#OH THIS IS THE SAME GUY WHO IS MY HEADER IMAGE

[bahoreal]

so i saw an Image that inspired me. i love images. and sketched two concepts with the same background, a little forest scene! one far away one close up

this guy is my favourite atm. look at him. hes six lines

and then i found a gawgeous ref for the forest and spent one (1) meeting slapping some colours down. theres like 20 layers in this. im gonna hate myself for it. but the colourscheme! the colourrssss i wanted this to be good from a COLOUR PERSPECTIVE cause I usually just accidentally hit colours and sometimes its good sometimes its bad. wild concept: when you try, things can go really well?

and then i did my little guy sketch. my plan > the more fleshed out version is so funny (he also lost an umbrella and now has a fan). i also drew his face first cos thats what i was most excited about. hes so pretty 🥹

and then robes! and a little extra jewellery and hair! i imagine him as a little ice prince and he always wears this pink gem on his forehead. sometimes with more gems under his eyes and rings in his ears.

and then zooming out from Him puts into perspective how much more I have to do on this piece tomorrow! he looks so detailed next to my sloppy background, tomorrow i will draw his buddy and work up the background!

[surfaces after drawing furiously for five hours straight] what day is it. have i had any water today?

[skythealmighty]

why am i just now finding out about thisisnotawebsitedotcom i feel a little stupid.. then again i dont have the Book of Bill so maybe im lucky to know about it ???

#rocket talk #gravity falls #miss this show. anyway twink cipher fuckign jumpscared me

(3 notes)

👓 the-nerdiest-glasses Follow

Why Flatland counts as an object show: an essay

Keep reading

🔧 warp-pipe-sfx Follow

Why Flatland does NOT count as an object show: a rebuttal

Keep reading

⛓️ chainsaw-massacres Follow

why flatland isnt an object show: its a book + movie you assholes

#this argument is fucking stupid its just flatland

(3,821 notes)

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020 asked: Im going to tear apart your circuitboard until its broken irreparably

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

lol ok have fun w that 👍

also do u know any recipes for roasted pumpkin seeds the internets failing me rn and im cooking a big dinner for me and my bf

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Oh yeah sure https://www.jessicagavin.com/how-to-roast-pumpkin-seeds/#wprm-recipe-container-35845

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Wait why am I telling you this go die I hate you

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

thx for the help!

☝i-date-iconic-posts Follow

Date of origin: November 3rd, 2021

(216,025 notes)

❌ mephonex-deletes-your-favs Follow

~~Welcome to MePhoneX deletes your favs!!~~

I'm mod Xav (the only mod rn - -"), here to cause trauma to your favorite characters :)! PLEASE keep in mind that submissions will take a while to get to, because I have to photoshop out the limbs + background or even completely recreate someone's object if they're transparent!

The background flag is in the header and the X (recreated from an image of MePhoneX) I overlay on top is the profile picture if you want to make your own :) just @ this blog and I'll reblog it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❌~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RULES ABOUT SUBMISSIONS:

NO INANIMATE INSANITY CONTESTANTS. I would like to avoid Apollo's Dodgeball thanks (plus it's insensitive)

No algebralien or algebralien-adjacent characters! I love those guys too I get it but I honestly don't have a good method of 'deleting' them planned. Feel free to do it on your own time though!

If someone asks me to take down a submission with them in it I will do it without questions. This is for a variety of reasons, but I think you get it.

Alright, that's it! Have fun :)

#not xed out #mod xav #pinned post #your fav is #your fave is #mephone #mephonex #inanimate insanity #ii2 finale

(681 notes)

📁 sticky-note-hit-post Follow

has anyone else wondered why this spaghetti code webbed site can connect across DIFFERENT UNIVERSES??? or is that just me

(2,416 notes)

🦀 thesamepictureofbaxtereveryday Follow

follow for the same picture of my crab every day!!!!! look at him :D

(3 notes)

anonymous asked: greeny how does it feel to be technically a higher being than most other people on the site

🟢 greenyguy Follow

sir this is a wendys

#i didnt order an existential crisis today :(

(37,102 notes)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

todays liveblog!! B)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

knife and suitcase made it to the finale!! hell yeah so proud of them

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

balloons talk with suitcase didnt go so well :/ i hope they can get some alone time without anyone else so they can like talk properly next time

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

mepad???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

oh i think the finale challenge is happening

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

baseball looks worried but lightbulb's brushing him off :|

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

ojs backing away from paper??? wh

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WHJDT THE FUCK

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WAIT I HAVENT SEEN SOAP IN A WHILE WHERE IS SHE???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

OH GOD

#mics ramblings #SOAP???!??

(11 notes)

anonymous asked: evil woman are so hot <3 i will do whatever you want queen

🌐 dr-who-could-never Follow

Awwww, this means a lot to me, anon! Could you find Film Reel for me and doxx him? That would be really helpful <3

#He's been evading me #It's really annoying #Hard to take over the world when I have to worry about him 🙄

(6 notes)

🥄 only-a-spoonful Follow

WHY DO I KEEP GETTING SENT ASKS ABOUT PREGNANCY?!

#I'M GOING TO QUIT TUMBLR AT THIS RATE.

(47,284 notes)

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

if this fuckass hand keeps showing up at the edge of my vision i'm going to hit something

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

#maybe hes in love with you

what the hell is wrong with you.

[23fallencomets]

chapter four!

this took a while ngl and it’s a bit longer than usual but that’s because there’s a sliver of plot. enjoy reading and i’ll try to figure out when the next update will be 💞💞

[twitter]

user39: anyway do you guys remember the blackout of 2023

user40: babes i can NAWT do this rn

user41: the year-long blackout of logan sargeant

user42: wait what

user43: logan was being hella mistreated by his first agency that we genuinely had no way of knowing anything about him

user43: we knew he was okay when he briefly showed up in a reel Fred had posted towards the end of the year

user42: logan sued and won his case against the agency and we try not to bring it up

[instagram]

logansargeant made a new post

!los angeles

liked by oscarpiastri, olliebearman and 125,490 more

logansargeant: back to the city i go

oscarpiastri: all the way across the country again

logansargeant: win in spain and i’ll attend the triple header

oscarpiastri: deal

user42: bro!??

olliebearman: pls take me with you

kimi.antonelli: aren’t you supposed to be asleep??

olliebearman: aren’t you??

user44: oh my god it’s loscar all over again

arthur_leclerc: can’t believe you didn’t want me to go with you

logansargeant: you have testing in italy

charles leclerc: is this why you were looking for flights to la???

arthur_leclerc: logan’s la apartment is really nice 😞

[twitter]

logansargeantoffical made a new tweet!

user45: alright who are we fighting this week

user46: is it because of what that bitchass company is saying

user47: his old model agency?? didn’t he sue them or something??

user48: yeah, he sued them mid-2023 and won in december of the same year

user49: logan i beg you to go batshit crazy pls pls pls

[instagram]

logansargeant posted a story!

[twitter]

logansargeant made a new tweet!

logan snorts, only liam can grate oscar’s nerves like that. he’s thinking of a reply, wondering how far he can push his pr training. he doesn’t get to in the end, a message from his rep causing his heart to drop. the messages are half congratulatory and half concerned, but he’s more focused on the image.

logan turns his phone off, sliding it across the table and sighing. was he excited for the event? sure, he loves being able to support his community, even if he’s not openly out, his support has never been quiet.

the last thing he needed though, the very last thing on top of a mountain of responsibilities, was a blind item about him. the last one nearly ruined him and the very new and fresh relationship he had been in. despite things turning out okay, logan wasn’t and everything seems to come back to the stupid fucking account that nearly killed him.

his phone goes off, a one-two buzz before the continuous buzz of a call. he debates letting it ring before deciding against it and grabbing his phone.

the smiling picture of oscar gets him to answer it, holding the phone up to his ear.

“are you coming?” is the first thing oscar says, voice still thick with sleep. something tugs at logan, fondness, contentment and the ever-consuming knowledge that he’s horribly in love with his best friend.

“you made pole didn’t you.” logan says back, keeping his eyes on the laptop in front of him. it had gone dim while he contemplated his existence, the email he was in the middle of replying to ignored in favor to talk to oscar.

“mhm, don’t accept lawson’s offer.”

logan laughs, “lawson. you’re ridiculous, piastri.”

he can almost see oscar roll his eyes, “he’s lawson until he apologizes.”

“did you have to threaten him.”

oscar scoffs, “it wasn’t a threat, lolo, it was a promise.”

logan taps the touchbar of his laptop, saving the email reply before navigating his way to mark webber’s email address, cc’ing oscar on it.

“there’s a blind item about me.” he says quietly, “again.”

the call goes silent and logan knows that any residual sleep oscar had has been wiped. there’s rustling on the other side, the ping of oscar receiving the email does nothing to calm logan’s perpetual anxiety.

“god, like the last one wasn’t enough.” oscar snarks, “nearly six months of court visits and questionings and fuck-all investigations.”

2023 wasn’t a good year, half of it being because of Emmeris, the agency logan worked under. the nearly murderous hours, managers and employees that treated their guests like dolls, something to break down and mold to their liking. the other half was about the blind item, that logan was dating an indy driver, a childhood friend of his. the thing was that he was, the relationship itself last three more months before logan called it off. kyle called it dumb, but logan knew it would only be a matter of when it could follow him onto track.

“it’s about us,” logan adds on, “you’re the only one of our friends on the grid, liam and fred don’t count because they are reserve drivers.”

he can hear the cogs in oscar’s mind turn, always trying to be one step ahead, to navigate himself out of a car crash. the car crash in this situation being logan, again.

“let them think what they want.” oscar said, “we can talk about it when you get here, and we can face it together, just like we did last year.”

“with or without liam?”

oscar laughs, “without him this time, please, i do not want him hanging all over you again.”

[instagram]

logansargeant posted a story!

logansargeant made a new post!

liked by oscarpiastri, liamlawson30 and 289,678 more

logansargeant: home

oscarpiastri: watch me win

logansargeant: literally sitting in the mclaren garage as i type this

liamlawson: when did you even take these???

logansargeant: said ‘cheese’ and you said to give you a minute and then you pulled out the guitar

arthurleclerc: i think you just hate me

logansargeant: always 💞

arthurleclerc: hope your fantasy team loses

logansargeant: you’ll wish ill on your brother

charles_leclerc: im on your fantasy team??

logansargeant: it’s ferrari

user50: so glad that logan has a support system

frederikvestiofficial: where’s my pic

logansargeant: in my heart (he kept throwing pillows at me)

[twitter]

[aropride]

went thru some of my followers list. stuff ive blocked people for today:

being a tcc blog (didnt even know those guys still existed)

being a bot x2497478546937572

having a blank blog x9

being a proana blog (at least keep it out of my notifs oh my god)

having an unneccarily rude pinned post

being an incest blog

being a 13 year old

being a 14 year old x3

using the word degenerate x2

running a porn blog that was giving me bot vibes (i feel like a lot of heterosexual porn blogs have bot vibes are they bots or do y'all really live like that?? no tags no text just one stolen picture after another of hairless skinny white women with big boobs?)

child abuse joke

had 14 year old vibes x4

no pronouns in bio but in a way that gave me bad vibes x3

proshipping x3 (do you people not read pinned posts or do u just not care)

hasnt posted since 2016 x7

nonpsychotic person calling themself a psycho

harry potter fan ("anti jkr" THEN ACT LIKE IT)

completely untagged rape porn first thing on their blog

obviously transphobic "trans inclusive radical feminist" (red url and all, get fucked)

self proclaimed "yandere"

disagreed with the first post on their blog

header image was gore!

stuff i appreciated while doing this

person who pinned a picture of their dog

"not a bot just lazy" headers (ty for saving me time)

guy with awesome pronouns

fellow covid cautious warrior

the amount of fellow aro and disabled people

reasons i gave up on this endeavor:

got too annoyed

firefox was starting to lag and i followed and unfollowed the same person like four times in a row by accident (SORRY) so i figured it was time to call it quits

day my exam is due:

monday

progress ive made on this exam:

none

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

Jooyeon sfw hcs pt.1:

Warnings/info: tooth rotting fluff, use of ‘tf’ and one other curses word once, talk of hugs. Also I know the header image is crappy. I’m sorry about that lol

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper”. This is in no way is meant to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

••••••••••••••••••••••

Jooyeon, much like Jungsu to me is giving very much friends to lovers. (Idk maybe that’s just me and one of my favorite romance tropes speaking)

so like y’all are really good friends and it never really hit you that you like each other until y’all are like eating lunch one day. It could be out. It could be in one of your respective places

But the point is that somewhere in the middle of eating you just stare at each other across the table about the take a bite. Unable to take your eyes off each other cause you realize you wanna memorize every inch of his face.

The way his nose squinches up a lot…

the way the sides of his eyes crinkle so cutely when he smiles

oh gosh his smile. HIS SMILE!! The same one he’s looking at you now with. You don’t even care that he has crumbs on the sides of this mouth (you probably do to tbh) you don’t wanna laugh at him

ok maybe a little bit lol

but instead you want to gently wipe them off like in some cheesy romance movie. And you’re just staring at each other like: wow I really like this human.. in a way you haven’t openly expressed before

like sure you’ve “jokingly” flirted with each other to the point where you’re both all blushy and flustered but you’ve never expressed wanted to be more than friends with each other

well, other than little comments that leave both of you less laughing your ass off and more flustered than most people would be

“Honestly kiss me on the mouth right now”

ya know things like that where it could easily be just a little something funny

but yall realize that like yall don’t want it to just be a little something funny

you both want it to be real

not like it wasn’t real before but real in the sense of you both admitting to liking each other romantically and not playing flirting with each other off

speaking of flirting…. This guy can’t for the life of him you cannot convince me otherwise!! He. Cannot. Flirt. And what consisted of flirting between y’all two was a lot of the times him wiggling his eyebrows and or making stupid little jokes that turn into you going back and forth with little flirty things with him

so when y’all get into a romantic relationship he tries to make up for lost flirty gestures he didn’t say. So he’s constantly “flirting” with you lol

it reminds me of those married couples where they’re like cringly flirting with each other using things only the other will understand

oh! that's another thing: inside jokes with this man are a regular accurence

they'll be so many times where ya'll just will be making hand gestures and stuff with each other from across the room/table

and ya'll are just cracking tf up with each other cause of the memories these little funny moves you both are doing in your seats are bringing up

it'll get to the point where his fellow members have o stop what they're talking about and just wait for you two to be done cause

YOU BOTH WON'T STOP

and at this point either of ya'll are paying any attention to whatever anyone else is saying

it might sound rude but we all know ya'll just can’t help being that way with each other

like all one of you had to do is just look at the other and two seconds later you can’t stop laughing because you know what the other is probably thinking

just all around being the best of friends…. Who also kiss/ hold hands in a non platonic way

i just got a thought that I need to share:

HIS. HUGS!

his hugs are to die for honestly

like I feel like he’s a pretty touchy clingy person who almost always is in some sorta physical touch with you

like do you see how this man is with his members?! Yeah same thing with you

like its not even in a sexual way (unless you want it to be...)

He just likes having some sorta physical contact with you

what can I say? you ground him to this earth when he's feeling like he wants to float away and vise versa

Just having your warmth on him.... it comforts him

likes to be used as a body pillow, likes to use you as a body pillow

that goes the same for using/being used as a blanket

"-- why'd you bring a blanket? I don't plan on getting up I love this movie!"

like genuinely a tad bit offended that you didn't think of him as your personal radiator when you're cold

He will defend his job as your personal blanket against your blankets lol

the only way I can describe his hugs are like very warm. Like inside and out your just feel warm when he hugs you

Most of the time they're just his body flopping onto you

like his lanky body just enveloping you in the best way

his arms spread out wide for you to come to him

like I said baby boy is very clingy (in a good way)

I liken him to lemonade. Fresh fruit and all. He brightens you up with his vivid personality

Not in a sour lemonade way either. but in a sweet one that gets you up and moving. something you want and long to having lingering with you. he is an all around motivator

just like lemonade in all its preppy brightness

imma end it here before I get too long with this post (if that hasn’t already happened lol)

thanks for reading! Please leave some comments or reblog this if you liked it!

2023 copyright for shutupheathersorryheather

[loveletterkins]

♡ ♡ ♡ oh, hey, you! i've been waiting for you! welcome!

welcome to loveletterkins! ࿐

we're a system-run edit blog where we all pitch in to make edits for you! that's right, you! we do stuff for kins, fictives (and other sysmates), irls and just about anyone else who wants them! this is our pinned post, where you can find all of our information! please take care to read if its your first time on our blog.

here's the REQUEST TRELLO.

♡﹒mod monika

『 RULES 』

please be sure to check the header for if my inbox is open! whenever it is closed, i like to keep the asks open so i can answer questions and talk to followers, but any reqs sent while my reqs are closed will be ignored and deleted!

its encouraged that you give me a general themeing for your reqs. for example; scenecore rainbow dash icon or red toned nagito icons. if you dont specify, i will use my default style (as seen in my own icon and header and such)

we are a system and the only mods we will ever accept will be within our own system. mod apps will not open.

because this is only a hobby for fun, we might delete requests we simply dont think we have the motivation to do. that will be a rare occurrence, however.

no discourse in the inbox. no drama of any sort, in fact.

you can req for specific mods but it might take a while if you do!

『 DNI 』

terfs, swerfs, radfems or people who police identities and don't respect neopronouns/mogai identity labels.

people who are anti-self diagnosis and/or fakeclaim people.

people who disbelieve and/or dislike the kin community.

more can be added.

『 BLACKLIST 』 sources that i will not do.

Hetalia

Countryhumans

Attack on Titan

South Park

Family Guy, American Dad, other similar cartoons

Rick and Morty

『 WHITELIST 』 sources that i enjoy and will do eagerly, will take priority over other requests!

Pokemon

Cookie Run

Ace Attorney

Danganronpa

NGE

Splatoon

MLP:FIM

DDLC

NOTE: i will do any source other than whats on the blacklist! even if i am not familiar.

『 WHAT I CAN DO 』

Icons (incl. pride, aesthetic, matching, reply, shaped)

Headers (for tumblr or twitter)

Wallpapers (desktop or phone)

Banners (for pluralkit or blog use! dni included.)

Moodboards (for characters, but also will do these for songs and names!)

Playlists (will take a long time, and will be on youtube!)

Stimboards

Sprite Edits (will take a long time)

Character Pride Flag Recolors

Userboxes

Shopping Suggestions (fashion, stim, self-care, etc.)

Pronoun + Name Ideas (based on characters or just based on vibes you want!)

Pluralkit Display Name Formats

Pluralkit Bio Formats

Pendulum Readings

Tarot Card Readings

Shufflemancy Readings

Sparkle Images (scenecore blingee style ones)

Blinkie Packs (i don't make them but i suggest them!)

Stamp Packs (same as above!)

Promotions

Kin Confessions

Kin Venting

Kin Positivity

Kin Calls

『 PACK OFFERS 』

packs take longer than normal requests, but they come with a lot for your troubles!

Layout Pack (3 icons, 3 headers)

Pluralkit Pack (3 icons, 3 banners, display name + bio layout)

Identity Pack (1 - 3 pride icons, pronoun suggestions, name suggestions, OPTIONAL color picked pride flag)

Old Web Pack (3 scenecore icons, a sparkle image, a blinkie pack and a stamp pack)

Spiritual Pack (shufflemancy reading, pendulum reading, tarot card reading)

Bad Day Pack (3 icons, a wallpaper and kin positivity)

The Total Package (1 of each request type except for calls, confessions, venting and promotions. can ask for things to be left out if desired!)

『 MODS 』

Mod Monika (she/they/it)

Mod Sherlock (any pronouns)

Mod Karkat (he/they)

Mod Maki (she/they)

Mod Mikan (she/they/deco/nurse)

Mod N (any pronouns)

Mod Azriel (they/them)

Mod Arven (he/they)

Mod Fluttershy (she/her)

Mod Roxy (she/they/he)

Mod Callie (she/they)

Mod Ankha (she/they)

Mod Sunset (she/they)

Mod Piers (they/it/he/null)

『 BELOVED ANONS 』

if we see your anon name (such as 'tiny dog anon' or 'papyrus anon') 3 times or more, you will get added to the list so we can greet you every time we see you for frequenting us!!

🎸 anon

[wirewitchviolet]

Grifters Gonna Grift, “AI” Edition

Can I just start off here with a quick expectations vs. reality comparison we can chuckle at? Here’s a quote from a director I’ll be cool and not embarrass about where “AI” will be in a couple years:

And here’s a couple choice bits from when I was watching someone make a valiant effort at streaming the new “AI driven” Portopia remake Square-Enix is pushing:

My favorite though is this wonderful stretch of the streamer desperately repeating “ask about Hirata” and the increasingly amazing guesses popping in the chat log.

More serious talk under the fold, like I do...

So... the very first thing I, much like anyone else with both a conscience and a clue, need to say when getting into this is that the reason you see so much talk these days about “AI” and how amazing it is have absolutely nothing to do with any new developments in AI research, and absolutely everything to do with a whole bunch of techbros being stuck holding the bag after the pile of naked pyramid schemes that were the NFT grift well and truly fell completely apart, and they need a new grift to move on to, ideally one where they can use the giant server farms they all set up for crypto crap to still be usable for something. And of course the second thing I’m morally obligated to say is that “AI,” as these con artists talk about it, flat out does not exist. We’re not “almost there,” it’s not “around the corner,” there haven’t been “exciting breakthroughs.” It is a complete outright lie a whole lot of people are telling to a whole lot of other people to con them into investing heavily into some combination of vaporware and parlor tricks, and also to throw off people who might otherwise look at the things they are actually doing and see all the really blatantly illegal stuff they’re doing.

Having gotten that out of the way, it’s also worth explaining that what people are actually talking about when they talk about “AI” is really search engines, for the most part. Like, if I want to read maybe 5 paragraphs about oh, I don’t know, Big Slammu from Street Sharks, I can just open up literally any search engine, type really probably any string of words that contains word “slammu” really, and get a sloppily written wiki page with maybe 5 paragraphs of random facts like his pre-gene slamming name being Coop Bolton, early revisions having his name be the far less memorable Boomer, and him having a friend called Moby Lick. Which... OK I wasn’t expecting my randomly chosen example to go down that sort of road.

Anyway, I could also have one of these overhyped “AI” things tell me about Big Slammu, and most likely get literally this same exact wiki entry. Because yeah, that’s all that’s happening there. It’s grabbing keywords from my input string, looking them up in a database, finding an entry that best fits my string in terms of my terms showing up in it a lot, and printing it out at me. The only difference really is the latter is put together by someone trying to con me into thinking I’m talking to some sort of Real Life Computer Guy who just knows all this naturally as someone who watched the show and has well-articulated thoughts to share on it, and we’re maybe going to play up that fiction by stripping out any headers in the webpage we’re just grabbing and other bits that aren’t the core article content.

None of this is hard to do or novel. If you’re old enough to remember card catalog terminals in libraries, those were doing the exact same thing, except they just pointed you at a book rather than print the contents because storage on computers was at a premium back when they were made. Oh and when you see people talk about giving “AIs” more “training data” that’s literally just adding more to the database it’s searching, or more likely, widening the list of websites it’s searching with preexisting search tools.

“AI art” to be clear is the same thing. Get every art site you can get your hands on that has a tagging system, scrape every image and the tags on it, and then when someone asks for like, “brown hair anime girl hot giant boobs huge boobs enormous boobs” you just rifle through the pile of stolen art for something that comes as close as possible to covering all that text with tags and ideally not having any other tags, and forking it over. Which again, also works if you just do that with a search engine, and always has. But again, since we’re trying to sell people on the lie that some little magical computer boy like Data from Star Trek speed painted you a painting on the spot, we make some effort to hide the fact that we’re just stealing somebody’s art by stealing art from several different people, pasting bits over onto the main image we’re stealing, and wiping over the seams with like the photoshop blend tool or whatever a little to hopefully make it less obvious.

Now to me the part of that that’s basically computer magic is how we just have software tools to blend two images together to make them look like it was originally just one image, but, that part’s been a thing for several decades. Mostly it impresses me because art programs are prohibitively expensive to the point that I personally am to this day using something with all the functionality of Aldus Super Paint on the Apple ][. There IS some actual sophisticated code involved in instructing the program how to identify a hand so that it can paste the hand from one stolen image over the hand from another (and the iffy results from that are why you so routinely get extra fingers with this stuff- some of those were part of the original image, before we pasted another over that wasn’t in quite the same pose). We don’t have an actual Little Gear-Filled Brain Chum who lives in the computer we can explain these things to, so people just have to work out how like if you look at the raw image data and see darker RGB values in a line of pixels or in a circular pattern or some such, that’s probably the outline of a finger, so cut around that.

The best visual aid I can give to explain how this works is this spectacular failure of “AI art” that... I’m not sure I can just paste in under Tumblr’s current rules? Here’s a discussion of it on another site. Anyway if you just open that up, and use your hand or a piece of paper to block out everything from the belly button up, then again from just below the belly button down, you can kinda get a handle on what actually happens here. Presumably the rule this particular “AI” was using to paste pictures together was “find darker pixels than their surroundings in a pattern where one line branches off another at a 30 degree angle or so” which yeah, if you’re looking exclusively at a pile of stolen images of big boob anime waifus is most likely only going to appear in the cleavage. Here though, whoopsie, one of the images we grabbed out of the pile has lines intersecting like that in the crotch. So, that became the paste guide, and we get our wonderful little game of Exquisite Corpse. A human couldn’t make this error. Some sort of actual AI capable of comprehending a request to draw something and using its astounding reasoning to paint an original work (which, again, is straight up not a thing to exist) would also never do this, it’d be starting from a basic anatomical understanding as that’d be the easiest starting point. This only happens because we’re stitching stolen works together based on whatever small part of them matches up well enough to hide with the smear tool.

All that out of the way, if I might cycle back to that failure of a Portopia remake, because everyone in the “AI” scene is either a hustler or a mark, everyone ends up convinced that these “AI” projects can only be improved by giving them more “training” data. If you know it’s a scam, widening the pool of sources you’re stealing from makes it harder for people to notice (especially if you can grab files that aren’t publicly searchable, something people openly admit they’re working on), and if you buy into the hype, then yeah every trashy work of science fiction agrees the more books the amazing computer man speed reads, the more he comprehends our language and customs. In practice though, it just kinda... clutters things up with useless garbage.

Portopia is a very very old, very very simple adventure game. You have like, six or so each of verbs, locations, named NPCs, and something like four items. If you wanted to make a remake that went off speech to text to parser commands, you could probably get it to behave pretty well if it was designed only to listen for and distinguish that handful of relevant terms. But no, this sucker was given the widest possible corpus of “training data,” so even standing in an interview room where there’s literally no valid options to the player than leaving or asking an NPC questions about a very short list of subjects, like say, this other NPC named Kawamura, it’s considering that we might be making plans to get together the next day, or see what people have to say about California.

Probably bloats the game and the processor load by a ton too, or has it communicating with a fully unnecessary server. I’m told at launch, this was way more ambitious, and the idea was to include “AI” primarily so you could just use natural language to pick your assistant’s brain on whatever subject came to mind, not as an explicit hint system, but getting opinions or fun facts about anything you were unclear on from a neutral source. Which... yeah, that kind of “AI” does not exist. You ask “where does Hirata live?” and you’re going to find out about an MMA fighter’s gym or maybe learn some fun facts about the game Sekiro. So they just kinda dummied out everything that’d actually make the game novel for reasons of embarrassment and legality, and we’re just left with this speech to text program that doesn’t recognize the names of the characters, attached to a text parser that... can’t handle the fact it has more than one port as a location. You know what didn’t have this sort of problem? Zork. In 1981.

It also has problems with context. Like, ask a character something they don’t have a response to, and they can just be suddenly replaced by whichever character does have a response to that, because hey, that’s in the list of legal responses, right?

Anyway, when everyone gets on the same page on the emperor having no clothes here, can we please all promise to keep our eyes on the grifters as they look for the next scam and remember these were the same people breathlessly trying to convince people that slight palette swaps of a badly drawn monkey were all unique irreplicable works of special art worth millions of dollars, and just skip to the part where the new obvious scam gets called out?

[kanon-kun]

💝

✧ - send me a 💝 and I'll rate your theme out of 10!

ZACK I'M ACTUALLY GONNA CRY how do you even rate this??? oh my god????????? I feel like a changed man

✧ mobile: 10/10

so I know that image in your header is Your Thing. it's The Zack Image. instantly we get a sense of who you are and what goes down on this webpage. the fact that you haven't changed from the default color scheme(?) really adds to the "recent college graduate in a midlife crisis" energy. it's minimalist. there's nothing here except for the guy screaming with his bottle and the scissor seven icon striking a pose. AND THEN there's the super fancy, dare I say out-of-place, font that reads "Instructions Unclear." so... raw. so visceral. this is what it means to be human.

✧ desktop: ???/10

on one hand... I'm sorry, friend, but I will never ever ever in my life be okay with the Optica/default tumblr theme for desktop. the 16:9 aspect ratio totally kills any and all header images. also, the grid view w/ a text post-heavy blog is hard for me to look at -- I feel like my eyes go everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

on the OTHER hand. is this chaotic, nigh-unusable layout... the point? for the site user to stare into all eight and a half pixels of the face of despair, while a large circular Seven does his weird little dance? did you want us to look at this and feel dread?

did you, zack? zachary? zacharius, even? I know you. you're a genius. was this intentional?

[linelpisffxiv]

Hokay, so... If I do the thing (Though I'll probably pop a poll again cuz only 4 real responses, though it still gives a majority pangender sexiest) I'll have guidelines

Can I propoganda?

Yep. But keep it propaganda, not antipaganda

That's not how the word works.

I don't care. We both know what I mean. Tell us why to vote for who you want, not why we shouldn't vote for who you don't want moving on.

But what if it was a counterpick?

Look up why fans like the character and use those.

Can I Counterpick?

Sure. I do it all the time when I'm neutral on one character but don't want the other moving on in polls.

Why aren't the twins/Lalas in the sexy poll?

The twins are 16. I know there's some debate and they could be over 18 by now, but until the powers that be say they are over it, we're not touching it. Yes, it says 16 is Sharlayan Adulthood, but there's still laws in the real world about this. If it helps, I HC the twins as 18/19-ish by the end of the quest "Endwalker." But again, until we're shown a growth spurt and they're explicitly said to be over 18, I'm not touching it.

As for Lalas, my reasoning comes from my FC leads when they did art. We all know they're adults. Many have facial hair, and many talk about sex/are implied to be sexually desirable, but if some friend sees you reblog a poll where one of the images is of Tataru and the header says "Sexiest Final Fantasy XIV character" would your non-XIV mutuals understand "Oh, this is a dwarf race"? Or would they wonder why there's a toddler in a poll like that?

(Kan-e-Senna is removed for the same reasons as Lalafell. Yes, she's in her 20s, but she canonically stopped aging in her teens and uses makeup and shapewear to look more mature than she does naturally. She may be the oldest-looking of her race, but I still feel uncomfortable with putting her in, even if she's more borderline than the others)

It turns out X character is under 18!

If this is after the poll concluded, I did my best to try and find out how old these characters are, and if they're using an adult body, unless I had some reasons to doubt, I let them in.

It turns out X Non-Lalafell character you refused is over 18

Again, if they're using a child body, I chose caution.

So-and-so is brigading against X character

Honestly, I don't care. Even if it's my favs, I don't care. I tried to give my favs rougher first rounds for this reason. Even if they're putting it in the tags on the poll itself, I don't care. I suggested otherwise, but I don't control it. And while I'm also not fond of Brigading, especially in the thread of the poll itself, nothing I can do. We all know this is really a tournament of most popular/has the most popular fans/Is a really lucky guy who keeps ending up being used as a counterpick.

What is a counterpick? You keep using this word

When you're not so much picking the person cuz you like them, but because you hate/disagree with the other option. Like when you said Die Hard is your favorite Christmas movie 10 years ago. You aren't saying it's your favorite cuz you actually like it (you may or may not) or think it's a Christmas Movie. You're picking it cuz it takes place on Christmas and you hate traditional Christmas movies. (These days, the statement isn't exactly as provocative as it was. We all get it. But it's the best generic example I have.)

Or in this case, if... say... the fight is Vauthry against G'raha and you hate G'raha because he's a nasty little fanboy who should have stayed dead in 5.3 or even 5.0 or 2.5 and is a homewrecker, you pick Vauthry. Not cuz he's hot. You just want to make it one vote harder for G'raha to win.

Just remember to put Heimlich and Sqiudward memes in your propaganda post and I'll be laughing with you. Vauthry didn't need any submissions cuz I knew you'd all flock to those.

Alternately, your blorbo is Gaius. He's safely winning his poll against Erichthonios so you're not too worried, but the next round he's up against the winner of Vauthry vs Hien, which is pretty tight (Within oh, about 15%, which is less than you expected Vauthry to trail). You know that if Gaius goes up against Hien, he's probably going to lose handily, so you vote for, and post propaganda for Vauthry with all those Squidward and Heimlich memes, because despite the fact that his Innocence form is hot, you know it'll be easier to win against him than Hien.

Will you be sharing Propaganda?

If I find stuff for both sides early enough, sure. Or if there's funny posts of the two kissing.

Do you want your Blorbos to win?

Fuck no. I want them out as fast as possible and I deliberately messed with the polls some to make the first two rounds tougher for them to advance. I'm sorry to those who I gave tougher polls to as well for those two rounds, but if my faves won, it's the will of the people.

What about your BEC? You want him to win or lose?

Eh, lose if I'm being honest, but I left his bracket alone for the first two rounds. If he wins, it's the will of the people.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours (II)

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

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

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

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

{masterlist}

{masterlist}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“We should go out tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.  Up here, love, c’mon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

Last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“So?  What do you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“Uh, hello.  Can everyone hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

“They look happy, don’t they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But for the record—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop the car.”

[mickey-henry]

𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky’s been flirting with you, but hasn’t taken it further than that. frustrated, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: occasional swearing (but not much) and frustrating flirting (I’d be melting if it was happening to me). besides that, this fic is pure fluffy fun.

author’s note: hello there! this is my second fic; I’m very excited to post it! I found the header image here, and if you want to listen to the song I reference in this fic, you can listen here. bold text indicates singing, while italicized text refers to inner thoughts. likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! I hope you like it! 💖

Bucky Barnes is an acquaintance at best. The two of you rarely work together, and with conflicting schedules, you see little of each other around the compound. On a random Friday in April, however, something changes in you. The moment is nothing out of the ordinary. You’re sitting on the couch in the main living space, re-reading one of your favorite books. Bucky has just returned from a mission; you glance up to see his exhausted expression. He catches your eye, winking with a smile, before walking to his room. Your heart flutters and your head freezes at the response. “Oh, no,” you think to yourself. “Maybe that was a one-time thing? I don’t actually like him, right?” Wrong. 

Ever since that night, the mere presence of Bucky Barnes drives you crazy: his stunning blue eyes that squint ever so slightly when he smiles, his adorable nose that crinkles when he laughs, his pillowy lips that you lose yourself in, his  fluffy hair you can’t help but imagine running your fingers through, his scruff speckled jawline that you wish would brush along your hands, cheeks, anywhere really. He occupies your dreams; you can’t escape this man even if you try. Today, he drives you crazier than usual. He stands in the compound's kitchen in a tight black t-shirt, one that leaves nothing to the imagination. This is the first time you’ve seen him in short sleeves, in anything other than tactical gear. You can’t help but stare as he prepares his lunch. The shirt hugs his frame tight, accentuating his biceps that had no right to be that big. “Gosh, he must spend hours in the gym to look like that.” You then notice the vein in his right arm protruding from his skin, tracing it with your eyes. You didn’t think he could become any more beautiful, but here he is before you, incredible as ever. 

You’re pulled from your reverie when Bucky calls your name. “Yeah?” you reply, barely masking the startled stutter in your voice.

“Pass me the salt?”

“Oh! Sure, of course,” you muster, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of you as you hand him the salt shaker. 

“Thanks, doll,” he flirts with a smile, the same one he gave you that night when he got back to the compound. You nearly choke. “Bucky Barnes called me a term of endearment?!? Holy shit.” Your heart swells and you look down at your glass in a desperate attempt to hide the blush creeping its way across your cheeks. “Goodness gracious, I respond this way from a simple word?” You couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if he touched you. 

It didn’t take long to find out. The following day, you stand in the kitchen prepping your lunch, singing softly along to the song playing from your phone. Bucky appears soon after. He stands close to you for a moment, closer than necessary, but of course you don’t mind. He has just showered; his cologne lingers in the air, intoxicating you. Somehow, you keep singing along, showing no sign that your mind is elsewhere. 

“Ugh, he smells amazing. This man has too much power over me; this is ridiculous! I don’t even remember what I was doing—”

“You have a beautiful voice,” he compliments.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you softly reply, your heart racing at his praise.

“Let me get by you real fast, doll,” he says, moving to walk behind you. 

“There he goes again with the pet name. My god, could this get any worse—” 

He places his hands gently on your hips as he moves beside you. Electricity travels through your whole body; you’re internally screaming at his touch. His hands feel better than you imagined. Even though the contact lasts only a moment, the effects of his touch linger after, leaving you speechless. 

You hear a musical chuckle from the man behind you. “Is he teasing me? It sure feels like it,” you wonder. There is no way that he can’t see the effect he has on you. Before you can even formulate another thought, he touches you again as he moves back to the other side of you. “That was definitely on purpose; certainly he wouldn’t do this by accident. Right?”

Your eyes linger as he finishes putting together his lunch. He catches your gaze and smiles. “See you later, sweetheart,” he says with a wink before leaving the room. “Okay, that answers my question; that was very intentional. What am I going to do with myself?”

You don’t know how much longer you can take his teasing. Throughout the week, he ups his antics, calling you pet names more than your own, stealing touches whenever he can get away with it, smiling whenever you make eye contact. The tension is insatiable; thoughts of Bucky follow you everywhere. You decide to take matters in your own hands; Bucky did not seem to be planning to make a move anytime soon. If he is going to tease the hell out of you, you might as well get some payback. 

───────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Tony’s announcement of Friday night karaoke gives you a wicked idea. However, for it to work, you need to recruit help. You know just who to ask. It doesn’t take long to find Sam and Steve; they spent a ton of their free time sparring in the gym. They seem to be at the end of their workout, their movements slow and sloppy, relying on witty retorts to throw off the other. They stop when they notice your arrival. 

“Hey!” Sam says with a smile, hugging you as you approach. You squeeze him tightly, even with his sticky sweat coating his arms. You greet Steve with a hug too.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Steve asks as you let go.

“Can I ask you guys something? And you promise you two won’t laugh at me? Especially if I'm reading this wrong?”

“Of course,” answers Steve. 

“Yeah, for sure,” replies Sam. 

You hesitate for a second, taking a deep breath. “Does Bucky like me? I swear he does. He keeps teasing me, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I think I am practically in love with the guy at this point, he’s so beautiful and—”

You stop as the boys exchange glances and begin laughing. 

You cross your arms, hurt. “You said you wouldn’t laugh at me! I can’t control how I feel.”

“No! Wait! We aren’t laughing at you!” Steve says between giggles. 

You furrow your brows. “Then why are you laughing?”

“Bucky’s obsessed with you,” Steve answers after calming his laughter. 

“God, yes, you’re all he talks about nowadays,” Sam adds. 

“What?! He does? Why? Are you shitting me right now? Because that would be really freaking mean—“

“No! Of course not,” Steve insists. “Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”

“And the pet names he gives you?” Sam adds.

“And how he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself lately?” Steve finishes. 

Now you feel stupid for even asking. Of course you noticed all of those things. They were all you ever thought about. “Well, yeah, but maybe he does that with all the girls.”

“What girls?” Sam retorted. “The only women who are here often enough to cross paths with him are you, Natasha, and Wanda. Wanda’s with Vision, as weird as that is, but love is love. Natasha shoots daggers at anyone who looks at her with love in their eyes. That leaves you.”

“Why in the world would he like me? Of all people? He’s out of my league,” you sigh,

Sam’s scoff pulls you from your thoughts. “Bucky? Out of your league? He’s a crazy ex-assassin with emotional issues! If anything, he's out of your league.”

“You’re a catch, why wouldn’t he like you?” Steve assures.

Steve and Sam always know just what to say to make you feel better. “I guess you’re right,” you admit with a defeated grin. 

“So, you know how Bucky feels. What are you going to do about it?” Steve asks. 

“I have an idea, but I need your help.”

“We’re listening.”

You divulge your plan to them. They smile, hyping you up. 

“Dude, I’m so down!” Sam exclaims, clapping his hands in excitement. 

“You think this will work?”

“Definitely,” Steve assures. “This is going to be amazing!”

“Okay then, we’re doing this. Let’s go find Bucky. Time to initiate phase one.”

───────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Bucky is sitting on the common room couch, flipping through a book when he sees you, Sam, and Steve enter. He exchanges a glance with you, smiling as your eyes light up. The three of you sit down. You’re sitting next to Sam, closer than usual. There’s a brief moment of silence before you speak. “Sam, are you going to karaoke night?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss everyone’s drunk-ass singing for the world.”

“Will you be my duet partner?”

This catches Bucky’s attention. He looks up from his book. Why the hell were you asking Sam to sing with you? You normally ask the girls...

“Sure thing, baby. It’ll be a ton of fun!” Sam smiles. 

Baby?! What?! How dare he call you a pet name, his girl, right in front of him? Well, you may not be his girl yet, but Sam knows how he feels about you. What the hell is he thinking?

“Yay! This’ll be so fun!” You hug him, grabbing his hand before continuing, “Wanna practice with me in a bit?”

“Find me when you’re ready, sweetheart,” Sam answers, kissing your knuckle before letting go of your hand. 

Sweetheart?! What the fuck was going on? Did he miss his shot? Would Sam really do that to him? Bucky can barely handle his swirling thoughts. He storms out of the room without looking back. 

Steve can’t help but laugh once Bucky is out of earshot. “That worked a little too well, wouldn’t you say so?”

“That wasn’t too far, was it?” you ask with a worried expression on your face. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. He’ll just come on even stronger now. He won’t give up on you that easily,” Sam assures you. 

───────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Bucky can barely contain his anger as you step on the stage with Sam, giggling and smiling at your karaoke partner. Jealousy engulfs him. He can barely listen to the start of the song, ignoring the catchy beat blasting through the speakers. He doesn’t recognize the song, but looks up from his drink when you sing, “Hey Bucky boy, what you doing tonight? I wanna see what you got in store."

He looks right at you. Did she just say Bucky?

Sam echoes, “Hey, hey Bucky!” Well, that answers his question.

“You're giving it your all when you're dancing on me. I want to see if you can give me some more,” you continue, twirling your fingers through your hair.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“You can be my man, I can be your girl, and we can pump this jam however you want,” you sing, swaying your hips to the cadence of the lyrics.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“Pump it from the side, pump it upside down, or we can pump it from the back and the front,” you wink as you finish the line. Bucky sits up suddenly, crossing his legs, his face turning beet red. You smile, knowing the plan was working. Steve laughs from beside him. He keeps his eyes glued on you as the two of you continue the song, utterly entranced. You look him right in the eye as you end the song, “I want you tonight.”

You saunter over to where he is sitting after high-fiving Sam, confidence filling your chest. “So, what did you think of my performance, Bucky?”

You yelp as he grabs your hips and pulls you down to sit on his lap. His voice deepens, “you’re such a tease, you know that right?”

You laugh. “I’m the tease? Really? You’re the one who just pulled me onto your lap and taunts me with flirtatious remarks and smiles all freaking day. My god Bucky, make a move already—”

He cuts you off, pulling you in for a kiss, his flesh arm grabbing the back of your neck. The team whoops and cheers. 

“Glad you finally made a move, Bucky,” you pant as your lips part from his.

“Best decision I ever made in my life, doll.” Before you can respond, he kisses you again, the karaoke bar fading in the background as you finally embrace the man of your dreams.

[helpimhyperfixating]

Okay so i saw your post about my asks and im sorry if you misunderstood me 😭, i wasn't trying to do anything bad i asked those questions out of pure curiosity and nothing else.

I asked the question "How many accounts do you have" because when you reblog drawings from @ahoge-fish i thought that it was you who drew them and it was your account, because the art style is kinda same as the drawing/pic in your header and the /drawing/pic before you click the masterlist ( im so sorry i don't know what to properly call them 😭) and for the second question tbh i was just really curious 😂.

I know its not that deep but i just don't want to be mistaken for a hacker 💀😭, the drawings are really good and both of you are talented im sorry if i offended you guys in some way.

Oh no no no you didn’t offend me at all love!!

Without context it just seemed a little ominous XDD

But no @ahoge-fish is a completely different but absolutely lovely person! ^^

I do have sideblogs but I don’t post content on there, those are purely for reblogging stuff because I don’t want to clog up this blog too much to give a better and easier time for all of you readers to go through and read all the dumb stuff I post :3

As for my header image and the banner in my masterlist, those are actually made by @simpingandprocrastinating !! She’s so fucking talented and deserves all the praise and I love her very much 😩😩 She selfships with Josuke and is overall a really sweet and talented creator so I really suggest you check her out! (Plus Josuke has criminally little content)

I do draw but I’m not as talented as those two XDD

Thank you for clarifying btw! Much appreciated ^^

As for my follower count, since you asked, it’s in the 1200 I believe? I didn’t check before answering this but I believe it’s around that range.

I’m still working on the 1k follower event requests that I got :’)

[sankyeom]

letters | j.b

pairings: jacob bae x reader, a few elements of younghoon x reader but only a bit genre: college au, strangers to lovers summary: in which jacob accidentally gives you a love letter meant for someone else word count: 3.9k requested: nope! i saw the picture i used for my header on the boyz’s twitter and it just screamed college au so here we are 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

“Are you sure a love letter is the right way to go?” Kevin asked Jacob, a brow raised in concern. “You don’t want to, I don’t know, get their number and just text them?” he suggested. Jacob shot him a pointed look, causing Kevin to raise both his hands in defence. “Just an idea,” the younger boy mumbled, stepping aside so Jacob could face the door.

It had been approximately two months since Jacob first saw his crush in his history class. After endless pining and staring, Kevin and Hyunjae encouraged him to confess to his crush, or at the very least speak to them. Jacob had been far too shy to do so, and instead decided to pour out his feelings into a lovely letter.

Said letter, written with the neatest handwriting Jacob could muster on sky blue paper, was now clasped in Jacob’s hands as he and Kevin stood outside his crush’s dorm. “Is this too much?” Jacob wondered. Kevin smiled, shaking his head. “Okay,” Jacob whispered, bending over and slipping the note under the door.

On the other side of the door, you were sitting at your desk and studying your vocabulary for your upcoming French midterm. Once the letter was completely out of Jacob’s sight, he stood back up again and let out a sigh of relief.

“Great,” Kevin patted his friend on the shoulder. “Now let’s get something to eat, I’m literally starving,” he exaggerated as the door next to yours opened.

Jacob’s mouth dropped open in shock as his crush exited the room next to yours, chatting with their roommate as the two trudged down the hallway past them. “That-“ Jacob stammered, pointing at his crush’s back. “That’s-“ The colour drained from Jacob’s face as he turned paler by the second.

Kevin seemed to have enough sense to realise what was happening as his hand came to cover his mouth, eyes widening in surprise behind his glasses. “You mean-“ he pointed at the door Jacob had slipped his letter under, then back at his crush walking away from them. “That isn’t-“ Jacob frantically shook his head, indicating that he had indeed put his letter under the wrong person’s door. “Oh gosh.”

After an hour of studying, you finally had enough as you closed your laptop and took ahold of your phone, texting Younghoon to see if he wanted to get some coffee with you. Your best friend had replied with a pleased affirmative, telling you that he would swing by your dorm so you could go to the campus coffee shop together before it closed.

As you did a visual sweep of your room to try and find your wallet, something blue caught your eye: a little blue envelope at the foot of your door. Someone must have slipped it under the crack at the bottom of your door while you were studying, since you hadn’t noticed it when you came back to your dorm. Curious, you got up to collect the little envelope and read what was on it.

To the one who makes my heart soar

You blinked. That was unexpected. Your brows furrowed together as you opened the envelope and read the letter that had carefully been placed inside.

You probably don’t know who I am, so let me introduce myself. My name is Jacob Bae. I’ve seen you in class for the past two months and I think you’re incredibly beautiful. I never considered myself to be somebody shallow who focuses only on looks, but something about you makes me want to gaze at you all day long. I’m sorry if that sounds weird. Your smile gives me butterflies when I see it. Sometimes I get jealous of whoever made it appear because I wish I was the cause for it. I want to get to know you better. I want to know what else makes you smile. You’re very extroverted and confident. I’m more on the shy side most of the time. I like when classes meet late at night because it means that I get to see you when I end my day. My heart beats faster when I’m near you. Sometimes you walk past me to get to your seat and I feel like I might stop breathing. I hope this didn’t make you uncomfortable.

You felt a little embarrassed once you had finished reading. It wasn’t just a note, it was a love letter. Dedicated to you. You had never received a love letter from anybody before, nonetheless somebody you weren’t even familiar with.

“Y/n!” Younghoon called, knocking eagerly on your door. You easily opened it, revealing your smiley best friend. “Ready to go?” he asked, holding out his hand for you to take.

“Almost,” you said. Instead of taking his hand, you held up the blue paper with a raised eyebrow. “How do you reject someone?”

Taking a sip of coffee at the table in the campus coffee shop, Younghoon was thrilled to listen to your recap. “Wait a second,” he interrupted your explanation. “Did you say his name was Jacob Bae?” he inquired. You nodded, showing him the letter as evidence. “I know him! He’s friends with Hyunjae and Juyeon,” Younghoon recalled, taking out his phone to show you a picture of him.

You observed the brunet in the Instagram post on Younghoon’s screen. At first glance you could tell that he was attractive. He had big eyes and a kind smile, and after a few moments of scrutinisation you discerned that you recognised Jacob Bae. The two of you shared a Sociology class together. The longer you studied the image, the longer Younghoon studied your expression. “You think he’s cute,” Younghoon stated.

Clearing your throat, you handed the phone back to him and avoided his eyes. You and Younghoon had been friends for so long that you could easily read each other’s expressions with eye contact alone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you denied. “You said he’s friends with Hyunjae and Juyeon?” Younghoon nodded, pocketing his phone. “I guess I know where to go to give him my response, then.”

Younghoon pouted, eyes rounded and lower lip pushed out. “Go easy on him, okay? He’s really nice. Like, really nice. I’m sure he just thought you were really pretty.”

You sighed. “I guess so. And as rare of an occasion as that is, I still can’t accept the confession of someone who I barely know,” you retorted.

“Hey,” Younghoon dropped the puppy face and frowned. “Don’t say that. You’re gorgeous,” he assured you, and by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes you knew that he was being honest.

Locating Hyunjae and Juyeon in the dining hall was easy enough. The two of them sat with their friends at the same table for almost every single meal, and that evening was no exception. “They’re over there,” you pointed them out to Younghoon. Hyunjae was laughing so hard he was clutching the table in front of him for support at something a black-haired, glasses-wearing boy said to him.

“Hi guys,” Younghoon greeted when the two of you reached the table.

“Younghoon!” Hyunjae exclaimed happily. His eyes always shimmered when he was happy. “Y/n, take a seat you two,” he offered graciously, shuffling up the bench and making room for you both. “This is Kevin,” he introduced the black-haired boy opposite him. Kevin waved at you with a bright smile before giving his attention back to his lunch.

Younghoon and Hyunjae engaged in conversation about their math class, and your eyes flitted across the dining hall to see if you could catch sight of Jacob anywhere. Soon enough, he was making his way over to the table, eyes focused on his phone rather than the path his feet were leading him on. “Hey Jacob,” Kevin greeted his friend brightly.

Jacob looked up from his phone. “Hey Kevin,” he replied before meeting eyes with you.

It was the first time you had been face-to-face, and Jacob was momentarily startled by the new person that sat at his regular table. He stopped in his place, taking his time to take in your features, and could only come to one conclusion: you were absolutely stunning. Jacob was about to introduce himself when he caught sight of the blue envelope on your tray. His entire body froze, eyes wide and lips pursed slightly. Not only were you beautiful, you were the person he accidentally confessed to in a love letter meant for someone else. Confused, Kevin followed Jacob’s line of vision before finding the envelope.

You gave Jacob your best smile despite the fact that you felt like cringing. “Do you have a minute?” you wondered, gently picking the letter up. Wordlessly, Jacob nodded and followed you out of the dining hall, shooting Kevin a worried look behind you. Kevin only shrugged and mirrored his concerned expression. “So…” you trailed off once the two of you were alone.

“Um, you found my letter,” Jacob observed, clasping his hands together to keep him from fidgeting.

“Well, you did put it in my dorm,” you replied with a small laugh. “Um… I don’t really know you very well. And I’m really sorry but I can’t say that I reciprocate your feelings.”

The way you rejected him was so formal that Jacob almost laughed, but then he realised that he was being rejected and he felt his heart hurt a little. The confession wasn’t even for you, and yet you were still rejecting him. The thought made his stomach feel uneasy. “Oh,” was all Jacob could say, nodding his head. “Do you think I could have that back?” he wondered, pointing at the blue envelope. It would be the only thing that could lessen his embarrassment. You easily passed the letter over to him, not heavily attached to it despite the fact that it was the first love letter you ever received. “Thanks.”

“I guess having lunch together might be weird, so I can go somewhere else if you want,” you offered him. Jacob was touched by your thoughtfulness, and it was enough to make a small smile appear on his lips. Jacob was handsome, but you thought he was spectacular when he smiled.

“That’s okay,” Jacob refused your offer. “It’s just a letter.”

When the two of you returned to the table, Jacob realised why you were so gracious while rejecting his offer. The way your eyes lit up when you caught sight of Younghoon, how you easily slipped your hand into his after he opened your drink for you and procured a metal straw from his jacket pocket for you. How you admired Younghoon when he laughed, eyes shaped like crescent moons.

You liked Younghoon; you wouldn’t be waiting for any confession from Jacob or anybody else any time soon.

Not that Jacob could blame you. Younghoon was handsome in a way that made other guys jealous, and he was also goofy and kind. Plus, the two of you seemed to know each other like the back of your hands. The letter wasn’t even for you, it was meant for somebody else. So why couldn’t Jacob look away from you?

“How did that go?” Kevin asked as he and Jacob got up to put their trays away at the end of their meal.

Jacob shrugged, leading the way back to the dorms. “She said she didn’t feel the same. I asked for the letter back. She gave it to me.”

“That’s good, then,” Kevin concluded with a smile. “Sounds like it could have been a lot worse.”

Jacob hummed, a vague sound that didn’t indicate how he felt. “Do you know that guy she was with?”

“Younghoon?” Kevin asked. “Yeah, he’s close with Hyunjae and Juyeon so he’s around sometimes. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Jacob hums. “He’s really handsome.”

Kevin chuckles. “Right? When he walks around campus with Hyunjae and Juyeon, everyone just stares at them as they pass. Lucky guys.”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. Younghoon was lucky. And not just because he was blessed with good looks. The image of you playfully feeding Younghoon a forkful of your lunch came to Jacob’s mind. “Really lucky.”

Kevin was hilarious. And he got along with you really well. This prompted you and Younghoon to start eating with Jacob and his group of friends at every chance you got. During one of the many dinners you had been spending with them, Younghoon hadn’t shown up at first. Jacob thought this might be his chance to speak to you more, but he decided against it out of embarrassment with the love letter situation.

“Where’s Younghoon?” Kevin asked, voicing Jacob’s thoughts.

You smiled. “I see him right over there,” you said, pulling a funny face by sticking your tongue out when your eyes met Younghoon’s across the room. Kevin giggled at your expression, and Jacob couldn’t help but think that you looked gorgeous when you were this carefree. Your hair had been styled away from your face, further exposing your features to Jacob’s affectionate eyes.

Kevin was saw the look on his friend’s face. Jacob had been observing you in a way that Kevin could only imagine him observing his crush. Hiding a smirk, Kevin decided against disturbing Jacob’s gaze and struck up a conversation with Juyeon.

“Hey, you,” Younghoon greeted you as he slid into the seat next to you. “Sorry I’m late. I brought you a gift,” he teased, placing a tiny green tea swiss roll slice from the convenience store.

Your eyes lit up and you took the packaged pastry. “You’re an angel, Kim Younghoon,” you told him. Younghoon giggled, rolling his eyes at your excitement before greeting the others. He seemed to take notice of Jacob persistently peering at you the same way Kevin had.

“Jacob, right?” Younghoon snapped Jacob out of his stare. The two met eyes and Younghoon offered him a friendly smile. “We’re the same age!” Younghoon told him. “We should be friends,” he added.

Jacob nodded, reminding himself to smile. Younghoon was friendly and considerate; it wasn’t his fault that he was blind to the fact that Y/n liked him as more than a friend. “Definitely,” Jacob accorded with a nod. Then, his eyes went back to you. “You like the green tea flavour?” he asked you.

You had already abandoned your dinner in favour of unpacking the swiss role slice, pausing to acknowledge Jacob. “It’s my favourite,” you said with a smile so pure it made Jacob blush.

“I like the green tea flavour too. But chocolate is my favourite,” Jacob replied.

“Younghoonie likes strawberry,” you informed. “With all three of us, we’re a perfect set,” you added happily, referring to how swiss roles came in single slices or in a set of three flavours. Then, recalling how Jacob said he liked it, you broke off some of your swiss role and handed it over to him. Blush intensifying, Jacob accepted the treat with a whisper of a thanks.

You and Jacob never spoke of the letter. It was something you had silently agreed upon, and it just made things easier for you both. Jacob had started sitting with you during your Sociology lecture. Jacob found that you were a little more shy in class, preferring to only participate when it came to clarifying questions that you needed help with rather than answering. The way your brows pulled together and lips pursed when you concentrated was adorable, and Jacob found himself paying more attention to you than your professor.

“Thank god it’s Friday and this mess is over,” you sighed happily. “You ready to go?” Jacob nodded, reaching for his bag before the two of you made your way to the dining hall. You had been giggling at Jacob’s impression of your boring professor when you noticed Younghoon waiting for you outside the dining hall. “Hey Younghoonie,” you greeted him.

Jacob frowned. Younghoon had been dressed in a pair of dark pants with a button up shirt and a nice tan-coloured coat. He looked like a runway model standing by the footsteps leading to the dining hall, and Jacob felt jealous. Not just about the way Younghoon looked, but the way he commanded attention with his height and posture as well. And he certainly had your attention.

Younghoon smiled. “Do you feel like eating out?” he offered with a slight tilt of his head. “My treat. I’m really in the mood for convenience store cup noodles,” he added.

It was impossible for you to not smile back at him. “Sounds good,” you agreed. “As long as it’s your treat.”

Suddenly, Jacob felt like he was intruding. “I’ll see you guys later,” he excused himself with a wave, walking up the steps towards the dining hall to leave you and Younghoon alone.

At the convenience store, you were picking out what noodles you wanted to eat when the colourful treats in the refrigerated section caught your eye. Scanning the shelves, you found what you were looking for and took a pack, happily making your way to the cashier where Younghoon was waiting for you.

His eyes surveyed the colourful packet and he rose an eyebrow. “I thought you only like the green tea flavour?” he asked, motioning to the trio packet of swiss rolls in your hand.

You nodded. “You like strawberry and Jacob likes chocolate,” you told him with a smile. Younghoon paused in place, surprised by your words. He knew that you and Jacob were becoming acquaintances due to your shared Sociology class, but he hadn’t expected you to go out of your way to buy him something. Shrugging, Younghoon passed your food to the cashier and paid for your food.

“Hey,” Kevin greeted you once you and Younghoon sat down at the table in the dining hall with your food. You had both decided it was too cold to sit outside the convenience store and eat, so you made your way back to the University instead. “Nice haul,” he added.

You smiled, greeting him back before taking out the swiss rolls in your pocket. “Here,” you said, taking out the small chocolate roll and offering the packaged treat to Jacob. Jacob simply stared at it. “You said you like chocolate,” you added when Jacob didn’t take it. Kevin raised his arm to cough, using it as an excuse to elbow Jacob on the way back down.

“Oh,” Jacob said, reaching out for the roll. “Thank you,” you didn’t miss the way his fingers brushed against your palm, and the way it tickled slightly. You didn’t mind, though. The slight brush of your hands made you bite your lower lip to suppress a smile, Jacob doing the same with flushed cheeks.

“You like Jacob. Don’t you?” Younghoon asked. During one of your study sessions, Younghoon had gone crazy trying to figure out your feelings. Usually, you were an open book to him. On this matter, you seemed to be closed off.

Startled at the abrupt question, you glanced up from your review packet. Younghoon’s eyes were always soft and comforting. This time, it had been too much for you. You sighed. “Why do you ask?” you inquired.

“Y/n,” Younghoon replied in a kind tone. “He already confessed to you. Why don’t you just tell him?” he wondered.

You bit your lip. “I didn’t like him when he confessed,” you retorted. “I liked someone else.”

And there it was.

Younghoon sighed, closing his eyes. His eyes were warm and comforting and felt like home. When he closed them, you feared for the worst. “Y/n,” he said slowly. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

You knew what he was referring to.

The elephant in the room.

The mutual, romantic feelings you and Younghoon had for each other. Neither of you were blind to it. And yet, you had never addressed it. Partly because you were afraid of ruining your friendship, but mostly because you knew it would never work out. It simply wasn’t meant to. “I know,” you admitted. “But you’re right. I do like Jacob.”

Younghoon’s eyes opened. They were still warm and still felt like home, but filled with pain. When he smiled, it was genuine. “You should tell him,” he said quietly. “I can’t do this with you and you can’t do this with me. But you like Jacob and Jacob can barely speak when you’re around,” you smiled at his comment, having experienced rendering Jacob speechless a few times. Younghoon laughed. “And you have that look on your face whenever you think about him. So you should tell him.”

Your best friend’s encouragement was genuine.

So you took out a piece of binder paper and started writing.

Dear Jacob. By now, you know who I am because I’ve gotten to know you now. And I know who you are too. I also figured out that letter you sent wasn’t for me. That’s one of the reasons it was so easy to tell you I didn’t feel the same. Your letter described someone confident who you saw during night classes. You and I always sit together in our morning classes, and I don’t like to speak up in class. But you know that by now. And I don’t think it matters that your letter wasn’t for me. You still make me smile when I see you, and I love the way I make you blush. I love that you eat the leftover swiss roll because Younghoon and I don’t like the chocolate flavour. I like that you can say more with a single look than you can with an entire conversation. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you. And I hope I didn’t read this wrong because that would be really embarrassing. I hope you like me too.

Jacob couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face as he read the letter that you had slipped into his bag during your Sociology lecture. Kevin was growing impatient. “What does it say?” he pleaded, desperately wanting to know what was making Jacob smile larger than Kevin had ever seen.

“It’s a love letter,” Jacob said, warmth spreading through his chest. “And I need to go,” he handed the letter over to Kevin – since his younger friend seemed to be dying of curiosity – and made his way to the dorms he knew you were staying in.

When he arrived at your dorm and knocked on the door, you looked happy to see him. You smiled. “Are you sure you have the right room?” you asked him. It was a little joke, but Jacob knew what you were really asking. Are you sure you like me back?

“I’m sure,” Jacob promised, stepping through the threshold of the door and tenderly placing one hand on your cheek and the other behind your neck. Grinning, you allowed him to pull you towards him, lips meeting in a gentle kiss. You brushed your lips against his, slowly at first, and then with a passion and zeal you didn’t know you possessed.

You pulled away for a moment, lips throbbing slightly. “Don’t think I’m not expecting a letter actually addressed to me because-“ Jacob laughed, connecting your lips to cut you off.

“I will write you as many letters and poems and songs as you want,” Jacob mumbled, lips grazing yours as he spoke. His eyes looked so much more bewitching up close, and you easily wound your arms around his waist in a hug.

“I’m holding you to that,” you insisted, leaning in for another kiss.

[arduadastra]

Lost Faith - Part One

A/N ITS FINALLY HERE!! Thank you for the support and I can't believe I wrote this, if you want a part two let me know!

FINALLY updated to this gorgeous header by @sirtadcooper (who you definitely need to follow)

This is set right after the season two finale and is kind of what I imagine Din would be feeling right after he’s handed Grogu off and what it would be like to find him.

Also, the crest didn’t explode ok, I refuse to believe that.

- 2.1K - (what happened?!)

/// Din is alone. He’s been alone most of his adult life. Once he left the convent he’s captured quarries solo for years. He’s used to the quiet solace hyperspace provides, the occasional hums and beeps from the crest console and the sounds of starlight rushing past is nothing more than white noise at this point. So why does it feel different this time? He leans over and flips a switch. He likes quiet, he knows quiet. Talking has never been his strong suit - in fact, he actively avoids it if he can but there’s a tightness in his chest he’s trying to ignore and he needs a fucking distraction before he punches something. After he had handed... to the Jedi he doesn’t really remember much else. Bo Katan had said something about needing to discuss his future and the dark sabre but he hadn’t paid her much thought to be honest. He had felt numb and it just didn’t seem important at the time. He remembers looking at them all and how they looked back at him. He didn’t even really realise why they seemed to stare so much until he accidentally kicked the helmet at his feet. He hadn’t bothered to put it back on. What’s the point? He had barely managed to justify putting it back on after revealing himself for that imperial scanner. Every soul that saw his face after that had died, other than Mayfeld that is. Technically no living being had seen his face so his creed remained unbroken. But this time? Din caught himself staring and at a lever with a certain missing sphere on top. He looked away. His creed. The one thing he held above all else. The thing that he had engrained into him since he was a foundling and what made him who he is: a Mandalorian. Yet, he has met Mandalorian's and they did not cover their face. They had called him different. ’A child of the watch’ Bo-Katan had said - was he even Mandalorian then? The thought cast his eye to his helmet lying discarded next to him. He thought he’d feel bare without it and he did back with the IG unit but now he just feels angry. The creed he abided by is broken now, but that doesn’t piss him off nearly as much as the realisation that it might not have even fucking mattered in the first place. He huffs. No, that’s not it. It is but it isn’t. The pressure in his chest returns and he gasps. “Dank Farrik.” Din clenches his eyes shut against the pain, it’s not like any other pain he’s felt before and he has been hurt a lot. He feels a burning sensation behind his eyelids and he shakes his head, opening his eyes and setting his next coordinates before he can think too hard about why his vision is slightly blurred. ///

It was nearing the end of your shift and you took in the sparse patrons left around you. Bar work wasn’t really what you wanted to do with your life but it’s all you had. No siblings and dead parents made for one lonely existence so you needed the company your customers provided. Drunken patrons tend to have the best stories too. You’ve heard it all over the years: divorced from the wife, hiding from the boss, hiding from the police - those were the best kind. Usually, you could guess why each one was there and why but you were stumped by someone. You had noticed the lone Mandalorian in your bar a while ago. You wouldn’t take a second glance usually but what strikes you is the fact he hasn’t moved in twenty minutes and he’s just been sat staring blankly at his own helmet the whole time. The bar is quiet and you’re the only one working so who gives a shit if you’re polishing the same glass over and over, he’s interesting. You haven’t seen a Mandalorian before let alone one as stoic as him. You’d heard the stories, of course, battle-hardened warriors capable of bringing grown men to their knees in a matter of seconds… Now that's an image. You love people-watching, or thing watching this far out in the rim, and it isn’t often you see humans. Especially ones like him. He seems sad, but not in the obvious moping, crying, shoulder shaking sad - more like he’s grieving. He’s been sat staring at the helmet on the table for a while. His hands are balled into a fist in front of it and it’s like he’s looking through it to the wall behind. His dark eyes have barely blinked and his hair is tousled on his head. He’s tanned too and has the most striking lips you’ve ever seen on a guy. You cock your head as you look at him - he’s hot. You feel bad thinking that when the guy is clearly miserable but he’s gorgeous. You have a thing for stubble and you can’t help but think how it would feel against your skin. And strangely you hate to see him so sad. You have an idea so you turn around and start making your favourite drink while you check on him over your shoulder. After a while, pleased with what you’ve concocted you walk to his table and drop the drink in his line of sight. You smile at him. “On the house.” He doesn’t look up, doesn’t seem to even acknowledge you’ve spoken to him let alone standing two feet to his left. You clear your throat. “That means it's free." He looks up at that, seemingly broken out of whatever trance he was in yet his eyes still seem so far away. “I’m not thirsty.” You nod your head to the table. “Well if you want to keep sitting here, you need something in front of you.” The man looks back at the drink, bumping it with his right fist then stares back ahead. “Ok.” He’s a chatty one. You look back at your bar and around at the other tables, no one seems to need assistance and you’re sure as hell not about to go back to standing behind an empty bar so you take in the Mandalorian and decide to sit across from him. You sigh, “Well the least you can do is have a sip, I made it after all.” The Mandalorian meets your eyes silently then glances down at the drink by his hands. He seems to take a few seconds studying the contents before bringing it to his lips for a drink. You watch him, watch as he drinks from the glass and how it travels down his throat. You see the tendons stretch and his adam apple move as he does. God, how can this guy make drinking sexy? You chide yourself on the thought. This guy is clearly going through something and he doesn’t need some random woman objectifying him. He’s finished now and is actively avoiding your eye line as he looks around himself. He seems lost like he doesn’t know how to have company with him. You decide at that moment that you aren’t leaving this guy alone. “My name is y/n by the way. What’s yours?” Nothing. He’s still not looking at you. You try again. “How was the drink?” The guy must have some form of manners because he responds at that with a slight nod. “Good.” Not much but you’ll take it. You’ve gathered from this short conversation that

this guy isn’t much for small talk so you decide to cut straight to the point. “Who did you lose?” He seems surprised by that. He looks at you fully then and you’re startled by his eyes. The rest of him seems so closed off, so shuttered but his eyes are a dead give away. They swim with grief and pain and it takes your breath away. He doesn’t respond but he keeps looking at you so you take it as permission to keep going. “I know sadness when I see it. See it every day here,” you gesture around you, “but yours seems deeper than that.” He turns away from you and you notice his jaw tense slightly, subtle but you caught it. You’re on the right track at least. “Was it your wife...or husband?” “No.”

Very quick you notice, so not a partner then. “Your friend?” He’s still looking away. Not that then. You look at his face again, he seems older than you. “Your kid?” That gets a reaction. His jaw ticks and his hand's clench. You see his bicep flex at the action and your mind wanders again and just what he looks like under that armour. “Leave me alone." You continue, “What were they like?” He frowns, and looks back at you, “You’re very insistent.” You scoff, “And you barely talk but I don’t judge.” You take a pause then lean forward into his space, “I just know it's useless when people say ’sorry’ or ’that's terrible.’ You know that already. I always found talking about them is more helpful, means there’s someone else out there to remember them.” The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything for a long time. He studies your face, eyes scanning over yours before dropping to your hands that have instinctively reached out towards him. Your fingers are grazing ever so slightly and you think he likes the contact. He leans back slightly in his chair and casts his eyes over your shoulder. “He’s not dead.” You hum, “Ok…” You think, “ ...so he’s missing?” The Mandalorian seems frustrated and shakes his head "Not missing, I mean I don’t know where he is but I - “ He casts his gaze back to you, almost as if he didn’t realise he had been talking, “Why are you asking me this?” You shrug, “Dunno, you just seemed like you needed someone to talk to.” He keeps looking at you. You lean forward more and so does he. Your fingers bump more insistently and you struggle to not rest your hands over his. The energy between the two of you changes ever so slightly, and you feel your hair stand up on end as he stares you down. He’s very intimidating. You like that. Neither of you moves away and the silence between you stretches on. You refuse to speak first because you sort of want to see what his next move is. You get the impression no one stands up to this guy and you want to be the first. He narrows his eyes, his jaw tenses when he speaks coldly, “I don’t need to talk. Go away.” Undeterred you smile at him, flashing him your teeth when you say “Oh I disagree.” He scoffs at that and gets up, leaving the drink you made him and walks out the door. You stand to follow him, grabbing his helmet as you go - how did he forget that? "Hey, we were talking!” you call after him, pushing yourself through the few stragglers still around on the street. He keeps walking, ignoring your yells so you shout louder, “you didn't even finish my drink!" Still nothing, "and you forgot your bucket!" That makes him turn and he sees the helmet under your arm. You walk towards him as he crosses his arms and sighs. He reaches out his hand for it but you hold it out of reach, “ah ah ah, I said we weren’t finished.” He scoffs “I say we have. Give it back.” “Nope.” You say popping the ‘p’ and you smile at him, “Not till you tell me what’s wrong.” He stalks forward and attempts to take the helmet but you’re quicker and sidestep him and cross it over into your other hand, leaning it out of reach again. He growls at that, “I’ll just take it from you.” You dance backwards slightly, “Oh I don’t think you will.” He remains where he is and scowls, “Don’t you have work to finish?” You shake your head, “Nah it's quiet and they’ll all leave now I’m gone. Besides, this is much more fun.” He’s getting annoyed now and gestures towards you, “What? Standing there holding my helmet hostage knowing full well I can just come over there and take it?” He walks forward again, anger now very present on his face - you love that you’ve rattled him. You know it must take a lot to get this guy mad but it seems you’ve done it rather easily. You grin at him, “You’ll have to catch me first.” And with that, you turn and run. ///

If you want to be tagged for part 2 let me know!

Tagged: @darlingotaku @theoriquewitherseld @v-mack @soul-of-daisies @bbwithaknife @luciamajer @altarsw @redredchangesintheskys @thatoneidiot16 @24-blackbirds @dindjarin-mandalorian @engineeredfiction

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. You know the header image placed at the beginning of every episode (portrait of P on the left, black and white sketch of HxP in the middle, portrait if H on the right)? The full image of the sketchier version of the black and white drawing (the version used in older episodes) is actually smut (you can see it on 4chan)… You’d think RS would at least make a minimal effort to hide her agenda to sexualise everything but nOoOoO

From OP, not Anon: Ngl, that shocked me when I first found that out

2. the same-face syndrome in this series is something else, I swear. legitimately couldn't tell Apollo and Eros apart for the longest time. all male and female characters are drawn with the exact same faces. it gets really annoying honestly

3. I don't know if this bothers anyone else (maybe it's just me) but it seems like the characters' facial expressions can be really... off at times? Like, characters will be drawn smiling in situations where it'd make no sense for them to be smiling? And be drawn with vacant expressions in inappropriate times?

Like how (spoiler) Daphne is drawn with a smile when Apollo turns her into a tree (?) when she should have looked terrified???

As an artist who specializes in facial expressions, the ones in LO legitimately throw me off at times.

4. Something that kind of weirds me out about LO is that both Hades and Persephone are kind of awful people (like literally. Slavery, murder, greed, etc.) but it's not portrayed as a bad thing?? at all, really??? Other than a "That's terrible!" here and there, the full weight of what these two characters do doesn't get addressed and is even excused?

And we as the readers are still supposed to believe these two are the good guys? Hades is the king of the underworld, he can do horrible stuff and get away with it. And we already know Persephone won't have to face the consequences of her actions -_-

Imo, this whole story would make more sense if these two were villains/descending into villainy, but that's obviously not what RS is planning.

5. This isn’t a critique I just wanna know if something went over my head, but when Zeus tells Hades to go be king and take Kronos with him Demeter shows up and Zeus and Demeter walk away. Was that suppose to be about Hera getting torn in half or just something we don’t know yet

From OP, not Anon: Maybe something we don’t know about since Demeter and Zeus don’t have a good relationship.

6. After reading the latest chapter where Hades drones on and on to a crying Persephone about how he'll take care of her and get her everything she needs and she'll have a footman waited on her, a apartment with a great view, etc etc.

It really puts into perspective how spoiled she actually is. Like, that chapter was almost hard to read. 

7. Why does RA draw so much porn? It’s so uncomfortable how most of her fans are underage yet she doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that she makes NSFW content 

From OP, Not Anon: Tbf, RS did have her nsfw behind a paywall. I don’t expect creators to hide that they make nsfw, especially since they don’t have much control over their audience. Nsfw is how a lot of webtoon creators make money after all. RS already stopped using patreon though so I haven’t seen her post nsfw or anything that couldn’t be considered artistic nudity in a while.

8. Anybody else notice how Persephone is always portrayed almost as a poor, lower class god who's worked in the fields instead of lived in luxury? "Oh, poor her!"? BUT we have, if my memory serves me, NO actual lower class characters at all?

I don't know if I'm making much sense, but basically the only reason Persephone seems like such an underdog is because RS hasn't introduced a character who has it worse than her. Despite that there are people living in literal slavery while she's living it up?

From OP, not Anon: Nymphs, satyrs, and other mythical beings are lower class in LO. The gods would be considered middle/upper class so yeah.

9. wasnt the original hymn about the power of women and a mother defending her daughter from a cruel marriage by standing up to men and bringing the world to its knees until they finally took her seriously? like thats feminist to me, not claiming persephone loved her kidnapper and demeter is a big bitch for trying to stop it. im not saying making hxp not full of sexual assault is bad, i'd much rather read that, but demonizing demeter for the sake of a man and a heterosexual romance aint it, chief.

10. I love how lo fanart always depicts hades as some young male model as if rachel isnt very open that she designed him off mads and his depiction of hannibal? like maybe they know if they drew him like a 55+ year old man like rachel intended they might realize hes a creep for wanting to bang a baby faced 19 year old.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 6

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6200 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language, mention of death.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

To an untrained eye, need and love are as easily mistaken for each other as the real master's painting and a forgery.

Deb Caletti

Chapter 6

A low lit room- more fitting of an old jail than an art lock up- surrounds you with cool air that tickles the tiny hairs on the back of your bare neck, as you bend over double, digging through the equipment in the abyss of your bag. A gap forms between the waist of your jeans and t-shirt, revealing the tiniest bit of the lace edging from your bra band- a tantalising fact that catches Marcus’ breath, alerting you to his presence, “Hey, you ok?” you ask straightening up, “Did you find something?”

“Yeah, uh sorry. Think I just had a bit of dust in my throat,” Marcus stammers, utterly thrown by that glimpse of your underwear, as he tries to clear his throat and remember the reason he was standing in front of you, “So, uh, yeah, um- we found a couple of signatures from Paul Guillaume and Albert C Barnes- weren’t they the guys we had to look out for?”

Looking over the papers with your cotton gloves still on, you pour over the shaping of the letters that made up the signatures of the possible previous owners, “I dunno. I’m not convinced- the positioning of the letters seem odd- like a crude rendition of someone’s signature. Almost like someone’s faking their mum’s signature to get out of PE class. Only the thing is, you know the movement of your mum’s hand as she signs something because you’ve watched her do it a million times before. Those signatures do not seem real to me, personally.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise as he crosses his arms, desperately trying to hide the smile that was creeping across his face. “You faked your mom’s signature a lot?”

“Poacher turned gamekeeper,” Élodie remarks as she crosses between the two of you, straightening your t-shirt up where it has caught upon the back of your jeans.

Marcus tries not to let his disappointment show. Calm down, Pike, you’re hardly a horny seventeen year old. But that was how you made him feel and certainly the uncomfortable pressure building in his jeans might prove otherwise.

“I don’t think we will necessarily manage to get this solved today,” you begin, “The section that Élodie looked at dates it reasonably within the time period but those signatures are now tingling my spidey senses. It’s probably going to need to be sent for further investigations at a proper lab. I’m about to look at it using the stereomicroscope- do you want to have a look with me?”

Marcus nods eagerly, earning a grin from you, and you start setting up the pieces you need- ensuring that the video camera is linked to your iPad so Marcus can see everything you are looking at in real time along with you.

Marcus drifts closer to the painting. You haven’t seemed to notice his closeness yet, and he half hopes you don't, as from where he’s standing the aromatically pleasing scent of your shampoo wafts dreamily from the dark shimmer of your hair.

“So tell me more about this piece. I love listening to you speaking about art. You make it seem like I’m looking over the artist’s shoulder as they’re painting it.” Marcus remarks, smiling when he notices the flush creeping over your cheeks that his words bring.

Impressed by your decision to play into his words rather than focus on how awkward you feel at the compliment, he loves how you fan yourself and flutter your eyelashes at him, “Monsieur, you flatter me! Well, looking at this piece it’s not difficult to imagine that Soutine may have had a longstanding beef with food. Though he was fascinated by food and frequently painted these edible arrangements, this stands as one of his most memorable and dare I say, raw interpretations.”

At these terrible puns, Marcus pretends to drum, “Ba da boom tish!”

“Do not encourage her!” Jacques shouts from the other side of the room where he is labeling the bags for the slide samples that Élodie had been collecting, “Once you acknowledge one pun, she’ll ensure that everything she says has one. Queen Nush of the dad jokes!”

“So at the meat of Soutine’s obsession,” Marcus half-snorts, half-groans, intending to encourage you as you add, “You find that a combination of not having anything to eat due to extreme poverty and using what food the family did have to practice Kosher traditions is largely to blame for his playing with his food rather than eating it.”

Marcus watches you flick through your phone so as not to interrupt the finally clear feed from the stereomicroscope focussing on how you bite your lip. You quickly google the Rembrandt that you want him to look at. “The remains of this omnivorous…”

“Oh you’re still gonna continue with that theme, yeah?” Marcus’ feels his lips curve at your humour, shaking his head at the ridiculous word play.

“Oh, I can keep this going all day,” you say with the cheekiest of winks, and Marcus hopes you will.

*****

“Omnivorous obsession,” you continue, “was based on his adoration of Rembrandt whose 1655 Flayed Ox was frequently salivated over by Soutine on his regular visits to the Louvre. Rembrandt’s carcass is noted for its vivid colors but when compared to Soutine’s, which was coated almost daily with fresh buckets of blood by his assistant, Rembrandt seems downright dull. The smell of rotting beef and fresh blood became so oppressive that neighbours called the police, who almost threw away the fermenting flesh before, what I can only assume was the Frankenstein-esque assistant, shooed them away like so many flies covering a carcass.”

“Always with the focus on the graphic elements of art,” Jacques calls out with a snort at your zombie-like impression before receiving a sharp nudge to his ribs to focus on the job Élodie has asked him to complete.

“Art is just a reflection of the things that humanity finds interesting and what can be more interesting to a temporal being than their own mortality or that of the creatures and objects that surround it?” At this statement, you tug Marcus’ coat sleeve away from the piece to come and look at the feed you have set up for him, “Come on you, we’d better focus or Élodie will have my guts for garters for not concentrating on what I should be doing!”

Marcus allows you to lead him over to a black metal folding chair to look at the feed, “So what are we looking for, Mademoiselle Pathologist?”

“Hah, did you just call her mademoiselle? She’s too old for that!” Élodie shouts in your direction.

Refusing to respond verbally to Élodie’s rudeness, you flick a finger up at her and turn back to Marcus, “Madame Pathologist will do- I am comfortable with my age. So what we are looking for are any bits of difficult to detect damage, fading, repairs and the ways paints and other coatings are distributed. Also if there are any strange fibres that we can spot using the double lens.”

Hovering the microscope over the bottom left hand corner, you start to scan the piece, “So what we’re looking for are any irregularities that we might not have picked up on a first scan that Élodie did to take the samples. The stereomicroscope helps us to understand the art in more 3D terms- so we can see something that generally looks flat becomes a landscape of hills and valleys.”

“Why’ve you chosen that corner to start?” Marcus probed inquisitively, wondering as to whether there’s method in your madness.

“Just felt like it!” You shrug and snort at his look of mock horror. “Nah, it’s where the signature is and ‘cos I’m not sure about the signatures on those documents you found, I want to take a closer look at Soutine’s over here. Kinda feels like a sensible place to start.” Your eyes squint as you drink in the images in front of you, snapping up when you hear a small grunt of consternation from your boss, “Have you found something, Marcus?”

“That’s weird. It kind of looks like the signature has been scratched into the art,” Marcus squints at the signature on the screen, reaching over to the table where the possible documents with Guillaume and Barnes’ scrawls lie, “Also, I am not an expert in graphology but the letter e looks consistent across the three names- they all arch at the same point.”

“Waouh- that’s a good catch,” Élodie agrees, pulling Jacques with her to look over Marcus’ shoulder at the finds upon the feed.

Jacques escapes Élodie’s clutch and starts to flit back and forth, checking between the painting and the feed with a mild look of confusion on his face, “This is preposterous. Why have they done the signature in a different medium to the one used to paint it? It’s almost like they want to be caught.”

“It looks like it has been lacerated by a needle,” Marcus scratches at his patchy beard in astonishment, “Spot on Jacques, it’s like they can’t even be bothered to hide their tracks.”

“Ok, I think we may have found one of our fakes,” a smile slowly creeps across your face, “Obviously, we can’t be definite -there are still so many tests that need to be done but I don’t think this is an original,” you shake your head with a half smile, “Élodie, I think we need to organise for this to be couriered back to the labs.”

An excited squeal from Élodie and a soft oof from Jacques puncture the cool air as she flies into his arms, squeezing him in sheer delight. As the pair embrace with joy, you and Marcus are left there- Marcus on the fold out chair, gripping the iPad tighter than necessary- I swear that man never quite knows what do with his hands- and you sitting cross legged on the floor with the stereomicroscope lying in your lap- grinning like idiots at each other.

✪✪✪✪✪

More coffee and cakes are devoured in the aftermath whilst you await a courier to come and pick up the likely forgery- you are not entirely sure that the blood in your body hasn’t entirely transformed into sugar and caffeine at this point. After checking alongside Élodie that the painting had been carefully loaded into a van, you sit next to her on the pavement outside the auction house.

“Do you know where Marcus and Jacques are?” you question as you sink onto the dusty ground next to her.

“Yeah, they’re inside taking an informal statement from the auction house owner before the local police quiz her properly,” Élodie rests her temple to your shoulder, “Today has been wonderful. I really like Marcus - from what I have seen of him. I think this will be a good move for you.”

“I do miss having you here though. Today feels like the first time I have had both of my arms. Since you returned to London, it has felt like a part of me has been missing.”

Hauling a deep breath into your lungs to try to quell that gnawing ache in your belly, you turn to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, “I am sorry, El. To be honest, I don’t even know where to start explaining what happened or even truly understand how everything fell apart so badly.”

The mountain wind decides to blow an icy gust that cuts through your clothes to the bones of you, “It was a normal undercover job- we’d been watching the comings and goings of the gang from a inside a local greasy spoon for ages-just trying to get a clear idea of what their patterns of behaviour were and it just all went South so quickly.

“Being a tiny caff on an industrial estate by the Thames, it was open 24 hours and the day it happened, it was during the middle of a night shift when the gang decided to up the ante. They’d obviously clocked that we weren’t exactly who we said we were,” you snort softly at the memory, “I mean Jas’ accent was a bit sus for being a short order cook but still.

“The gang openly marched the illegal immigrants out of the container and made them kneel in front of the caff as a lure to us, trying to get us to drop our cover. These fucking innocents just trying to find a better life and the evil fuckers just started executing them- one after the other. Jas just ran out there straight away- dropping his cover without any proper back up, a flak jacket or anything. His stupid, kind self trying to save at least one of them without a backward glance.

“I said the code word so we could have armed back up within minutes but I knew it wouldn’t be there quickly enough,” your voice starts to falter as your throat tightens over the words.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, chouchou,” Élodie squeezes the thigh nearest to her.

“I know but I should tell someone, somewhen. You’re probably one of the few who would understand.”

You pause, squeezing your eyes tight shut as you allow that stagnant, putrid box of memories to reopen, flooding your senses with the foul gangrenous smell of the past.

Having called in backup, you make the decision to slip out of the back door of the caff and run for cover behind the large communal bins. The incessant rain was giving zero sign of stopping and the noise was deafening as it bounced off the metal sides and drummed upon the tarmacked surface. You could barely hear the desperate negotiations that Jasper was trying to make for the lives of these poor, exploited humans.

From here, hiding amongst the shadows, you could catch the eye of one of the kneeling men and signal to him as to when he should try to make a run over to you. He’d reached his little finger out to the person to his right to alert them to the plan. Achingly slowly, tiny gestures had passed down the line of five remaining fellows, from person to person, notifying them of your presence and how you were attempting to save them.

You counted them down and then screamed for them to run. Gunshots rang throughout the air as they made a break for the supposed safety of the bins by you as blue lights and sirens swirled, announcing their arrival between the shipping containers. You counted them as they ran for their lives past you.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

But the gunshots…

Jasper.

As you ran to your former partner’s lifeless form, three more shots rang through the air, taking out the associates who’d been ruthlessly gunning down their illegal chattel. Jasper lay there in the harsh headlight of the armed response unit car, his apron and chef’s jacket were no longer the starchy white that glowed under the strip lighting of the kitchen but his skin had taken on a similar pallid tone as his life force pooled around him, staining the oily surface with a bloody bloom. Knelt there with the grit from the floor biting into the skin of your knees, you held his head in your lap, stroking his cold cheek as a shadow cast across you both.

“He’s gone, Nush.”

Tears course down your face in tiny rivulets and spill into Élodie’s hair, “If I had said yes at Fourvière. If I had accepted the position St Vincent had offered me, he’d still be here. He would still be here.”

After putting a hand on each cheek, Élodie then taps you upon the nose making your red-rimmed, watery eyes look into hers, “You didn’t shoot the gun. You didn’t kill him,” she says so matter of fact that you almost feel an inclination to believe her, “You have to stop blaming yourself at some point.”

“He made the decision to go out there without back up or any protection. If I remember correctly, it was Jas’ decision to head back to London too, effectively ending the freedom you had out here,” she adds gravely, “Everyone has to make decisions, Nush. Ours just tend to have more life or death outcomes and remember, the choice you made- you saved five people.

“As for marrying him, you didn’t want to and I don’t know quite how to clearly say this but you don’t have to marry someone because they ask you. Or because you think it’s the right thing to do. You saying no to him, had zero implications in how his life ended,” Élodie smooths a tendril of hair that has escaped your plait behind your ear, “Your relationship didn’t have a true balance because you spent so long trying to hide it- everything feels so much more amplified if you are constantly watching your coattails.”

Rubbing the exhaustion from the onslaught of emotions from your eyes, you turn to face Élodie, “What if that’s it? What if that was my chance of happiness?”

“Okay so you’re now fully in the ridiculous territory, idiot! So bloody naive,” Élodie rolls her eyes and slaps your knee, “ There’s no one person out there- nobody is perfect for you. There are just people who enter your life at different times and there is a certain compatibility…”

“Like you might want to jump their bones,” you giggle through the snot.

“Yep, that definitely helps! But after a while, other stuff comes up and again, you have to make those decisions whether you want to move to the next one or work at the relationship you have,” Élodie says frankly, “ Your first proper grown up relationship wasn’t ever truly allowed to develop into something normal and healthy but please don’t ever think for a second that is all you deserve or will ever get.”

“More happened than just Jasper’s death,” you confide in your ally.

“I know sweetheart. You tell me when you are ready,” Élodie pats your leg, “You will always have Jacques and I here for you. And I reckon Pierre would take you back in a heartbeat if you ever need to escape Marcus, not that I think you will.” You feel a little confused by Élodie’s last statement but don’t have time to swell upon it as the door to the auction house swings open.

Noticing two figures- one wiry and talking rapidly with his hands, the other broad and showing great interest in what the other has to say- walking towards you, you offer Élodie a hand up from your pavement seat. You feel a gentle hand brushing over your bottom and crane your neck to see who it belongs to, “Well, I’d hate for you to make my car any dirtier,” Élodie winks at you.

✪✪✪✪✪

The trip back to Lyon didn’t allow for any more rest for tired eyes against cool car windows. Excited chatter filled the car as between the four of you, you were all busily beavering away from making shouted calls to the science laboratories in Interpol- calling in favours to get your samples tested first- to fingers tapping on screens, flinging emails back to offices trying to inform everyone who needed to know. Although the journey was far longer, it felt as though five minutes had passed from the moment you’d left the auction house- the exhaustion from your disclosure to Élodie giving way to the adrenaline pumping through your veins with the excitement of having found a piece of the puzzle.

Jacques quickly parks in the Interpol car park, where you all pile out of the car, heading back towards the offices. As you walk together, you hear Marcus answer the phone to Andy back in London, filling him in on the events of the day- thankfully leaving out the parts where he’d talked you through a panic attack or accidentally held hands with him.

You didn’t need anyone else in the London offices thinking you were unprofessional. There were enough of those already.

Marcus. So much of the fear has ebbed away about the new role, and in such little time, thanks to your new boss. This straight-speaking American, who makes you speak up and want to stand up a bit taller. For the first time in what felt like forever, work doesn’t feel like a chore to pay the bills for a small, damp flat in South London. It isn’t so much the work as you know that like the back of your hand- it was that feeling of appreciation.

That feeling that someone sees what you can offer and values your contributions- not just as some rookie in an established office but as an equal. You know you are lucky- you get to use all the knowledge from your art history degree (oh how your family had groaned in consternation- doctor or lawyer- those were the proper options. Y’know, a proper career path not something seen as being so wishy-washy) and use it to protect the beauty of art from the shadier underbelly. Not that you could ever explain that part to your mum or her sisters, who just thought you were in some IT job with ridiculous hours.

In fact, it was the first time. You’d worked your way up from being a rookie with Stephens and although you'd got to work in a field with which you had a borderline obsession, you were still always seen as the new kid, even though others came and went after you’d joined and that got a bit wearing, especially when you’d hit your thirties and as you edged ever closer to your forties, it had bordered on the ridiculous.

But Marcus. He didn’t just listen to what you had to say, he positively encouraged you to speak- never expecting you to hold your tongue or wait for the “grown ups” to stop talking.

“Hey, Earth to Anushka,” those ridiculously warm eyes try to call your attention into focus.

“Sorry, heard you on the phone to Andy and took the opportunity to disappear with my thoughts for a bit. It’s been a bit of a day, hasn’t it?” you mutter as the knuckles of your hands almost rub holes in your eye sockets.

“Yeah, I thought we’d find zip on our first check as a team but that was something else,” Marcus nods, pouting his lips in thought, “I honestly thought it was an authentic piece when I found those signatures- just shows how careful we have to be with these crooks.

“You look about ready to collapse- that sleep on the way over, not help? I was about to ask if you fancied grabbing some dinner together but you’re dead on your feet.”

“Didn’t really get much sleep last night. Was kind of dreading what today would bring but,” your hand extends to squeeze Marcus’ forearm, “But you’ve made today far less painful than it could have been.” You feel a warmth creep through you, blooming from the spot where Marcus has placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles upon your skin.

“How about a slow walk back to the hotel, we grab some pizza on the way back and sit and watch Sharknado 4 this evening?” you suggest, still not removing your hand from his arm, ”I need to eat something other than breakfast pastries today.”

“Hmmm, I would say that dinner is the best time for breakfast food but yeah, probably best that we find something a bit more substantial,” Marcus relents reluctantly like a petulant child as Élodie and Jacques turn towards you both.

“Oh, why the sad eyes, Marcus? Has she been mean to you? ” Élodie teases, “We have contacts- we can make her disappear…”

Jacques shoots you a despairing look from under his arched eyebrow. The aching sadness returns in your tummy- you’ve missed them so much and missed out on so many special moments with them, “Oof, hey Nush! This isn’t goodbye- no matter the threats Élodie makes upon your life!”

Élodie leans in to sandwich you between the pair of them, “No, Marcus has given me your phone number and your email address- and he has promised me that even if you don’t respond to my communications, that he will send regular updates.” You look over at Marcus, who sends you a sheepish grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, flashing that goddamn dimple in his right cheek.

“Élodie, are you going upstairs to get everything ready?” Jacques questions his wife, “ There’s only twenty minutes before I need to pick up Xavier from my parents so I’d probably better head off. Can you grab a taxi home afterwards? Nush, I love you and I will see you soon.

“Marcus, it has been a pleasure. I will ensure that all the details are shared with you in London. Let’s keep the lines of communication open between us, oui?” A firm handshake was not the only thing to pass between the men, as Jacques pats Marcus on the back and they wordlessly share a thought, Marcus’ eyes flickering back to you with a small smile.

“Come on, let’s find food and a film before we collapse,” Marcus beckons you towards him with a wave back to Élodie and Jacques before they head off in their respective directions, Élodie’s hand stroking yours as she walks away.

✪✪✪✪✪

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing barefoot outside Marcus’ hotel room door, oddly nervous about knocking. Your hair hangs in waves around your shoulders, still holding some of the twisted kinks that the plaits you wore it in had formed over the course of the day, face scrubbed but you are second guessing your choice of wearing pjs to your new boss’ room. Not that they were in any way indecent- just a good old pair of cotton jammies from M&S and you’d kept your bra on underneath, because not even the worst war criminal deserves to be tortured by the sight of you with your bra off. Just as you were about to head back for a hoodie to perhaps offer an ounce more decency, the door swung open and a slightly surprised look adorns Marcus’ face.

“Hey, I was just about to check where you were. Pizza’s getting cold and you should probably have something warm in your belly that isn’t coffee today!”

“Oh, I was just going to swing back to my room for a hoodie,” you awkwardly mutter in the direction of the deliciously soft looking man, wearing grey joggers and a white t-shirt in front of you.

A small pout crosses Marcus’ lips, “Come on, if you’re chilly, the pizza’ll warm you up but if you’re still cold after eating, you can grab one of mine- that is if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” he checks by lowering his eyes and gently lifting your chin.

Deciding not to keep the pizza waiting, you nod and shuffle past Marcus, the plush carpet deliciously soft underfoot, “I haven’t forgotten that we were halfway through a conversation this morning when El and Jacques arrived to pick us up. You want to tell me why you don’t feel like you are where you feel you should be?” you don’t look at Marcus as you ask him, picking the olives off the top of your pizza.

“I thought you said you like olives?” Marcus questions confusedly as he grabs a slice himself.

“Oh I do, but I’ll eat them afterwards as I like to savour them by themselves,” you giggle at your weird pizza eating habits, “Was that a wish to evade the question? Would you prefer to put on a film?”

“Hah, no! You’re full of quirks, y’know? It’s cute,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Cute?” you raise an eyebrow at this affectionate comment, “Eh, I dunno. I don’t think you can get to almost forty without embracing your quirks at some point.”

“I just hoped that by this point I’d be married with 2.4 kids, a dog and a nice house. Y’know, settled- never taking it for granted, obviously but comfortable with a family,” there’s a flicker of pain that passes through Marcus’ eyes as he speaks and it cuts through you like a knife.

“How on Earth are you not in a long term relationship with a lucky person? From what you’ve shown me over the past two days, you’re kind, considerate and thoughtful- although you should never tease a woman about her supposed snoring,” you pull an ugly face at him, sticking your tongue out and wrinkling your nose to diffuse the tension in his forehead, forcing him to laugh.

“Oh, I was married once and had long term relationships but neither worked out, sadly,” Marcus shrugs, focussing intently on his next pizza slice, “Can’t the same thing be said about you? You’re a beautiful, funny and intelligent woman and although you are a menace to yourself and those around you with a coffee cup in your hands, I don’t get why you haven’t been snapped up.”

Grabbing the pizza box and Marcus’ hand- pulling them both towards your room, you say, “Come with me.”

Thrusting the pizza box towards his hands, you put the keycard in the door and the light flickers to green. Guiding Marcus by the food container through the room to the balcony, you swing the French doors open to be greeted by a stiff Alpine air and the twinkling lights of Lyon spreading towards you.

“As you know from today, I was here in Lyon before. My partner and I were seconded here to work alongside Interpol on an art smuggling case- that’s how I knew El, Jacques, Pierre and everyone else from this morning’s meeting. We weren’t just work partners, we’d been hiding a romantic relationship for just over a decade in London as we knew that our supervisors wouldn’t allow us to continue to work together,” you clear your throat and see a flash of concern from Marcus seeing how much your hands were trembling.

He reaches for your hand with the lightest of touches grazing your ring and little fingers but not letting go.

Drawing a deep breath, you continue, “You see the beautiful cathedral up there- Fourviere?” you catch Marcus giving a gentle nod as he looks in the direction of your hand, the one he’s not holding, “Jasper asked me to marry him up there. And I, um… I said no.” Your eyes guiltily shift to the left after owning up to your shoddy track record.

“I mean, I did love him but I couldn’t offer him what he wanted or needed from life or from me. We’d hidden too long in the shadows and the thought of trying to explain everything to our families, to our friends, to our workplace was just too overwhelming. I had a lot more to lose than him.

“As you said earlier, our work is very much an old boys network and as a mixed race woman against a white man- who’d got his position due to a bit of nepotism as his uncle was our London boss- I stood to lose so much more. I have always had to work harder and to be a more impressive candidate to be taken as seriously as any white man in the room.”

“Had we returned to London as a married couple, there would have been so many unspoken questions about when we would think about having babies so there’d never be a chance of going any higher for me. And although seeing El and Jacques today- they have it so balanced. El was telling me that they split her maternity leave equally and that even now their baby is one, they have flexi working times so although they have such a little one and such intense jobs, they can still be there for bedtimes and neither of them be sidelined. But I know that’s not how it would have worked with us. Jas would have worked full time and I would have been a simmering pot of resentment.”

You notice that despite your confession that Marcus still hasn’t stopped holding your hand and regardless of the evening chill, warmth spreads through you at the thought that you haven’t entirely repulsed him with your actions.

“Where is he now? DId he ask for a transfer when you headed back?” Marcus gently questions.

“He took the ultimate transfer. We were working together undercover and he was shot multiple times trying to save some people from being murdered,” with a small shrug, you take your hand back from Marcus despite the comfort it is bringing you and cover your face. As you do so, he pulls you towards him, holding you tightly into his chest, resting his chin on top of your head.

With a gentle push back from his broad chest but without leaving his arms completely, you tilt your face up at him, “In fact, other than Jas’ death the bitterest pill was me being transferred out of the department. As you can probably imagine, a lot of shit went down after that night and a lot of the blame from it was laid at my door. Whilst it was all happening, I wasn’t allowed to have any contact with work colleagues and of course, your family can only know so much of what’s going on when you follow our line of work.

“So, I spent eight months in a stupid kind of limbo- being paid full whack whilst sitting at home, mourning a man who I’d been with for a quarter of my life but didn’t want to marry.” Shaking your head slowly, you continue, “That’s why I was a bit of a mess today- I kind of dreaded seeing everyone and how they might blame me for everything that happened with Jas.”

“Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart,” with that affectionate nickname confidently trickling from Marcus’ lips, you look up and smile broadly at him, “I am sorry that you went through all that. I have to be honest, as I am a terrible liar- there is a part of me that is glad that our paths have overlapped- I just wish it could be under happier circumstances.”

“No,” you pat him upon his chest, “You don’t get to our age without some kind of baggage and in our occupation, it’s hard for most people to understand our commitment to our job.”

“Hah, you can say that again- that’s what ended my marriage. That and her new partner,” you scrunch your face in consideration of Marcus’ pain, your thumbs rubbing back and forth, “And the failed engagement is what brought me to London- kept seeing her and the man she left me for around the DC offices.”

“Let’s go toast to those ghosts and our converging paths with what will be now a very warm bottle of white wine and cold pizza,” with eyes widening in amusement you smile at him, your hands still on his chest and his hands on your back, “But indoors as it is fucking freezing out here, no matter how pretty it is.”

“Agreed,” Marcus chuckles deeply, moving his hands to rub some warmth back into your arms.

“Just going to grab a hoodie,” you call over your shoulder as you go back into your bedroom. As you rummage through your bag, you miss the flicker of disappointment on Marcus’s face that he wouldn’t get to smell your perfume on his clothes.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Hey,” that beautifully soft baritone meltingly drifted up from the sofa in Marcus’ room, “Comfy now? I hope you don’t mind but I chose Casablanca instead of Sharknado 4.”

As you cross the floor in socked feet to try and thaw them out from your balcony adventure, you shake your head with a lopsided smile, “Not ok,” but to put Marcus’ raised eyebrow at ease, you add, “It’s my favourite - but you’d better have tissues at the ready as it will make me a snotty mess.”

“Already prepared,” he holds a tissue box aloft, “It does the same to me too.”

Instead of sitting at the other end of the sofa, you grab a glass of wine from the table and slide into Marcus’ side- half sitting up, half leaning against him. He reaches over, pulling your head onto his shoulder, stroking your hair away from your face and there you stay, comfortably curled into his side. Not for the hour and three quarters of the film, but until rays of spring sunshine filter through the blinds the following morning.

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