles as he waited for you to say something, anything, you choked out any words you could manage.

“Is it alright if I turn the lights off?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right in,” Luc said, and you peeled yourself away from the wall.

It hadn’t been what you wanted to say, and the question would eat at you all through the night - and maybe even the entirety of the trip - but you struggled to find your composure with Luc now. It had been easy before. He had been nothing more than your closest friend, but that was before he kissed you.

It hadn’t been a simple kiss. Nor was it fleeting. Luc had stopped you there in the street and kissed you so deliberately, and you didn’t know why. There was so much you wanted to know, so many questions that needed answers, but you didn’t know how to ask them.

So instead, you suffered in silence.

You turned off the lights, sending the room into darkness with the exception of the warm glow of the bathroom light bleeding into the room. It illuminated your every moment, casting your shadow across the bed and dancing over the hotel room walls as you pulled back the blanket and crawled into bed.

The cool, crisp sheets welcomed your body, sending a shiver straight through you as you hadn’t quite recovered from the rain’s cold. And for a moment, you thought you may never. That was until the bathroom lights went dark, and you felt the opposite side of the bed shift as Luc climbed in. He was more than an arm’s reach away. Yet, you could feel his warmth.

You tried to ignore it, and how it radiated over the sheets and into the blanket. But then Luc rolled over, and his legs brushed yours so quickly it could have only been an accident. The feeling lingered against your skin, his hairy legs so coarse against your legs that you shaved before dinner and would shave them again before the wedding tomorrow. The contrast of your contact should have left you flinching away, but it was drawing you in. Your legs bent a little more just to feel him.

It was a slow, careful drag. The inside of your leg moving up and over his. It was then you realized just how small the bed felt with Luc in it. Just how close his body was to yours.

Then he rolled over again. Leaving you flinching back as he tossed and turned.

Both of you were restless.

You were too afraid to roll over, and Luc constantly moved in an attempt to get comfortable. Both needed sleep, but it failed to take you.

Your mind was too focused on the kiss and on his warmth.

It left your body quivering with a heavy breath as you shifted from your side to your back, and finally to your other side where you finally came face to face with a sleepless Luc.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a low whisper, so low that it was almost a growl in the dark.

You shook your head, your hair surely becoming a mess between your head and the pillow.

There wasn’t much you could see through the darkness. But what you could see, left you holding your breath. There was a glimmer of light coming in through the window and you weren’t sure if it was a street light or if the clouds cleared and let in the light of the moon. No matter what it was, the light caught Luc’s eyes, his stare on your features. It dragged down from your eyes, down over the angle of your nose only to drop to your lips where they lingered before gliding back up again. And it illuminated his chain, a silver gleaming, as it hung off his neck, down his chest and shoulder, and down onto his arm that he used as his pillow.

It was a chain he always wore. One that hung off his neck all night, and all day, even when he was out on the ice. He kept it trapped between his equipment, his cross over his heart. And you knew it. Something so familiar, shouldn’t have been so captivating, but it was drawing in your touch. Your arm reached out, your fingers meeting the warm chain before they slipped and landed on his chest.

Your lips parted, your tongue ready to curse for being so careless but your larynx was left weak. You couldn’t find your words, your throat closer to gasping as Luc was leaning in, closer. Closer. So close you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin and his lips found yours again.

Unlike the first time, Luc didn’t ask for your permission. He didn’t need to, because you had been leaning in too. You welcomed his kiss as your fingers coiled around his thick silver chain. If you could have twisted it around your index finger you would have, but instead, you fisted it in your hand, using the delicate tension to draw Luc in further.

You could not get him close enough, even with your lips joined together in a kiss that only grew deeper. You didn’t have to worry about being in the middle of the street now. No one was watching. It was just you and Luc, alone, together in the hotel bed. There was nothing but privacy, and no one to know that you had indulged yourself in the kiss of your best friend.

The best friend that you told all of your other friends that you didn’t like Luc like that. That that two of you were just friends and it would be weird to be anything more than that.

But there was no ignoring how good it felt to kiss him. To feel the roughness of his stubble against your face, and his tongue stroke along your own in your mouth. It had you melting, both metaphorically and physically. So much so that you pressed your legs firmly together in an attempt to combat the weakness between your legs that left your arousal to puddle in your panties.

It was the only thing you could do in restraint, but any thought of holding back was quickly fading as Luc’s hands began to explore your body. They were warm, and calloused from his days spent training in the gym for the coming season. And they ran down the angles of your arms before dropping to your waist. Fingers wrinkled the soft fabric of your pajamas, bunching it up around your ribcage so he could feel the soft warmth of your skin against his palms. Luc’s touch sent a shiver coursing down your spine, and a soft groan from his lips. One that sounded so sweet to your ears, and you felt it against your lips. It was the first of what would be a symphony of sounds.

Soft moans became groans that he guided you to straddle his waist. Your body on top of his, his between your thighs. It coaxed out heavy breaths, and desperate sighs as hands touched what had once been untouched. And you welcomed it, encouraged it as your body became consumed by need, by instinct, and your hips rolled to tease the stiffness of his cock that you could feel pressed up against your clothed core.

You could feel his smile grow against his lips at the simple action, his teeth coming down to tug at your lower lip in a playful nip that left your legs squeezing around his strong thighs. There was only so much more you could take, and he knew that too. He must have been able to see it, feel it, hear it as he pulled back and mumbled your name against the angle of your jawline.

There was a fine line between friendship and more. The kiss had toed that line. It had corrupted your mind with the thought of more, and the two of you found yourself on the very verge of crossing a line there would be no coming back from. If you fucked him, you wouldn’t be just friends anymore. You would be caught between friendship and something more. Something complicated, and undefined. Something that could threaten your friendship. There would be no going back to how things were before. That was clear, even with your clothes still on. The kiss changed everything, and put your friendship in jeopardy. Which made the choice you had to make easier.

You could lose him either way, so you would dive in head first.

No regrets.

“Take your clothes off,” you breathed out, a simple instruction, your decision made.

Together your bodies fumbled, your clothes not coming off fast enough. Limbs collided, your hands pulling off your top before you fell to the side to pull your bottoms and panties both off in swift motions that left you bare. He didn’t help you, and you didn’t help him, but once you both were naked your bodies met again. His hands found your hips, drawing you back to where you had once sat in his lap, and his mouth continued its sweet assault on your lips.

The first thing you did once Luc was between your legs again, your knees pressed down on the plush surface of the mattress, was let your hips resume their teasing roll. You had hoped to coax another groan from his lips, but this time you could feel his cock glide along your slick and it left you shuddering. If the sweetness of Luc’s lips hadn’t consumed your lips, you would have cursed him for just how good he felt without even being inside you. Your core clenched, and you did it again. And again. Your hips rolling, to and fro, Luc’s cock embraced by your body and coating him with your click.

The feeling had him throwing his head back, a sting of French words you didn’t understand leaving his lips like a sweet melody. Part of you wished you knew what he said, but a part of you loved it. The mystery of not knowing was sexy.

You teased Luc with the friction of your body, and the wetness of your arousal so much that it was almost a form of self torture. And he admired you the entire time you did it. His hands stroked over your body, along the curves of your body. Hands cupped at your breast, giving them a gentle squeeze, before trailing down. Fingertips left a grazing touch over your stomach, making the firm grapes of his hands around your hips all the more shocking. Biceps flexed as he lifted you up just enough to reach a single hand down to take hold of his cock.

Hair fell down into your face as you looked down, your eyes on his hand as it stroked his cock. The careful guidance of his hand brought the head of his cock to your core, and for a second you thought he might tease you. That he would drag the tip of his cock along your dripping entrance until you couldn’t take the teasing.

Luc had always looked like the type to want to tease his lover. To make them beg.

But maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did. Or maybe he was just desperate for you because he didn’t waste time with you. Luc raised his hip, pressing his cock up into your eager core before his hand found your hip again to guide you down along his cock.

Legs quivered at the mere feeling of him, and your lips parted in a gasp at the fullness of his cock buried deep in your core. It left your head spinning, your eyes shut as you were seeing starts at the very pleasure of just feeling him. All of him.

You rode him slowly, your hips rolling as your hands came down to brace yourself against the strength of your chest. And you rode him until the muscles in your legs burned and your lips parted in a panting breath. It was then that Luc took hold of you and flipped you over until you lay flat on your back, and not once were you void o his cock. It remained buried deep inside your walls, and deeper once he had you laying out on your back.

His hands guided your legs to wrap around his hips, and your hips collided with his every impactful trust that left your core clenching. Yet, you were desperate for more.

Your hand that had found the mattress in a knuckle-white grasp left the white sheets and sought blinding for one of Luc’s hands. You found it, taking it in the hold of both of your own and guiding it to where you wanted his hold.

Around your throat.

His grasp was careful, yet firm as you stretched your neck out for him. The simple action brought another string of words you didn’t understand spilling from his lips.

Your core clenched.

He spoke again so lowly it was more of a growl, and his hold grew a little tighter. Luc could feel the effect it had on you as he fucked you. His every thrust was deep and steady, leaving you gasping, moaning, and quivering as he brought you closer and closer to the very peak of your pleasure. It left you gripping at his shoulders, your nails leaving half-moon crescents in his flesh, and your legs winding tight around him as you were lost in the pleasure of Luc. You were so completely consumed by him, mind and body, that your head was left spinning. It was a dreamy daze of pleasure, one that didn’t feel real as Luc buried himself right down to the hilt of his cock and unloaded deep into your core.

And he remained there, tired, panting, as he slumped down to lay in the bed, his hand finally falling away from your throat. Together, your bodies still joined as if they were one, you lay there. Panting, staring. Tired, but nowhere near ready to sleep. It was the perfect time to let regret and doubt consume you.

But then Luc smiled.

You smiled too.

And you regretted nothing.

When you woke up in the morning, Luc was already gone. He had gotten up early with his alarm, and left you to sleep in after your unexpectedly late night together. But it wasn’t without thought. Luc had brought breakfast back up to the room and had left the note. You would have until two in the afternoon to enjoy your day. Then, a town car would be at the hotel to pick you up. It would bring you to the cathedral, where he would meet you after the reception.

You spent the day in bed, making no effort to dress in anything more than the complimentary robe. You picked at the breakfast he left for you and sipped the coffee that was left along with it. After the night you had, you would need the caffeine to get through the day. Then, when the time wound closer and closer to two, you stepped into the shower and washed away the salt of sweat that remained on your skin, and the remnants of Luc that had dried on the inside of your thighs.

A part of you felt that what happened was all a dream. That you may be dreaming still. But little things brought you back to reality. The tenderness of your core with every stride around the hotel room as you got dressed. The heat of your curling iron when you held it a little too close to your neck. And the shrillness of your alarm at 1:30 all kept you grounded as you rode out the high of your night.

There was an elegance in your stride as you made your way through the hotel lobby. One that had a bit of a hop in your step, and a confidence in your smile as you waved to the bellboy who admired your body in your dress as you made your way out the doors and out into the streets where you met the town car.

It was a quick ride to the cathedral, and you fell straight into the chaos that came with a wedding. There were what felt like hundreds of people, and you were merely one of them as you found an empty seat near the back. You sat in the pew, your eyes admiring the stained glass, the beautiful architecture, and the almost sickeningly sweet atmosphere of love that consumed every person and every little detail in the cathedral. Normally, it would have left your nose wrinkled with disgust. You hated weddings. You didn't believe in love. But you were consumed so fully by the afterglow of sex, and it left you in love with the idea of love.

Then, the music began to play, and the ceremony began.

You were sure that you would be lost in the crowd. Just one face lost among family and friends closer to the bride and groom than you could ever be, but Luc found you the moment he stepped through the door with a pretty bridesmaid on his arm.

Your eyes locked, and you held your breath. He acknowledged you with a subtle nod, and your hand raised in a small wave as you admired him. Luc looked too good in his suit, the pants just a little tight around his thighs, and the color of his tie matched the hue of his eyes. It is a color you admire throughout the ceremony, his gaze finding yours as the bride and groom exchanged their vows, and again when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

By the end of it all, you wanted nothing more but to kiss him. But could you?

Sure, you were pretending to be his girlfriend, but last night left you were too many unanswered questions. Did the night have the same effect on you as it did you? Was this more than just pretending? You wouldn’t get your answers.

But you did get your kiss.

Luc found you in the crowded church as the guests, his hands falling to your waist to draw you in. You stood flush against him, and one of his hands raised to capture your chin between his thumb and forefingers to guide you up for a slow, simple kiss. And when he pulled back, his soft smile silenced any question that sent anxiety coursing through you.

It was the first of many kisses that peppered your evening. Luc kissed you sweetly when he left to sit at the head table and you were forced to mingle with strangers. He kissed you again when he found you after the first few dances, his hands guiding you out onto the dancefloor to dance together. And again before he left you alone at your table with the promise of returning with a flute of pink champagne.

It would be your third, or fourth, drink of the night. You hadn’t exactly been counting. You had one to sip in your hands while you socialized and you needed another after dancing. One after the other, you welcomed its sweet taste and the feeling of the bubbles against your tongue. And you welcomed the warm fuzzy feeling that came with drinking it. It left you too comfortable in the crowded room. Too comfortable with having Luc’s hands on your body, and his lips on your lips, as you spoke to his friends, to strangers, as his girlfriend.

The title garnered a crowd. Everyone wanted to know how you met, how long you were together, and every little detail that you were willing to offer them. The questions were easy to answer because you didn’t have to lie. And those you did have to create some kind of answer for, were born from truth. But handing it all alone in Luc’s absence, while he was taking longer than expected to get you a drink, left you overwhelmed and desperate for a moment alone.

Excusing yourself with a smile, you promised to return once you found Luc, and you began to walk past the crowded dancefloor towards the bar. Your steps were unsteady, the buzz of the champagne coursing pleasantly through your body as you pushed your way through crowds. You kept your eyes sharp, looking for Luc in the winding line at the bar only for your brows to furrow. He wasn’t there. You stopped in place, turning in place slowly, trying to find where he could have wandered off to.

You didn’t find him at the head table with the bride and groom who were still on the dancefloor. He was with the maid of honor who was trying to prepare the cake for cutting. And he wasn’t with the groomsmen on the way back from smoking cigars. No, you found him in the shadows by the bathrooms, tucked away from the chaos. And he wasn’t alone.

You couldn’t see who he was with at first as you pushed through the crowd to meet him. But then, as you got closer, you wish you hadn’t.

Luc was tucked away with his ex.

They were standing a little too close for comfort. His hands were cradling each of her cheeks, her hands resting atop his, as he stood, arched over so that she could hear him speak in his hushed tones. You could see his lips moving, but you couldn’t hear a single word. But you didn’t need to. His body said it all, as did the look on her face. Her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen, and her hands clutching at his tie. Your mind was quick to connect the dots, jumping to one conclusion, and one conclusion only.

Luc had brought you there to make her jealous.

And it worked.

She wanted him back, and you were sure you had just caught them at the end of kissing and making up.

There was a heaviness that consumed your gut. It was a coiling of regret and naivety sitting there like a rock as you were sobered by your own anger. How could you have been so stupid to think that this was the opportunity for the both of you to be something more?

It left a sour taste in your mouth as you stumbled back, running into guests you didn’t know and drawing too much attention to yourself. You muttered out rushed apologies, your voice breaking but you were nowhere near tears. You were too angry to cry, but you knew you needed to get out of there before that anger boiled down to sorrow.

Quick steps carried you to your table, your hand grabbing your clutch like you were Indiana Jones stealing a treasured idol and a large bolder was now in full pursuit. But your bolder was Luc.

You could hear him calling after you as you pushed your way to the exit. You ran when you could, but it would never be fast enough. You couldn’t outrun him if you tried. And when he finally caught up to you, you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, dazed by the rush of traffic on the busy Montreal street.

There was nowhere else for you to go, so you turned around and you faced him.

“You knew she was going to be here, didn’t you?” You threw your words at him, the question emphasized by the honking of Montreal city traffic as you stood in the center of the sidewalk, crowds from the wedding and general foot traffic moving around the both of you in a blur. And you just stared at him, waiting for an answer, an answer he couldn’t give you, because he knew you wouldn’t like it. He did know she was going to be here, you could see it in the ashamed look on his face, and the sad look in his eyes. And you should have known that too. They had been together for years. His friends were her friends too.

It made you want to scream, but instead, you took a few steps towards him, your palms meeting the strength of his chest to shove him back towards the door of the venue.

“You’re a fucking joke,” you said, your voice not once losing its harsh confidence even if it so desperately wanted to break like your heart already had deep in your chest.

“You could have saved me and yourself a lot of trouble if you had just come alone, Luc. But no, everything is always so complicated with you. You can’t make anything easy. You’ve got to make her jealous right? So it’s all the more satisfying when you get her back into your bed.”

Your name slipped from his lips, a desperate plea as he tried to reach out to you. You stared at his hand for only a moment, his reach so tempting to reach out to. He wanted you to take it, to hold your hand and draw you in. What he would do after that, you didn’t know. And you wouldn’t find out. You would rather step out into traffic. And you did. Your heels met the wet roadway, splashing through the shallow puddles as you came to stand between parked cars.

“We were just-”

You almost groaned at the sound of his voice. You didn’t want to hear it anymore. So you cut in before he could try to feed you any excuse he could come up with.

“Pretending? Your head cocked to the side, an unpleasant smile on your lips, “you’re right. We were. All of this was just fucking pretend. So I’m done pretending.”

Throwing your hands up, you moved further from the curb to hail a cab from the chaos of the Montreal city traffic. But Luc was moving into the street after you, his footsteps making your shoulders tense up before you could turn around and see that it was him.

“Can you just give me a second to fucking say anything?” His voice was strained with the frustration that was painted all over his face.

“Why should I?” You bit back.

“Just let me explain-”

“Explain, ha,” you laughed, “As much as I would love to see how you would justify this, I’ve given you more than enough of my time, Luc.”

The conversation didn’t end there.

Luc always needed to try to get the last word. “You’re impossible!”

But you never let him have it. “And you’re an asshole,” you told him with a forced smile before climbing into the cab that was holding up traffic in the street.

A symphony of honks was the background music as you told your destination to the driver. You would return to the hotel, spend the night there, and come morning you would catch your flight back to Winnipeg. After that, you hoped you’d never have to see Luc again. What he had done to you, in your mind, was unforgivable, and it sent you into tears as you sat alone in the back seat of the taxi cab.

Act 3.

It was the ring of the courtesy call that woke you up the morning after the wedding. Your flight was in a mere few hours, your checkout time dawning on you, and you couldn’t have been happier. The sooner you got home, the sooner you could try to forget what happened. You had tried to forget it already, but as you threw back your blanket, and swung your legs over the side of the bed to place your feet flat on the ground you were met by the biggest reminder of the mistakes you had made when agreeing to go to Montreal.

On the floor, draped under a decorative throw blanket, was Luc.

A sigh so heavy that you almost groaned rocked you. He sure had some balls to come back to the hotel room after what happened the night before. You had made it quite clear that you were less than impressed with him, and what he did. Surely he had to know the severity of his deceit. That it had not only been cruel to you but to his ex as well. The manipulation and the lies-

You stopped yourself midthought, your eyes falling to where he slept on the floor so peacefully. If he had come all the way out here playing pretend with you just to win his ex back, why was he here in the room?

It was a question you tried to ignore as you quietly changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt to wear on the flight home. And one you pushed further into the back of your mind as you took a quick inventory of the hotel room bathroom to make sure you hadn’t left anything behind.

You shouldn’t care to know why he was there. But you did care enough not to let him miss his flight - or well, be the reason he missed it. Grabbing your packed back you nudged Luc in the back with your sneaker-clad foot on the way to the door. You didn’t greet him with pleasantries and instead met him with the same harshness he heard from you the night before.

“Get up asshole, you’re going to miss your flight,” you stood in the doorway long enough to watch Luc wake up in a panic. The last thing you saw on your way out the door was his hand lurching out to grab his watch to check the time.

You left him behind, your suitcase rolling in your wake as you followed the same route out of the hotel as you did the night before. You waved to the bellhop in the lobby, your smile a little weaker this time, and instead of meeting a town car, you found a vacant taxi and loaded your luggage into the back seat with you.

“Trudeau International Airport, please?” You asked of him with a sigh, your head leaning back against your seat.

You could have fallen asleep there, your eyes falling shut as you heard the turning signal of the cab begin its rythmic tick as he tried to merge into busy traffic. It was almost soothing, hypnotic, but it was broken by the abrupt opening of the back door.

Your eyes opened quickly, your body lurching defensively away from the door as your heart raced, startled. Your lips parted to yell at the idiot who didn’t see that the cab was already occupied, but you were met with the familiar face of Luc. You wanted to be relieved at the sign of him, but your disgust continued to bubble deep inside your gut. You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell him to fuck off and find another taxi. Instead, you sat in silence, your gaze leaving him and looking out the window to fixate on the buildings as they passed.

To your relief, Luc didn’t say a single word the entire ride to the airport. Not did he try to carry your bags when you arrived. Instead, he merely followed in your wake, until you came to the check-in counter. It was there you decided to let him go first.

It was an innocent thing. Something he didn’t even question as he checked in for the flight. A first-class seat that would take him back to Winnipeg. And he even lingered afterward, waiting for you to check in as if it had been a show of good faith. But in reality, it was the only way you could ensure you wouldn’t have to sit with him on the flight home.

“I was wondering if you had any other seat available?” You spoke to the airline representative who met you with a perplexed expression.

Luc wore one of the same, your name leaving his lips as if to beg you to change your mind.

You weren’t going to.

“There’s nothing else in first class,” the representative told you as if it were going to change your mind.

“Something in economy will do just fine,” you assured them with a nod, your grip on your bag growing tighter and you didn’t ease up on your grasp until the updated ticket was in your hands and you were ready to board.

There was a relief in going home. A relief in being able to spend the flight alone, but it wasn’t without one last attempt from Luc. He spoke your name so softly, so gently, that for a moment you considered listening to him. You hesitated in place, your eyes raising to meet his as he reached out for your arm. He gripped it carefully, not too hard, just enough to keep you in place. Just enough to assure that you would listen to what he had to say.

“I made you this,” Luc spoke slowly, his free hand raising to show you his phone screen. On it, Spotify was open for you to see, a playlist labeled i’m sorry the only thing you could see. It was a playlist of twenty or more songs, you wouldn’t quite see, and want to get close enough to see. “Listen to it on the flight home?”

Your eyes stared at it for a moment, your tongue parting your lips to lick over them slowly as your mouth went dry. “I’ll think about it,” was all you could offer him before you pulled out of his hold and stepped aside. First class was boarding, and you were in his way.

Luc lingered for a moment more, his eyes fixated on you until he let out a defeated sigh and left you standing alone waiting to board. It would be some time before you were called to board, yet you stood, lingering where he left you. It was there, waiting for your call to board that curiosity got the best of you.

Your thumb stroked over your phone screen, bringing it to life with its light and pulling open Spotify with the click of a single button. There, you found Luc’s profile and the playlist he had made for you. Twenty-five songs. 1 hour, 30-plus minutes long. It had artists you knew, and others you didn’t. Songs that were your favorite, and some you didn’t even know what they would sound like. It wouldn’t last the entire flight, but it would kill time, and maybe it would help you understand.

Quickly you downloaded the list, and when you boarded the plane and found your seat, you pressed play.

Kiss Her You Fool.

Take Me to Church.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Now or Never.

They were just a handful of the songs Luc had compiled onto the playlist for you. The playlist you had listened to from start to finish, and then started again before you had landed in Winnipeg. It had taken you through a rollercoaster of emotions. You smiled. You laughed. You cried. And it left your heart heavy in your chest as you collected your bag and made your way out to hail a cab.

You did not completely understand what Luc was trying to say with the song he put together. Some confused you. Others gave you hope. But what you did know, was that you owed him an apology.

You fumbled with your belongings and your phone as you stood on the platform, taxis waiting for their next passenger in front of you, as you began to dial his number. You were halfway through it when the long honk of a horn drew your eyes up, and you found Luc leaning against his car, waiting for you.

“What are you doing-” you started, your ace blanketed with confusion as you began to take slow, cautious strides toward him.

He had reached through the driver’s side window to honk at you before rounding to stand at the hood of his car. Arms crossed over his chest, his tattoos on full display as he left his sweatshirt and back in the backseat of his car.

“I owe you a ride home,” he told you simply. It had always been the plan, but you hadn’t intended to take him up on it after what had happened.

“I think you owe me a little more than that,” you told him, trying not to smile as you tossed your phone at him.

He caught it effortlessly, the screen on, and displaying his playlist.

Luc smiled.

“You listened to it?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Explain,” was all you told him.

“You’re my best friend,” he said your name, and it oozed with the pain he felt for the pain he caused you, “I didn’t do any of this to hurt you. I invited you because… Well,” he sighed, “because you’re right. I’m a shitty person. The break up a few months ago, was because of you. She didn’t like how close you and I were. She wanted me to distance myself from you, and that wasn’t something I was willing to do. Then she gave me the ultimatum. You or her. And I chose you.”

A lump formed in your throat, you swallowed it back and held your breath.

“When I invited you. My intentions weren’t the best. I wanted to mess with her, and that was wrong for me to do. Not just to her, but to you too. But I’m glad I did-”

“Luc-” you gasped out, both in shock at his words and his lack of regret for his actions.

“I’m not finished,” he cut in, “I’m glad I did because playing pretend with you, fuck, it wasn’t just pretending.” Luc stepped away from the car, and you were frozen in place, watching him as he approached. Your bag slipped from your hold, falling to the ground as your hands reached out to welcome his body as he stepped so close to your own as he took your head in his hands and drew you in so close to his lips you could feel his words in a hot breath against your skin, “Because I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was the explanation you asked for. It wasn’t what you expected to hear, but you liked hearing it. It made you smile as you reached up, your hands finding the nape of his neck and knitting in his hair as you drew him in for a kiss.

You loved him too.

#no words only pure love #everyone read this now that is not a request #!!!#nkh bookstore

194 notes · View notes

elevatormusic · 1 year ago

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my first reactions with zero context: only friends ep 10

i know i’ve been saying their story has gotten boring for me but boeing is here and i will watch now

to be fair mew has no right to be mad at top here? they aren’t dating

red flag

it’s so awkward when they don’t hug back lmao

baby boy!!

fuck me he’s so pretty

i’m giggling over this man

rehab time boys

bestie doesn’t look to happy tho lol

boy yes tf you are

i think my mans needs to learn what addiction is bc he’s it

oh wait. is this what ray’s dad asked of sand in the hospital? to get him into rehab?

you know ray is whipped for sand bc he would’ve thrown punches had anyone else said that to him

i say all this as my father brought me a daiquiri

fair tho

also fair

wait why is he wearing a us air force shirt😭

oh oh damn okay that okay yeah

the good influence strikes again

situationship baby

i’m so sorry i don’t care what this man does he will never be in the wrong from this moment forward

is he gonna come fuck anything up with sand tho? please don’t. stick to top and mew

nick lmao he’s so casual with it

slightly confused at what he’s talking about

okay well umm y’all are at work??

hello??

that donut actually does look good tho

awe we get just silly sandray cute

sand really is the only person that could get ray to go to rehab huh

tho i’m sure ray said that because he didn’t think sand would do it

i know he didn’t just say that

i knew obsessive vibes came from him

are they just standing out there lol

rays face stop lmao

i understand her being mad he slept with her brother but like she doesn’t really have the right to kick him out of their group?? it’s a school thing?? you can’t just kick someone bc of personal problems

i actually do believe him tho

lmaoo beautiful

is this really his dad

okay if ray is gonna go to rehab tho sand should maybe not drink around him as well???

there’s no way he’s just about to say it in the middle of this bar

ray?? stopping him? he was never gonna make him do it huh?

stop the same way top showed up? no way

which ex?

referring to sand??

he lowkey just complimented himself which is so fair

😭😭 he really is just like us

i’m obsessed with him

kinky head💀

wait. dan is actually cool tho. he was just like bro can i be in the competition to win your heart

oh boy what is he doing there

symbolism much

he did not. you are not subtle

that’s a really good picture of him tho

my guy… stop letting him touch you??

babes just said he wants to spend the rest of his life with him!!!!

they’re so cute when they’re just happy together

i’m glad he’s finally admitting he’s addicted to alcohol tho

i wish someone would buy me a plant

but also why is he there lmao

stop boeing’s doing the exact same shit top does okay sir i see what you’re doing

wait okay you didn’t even ask if you could kiss him don’t do that

he’s really trying 🥹

i don’t think that’s all gonna fit king

that house is so nice tho

wait sand? paying him to get ray to go to rehab? well a fight is gonna happen now

oh come on you know damn well he doesn’t just want the money (i know you’re mad tho and it’s fair)

he’s so loud holy shit

babe you’re already crying

that’s what i’m saying tho. if you want to help him you gotta get that shit away from you too

please be their last fight of this series i beg stop making them cry all the time

throw it away king

i didn’t mean on the ground sir?? you gotta clean that up now

look i know you don’t wear shoes in that house but put something on to clean that yeah

top knows something is up right

that was kinda hot

petty king

don’t butt in. dude this is on you

but you should say it

i could totally see him trying to be monogamous with nick actually

officially abort the mission of them getting over the other two lmaoo

well we know ray’s dad will love sand as his boyfriend

yeah you done fucked up again my guy

the scene is actually so good and powerful

tho i do hope he gets to say that to him

#morgan reacts to things #only friends #I forgot to post it on saturday lmao

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ethereal-engene · 2 years ago

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fun face masks | jaeyun

pairing: bf!jake x gn!reader (established relationship)

genre: fluff & slice-of-life // warning: none but not proof-read

summary: you find some animal printed face masks and decide to surprise Jake with them. // word count: ~640

note: inspired by the fact that I’m currently doing a face mask that has a koala face printed on it. Omg ash enhypen writer comeback?? Enjoy :) ALSO HAPPY JAKE DAY !!

Tonight was one of those nights where you and Jake didn’t want to do too much. Maybe it’s because it was Sunday and the next week is about to start. Whatever it is, you decided that the next best thing to do is practice some self-care together.

“I’m going to shower but once I’m done, want to do a face mask together?” He looks up from his phone to nod and then goes back when you leave.

When you’re finally out of the shower and are clothed, you open up drawers trying to find where the face masks are. Opening up the middle drawer, your eyes spot an unopened pack of face masks. Without even really checking what type they were, you cut the plastic until all you’re left with is the packets.

It’s only then when picking one of them up, you let out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that come from within your diaphragm. These masks have animal faces printed on them. You don’t plan on telling him what it is until after. So you exactly do just that.

“My love, I’ve got a surprise but I need you to close your eyes for me, alright?”

He nods and closes his eyes. You tear open the face mask and place it on him. The cool feelings hits so nicely and a relaxed sigh leaves his mouth.

“Okay you can open your eyes now, my love.”

So he does just that and his eyes go wide before laughing hard. You were holding your front phone camera so he could see what the face mask was. “Babe, you didn’t but oh my god I love this!”

You were smiling quite hard and laughing along with him. “I’m glad that you liked it, I picked it just because it reminded me of you.” Turning your head to face him, you’re met with a giggling and smiley Jake. You know those types of laughs from him where it’s like his inner child is coming out.

God you’re just looking at him with love and he catches you staring at him.

“What’s that look for, my love?”

“Nothing, I just got reminded of how much I love you is all.” You press a kiss to your fingers and then place your finger to his lips. Unable to give him an actual kiss since the face mask is still one. His eye go all lovey-dovey on you and places his hand over his heart.

“I love you a lot too babe, I hope you never forget that.”

You can’t help but hum in response. After a few minutes, y’all take off the face masks and start to pat the essence into your skin. “Darling, do you ever miss home or think about home?” You ask him this because you’re sure that the koala face mask might have made him think of home. “Also, you don’t have to answer this, I’m just curious.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a few minutes until he clears his throat. “I do sometimes, I’m not going to lie. But I’ve learned that home is wherever you are.” He walks over to you and gives you a kiss on the lips. All of the while wrapping his hands around you waist so that you can’t escape. Only so he can continue to give you his kisses and love. Eventually you guys go to sleep and you tell him “home is in your arms, thanks for always being there for me.”

You always know how to make him feel loved and appreciated. He didn’t get to tell you this but the koala face mask was cute and did make him reminisce of Australia. Jake would love to take you there one day, and he’s counting down the days until he can make it a reality for you two.

wahh thanks for reading this ! LMAO it’s been a while since I’ve written for ENHA but hopefully I’ll continue to write more for them. Also this isn’t my best work but I did enjoy writing it :) plus this is a tiny tribute to my first fic I ever wrote 🥺

oh wait please don’t forget to interact with this by reblogging, leaving a note, or sending an ask about what you did or didn’t like about this!

happy jake day <3 our fav aussie boy

take care & signing off with love

- ash

also tagging @goldenhypen can’t wait to read your long fic !! and also b/c you’re my #1 jake lover

#kflixnet #underworldnet #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #sim jake x reader #enhypen #engene #enhypen imagine #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jake #jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enhypen drabble #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen jake x reader

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neochan · 3 years ago

Text

GENRE | smut, idolverse!

WARNINGS | smut

WC | 2.6k +

A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3

You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.

The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.

Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.

“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.

“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.

You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.

“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.

He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”

Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”

The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.

The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.

After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.

You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”

It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.

His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.

The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.

The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”

“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.

You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”

“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”

He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.

“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”

He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.

He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.

“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”

He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.

Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.

“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.

“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.

And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.

A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.

“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.

“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.

He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.

He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”

Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.

Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.

“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.

“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.

He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.

“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.

You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.

“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.

“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.

With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.

“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.

“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.

“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.

“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.

“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.

“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.

“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.

“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.

“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”

#nct smut #haechan smut #nct haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct drabble #nct fic #nct scenario #hyuck smut #doyoung

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

Text

Was it wise to read this in bed next to my spouse? Probably not. But did he enjoy laughing at me as I gasped, yelped and/or tossed the phone down 28 times? Yes, he did. You set me on fire with this one, babe. You said it wouldn’t require a wardrobe change and I’m sorry, but - you lied.

Entirely beside the point but I would love to know *which* sister our couple is lying about being there as a chaperone. Eloise seems the obvious choice. But also, I bet she actually *would* agree to help Ben with his trysts in exchange for things. Perhaps he could do the same for her, ‘chaperoning’ her on trips outside the house where he just lets her run wild and doesn’t ask questions. Or maybe he can finally tell her where babies come from, mortifying as that would be for him 😅 I can see her demanding to know why exactly he needs time alone with young ladies and once he explains in exchange for her confidence, the two of them just never look each other in the eyes again - hahaaaa

I love the description of the studio. I think I’ve imagined the vast majority of Benesmut taking place at night (whether it was explicitly written or not), so this gauzy sunlit studio is gorgeously refreshing. And makes it feel all the more scandalous…

Ooooo the white shirt, braces and barefoot “Lock The Door” outfit, yummmm 🤤

“I want you to ruin me.” She speaks for us all 🥵

“You desire me?” “How can you be certain I can provide such things?” This cocky little shit. Just wants to keep stringing her out and basking in her praises. Ahhhhhhhh

The way you’ve written the whole buildup to the first kiss is breathtaking. I can see it crystal clear, playing out like a movie in my mind. The slow pressing together, their grips on each other growing needier, voices lowering into panting whispers. I just feel the slow burn here, the tension, the yearning. It’s perfection 🔥

““I…. I thought I could maybe resist this,” he laments, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on yours, “but there is not a chance now. Whatever you want from me, I am yours.” his eyes fly open, and there is so much there in those enlarged pupils.” Shrriiieeeekkkk!! He relents at last, letting all reason fall away to undeniable passion. He knows how complicated this is, but he just can’t deny it to her when she is begging him for it. He’s probably mad at himself over how much he wants this. But he’ll do what she asks, even if it damns his soul. Now THAT’s what I call an offer from a gentleman. 💙

Their saucy little banter about their cover story is EVERYTHING. Putting her at ease as he carries her around the room, the two of them giggling, they are just so damn happy to be doing this. If he ever refers to himself as a scoundrel again I’m going to pop a blood vessel (this is a problem Han Solo created in my life).

The gentleness, the slowness, the way he is insistent on easing her into every sensation even though she is so eager for more. Just brushing his knuckles across her belly forever was the most tender, heartwarming thing 🥹 He knows how much she is experiencing all in one go. She’s barely been kissed, much less touched or pleasured in any way, and she’s asking him for the full home run. He’s going to guide her through everything one step at a time, always checking to make sure she is alright. The world does not deserve this man.

“your tongue peaks out to lick the charcoal tang there, and he breathes ragged, hooks the top of his thumb into your mouth.” FAYE! Cue throwing my phone across the bed. YOU DID IT AGAIN! Took the HOTTEST hand moment and popped it in here, all unsuspecting. The Kate Sharma thumb in the mouth?!?!? The moment of S2 that made my eyes cross, except now I’m tongue-tied too because you just described the charcoal tang of his perfect long ruinous fingers??!?!?!!? 😵 Fuck offffffff (affectionate)

He WINKS as she is moaning her head off, staring at him. HE WINKS - FUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKK

“My sweet, you are on fire for me,” YES I FUCKING AM, SIR 🔥🔥

“can feel a quake in him like he is holding back for you…wanting him to be unbridled—something about this man being wild with passion is an utterly enthralling prospect.” *incoherent burbling noises*

The ache….”your body needs mine”....”Make it better, Benedict”.... Gonna continue writing these notes from the floor. Knees don’t work anymore. 🥵

“He tilts his face to flash his eyes at you, encouraging you to be loud and reckless.” Fucking copy cat. Unless he’s the one who taught the Viscount how to do it… 😉

He tells her to watch…I just…..BENACE

Oh my god this madman, leaving her in ruin and skipping over to his easel to paint her 😂 It’s adorable and beautiful and oh-so-Benedict, but I know if I was her I’d be confused as all hell lol

“He removes your hand from around him, kissing your knuckles and guiding your hand to his shoulder. “Hang onto me, my sweet.” The TENDERNESS, I CAAAAANNNNN’TTTTT 😩

“Relax,” he advises, touching your diaphragm gently, “let out that breath you are holding.” Oh fuck, I love when he does this…hhrrrrnnnnnnggggghhhhhh

“Yes, that’s it,” he pants. “Do not stop; keep moving those fingers for me.”...”“Oh, you are right there,” he grunts with gritted teeth, “I can feel it;” Pretty sure Mr. B thought I was stroking out at this point. 💀💀💀 Fucking dead. I’m dead.

I am Eleanor’s ghost, who will be carrying on the notes. “It is I who should be thanking you,” he answers sincerely, “it is a privilege to be someone’s first.” What an absolute GENTLEMAN!! 🥹

“It doesn’t help that every ten minutes or so, he finds himself drawn to you, sidling up to the chaise and pulling you into sweet distracting kisses that throw you entirely off your pose.” Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. He’s got it bad. Oh boy, oh boy…

“Sir.” You are teasing now, knowing how affected he was when you used that honorific yesterday, goading him, giving him every reason to drag you back to his studio, to his bed.” Oh GIRL - deploying every weapon in her arsenal. Good for her. Make him weak for you to make him rescue you from a joyless future. Minxing for her life here. And it nearly works, but he has one last shred of honor left that manages to hold him at bay and shove her out the door. Again, I can feeeeeeel the yearning in them both. This magnetic pull that he thinks he can break if he closes the door. But she leaves him no chance - whispering the true desires of her heart when she thinks he’s out of earshot but he’s not. This isn’t just flirtation. She loves him, she needs him, and you KNOW our romantic boy can’t just ignore something like that.

Phew, well, one of my lives was ended in sacrifice to this conflagration. No regrets. I, the ghost, will carry on with the final installments, and perhaps the feelings woven into them will revive my body. If anyone is capable of working such magic through their words - it’s you. 💙👻

Portrait: IV

Masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A session at Benedict's studio is very eventful

Warnings (for this chapter): 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (m to f) cunnilingus, vaginal sex, discussion of pregnancy.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: We all knew it would come to this ;) thanks to @colettebronte and @makaylan for checking over this monster chapter <3

You arrive 11 am the following day at the address Benedict provided—a pleasant brick townhouse on the edge of Mayfair. You told your parents the subsequent two sessions would need to be at his studio and that his sister would act as chaperone. They both seemed happy with the arrangement, implicitly trusting one of the most eminent families in British society. It was, of course, a ruse of your own making; he made no such offer. In fact, you know for sure you will be alone together, and something about it has your stomach aflutter, a frisson over your skin.

His now-familiar valet answers the door shortly after you knock and guides you to a sun-filled studio at the rear of the property. The large picture windows are draped with sheer voile curtains that allow all the light in but obscure the interior from the surrounding properties. There will be no prying eyes here.

The room itself is a jumble of artefacts, art, canvases, paints, sketchbooks and his familiar easel. There is also an oversized dark green velvet chaise and, behind it, a lush forest backdrop; you assume this is the one Benedict wishes to paint you into, and you are delighted by it.

“Miss y/l/n,” his greeting from the doorway is radiance personified and slides down your spine like warm oil.

“Please, call me y/n,” you respond, turning to smile at him demurely.

“Only if you call me Benedict,” he specifies, walking in. He is casual today in a white shirt and black trousers held up with brocade braces; he is even barefoot.

“Will we be resuming the official portrait, Benedict?” you ask, emphasising his name as he draws closer. “Or the other one?” you add on a whisper.

“Which would you prefer, y/n?” he murmurs, drawing closer. His hand captures your wrist, encircling it between his thumb and forefinger. Paintbrush calloused fingertips resting delicately over your pulse point as if he is cataloguing your heartbeat.

“I have never felt more alive than last night,” you answer without artifice, ensuring your eyes are locked onto each other before you add, “being naked for you.”

He smiles dangerously. “And is that all you want? To be naked?” the tone teasing and low, and you know what he is asking.

Unabashed, you place a hand on his chest; it feels warm through his shirt, and his muscles flex slightly under your fingertips.

“I want you to ruin me.”

His sharp inhale and rapidly dilating pupils make your chest fire and your belly flip.

“But you are promised to another,” he falters. Just like last night, his reminder is chivalrous. Even as you stand with barely a sliver of light between your bodies, his heat radiating to yours through the thin cotton layers that separate you.

“I do not care,” you state fiercely. “I do not wish to enter a loveless marriage without knowing what it is like to lay with someone I desire.”

“You desire me?” he teases as he presses against you.

“Since the moment I saw you,” you confess on an exhale. “And if I must face this awful future, I do not want to do so as a maiden. Without knowing something of true pleasure.”

“How can you be certain I can provide such things?” he is so close now, leaning over so his nose brushes yours. The moment is so charged you can taste the atmosphere between you.

“No one makes me burn the way you do,” you murmur honestly, grasping his shirt, his lips ghosting over yours and his fingers a circle around your wrist, feeling your pulse pounding. “You would only need to touch me between my legs, and I would burst into flame.”

The needy noise he makes is everything; there is barely a second of hesitation before his lips crash onto yours. And you are instantly drowning. In the rush of chemicals in your bloodstream. In him, as he claims your mouth. His sizeable warm hand cradles your cheek and jaw, directing the movement. So you kiss back, rocking up onto the balls of your feet and pushing hard with your lips. Then it's a frenzy as he parts your lips with his. His tongue teasing yours insistently, obliterating that previous behind-the-greenhouse fumbling from your memory. This is what it is like to kiss. A sensual dance, a tease and a promise delivered—every fibre of your awakened by the experience that is at once exhilarating and so right.

“Oh god,” he gusts as you break apart.

“What?” your hands grabbing his jaw on reflex, not wanting his face to be far from yours.

“I…. I thought I could maybe resist this,” he laments, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on yours, “but there is not a chance now. Whatever you want from me, I am yours.” his eyes fly open, and there is so much there in those enlarged pupils.

His offer is everything you need, and you mash your lips back to his, needing more hungry all-consuming kisses that he gives willingly.

“Give me everything, Benedict, please,” you say into his open wet mouth, the sound desperate even to your own ears.

“But what of your portrait?” he argues, nipping at your lips.

“You could still paint me after you ruin me?” you suggest with a twisted little smile, moving to suck on his upper lip, loving the tiniest rasp of stubble above it as you close your lips around it.

“If I attempt to achieve both within an hour, you will not be satisfied with the outcome of either,” he jests with a rich chuckle.

“Then I will have to stay longer and find a plausible reason when I get home. Perhaps, I have been sitting, waiting here with your sister, and yet you are nowhere to be seen, Mr Bridgerton?” you posit, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you off the ground.

“I am such a scoundrel,” he plays along, hands banding tight around your waist.

“Indeed, and it means my portrait session will not begin until, hmmm, noon at the very earliest,” you declare with mock indignation, eyeing the clock over his shoulder as it shows barely 11:10 am.

“I will be having strong words with myself about what an irresponsible cad I am,” he smirks, walking with you held tight in his arms, diving in for another kiss.

“Please do,” you concur over a giggle.

You share laughs and feather kisses until you feel the chaise bump the back of your calves.

“Are you certain?” he checks, his mien turning sweetly sincere.

“I have never been more certain,” you state categorically.

And then he is gently lowering you onto the plush chaise and crawling over you. You call his name softly as he nuzzles your neck and drops the lightest kiss there. His clothed body is so warm and all-consuming over yours. His hands taking his weight are either side of your upper arms, and he is looking down at you with a wondrous expression.

“I did as you suggested,” you offer quietly, “I wore nothing but this dress.”

His smile is wolfish as he lowers himself to kiss your collarbone. “Wonderful,” his voice like warm honey. You grab one of his hands, and he watches, fascinated, as you kiss his warm knuckles, then guide his hand to the bow below your right armpit.

He immediately understands what you are asking and holds your gaze intensely as he slowly unties it. The fabric around your body instantly slackens as he slides the two sashes apart. Then slowly, with the look of someone unwrapping a wondrous gift, he peels the wraparound layer of your dress back over your front. It falls to your other side, and you feel warm air swirl around your nipples as they are exposed—the same with the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs. Your whole torso lying naked under him now.

He sucks in a breath.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask, concerned, wondering if perhaps you are not what he expected this close-up.

“Not in the slightest,” he reassures instantly, but there is a tremor in his hand as he brushes the back of it over your belly. Your stomach ripples under his attention, and goosebumps break out over all of your skin from just that gossamer touch.

“You are so sensitive to touch, my sweet,” he breathes hot over your face as you revel in this new moniker he has assigned you.

“I have never been touched like this before,” you remind, feeling lightheaded.

He hums in understanding and brushes more delicate caresses over your stomach; his warm smile is everything. He spends what feels like ages running the back of his hand over your midriff, calming strokes of his knuckles as you bite your lip and watch his face that concentrates on his movements. Then he flips his wrist, and fingertips trace over your skin. Your whole body pushes up into this new tactile sensation. He smiles knowingly and spiders his fingers up your sternum, intentionally avoiding your breasts, travelling slowly up to your neck with a swirling touch over your cheek to your lips.

His thumb catches at the corner of your mouth, then sweeps across the bow of your lips, opening under his touch. When the pad brushes your front tooth, your tongue peaks out to lick the charcoal tang there, and he breathes ragged, hooks the top of his thumb into your mouth. You close your lips and suckle on instinct, staring into his dilated eyes. Something so slow and sensual about the moment as you suck more insistently until he withdraws and paints a trail of your saliva down your chin, over your chest until it lands on your nipple, and you gasp loudly as the wetness makes you pucker there.

He smirks and pinches your nipple gently between his forefinger and wettened thumb. Pleasure shoots out around your being, concentrating between your legs, making your hips cant up into him. There is something warm and hard insisting inside his trousers; you know it must be his ‘member’ you have heard your ladies-maids talking about.

“Sh.. show me what is in your trousers,” you stutter inelegantly as you press up into him again, your mouth engaging words without your brain filtering them, too lost in the sea of novel experiences to censor yourself.

He chuckles at your turn of phrase. “Not yet,” he decides, lowering his lips to your neck, his fingers still on your breast, “but I will, I promise,” he buzzes into your ear.

His mouth then takes the same journey down your neck, little kisses setting your skin on fire until they reach your other nipple, which he sucks insistently, and you see stars, your hands grabbing his biceps to anchor yourself. Your cries of pleasure and surprise are loud even to your own ears, but you don't think to stop yourself, awash with sensation. And he doesn't shush you; in fact, he tilts his head to look up at your face as you stare down at him, and he winks and sucks harder on your pebbled nub—then swaps sides. You feel something akin to hot coals in your chest burning bright. And between your legs is a furnace, too—you long for his touch there.

“Please,” your voice gauzy, “more.”

And he obliges. He surges up to capture your lips again with greedy kisses, rearranging his weight onto one arm and the other sliding back down over your sternum, but this time going lower than your stomach. Pausing to swirl around your belly button, his fingers stray lower….

Lower still….

Lower…. until they run into the patch of hair at the meeting of your legs.

He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes as he slips his fingers between your legs, and your mind blanks. Nothing has prepared you for what it feels like to have another touch you there. Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls slack as his fingers quest into your folds. He hisses at the viscous wet heat he finds there.

“Benedict,” you whisper harshly onto his lips, and he growls lightly.

“My sweet, you are on fire for me,” his voice rough.

You moan and nod as he flexes his fingers on your clit before he kisses you again. Fiercely. Deeper and more desperate than before. You can feel a quake in him like he is holding back for you.

“Do not hold back,” you appeal into his mouth, wanting him to be unbridled—something about this man being wild with passion is an utterly enthralling prospect.

“I must. I need to be gentle, you are a maiden, and I cannot do what my body is aching to. Not just yet,” Benedict explains, his fingers rhythmically moving over your bud, desire coiling tightly inside you at his actions.

“What does it ache to do?” you whisper, having suspicions but wanting to hear the words drip from those kiss-swollen lips.

“To strip naked and plunge into you over and over until you scream my name,” he confesses.

“Do so,” you pant.

“I will, once you are ready.”

“And what of my ache?” you mutter; it feels like a hook is deep inside you, tugging, needing something.

“Where do you ache?” A look of concern flits across his features, and his fingers cease their wonderful movement.

“Inside,” you clarify and place your fingers over his to encourage him to restart his ministrations.

“Inside where?” his timbre falling impossibly low.

“Above your fingers,” you blush, “I am aching, and I need something.”

He groans, resting his nose on your cheek. “Your body needs mine; it is telling you it wants me as much as I want you,” he tutors breathily.

“Make it better, Benedict,” you beseech, touching his face.

He smiles, and the hand between your legs pushes your thighs further apart. Then he is slipping down your torso, sliding his mouth over your contours, pausing again at your breasts before going lower, as his hand did before. You watch, fascinated, as his thick head of hair is all you see, but you feel his lips over your skin, making you quiver in anticipation. You make a noise of surprise when he slinks between your legs and places your thighs over his shoulders.

“What are you…?” you begin, but he hushes you.

You have never heard your ladies-maids talk of a man kissing between the legs, but that is what he does—he places a soft kiss on your sensitive nub, and you almost hit the ceiling with the new sensation. He hums in amusement, holds your thighs more firmly open, and repeats the action, but this time he lingers and unfurls his tongue all the way over where he had his fingers just before.

“Oh, my g-,” you gasp so loud that he chortles again, this time right into your overheated flesh. You make the most undignified noise, halfway between a moan and a squeak. You want to be mortified at the sound he has wrought from you and what he is doing, but he doesn't let you. He tilts his face to flash his eyes at you, encouraging you to be loud and reckless.

“Don't hold back,” he says silkily, echoing your words from moments ago. “I'm going to make that ache go away, my sweet,” he vows.

You can do nothing but let your eyes flutter shut and let him feast on you, which is precisely what he does. There is nothing gentle about the way he handles you. Taking your flesh into his mouth covetously, the heat and suction making you writhe, pushing your pelvis into his face, greedy for more. His left arm is banded tight around your thigh, holding you open to his attention, his right hand free to tease patterns over your belly, heightening your sensitivity with feathery brushes that make your skin hum.

You flush warm as you feel yourself climbing somewhere invisible. There is a certainty in your mind that nothing should feel quite this good - how on earth does any married lady get anything done if this is a regular occurrence? - but it is tinged with melancholy, knowing that this may be your only time to experience such pleasure. The bittersweet edge makes you more desperate for him, grabbing his hair and directing his attention.

He moans his approval, asks you to look at him as he spears the tip of his tongue into you, and you do. Stare down the length of your body to his eyes, dilated and so intense, you can’t look away. You watch as he opens his mouth wide and draws your swollen bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue gently around the most sensitive spots, varying pressure and speed so you never know what will come next. Unbreakable tension builds up, holding your belly muscles taunt as if in anticipation of something. Then with a raise of an eyebrow and a little soft plea to give it to him, he delicately runs the edge of his front teeth right over your bud, and you scream at the drag of the little jagged edge there.

Your heartbeat throbs where he touches, and there is a rush of blood in your ears, feeling something almost snap inside. You grab his head forcefully and press him into your flesh as your world contracts, then explodes. Something gushes from inside your channel onto his chin, but you cannot stop it, barely school your own movements, the burning pulsing ache around your clit just relentless and all-consuming.

He pulls up and kisses your belly tenderly as you pant hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling, slowly returning to yourself, to the moment.

“Now you are ready to be painted,” he smirks as you lay sprawled on the chaise, watching in disbelief as he gets up and goes to his easel.

“Benedict?”

“Your cheeks are so flushed, your lips wine-stained; I need to capture this beauteous glow you have,” he calls as you stare at him slack-jawed. “Just a few details, and then I shall be back with you,” he promises.

Glancing at your face, he paints delicate tiny strokes. As he works, your eyes fall to his trousers. There is a prominent bulge, and you swallow hard at the sight. You can't wait to explore more. Of him. Of his body.

“Come back to me,” you call, after a few moments, holding your hands out in invitation.

“You know, I shall never complete this painting if you keep distracting me so,” he argues, but the smile as he prowls back towards you reveals how much he does not mind that fact.

“I have faith in your abilities,” you grin as he crawls over you, settling on top of you with more kisses. “Please take off your clothes.” Your request is timid but with an undercurrent of desire that you can’t and don't want to hide.

He chuckles against your cheek and pushes back to sitting, stripping off his shirt. You place your hands on the slight bump of his pectoral muscles. He wears a crooked smile as you slide them over his smooth, warm skin, enjoying the play of lithe, toned muscle under your fingertips. He has barely a dusting of hairs over his chest; it is mostly smooth, with freckles flecking his skin that you want to trace with your nose. Your fingers spider up to his neck to pull him back down over you, wanting to feel his bare chest on yours. His chest drags perfectly over your nipples, and you sigh at all the sensation, banding your arms around his torso, exploring the skin of his back as his lips worry your neck. Your hands sweep down below his waist to the wool of his trousers. Instinctually you slide your hands over the swell of his buttocks and grab both cheeks, pulling him down on top of you, that bulge rocking deliciously over the heat between your legs. He startles at your daring move.

“More, Benedict,” you plead, always wanting more.

He chuckles, and his hand insinuates between your bodies, undoing the buttons around his waist. You kiss his hair as he looks down at the task in hand, almost too scared to look yourself, intrigued but intimidated. His wrist brushes your thighs as he pushes his trousers away, and you realise from the wave of heat that he wears no underwear.

He tilts his head up and catches your gaze with a teasing smile. “Do you want to see? You said you wanted to know what is inside my trousers.”

He observes your face as your eyes drop between your bodies and see him, his member. You suck in a breath. It’s a swollen, veiny length of flesh with a red bulbous tip leaking slightly as it stands proud from a patch of hair not dissimilar to that found between your legs.

“Go ahead,” he advocates, “touch it.”

Hesitantly you reach to brush it, and it bobs as you do, your eyes cutting to his face to check all is well.

“It’s alright,” he assures.

It’s warm, contradictory, velvet-smooth skin over a rigid, hard mass. You wrap your hand around it, familiarising yourself with its dimensions and weight. He moans in his throat as you do.

“Is this right?”

“More than,” he breathes, sounding winded.

“This will never fit inside me, Benedict,” the concerned words tumbling from your lips as you grip more insistently, and he growls.

“Yes, it will; do not fear. I will need to go very slowly initially, but it will fit perfectly.”

He removes your hand from around him, kissing your knuckles and guiding your hand to his shoulder.

“Hang onto me, my sweet. I will show you,” he murmurs, pulling your thighs wider apart under him and slipping his cock over your clit in teasing strokes so you moan lightly and writhe. So very slick and ready.

Then you hold your breath as you feel blunt pressure around your opening.

“Relax,” he advises, touching your diaphragm gently, “let out that breath you are holding.”

You feel your lungs deflate just as another part of your body fills. You cry out in surprise as his tip slips inside your pussy. It is overwhelming, with so much heat and stretch. You feel him groan softly and shift his weight onto his hands on either side of your waist, rocking his hips just a touch to push deeper.

“Be brave for me, my sweet. You may feel a pinch of pain right now. But it will all be over very soon, and it will not hurt again.” he vows, leaning on his hands to kiss you tenderly.

You just nod your confirmation, unable to form words, just as a sharp ache blooms inside, making you stutter a breath.

“Well done,” he compliments. “I promise no more pain from now.”

You nod and groan as he slides deeper; it feels like you are being invaded. He rearranges your hips, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing on more; every new inch he pushes into you feels like something entirely different. Until he finally bottoms out inside you, stilling his movement.

“There you go, my sweet,” he exhales and cups your jaw reverentially, “are you alright?”

You nod and confirm quietly that all is well.

The experience of him entering you has been novel but not exactly spellbinding; more strangely comforting—as if he belongs inside you somehow. As he remains still, allowing you both to adjust to the sensation, your fleeting thought is wondering what all the fuss is about beyond a feeling of utter fullness. But then he moves… and everything falls into place about why this act is so dangerously addictive. You let out a loud unadulterated moan of sheer pleasure as his slight rocking motion glances a spot inside that makes your eyes roll back, and your mouth falls open.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs with more than a hint of pride in his tone.

Your approval is mumbled; fingers curl deeper into his flesh, blunt nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. He rumbles a noise and starts a more pronounced rhythm, building slowly until he thrusts into you like you have imagined him moving with a lover. Deep, languid strokes, putting his whole body into the effort. You moan louder, your brain going offline, leaning into your physical instincts, just pursuing the pleasure of two becoming one, moving in unison.

“That’s it, oh you are doing so well,” his compliments spurring you on, building your confidence.

“It feels just wonderful, Benedict,” you burble, arms locked around his shoulders as your lips meet in open-mouth breathy kisses.

His movements start to speed up, and you cling harder, the pleasurable feeling growing into something hotter, more urgent. A burning hypnotic high that you cannot and do not want to stop. He rumbles encouragements into your ear, making you feel wanted, desired and the focus of all his energy, breathing each other's air—it feels intimate and shared.

“Touch yourself, just like I taught you,” his words velvety and stirring, you want to do everything he asks.

You slide a hand from around him, trailing down to circle your clit in the same way he did for you earlier; the jolt of sensation makes your eyes go wide and your mouth slack.

“Yes, that's it,” he pants. “Do not stop; keep moving those fingers for me.”

With every thrust, his pelvis brushes the back of your hand, and part of you wants to caress him as well, the skin there warm and almost dewy from exertion now, but most of you just wants to keep going, selfishly chasing your own high. Your chest becomes tight, your muscles tensing; he somehow feels so huge inside you now, every movement an effort. You feel on the verge of a crescendo of some kind, your blood pumping hard.

“Oh, you are right there,” he grunts with gritted teeth, “I can feel it; god, you are so tight, come on, my sweet, let go, do not fight that feeling,” he instructs, and you stare deep into his eyes and obey.

Letting the incredible tension snap and erupt out of you, your core convulsing hard around his cock, as every muscle follows suit, almost fighting him. You can’t school the noises you make, crying out nonsense and his name, clinging so hard you know you are leaving marks in his flesh but unable to do anything but ride out the wave engulfing you. All of your senses narrowed, then burst into colours.

Dimly at the edge of your conscience, you feel him pushing harder, his hands vice-like on your waist, loud groans in your ear, singing your praises. Then your core is suddenly bereft, pulsing against nothing, as he rapidly withdraws, and warmth splashes over your belly.

He is panting hard right in your ear when you come back to the room, his body heat and weight almost too much to bear, slumped on top of you as he is.

“Benedict?” you call and tap on his shoulders. Slowly he peels up, your skin tacky in places, clinging as he pulls up onto an arm, the other curling around your neck.

“Was that alright, my sweet?” he checks sincerely as his breath evens.

“It was…. I cannot think of the words,” you whisper honestly, your voice a little hoarse, “in a good way,” you clarify quickly.

His answering smile is dazzling as a little droplet of moisture tracks down his cheek and splashes onto your neck.

“I’m so glad,” he grins, moving in to kiss you.

“What happened at the end, though? You pulled out of me so quickly?” you pout slightly.

“I did not want to impregnate you, my sweet,” he says slowly, looking bemused as your jaw drops.

“This is how a woman comes to be with child?” you gasp.

“Oh my,” he chuckles warmly, dropping a kiss on your forehead, “I assumed you knew.”

“I only had some information about laying with a man from my ladies-maids,” you confess, “I did not know this is how babies are made! No wonder there are so many babies being born!” you exclaim.

He laughs loudly and nuzzles your cheek. “It’s rather addictive, is it not?” his tone honeyed as he reaches for his shirt on the floor and tenderly wipes the residue from your belly. “That is my seed, and if I left it inside you, it would make a baby,” he explains patiently as you watch him clean your skin, fascinated.

“Thank you,” you rush out, and he tilts his head to look at you after throwing the shirt aside, his brow knitted with puzzlement. “For explaining that to me, for not leaving me with child, for what we just did. It was just…. wonderous,” you exhale, your voice going dreamy.

“It is I who should be thanking you,” he answers sincerely, “it is a privilege to be someone’s first, and I’m so pleased you enjoyed it. You may now enter marriage in full knowledge of what awaits,” he adds almost an afterthought, something in his cadence changing.

“I do not wish to dwell on such things,” you frown, shaking your head as you sit together. The idea you might have to do this with your intended makes you nauseated. Such an avenue of thought seems maudlin and too self-indulgent; you want to enjoy the rest of your time with Benedict today. And there is always tomorrow. “Let us focus on more immediate concerns,” you add, forcing your voice light.

“Such as?” he raises an eyebrow suggestively.

“Painting, Mr Bridgerton,” you laugh pointedly, “unless you have something else in mind?” you smirk back.

“I might,” he adds silkily, drawing you into his arms after pulling his trousers back on. “But I may need some time to recover,” he adds with a wink, and you chuckle.

“Perhaps we should concentrate on the official portrait for now?” you propose, re-tying your dress, “and if there is time later, well, there is a second picture that may need more work.” your tone playful as you raise an eyebrow.

“Indeed it may,” that crooked smile tugging at his lips that makes your belly flip.

The next hour is spent with stolen glances and shared giggles as he paints your portrait, standing behind his easel shirtless; so very appealing. You would not want to look anywhere else, thoughts of running your tongue over every contour making it hard to do anything but smile coquettishly, and he has to chastise you for not pulling such a tempting face. It doesn’t help that every ten minutes or so, he finds himself drawn to you, sidling up to the chaise and pulling you into sweet distracting kisses that throw you entirely off your pose.

As the clock strikes 1 pm, you have to tear yourself away from this remarkable man before the temptation is to hide with him all day. And night. Your heart wanting to throw caution to the wind, to just stay here and damn the consequences to you, your honour, your reputation, and your family.

“Until tomorrow, y/n,” he lilts as his lips linger over yours by the front door, seemingly just as reluctant as you to part.

“I cannot wait,” you breathe, unable to step outside his embrace.

You feel the curl of his smile next to your cheek. “You should know I have finished painting your dress into the portrait. So if you wish to turn up tomorrow in not a stitch of clothing, there will certainly be no complaints from me,” he teases with a rich tone, lips now hot on yours.

“Maybe I just will,” you volley back, feeling featherweight with happiness, “but I would insist you also be naked. Sir.” You are teasing now, knowing how affected he was when you used that honorific yesterday, goading him, giving him every reason to drag you back to his studio, to his bed.

His breath catches, and his gaze is fiery. “Leave now,” he growls, “before I whisk you away, lock you in a tower, and keep you as mine.”

Before you can respond, sway in his arms and dare him to do it, he wrenches the door open and bundles you outside as if the temptation is too great for him too.

The whiplash of the street noise, hubbub, and the bright midday sun is a shock, so you lean back on the door, still trying to absorb everything. “Do it. Please, god, Benedict. Do it. Take me away from everything. You are all I will ever want,” you plead with eyes closed before taking a deep breath and reluctantly moving away….

….Not realising he is also leaning against it on the other side, wistful—and heard exactly what you said.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

Portrait-only taglist: @mysticwitchcraftco

#fic rec #faye came to slay #queen faye always delivers #Benepics are life threatening to me

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

Text

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!

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