#Pocket Scotty

[blametheeditor]

Voretober Day 7 | Slide

Voretober Prompt List

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If given the opportunity, would you take the chance to go to space and travel the stars? What if the person offering to take you was someone you trusted more than anyone else?

What if that person is no longer entirely human?

MENTIONS OF SOFT VORE

Content Warnings: Soft, non-sexual vore (only mentions for now). Mentions of body horror. Mentions of experimenting on people. Mentions of death and murder, violence. Being trapped against one's will. Dehumanization. Abductions. Cursing. Darker themes/tone

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Scott’s nerves from before slowly begin to creep up as he follows Vincent through the ship, expecting each turn to reveal a room designated for giants. 

It doesn’t come. Not as he’s shown the storage near the kitchen, or when one hallway branches into separate ones, down the left is where two bedrooms are located while to the right sits a medical room. 

It’s definitely bigger than the small hallways the other ship has, with amenities he hadn’t thought about being needed until now. Nothing he’s been shown has been gigantic, however. There is yet to be a single ceiling that stretches taller than the sky or even a room big enough to accommodate such a towering form if they’re curled up. 

And Vincent’s already brought them back to the kitchen. “That’s all this side has to offer.”

This side. They don’t intertwine together, or certain rooms have to be shared between the two sizes. No, they’re completely separated. 

Scott’s shoulders slump in relief at the realization, glad he can’t accidentally run into Vincent while the purple man is giant. The idea of just stumbling out into an area where he can be stepped on or crushed if he isn’t noticed had left him genuinely worried about terrifying ‘what if’ scenarios. 

Now that those are all null and void, Scott feels a lot better about this arrangement. “What about the giant side?” 

Vincent raises an eyebrow. “What about it?” 

Scott hesitates, a little unsure himself about what he wants to ask. “Is it included in the tour?” 

“It can be,” Vincent begins carefully. Looks him up and down for a moment. “Are you up for it, or would you rather get settled in first?’ 

The idea of claiming a room, to establish a sense of normalcy and maybe even take a long nap, it sounds rather tempting. Especially considering the day he’s had, both of them for that matter. He’s exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he’s unsure if jetlag is possible in space. 

Actually, he doesn’t know how many days it’s been since they’ve left Earth. Unsure how many hours there have been between them traveling to the refuel station, to the planet their on now. And all things considered, he doesn’t know how long he’s slept throughout this entire trip. If it’s been just enough or if he’s running on fumes. 

The only problem is he won’t know where Vincent is if he falls asleep now. The purple man will be on the ship and theoretically capable of being found if Scott went searching, but it didn’t escape his notice the fact a control room is missing on this side. Meaning if Vincent wants to pilot, he’ll be on the giant side. 

“I’m up for it,” Scott says. Before his nerves can get the best of him. Before he can think it through completely and realize exactly what he’s agreeing to. “Lead the way.” 

Vincent smiles knowingly but he wisely doesn’t say anything, opting to turn toward a door on the wall across from the kitchen that Scott somehow managed to miss. It opens as he approaches, and then he’s standing to the side in a clear invitation to look. 

Scott accepts it by slowly approaching, stands next to the purple man to peer through the doorway. Sucks in a sharp breath of air at the sight before him. 

It’s an exact replica of the room they’re standing in, complete with the kitchen and a rectangular table set in the middle, but the most significant difference is the fact everything is at a significantly larger scale. One that makes Scott feel a sense of vertigo simply by looking at it, as well as the sense of being absolutely insignificant. 

He sends a look at Vincent waiting for his word. Either for them to continue the tour, or to call it here for now. 

Scott clears his throat. “I-I assume I won’t be trekking to each room.” 

Vincent offers a smile. “You could if you’d really like to, but I was thinking about carrying you.” 

Right, of course. It’d make more sense for a giant to show him around the space made for one. “Okay, uh, yeah. That sounds good.” 

He’s watched for a moment. Then his best friend walks out into the looming space so large objects past a certain distance get a hazy look around them. From one blink and the next, a giant is suddenly kneeling before him. 

Scott has to stop himself from instantly running again, focuses on the fact it’s Vincent casting a shadow over him. Reaching forward with his palm up to set it on the floor a few feet away. 

Oh God, he has to climb into Vincent’s hand. 

“Take your time, Scotty,” rumbles through the air just like it had before, sending a chill down his spine. 

Scott takes a shuttering breath as he takes one step past the doorway. His eyes flicker up to the massive being, dart back down to the hand to make sure it hasn’t moved. Swears he can feel a bead of sweat forming. 

But there’s nothing to be worried about. This is Vincent. His best friend who he trusts to go to space. To keep him safe while on alien planets. Who didn’t so much as jostle the ship as he carried it around. There’s no better person to literally put his life in their hands. 

Those reminders managed to get him to the waiting palm. Scott stops when he sees just how big it truly is, with fingers longer than he is tall, hills of flesh he could lie among and fall asleep. 

That won’t be happening, not with how much his heart is pounding, adrenaline making him more alert than caffeine ever could. It’s still possible though, and that’s terrifying. He wouldn’t even cause much of a hinderance. If Vincent wanted to, he could just add more items to hold because Scott wouldn’t take up any space, or even just slide him off effortlessly. 

It’s not too late. Scott can turn around and run right back through that doorway. Face this another day, or maybe not ever. 

...he’s already here, though. And Vincent’s offering to carry him around. Wouldn’t crowd Scott with objects 3 to 4 times his size. 

He holds his breath in the hope if forcibly calms his heart down before taking a tentative step up onto a middle finger. Lets a puff of air escape when nothing happens as his other leg follows. Has to concentrate to keep his balance as he carefully walks across the entire digit, trying his hardest not to think about just how outmatched he truly is. 

When he finally reaches the palm itself, Scott yelps as the fairly stable ground dips with his weight, causing him to stumble and sink to his knees. 

His first thought is how warm it is. His second thought is pure panic as everything suddenly shakes, unable to do anything except cover his head as he waits for the trembles to settle down. 

It takes a moment, but he recognizes Vincent’s soft laughter, Scott’s head snapping up to see the giant watching him with amusement. 

Scott can’t help himself. “Are you laughing at me?” 

“I am,” his best friend smirks, unashamed. 

“It’s my first time inside a hand!” Scott defends as he carefully uncurls, yelping yet again when he only manages to fall onto his side. Huffs in frustration as his fumbling earns another chuckle.

“That’s why it’s funny,” the giant muses. 

The significantly smaller doesn’t have a dignified response. So instead he gives into the temptation of kicking toward a divot in the skin. “Get on with the tour already.” 

Scott almost immediately regrets his words as the hand responds by beginning to close. The fingers that were once held straight for him to walk over curl inward, forming a wall behind him as the palm forms a bowl. 

Thankfully, everything stops before it turns into a fist, but then it feels like he’s on an elevator as gravity pushes him further into the hand. And then fabric suddenly appears to his right, earning a flinch before he recognizes it as Vincent’s shirt. 

Scott stares straight up. Stares in fearful awe at the sight of his best friend looming directly overhead, the angle making it impossible to see anything except for the bottom of Vincent’s chin. Until the colossal being tilts his head down, giving a smile bigger than Scott’s arms can stretch. 

“How do you feel?” 

Surrounded. Terrified. Absolutely miniscule. “I-I’m okay.” 

Vincent hums, shaking him to his core. “I can put you down whenever you need me to, just say the word.” 

If Scott wanted to say the word then, it’s stollen simply by the giant turning, the action causing enough wind to ruffle his hair and shirt. Then a monumental arm is gesturing toward what’s in front of them. 

“The common areas are the only way to access each side, so if I’m ever on this side you’ll just need to go through the kitchen to find me. The layouts mirror each other, so the bedrooms and medbay are down the right hallway, controls replace where the smaller ship is docked to the left.” 

Scott can’t think of anything except how high above the ground he is, catching a glimpse of it as Vincent slowly walks by the table as he turns right. His attention is then stolen by the fact he can feel every step the giant takes, the hand jostling ever so slightly with each one. It’s not enough he’s in danger of cracking his teeth, but it’s noticeable, another simple thing that effects him even though the person causing it doesn’t even realize. 

“Medbay’s to the left, bedrooms to the right,” tells him Vincent hasn’t noticed Scott is focused on everything but the tour, or he’s purposefully pretending he didn’t. “There may be a few nights I sleep on this side, but I’ll be sure to pick the easiest one for you to reach if you ever need to.” 

That catches Scott’s attention. “You mean it’s safe for me to walk around?” 

“I do. This is as much as yours as it is mine. Even though you can’t grow to match it, you’re always welcome on this side, Scotty,” Vincent says. Makes Scott’s eyes widen as a thumb with the fingerprint the size of his head nudges his legs. “You don’t have to wait for me to carry you around, I’ll always be watching the ground.” 

It’s going to be a long time before Scott ever gets the courage to walk around where a giant roams. It certainly erases the very last bit of worry that had buried itself in the moment Vincent grew, though. The reassurance that he isn’t confined to one area strictly because it’d be safer that way. 

Again, he most likely will never walk through that door without Vincent right beside him or waiting on the other side, but it’s the fact he can choose is what matters. 

As Vincent walks them back through the kitchen toward the control room, Scott decides to finally sit up so he can properly see everything. His movements are slow and jaunting, both from fear of possibility of falling tens of feet to the ground, and from being unfamiliar with the uneven surface the hand provides. 

He manages to gain a better view, though, just in time for Vincent to sit down in the pilot’s chair. 

Scott stares openly at the switches bigger than him and the buttons that most likely couldn’t be pressed even if he jumped on top of them. Looks out the window to see a silver ocean. Realizes with a start they’re still on the same planet. 

“That concludes the tour,” Vincent announces. “Would you like to stay here while I get us back into open space, or take you back to the smaller side?” 

The second option sounds safer. The only problem is Scott’s curious about the first. “Uh, I-I can stay here.” 

Apparently that was the wrong choice. As soon as the words leave his mouth, the hand turns against him. As fingers curl in around him, a short scream rips through his throat, cut off by vertigo as he’s lifted up. 

He can’t see where, can’t see anything. A yell to be let go is lost as the hand opens again to reveal fabric completely surrounding him. Unsure what the giant is planning, Scott lunges for the nearest finger, intent on not letting go until he’s given a reason for being grabbed. 

Somehow, he misses. Shrieks as he slides off the hand and into the fabric that forms a hammock around him. A large hammock that stretches high above his head and impossible to stand in as every attempt is foiled by everything shifting with him. Falls onto his back to stare straight up at the underside of Vincent’s chin. 

Scott tenses as it slowly dawns on him what just transpired. “You did not.” 

“Sorry,” says the clearly not sorry giant. “I couldn’t help myself. A pocket Scotty was too tempting.” 

“Vincent!” 

[loganslowdown4]

This past week my dad got my mom a Scottish Terrier puppy—

So, me being a huge nerd, I took the logical next step…

‘YOU CAN CONJURE PUPPIES????’

[tricorderreading]

Star Trek: Spock Must Die!

Scotty bemoans starfleet uniforms and their shortcomings

[5sospenguinqueen]

Pocket Money | Lance Stroll x Reader

Summary: Since the start of the relationship, fans have been convinced you're only with Lance for his money. When he mentions your future in an interview, they accuse you of trying to baby trap him.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst but mostly just for sadness. Hateful fans.

Female reader with various facelaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

A bit different to the other three.

next.

Main Masterlist

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lancestroll, chloestroll and others

YourUserName lovely london was kind enough to be sunny for me this weekend 🇬🇧

2,385 comments

chloestroll i’m still so jealous that you didn’t take me

→ YourUserName yes but if i had, i’d have spent the entire time trying to stop you from running off with a brit. i doubt scotty would appreciate that

→ scottyjames31 do NOT let her run off with a british man

→ YourUserName make sure you behave yourself then

User1 oh, so she’s on yet another holiday funded by her sweet, naive boyfriend who can’t tell he’s with a gold digger

User2 that’s it sweetheart. post pics of your trip that your boyfriend undoubtedly paid for whilst he’s busy racing all weekend without your support

User3 she’s quite possibly the worst wag. give the role to someone who would enjoy being there

→ User4 it’s not a fucking role, sweetheart. being someone’s fiancée is not a role you play, and i think y/n happens to do an amazing “part”

danielricciardo bring me back some crunchies

→ YourUserName no, i got into trouble last time. your trainer told me that you’re not allowed them

→ danielricciardo boo, you whore

User5 so she’s on yet another weekend away in london the same weekend that lance is racing in jeddah? can she make it anymore obvious that she doesn’t support him?

→ User6 her job means she has to travel a lot - just like lance - so unfortunately she cannot follow him around the world

→ User7 you tell ‘em, honey. y/n is a successful businesswoman but everyone seems to forget that? she makes every race when she can but sometimes she can’t get out of work

→ User8 at the end of the day, their relationship is none of our business

astonmartinf1 missing your face in the paddock this weekend

→ YourUserName i miss you too! although i bet nando is enjoying the peace and quiet

→ astonmartinf1 can neither confirm nor deny but he did mention something about yapping

User9 this is so cute. the way his whole face lights up when he’s asked about/talks about her

User10 not lance revealing that y/n would run away and marry him just to call him her husband

→ User11 yes! but he’s so dedicated to giving her the wedding she wanted since she was a child. these two have my whole entire heart 🥰

User12 ugh, where can i get a lance stroll? the way he loves his fiancee 😍 and not him being desperate to have babies with her

User13 so is this confirmation that y/n is pregnant? like, if he wants a baby in a year, then..?

→ User14 wouldn’t surprise me. if they get married, he can still make her sign a prenup and divorce her without a worry, but a baby would tie him to her for life so she can continue to spend his money

→ User15 okay but i’m with you on this. it’s the best way to ensure she can keep him around in some way because let’s be honest, their relationship doesn’t seem the best

→ User9 what the fuck is wrong with you two. where in that entire interview were you getting the impression their relationship is on the rocks? he’s literally planning an entire life with her???

→ User15 yeah and where is she? unbothered in london. she’s only with him for the money and that’s the only reason why they’re engaged.

→ User13 they’re engaged because they love each other! he’s also the one who said he wants her to have his children so he can keep her home????

→ User14 no they’re engaged because for some reason, he’s infatuated with her and she’s only using him, and she’s clearly tricked him into wanting children without realising that’s further entrapment

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YourBrother just posted

liked by danielricciardo, yourbestfriend and others

YourBrother when sprout takes time out of her busy life to visit, Nonna cooks a whole feast (can you tell who the favourite is) tagged: YourUserName

879 comments

YourCousin the only reason we look forward to y/n coming home is because nonna feeds us GOOD

→ YourCousin2 agreed, nothing to do with us missing y/n at all

→ YourUserName this is why i left 😂😭

User1 anyone else find it odd that she’s in a different country again on race weekend? i mean, i know her and lance were still a couple last month but i’m starting to wonder if that’s changed

→ User2 she’s also not been active on socials despite that being part of her job description?

→ User3 can you blame her when everyone constantly hates on her

→ User4 being on media isn’t part of her job, she just liked to share her adventures with us and some of you arseholes ruined that.

User5 oh my gosh, her parents are so cute together. i want to be like that when i’m older

→ User6 and her brother and SIL curled up in the chair together. this family really do produce the cutest couples

→ User7 looks like the only absent spouse is lance :(

→ User8 um because he’s currently in china? he has more important things to be doing??

User9 i love that her brother's first idea to cheer her up is to give her beer

→ User10 well, at least we know she’s not pregnant currently

→ User11 thank god. we know lance is free from her in that aspect

→ User9 seriously? making these comments on twitter wasn't bad enough, you people are actually commenting on her BROTHER’s instagram

(Comments have been disabled for this post)

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astonmartinf1 just posted

liked by estebanocon, YourUserName and others

astonmartinf1 our first race back in shanghai sees a p7 finish for fernando with the fastest lap. lance comes home in p15 after contact earlier in the race

1,443 comments

User12 literally give the seat to anyone other than lance stroll please

User13 can we all stop hating on lance, please? it was an accident, they happen

User14 not him blaming danny ric. sweetie, the car has brakes for a reason

User15 danny ric was fuming but also seemed like he was trying not to be

→ User16 no literally. it was like he was trying not to say something but in one interview slipped up and said that lance has been really distracted due to issues at home

→ User17 i saw that! and the way he ran away after like ‘oo the team is calling me’

→ User18 are we smelling a breakup?

User19 i personally think lance stroll shouldn’t be in f1 but can we take a moment to think that whilst it was really bad driving, he’s not been himself lately? he looks really sad in all the media things

→ User20 literally, like he’s constantly coming under hate for his fiancée, and then she hasn’t been to any races recently and he’s not talked about wedding planning once. this is the man who was telling everyone about his wedding even if they didn’t ask

→ User1 maybe he realised that his girlfriend was a gold digging bitch

→ User2 literally. he talked about having children with her and then realised that meant she’d never leave

→ User3 you people are actually crazy. how do you turn a man talking about wanting children into the woman he loves trying to baby trap him? y/n has never talked about wanting kids

→ User4 this. like i definitely think they’ve broken up but for all we know, it could be that lance was talking about children and y/n realised she wasn’t ready/didn’t want them.

User5 can’t believe people are still running the baby narrative. we know nothing about their relationship because they’re quite a private couple - and after this, we can see why - and yet people have somehow created a whole drama about babies from nothing

User6 i know lance is one of the more private f1 drivers but i really think he needs to comment on this? the amount of hate y/n is getting is insane and shouldn’t be ignored

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YourUserName just posted

liked by estebanocon, danielricciardo and others

YourUserName the view from my office is better than yours. sorry, not sorry

863 comments

BestFriend i’m looking for a woman in finance, trust fund

→ YourUserName you know you’re welcome to my trust fund anytime

→ BestFriend the best sugar mommy i’ve ever had

YourBrother congratulations on your promotion, shithead. one step away from ceo!

User7 wait why did no one tell me she was running a company?

→ User8 babe, we’ve been telling you bitches this from the start! but none of you listened

chloestroll congratulations, business barbie 💕

→ YourUserName thank you, music barbie 🤍

→ User3 so chloe is still here? does that mean we’re still getting a wedding

→ User9 idk. lance isn’t in the likes..?

→ User10 @ chloestroll please tell us what you know. Some of us are rooting for them to end up together

User11 so she goes radio silent for three months just to come back and pretend like she has a job? nothing about the man she supposedly loves?

→ User12 seems shady to me. you got caught out for being a gold digger so now you’re going to act like you actually go to work?

→ User13 i really hate people like you

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Baby Fever Angst Series

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@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @elijahslover @gaypoetsblog @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @raizelchrysanderoctavius @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @dullypully @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @leclercsluvs @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane

[hederasgarden]

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst.  A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test. 

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field. 

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be. 

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge. 

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you. 

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels. 

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs. 

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle. 

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you. 

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections. 

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you. 

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.” 

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his. 

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?” 

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight. 

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.” 

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you. 

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good. 

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless. 

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts. 

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. 

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves. 

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. 

Then you blink and he’s gone. 

♡

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[ohsotwistedideas]

a pocketful of recommendations! ｡･:*˚:✧｡

a/n : hi !! as a fellow reader, i thought i would finally make a list full of recommendations. it's what these writers deserve <3 these are some of my favourite works, which include fluff, smut and angst!

this is an 18+ blog, mdni please!

aaron hotchner :

anything by @ssahotchnerr and @hotchfiles (absolutely love the way they write him)

all of @solardrop's works!! they're excellent <3 as well as @kimstills's fics: blame ; crazy ; savor (some favourites!)

@cerisereids series we can't be friends (wait for your love) chef's kiss truly!!

@basketonthedoorstepofthefbi: this two-part story, that i cannot stop thinking about and constantly reread <3<3<3<3 (to be fair all of jamie's works are a must-read)

@louvaine: midnights

@lauriegraham01: close to you

@honeypiehotchner: juno ; sleepy

@hotchscoffeecup : two part series : stuck + unstuck !!

@boneblushed: ignorance by infatuation

@moonlightspencie: solace

@hotchner-edu: eyes don't lie

@cxrrodedcoffin: don't call me kid

@mariasont: marked territory

spencer reid :

anything by @nereidprinc3ss, she just gets him!!

@street-smarts00: weirdest place

@raekensluver: second to none

this cute drabble by @street-smarts00.

@parfaitblogs: false god

@dr-spencer-reids-queen: love drunk

the behind closed doors series by @incognit0slut !!

@cerisereids: please don't have somebody waiting on you + all of her other works, they're excellent <3

@pathologicalreid writes him so well !! red flags is a favourite of mine!

@avis-writeshq: off my face

stiles stilinski :

@murdrdocs: torn at the seams

@itsjustrosee: worried sick

the don't tell scotty series by @strangerstilinski <3 also recommend all of her other works !!

steve harrington :

anything by @forevermoreharrington !! <3

rafe cameron :

i am a sucker (and truther) for soft! rafe <3

@forevermoreharrington: dancing with our hands tied; i think you're everything i've wanted

one of the best fics i've read is only on wattpad: old money.

others :

@luveline writes for most of the aforementioned characters (and more) and i cannot recommend her writing enough, an absolute joy to read her works!!

@mariasont has a really fun series with reader x aaron and x reid !!

I will be updating this list! <3 happy reading!!

[jezebelblues]

don’t care if the sun don’t shine | h.s

summary: and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

cw: mentions of smut, fem!reader, 1950s harry, unedited.

word count: approx 17.1k

| when in doubt, 1950s harry au 😎 am not time traveler or historian so sorry if smthn is wrong. also there’s just little hints of smut sprinkled in here, wanted to try 2 give a longer piece w/o it. hope u can enjoy maybe. also too tired to edit love u (so if u see smthn horribly misspelt or wtv, no u didn’t)

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

April 1957, London

The rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the wide windows of Scotty McBean’s, the droplets weaving an intricate dance down the glass. Outside, the world was an impressionist’s canvas—blurred shades of grey, muted by mist and the rhythmic splash of tires through puddles. Inside, however, the café was a sanctuary. The warm amber glow of old Edison bulbs bathed everything in a golden light, casting long shadows that flickered with each movement. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint trace of damp wool coats, and the creak of wooden floors added to the atmosphere.

The coffee shop was a comforting contradiction—a place where time felt slower. The brick exterior gave way to rich oak paneling, with walls painted the color of soft sunshine. Espresso-colored floors groaned underfoot, and canary-yellow booths invited patrons to sit and forget the outside world. Old black-and-white photographs of singers—Elvis, Ella Fitzgerald—were pinned to the walls, their faces capturing fleeting moments of immortality. In the back, a narrow stairwell led to the owner’s apartment above, barely noticeable to most patrons.

In the farthest corner, away from the windows, sat Harry Styles, his back to the room, shoulders slightly hunched. He was an enigma in a leather jacket that looked as though it had traveled farther than he ever could. His head was bent over a notebook, its pages filled with hasty scrawls and incomplete lyrics. His curls, damp from the drizzle outside, fell into his eyes as he stared at the paper, his pen tracing aimless circles in the margins. The world had yet to catch up with him in this quiet pocket of London, where anonymity still hung in the air like the smell of freshly cut, wet grass.

The jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing a scratchy rendition of a jazz tune, though Harry barely registered it. The music was always there, surrounding him, but today it eluded him. The words wouldn’t come, and the rain outside seemed to pull him further into himself. With a sigh, he swirled the last of his coffee, watching the dark liquid spin lazily before he pushed the cup aside, his frustration beginning to creep in.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as YN entered, shaking the rain from her coat before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She barely glanced around the room, her focus already on her worn paperback novel, a sanctuary from the drudgery of her seamstress shifts. Scotty’s had become her escape, a place where she could lose herself for an hour or two, watching the rain smear the world outside into something distant and irrelevant.

Harry stood up abruptly, the sound of the stool scraping against the floor breaking YN’s concentration. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the figure of the man across the room. His presence was striking in a subtle way—the tousled hair, the red button-up shirt half undone, revealing tattoos that peeked out just below the collarbones. He had an air of casual disarray, like someone who hadn’t yet figured out where they were supposed to be but didn’t mind the journey. His black slacks were cuffed just above the ankle, exposing powder-blue socks and scuffed loafers.

He moved with a kind of restless energy, as though he was eager to be anywhere but here. Harry shoved his notebook into his back pocket and tossed a few bills on the table, offering a brief nod to the barista before he pushed through the door, the sound of rain enveloping him the moment he stepped outside. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind him.

From her seat by the window, YN watched as his figure disappeared into the misty street. Her gaze fell to his chair and the jacket draped over the back. The leather was worn, cracked in places, and heavy with the stories it must have carried. For a moment, she considered leaving it there, assuming he’d return. But something about the way it hung—forgotten, abandoned—made her stand up. She crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, and lifted the jacket from the chair, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Peering out the window, she saw him, just a shadow now, walking briskly down the street. The mist clung to him like a shroud, blurring the edges of his figure as he moved further away. Without thinking, she pushed through the door, the cool air biting at her cheeks as she hurried after him, the jacket clutched tightly in her arms.

“Excuse me!” she called, her voice slightly breathless as she jogged to catch up with him. “You forgot something!”

Harry stopped, turning on his heel, his brow furrowed in brief confusion. His eyes landed on the jacket in her arms, and a slow smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness in his expression. He walked back toward her, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the distant roll of thunder on a quiet evening.

For a brief moment, their hands brushed as he took the jacket from her. The leather was cold from the rain, but her touch had left a trace of warmth. He pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as if it had never left. “Can’t believe I almost left that behind,” he mused, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Must’ve been distracted.”

“No worries.” She shook her head, her smile growing a little as she handed it over. “I figured a jacket like that must belong to someone important—or at least someone who thinks they are.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Important, huh? I wouldn’t go that far.”

There was a moment of quiet as YN watched him, intrigued by the easy way he carried himself, like he was used to being on his own, used to being somewhere and nowhere all at once.

“Well, thanks again.” Harry nodded toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She chuckled breathily, stepping back slightly, ready to let him go on his way. “Just thought I’d return it before you left it behind for good.”

Before she could turn to walk away, Harry’s voice caught her attention. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “I should probably buy you a coffee as a thank you. Seems only fair.”

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned then, walking away with a casual wave, her shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. “But maybe next time.”

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the mist. A smile still lingered on his lips as he tucked his hands back into his pockets and continued on his way, the weight of the jacket a comforting reminder of the brief encounter.

And yet, as the rain continued to fall, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—someone—had just slipped through his fingers.

A week passed, and London remained draped in its usual veil of rain. The days blurred into one another as spring fought to emerge from beneath the clouds, the city waking slowly from the cold grip of winter. The air had a softness now, a kind of unspoken promise that something brighter was on the horizon, even if it wasn’t quite ready to reveal itself.

Scotty’s was much the same. The familiar hum of conversation, the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of a tune crackling through the jukebox. But today, something lingered in the atmosphere—an anticipation, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for a subtle shift.

Harry found himself back at the café, though he wasn’t sure why. The lyrics had begun to flow again, slowly at first, but with a rhythm he could almost grasp. The pages of his notebook were no longer blank, though they still felt incomplete. He had made peace with that; creation was a process, after all. He sipped his coffee, black as always, staring through the rain-streaked window at the blurred shapes of pedestrians rushing by, umbrellas bobbing like ink stains against the grey.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, though the thought of her had lingered more than he cared to admit. The girl with the kind eyes and a smile that danced at the edges of her lips. He couldn’t recall the exact shape of her face, but the impression she left—like the trace of warmth her touch had left on his jacket—remained vivid. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had shifted something in him.

Across the room, the door chimed softly, admitting a gust of cool, damp air as it opened. Harry didn’t look up at first, too lost in the quiet cadence of his thoughts. But then, a familiar voice, muffled by the bustle, drifted over the sound of rain and soft rock n roll. His gaze lifted almost involuntarily, and there she was—her coat still damp from the street, strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she unwound her scarf and shook off the cold.

YN moved to her usual seat by the window, her eyes flicking to the rain-soaked cityscape beyond, unaware of the gaze that had settled on her. She seemed tired, as if the week had worn her down, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she sat, her worn paperback already in hand. The café felt like a different place with her in it—warmer somehow, despite the chill from outside.

He hesitated. There was no reason for him to approach her. She had her book, her own sanctuary. But something tugged at him, a quiet nudge that whispered of unfinished business. He didn’t believe in fate, not really, but perhaps in coincidences that demanded attention.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood, his leather jacket creaking softly as he slung it over his shoulders. He crossed the café in a few strides, the wooden floors groaning beneath his weight, and paused at her table, casting a shadow over the page of her book.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, as if he, too, was wary of disturbing the delicate balance of the moment.

YN glanced up, startled at first, but recognition quickly softened her expression. Her eyes flicked to the jacket—the same one she had returned to him just days ago—and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, if it isn’t mr. forget-me-nots.” She grinned, closing her book and gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead.”

He sat, the silence between them stretching out in an oddly comfortable way. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no rush.

“I never did buy you that coffee,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually in his lap. “Thought I might owe you one.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the ambient music, smooth and warm. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

He motioned to the barista, ordering two coffees without asking her preference. Somehow, he sensed they would drink the same. The brief exchange felt easy, natural, as if they were old acquaintances rather than strangers bound by a single, fleeting encounter.

“So,” she said after a pause, studying him with a curious glint in her eye, “you still distracted?”

“Always.” Harry replied with a grin, running a hand through his damp curls. “Though less so, lately.”

The coffees arrived, and they both reached for their cups at the same time, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the touch lingered a moment longer, neither of them pulling away too quickly.

For a while, they talked about nothing—music, the rain, the oddities of London in spring. She told him about a film she’d seen at the Odeon, describing the way the characters had seemed to glow against the shadows of post-war England, and he listened with an attentiveness that surprised even him. He didn’t talk much about his music—he didn’t need to. The conversation flowed around it, like a river bending around an unseen stone.

The light in the café shifted as the afternoon stretched into evening, the golden glow deepening, casting their features in warm, soft hues. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a slick sheen on the streets outside, reflecting the world like a forgotten dream.

As they finished their second cups of coffee, Harry glanced out the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur into streaks of color. “Do you come here often?” he asked, the question simply, but laced with more than casual curiosity.

YN smiled, folding her hands around her empty cup. “When I can. It’s nice to escape for a bit, to be somewhere where the world slows down, even if just for an hour.”

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Silence settled between them again, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things. The day was fading, and yet neither of them seemed eager to leave, as if this small corner of the world—this small moment—was theirs to hold for a little longer.

“Maybe I’ll see you again.” She mumbled softly, though it stood more of a question. Her eyes caught his for a lingering moment before she stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she turned to leave, her steps quiet against the floor.

The bell above the door chimed as she walked out into the fading light, her figure disappearing once again into the misty streets. This time, Harry didn’t feel like anything had slipped away. Instead, there was a quiet certainty that hung in the air, like the last note of a song, waiting to be played again.

Another week later, the rain returned, draping the city in its familiar haze, washing the streets in muted shades of silver and grey. The city hummed beneath its damp blanket, alive with the quiet energy of a world that never truly stopped moving. The coffee shop was once again a refuge, its amber light glowing through the mist like a beacon for those seeking warmth and a momentary escape from the relentless rhythm of the outside.

Harry found himself at his usual spot, though this time there was less of the restless energy that had consumed him in previous weeks. He still wore the same jacket—weathered and worn, but it had grown more comfortable on his shoulders, like it had settled into him, just as he had begun to settle into the slow, steady rhythm of the café. His notebook lay open on the table, but today, he wasn’t scribbling hurried lyrics or fragments of thought. He was simply sitting, watching the rain trickle down the glass, feeling the weight of time slow around him.

He hadn’t seen her again since their last meeting, but the memory of their conversation lingered in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t quite forget. There had been something unspoken between them, something delicate and unfinished, and though they had parted ways without exchanging names, without exchanging promises, there was an unshakable feeling that their story wasn’t over.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, and Harry’s gaze flicked up instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. There she was.

She stood in the doorway, shaking the rain from her hair, her coat damp and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the space between them thick with the unspoken familiarity that had formed in their brief encounters. She smiled—soft and almost tentative—as if she, too, was unsure of what came next but willing to find out.

Without hesitation, YN made her way toward him, and Harry, unable to help himself, stood up as she approached. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, her presence shifting the air in the room, drawing his attention in a way that felt effortless and natural.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, her fingers tugging lightly at the edges of her scarf.

“Not at all.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the soft sounds of Scotty’s filling the comfortable silence between them. Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting everything in a shimmering, dreamlike quality.

“Seems we keep running into each other,” YN said, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“London’s smaller than it looks.” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting with a quiet amusement. “Or maybe we just keep ending up in the same places.”

Their coffees arrived soon after, and for a while, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sip and the comfortable pauses that stretched between them. They talked about everything and nothing—books, music, the rain, the way the city seemed to transform under its misty veil. Harry found himself listening more than he spoke, captivated by the way she described the world around her, as if she saw it through a lens just slightly different from his own.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” YN said after a moment, her fingers tracing absentminded circles around the rim of her cup, “that some places just hold memories? Like they’re waiting for something to happen, or maybe they already have, and we’re just walking through it.”

He considered her words, though they were random—watching the way the light flickered across her face, casting delicate shadows that danced with each subtle movement. “Yeah.” He murmured, nodding. “I get that. Sometimes I think the city’s like that. Full of moments we’ll never really understand, but we’re part of them anyway.”

She looked at him then, her gaze holding his for a beat longer than usual, something unspoken passing between them. The rain outside seemed to soften, the world outside the window fading into a blur of greys and soft edges, leaving only the two of them in this small, golden-lit corner of the café.

“Do you come here to write?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to the notebook resting on the table between them.

Harry glanced down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. When the words come.”

“And when they don’t?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tone gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

“When they don’t..” He paused, “I just sit here and pretend like they will.” He said with a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit and watch the world go by.”

She nodded, understanding the sentiment in a way that didn’t need further explanation. They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The café seemed to breathe around them, the soft murmur of conversations, the faint clink of dishes being cleared away, the rain that had begun to fall harder now, tapping insistently against the window.

“So,” Harry said after a while, his voice soft but playful, “are we going to keep pretending we don’t know each other’s names? Or is this going to be a thing?”

YN’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling. “I kind of liked the mystery,” she teased. “But I suppose we’ve gone long enough, haven’t we?”

He grinned, extending his hand across the table. “Harry.”

She took his hand, her grip firm and warm, her smile never wavering. “YN.”

There it was—a name, a simple exchange that felt like the opening of a door they had both been circling around for days. Harry’s fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before they let go, and with it, the air between them seemed to shift, something unspoken settling into place.

“I suppose now we can talk about more interesting things.” YN chuckled, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something more open, more curious.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and full of quiet promise. “I think we’ve got time for that.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows of Scotty’s with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Inside, the café seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations fading into a soft murmur in the background. It was as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only the golden warmth of their table, the soft glow from the Edison bulbs overhead casting a flickering light over their faces.

Harry rested his chin on his hand, his eyes tracing her features as she spoke, but this time, he wasn’t just listening to her words. He was watching the way her lips curved when she smiled, the faint crease at the corner of her eyes when something amused her. She had a way of speaking that was unhurried, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid of silences. He liked that. It made the conversation feel richer, like they were both taking their time to truly settle into it.

“So,” YN grinned, leaning forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with a new kind of curiosity, “I know we’re past the point of mystery now, but I can’t help but wonder—what do you do, Harry? Besides sitting in cafés, pretending to write.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, but underneath it, genuine intrigue.

Harry smiled, glancing down at his notebook for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “I suppose y’could say I write. Music, mostly. Or at least, I try to. Been doing it for a while now, but some days..well, it’s more like staring at blank pages and hoping the words will show up.”

Her brow arched slightly, the teasing smile still in place. “A musician, huh? That explains the jacket, I think.”

Harry laughed, a low, easy sound. “What, this old thing?” He tugged at the sleeve of his worn leather jacket. “Yeah, it’s seen a few gigs. I guess it’s part of the look.”

“Fits,” she said, her gaze drifting over the jacket before meeting his eyes again. “You seem like someone who carries a lot of stories around.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I think we all do. We just don’t always share them.”

YN looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her cup. “I like that,” she said softly. “The idea that we’re all carrying our own stories, waiting for the right moment to tell them.”

They sat in that shared moment of understanding, the rain a constant, steady beat in the background, as if the city itself was nodding along to their conversation. The café felt like a world apart, and in the dim light, their words felt heavier, more significant.

“What about you?” Harry asked, leaning in a little, his voice dropping slightly as though the question required a quieter space between them. “What’s your story, YN?”

She smiled, though there was a slight hesitation in it, as if the question had tugged at something deeper than she’d expected. She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the rain dance down the glass, before returning her gaze to him. “Nothing as glamorous as writing music, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m a seamstress. Spend most of my days with fabric and thread, stitching things together.” She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her cup. “But I suppose, in a way, it’s similar. Trying to create something from nothing. Trying to make something that lasts.”

Harry’s smile softened as he listened. There was something in the way she said it—a quiet pride, though she seemed to downplay it. “Sounds like you do more than stitch things together,” he said gently. “Sounds like you’re an artist.”

YN’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or a kind of recognition she hadn’t expected to find in someone she had met only weeks ago. She tilted her head slightly, considering him in a new light. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we both are.”

The weather outside eased, as though it too was settling into the rhythm of their conversation, content to simply fall, uninterrupted. For a long moment, they said nothing, but there was no need for words. The connection between them had deepened, a quiet understanding of two people who had lived different lives but were somehow walking along the same path, at least for now.

As the café began to empty and the light outside faded into a deeper shade of grey, YN glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing and gathering her things. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Harry stood as well, though he made no move to rush her. “Same time next week?” he asked, though it sounded more like a pleas. His voice was hopeful, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

She paused, her eyes meeting his, a smile spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “We’ll see if the rain brings us back together.”

He watched as she walked toward the door, the soft jingle of the bell marking her departure. But as she reached the threshold, she turned back, her eyes catching his in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, her voice soft and clear.

“Goodnight, YN,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared into the misty streets, the rain swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of the café a comforting weight around him, though the space felt a little emptier now that she was gone. He knew they’d see each other again—there was something inevitable about it, something like the rain itself. It came and went, but it always returned, steady and certain.

And as he sat back down at the table, his notebook still open in front of him, the words finally began to come, slow and steady, like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell.

The rain had finally lifted. After weeks of mist and drizzle, London began to stir under clearer skies, the clouds pulling apart like curtains to reveal a softer light. The city, for the first time in what felt like ages, glimmered under the hesitant warmth of spring. It was the kind of day that made people walk a little slower, tilt their faces up to the sun as if to remind themselves that it still existed. The air smelled clean, almost sweet, with the faint scent of budding flowers lingering along the sidewalks.

Harry stood on the corner near the shop, the light wind catching the edges of his shirt. Today, the jacket that had become a kind of signature, was left at home. He wore only a white t-shirt and a worn pair of denim jeans. There was something almost unfamiliar about the city bathed in this kind of light, as though London itself wasn’t quite sure how to behave without the constant mist of rain.

The café came into view, its windows still streaked with the remnants of the last downpour, though the golden light streaming through them made the place look brighter, more inviting. As Harry crossed the street, his shoes tapping against the dry pavement, he found himself wondering if she’d be there. It wasn’t something they had agreed upon exactly—just a suggestion, a possibility—but he’d found himself coming back, waiting. Hoping.

He pushed open the door to Scotty’s, the familiar chime of the bell greeting him, and for a moment, he felt the comforting weight of routine. The café was quieter than usual, the absence of rain having drawn more people outdoors to bask in the fleeting sunshine. He glanced around the room, his eyes naturally drawn to the corner booth by the window, where he had come to expect her.

And there she was.

YN sat in her usual seat, her coat draped over the back of the chair, a book open in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t lost in the pages. She was looking out the window, her face tilted toward the sunlight, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of her book. The light caught the edges of her hair, making it glow in a way that was almost ethereal, and for a moment, Harry just stood there, watching her, struck by the quiet beauty of the scene.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, her gaze lost in the world outside the window, where people strolled along the sunlit streets, their faces bright with the unexpected warmth of the day. But then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

A smile flickered across her face, slow and soft, like the unfolding of a secret. Harry felt his own lips curve in response, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding loosening as he made his way over to her.

“Sunny days suit you.” He smiled, his way of greeting as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Do they?” YN asked, her smile growing as she closed her book and set it aside. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Harry laughed, the sound light in the quiet café. “Yeah, City’s not exactly known for its sunny days. But it’s nice to finally see it, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting out the window again. “It feels different today. Like it’s waking up after a long sleep.”

“It does,” he agreed, following her gaze to the street outside, where the light seemed to bounce off the buildings, painting everything in a golden hue. “I almost didn’t recognize it without the rain.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the novelty of the sunshine filtering through the café’s windows, casting long, lazy shadows on the floor. The warmth felt new, like a gift they hadn’t quite expected, and it seemed to slow everything down, stretching the minutes into something more luxurious, more tender.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your jacket.” YN teased, her eyes flicking to white shirt that allowed for his tattoos to faintly peak through. “You look like you’re finally thawing out.”

Harry grinned, shrugging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Spring does strange things to people.”

YN smiled at that, her eyes catching the sunlight as it danced across the table. “Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the world reminding us there’s more to life than waiting out the rain.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between them, their meaning sinking deeper than the lighthearted tone in which they were said. There was something about her that pulled him in, something beyond the casual conversations they’d had over coffee. She spoke with a quiet wisdom, as if she saw the world in a way that others missed, catching the subtleties in moments that most people let slip by.

“I like that,” he said softly. “I like the idea that there’s more.”

Their coffees arrived, interrupting the moment, and for a while, they settled into an easy rhythm—sipping, talking, the light stretching across the table as the day moved forward. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, but today it felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of grey skies and rain-soaked streets. They laughed more, their words lifting with the warmth of the sun, as if the change in weather had loosened something in both of them.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come back for your jacket?” YN asked suddenly, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “If you’d just walked away that day?”

He smiled, the memory of their first encounter flickering in his mind. “I’d probably still be wandering around, writing terrible songs and cursing the rain.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and Harry couldn’t help but join in, the warmth of it filling the space between them. But as their laughter faded, he looked at her more seriously, his gaze soft but steady.

“I’m glad I came back,” he said quietly, his voice low. “It feels like everything’s been a little brighter since then.”

YN met his eyes, her own expression softening, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just as quiet. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the café, the golden light lingered, wrapping around them like something tangible. There was a new kind of warmth between them now, one that wasn’t just about the weather.

It felt like the beginning of something more, something that had been waiting for the sun to finally come out.

As the day slowly gave way to evening, neither of them moved, content to stay in this moment a little longer, their hands resting on the table, close but not quite touching, as if they were waiting for the right time to close the distance.

And for the first time in weeks, Harry wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The clink of cups and low murmur of conversations filled the café, but in this corner, it felt as though the world had slowed just for them.

Then, the bell above the door jingled, followed by a burst of energy as a group of teenage girls entered the café, their school uniforms slightly rumpled after a long day of lessons. Their chatter filled the air—laughter, the soft rustle of notebooks, and the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the counter. They looked like they were regulars here, perhaps stopping by for a post-school treat, the brightness of their presence contrasting with the calm, almost serene mood of the café.

At first, he barely noticed them, his attention still on YN. But then, one of the girls, no more than sixteen, froze in place, her eyes wide as they landed on him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nudged her friend beside her, whispering hurriedly, “It’s him! Oh my gosh, it’s really him!”

The group turned in unison, their excited whispers rising in pitch. Their eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t fully noticed yet, too absorbed in his conversation with YN. But the girls didn’t move—just stood there, staring with a mix of awe and disbelief, as though they had stumbled upon something out of a dream.

Suddenly, one of them gathered the courage to step forward. She clutched a worn notebook in her hands, her voice trembling slightly with excitement as she approached the booth. “Excuse me are you–are you Harry Styles?”

He looked up, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze directed at him. The girls stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful, as if the entire café had shifted its attention to this one moment.

Harry blinked, a slow smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t quite used to this, especially not in a quiet place like this, but he understood the spark in their eyes. It reminded him of how he used to feel, discovering his favorite musicians, before he became part of the scene himself.

“Yeah.” he smiled, his voice friendly but low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the café. “In the flesh.”

The girls exchanged glances, their excitement bubbling up as they realized they weren’t imagining it. “We saw you perform last month!” one of them blurted, her voice breathless. “At the Odeon. You were incredible! Could we–could we maybe have your autograph?”

Harry chuckled softly as he reached for the notebook she held out. “Of course.” He insisted, taking the pen she offered with shaking hands. He glanced briefly at YN, who was watching the scene with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the shift in energy.

As he scribbled his name, the girls hovered around him, chattering about the performance, about how they had saved up their money to buy tickets, and how they’d never forget the way he played that one song with such emotion. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm, handing the notebook back and signing a second for one of the others, his pen gliding smoothly across the paper.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, clutching her signed notebook to her chest as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. “We’ve never seen anyone famous in real life before.”

“Thank you so much!” the first girl exclaimed, beaming as she tucked her notebook into her school bag. “We’ll remember this forever.”

Harry nodded, his smile warm but humble as his cheeks heated to a faint pink.

The girls, still buzzing with excitement, waved one last time before heading to the counter to order their drinks. They glanced back at him occasionally, whispering excitedly to each other, but they gave him space, respecting the fact that he had returned to his conversation with YN.

As the café settled back into its familiar rhythm, Harry leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly as he watched the girls from the corner of his eye. YN, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Looks like someone’s popular,” she teased gently, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.” he sighed lightly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “They seem to think I’m a bigger deal than I really am.”

YN tilted her head, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re more of a big deal than you think,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s not every day people chase you down for an autograph.”

Harry chuckled again, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I suppose. Still feels strange, though.”

There was a pause, and YN glanced out the window, her fingers tapping gently against her cup. “I guess I’m lucky, then,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t even know who you were when we met.”

He looked at her, surprised by the statement. “You really didn’t?”

She shook her head, her expression still playful but honest. “Nope. Just a guy who almost left his jacket behind.”

Harry laughed, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Well, that’s a first.”

The warmth between them returned, unspoken but tangible, as if the moment with the girls had only brought them closer. The light outside had shifted, growing richer, casting long shadows across the street, but inside, everything felt brighter, more alive. There was something about the way YN looked at him—like she saw him, not the person the girls had seen, not the performer on stage, but the version of him that sat here, in this quiet café, sipping coffee and talking about everything and nothing.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes steady on hers. “I like that,” he said softly. “I like that you didn’t know.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup again, and in that moment, everything outside—the chatter of the girls, the fading light, the hum of the city—faded away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the day, in the quiet unfolding of something new.

“I think I like it too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her words carried more weight than anything else that had passed between them.

And in the golden light of a rare, sunny afternoon, it felt like they had found something more than just a shared cup of coffee. Something that stretched beyond the fame, beyond the rain, beyond the quiet streets of London.

Something real.

By mid-JULY, London had shed its usual cloak of mist and drizzle, now bathed in the soft warmth of summer. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the city hummed with a new kind of energy—the kind that only came when the long days stretched lazily into balmy evenings. The streets sparkled under the glow of late sunsets, and the Thames shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light.

For the past few months, Harry and YN had settled into a rhythm that felt effortless. Coffee at Scotty’s, long walks through the city, moments of quiet laughter shared in the sunlit corners of bookshops and parks. Their lives had intertwined slowly, naturally, like vines creeping toward one another, until the space between them felt impossibly small.

Now, as she sat in the front row of the packed concert hall Harry dragged her to, YN realized just how little she’d truly known about Harry Styles. He had mentioned his music, his gigs, but this—this was something else entirely.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the air electric with excitement. Fans lined the rows behind her, their voices a cacophony of eager murmurs and cheers. She could feel the heat of their collective energy as they waited, ready for the show to begin. The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into a wave of deafening applause and screams. YN’s heart raced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as she watched the lights swirl and shift across the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, Harry emerged.

The crowd roared with an intensity that startled her, the air vibrating with their cheers as he walked to the microphone, his leather jacket gleaming under the lights, his presence commanding the room with an effortless ease. There he was—the same man who drank coffee with her in a quiet café, the same man who once nervously scribbled lyrics into a notebook. But here, on this stage, he was something more. Something bigger.

Harry grinned as he strummed the opening chords to Sunflower, the crowd immediately swaying to the familiar tune. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, and YN felt herself drawn into it, the lyrics washing over her, weaving through the crowd like a thread connecting him to every single person in the room. The way he performed, with such raw emotion and vulnerability, it was like he was telling the story of his life, not just singing a song.

YN watched, mesmerized, as Harry transitioned seamlessly into other songs. The energy of the crowd grew wild, and the music throbbed through the hall, each note setting the room ablaze. The girls behind her screamed his name, their voices blending into a chorus of adoration, and for the first time, YN fully understood what he had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

She had seen glimpses of this world—the autograph requests, the fans who recognized him even in a quiet café—but this was different. This was Harry in his element, where his talent became something bigger than himself, something that drew people in, made them feel seen, heard, understood.

By the time he reached Little Black Dress the crowd was on its feet, dancing, singing along at the top of their lungs. Harry owned the stage, moving with a confidence that radiated off him, his eyes occasionally scanning the crowd until, for the briefest moment, they landed on her. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and even with the chaos of the crowd around them, it felt like a private exchange, a secret shared in the middle of the noise.

When the final chords echoed through the hall, the applause was thunderous. YN stood with the rest of the crowd, her hands aching from clapping, her heart pounding in her chest as Harry took his bow, soaking in the cheers, his grin wide and unrestrained. The lights faded, and the crowd began to disperse, but YN stayed rooted in place, her eyes still on the stage, as if trying to capture the last flicker of magic before it disappeared.

Soon after, a staff member approached her, politely guiding her toward the backstage area. She followed, her footsteps light with anticipation, weaving through the narrow corridors of the venue until she reached a door with a small gold plaque that read Dressing Room.

She knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door swung open. There he was, leaning against the frame, still catching his breath from the show, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes shining. His leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a simple white shirt that clung to his skin.

“Hey!” Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse from singing, but his smile bright and warm.

“Hey yourself.” She echoed with a smile, stepping inside. “That was incredible, H. I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you like that—on stage, in front of all those people—it’s something else.”

Harry shrugged, a little bashful now that the spotlight was no longer on him. “S’just a show.” He mumbled sheepishly, though the way his eyes flickered told her he was still riding the high of the performance.

“No,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s more than that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the crowd reacted to you, the way you moved them—it was electric.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a quiet admiration. “You have real talent, Harry. The kind that’s rare. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He had heard praise before—countless times, from strangers, fans, even critics—but coming from her, it felt different. It felt real.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them, charged with the unspoken emotions they had carefully danced around for months. He looked at her, standing there in front of him, the glow from the stage lights still lingering on her face, and something inside him shifted. It was as if every conversation, every shared look, every coffee at Scotty’s had been leading to this moment.

“I need to tell you something.” He murmured with a hesitant nod, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “These past few months—getting t’know you..I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hand.

“But I do,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I like you, YN. More than just a friend. More than just someone I grab coffee with. You’ve been the one thing I can count on t’feel real, when everything else is crazy. I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a while, but now—” He paused, his hand slipping into hers. “I can’t keep it t’myself anymore.”

For a moment, YN just stood there, her heart racing, her hand warm in his. She had felt it too—the pull, the connection—but hearing it from him, standing there in the aftermath of his performance, made it all the more real. Slowly, she smiled, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m glad you said something,” she whispered, stepping closer, her other hand brushing lightly against his chest. “Cause I thought I was crazy for thinking the same.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and in that instant, the world outside the dressing room faded away. The noise of the crowd, the lingering adrenaline from the show, all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of backstage lights.

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. “So what now?” he asked, his voice low, a playful hint in his tone.

“Now,” she said, smiling up at him, her voice full of warmth and certainty, “We just be.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like the answer to every question they had left unspoken, every moment they had shared in silence. It was soft, slow, and filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them could ignore any longer.

When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath still a little uneven, his smile wide and unrestrained.

“Best show I’ve ever played,” he whispered, and YN laughed, her heart light and full as they stood there, together, the future unfolding around them like the soft warmth of a summer night.

After a month of bliss, the late AUGUST sun streamed through the open kitchen window of Harry’s flat, casting a golden light over the space. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the bustling streets below, a gentle hum that filled the quiet moments between their words. The fire escape, just outside, rattled slightly in the breeze, its iron bars warm from the afternoon sun. It was a peaceful, lazy kind of day, the kind where the world outside moved in fast forward while everything inside seemed to slow down to a comfortable stillness.

YN sat across from Harry at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked under her on the worn wooden chair, her skin still glowing from the warmth of the afternoon. She was only wearing a pair of dainty white socks, her frame barely visible underneath the oversized pink button-up of Harry’s that hung loosely off her shoulder, the fabric draping over her like a second skin. Her hair was tousled, soft from a morning spent doing nothing but being with him, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. The shirt, far too large for her, hung in a way that felt intimate, as though it had become an extension of him on her.

She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, sharing it with Harry. Every now and then, they’d exchange the cup, their fingers brushing as they passed it back and forth, a quiet exchange of warmth that mirrored the easy comfort between them. The tea was a little cool now, forgotten between soft smiles and absentminded touches.

Harry sat opposite her, his acoustic guitar resting across his lap, his fingers lazily strumming a melody that filled the air like a soft hum. He was dressed in nothing but plaid boxers and socks, his usual nonchalance apparent, his bare chest catching the light as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused more on her than on the guitar.

The melody shifted, a fun, intimate tune that YN hadn’t heard before. She looked up at him, her brows raised slightly in curiosity.

“What’s that?” She giggled, her voice dipped in honey, though, almost hesitant, as if she was interrupting a secret.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile, his fingers still moving gently over the strings. “Cinema.” He said gently, his voice quiet, as if the song were something fragile, still forming. “S’about you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup as she watched him, her eyes wide and full of something unspoken. The song was simple, delicate, but each note felt like it was laced with the weight of everything they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment between them.

He began to sing softly, his voice smooth and low, the lyrics winding around her like a slow embrace. The song told of the way he saw her, how helplessly he was beginning to fall for her, each moment between them something worth watching, worth cherishing. He sang about the little things—the way everything about her felt like a never ending climax, way she made the ordinary feel like something more.

YN listened, captivated by the sound of his voice, by the intimacy of the words. She hadn’t known how much of him had been poured into this song, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt until now. As he finished the last note, she set the teacup down, her chest tight with emotion.

“I dig you, too.” She grinned, her voice thick with admiration and something deeper. She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft as he set the guitar aside, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have t’say anything.”

And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned across the small table and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that spoke of the quiet affection they had shared for months. But then, as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, it deepened, a slow burn that spread through her like the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. Her fingers tangled in his curls as she pulled him closer, as much as she could with the guitar between them, her body leaning forward, chest pressed into his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the kitchen.

For a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds from the street outside faded away, the distant hum of the city disappearing as the world shrank down to just the two of them—her lips on his, his hands on her skin, the heat between them palpable.

But after a few heartbeats, they pulled away, their foreheads resting against one another, their breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. YN smiled against his lips, her hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“Play something else,” she whispered, her voice playful, her eyes bright with mischief. “Something I can dance to.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he reached for the guitar again. “Dance, huh? Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

He adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers finding the familiar chords as he began to play Heart Attack, a song that always sent his audience wild but now, in the quiet intimacy of his flat, felt like a private performance just for her. The upbeat rhythm filled the kitchen, light and infectious, and YN grinned as she stood up, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around her, the hem brushing against her bare thighs as she moved.

She danced in the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound as they moved across the floor, her arms raised as she twirled, laughing softly as she spun in circles. There was something carefree about the way she moved, something so full of joy that it made Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way. Her hair flew behind her, catching the light, and the oversized shirt swayed with each movement, slipping further off her shoulder as she lost herself in the moment.

Harry kept playing, his eyes never leaving her as she danced. The song flowed through the room, but all he could focus on was her—the way she moved so freely, so unselfconsciously, the way she smiled at him, the way her laughter filled the space between the notes. There was something about seeing her like this, in his flat, in his shirt, dancing to his music, that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words.

He watched her, his fingers still moving over the cords, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was starting to realize just how much she meant to him, how much she had become a part of his life, a part of him. She wasn’t just someone he shared coffee with, or someone who listened to his songs—she was his person, the one who made everything feel more real, more grounded.

As he played, the realization settled over him quietly, like the gentle August breeze drifting through the open window. He was falling for her. Slowly, steadily, in the way you fall for someone without even realizing it’s happening until you’re already halfway in.

But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watched her, the sound of the guitar filling the air as she danced and laughed, the summer sun spilling golden light into the room around them, framing her in a moment he knew he’d carry with him long after the music stopped.

SEPTEMBER had arrived quietly, bringing with it a softness that only early autumn could offer. The leaves were just beginning to turn at the edges, their once-vibrant green now kissed with the faintest hint of gold, and the air had cooled ever so slightly, carrying the last whispers of summer on its breeze. The sun, dipping lower in the sky with each passing day, stretched long shadows across the park, casting everything in a warm, golden light that seemed to linger just for them.

Harry sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, his legs stretched out, his half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt loose against his chest, a playful pattern of palm trees and flamingos catching the light. His thin beige slacks clung to his thighs as he shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands to watch YN beside him. She was cross-legged, her cream-colored Mary Janes neatly tucked under her, the soft cotton of her dainty dress fluttering in the breeze. The dress, pale and delicate, fit her perfectly, the hem swaying just above her knees, while white socks peeked out from beneath her shoes. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

The two of them had settled into this quiet evening by the lake, the park around them empty, save for the sound of distant birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. A spread of meats and cheeses lay scattered across the blanket between them, along with half a bottle of wine and two glasses—one tipped precariously between YN’s fingers as she took a slow sip.

“Could stay like this forever.” She hummed, her voice soft, almost dreamy, as she set her glass down and glanced out at the shimmering water, the fading sun casting a golden path across its surface.

Harry smiled, his gaze fixed on her rather than the view, the way her hair moved softly with the breeze, the glow of the setting sun painting her in amber light. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something deeper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

They had spent the last few hours like this—laughing, teasing, sharing kisses between bites of cheese and sips of wine. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, as it always did, weaving between light-hearted banter and quieter, more intimate moments, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. There was something so easy about being with her, something that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she met his eyes, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You’ve been staring, Styles.” she teased, her voice light as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Am I that interesting, or are you just distracted?”

He grinned, shrugging slightly, but his gaze never wavered. “Maybe a bit of both.” He chuckled, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of honesty there. He couldn’t help it—every time he looked at her, he felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest, the kind that had been growing steadily for months now, slowly but surely.

“Careful,” YN said with a mischievous smile, leaning in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “You’ll give me a big head.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late for that, I think.”

She swatted his hand playfully but leaned into his touch, her eyes softening as their playful exchange gave way to something quieter. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over them like the blanket beneath their feet.

As the sun began to dip lower, casting the sky in hues of pink and lavender, YN shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her in.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She murmured, her voice quiet, almost to herself.

“Do what?” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos on his chest where his shirt hung open. “Make everything feel so easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Harry’s heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the wine or the fading summer heat. He didn’t respond right away, instead pulling her a little closer, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side as they sat together, the world quieting around them.

After a few moments, YN pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the sunset. “What?” she asked, her brow lifting in curiosity as she caught the look on his face.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue. He’d been holding them back for weeks now, unsure of the right moment, unsure if she felt the same way. But sitting here, with her head on his shoulder, her laughter still lingering in the air around them, he realized there would never be a perfect moment. There was just this—the two of them, in a park, at sunset, with nothing but the quiet certainty of how much he cared for her.

He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from her side to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “I love you.” He admitted, his voice soft but steady, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was. But I do, YN. I love you.”

For a moment, YN just blinked, her eyes wide with surprise as the words sank in. But then, her face softened, a smile spreading slowly across her lips as her hand reached up to cover his, her touch warm against his skin.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost incredulous, as if she hadn’t expected it, but now that the words were there, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Harry nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, light and full of joy as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining, her smile wide and unrestrained.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “I think I have for a while.”

Harry’s heart swelled, and before he could say anything else, YN kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The world around them seemed to fade, the sunset casting them in a warm, golden light as they sat together, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, YN smiled up at him, her hand still resting against his cheek. “You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “for someone who says things like that, you’re surprisingly cute about it.”

Harry laughed, his forehead resting against hers as his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “Y’bring out the soft side in me.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon by the time Harry and YN began their walk back to his flat, the warm glow of twilight lingering in the air. Harry's fingers intertwined with hers as they strolled along the quiet streets, the last traces of their picnic still hanging in the air between them—the taste of wine on their lips, the feel of her laughter vibrating against his chest. He glanced over at her, catching the way the light from the streetlamps played across her face, softening her features into something that looked like a dream.

She smiled when she caught him looking, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Thank you for this evening.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as they walked. "I didn't want it to end."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened, his heart swelling at her words. He didn't want it to end either. There was something about this night, something about the way it felt so easy, so right. He hadn't felt this connected to someone in a long time, maybe ever.

"Doesn’t have to.” He murmured, his voice low, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple as they approached the front door of his flat.

They climbed the narrow stairs to his building, the warmth of their evening lingering between them.

By the time they reached the door to his flat, Harry's heart was racing-not from the climb, but from the anticipation that seemed to have woven itself into the quiet moments between them.

As soon as they stepped inside, they toed off their shoes—the familiar scent of his home washing over them—the faint musk of old books, wood, and the lingering trace of his cologne.

The kitchen light flickered on as Harry dropped the picnic basket onto the counter, the empty wine glasses clinking softly against each other. But neither of them was thinking about the picnic anymore.

YN turned toward him, her lips parted, her gaze soft but filled with something that simmered just beneath the surface. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she placed the folded blanket down on the table, her fingers lingering over his skin. He met her gaze, the electricity between them sparking back to life, more intense now that they were alone, without the open sky and distant voices of the park around them.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry's hands were on her waist, pulling her close. His lips found hers in a heated kiss, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the warmth between them flared into something more urgent. YN responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressing into his.

They stumbled back toward the living room, their movements clumsy with desire, knocking into furniture as they kissed—his hands gripping her hips, hers tugging at the collar of his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on his chest, still unbuttoned from earlier, and YN's fingers found their way to his bare skin, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

They collapsed onto the couch, lips still fused together, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. YN straddled his lap, her dress hitched up around her thighs as she leaned into him, her lips trailing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, making him groan softly against her skin. Harry's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, lost in the moment, lost in her. His cock hardened underneath his slacks, YN feeling it against the growing heat of her core.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, the sudden, shrill ring of the rotary phone in the hallway shattered the stillness, cutting through the heat of their embrace like a sharp blade.

Harry froze, his breath ragged, his lips still pressed against her skin. The phone rang again, the sound insistent, pulling them both from the haze they'd fallen into. YN let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as she pulled back slightly, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Are you going to get that?" she asked, her voice teasing but breathless, her eyes dark with the same desire that was coursing through him.

The brunette groaned, his hand reluctantly slipping from her waist as he rested his head back against the couch. "I don't want to.” He muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.

The phone rang again, louder this time, and Harry sighed, pulling away from her with a reluctant smile. "M’sorry, baby.” He sighed, his hands brushing against hers as he slid out from beneath her and stood, running a hand through his hair to steady himself.

YN sat back on the couch, her lips still swollen from their kiss, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. She watched him walk into the hallway, his bare chest glistening faintly in the low light, the fabric of his loose slacks swaying with each step.

Harry grabbed the phone from the wall, pressing the receiver to his ear with a hasty "Hello?"

"Harry, mate!" came the familiar voice of Jeff, his manager. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

He frowned, his eyes flicking toward YN, who was still sitting on the couch, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "What's up, Jeff?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual, though his mind was still very much on YN and the way he wanted to bury himself inside her the way he did this morning.

"You're going to want to sit down for this one.” Jeff said, his tone brimming with excitement. “We've just locked in your first U.S. tour."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "What?"

"Yep, we've got you lined up for a string of shows across the States-New York, Chicago, L.A., the whole works. It's going to be massive, Haz. A real game-changer for your career."

For a moment, he stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to process what Jeff was saying. This was huge-bigger than anything he'd done before. His first U.S. tour. The realization hit him all at once, a rush of excitement flooding through him. "Holy shit.” He laughed, “that's amazing, Jeff.” He shook his head, voice thick with disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it!”Jeff replied, laughing. "This is it.”

You're about to hit the big time. We'll get into all the details tomorrow, but I had to let you know."

Harry nodded, still in a bit of a daze. "Thanks for telling me."

After a few more words, Harry hung up the phone, his mind racing. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the reality of the tour sinking in. This was what he had always dreamed of—the chance to take his music across the world, to reach new audiences, to grow.

But as he turned back to look at YN, sitting there on the couch, her smile soft and expectant, he felt a different kind of weight settle in his chest. He walked back into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside her, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Everything okay?" YN asked, her hand slipping into his, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "M’going on tour.” He said softly, the words still feeling surreal. "In the States. My first one."

YN's eyes widened, her face lighting up with excitement as she squeezed his hand. "H, that's incredible!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so so proud of you, lovey.”

Harry smiled, the warmth of her words settling into his chest. "It's a big deal," he said quietly, his hand tightening around hers. "But it means I'll be away f’a while."

He watched her face carefully, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but instead, YN smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "I know," she said softly. "But l'm not going anywhere. This is your dream. I want you to go and chase it."

Harry's heart swelled, and for a moment, he could only look at her, overwhelmed by the quiet support in her words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. "I love you.” He whispered against her mouth, the words tumbling out without hesitation this time, filled with all the certainty he'd ever felt.

She pressed a kiss into his lips, smiling against them. “I love you.”

Harry lingered his lips against hers for a while before he stood, the weight of the news still buzzing between them like electricity. His smile was wide, unable to contain the excitement of it all. With a quick glance toward the window, where the last traces of twilight hung in the sky, he crossed the room to the small transistor radio on the windowsill, his fingers turning the dial until a soft crackle of music filled the air.

A warm, upbeat tune drifted through the living room, the melody slow and sweet, with just the right amount of rhythm to sway to. The soft hum of the radio blended perfectly with the evening breeze sneaking through the open window, carrying the cool, fresh air into the flat.

He turned back to YN, his eyes twinkling under the dim light of the living room lamps. She was still sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of excitement and affection, her legs tucked underneath her. The warm glow of the lamp caught the soft fabric of her dress, her skin glowing in the fading light.

“Dance with me.” Harry grinned, holding out a hand, his voice full of that playful warmth she had come to love. It wasn’t a question but an invitation—one she couldn’t possibly turn down.

She smiled, rising to her feet with a light laugh, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as hers settled on his shoulders. The music filled the space between them, the gentle swaying of their bodies perfectly in time with the rhythm.

They moved together effortlessly, Harry’s forehead resting against hers as he led them in a slow circle around the room. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his thin slacks, the warmth of her body pressed to his, making the moment feel intimate and timeless. Neither of them spoke at first, content to just be in the silence, to let the music carry them as they spun in small, lazy circles on the living room floor.

But soon, Harry couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He leaned back slightly, grinning down at her, his eyes shining. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “My first tour in America. New York, L.A.—all of it. I never thought..”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“I can believe it.” She smiled, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You deserve this, baby. You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be incredible.”

Her words made his heart swell, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of her lips. When they pulled back, their foreheads resting together again, he whispered, “It won’t feel real until I’m on that stage. But knowing you’ll be here waiting for me..that makes it better.”

YN smiled, her fingers brushing softly through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always be here.”

They danced for a few more minutes, their movements light and easy, occasionally interrupted by shared giggles when Harry twirled her unexpectedly or when they stumbled slightly in their steps, only to fall back into each other’s arms with soft laughter.

As the song began to fade, they slowed, their feet barely moving now, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a cocoon. Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, cradling her face as he looked down at her, his expression serious but soft.

“Can I say something?”He asked, his voice quiet but steady as he watched her expectantly. She nodded, allowing his lips to part. “When I go to America—on tour—I want you t’stay here. At my flat. You know, while m’gone.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Stay here?” she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly.

Harry nodded, his thumbs gently brushing over her cheeks as he held her face in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, y’already spend so much time here, and I like the idea of you being here when I get back. This place already feels more like home when you’re around. I don’t want it t’feel empty when m’gone.”

YN felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. The thought of staying here, in his space, while he was away—it felt like more than just a casual offer. It felt like a promise. Like he was offering her a part of his life, a piece of him to hold onto while he was gone.

Besides, she still lived with her mother’s small guesthouse in the backyard. It was more private than the house she grew up in, much cheaper than the flats for rent in the city, but it was still her mother’s nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, her voice filled with uncertainty but also hope. “I don’t want to impose..”

“You’re not imposing,” Harry said firmly, his eyes steady on hers. “I want y’here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in my flat, with my things, waiting for me to come back.”

YN’s lips curved into a soft smile, her hands resting on his chest as she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’ll stay.”

Harry’s face lit up, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, deep and full of gratitude and love, his hands holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go. When they pulled back, both of them breathless, their eyes met, and in that moment, everything felt right.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The promise had been made, quiet and sure, between kisses and slow dances and soft words spoken in the fading light of the evening.

As the music on the radio continued to play softly in the background, they held each other close, swaying gently in the middle of the living room, knowing that no matter where Harry’s career took him—across oceans, to new stages, to new cities—this was home. Here, in this moment, with her. And it always would be.

*

The morning Harry left for his two-month tour in the United States felt both far away and painfully close, like something they’d been anticipating for weeks but weren’t quite ready to face. The flat was full of quiet anticipation as YN helped him pack, their movements unhurried, though the weight of the impending goodbye hung in the air like the last lingering warmth of summer.

Harry stood in front of his open suitcase, a floral shirt half-folded in his hands, staring down at the items already packed but not quite seeing them. YN sat on the edge of the bed, methodically folding a few more of his clothes, her fingers moving over the soft fabric with care. Neither of them spoke much, but every so often their eyes would meet, a small smile exchanged between them, both pretending it was just another ordinary day.

As Harry zipped up his suitcase, he turned to her, his expression soft but serious. “Y’sure you’ll be alright staying here? I mean, for the whole two months?”

She smiled, standing up to meet him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed herself close to him. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “Besides, it’s your flat. It already feels like home.”

He sighed, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender, savoring the taste of her lips. “M’going to miss you.” He murmured against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’ll miss you too.” She whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “But you’re going to be amazing, love. This is your dream.”

He nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the stillness of the flat pressing in around them.

When they arrived at the airport later that day, the weight of their goodbye became real. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, suitcases rolling over the tile floors, the constant hum of announcements echoing over the loudspeakers. Harry’s manager and a few of his crew stood off to the side, chatting quietly, but Harry stayed close to YN, his hand never leaving hers.

They found a quiet corner, away from the noise, and just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The departure gate loomed nearby, a silent reminder of how close the moment had come.

“Call me as soon as you land.” YN nodded, her voice steady though her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I want to know you’ve arrived safe.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more, his lips lingering on hers as if he could carry the memory of her with him. “I will.” He promised, his hand brushing her cheek. “And I’ll write. Every chance I get.”

She nodded again, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, they kissed one last time, slow and full of unspoken promises, before Harry reluctantly pulled away. He squeezed her hand as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I love you.” He told her, his voice soft but sure, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in that moment.

“I love you, H.” She grinned, her heart aching as she watched him walk toward the gate, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next two months unfolded in a strange blur of time. YN settled into Harry’s flat, her things mingling with his, their shared space becoming even more of a home as the days passed. She left little traces of herself everywhere—the way she neatly folded her clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the half-finished book on his bedside table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was comforting, knowing she was surrounded by him even when he was an ocean away.

They kept in touch constantly. Every night, YN would sit by the rotary phone in the hallway, eagerly waiting for the sound of the ring that meant he was calling. The calls were frequent—sometimes brief, just to say hello, and sometimes long and winding, stretching late into the night as they talked about everything and nothing. She loved hearing his voice, even crackling through the static, as he told her about the tour—the shows, the fans, the whirlwind of new cities and stages. But more than that, she loved how he missed her, how he’d pause sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, just to say, I wish you were here.

Letters came too, scrawled in his messy handwriting, full of little stories about life on the road, about the places he visited, the things he saw, the moments that made him think of her. YN would read them late at night, curled up in his bed, her heart aching with longing and pride in equal measure. She kept every one, tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table, next to the book she hadn’t been able to finish since he left.

It was a month into his tour, past midnight, and YN had already settled into a chair she had dragged from the kitchen, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room as she sat by the phone, waiting for Harry’s nightly call. When the phone finally rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly lifted the receiver to her ear.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

“Hey, bunny,” Harry’s voice came through, a little rough but full of warmth. She could hear the faint noise of people talking in the background, but his focus was entirely on her. “Missed your voice today.”

YN smiled, curling the phone cord around her finger. “Missed you too. How’s everything?”

He sighed, the sound of his breath crackling through the line. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The shows are going well. The crowds have been incredible.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly, his tone softening. “But I’d rather be there with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’d rather have you here too,” she whispered, her voice low, almost teasing. “It’s been too quiet without you. Though I’ve heard you on the radio here and there.”

The conversation drifted into more intimate territory, their voices soft and full of longing, each word laced with the quiet need they hadn’t been able to express in the letters or brief phone calls before. Harry told her how much he missed her, how the bed felt too big without her next to him, how he couldn’t stop thinking about the last night they’d spent together.

YN felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat as his words grew more heated. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her voice low, a smile playing at her lips.

Harry’s voice dropped even lower, his words slow and deliberate. “I miss the way you taste..like melted sugar on my tongue.”

The sound of his voice, soft and rough all at once, sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body responding to his words in ways that made her ache with need.

“Probably soaking from just my voice, hm?” He hummed, feeling the familiar ache of himself hardening beneath denim.

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She squeezed her legs shut, her heat pooling between her thighs. Harry chuckled breathily from the other line, palming himself through his jeans. “My poor girl.” He cooed, listening to her faint whimper crackle through the phone. “I’ll be home in a month, baby.”

But just as the tension between them began to build, just as his voice grew more intimate, the sound of a knock echoed faintly in the background.

Harry groaned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Shit. It’s Mitch.”

YN laughed softly, the moment broken, but still charged with the tension that had hung between them. “You better get that,” she said, though she didn’t want the call to end.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” Harry muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We’ll finish this later.”

YN smiled, her heart still racing, the wet spot in her panties only continuing to dampen. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of Harry muffling the phone as he spoke to Mitch in the background. When he returned, his voice was quieter, more resigned. “I have to go. We’ve got soundcheck in a bit.”

YN sighed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone. “Alright. Go be brilliant.”

“I’ll call you later,” Harry promised, his voice warm again, though still tinged with regret. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” YN whispered, her heart full as the line clicked and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

As she hung up the phone, the quiet of the flat settled around her again. But even in the stillness, she felt connected to him, the promise of his return always just beneath the surface. She stood up from the wooden chair, leaving it in place as she padded barefoot back to his bedroom. As she lay back in bed, the sound of his voice still echoed in her mind, she knew that no matter how far away he was, he would always feel close.

The late NOVEMBER air was crisp as YN made her way to the airport, her breath fogging in front of her with each step. The city had entered winter, the sky a moody shade of grey, with the kind of cold that bit into your skin if you stayed still too long. A light dusting of frost clung to the streets, and the wind carried with it the promise of snow. But despite the chill, there was a warmth spreading through YN's chest—an excitement she could hardly contain.

Harry was finally coming home.

It had been two long months since she’d kissed him goodbye at the airport, and though they had talked nearly every day, the distance had made the longing more acute, like an ache that refused to fade. The flat had felt too quiet, too empty without him, but tonight, that would change. Tonight, he would be back in London, back with her, and she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around him again.

She had spent most of the day tidying up the flat—making sure everything was perfect for his return. His favorite records were stacked by the record player, the sheets on the bed freshly changed, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air from the strawberry cake she had baked earlier. It was his favorite, and the smell of it made the place feel warm, cozy. She had also made his favorite pasta dish, the sauce simmering gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food.

As she reached the airport terminal, YN’s heart began to race with anticipation. The cold faded from her awareness as she entered the busy terminal, weaving through the crowds of travelers until she reached the arrivals gate. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, searching for him, her breath catching in her throat every time she thought she spotted his familiar curls.

And then, there he was.

Harry stepped out from the crowd, his figure unmistakable even in the thick winter coat and scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair was longer than she remembered, his cheeks flushed from the cold and travel, and his eyes were bright with excitement. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade—the noise of the airport, the bustling travelers—all of it disappeared as they locked eyes.

“Harry!” YN called, her voice soft but full of joy as she broke into a run toward him.

He grinned, dropping his suitcase to the ground as he opened his arms wide, catching her as she threw herself into his embrace. The moment their bodies collided, YN felt a rush of warmth flood through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, with the faintest trace of his cologne.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands slid up her back, holding her close, as if he were afraid to let her go. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”

They stood there for a few moments, lost in each other, the cold air of the terminal swirling around them but neither of them caring. When they finally pulled back, Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he studied her.

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

YN laughed, her heart swelling as she leaned up to kiss him again, a quick, sweet press of lips that tasted of relief and longing. “Come on.” Her voice was light as she grabbed his hand and squeezing it gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The flat was warm and welcoming when they stepped inside, the heat from the oven and the soft glow of the lamps making the space feel cozy against the winter cold. YN had turned on the record player before she left, so the soft croon of a jazz tune filled the air, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh pasta and strawberries.

Harry dropped his suitcase by the door, his eyes lighting up as he took in the scene. “You’ve outdone yourself.” He sighed, his voice full of affection as he looked around the flat. “It smells incredible in here.”

YN smiled, slipping her coat off and hanging it by the door. “I wanted to surprise you.” Her tone was sheepish, leading him into the kitchen where the pasta dish was waiting on the counter. “I made your favorite. And…”

She reached for the cake on the counter, carefully placing it in front of him with a playful grin. “Strawberry, just for you.”

His eyes widened with delight as he leaned down to inspect the cake, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You spoil me.” He laughed, turning to her and pulling her into his arms again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, the small space filled with the warmth of their reunion, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the record. As they ate, Harry told her all about his time in America—the shows, the fans, the cities he had visited.

“New York was something else,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the night he performed at a famous venue in the heart of the city. “The crowd was wild—bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. And Los Angeles.. God, the energy there was electric. But you know what? None of it felt real without you there.”

She smiled, her heart full as she listened to him speak, his voice full of passion and excitement. She loved seeing him like this—so alive, so full of stories and experiences. But more than that, she loved knowing that through it all, he had thought of her.

As the evening wore on, they moved to the living room, the plates forgotten in the kitchen as they curled up on the couch together, Harry’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders. They shared soft kisses between conversations, quiet declarations of love and how much they had missed each other filling the spaces between the stories.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry confessed quietly, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. “Every time I stepped off the stage, all I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice.”

She rested her head against his chest, smiling as his words wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt the same,” she whispered. “I’ve been counting down the days until you came back.”

Harry tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of their longing, but as the kiss deepened, the intensity between them grew. They shifted on the couch, their bodies pressed close as the room grew warmer, the air between them thick with the weight of two months spent apart.

“I love you.” Harry murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their kisses slow and tender, until the quiet of the flat surrounded them once more. The night was peaceful, the city outside blanketed in winter cold, but inside, everything was warm and full of love.

As the record player continued to hum softly in the background, they lay together on the couch, content in each other’s arms, talking quietly into the night. Harry shared more stories of America—the friends he’d made, the strange food he’d tried, the nights spent traveling between cities. But no matter how far he had gone, no matter how many stages he had stood on, all he could think about was coming home to her.

And now, finally, he was.

JUNE 1958 arrived in a haze of blooming flowers and endless blue skies, the air warm with the promise of summer. The countryside stretched out in front of the beautiful English cottage Harry had purchased just months before—a place that felt far removed from the busy life they’d led on the road. The last six months had been a whirlwind of travel, music, and crowds, with Harry embarking on his biggest tour yet. It had started in the States, but when the tour expanded to Europe, he had begged YN to join him for the last three months. After some hesitation, she had agreed, unable to resist the thought of being by his side again, experiencing the world with him.

Now, they had finally come home.

The cottage was nestled on the edge of a quiet village, its stone walls covered in ivy, the roof gently sloping with aged charm. It had a large garden out front, filled with wildflowers, and a path that wound lazily around to the back, where rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Inside, the cottage was cozy, full of light streaming through the windows, with exposed wooden beams and a fireplace that had already become their favorite spot to curl up on colder evenings.

Though neither of them had said the words out loud, YN had moved in. It had been gradual, her things slowly trickling in from the flat they had shared in London. A few clothes here, a stack of her favorite books there, until the entire cottage was filled with the subtle signs of her presence. Her shoes next to his by the door, her perfume resting on the vanity in the bedroom, and her laughter echoing through the kitchen as they cooked together in the evenings.

The unspoken decision to live together felt natural, like the culmination of everything they had shared over the past year. They had grown even closer on the road, their bond deepening with each passing day. Those months in Europe, where they had traveled from city to city, felt like a dream—a blur of music, late-night conversations, and stolen moments just for the two of them amidst the chaos.

Now, in the quiet of their new home, they could finally rest.

On this particular afternoon, YN stood by the open window in the kitchen, the warm breeze gently lifting the curtains as she gazed out at the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair loose, as she absentmindedly twirled a glass of lemonade in her hand. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the wildflowers that had bloomed in every corner of the garden. The cottage had a peaceful stillness to it, broken only by the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

Harry was in the living room, the soft strumming of his guitar floating through the open door. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, his eyes half-closed as he let his fingers move over the strings, playing a melody that felt like a lazy summer afternoon. The past few weeks had been a blissful sort of quiet—no deadlines, no schedules, just the two of them and the steady rhythm of days spent together.

As YN walked into the living room, Harry looked up from his guitar, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “There you are, baby.” He smiled, voice soft with affection.

She smiled back, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table before crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch. Harry set the guitar aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hard to believe we’re really home, isn’t it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “After all that time on the road, I thought we’d never get here.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest. “I still can’t believe you talked me into joining you for the last three months,” she teased, her voice light but full of warmth. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Harry grinned, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “It was hard enough being away from you at the start of the tour. Having you there–it made everything better.”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around them like a soft blanket, the distant hum of the countryside a soothing backdrop. It felt surreal, being here together after months of living out of suitcases, staying in hotels, and constantly moving from one city to the next. But now, in the calm of the English countryside, it felt like they had found something solid—something real.

“Y’know..” Harry mumbled after a moment, his voice thoughtful as he gazed out the window, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

YN looked up at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “About what?”

Harry hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he smiled softly. “About this–us… this house,” he began, his words slow but deliberate. “We’ve never really talked about it, but I love that y’here. That you’re living here. With me.”

YN’s heart fluttered at his words, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt as she looked up at him. “I love it too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Feels like home.”

Harry smiled, a soft, almost relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned down to kiss her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of all the unspoken promises they had made to each other over the past year. When they pulled back, Harry’s forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s make this official then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Move in with me properly. Let’s call this place ours.”

Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with emotion as she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “I already have.” she whispered, kissing him again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a peaceful blur. They moved through the cottage together, side by side, making dinner in the cozy kitchen. Harry stirred a pot of sauce while YN sliced vegetables, the two of them stealing kisses in between tasks, their laughter filling the space. The evening sunlight poured through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow as they sat down at the small table for dinner.

As they ate, Harry told her stories from the tour—stories she hadn’t heard, little moments that had made him laugh or think of her. He spoke about the cities they’d visited, the people they’d met, and the way the crowds had grown bigger with each show. But through it all, his eyes kept drifting back to her, his words trailing off as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

“You were the best part of it all,” he said softly, his voice full of affection. “You being there with me. Every time I walked off stage and saw you waiting, it made everything worth it.”

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, curling up on the couch together as the last light of the day faded into dusk. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and the air was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking quietly about the future—about the cottage, about what they wanted to do next.

As the evening began to settle, they both stood side by side at the sink, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. The window above them was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. Beyond the window, the sun was sinking slowly beneath the hills, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the last light of the day stretching long shadows across the garden.

YN handed Harry a plate, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her, their quiet rhythm so familiar now. He dunked it into the warm, sudsy water, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed at the remnants of their dinner. Every so often, he’d glance at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her work.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”YN teased, elbowing him lightly. “I remember when you used to burn toast.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “That was a long time ago.” He quipped, turning to splash a bit of soapy water in her direction with a playful grin.

YN gasped, dodging the spray with a laugh of her own, but not before flicking some of the suds back at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she dipped her hands into the water, gathering a handful of bubbles.

“Oh, are we playing dirty now?” Harry teased, his eyes narrowing as he scooped up his own suds.

Before she could answer, he splashed her again, the warm soapy water catching her on the arm. YN laughed, retaliating by flinging bubbles at him, the kitchen filling with the sound of their playful banter and the splash of water against the counter. The dishes forgotten for the moment, they both moved around the sink, ducking and dodging each other’s playful attacks, the air filled with their laughter.

Harry caught her by the waist, pulling her close as he wiped some of the bubbles from her cheek with a playful grin. “Alright, truce!” He giggled, his voice softening as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, her laughter dying down as she leaned into him, her hands resting against his chest. “Truce.” She agreed, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

They both turned back to the sink, their laughter lingering in the air as they finished the last of the dishes. The warmth between them was palpable, and even as the sun began to dip lower, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, there was a sense of peace that wrapped around them like a blanket.

As they dried their hands on a shared towel, YN turned to look out the window. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills, the sky now painted in deep hues of purple and orange, the last light of day clinging to the horizon.

“S’pretty here.” She murmured, her voice soft as she watched the sunset.

Harry set the towel aside, stepping up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulled her close. “It is.” He agreed quietly, though his eyes weren’t on the sunset. They were on her.

For a long moment, they stood like that, the warm evening air drifting through the open window, the world outside quiet and still. There was a calm that had settled over them, a quiet contentment that came from being in the presence of someone who knew you—really knew you—and loved you anyway.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I want to be with you forever.” He admitted suddenly, his voice soft but steady. It wasn’t a question or even a declaration, just a simple truth spoken into the stillness of the moment. His words carried the weight of something deeper, something unshakeable. “Not just for now. Not just for a few years. Forever.”

YN turned in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth there too, a quiet certainty in his gaze that made her chest tighten.

His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he looked down at her, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “I love you.”He smiled. “More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I don’t just mean in this life. I mean in every life. Beyond this, even. If I could have forever with you, I would. That’s what I want.”

She felt a rush of emotion swell in her chest, her throat tightening at the depth of his words. She could see it in his eyes—the way he meant every word, the way this wasn’t just about a lifetime, but about something that transcended even that. It wasn’t a proposal, but it felt like a promise. A vow that he would love her no matter what, no matter how long or how far life took them.

“I want that too.”She whispered, her voice catching slightly as she reached up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Forever sounds just right.”

His smile softened, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled, his breath warm against her skin. “Then it’s settled.” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, full of all the love he couldn’t put into words.

They stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen bathed in the last light of the sunset, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them as they held each other close. The world outside felt far away, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, standing together in the cottage they now called home.

When they finally pulled back, Harry’s hand slipped down to take hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he led her toward the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as they curled up together on the couch, the soft murmur of their voices filling the space between the gentle flicker of flames.

And as the evening stretched on, they spoke of dreams and plans, of all the little things that made life beautiful. But in the quiet, in the spaces between the words, they both knew that they had already found what they were searching for—each other.

Forever.

[httpsserene]

the next request heheheh prompt 13 or 24 from the established relationship list (you chose) andddddd with Daniel :)

#3k vday celly

🛞 tread’s uneven: time for a tire rotation! — send me a driver and a prompt from this list of pre-relationship prompts, or these established relationship prompts, or these hurt/comfort prompts, and i’ll write a blurb or drabble for you xxx (prompt lists are made by me!)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. hiiiii ash :) i chose #24 bc it just gives daniel doesn't it?

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

#24. giving up their seat to let you sit, or pulling you to sit on their lap. fem!bipoc!reader x daniel ricciardo

Sliding the screen door closed, you pause in your steps upon noticing that your chair next to Daniel has disappeared.

It’s been commandeered by the kids playing musical chairs in the middle of the yard, the game probably suggested to give your boyfriend an escape from the kids climbing him like a human jungle gym before you stepped inside.

You grab two drinks out of the cooler on the deck, walking to where he’s seated chatting with Scotty and Chloe. The pink and orange sunset illuminates his frame, the warmth of the rays dancing over him with a golden touch. The easy grin he wears has been a permanent fixture this evening—it settles you, seeing the reappearance of the smile you thought was going missing. You’re glad he’s rediscovered it.

He flinches at the cold touch of the can you press to the nape of neck, an overdramatic yelp of shock bursting from his lips.

“You frickin’ scared me, babe,” he laughs, grabbing the drink from your hand while tugging you closer with his tattooed hand slipped in your back pocket.

“Mm,” you hum, raising a hand to ruffle his curls in jest, “Consider it payback for giving up my chair to the little rascals.”

Daniel bodily pulls you to sit on his lap, securing his arms around your waist like a makeshift seat belt, bouncing his legs underneath you, “I reckon that solves the problem, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess it does,” you roll your eyes jokingly at Scotty and Chloe, who are both giggling at your antics. 

You join their previous conversation, and your body relaxes against Daniel’s with ease. Your back rests on his shoulder, fingers mindlessly playing with the clasp of his hands around your waist, and your feet swing back and forth through the low grass of the yard. The squeals and laughter of the kids playing captures your attention, and you briefly glance away to check in on them. Your eyes meet Grace’s, and there’s a delighted smile splayed across her lips, like she’s been watching you and Daniel for a moment.

She mouths the words ‘thank you,’ before winking at you and turning back to pause the music and watch the kids scramble over each other in a race to sit in the nearest chair. 

One day, Grace won’t have to worry about whether her son’s happy or not, because you'll always be around to make sure he is. And, she won’t have to thank you for that either.

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest.

[glossykissies]

i would love to know more about the mean! linecook!scott au, like how did you first meet him?

so i’m thinking classic sunshine x grumpy trope, scott is the head linecook but also pretty much runs that kitchen like the military because he thinks everyone else is too incompetent to do so. he sees you bumbling in as the new girl, all excitable like a puppy and clumsy on your feet and thinks great, just another person i need to accustom to the ways of my kitchen. she is pretty cute, but that’s besides the point.

you even try and make it a point to introduce yourself to him, nearly walking smack bang into his chest as he towers over you, staring at you analytically as he snaps his gum at the back of his teeth. your manager said no gum was allowed in the kitchen, but you guess this scott guy does what he wants.

“oh! nearly ran into you, i’m sorry!” you grin, holding your hand out for him to shake. he stares at it, then back at you as you happily introduce yourself retracting your hand. “i’m new here if you hadn’t noticed. pretty nervous but everyone seems really nice so far, i’m kind of a people person so i think chatting to customers will be fun to be honest. i know people say you get bored of doing that kind of thing but i’ve always liked it. i’m a yapper. it’s kind of my thing! you’re not talking.” you cut your ramble short with a nervous swallow and he slowly raises his hand, placing it on your arm and gently moving you to the side.

“you’re in front of my work station.” he responds bluntly and your face falls a little.

“right! that’s my bad.” you nod, and surprisingly he turns his huge body to face you. seriously, he was so tall he made the kitchen feel smaller. scott digs in his back pocket for a moment before pulling out a small, seemingly new notepad with a pen wedged into the side and presses it firmly into your palm.

“this is yours. waitresses are meant to bring their own but i know you didn’t. you lose it, you gotta remember everyone’s orders. we don’t do taking orders on your phones notes app, it looks juvenile. so don’t lose it. on fridays we serve hot plates so wear long sleeves, you’ll be carrying a lot on your arms and you don’t wanna burn yourself. you drop those plates because they are hot, i’ll be pissed. when you come into the kitchen you walk straight through behind whoever is infront of you to the designated station, you take the food and then walk around the back and out that door. you hang around, or reverse back on yourself you could walk into someone and drop the plate. won’t be happy about that. you drop something, you clear it up. you spill something, you wipe it up — and if someone out there yells at you…” he pauses finally, softening his firm tone only a tiny bit. “you tell me. alright?” he starts chewing again, raising his eyebrows impatiently for you to respond.

“yes sir. i mean, just— yes.”

“good. go sign in.” he nods his head dismissively, turning back to his station and you scurry off to mark yourself as present on the register.

“that scott guy is scary. i think he hates me.” you whisper to an older waitress, a girl around 10 years your senior who’d been working at the restaurant for a while. she scoffs, a look on her face like she knows something that you don’t.

“s’the most we’ve ever seen scotty-boy talk. he likes you.” she reassures before striding off to work. you turn your head, twiddling your new pen in hand as you go to look at him, and he’s already barking orders at his team. wouldn’t hurt to get on his good side.

[maxybabyy]

part four to my max run club verse (slightly au of the orignal plot)

Daniel is three drinks deep and spilling his fourth when he sees him.

He’s taller than Daniel thought he would be, probably has an inch or two on Daniel, long limbs stretched out where he leans against the bar. There’s a smile on his face, and Daniel catches himself leaning in, squinting to find the tiny dot just above his lip.

The mole is there. It hasn’t somehow disappeared between now and the video he had watched before bed, Scotty asleep next to him.

That isn’t always the case, he knows. Sometimes they remove it. But it makes the fans freak out so someone must have told them to leave it. Daniel probably wouldn’t do it now, but he had done it like maybe once. Drunk off his ass asking Red Bull Running what the fuck they thought they were doing, editing people’s faces like that.

Blake had made him delete it, but his point still stood.

Daniel watches Max laugh with his entire body, one arm thrown around his waist as the other grips the bar. He throws back his head as his shoulders shake, and Daniel cannot look away, perversely obsessed with this new side of Max that he hasn’t seen before.

His chest burns with heat, with the thought that maybe he’s the only one to see Max like this. Other than like, Max’s friends and family. But of his fans, Daniel could be alone in this.

He hadn’t given it much thought when Scotty had asked him to come, “There’s like this Red Bull thing that I have to go to. It’s in Austria, but it could be fun. Do you wanna come with?”

He thought maybe Scotty would make them go skiing, and Daniel would do a slope or two before going to work on his tan. At night they would fuck in the hot tub, laugh about the mess, and then do it again the next night. A chance to reconnect, Daniel had thought, and wouldn’t that have been nice?  

Now someone brushes against him, and it makes Daniel jump.

His drink is empty, but it wobbles in his hand, threatening to spill when someone wraps their fingers around his. Long elegant fingers stretched around him and the glass. Trim nails prick his skin, and a shiver runs down his spine.

“Nice catch, mate,” Daniel says and flexes his hand, testing a grip that doesn’t relent.

“Hello,” someone says, and the voice is so fucking familiar that it makes Daniel’s head whip up to look at the man in front of him, at Max. “I brought you a drink.”

There’s an open bar, still Daniel takes the drink without complaint. Max doesn’t let go of him, and Daniel doesn’t move, their hands cradled awkwardly between them until his fingers start to twitch. Even then, Max is slow to step back, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his jeans.

“Thank you,” Daniel says and takes a sip. It’s a gin and tonic, light on the tonic. Max had smelt of it too, the pine sticky on his lips. Daniel licks them again, tries not to imagine if Max would taste like it too.

“You were staring,” Max says tells him.

“Yeah, I was, kinda,” Daniel says with a laugh. Now when he looks at him, Max is watching him back. That’s another thing the videos hadn’t prepared him for, the unrelenting eye contact. For once, he doesn’t squirm under the weight of his stare. Instead, the feeling in his chest grows, preens at the attention. “Bit of a fan, actually.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at that, and Daniel’s breath catches in his throat.

“No, I’m serious,” Daniel insists. For months, he had been saving videos of Max on a playlist to watch later –  most of them of him running, but some of them not – only to find that other people were saving the list. Now, ‘mv jom’ has been privated but it still lives at the top of his page. “I’m like, a big fan of your moaning.”

Max’s laughter is loud enough that the people around them turn around to watch. GP, who must have travelled with Max, stares at them from across the room, and Daniel wants to die.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Your running, that’s what I’m a fan of,” Daniel says while he waits for the ground to swallow him. “Helped me out big time while I was rehabbing.”

“Your knee, no?” Max asks. “From the accident?”

Blood rushes in his ears, and Daniel swallows what’s left of his drink. He has to focus to ease the frown from his face, but confusion still pricks his skin, and even the softened look on Max’s face doesn’t soothe him. “Yeah, how did you know?”

Max’s tongue traces the corner of his mouth, and when Daniel mirrors him, his tongue comes away wet, “Maybe I am a big fan also.”

Daniel tries to laugh, but his mouth feels too dry.

Max steps closer, the tips of his shoes touching the insides of Daniel’s, and offers him the rest of his drink. Daniel takes it, hand shaking as he replaces Max’s mouth with his own.

“Actually, I thought you were of course staring because you wanted to fuck me,” Max tells him then.

“What?”

But Max isn’t done. He takes another step, and their knees bump against each other. Daniel feels Max’s breath on his skin, and the mole he had squinted at before is now close enough to touch. “It is of course better like this, already you know that I am very flexible,” he adds. Casual, like that isn’t the exact thought Daniel’s been trying to squash since he first saw him.

Because Daniel does already know how Max looks on his knees. Bent over so deeply that his chest had pressed against the floor, thighs spread obscenely wide – “Big breath here, just a little deeper. For me, please? You can do it.” – to get the right stretch.

It wouldn’t be hard to fuck him like that, he reckons, Max’s body loose and malleable underneath his hands. Not like how Daniel’s knee still aches when Scotty tries to fuck him from behind.

“I mostly just listen to the audio guides,” Daniel lies, voice faint.

“Always I can just show you instead,” Max offers. His thigh presses in between Daniel’s, and his jeans feel rough against Daniel’s dick. “Like this, it will be so lovely also.”

Daniel chokes on his spit, and Max must be close enough to hear the awkward clench of his throat. But maybe he doesn’t notice, too busy touching the shiny lapels of Daniel’s suit jacket. He doesn’t quite tug at the fabric, but Daniel leans in anyway.

“I did not know that you were sponsored by Red Bull,” Max says. The intensity of the eye contact doesn’t ease up close, and Daniel’s chest feels dangerously tight. “I have not seen you here before.”

Daniel licks his lips, “I’m not.”

“Are you here with someone?” Max asks.

He thinks of Scotty watching them from across the room, of all the shit he had talked about Max after finding the videos. He thinks of how Scotty had fucked him then, hard and fast, biting marks into his neck like they were nineteen and sleeping with other people. He thinks of Scotty behind him, arm around his waist as he watched Max with dark eyes, “Who’s your friend, DR?” He would ask like he didn’t already know.

But most of all, he thinks of Scotty fucking Chloe Stroll in their LA home. Of finding out via texts Scotty had been dumb enough to keep.

Everything gets a little easier after that.

[vintageshanny]

For the First Time

Content: 18+ This is a one-shot about Elvis losing his virginity. I do not claim to be an expert on the details of this. I have heard different rumors, and this is, to me, one possibility of how things might have happened. There is smut in this, but I’m more focused on how he might have been feeling at this time. As always, my tender little heart bleeds with love for him and everything he went through in his life. I would very much appreciate any feedback. ❤️

Thank you @lookingforrainbows for talking me through ideas on this and letting me know it didn’t sound ridiculous. You are a beautiful soul. ❤️ 😘

Fall 1954

Elvis ran his fingers over the outline of the condom package that Scotty had slipped into his pocket at the beginning of the tour. “I know ya got a girl, EP, but put it in your wallet man, just in case. Ya don’t wanna come back with more people than ya left with,” he’d added with a wink. Somehow rubbing his fingers over the rough edges calmed Elvis’ ragged nerves a little bit.

His mind drifted to Dixie and the promises they’d made to each other. To wait. To wait until they were married to consummate their relationship. Sure, they were affectionate with each other, always hugging and kissing, but whenever Elvis tried to sneak his hand up under her skirt or unbutton a couple buttons on her dress, she’d firmly push him away and say, “That’s for our wedding night, silly.” Sometimes when they were kissing, she’d let him grind against her through their clothes, and he’d get so worked up that he needed to make an excuse to go to the bathroom so he could relieve the amount of passion coursing through his entire body.

The promise to wait had seemed so much easier six months ago when they talked about it. Now, it was damn near impossible. He saw the way these girls looked at him after the shows. He was dying to know what it felt like to explore every part of a woman. He thought maybe if he just got this out of his system, the waiting with Dixie wouldn’t be so hard. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was a man after all, and she didn’t need to know about this. He could experience this on the road and be good for her at home. He just needed to find a way to make sure everyone was happy and taken care of, like he’d always tried to do.

Dropping the condom onto the rumpled bedspread, he rose from the edge of the bed and started pacing the hotel room, the voices floating up from the courtyard below making his heart thud in his chest.

“Maria! You came!” Scotty’s reedy voice rang out.

“That’s the idea,” Bill added, only slightly under his breath.

“You should head right up! Elvis should be waitin’ for ya. He’s been waitin’ a looong time.”

Elvis cringed at Scotty’s words as he looked out the window and saw the two of them clink beer bottles and laugh.

Maria paused and turned to look at them, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. “What’s that supposed ta mean?”

Elvis held his breath, willing Scotty not to divulge too much. He’d never come right out and told the guys he was a virgin, but he saw the way they nudged each other and smirked whenever he was talking to a girl after the show. He slowly exhaled as Scotty responded.

“Aw nothin’, honey, I just hope you two have fun on your date.”

Maria rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs, carefully ascending them in her white kitten heels. She took a deep breath, smoothed out her pale yellow sundress, and tried to brace herself for what was on the other side of that door. She had been with a handful of other men, but this was a bona fide star. He probably invited a different girl up every night. Maybe that’s what the other guys had been joking about. She hoped she would live up to his expectations, especially after her bold proclamation earlier. The conversation replayed in her head as she lifted her hand to knock on the door.

“Hey baby, I could see ya dancin’ from up on that stage. Looks like ya really enjoyed the show.”

“I sure did. Maybe I can return the favor with a show of my own.” A sense of satisfaction had consumed her when he unexpectedly blushed at her advances.

Maria’s mind snapped back to the present as Elvis flung open the door. He was wearing black dress pants with a pink jacket open to the naval. As he rested one hand slightly below his hip, she took note of his long slender fingers, nails chewed down to the nub, and the fuzzy little trail of hair leading down from his belly button. Up close, and in the fluorescent lighting of the hotel, she could see he had a pimple on his chin and another close to his collarbone. The entire scene was absolutely intoxicating.

“Maria, I was startin’ ta think ya were gonna stand me up, baby.” Elvis flashed a crooked little grin and stepped aside to let her in the room. He quickly kicked a stray sock under the bed where he’d hidden the rest of his dirty clothes. After sniffing each pair of socks, he had decided it was best to just stay barefoot after his shower. His toes scrunched up at the feel of the rough carpet under his feet.

“No, of course not,” Maria giggled nervously. “I suppose I just took too long tryin’ ta look nice for ya.”

“Well ya sure do look nice, honey,” Elvis whispered lowly as he closed the door and grabbed her by the waist, feeling the soft flesh of her hips. He leaned in and smushed his lips into hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth when she let out a little gasp.

“Wow, you don’t waste no time gettin’ to the action, hmm?” she laughed a little bit when he finally pulled back for some air, his eyes closed. His hands had moved up a little bit, his thumb gently rubbing at the side of her breast.

“I-I-I thought that’s what ya wanted, baby,” Elvis stammered out, trying to read her expression. “If you’d rather just sit and talk, that’s okay.” He led her over toward the bed, and they both spotted the condom at the same moment. Elvis’ face turned bright red as he snatched it up. “Oh, I-I-I’m sorry baby, I d-d-didn’t mean ta leave that there like that. We really ain’t gotta do nothin’, I-I-I mean-”

Maria just laughed and pushed him gently backward until he was sitting on the bed. “It’s okay, Elvis.” She unbuttoned his jacket the rest of the way and slipped it off his shoulders. “I always make good on my promises.”

Elvis stared in awe as she reached behind herself and unzipped the yellow dress, letting it fall to the ground, revealing a silky pink bra and panties. Elvis gulped nervously as he stared at her body. The material was so thin and sheer, he could see the outline of her nipples and the little mound of hair down below. He stifled a groan as he could feel his cock growing hard, straining against the briefs that he now wished he’d forgone.

“You’re really gonna make me put on a show for ya, huh?” Maria teased as Elvis just sat there studying her. “I thought ya might join in.” She reached back and unclasped her bra, her perky breasts now on full display for him.

“I-I-I’m sorry honey, ya jus’ got me a little speechless here. I’ll join in,” Elvis murmured as he pulled her closer to him. He tentatively leaned in and took one of her nipples in his mouth, caressing it with his warm tongue.

“Mmm, that’s more like it,” she whispered. “You can touch me anywhere, Elvis.” As she grabbed his hand to guide it toward her panties, she realized he was literally shaking with nerves. “Elvis? Are ya okay?” As she looked at him with concern, the meaning of Scotty’s “He’s been waitin’ a long time” suddenly hit her. “Are you, I mean, is this your, um, first time?” she asked softly.

“Wh-wh-what?” Elvis exclaimed, jerking his trembling hand away. “N-n-no baby, I-I-I’ve been with plenty of girls. I-I-I jus’, um, I mean, n-n-none as beautiful as you, that’s all,” he stammered out, trying to distract her with a compliment.

Maria wanted to tell him it was okay, that she was flattered, that he didn’t need to be nervous, but she decided it was best to just drop it and help him relax. She smiled and nodded. “You’re sweet, Elvis. I wanna see if ya taste sweet too.” She dropped down to her knees and unbuttoned his pants.

“Wh-wh-what are ya doin’ honey? Ya ain’t gotta do all that.” Elvis heard the words come out of his mouth, but somehow his body’s desire betrayed him by lifting slightly off the bed so Maria could pull off his pants. His heart raced anxiously as she reached inside of his briefs. He knew from being in the locker rooms back in school that not everyone had a sheath of foreskin covering their dick, and he hoped she wouldn’t mock him the way some of his classmates had.

Maria could feel her panties getting wetter by the second as she wrapped her hand around something thick and warm inside Elvis’ briefs. “We should just get these outta the way,” she murmured, pulling them down his legs and watching as he sprang free from the confinement. Her eyes widened with surprise when she realized he was not…well, not like the other guys she’d been with. There was something extra wrapped around him. She liked the way it felt as she pumped it with her hand.

Elvis squinched his eyes shut, too afraid he’d see a look of disgust before she jumped up and ran off. Instead, he felt something warm and wet wrap around his hard dick. He opened his eyes to see Maria taking him deep in her mouth, and the moan he let out made him kick himself for not closing the window tight. The whole hotel must know what’s going on in here. Her tongue traced its way around his shaft before taking special care of his sensitive tip. Elvis thought he might explode right on the spot as she sucked on him.

“You do taste good y’know,” Maria said with a little wink as she pulled off him and stood up again. She slid her dampened panties down and stepped out of them, so they were both totally naked. “Do you wanna check if I’m ready for ya?” Elvis nodded and this time let her guide his hand between her legs.

“Baby, it’s so wet down there,” he murmured as Maria started moaning. He found her entrance and slipped a finger inside of her, moving it in a way that felt natural. She felt so soft and silky, he thought he could just play with her pussy for hours. But Maria wanted more than a finger.

“You should slide right in then,” she whispered as she moved his hand and laid down on the bed next to him. He grabbed the condom again and opened it, rolling it onto himself, hoping Maria couldn’t tell he’d never done this before. Maria smiled at the awkward way he put on the condom, and noticed that she could feel him trembling again. “I want it so bad, Elvis,” she reassured him, pulling him on top of her.

“Me too, baby, me too.” Elvis reached down and guided his dick toward her slick opening. Once he’d gently pushed in a couple inches, he thrusted in the rest of the way, her wet pussy consuming his entire length. “Oh, goddamn,” he moaned out, unprepared for the feeling of something so tight and wet wrapped around him, clenching at him. He tried to take it slow, tried to make it last, but the pleasure was overpowering. He thrust a few times before his orgasm completely took over, leaving him panting on top of Maria, his sweaty hair dripping down onto her forehead.

“Oh wow, baby, you are amazing.” Elvis slowly pulled out and rolled to his side. He carefully peeled off the condom and tossed it into the trash can by the bed. “I-I-I’m sorry, I usually l-l-last longer, I jus’, uh, got so excited,” he tried to explain, his face turning red from the lies and the exertion.

Maria just smiled and patted his chest. “That’s okay, I thought your excitement was very sweet.” She hesitated, then added, “Do ya think you could, um, help me get there though? Your fingers felt magical inside me,” she admitted with a blush.

“Really?” Elvis perked up at the compliment. “I mean, of course baby.” He reached over between her legs and started playing with her pussy again, taking mental note of what seemed to work the best. She moaned deeply when he put a finger inside her, but he noticed that her toes curled up and she could barely even function when he rubbed at her little button. I wonder what both at once would do. He kneeled next to her and put two fingers from one hand inside of her while his thumb on the other hand worked that little nub.

“Oh, God!” she cried out in ecstasy, her legs shaking, her arousal leaking out onto his fingers. “Oh Elvis, I c-c-can’t take it,” she moaned, begging him to stop. Elvis removed his fingers and smiled, very pleased with his ability as he leaned down to kiss her soft lips.

“Was that magical enough?” he whispered in her ear.

“Pure magic.” Maria pulled him in for another passionate kiss.

“C-c-can I ask ya somethin’, honey?” Elvis gently stroked Maria’s arm with his fingertips. “After talkin’ to ya, ya seem like such a nice sweet girl. Wh-wh-why did ya do this with me?”

Maria tried to sort out the thoughts in her head, wondering how much she should share. “You seem like a nice sweet guy. Why did you do it?” she finally asked.

“W-w-well, that’s different, I mean, I…I wanted ta feel good I guess,” Elvis stumbled over his explanation, unable to really articulate what he was feeling at that exact moment.

“So did I,” Maria responded. “Elvis, I’ve been through some really bad experiences. I suppose at heart I’m just lonely and this is a way to feel close to someone, to feel connected and cared for, even if just for a little while. Ya know what I mean?”

Elvis swallowed a lump in his throat. It was like she had put his exact thoughts into words. “I know exactly what ya mean, honey. Does it work? Ta make ya feel close ta someone, I mean?”

Maria let out a little sigh. “Sometimes. Sometimes not so much. But we all just try the best we can, I suppose.”

Elvis nodded as Maria stood up to get dressed. “I should get home. My mama will worry and wonder where I’ve been.”

“What will you tell her?” Elvis asked as he pulled his clothes back on.

“That I was having a deep conversation with a friend,” Maria laughed. “Y’know, not really a lie, but not the whole truth. Not everyone needs ta know everything.”

“Will I, uh, will I see ya again at another show?”

Maria smiled and hugged him tight. “Maybe. But maybe we were just the connection the other needed in this moment.”

Maria paused at the door and looked back. “Elvis?”

“Yeah, honey?” Elvis’ mind was a muddle of confused emotions right now.

“You are very sweet and very special. Never let anyone make ya feel like that ain’t enough.” That crooked little smile would be burned into her mind forever.

Twenty minutes later, Elvis descended the steps to the courtyard, wondering what the guys were up to. Scotty and Bill were playing cards when they saw him approaching and started a round of applause. “There he is!” Scotty yelled out. “I told ya that condom would come in handy.”

“Aw quit it,” Elvis snapped, but he couldn’t deny feeling a tiny surge of pride at being considered “one of the guys” for the first time in his life. He couldn’t see it now, but over the years ahead, he’d sacrifice so much for the desire to fit in, to connect with people, to wish they could understand him. What he’d give for just one person to really understand what he was going through. To understand his heart.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @thatbanditqueen @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @arrolyn1114 @atleastpleasetelephone

[bouncingbluebeast]

So like, the X-Men have had a Best Butt Competition at some point, right?

((You put a bunch of superhuman hot people in a single mansion and have them living together for years - DECADES even - and surely someone like Gambit or Wolverine is getting ideas...

Scott's too much of a boyscout to admit any answers and calls it "immature". Mostly he's just insecure that he doesn't have that much for buns in the bakery. It's okay, Scottie, you have wonderful eyes...

Xavier wouldn't stand for it while he's still alive, having to empath around a bunch of hormonal gifted youngsters already.

Logan's a shortstack with a surprising amount of backbacon, though his leering and grumpy stoicism makes him pretty hot-and-cold as a judge.

Hank was an absolute hound-dog growing up, though I think he'd be far too concerned about disrespecting the ladies of the X-Mansion to participate. He did play football growing up, though. It builds the glutes very nicely.

Jean's pretty bashful about viewing her teammates in such a manner, though I think her ogling of Scott and Logan implies other priorities. I imagine she's a bit more willowy, but having a baby certainly changes the body and she's just as beautiful after. I think Jean Grey with freckles would be absolutely lovely. Give the Phoenix some stardust on her skin.

(It's difficult to guess a lot of the Marvel women's body types beyond "generically hourglass supermodel" because that's mostly what is viewed as 'ideal' or 'the pinnacle' of aesthetics. These superheroes are viewed more as concepts than people for designing their forms, especially in Marvel when it's a lot of Humans-Among-Gods)

Ororo. The Kenyan princess, Queen of Storms? Omega-Class Mutant, Alpha-Class Ass. The woman practically invented thunder thighs, and she is all the more powerful. I don't think anyone would dare disrespect someone who can smite you with a glance, but why even would you when she's so striking?

Colossus. Literal buns of steel. Points given for puns, taken for practicality. Only the bravest soldiers can claim those Russian peaks and I salute them.

Remy is a statistical wonder of Cajun cuisine while staying lean as a telephone pole. Not a single crumb of cornbread on this man's plate and it is the deepest tragedy. Secretly, I think this is the part Rogue was disappointed she couldn't feel-oop...

Anna-Marie the southern bell with hips to tell. With her hair and smile, you would be remiss to look lower and find less than if you stay in her eyes. I think a pear-shape makes sense for her, with a little pocket around her abs and very cute calves for when she wears a sundress.

Nightcrawler is a flirt and a charmer, but he is also a consummate and pious gentleman who is always seeing the good and beautiful in his companions. He'd never reduce his comrades - his found family - to something so base as the quality of their posterior. He knows that each and every one of them carries the beauty and the image of God, and he knows they are all winners in His sight.

((As he turns to leave, everyone agrees it's Nightcrawler.))

[hederasgarden]

SCOTT GIRLIE REPORTING FOR DUTY I wanna have a workplace rivalry with this dude that is so filled by sexual tension that people just assume we’re already fucking

I am delighted by all the asks I have gotten for Scott from Twisters. DELIGHTED.  

Back to your ask...Scott would be the best kind of asshole in a workplace rivalry fic. 

I'd make the reader a Caltech grad, MIT's biggest rival, and she'd hammer him hard on the fact that he only has a master's degree and love to wind him up.

Here’s a little sneak peek of something I have cooking. 

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female lab techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he likely just came from the field.  "We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught." You can tell he’s gearing up for a lecture and you roll your eyes at his smug tone. God, engineers really were the worst, but Scott was something else. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. "So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you say, drawing their attention. The lab tech smiles at you, relieved. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty." He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad he was such an asshole and liked you even less than you liked him.   Scott practically growls your first name as he steps into your space, looming over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab.  At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.  You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as doctor," you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge.  "Come on guys," Javi says. "Play nice."

[burntsecrets]

Steve Doesn't Know

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader 

Word Count: 2022

Prompt: Scotty Doesn’t Know by Lustria

Summary: A secret affair between the reader and Eddie Munson begins to unravel when Steve Harrington, unaware of their relationship, confesses his feelings.

Warnings: secret relationship, implied sexual content, romantic tension, emotional manipulation, jealousy, love triangle, secret-keeping, mild angst, friendship betrayal, power dynamics, suspense

You lean against the worn, grimy counter of the laundromat, the faint hum of machines filling the air, trying your best to focus on the magazine spread out before you. The pages are glossy but dull, and the content is irrelevant because your attention keeps slipping to the back corner where Eddie Munson sits, legs sprawled out, his dirty boots propped lazily on the folding table. His posture is relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the chair while the other holds up a dog-eared comic book. He flicks through the pages absentmindedly, not really reading, and every few moments, his lips curl into that familiar, secretive smirk—the one that sends your pulse racing.

It’s a smirk he reserves just for you that says he’s in on the secret you’ve both been keeping for months. Every shared glance, every brush of his fingers, feels like it’s charged with something unsaid—something electric and heated that only the two of you understand. His dark eyes lift every now and then to meet yours, just for a split second, and in that brief moment, it feels like the rest of the world disappears. 

It’s a game, a dangerous dance of sneaking away, of meeting in the dead of night when the town is quiet. The back of Eddie’s van has become your sanctuary, the place where he pulls you close, his hands on your waist, his lips on yours as the metal walls rattle around you. Or sometimes it’s his trailer, the cramped, messy space where you can hear the creak of the bed as he whispers your name against your skin.

No one knows—not Steve, not your other friends. They’re all blissfully unaware of the secret conversations shared in the shadows, of the way Eddie’s smirk grows just a little darker when you’re alone together. And when you're back out in the open, you both return to your roles, acting as if nothing's different, hiding behind casual smiles and subtle nods. But you feel it—he feels it—the crackling energy that lingers between you, the magnetic pull that no one else can see. It’s a secret world, one only the two of you share, and with each stolen moment, the line between danger and desire blurs a little more.

The bell above the laundromat door jingles loudly, its shrill ring cutting through the stillness, pulling you back to the present. Your gaze snaps up just in time to catch Steve Harrington as he strides in, his broad grin lighting up the otherwise dingy room. There’s an easy confidence in the way he moves like he’s oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that hangs thick in the air between you and Eddie. Steve’s always had that ability—his carefree charm, his boy-next-door grin that disarms everyone in the room.

He heads straight toward Eddie, hands shoved in his pockets, oblivious to the electric glances exchanged between you and the man sitting in the back. Eddie barely shifts in his seat, though the smirk playing at the corners of his lips never falters. There’s a strange dynamic between the two of them—part grudging respect, part camaraderie, built from their shared battles in Hawkins. They’re not best friends, but there’s something between them that can’t entirely be defined, and today, Steve seems utterly unaware of just how much he’s walking into.

You force yourself to look back down at the magazine, its glossy pages a blur. Your fingers tighten around the edges, though you try to appear casual, pretending that you’re engrossed in the article. But your pulse quickens, the beating of your heart loud in your ears, because something feels different today. Steve has that look like he’s here for more than just a casual chat.

Steve approaches Eddie with an easy confidence, standing just a few feet from him. “Hey, Eddie, you got a minute?”

You glance up briefly, just in time to catch Steve standing a few feet away from Eddie, his easy confidence still intact. There’s something in his tone, though—something that tells you he’s about to say something important. Your curiosity spikes, and you shift your posture slightly, angling your body toward them while pretending to flip another page of the magazine, though you aren’t reading a single word.

Eddie lowers the comic book in his hands slightly, one eyebrow quirking up in mild interest. “Yeah? What’s up, Harrington?” His voice is relaxed, but there’s a glint in his eyes, a knowing look that’s hard to miss. He’s already sensing that Steve has something on his mind, something more than idle conversation.

Steve shifts on his feet, a nervous energy radiating from him that’s out of place compared to his usual carefree demeanor. His eyes flick briefly in your direction—so quick you almost don’t notice—before he looks back at Eddie. You keep your head down, pretending not to notice how he hesitates. Steve’s hands dig a little deeper into his pockets, and then he lowers his voice, his tone suddenly quieter, more cautious.

“It’s about her,” Steve says, his voice dropping just enough to make it clear he’s trying to keep this conversation between him and Eddie.

Your body tenses instinctively, fingers tightening slightly on the magazine as his words hit you. Me? Steve wants to talk about me? A rush of surprise shoots through you, making your pulse race faster. You fight to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away, though the words on the page blur beneath your gaze. You stay frozen, pretending to stay focused on the magazine, but your heart is hammering in your chest.

Eddie leans back slightly in his chair, and though he keeps his casual posture, you notice the subtle change in his body language. His smirk deepens, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes like he’s already two steps ahead of whatever Steve’s about to say. The tension in the room thickens, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for the conversation to unfold, your heartbeat syncing with the undercurrent of secrecy swirling around the three of you.

"Her, huh?" Eddie's voice is slow and deliberate, each word rolling off his tongue with calculated ease. He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Steve with a glint of amusement as if he already knows where this conversation is going and savoring every second. The casual smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s entirely in control here. "What about her?"

Steve shifts nervously, the weight of what he's about to say hanging between them. He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his usual confidence faltering. "Look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but... I think I might have feelings for her."

Your heart skips a beat, but it’s not for the reasons Steve would expect. Feelings? For you? Steve—your dependable, kind, and funny friend—has feelings for you? It catches you off guard, but it doesn't set off the kind of reaction you’d imagine. Sure, you and Steve are close, have always been close, but the idea of him harboring deeper feelings had never crossed your mind. You’d always seen him as a friend, someone you could count on, someone who made you laugh and always had your back.

But now, here he is, standing in front of Eddie, spilling his heart, and you can’t quite process it the way he’d want you to. Instead of feeling flattered, it feels… strange. Unfamiliar. And your eyes instinctively dart toward Eddie.

Eddie’s smirk falters for a split second, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but it’s fleeting. The smirk returns almost instantly, sharper now, more amused. "Feelings?" He drags out the word, toying with it like a cat with a mouse. His tone is casual, but you know Eddie well enough to sense the undertone beneath it—the subtle, dangerous edge. "Didn’t see that one coming, Harrington."

Steve laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, his unease apparent. "Yeah, I know it’s probably stupid, but she’s... different, you know? Not like other girls." His voice is a little too eager, a little too hopeful. "I just… I don’t know what to do about it."

You glance at Steve, feeling a pang of something—maybe guilt, maybe sympathy—but it’s not enough to stir anything deeper in you. You’ve always liked Steve, but not like this. Not in the way he seems to like you. For you, Steve has always been a friend, and nothing more. There’s no rush of excitement, no nervous flutter in your stomach when you’re around him. Just warmth. Comfort. Friendship.

But Eddie? Eddie’s the one who sets your pulse racing.

As Steve keeps talking, his words fade into background noise, overshadowed by Eddie's presence. He doesn’t even have to move, doesn’t have to look your way, but just knowing he��s sitting there, the quiet confidence in his posture, and gods that smirk, sends an unexpected thrill through you. It’s Eddie who makes your heart race, Eddie who fills the air with a tension so thick you can barely breathe.

You shift slightly, the heat of the moment pressing in on you, making you hyperaware of everything—the worn fabric of the laundromat seat beneath you, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the way Eddie’s fingers drum lazily against the comic book in his hand, the secret weight of the moments you’ve shared with him when no one else was around. The late nights in his van, the stolen kisses, the way his hands move over you like he’s staking a claim. That’s where the fire is, the electric undercurrent that Steve can’t even begin to suspect.

Eddie leans forward slightly, and that smirk on his lips sharpens like a blade. "You sure she’s not already taken?"

Steve blinks, clearly confused. The question seems to knock him off balance. "What? No way. I’d know if she was seeing someone."

Eddie’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Are you sure about that?" He’s playing with Steve now, dangling the truth in front of him like bait.

Steve frowns, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, man. We hang out all the time. She would’ve told me if she was with someone."

Eddie lets out a low chuckle, the sound dark and knowing, sending a shiver down your spine. He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair with an almost mocking air of disbelief. "You think so, huh?" His voice drops lower, more dangerous now as if he’s daring Steve to figure it out. His eyes flick toward you for the briefest moment—just long enough to send another wave of heat crashing through you. "Maybe she’s got her hands full with someone else already."

Your breath catches, heart pounding, as you realize what Eddie’s doing. He’s no longer hiding it, no longer playing coy. He’s toying with Steve, pushing him closer and closer to the truth without ever saying it outright. And you’re caught in the middle, feeling the weight of the secret you’ve been keeping with Eddie pressing down on you like never before.

Steve stares at Eddie, his confusion giving way to suspicion. His eyes flick between you and Eddie, the pieces slowly starting to click together, but he’s still not quite there yet. "Wait... is she seeing someone?"

Eddie shrugs, his smirk never faltering, the look on his face one of pure triumph. He’s enjoying this far too much. "I’m just saying... maybe you don’t know everything that’s been going on with her."

Steve’s face goes pale as the realization begins to sink in. His gaze locks onto you, searching for something—confirmation, denial, anything—but you can’t bring yourself to move. He turns back to Eddie, his voice quieter now, more hesitant. "What are you trying to say?"

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to. The truth hangs in the air, thick and suffocating, waiting for Steve to finally piece it together. Eddie’s smirk widens, and the tension in the laundromat becomes unbearable.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as Steve’s confusion shifts into understanding. You can feel the secret unraveling right in front of you, and there’s no stopping it now.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

If you need ideas for the Temptation snapshots, I've got one. It's Scotty's wedding, Daniel's Kitten is a bridesmaid. She looks stunning in a curves complimenting dress. Daniel can't take his eyes off of her but she doesn't have time for him. She's running around, helping everybody with everything till Daniel decides he can't wait anymore and drags her to the bedroom for a quickie only after that they realise that they've fucked in the newlyweds bed

Temptation Snapshot || DR3 {6}

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 1.4K F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven Snapshots: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

The Bachelor’s Party/Hen Night Vegas baby! That was the caption to the clip of Daniel arriving in Las Vegas for Scotty’s bachelor party - the two Australians 100 percent ready to unleash hell on Sin City with their close-knit group of friends. At just over 2000 kilometres away, you were boarding a private boat with Chloe in Vancouver as her hen night began far more sedately. While the next 24 hours with the bridal party was all about pampering and enjoying the beautiful views out on the water, the groomsmen were making promises to each other that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Come morning light everyone would start making their way to Venice where the big event was going down - for better or for worse. You had a feeling the boys would certainly be feeling worse.

You were utterly relaxed after a massage and a soak in the hot tub on the top deck with the girls, the stars glittering in the night sky. Chloe’s friends were an endless stream of gossip and it was hard to keep up with their exciting lives until your phone started to vibrate on your sunbed. 

“Excuse me,” you apologised as you stepped out of the warm water and saw a facetime call coming in from Danny. “Hey, I thought you would be too busy to call?”

“You should come here, kitten,” he slurred as the camera moved erratically and you heard Scotty’s laugh in the background. “Look,” he tried to pan the video around and you guessed he was somewhere on the strip from all the bright lights. “White Chapel! We could get married right now.”

You tilted your head so you could properly see what he was showing you. “You want me to come to Las Vegas and get married at a White Chapel?” you laughed with a shake of your head. “You know my dad would never forgive you if he didn’t get to give me away.”

“I just want you all to myself, as Mrs Ricciardo,” he whined as the camera turned back to his face and a chorus of whipping sounds erupted from the guys around him. “Fuck off! You’re whipped too.”

“So you admit you’re whipped,” Scotty shouted happily and the call was dropped as they started a little scuffle, more like brothers than friends.

“You have that man wrapped around your finger,” Chloe teased when you slipped back into the steaming water.

“Look who's talking,” you said with a wink and grabbed your drink, raising it up to clink it with hers. “You mastered the art first.”

“I suppose I did,” she giggled before toasting with the circle. “To our boys, and their peak golden retriever energy.”

The Wedding Day “Behave,” you warned Daniel when he tried to corner you in the hotel’s corridor. “I’m a woman on a mission so keep your hands to yourself.”

“You know I can’t help it when my kitten gets all bossy,” he chuckled as he pinned you to the wall with his body. “No one will notice if we slip away for a few minutes.”

“Chloe would, since I’m meant to be getting her shoes.”

Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a tiny book similar to what you would get when you bought a raffle. Licking the pad of his thumb he started to flick through the pages before humming and ripping a tab out. “Here,” he said as he tucked it into your cleavage. “That is contractually binding too, I might add.”

You fished the paper out and opened it to see it was a comical voucher for a quickie in the nearest room. “I’m sure my lawyer would agree with you,” you joked as you straightened his lapels. “Where did you even get this?”

“I may or may not have stolen it from Scotty’s presents, but I thought it would have been a waste to go to them. I know him and it would end up in the bin before they even went on their honeymoon. So?” His eyes darted to the door beside you and he wiggled his eyebrows. “You look ridiculously sexy in that dress, kitten, and it is doing all sorts of crazy things to me.”

“Well I would hate to get in trouble with the law, since this is contractually binding…”

His smile grew and he tested the door only to growl when it didn’t open, but the next one was left unlocked. “Better make it quick, baby, I have no idea who this room belongs to.”

The spike of adrenaline made you rush to lift your dress and Daniel’s belt snapped open as he shoved his trouser halfway down his tattooed thighs before pulling you onto his lap at the edge of the bed. Your bodies joined with a harmonious moan and you relished the full feeling when you hadn’t been prepared for him, something that rarely happened.

“Fuck, you feel so good, kitten,” he moaned, his hand reaching for your hair before you grabbed it.

“This took two hours, don’t mess it up.”

“Okay, okay,” he obeyed, settling his hands on your hips and using his strength to guide you up and down his cock. You didn’t have the same issue with his hair, the short curls still left untamed, so you dragged your fingers through them as you bounced on his lap.

“You look tired,” you commented before you lost all ability to think, noticing the dark bags under his brown eyes. “Did you conquer Vegas or did Vegas conquer you?”

A smirk played on his lips and he shook his head. “Sorry, kitten, the boys all made a promise. Scouts honour.”

Your head tilted to the side as you stopped riding him. “Is that how it is now?”

“Don’t stop, baby,” he begged as you started to climb off his lap. “Wait, wait, okay.”

“What happened in Vegas, Daniel?” you asked, neither pulling away nor lowering yourself back down him.

“Nothing like you’re thinking,” he muttered.

“Daniel…”

“I may have gotten a little bit shitfaced,” he admitted and you lifted an eyebrow that made him crumble. His head dropped into your cleavage as he confessed, “I was totally off my tit drunk and so was Scotty, and we may have crashed out on the same bed.”

You slipped back down his cock until you were saddled on his lap again. “That’s not bad, why were you trying to hide it?”

“Those assholes took photos of us cuddling and crying together because we missed out girls now can you please move before I start crying again.”

It was a quick jumble of words barely more than a whisper but you caught them, just, and they caught you off guard. In a split second your head was thrown back with a laugh and you cradled him to your chest.

“Fuck me, keep laughing, kitten,” Daniel moaned. “So fucking tight when you do that.”

It drove Daniel wild and he started bucking his hips as you rode him, hitting deeper with each change in the angle until your eyes screwed shut and your heart hammered. You wanted to kiss him like your life depended on it but the makeup hadn’t been set long enough and you weren’t willing to risk smearing the masterpiece.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy,” you whimpered as heat flushed your skin and you pushed through the ache in your legs from the position. Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuuuuck,” Daniel groaned as your cunt gripped his dick like a vice and he filled you with the thick ropes of his cum. “Shit, kitten, you’re gonna kill me with that pretty pussy of yours,” he commented as you climbed off and rearranged your dress into place.

“I think you just need more self-control,” you teased as you looked around the room and froze. There on the table was the white Jimmy Choo box you had been sent to find, next to a plate of delicate handmade chocolates and a neatly written card dedicated to the newlyweds. “Oh shit.”

Daniel looked up from his belt he had rebuckled and saw you grab the shoes from the box, his eyes taking in everything as he came to the same conclusion. “Oh shit,” he laughed, biting his knuckle as the sound grew. He looked back at the bed and quickly swiped a hand across the blankets to smooth out the indents of his ass. “That bed is getting some action today.”

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[idontknowreallywhy]

Expert

I left a little idea hanging in this fic which really needed some investigation. And the muse finally returned on my commute yesterday so, while this isn’t my most well thought through or deviously plotted fic, the idea entertained me so I hope you’ll enjoy it too :) Wee Tracy fluff!

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“Scooooo-ooooott!!!!!”

“Scottyyyyyy?!!”

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic.

“You win, little man! You’re so clever! Can you come out now?”

A little bead of sweat tickled its way past Jeff’s eyebrow and he swiped at it impatiently. It was important to keep the panic out of his voice so he kept up the singsong tone:

“Where aaaare you, Bluejaaaay?”

He was missing something.

“Please come out now? Daddy needs a cuddle!”

He’d checked all the usual places. Twice.

“Do you want a snack, Scotty?”

Surely that would…?

“Snack time!!”

Nothing.

What was he missing?

Jeff Tracy was 3 months into being a stay at home Dad while Lucy was off being incredible at the university.

And while the first few days had been inevitably shaky, until this morning he’d been pretty confident he was nailing it.

Sure, he had to confess (and did so with a great deal of admiration most every evening) that he couldn’t work out how Lucy had been doing all this AND working remotely while he’d been up on Alfie. She’d just smile contentedly as he nuzzled her neck and reminded her she was a goddess walking on earth. Usually she would have denied this vehemently, but sharing a house with a child whose sleep-in-his-own-bed record was 30 mins 47 seconds meant neither was willing to waste a single moment on pointless humility…

Anyway, she clearly had Powers he did not.

For a standard issue human, however, he was doing ok. He’d read the toddler-wrangling manual cover to cover. His son, apparently, had not, but there were one or two tips that seemed to hold fairly true. Most of the time. But he was beginning to think he could write one himself, because while Dr Whatsherface might be an expert on the average toddler, Jeff Tracy was an expert on his own rather unique version.

Rule number one - never blink. The kid moves faster than sound.

Rule number two - Accessorise.

Jeff had taken to wearing combat pants with multiple pockets and thus perpetually had snacks, wet wipes and toy planes on standby. He had a tennis ball to hand at all times… turned out that what worked for a puppy sometimes worked for a two-year old too.

The squeaky chew toys were their little secret.

Yes, the key to his success was in the gadgets. The baby swing he’d fixed into the door frame had been a great way to enable the little whirlwind to let off steam while remaining in one place. The delighted squeals of “‘Cotty fwwwyyyy!!!” really brought a tear to the eye. The height and speed his child managed to achieve using the thing brought a slightly anxious twitch to the eye also, but it was all fine. He just needed to be close by enough to intervene…

He solved Going Out with a gadget too. Scott wasn’t really a pushchair kind of a guy but wasn’t yet able to appreciate that tugging his little hand out of his Dada’s and sprinting out into the traffic wasn’t ok. After a few days of hanging limp from it, 12 kilos of dead weight, in protest, Scott had eventually taken to the cunning harness-leash device which meant their little trips into town were less of an adrenaline rush. Marginally.

At some point Jeff was definitely going to get punched for barging his way through a crowd by some irate person who didn’t appreciate he was attached to a tiny rocket on a string.

But the main thing was he wasn’t getting lost. Or flattened.

Yep, Jeff was nailing this parenting thing.

Tying the kid down while he made a hasty trip to the bathroom had seemed a step too far, however. Scott had been enclosed in his supposedly escape-proof playpen, temporarily absorbed in nyoooming a plushie space ship from one duplo planet to another.

Jeff had been three minutes, tops. Barely 180 seconds.

Where could he go in 180 seconds??

He cursed himself for the rookie error of under-estimating his first-born and stood at the kitchen door, running through a mental checklist of all the places in which he had located his feral offspring to date.

Cupboards. Check.

Curtains. Check.

Top of bookcase, window sills, under the beds. Check check check.

On top of the big wardrobe in the master bedroom? One of spider-baby’s favourites that one. Check.

He’d looked there three times actually, nearly got himself wedged the third time as he clambered up and reached all the way to the back just in case his eyes were deceiving him and a cherubic blue-eyed menace was hiding in the shadows.

A face-full of cobwebs: No Scotty.

“Daddy’s getting pretty lonely out here, I wish you’d come and play with me!!”

The house wasn’t that big. Where on earth…?

The windows were still locked shut.

The front door was still shut. With the chain in place… even tiny Houdini couldn’t have put that back on behind him.

The back door was locked, key still on the hook.

So he couldn’t be outside.

So… no need to panic. Unless he was stuck or hurt somewhere and Jeff wasn’t with him!!

“SCOOOOOOOTTYYYYY?”

It had got to the stage where Jeff was doing ridiculous things like looking behind lamp stands and under cushions that were far too small to hide a human toddler, particularly one that moved so constantly he even vibrated in his sleep.

But there wasn’t anywhere left!!!

… or was there?

In desperation, Jeff pulled down the telescopic ladder and stuck his head into the attic-space, in case somehow his child had suddenly developed both the ability to fly and to pass through solid objects during those three unforgivable minutes of inattention.

Obviously Scott wasn’t there.

This was wasting time.

He retraced his steps to the kitchen, calling as he went.

“Scotty I really need you to come out now please? Daddy’s getting worried!”

The cupboard under the sink? It was big enough… The child-proof door closures should have made it impossible but this was Scott Tracy: Tiny master of impossible feats. Jeff really hoped he was wrong because if he’d got in there… where the cleaning things were kept…

“Scotty!”

He sped up and began to reach down as he covered the last few metres… then gasped as his foot slid from under him and he skated, flailing wildly, across the linoleum.

“Sco-aaaaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!”

Jeff’s graceless ice dance was halted abruptly as he slammed head first into the fridge and crumpled to the floor.

Jars rattled.

Jeff’s teeth rattled.

The fridge said “Dada?”

Jeff’s ears said “riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing”.

The floor was sticky. Feeling a little hazy Jeff lifted a hand and sniffed it cautiously… cinnamon? What?

Wait.

Blinking the stars from his eyes Jeff, dragged himself to his feet and hauled the door open to find his son tucked neatly on to a high shelf, curled around a pie dish.

Jeff’s jaw dropped.

He snapped it closed it again and bit his lip lest any inappropriate words escape.

“Dada! ‘Cotty duck in fidge. Oh no!”

The tiny child lifted his apple sauce covered hands and looked at them as if suddenly realising they were attached to his arms. Bright blue eyes gazed down at him with an expression of extreme innocence:

“Oh no! ‘Cotty all messy! Ooopsiiiieee!”

A chunk of apple fell from his little eyebrow and Jeff nearly burst a blood vessel trying to keep a straight face. Don’t reward the unwelcome behaviour with a reaction, the book had said. If he laughed now, Scott would only do similar again. And he needed to impress upon him that it wasn’t ok to hide away like this.

Or consume the majority of a family sized dessert by himself.

His lip twitched.

Jeff would have put serious money on the supposed expert never having anticipated this scenario.

Clearly realising his father had no follow-up questions to his comprehensive situational update, Scott plunged his hand back into the dish and shoved a fistful of pie crust into his mouth.

Jeff covered his face and screamed silently into his palms. Then realised he had given himself a matching set of apple pie eyebrows.

Piebrows.

He snorted.

Scott snorted like a pig in response and burst into giggles, spraying pastry crumbs into Jeff’s hair.

Expert schmexpert.

Jeff laughed loud and Jeff laughed long. Scott giggled and clapped his sticky hands together then reached for Jeff with one of them, the other clutching the edge of the pie dish possessively.

“I think you’ve had enough pie, Bluejay, don’t you?” Jeff prised the little fingers free and realised his son’s skin was incredibly cold.

“Bloody hell, kiddo you’re freezing! Come ‘ere …” he plucked the small icicle from the shelf and hugged him close. “We’d best get you in a warm bath. What are you, Elsa?”

“Leddid gooooo!!! Leddid gooooooooo!!!” The little lad closed his eyes and waved a sticky fist in the air as he sang.

“Yes, son, let it go.”

Scott hid his last handful of pie behind his back and shook his head vigorously.

“No Dada!! ‘Cotty’s abble bie. Buddy ell, Dada! Oh no!”

Jeff swallowed hard. “Oh no” indeed.

Maybe he’d put a pin in the book idea, just for a little while.

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