#and now i wake up driven by the excitement for my first cup of coffee

[waitmyturtles]

@respectthepetty covered us yesterday with the BIG! NEWS! from The Promise, episode 8, that Nan realized that Phu has a brother in Khunkhao, who’s come back to Thailand from Melbourne. (And, wow, MAD PROPS to Nan for being the MOST WANTED MAN in SE Asia -- every last iota of testosterone is focused on our homey right now.)

Did we get the same dallying from Phu as from past episodes? Yeah, same. (Man, Phu? What the fuck? DISSING ON NAN’S COOKING before even trying it for YOUR BIRTHDAY DINNER? As a MOM, I am UPSET at this behavior, apologize! Apologize for EVERYTHING, I’m jabbing my index finger! Bad bad bad.)

But anyway, I’m getting distracted by something (and I’ll CC @heretherebedork and @shortpplfedup if you wanna add thoughts here), a theory that I cooked up while Phu was answering the interview questions and while he was being a whiny B during his BIRTHDAY DINNER:

I THINK NAN KNOWS THAT PHU LOVES HIM. 

Hear me out. Nan’s no dummy. He said he knew how Party felt about it when Party confessed.

AT THIS POINT -- if Nan knew about Party’s feelings -- certainly we could assume that Nan could also vibe on Phu and Phu’s feelings?

And/or -- ANOTHER THEORY, expanded from @heretherebedork‘s note about Nan being ready to confess via the birthday note on Phu’s plate:

Nan remembers the drunk college kiss while they’re in college. Nan wants it to continue and to ‘fess up to Phu. Phu leaves. Maybe, maybe -- NAN BLAMES HIMSELF for Phu leaving BECAUSE NAN HAS FEELINGS, TOO -- and Nan might think that HE chased off Phu. (Thus explaining this dumb cycle of Nan always blaming himself.)

Nan’s definitely still IN PAIN because Phu left. Before the mid-season break, Nan wanted Phu out of his life, because Phu wouldn’t explain why he left.

But I wonder if.... Nan is caught in the same cycle as Phu regarding confessing his feelings. Nan wanted to get an explanation from Phu as to why Phu left, and Nan deserves that explanation. But besides being abandoned -- does Nan want to know what Phu’s feelings for Nan are? Does Nan need confirmation that it was HIMSELF that Phu was running away from, because Nan loves Phu?

Or...was the birthday note written by Nan to HELP Phu feel comfortable in Phu’s own feelings for Nan? Is Nan trying to DRAW OUT Phu at this point?

All just theories. I will be so happy to be wrong. Our Dating Sim did awl this shit a whole lot better. But at least for the first theory, that Nan simply knows -- my auntie ears are perked and the scent trail is stronger. I’ll get on the WhatsApp auntie group chat with y’all to kibbitz. 

NAN KNOWS SOMETHING. NAN’S BEEN HOLDING ON TO SOMETHING THIS WHOLE TIME, sneaky. He’s not as innocent as his many admirers have you believe.

(Uncle Tong, you did it, you’re getting the ship sailing again -- the sea’s still choppy, but I think you can make it happen!)

[the-oc-lass]

Nimona OC - Charlotte Swiftheart/Corova: Christmas/Holiday Special

Hi! Am I a day late? Yes! Am I posting it anyway? Yes again!

I had more ideas for this, but honestly I think I'd rather post this much now than however long it would be until a full length thing was done.

I decided to call the holiday Midwinter, but honestly, it's basically Christmas with a different name. Anyway! This does fall into the AU I wrote for my Nimona OC, so those interested, it's linked below. Enjoy!

Original Post

Each winter in the kingdom is cold, but in the past, the city’s constant bustle and buzz kept the ground too warm for the snow to stick. But ever since the wall fell, things have been different. Things have changed. Including the snow. Nimona drags the four of them outside the wall after the first snow, and it’s as if Charlotte is a child again. She’d grabbed Ambrosius by the hand and they’d gone galavanting through the magical powder. Shortly after, an all out war of a snowball fight had broken out, with Ballister and Norshe on one team, Ambrosius and Charlotte on another, and Nimona deviously targeting all four of them. They were cold, tired, and a little sore by the end of the day, but it had all been worth it. They’d gone to Charlotte and Norshe’s apartment for hot cocoa, where Nimona had taken all of the mini marshmallows and claimed them for herself. It was a good day. Now, Charlotte wakes on the day of Midwinter, which has been a kingdom-wide holiday for hundreds of years. Even though she never had much growing up, she always found Midwinter beautiful and exciting. She rolls over to wake Norshe, but finds her fiancée gone from the bed, her spot cold. However, before she can worry too much, the door to their bedroom opens, and Norshe comes in with a tray of fresh pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate chips on top. 

“I knew you’d be awake,” she says, smiling as she sets the tray on Charlotte’s bedside table. Charlotte smiles up at her. 

“You know me well,” she says. Norshe hums, then cups Charlotte’s face in her hands and leans down. 

“Merry Midwinter, lovely,” she says, before planting a kiss on Charlotte’s lips. Charlotte smiles into the kiss, then looks dreamily at her future wife as she pulls away. 

“Merry Midwinter,” she says. Norshe eventually goes to get her own plate of pancakes and then they sit in bed and talk while they eat, discussing plans. 

“Bal and Brosi invited us to spend the day with them and Nimona,” Charlotte says, sticking a bite of pancake in her mouth. Norshe hums and nods, sipping her coffee. 

“We can do that. Just remember that we promised to have Midwinter dinner at the sanctuary with everyone tonight.” 

“Right. I think Bal said they’d come to that too. And then we’re meeting here for presents?” 

“We’ve got it all figured out, baby.” Charlotte smiles, then takes a sip of her hot chocolate (her preference over coffee). It’s going to be a good day. 

“I’m not the only one concerned that we’re letting Nimona drive, am I?” Norshe asks. The other three of them chuckle a bit. 

“No, you’re not. I trust her, don’t get me wrong, I just…Wouldn’t put it past her to drive a little bit crazy,” Ballister says, making a small gesture as he talks. 

“We’re also assuming she’s driven before and will know what she’s doing,” Ambrosius adds. Charlotte nudges her brother’s side with her elbow. 

“Hey, don’t forget, she’s been alive for a thousand years. I’m almost certain she’s driven before,” she says. Ballister makes a sound. 

“She also can walk or fly, Char. Maybe she’s just been doing that for the past thousand years,” he says. Charlotte thinks about it for a moment, then points at him. 

“Fair point.” Before they can get into the discussion any further, a car pulls up and lands in front of them, and Nimona rolls down the driver’s window and leans out. 

“Well? Are you coming?” she asks. The four exchange some glances, and Ballister is the first to move. Charlotte quickly follows him, and their respective significant others trail behind. Charlotte finds herself in the front passenger seat beside Nimona, and Ballister, Ambrosius, and Norshe squeeze into the back. As Nimona lifts the car from the ground, she speaks in an announcer voice. 

“Thank you for flying Air Nimona, this is your pilot speaking. We’ll be arriving at our destination when I say so,” she says. Charlotte turns toward her and raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, Nim, where are you taking us?” she asks. Nimona gives her a sharky grin. 

“You’ll see.” Right. That’s very reassuring. They talk idly amongst the five of them as they go on a relatively uneventful drive, and Charlotte can’t help but watch the landscape move by. It’s incredible. To think, all of this beauty was hidden just behind the wall, and for her entire life, she had no idea. After maybe half an hour, Nimona guides the car down, landing it just a little ways from some trees. 

“Did we do something to make you mad? This looks like a murder spot,” Ambrosius says. Although Charlotte can’t think of anything that might’ve ticked Nimona off, she can’t help but agree with her brother’s observation. This definitely looks like the type of place you bring someone when you plan to kill them and dump the body. However, Nimona just blows a raspberry. 

“Don’t be so dramatic. I have a surprise,” she says, before climbing out of the car. Charlotte glances at the back seat, and Ballister shrugs before opening his door. She turns and does the same, climbing out and stretching. She adjusts her scarf and earmuffs before turning to look at Nimona, who is impatiently tapping her foot. The group starts to head into the woods, but the shapeshifter quickly jumps in front of them and holds out her hands. “Wait! I need you to trust me and close your eyes.” Charlotte raises an eyebrow at her. 

“All of us?” she asks. Nimona nods. 

“Yeah. Just…Hold hands or something and I’ll guide you,” she says. Charlotte casts her skeptical gaze toward Ballister, who sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“We’re all going to die,” he mutters. But when he drops his hand, he holds it out toward Nimona. “I’m going to trust you.” Nimona grins brightly, then looks at the rest of them. Ambrosius glances at Charlotte, who shrugs and offers him her hand, and he sighs and takes it before taking Ballister’s free one. When Charlotte glances at her fiancée, Norshe has her arms crossed and is looking at Nimona with a skeptical face. After a few moments, though, she uncrosses her arms to take Charlotte’s hand, pointing at Nimona. 

“Trip us and I’m hiding the marshmallows until next winter,” she says. It’s clearly a threat, and one that she’ll hold herself to, but Nimona doesn’t seem bothered. She gleefully takes Ballister’s free hand. 

“Let’s go!” she says. The four close their eyes and fall into a line as they start moving, keeping firm grips on each other’s hands. 

“How long is it going to take to get to your surprise?” Ambrosius asks. Nimona hums. 

“Not too long.” They continue on mostly in silence, and it doesn’t take long before they stop again. “Wait here for a second, Boss.” Snow crunches as Nimona runs away from them, and they all stay still. 

“Are we just standing here with our eyes closed now?” Charlotte asks. Ballister hums affirmatively. “Right. Cool. Totally wonderful.” She starts to drum her fingers on the back of Ambrosius’s hand, listening closely. Suddenly, she hears the sound of something powering up, and her eyebrows wrinkle together. 

“Okay! Go ahead!” As Nimona calls out, Charlotte finally opens her eyes again, and she hears herself and the others gasp softly. They’re standing near a frozen pond surrounded by trees, and the trees are adorned with bright, colorful lights and decorations. She looks over, searching for Nimona, and she finally spots the shapeshifter at the edge of the pond, arms crossed as she smiles at her handiwork. 

“Nimona, this is incredible,” Ballister says, breathless as he continues to grip Ambrosius’s hand. Charlotte breaks away to move toward one of the trees, reaching forward to brush her hand over the snow covered needles of one branch. 

“Is this why you kept disappearing this week?” she asks without looking away. Nimona makes a noise that suggests a shrug. 

“This, and a little something else,” Nimona replies. Charlotte looks over at her, and the girl turns and shifts, vanishing into the trees for a moment before she returns with some boxes in her arms. She flies them over to the group and starts handing them out, and Charlotte raises an eyebrow when she’s handed the box. 

“You know we aren’t exchanging gifts until later, right?” she asks. Nimona nods. 

“Yep. But you’ll need these,” she says, pointing to the box in Charlotte’s hands. The thing is pretty heavy for its size, and she gives Nimona a skeptical look before shifting the box in her arms to open it. Inside, there’s a pair of white boots, but the odd thing is…There’s a blade attached to the bottom. Not a typical blade, but it’s the closest comparison she can make. 

“Nimona?” She lifts her gaze. 

“I got them from this town up north. They have a bunch of frozen stuff that they use these to move around on. The guy I got them from called them ice skates,” Nimona says. Charlotte looks back down at the “ice skates” and considers. There were a few times when she was a child where the ground was cold enough during the night for ice to form, and she recalls slipping on it early in the morning before it melted. Would blades really help? She’s not so sure. 

“Do I want to know how you knew what sizes to get us?” Ambrosius asks. Nimona turns toward him, a finger held up. 

“Do you know how much information about you there is online? Too much. Same with Boss. There’s even an old page about Chari from before the whole Swiftheart scandal,” she says. Charlotte glances over at Norshe. 

“She just came up and asked me last week. Thought it was weird,” Norshe says, shrugging a bit. 

“Hey, be glad I got any for you and Nemesis at all, Killjoy,” Nimona says, looking over at Norshe. Then, she turns back to Charlotte and grins. “Well, come on! Put them on so we can try them out!” Despite her better judgement, Charlotte complies. 

Picture this: a baby deer trying to walk for the first time. Now imagine that, but five times worse. That’s currently what they look like. 

“I’m going to hurt for days,” Charlotte groans from where she’s just fallen on her ass again. Nimona slides past her, currently in a form that she’s informed them is a penguin. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t hurt if you stopped falling,” she says. Charlotte sighs and rolls her eyes. 

“Well gosh, Nimona, I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll take it into consideration,” she says sarcastically, carefully climbing back to her feet. Norshe wobbles past her, arms spread in an attempt to balance. “You doing okay, baby?” Norshe shushes her and flaps one hand. 

“I have to focus,” she says, before catching the edge of her tongue between her teeth and looking down. She pushes her feet out in an arc, then moves them back in, and that helps push her forward. She lets out an excited victory noise, then repeats what she just did and speeds up a little. 

“Oh good Gloreth!” Charlotte turns her head in time to see Ambrosius speeding toward her, clearly out of control. 

“Brosi!” she yells, turning in time to hold out her arms. It doesn’t matter, in the end. She tries to catch him, but the collision knocks them both down, and both groan and lie there for a while. She can hear Nimona cackling somewhere nearby, and she sighs and shakes her head slightly. Finally, she grunts and pushes on his shoulder. “Alright, get up. Come on, off.” He groans and rolls off her, and they both sit up. 

“I need a break,” he grumbles. She hums in agreement, and they both carefully crawl to their feet and stumble toward the edge of the frozen pond. There’s a log lying near the edge, and they sweep the snow off before settling on it and letting out a shared sigh. 

“I’m going to be exhausted tonight,” Charlotte says, sagging into Ambrosius’s side. He leans into her too. 

“I think we all are,” he says. She smiles a bit. 

“At least Nimona’s having fun.” He nudges her side slightly, and she looks over at him. 

“What, you’re not having fun getting beat up by ice?” he asks. She chuckles. 

“No, I am. Not from the ice part, but…Well, you know. I like this. All of us being together. I don’t really care what we’re doing as long as we’re together.” He raises an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes a bit, still smiling. “Okay, I don’t care what we’re doing most of the time.” He hums, and she looks back at where Norshe, Ballister, and Nimona are all skating. 

“Come on, Boss!” Nimona calls, sliding past him in her usual form. Ballister tries to turn, but stumbles and almost falls, causing Ambrosius and Charlotte to chuckle. Norshe also laughs, and she almost falls because of it. “Careful, Killjoy! Don’t crack your head open!” Charlotte keeps watching, but a frown slowly forms on her face. 

“When we lost her, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to keep going. When I thought of the future, I didn’t see things like this. It was all so…dark.” Ambrosius turns his head toward her, then reaches over to take her hand. She keeps watching the three on the ice. “I didn’t realize how much light she brought into my life until she disappeared. And I know I had you, and Bal, and Norshe, and everyone from the KB and sanctuary, but I just…” She doesn’t have the words to complete her thought. Ambrosius gives her hand a small squeeze. 

“I know,” he says softly. “It wasn’t the same. She’s part of you, Char. A little…ish, sister. When you lost her…You were losing someone you loved. She was your family.” She looks up at him. 

“So are you.” He smiles wryly. 

“But she was there when I wasn’t.” Charlotte frowns softly. 

“Ambrosius…”

“Hey, what matters is that she’s here now, right? We all are. We’re going to spend Midwinter together, and get all bruised from the ice, and it’s going to be the perfect day because we’re here together,” he says. She looks toward the ice again, and Ballister and Norshe are trying to support each other as they skate. Nimona is lying on the ice, watching them with a bored expression. After a moment, Charlotte smiles again and elbows Ambrosius’s side. 

“Sap,” she says. He smiles back at her. 

“It’s a family trait,” he says, elbowing her back. They laugh for a little bit, then look back at the ice. Ambrosius gets up first, stretching a bit before he turns and offers Charlotte his hand. “You want to go get our asses kicked by frozen water?” She tilts her head, still smiling at him. She takes his hand and he hoists her up.

“First one to fall buys lunch the next time we meet up,” she says, a challenge in her eyes. He looks back at her, rising to the challenge. 

“You’re on.” Almost at the same time, they shove each other, and it sends them both stumbling sideways as they make their way toward the ice, laughing all the way.

(P.S. Yes, Nimona calls Norshe "Killjoy" like how she calls Ambrosius "Nemesis." Yes, there's a reason. No, you don't get to know what it is yet)

Lovely tagged people (hope you're all doing well! I have something in the works for you):

@ammonitetheseaserpent @perfectkittystranger @madlad06 @xxlunadrawsstuffxx @floxu

[growtf]

How I Took My LinkedIn Strategy to the Next Level with SuperTurtle.ai

I remember the day I almost gave up on LinkedIn. My startup was struggling with engagement—no matter how much effort I put into crafting posts, nothing seemed to hit. In the early days, I’d wake up excited, cup of coffee in hand, ready to share my latest insights. But over time, LinkedIn felt like a void. Posts that I thought were genius barely got a few likes. It was demoralizing.

I was juggling product development, team management, and fundraising, so LinkedIn always felt like a secondary task. But in the world of SaaS, visibility matters. You can have the best product, but if no one knows you exist, it’s game over. That’s when I hit a breaking point.

The Struggle with Consistency

Every founder will tell you that consistency is key, but executing it is a whole other beast. I knew I needed to show up regularly on LinkedIn, share updates, engage with followers, and demonstrate thought leadership. But between everything else, where was I supposed to find the time to brainstorm, write, and publish?

One day, after staring at my empty content calendar, I knew something had to change. I was bleeding hours trying to come up with ideas, then spending more hours writing content that barely scratched the engagement surface.

And that’s when I found SuperTurtle.ai.

SuperTurtle.ai: The Game-Changer

I was skeptical at first. Could an AI really help me with content creation? But let me tell you, once I started using SuperTurtle.ai, it was like having a full-time content assistant in my back pocket—only this one was way faster and never complained.

SuperTurtle.ai didn’t just suggest topics; it analyzed my audience’s behavior on LinkedIn and suggested posts that would actually resonate. I went from posting irregularly to having a full, data-backed content calendar. Suddenly, I wasn’t stressing over what to post next. The AI analyzed what worked in my industry, curated trending topics, and even generated draft posts that fit my voice.

Within weeks, my engagement started climbing. More people were commenting, sharing, and reaching out. The best part? It didn’t feel like I had a robot writing for me. Every post was personalized to match my tone and style, but it was now driven by insights I would’ve never spotted on my own.

AI Doesn’t Replace You—It helps You

Now, I’ve heard some people say that AI tools will replace human writers. That’s nonsense. SuperTurtle.ai didn’t take over my content; it gave me the headspace to focus on what really mattered—interacting with people and refining my strategy. Instead of wasting time drafting posts, I was refining them. The assistant would throw out ideas, suggest relevant hashtags, and even schedule my posts for optimal engagement times.

It’s like having a secret weapon that does the heavy lifting while you step in to add the magic.

The Moment It Clicked

I remember one particular week. I was in the middle of preparing for a product launch and had zero time to deal with LinkedIn. Normally, this would’ve meant radio silence on my profile for days. But SuperTurtle.ai had my back. The AI-generated posts about the product’s behind-the-scenes development, sprinkled in with industry news and thought leadership topics relevant to my audience. One post, highlighting an innovative feature, gained traction and even led to a conversation with an investor I’d been trying to reach for months.

That was the moment I realized: this AI assistant wasn’t just helping me stay active; it was opening doors I hadn’t even considered. My network was growing, my posts were performing better, and I was still able to focus on what really mattered—my business.

The Secret Sauce: Data-Driven Decisions

SuperTurtle.ai’s biggest advantage is that it’s always learning. The AI tracks how my posts perform, diving deep into metrics like click-through rates, comments, and shares. It quickly figured out that my audience responded better to “how-to” posts and behind-the-scenes updates. Without this, I would’ve kept posting the same old industry news, wondering why nothing was working.

Now, I get weekly reports that tell me exactly what’s resonating and what’s not. If a certain type of content underperforms, the AI suggests tweaks, making each post better than the last. It’s like having a full-time marketing analyst, but without the overhead costs.

Winning the LinkedIn Game

Fast forward to today: I’m consistently engaging with my audience, building relationships, and growing my personal brand—all thanks to SuperTurtle.ai. The tool takes care of the tedious work, leaving me free to engage authentically with my followers and focus on growing my business.

If you’re a founder or a busy professional struggling to make LinkedIn work, you’re not alone. We all know the platform’s potential, but without the right tools, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. SuperTurtle.ai gave me back my time and transformed my LinkedIn strategy into a well-oiled machine.

Final Thoughts

LinkedIn is more than just a networking platform. For me, it became the launchpad for deeper connections, investor relationships, and, ultimately, business growth. SuperTurtle.ai helped me realize that I don’t need to spend hours crafting every single post. I just need to be smart about how I approach my content.

SuperTurtle.ai didn’t just help me survive the LinkedIn grind; it helped me thrive. And trust me, if it worked for someone like me, juggling a thousand different priorities, it can work for you too.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours (II)

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

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

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

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

{masterlist}

{masterlist}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“We should go out tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.  Up here, love, c’mon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

Last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“So?  What do you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“Uh, hello.  Can everyone hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

“They look happy, don’t they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But for the record��”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop the car.”

[mooncademia]

Caught in Love

PAIRING ~ Aizawa x reader

GENRE ~ fluff

SUMMARY ~ After getting a job offer at U.A, your love life w/ Aizawa has officially transferred to school. And you loved it.

But wait...something is different about Class 1-A homeroom teacher! And it has definitely caught a few suspicious eyes.. who may or may not have an idea up their sleeves to satisfy their burning curiosity. 

First day working at U.A, you realized that you didn’t have to wake up at your usual morning alarm at 5:30 a.m.

Ah yes, the pro hero days of waking up super early, going to the agency, giving Aizawa (who continued to sleep beside you) a peck on his cheek before you left were now over.

And instead, you were introduced to a new routine.

A fresh one.

However, things weren’t going to change that fast, after all, you’ve been pro-hero for years! And your sleep cycle has stuck to your 5:30 a.m alarm and Aizawa, your husband, did not appreciate that.

“We are going to work, together!” You squealed as you flung open the blankets that covered you and Aizawa. You hopped out of bed and shook his shoulder, making Aizawa mumble a groan.

You kissed his cheek passionately and ruffled his messy raven-black hair a little bit.

“Come on,” you said. “Wake up, I’m going to make some coffee.”

Aizawa turned to the side to peek at the clock on the bed side table. He let out another groan when he saw the three digits.

“Y/N, it’s literally 5:34 a.m. You just need to be at U.A at 8 and we don’t live that far.”

“Yeah, well,” you said with an exciting smile. “You can never be too prepared!”

You scurried out of the room and turned on your coffee machine in the kitchen.  Aizawa turned around and saw his bedroom now empty. His wrinkled long black sleeve was bunched up to his waist and he frowned as he got up this early for the first time in months. You knew your husband was a rationally-driven man, sometimes a lone cat who prefers privacy and waking up a lot later. But what you didn’t know was that when Principal Nezu asked him if his wife could teach at U.A after All Might retired, he was thrilled.

So despite it being before 6 a.m, his excitement was bubbling over that it made him finally leave the bed.

But of course, he had to play it cool. With rational excuses, right?!

“Well, I guess I do have to review the school schedule with you,” he mumbled as he palmed the back of his neck and walked out of the bedroom.

When you saw your husband slumping down on the dining chair with his half-lidded eyes, your heart immediately flipped and you poured a nice cup of hot coffee for him.  

You knew him well enough that he didn’t wake up this early in the morning for no reason. You set the cup on the table and leaned down to give him a peck on the corner of his lips as a gesture of gratitude.

But at the very last second of pulling away, Aizawa got the best of you and wrapped your waist with his strong arms, causing you to sit down on his lap—santa lap style.

He hugged you warmly and you slung your arms around his neck. Aizawa snuggled his head between your neck and shoulder and sighed blissfully with his eyes closed. You laughed with your head tilted slightly back.

Yeah, he definitely was not a morning person.

After much time of Aizawa discussing you about the school system for the millionth time during breakfast and almost having a mental breakdown of whether or not you could actually teach (we all have those moments, right?), you were on your way to U.A.

And it really took your breath away.

The school was located on the top hill in Musutafu with the whole neighborhood revolving around it. Glass windows seemed to reach the sky and when you realized how freakin’ big the campus actually was, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the building, not even a second.

But that wasn’t the best thing of all.

Because the best thing was having to walk to work with your favorite (and sometimes most annoying, but you love him nonetheless) person beside you. It was like having your best friend as a partner for your science project in high school. Ease poured over you as you found it quite pleasant to have a strong arm to lean delightedly upon, a familiar face that peers down at you with a gentle smile, and a reassuring voice to tell you that things will be okay.

It was still an hour before class but you and Aizawa were—of course—there early.

The two of you were walking down the halls. Sooner or later you’ll have to let go of your arm that was crossed with Aizawa’s before entering the teacher’s office because one thing that you both agreed upon was to keep the relationship low-key. No one knew that Aizawa’s wife was going to be the new teacher at U.A except for some of the faculty and of course…Hizashi Yamada, aka: the loudest person in the world in Shouta’s opinion.

“Y/N!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Present Mic shouted when he saw you step into the teacher’s office. His blonde hair that was religiously shifted upward was too iconic to not be noticed from far away. You giggled at the sight as he threw his arm around his best friend, Aizawa, poking him teasingly on the shoulder. You were great friends with Hizashi and in fact, he was the one who introduced you to Aizawa in the first place.

“Oi, Eraserhead, you’re so lucky your wife goes to work with you,” Hizashi teasingly snickered with his arm still slung around Shouta’s neck. Aizawa tried to shrug him off but it only made him tighten his grip. “So they managed to get Y/N to teach here but they haven’t even implemented my great idea?!”

“Please no, Mic.” Aizawa groaned, trying again to pull away from Hizashi’s grip.

You sat down your bag. “What’s your  ‘idea?’ ”

Hizashi let go of Aizawa’s neck and casually slung his arm around yours, making you giggle in surprise.

“Well of course it’s my HERO FM radio! Every Friday from 1:00-5:00 p.m!” He announced proudly (or more like promoting) making you laugh even more as Aizawa facepalmed himself. “I told the staff that they should let me add one more day, you know, because of my great increasing popularity! But they said one day a week is already “enough,” he said letting go of you to make air quotes with a disgusted expression on his face.

“Get to work Mic,” Aizawa called as he headed towards his desk to gather up some assignments for his morning class.

Hizashi winked at you before he trotted off, throwing you a thumbs-up sign. “Get ready for some ‘strict Aizawa-sensei.’ One day during U.A fest, I wanted to hear Class 1-A perform but Aizawa kept on saying that I should be on patrol duty—“

“Which you should’ve. It was your shift.” Aizawa interrupted bluntly.

“But I just wanted an INSEY WINCEY listen!!” Hizashi stomped on his feet childishly which made Aizawa roll his eyes and let out a sigh.

You went to your husband and stood on your tippy-toes to land a small peck on his cheek. Aizawa blushed at your move because of the fact that you two were in a semi-public place, but he didn’t complain at all.

“Oh, don’t worry.” You seductively caressed his shoulder and gave him a charming smile as you leaned in deadly closer to his face with your hips arched a bit. “I can’t wait to see… what Aizawa-sensei is like.”

Your tone was silky smooth and you rolled out the last word so slowly that it made Aizawa’s mouth part open just a bit. He stared at you dumbfoundedly. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and he swallowed a gulp. He felt like Cupid just shot his heart and he was totally falling for you once again because the fact that you called him ‘sensei’ totally did not make his stomach or heart heat up.

Yeah…he really was goddamn lucky to have you work at U.A alongside him.

———

“Overall, ‘Plus Ultra’ doesn’t always necessarily means you need to exceed your limits physically. But it also means mentally. It’s how your brain exercises to solve complex situations. What are your strategies like? Are you saving those who need saving in quick time while doing minimal damage to your surroundings? I hope next week’s practice can allow you to exercise these brain muscles of yours that I reviewed today because listening to your thoughts and being mentally stable/prepared is more important than how powerful your quirk is. Listen to that hero gut instinct of yours, because at the end, especially in dearest times… it’s going to help you immensely.” You finished with an encouraging smile that made the class almost want to clap at your amazing class. You were glad to see their engaging faces and raising their hands when they had a question.

Class 1-A was truly remarkable. Though, the only student that left you curiously wondering about was the small boy with purple balls on his head because he seemed to be staring at you so intensely that you swore his eyes were bugging out of their sockets.

Aizawa bowed at you when you finished and you gave him a smirk.

The class began to exchange small chats as you bowed back to Aizawa.

“Wow, I think this teacher is really good! She’s so pretty and smart!” Ashido excitedly whispered to Tsuyu behind her with her eyes widened.

“That’s pro-hero for you,” Kaminari added with his index finger and thumb pointed high up. “Plus, she even made Aizawa-sensei stand there awake the whole entire time listening.”

Some of the classmates nodded eagerly in return, truly astounded that their homeroom teacher did not retreat to his traditional yellow sleeping bag that he usually does.  

“Thank you L/N-sensei,” Aizawa said, popping the class back to the board ahead. You bowed at him in return, but before you headed out, you saw Aizawa gave you the tiniest nod and wait…was that a smile creeping on his lips?!

You exhaled silently in relief. You have been so nervous and worried about teaching at U.A. When Principal Nezu offered you the position, you were shocked to even know that he had you on his mind. You previously thought that Aizawa proposed the option but that guess was quickly diminished when he told you that he had nothing to do with it.

You were just a pro-hero doing your job and when the amazing opportunity arose, you immediately accepted it, knowing that you deeply wanted to help students find their way to hero-life.

And Aizawa knew you had been nervous about U.A since accepting the offer. You have stayed up countless nights just reviewing paperwork, going over the school schedule many times, and even looking through practice exams from the past, thinking about what further lessons you can teach to these students.

You folded your lips and returned a small nod, eyes twinkling as you slid the door to head out.

The class truly captured the small moment you and Aizawa had, but then all shrugged away when they heard their homeroom teacher begin handing out today’s assignments.

As you trotted away from the class back to the main office, you smiled at yourself as you hugged your folders tighter to your chest.

Hm… I could definitely get used to this.

———

Days seemed to go by faster than you had expected.

Wake up (sometimes not that early anymore thanks to Aizawa hugging you down even after your 5:30 alarm rings), enjoy breakfast, head to U.A, teach, and then go back home with Aizawa (when everyone else is —of course— away).

You’ve had your ups and downs at U.A. Some days, work seemed to flow by very smoothly while other days, work was more than just grading papers or checking assignments. There were a few days where work overloaded and you and Aizawa will be staying up past midnight checking over paperwork. But it was times like these where you truly felt utmost grateful to have a mentor there to help you. And it was even better that your mentor was your favorite person in the world.

It has been ten days since your first day at U.A.

Which means: ten days Aizawa not sleeping a wink during your long lectures about hero work that he already confidently knows. And to some of the classmates who knew their homeroom teacher well enough that his yellow sleeping bag was his best friend, it was a bit…odd.

“Don’t you think it's weird that Aizawa-sensei stays awake only during L/N-sensei’s lectures?” Uraraka asked Kaminari on their way to the Lunch Rush.  

“What do you mean?” Kaminari shrugged and chuckled. “It should be weird that a teacher sleeps during class in the first place, right?” He grabbed his food tray excitingly, his eyes focused closely on it, clearly not noticing Uraraka’s suspicious tone nor mischievous eyes.

Tsuyu popped in between with the two and let out a sigh. “Boys……You have to read in between the lines. Uraraka’s right.” She snapped her finger perkily.  “Aizawa-sensei is not just awake but he’s seemed very engaged to L/N-sensei.”

Kaminari stared at Tsuyu and Uraraka obliviously as he sat down with the rest of the classmates. “Huh?”

Uraraka rolled her eyes. “You know! From the way he nods his head when she talks or oh! That smile?! I have never seen his lips tilt upwards besides haunting us on how difficult practice exams are going to be.” She tiredly sighed, thinking about her teacher’s wicked smirk every time a huge exam was coming. It was like he found pleasure in challenging the students to surpass their limits.

But Tsuyu and Uraraka knew that Aizawa’s expression when you were in the room wasn’t that wicked grin that he had when announcing an upcoming exam or event. Instead, it was a mixture of awe and sincerity. And it definitely made the two girls exchange some giggles and fun guesses.

“What’s up?” Jirou said, sitting down beside Tsuyu with her cafeteria tray, noticing her friends laughing loudly.

Uraraka leaned forward on the table to peer over at Jirou. “It's about Aizawa-sensei and the new teacher!”  Her voice was loud enough that it caught the other classmates’ ears, making her furiously blush afterward from her spontaneous excitement.

But of course, of all the pairs of ears in Class 1-A, there was always the one come rushing in when it’s about his favorite subject: women.

“L/N-SENSEI?!” Mineta’s ears visibly perked up from Uraraka’s gush, clearly engrossed with the topic of the new teacher. “She’s SO gorgeous and oh lord, her—“

“Quit it, Mineta.” Kirishima slapped the back of Mineta’s head beside him before he could finish his lewd statement. He hooked his arm around Kaminari with a giant smirk plastered on his face.

“Why don’t we find out, huh?” Kirishima proposed as Kaminari tried to wiggle his way free from his grasp.

“Hey man, watch your grip!”

Uraraka waved her hand to dismiss Kaminari's racket and stared back up at Kirishima. “About what?” She asked curiously, taking another bite of her rice.

“Girls…” Kaminari mocked sarcastically with a sigh, mirroring Tsuyu’s earlier comment that she made on him. The two girls rolled their eyes and punched his shoulder.

Kirishima leaned into the group closer with slyness flickering in his eyes. He grinned and bopped his head at Jirou. “We can find out if there’s anything special between Aizawa-sensei and L/N-sensei…using Jirou’s quirk!”

Jirou scoffed and leaned back with her arms crossed before Kirishima could continue. “Uh, you’re using me to get info about our homeroom teacher’s private life? That doesn’t sound very friend-like to me if I say so myself.”

“Come on Jirou,” Kaminari whined. “It’ll be fun!”

Jirou raised her brows and sneered. “Since when did you get interested in this?”

Tsuyu shook her head and waved her hands, dismissing the rising chaos. “No, you’re right,” She said, trying not to show her disappointing face. “It’s not fair to just use Jirou to grab juicy news about our teachers, you know…even if it can be so great to the point that it makes us cheerful and excited despite upcoming exams.”

Uraraka bobbled her head up and down, religiously agreeing to everything Tsuyu had to say with a pout on her lips and closed eyes. “Or it can even help us lift our spirits.”

Tsuyu nodded. “Even if it is just a tiny bit, it can-“

“Alright, guys! I get it! Fine!” Jirou said over Tsuyu, earning grins from the boys and giggles from the girls. Jirou sighed and pinched her nose bridge. She looked up at her friends and darted a death glare at Kirishima and Kaminari. “I’m only doing this for the girls.”

It was half-true. Jirou didn’t want to agree to this for the boys. But another reason was because of school lately.  With heavy workload that the whole class was dealing with, plus the hero-work after school and training, school has been…well, quite draining. And similar to the time where the whole class decided to hold a competition for “best dorm room” last year to raise everyone’s spirits from the whole villain chaos, she thought maybe this can raise spirits up again too. Even if it’s just miscellaneous curiosity or excitement. She knew and sensed that her friends needed something exciting happening, besides school work.

So the plan that Kirishima introduced was to head over to the teacher’s lounge at this moment during lunch break. Since it was merely the beginning of lunch and there was still a good 45 minutes left, it was the perfect time for teachers to be on their desks with students the last thing on their minds. Jirou can place her earphone jacks in the wall to hear the voices inside to retrieve any news from the two teachers.

“And if we got nothing, that’s totally okay as well.” Kirishima shrugged. “We can always try next time!”

“NEXT TIME?!” Jirou exclaimed uneasily, twirling her earphone jacks. “Let’s just see what happens now, and focus on next time later.”

“All right then!” Uraraka clapped her hands excitingly and bumped her shoulder against Tsuyu’s with a beam. “Mission: FIONA starts now!“

“Fiona?” Kaminari raised his brow, getting out of his seat with the rest of his friends.

Uraraka pointed her finger up in the air pridefully. “Find-Info-ON-Aizawa. I couldn’t think of an acronym for ‘ON’ so just leave it together and you’ll get—wooah!”

Jirou and Tsuyu locked elbows with her and dragged her away before she could finished,  followed by Kirishima and Kaminari trotting behind their footsteps.

“If you keep explaining it’s going to be Mission: GIT!” Jirou sneered, giving Uraraka’s elbows a good tug.

“GIT?”

Tsuyu smirked as the five of them head towards the teacher’s office. “GETTING INTO TROUBLE!”

———

Lunch breaks were times where you and Aizawa could finally heave a sigh of relief and chat with each other freely. You were happy to work at U.A with Aizawa because now since work schedules were parallel, you could efficiently have the time to hang out with him. When you were pro-hero at your original agency, you’ll often come back home with no trace of Aizawa since he was still in school working on students’ assignments till late evening.

But now, you had all the time in the world to chat with him. Okay maybe not all the time, just an hour and a half, but it was definitely enough for you.

Aizawa was sitting next to you on your desk, nodding along to your talks about your recent lectures with other classes as he gave some advice on teaching.

You let out a wistful sigh and rested your head on Aizawa’s shoulder. You closed your eyes and let out a hum. “Thanks for helping me through all this. I can’t believe teacher work is this much.”

Aizawa let out a puff of air and smirked. He peered down at you from the corner of his eye. “So are you gonna apologize for all the times you were scolding me for not coming back home early?”

You shot your head back up with your eyes widened and a jaw exasperated dropped. You knew that Aizawa was joking from on his tone but you pressed your hand on your chest and squinted your eyes at him, giving him a death glare. “Excuse me? Uhm, sir, I don’t think that’s fair. And besides! All the hours you were gone, I really really missed you and-“

Aizawa leaned forward, a hand snaking to the back of your neck, taking you by surprise as he crashed his lips against yours. You were completely shell-shocked that your eyes stayed open the entire time. Sure, you have kissed Aizawa a thousand times before, but he rarely made the first move. And oh did your heart fluttered!

Aizawa pulled away with a smile dancing on his lips. “And I really missed you too.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, you heard a loud gasp from outside, making you unconsciously turn your head towards the sound.

A muffled voice transmitted through the walls. “KEEP IT DOWN, KAMINARI!”  

A female’s voice? Or was it a boy?

More muffling voices continued and you couldn’t really understand it, but one thing you knew for sure was that there was someone outside.

You twirled your head back to Aizawa. His face hardened and got up from the chair, walking towards the door.

“SH- ! HE- COMING!” A familiar voice echoed through the walls that you could only capture words of.

Aizawa finally opened the door and looked to his right.

Caught red-handed.

All five students were crunched down to the ground. With Jirou’s earplugs on the wall with Uraraka and Tsuyu beside her, plus Kaminar and Kirishima hovering right above her not missing any detail she was saying, Aizawa knew exactly what was up.

“Shouta? What’s wrong?” You asked, making your way to the door when you saw his cold expression.

You sucked in a breath when you saw the scene to your right.  

“RUN!” Jirou shouted but it was too late. Aizawa immediately caught the five of them with his trusty gray scarf so fast that you swore you didn’t even notice it. His scarf rolled all five up into a bundle individually so that their arms were glued to their sides.

All of the students heated up from shame.

“Soooooo……..” Kaminari mumbled weakly, trying to make the matter less intensive. “Are you two dating..or..something?” His voice squeaked higher and higher as Aizawa’s brows got deeper and deeper.

You knew you had every right to be mad that these students who were invading you and Aizawa’s privacy, and you should! But to your surprised, your offended emotions were quickly replaced with a comical one as you saw all the students’ ducking their heads in shame, darting their eyes away from Aizawa’s hardened glare.

Ah well…they would’ve found out sooner or later.

You let out a chuckle. Aizawa turned his head at you with his eyes widened, not knowing that you would be taking this matter so lightly. But you returned him with a kind of smile that immediately released the tension of his grip and the eyebrows on his face.

The students perked their heads up in confusion from your reaction, and you flashed them a smile as you snaked your hand behind Aizawa’s back.

“Dating? Hmmm…,” you said, a lopsided smirk dancing across your lips.

“I think it’s a little bit more than that.”

And with those words, Uraraka and Tsuyu couldn’t help but squeal in delight despite still being bonded.  Kaminari swore he never felt this wholesome since getting accepted into U.A, and Kirishima—on the other hand—twirled his head away from you and mumbled with his eyebrows furrowed in great passion: “…He’s so manly!”

And Aizawa? Well, he definitely looked at you in surprise for being so open, but no less than a second, he felt a warm breeze rushing through his body.

Your laugh after seeing the students’ reaction was the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.  

It always has been.

And hearing that made him feel like hey…

Perhaps people knowing wouldn’t hurt! And maybe it’s because he just loved you that much, or maybe it’s that fact that he realized, that no matter if his class or the freakin’ public knows or not….

Nothing…absolutely nothing, is going to disrupt the beautiful relationship the two of you have.

[flaminpumpkin]

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes. 

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement. 

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen. 

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels. 

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion. 

“What?”

Something caught his eyes. 

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center. 

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce, 

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

A.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing. 

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time? 

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen. 

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place. 

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor. 

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night. 

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to. 

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries. 

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis. 

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites. 

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions. 

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway. 

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in. 

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness. 

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.  

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him. 

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin. 

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace. 

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family. 

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing. 

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room. 

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest. 

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts. 

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone. 

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket. 

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

[cacoetheswriting]

chasing a feeling pt. III - spencer reid

Warnings: mild cursing, implied smut (nothing explicit), kinda angsty, kinda fluffy Word Count: 2.3k Summary: this is part three: Spencer has a habit of showing up at your door in the middle of the night. A/N: italics are memories/flashbacks. also sorry this took so long omg!!

| PART ONE | PART TWO |

-

The case concluded a couple of days later. Days which consisted of ignoring Spencer; unless absolutely necessary. Days spent trying not to look at him, days spent pretending you weren't thinking about him, his touch, or that night you spent together.

It was incredibly hard to concentrate on quite literally anything. 

The night you got home from the work trip was a sleepless one. You tossed and turned, anxious about seeing the brunette doctor the next day. You couldn't help but wonder how the two of you will act around one another now that you were back on common ground. How your dynamic will be now that you weren't working a case. 

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you weren't the only one feeling restless. A knock on your door caused you to hop out of bed and wander towards it. Letting a yawn escape your lips you looked through the peephole to check who was on the other side. Spencer.

Quickly, you opened the door. The young doctor looked up from the ground and greeted you with a timid smile. 

“Spencer, what are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” 

“I’m sorry Y/N, I know it’s late but-” He cleared his throat. “-can we please talk?” He asked while staring deep into your eyes. You nodded after a brief moment and stepped aside, allowing him to enter. 

Spencer sat down on the couch, glancing around your apartment in the process. The place wasn’t fully decorated yet. A number of cardboard boxes were stacked on top of one another in the corner of the living room, clearly still full. The TV lay on the floor, cables tangled, and beside it was a half-opened suitcase with your go-bag thrown hastily on top. 

You asked if he wanted a coffee, or anything else to drink, but he politely shook his head ‘no’ so you situated yourself on the opposite end of the couch and waited for him to tell you why he was here.

Silence enveloped around the room. Suddenly afraid to say anything, in case it ended up in another argument, the brunette doctor nervously fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt. You were slightly taken aback by his nervous demeanour, it was completely different to the way he acted around you the last week.

It reminded you of when you were younger. The shy, awkward, slightly closed-off Spencer. The guy who wouldn’t hold your hand or at time was afraid to meet your gaze, the guy that didn’t understand the sarcastic jokes you made. It made your heart ache a little.

Finals were approaching and they were approaching fast. Everyone said law school would be hard. Long hours, extensive curriculum, sleepless nights, projects, essays, case-studies. The list goes on.

It didn't help that you were a lot younger than your fellow classmates. Being an ambitious and driven kid you managed to skip a few grades and get an undergraduate degree in psychology at a very young age. Law school seemed like the logical next step although now you were thinking about giving up.

With junior year coming to an end, you constantly wondered whether this should be the end of your law career. Perhaps there was something better out there for you. Something easier, and not as draining. You weren't a quitter, far from it, but this was too much for a single person to handle.

It was Friday night, and yet currently you were curdled up on the library floor rather than at some frat party. Piles on piles of books and encyclopaedias formed around you as you worked away on your end of term paper. 

A not so quiet yawn escaped your lips. Followed by another. Leaning back against the shelf behind you, you closed your eyes. Honestly, you could fall asleep here, now. 

It was in that moment of silence you heard a shuffling sound approaching your location between the aisles of books. Slowly, you flushed your eyes back open to analyse your surroundings - see who it was that disturbed your peace. 

A scrawny boy stood just a few feet away, deeply focused on the collection of titles in front of him. The boy was around your age. Tall. You could see remains of gel in his short brown hair; which was now quite messy. He was dressed in a slightly oversized sweater, underneath he wore what looked like a neatly ironed shirt, and a dark bag was draped loosely over his shoulder. 

“Hello.” You said. His head instantly snapped in your direction. 

“H-hi.” He replied sheepishly. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you.” His soft demeanour made you smile. “Oh, I wasn't actually sleeping. Just resting my eyes for a second.” 

The boy nodded. You waited for him to say something but he didn't so you reached out your hand. 

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” 

His gaze travelled to your hand before moving back up to meet yours. He didn't move any closer, and you could sense he grew a little uncomfortable, so you let your hand fall down to your lap.

“I’m Spencer.” He cleared his throat. “Doctor Spencer Reid.” Your eyes widened a little at his esteemed title. “Doctor?” 

Spencer’s nose twitched gently. 

“I have Ph.D’s in mathematics, chemistry and engineering.” He retorted causing your mouth to part in shock. “Holy shit.” Pause. “Wow, and here I thought I was the resident genius having one silly undergraduate degree.” You joked; but the young doctor didn't laugh. He simply stared at you, a kind look spread across his face.

“W-what are you studying now?” Spencer asked, motioning to the stakes of books around you.

“I’m in law school.” You replied. “Failing miserably to write my stupid end of term paper.” Sigh. “One of many actually.” 

Spencer took one step forward. “M-maybe I can help?” He offered. “That is really kind of you but unless you have a law degree you haven’t mentioned yet, I don't know how you would be able to help.” 

“I don’t have a law degree, but I have an eidetic memory.” He said, nervously tugging at the strap of his bag. “I-if that’s of any help to you.” 

The smile on your face grew wider. “Well Spencer, now you’re just showing off.” 

It was at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue with such ease, the brunette doctor finally smiled. And holy smokes did he have a pretty smile. Your heart skipped a beat as his face illuminated. 

“But you convinced me.” You added while getting up on your feet. You picked up your things along with as many books as you could carry. Spencer shuffled toward you, and while keeping his distance, he bent down to pick up the remaining items. 

“Why are you here Spencer?” You finally asked breaking the silence.

The brunette agent tilted his head in your direction, eyes locking with yours once again causing the air to catch briefly in your chest.

“I wanted to make sure you knew that what happened between us the other night, that wasn’t some ploy to get you to stay.” He stated. “I tried to explain that to you but you never really gave me a chance.” Pause. “Y/N, I want you to stay. Not for me but because you deserve to be a part of this team.”

“I appreciate you saying that Spencer. Truly.” A small smile graced your facial features. The brunette doctor smiled down at his hands. “But you didn’t have to come here in the middle of the night to tell me that. It could have waited.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Spencer smirked before clearing his throat. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours. “I guess I just wanted to see you.” You bit down on your bottom lip the second he said that, your heart skipping a beat. Spencer shifted closer to you. Without really thinking about it, you also moved in his direction. Your knees now touching. 

“You know, communication was never our strong suit. For two people with psychology degrees you would think we’d be better at it.” You muttered making Spencer laugh. The smile on your face slowly faded. “Maybe we’re too similar, maybe that was our downfall.” 

Spencer lifted his hand, reaching out for yours which was currently placed on your lap. He intertwined his fingers with yours. “In reality, opposites don’t attract.” The brunette doctor noted. “You’re more likely to be attracted someone who thinks the same as you do.” 

In the space of a heartbeat, without giving you a chance to reach, Spencer leaned in. His lips brushed against yours; electricity shooting through your body. His free hand found its way to your face, and he cupped your cheek. As seconds passed you pushed yourself into him more. Fuck. Should you be doing this?

You hurried through the halls, slaloming between the groups of students making their way peacefully to class. A feeling of excitement filled you from head to toe; excitement you only wanted to share with one specific person. 

Spencer was sat in your now usual spot at the university library. Two coffees in front of him, one for you. 

A sort of routine emerged since the two of you first met. It started out for purely academic purposes, but in the last week especially it evolved into something different. A friendship perhaps? No. It felt more than that although neither of you could quite describe it

“I did it!” You exclaimed while sitting down beside the young doctor - getting a dirty look from the librarian in the process. She shushed you before returning to whatever it was she was doing. You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Spencer. “I am officially done with all my papers and assignments.”

“I’m happy for you Y/N.” Spencer smiled.

“Well, I couldn't have done it without you.” You beamed at him. “I don’t know how I will ever thank you Spencer.” He shrugged his shoulders.  

“Come on genius, there must be something I can do for you.”

The brunette doctor cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze. “I-I have t-two tickets to this convention, but you wouldn't be interested.” You raised an eyebrow while reaching for one of the coffees on the table. Lifting the lid to your lips you smiled. “It’s a date.”

Spencer’s hands were now holding onto your waist. He lifted you up in one swift motion, without breaking the kiss, so that you were now cradling his lap. You held his face, the tips of your fingers wrapping in his light brown curls. 

Any reservations you had just a moment ago were now forgotten. You were completely lost in him, just as he was in you. 

As your mouth parted, Spencer’s tongue crept between your lips meeting yours. Instantly, your tongues began to play back and forth. Heads tilting side to side to vary pressure. 

Spencer’s strong hands began to travel up your body. They moved from your waist; slightly messing up your shirt in the process and sending a shiver down your spine. They stopped once they reached your neck, giving it a light squeeze. You couldn't help but moan against his hot mouth. 

“I honestly don’t remember the last time I had this much fun.” You breathed happily as you and the young doctor walked down the busy street after the convention. “You don’t have to say that Y/N.” Spencer said, nervously tugging at the bottom of his shirt. 

“Are you kidding? Spencer, today was amazing!” You beamed throwing your hands up in the air. “I was supposed to be making it up to you for your help with my papers but instead you treated me to another great day.” 

Spencer chuckled lightly. He loved seeing you this happy. The more he thought about it, the more he realised how many things he actually loved about you. But it made him nervous because what if he didn't just love things like your laugh or your attitude. What if in fact he was in love with you.

“I guess we’re going to have to go on another date.” You teased. Spencer’s nose twitched but he didn't say anything. His lack of response caused you to stop in your tracks. The young doctor mimicked your move and also stopped, just a step ahead of you.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. 

“Why are you sorry?” Spencer asked confused.

“I just, I called today our date and I don’t want you to think I expect anything. I know the idea of dating can make you uncomfortable.” Your mouth flipped into a half-smile. “I like hanging out with you Spencer. I enjoy your company, and I wouldn't want to jeopardise that.” 

“I like hanging out with you too.” 

“Really?” “O-of course I do Y/N.” He smiled nervously. “I-I would like to go on more dates with you. You’re like a breath of fresh air.” Your face flushed red at his comment. Something Spencer noticed immediately. Without really thinking, he reached out his hand and gently caressed your cheek. 

Your heart stopped. This was the first time he had touched you, ever. It was the first time you felt his soft skin against yours. You wanted desperately to lean into his touch but you didn't want to scare him off so you stood still, taking a mental picture of this moment. 

Very slowly the two of you broke apart. The brunette doctor looked deep into your eyes; what he saw was longing, fervour. He felt the exact same. 

Between the constant fights and misunderstandings it felt wrong to feel this strong desire to one another. This strong pull. It felt almost toxic. But Spencer shook the invasive thought away, his lips once again meeting yours. 

“Would you like to move this to the bedroom?” You suggested in a mere whisper in between kisses. Spencer nodded. His hands situated themselves on your bum. The brunette agent picked you up allowing you to swiftly wrapp your legs around him. He carried you to the bed, kicking the door shut behind you with his leg. 

-

story taglist: @ashwarren32, @haylaansmi, @spencersblog, @lovebodymindstuff, @april-14-blog, @wooya1224, @chevyimpala00067, @sizzlingclamturtlesludge​

masterlist

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork and for helping me pick a movie that wasn’t already done!

Midnight

Chapter 6 — The Mice

Summary: In which our heroine wins the battle but loses the war

Chapter 6 of 7 on AO3

“The way you changed my life

No, no, they can’t take that away from me”

-They Can’t Take That Away from Me, Fred Astaire

After the excitement of the morning passed, Sidney grumbled until they returned to the table. Still shaken by whatever Arthur said on their brief phone call, Killian declined to join them and returned to their room. No doubt to dream up a make-believe pregnancy for her. Most probably twins this time.

“I thought you told me we would have smoked salmon for our bagels,” the man complained to Guin, face upset as if the plentiful choices offered on their breakfast buffet were insufficient.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s your favorite, so I made sure it was on the menu I gave to our chef,” she murmured coaxingly. Looking at the butler who was filling Arthur’s coffee cup, she asked, “What happened to the salmon?”

“There was a mistake, ma’am. It was left out of the last delivery, and since the phones have been out all morning, we couldn’t contact the market. I’ve sent one of the girls into town to buy some, so we will have it tomorrow morning. If the gentleman prefers, we can prepare a plate for him this afternoon.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “The phones are in perfect working order. We just made a call to Europe to check on the Baron’s daughter.”

“No, ma’am, only the internal phone system is working. An accident took out the lines last night.”

Emma reached over and grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table as they shared an uneasy look when the other three people at the table all glanced at her with questions in their eyes. Lance broke the silence. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m afraid he’s right. I wasn’t on the phone with my mother-in-law. In fact, I don’t— No, I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” she said haltingly, her mind racing with ways to get out of this mess. The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly she didn’t have a chance to think through the consequences, which seemed to be the way she operated these days.

“Oh, please, you can’t stop now. This little mystery is the only thing distracting me from my lack of fish,” Sidney countered. He was studying the wide variety of fruit compotes and toppings for his pancakes and sounded desolate. “Please.”

“Well, let’s just say the Baron’s family has a touch of eccentricity,” she continued with a grimace. She had their rapt attention; even Sidney abandoned his food and gawked at her. “My first hint was at the wedding. I was opening the gifts, and his grandfather gave us a broken compass covered in Thousand Island dressing.”

“Yes,” Arthur broke in, determined to help. “Now I remember hearing there was a streak of madness in the family. His father was known as the Mad Baron of Cambridge. He liked to give people roller skates with missing laces instead of flowers.”

“The truth is…we don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh, this is much more delicious than breakfast,” Sidney gushed, pushing his plate away and moving to the seat across from her. “Tell us more.”

“I don’t want you to think bad of him. Most of the time, he’s lucid and the sweetest man in the world. That’s the man I fell in love with. But when he’s having one of his episodes, like this morning, he can get quite aggressive if confronted. It’s best to go along with whatever he’s saying. It always starts when he first wakes as if he can’t shake some odd dream in his mind,” she grabbed her napkin and dabbed at fake tears. “There was one time about six months ago he woke up convinced he was Captain Hook. He wore eyeliner for weeks and refused to use his left hand. When I tried to make him see reason, he insisted I call him Captain and tried to have me arrested as a mutineer.”

“You poor thing,” Guin said, genuine sympathy in her expression. “I wondered why you called him that. I thought perhaps he served in the Navy.”

“And you’ve stayed with him all these years?” Lance’s gaze, which was always admiring, held a new respect for her now. It didn’t make her feel any better. “You’re wonderful.”

“Hmm, yes, absolutely amazing,” Arthur murmured under his breath. The smirk was back, and she could tell he was enjoying her web of lies. At least someone was. “Is there some medication he can take? Perhaps you should have him committed.”

“No, I would never. I promised to stay with Killian in good times and bad. It will pass eventually. It always does,” she bit out, kicking him under the table. Before anything else could be said, she heard the Captain whistling as he practically skipped out of the house toward them dressed in the sky blue scrubs of a surgeon. The color made his eyes even more beautiful, and the tiniest smattering of hair visible above the v-neck of the shirt did things to her heart.

“Arthur, Guinevere, thank you for the hospitality, but we really must be going. I have to get back for my shift at the hospital.” Everyone jumped at the pronouncement, exchanging loaded glances and trying to figure out what to say or do next.

Guin smiled at him shakily and in a calm voice asked, “The hospital, Baron?”

“Not a baron, I’m afraid. And this woman isn’t a baroness. You notice I didn’t say my wife because she isn’t that either,” Killian informed them as he stopped by her chair and reached down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Killian, you don’t mean that,” Emma responded. She would have laughed at his look of confusion at the lack of reaction to his revelation if she wasn’t so sure it would come back to bite her in the ass.

With an admonishing look, Lance said, “See here, Baron, there’s no need to insult the woman who has stayed by you through thick and thin.”

“Thick and thin? We met five nights ago, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of me. She’s an imposter. And I’m a doctor who has real things to do in the real world. Come on, Swan, let’s leave these lovely people to their breakfast.”

“Oh, I get it. You think she’s Elizabeth Swan from Pirates of the Caribbean.” Sidney snapped his fingers as if all the pieces had fallen into place.

“What? No, I think she’s a bounty hunter and the most impossible woman I’ve ever met,” Killian argued, determined to make them see the truth. The more he spoke, the more their faces cleared of all emotion like they were afraid a smile or frown would push him further into his delusions. He pulled her from the chair gently, and since she felt like pond scum for the lies she told, she let his arms circle her waist. As an added benefit she didn’t deserve, the position allowed her nose to be tickled by the chest hair so temptingly on display.

“Maybe she’s a mutineer,” Arthur offered.

Looking at the group, Killian shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re all crazy.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Guin said soothingly. “Why don’t you have some breakfast, Baron?”

“I’m not sure how I can be more clear. I’m not a baron. We’re not married. We met in the middle of the road a few nights ago, and I pretended to be her Uber driver so I could give her a ride to a strip club. It turned into the best night of my life.”

Undeterred, Guin patted his arm, which was still wrapped tightly around her. “What a lovely courtship you’ve had. Now, let’s get you something to eat. Do you prefer coffee or tea to drink?”

“Are you not listening to a word I’m saying? We’re fakes! We haven’t known each other for more than a week. She twisted me around her little finger in two minutes. As infuriating as she is, I fell in love with her smile. The sound of her laugh makes my blood pump faster, and when she talks about not believing in love, it makes me want to prove to her that it exists every day for the rest of our lives.”

She was fading, her will to stick it out with Arthur and give him a happy ending melting in the heat of Killian’s honeyed words. His genuine concern at how nonchalantly they were accepting his confession should have been funny, but all she could think about was how he said ‘the rest of our lives.’

Like he meant it.

“Well, fakes or not, I’m still hungry,” Sidney answered, trying his best in the face of impossible odds. “Maybe your patients could wait a few hours until the salmon arrives. It’s quite good.”

“Bloody hell, this is a madhouse. Come on, Emma, enough is enough. Let’s go,” he urged her again. Taking the napkin from her hand, he threw it on the table and switched his grip to gently hold her upper arm and guide her away from the group.

They were immediately halted by Lance, thunder in his expression and lightning in his eyes. “She’s not going anywhere with you, Baron. We know all about your illness. She won’t be safe.”

“My illness?” Understanding dawned on his face and his head tilted back like he was searching the morning sky for answers. With a wry chuckle, he sighed. “Bravo, Swan. You told them I’m crazy. And I played right into it, didn’t I? Because I’ve been acting crazy, a man driven out of his mind at the sight of his most cherished dream waltzing away from him like he was nothing. Like everything he felt was nothing as far as she was concerned.”

She choked up at the bitter twist of his mouth. He was so brave, declaring his feelings in front of everyone, even convinced she would reject him again. Was it any wonder she had fallen head over heels for him?

And what did she do? She lied. She tricked. She ran. Then she rinsed and repeated.

“Captain,” she whispered, her hand moving to cradle his face when a sickening crack was heard and he crumpled at her feet.

Behind him, looking proud of himself, Sidney was still holding a pan aloft like he thought Killian might jump to his feet and demand a second round. Fear flooded her and she dropped to her knees to cradle his head in her lap. Helplessness, her hands fluttered over his body, her mind trying to sort out the impossible situation that was entirely her fault. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He looked homicidal.”

Shaking him gently, she begged, “Killian…Killian, come back to me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

“You aren’t alone, sweetheart,” Lance promised, trying to move her away.

She swatted at his hands and refused to leave. The movement caused Killian’s head to lull to the side, and she saw a smear of red dripping from his hairline. “Someone call 911. He’s bleeding!”

Sidney glanced down at them with a mildly alarmed look and then at the weapon he still held. He ran his finger across the bottom and, with some relief, announced, “That’s not blood. It’s raspberry compote.”

—

Arthur’s personal physician made a house call to attend to the victim. Of course, the woman knew Killian Jones, MD, who was apparently the Director of Pediatric Oncology at Storybrooke General and one of the foremost experts in his field.

He was a saint in addition to being her Captain.

He deserved so much more than a lost girl who was too scared to know a good thing when it stopped on the side of the road to save her.

“This couldn’t have worked out better, my dear,” Arthur commented with an eyebrow wiggle. “Lance is beside himself. He just announced he plans to hire a divorce attorney this very afternoon. Run along. I’ll make sure the good doctor makes it back to town safely. I’ll even throw a couple thousand his way for his performance.”

“Shut up, Arthur. This is terrible. An innocent man got hurt, and it’s all our fault. My fault,” she corrected with a whisper, running her hand softly through Killian’s hair. He regained consciousness as the doctor checked him out but fell asleep while she assured them no permanent damage was done. Replacing the ice pack against the goose egg forming on the side of his head, she silently pleaded with him to wake up so she could grovel properly and beg for forgiveness.

“He seems quite taken with you.”

“Maybe he’s crazy after all,” she joked, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She doubted she would find anything funny until she saw his electric blue eyes again. “Can you leave us alone? I want to be able to explain when he comes to.”

“Of course, just call if you need anything.” He gave her a probing stare as if trying to decide whether to say something else before he left.

When she heard the door click shut, she leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “I’m sorry. For running. For lying. For putting you in a situation where you got knocked out. I know that’s not nearly enough, but I am.”

“It’s a start,” he groaned as her hushed tone drew him from sleep, one hand moving to cover hers where it held the ice to his head and the other reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. “What happened?”

“I happened. This is why we don’t work, Captain. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and suffering since the moment we met.”

“I didn’t figure you for the melodramatic type, Swan. We had some good times before this farce began,” he reminded her as he shifted into more of a sitting position. “Are you ready to admit there’s something between us, or do I need to jump back into the fray and take a punch bowl to the face?”

“I never denied there was something between us, just that it was a good idea. I believe a raspberry-flavored concussion proves my point perfectly.”

His hand drifted to her cheek, calloused fingers glancing over soft skin. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but he tenderly grabbed her chin and held her in place. “Love, come away with me. It doesn’t have to be forever; we can sort that part out later. I’m simply asking for your company now, to give us a chance before you decide against it.”

“I want to, Captain. I want the carrot and everything else behind Door Number One,” she murmured with a watery chuckle. His gentle caresses grew hotter and more insistent. Finally he pulled her to him, her body half-covering his, as he claimed her mouth in the kind of scorching kiss that would burn through her memory forever.

She had nothing to offer him, and she had a long way to go before she would be worthy of this kind of love. Unconditional. All-encompassing. The kind she didn’t even know existed until he rescued her.

“I sense a but coming…”

“But—“

With a sad smile, he interrupted her. “On second thought, don’t. Please. I can’t bear to hear you say the words. To watch you run one more time. Let’s call it a day now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He tapped her nose lightly with his fingertip, observing the tears in her eyes as she fought to keep them from falling. Giving her a bittersweet grimace, he added, “Just promise you’ll take care of yourself, Swan. No more skipping meals. No more pretending to be anyone other than the amazing woman you are.”

The tears that were a threat until then slipped past her defenses, leaving trails down her face. He swiped at them and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then he was gone.

Arthur found her later in the exact same place, not having the energy to move. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to live this day, my dear.”

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but the knowledge he was wrong caused her to feel light-headed as she turned into his embrace. She would never have to say goodbye to Killian again, but she knew she would relive it over and over until the day she died.

—

He approached her on the shoreline as she watched the blue waters of the Atlantic crash against the rocky beach forming one side of Arthur’s estate. Heat lightning flashed in the distance; the far-off storm robbed of its noise and violence when viewed from the calm of land. Emma knew it was only a matter of time until he sought her out. He was a smart man, a gambler and a rogue, so why not press his advantage?

“You disappeared on me after the baron left.” Lance never referred to him as her husband, always ‘the baron.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his way of skirting the immorality of his pursuit or simply to rob the other man of any claim on her, but it was starting to piss her off. Which was silly considering he wasn’t really her husband. Or a baron.

“He told me he was filing for divorce on his way out. That he hoped you found happiness but had come to realize it wasn’t going to be with him.”

She had yet to look at Lance, but she felt her heart break a little at the scene he painted. It was just like the Captain to try to help her all the way to the bitter end. She supposed he simply couldn’t stop himself. Breathing in the warm salty air, she wanted to let it fill her lungs and sweep out the misery that had taken hold in the core of her.

She was an idiot. She had let someone who had never loved her, never really even cared about her, twist her into someone who would do the same thing to a man who was perfect in every way. If she hadn’t already sworn to get even with Neal Cassidy, this would have driven her to it.

She was damaged now, unfit for human company, clinging to a sham because it was easier than facing the fact she made the biggest mistake of her life. Only this time, there was no boogeyman in the form of a cheating, lying ex to blame. She did this to herself.

But she didn’t have to double down on it.

With a deep sigh, Lance dropped on the sand next to her. He was more casual than she had ever seen him, and somehow it made him more approachable. Barefoot and with his pants legs were rolled up to mid-calf in a nod to the tide, he observed, “He was wrong, wasn’t he? You still love him.”

“Yes,” she admitted, staring at the horizon.

“And you aren’t a baroness…”

“No,” she confirmed, this time chancing a sidelong glance at him. “Everything he said was true. I’ve been here under false pretenses.”

“To come between Guin and me. It has the smell of an Arthur scheme all over it,” he explained with a wry grin. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. I never intended for it to go this far, but once it started, we kept getting deeper and deeper until I couldn’t see a way out. And then I didn’t want to. I love her, I probably always will, but she’s not mine. You helped me realize that. A gorgeous wake-up call designed to turn my head and steal my heart. Losing you is my penance. One I can’t regret because I have a feeling you saved several lives by playing along.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle again soon, I’m sure, and the women of the world will be better for it. Do yourself a favor next time, though. Choose an available woman, and once you find her, don’t let her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pick up where I left off, I suppose. I have some debts that still need to be paid and a fugitive to bring to justice. Maybe if I keep busy enough, keep moving, this will all fade and seem like some fever-induced dream.”

“I meant, what are you going to do about Jones?”

“I think I’ve done enough already. The best thing I can do for Killian now is to stay away.”

“For someone so smart about other people, you have a rather glaring blind spot when it comes to your own life. A mistake is only a mistake if you keep making it. You know where to find him, you know he wants you to, the only thing stopping you is fear.”

“Fear is enough, Lance.”

“You know what fear has gotten me: Absolutely nothing. I was afraid to put myself out there, so I only got involved with women who I knew would leave me before the whole thing even started. It’s hard to mourn the loss of a relationship that never stood a chance to begin with. It cost me my best friend and two women I care about. You’re better than that, Emma, and doesn’t he deserve the best version of you? But more importantly, don’t you?”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[auroracalisto]

something there—chapter one

summary: the reader is a part of a great prophecy revealed to geralt and jaskier by an unnamed witch.  the only problem?  well, see, there’s multiple.  she doesn’t believe that it’s her, and she lives in 2020.

pairing: hinted jaskier x geralt, nothing really more than that, future jaskier x reader x geralt

word count: 1.7k words

warnings: mmmmm cussing.  like i probs dropped the f-bomb five times in one sentence.  female reader.  other than that, nothing.

author’s notes: i legit got this idea while driving home after work and it took me forever to figure out what i want to do with this (at least with the first chapter).  i hope to continue this, but i’m not sure how often i’ll be able to pump out parts for this.  i am super excited for this tho.  i cannot tell you how many geralt and jaskier stories i have read....... and we are not going to discuss this here.  i hope you all enjoy!!!  also i’m trying out a different format for my posts?  summary + little snippet of story if it’s a longer one?  and then the pushed out part uh

"Aren't prophecies supposed to rhyme?"

The witch looked at Geralt with an exasperated expression, before she cleared her throat.  "The two of you," she said, looking at both the Witcher and the bard, "need to find a girl with a profound knowledge in music and storytelling. A virgin maiden from lands far, far away, with a heart big enough for two others."

Jaskier looked towards Geralt, a confused look spread across his face.  

"She will help you find what it is you're looking for," she said, pointing towards the Witcher as she spoke.  "When you wake, the two of you will be teleported to her lands.  Her heart is pure enough to help you with your journey.  Her soul as pure as the driven snow.  You will have two weeks to convince her to travel back with you, and you will be able to continue with your own travels.  Or, you will be stuck in her lands until someone from our world goes searching for the lost Witcher and his bard."

"Woah, woah, woah," Jaskier held up his hands, frowning deeply at the woman.  "Teleported?  Her world—pardon?"

The witch just smiled at him.  In just a moment's time, she disappeared from in front of the two and Jaskier and Geralt were left, stewing in the prophecy she left them with.  

[]

[Your name] woke to the soft chirping of birds coming from the outside of her window.  She slowly peeled her eyes open, groaning softly.  She had stayed up until five in the morning, once again, working on a never-ending project.  It was only ten in the morning, but she had to be awake so she could call her boss and figure out what it is that she needed to do next.  The woman slowly got out of bed and placed her feet on the bed.  However, she took one step forward and she went tumbling to the floor after tripping over someone.  

"What the—"

[Your name] quickly turned around and her eyes grew wide at the sight of a man lying in her floor.  He had quickly sat up, knocking his head against her bedside table.  With a groan, he put a hand to his forehead, looking around.  His face grew pale.  "What—"

"Who the fuck are you?" [Your name] quickly asked, scrambling to her feet.  She took a couple of steps back, her heart pounding in her chest.  

The man's eyes widened as he looked over at the woman.  She began to notice how he was dressed—it reminded her of the old historical dramas she used to watch every Sunday with her grandmother.  

"Who the fuck are you?" [Your name] repeated.  

"Jaskier..."

"Okay, Jaskier, why the fuck are you in my bedroom?"

He let out a curt laugh and he leaned himself up against her bed.  "How the hell am I supposed—" he stopped himself, hurriedly getting to his feet.  "Geralt?!"

"What?" [Your name] paled.  There was another man in her apartment?  Not to mention, her quite run down apartment?

White hair became visible in her line of vision and she quickly backed up to her wall.  "What the fuck?" she breathed out.  "Who the fuck are you?  How did you get in my house?  Where's my fucking phone?"

[Your name] quickly rushed to her bedside table, grabbing it off of the charger.  She went to dial 911, only to discover that her phone was completely shut off.  The black screen never lit up.  She looked towards the men, trembling.  

The white haired man, known as Geralt, began to frown.  "We need to talk to you."

"How the fuck did you get in my house?" Geralt frowned even more.  "A witch."

[Your name] blinked a couple of times.  "Excuse me?  Are you fucking dumb?"

Jaskier snorted under his breath as he looked over at the Witcher.  

"No.  I'm not.  We need to talk to you."

[Your name] looked back down on her phone, just to make sure it wasn't just lagging.  It was an old phone, and sometimes, it would do that.  She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes.  She had nothing anymore—no family, a crappy apartment, and an especially crappy job that she was constantly pulling all-nighters for.  [Your name]'s gaze switched from Jaskier to Geralt before she gave a small nod.  

"I... fine," [Your name] said, swallowing thickly.  "Fine.  But," she looked down at her clothes and blushed even more.  "Get out of my room.  I need to at least change my clothes—"

"—that's what you're calling that?" Jaskier smirked at her.

Her eyes widened and she nearly shoved his arm.  "Get out."

Geralt had already left, and Jaskier couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.  He left the room.  [Your name] quickly shut the door and pressed her back up against the wood.  Her heart throbbed in her ears and throughout her body.  Surely, she was just hallucinating and having a heart attack.  A stroke, maybe.  Could it have been a manic episode?  

[Your name] went over to her clothes and quickly pulled out a pair of jeans and an over sized hoodie.  She combed out her hair and ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth before she came out into the hallway.  The men weren't there.  Perhaps it truly was just a bad dream.  She frowned and walked out to her living room/dining room/kitchen—three in one.  She saw the two sitting at the table.  Jaskier had quickly pulled his hand away from Geralt's, who just pulled his hand closer to his body rather than completely pull it off the table.  [Your name] blushed and went towards her kitchen.  

"Do you... do you guys want anything?"

"Being hospitable now, are we?" Jaskier sent her a smile.  

"You're both sitting at my dining room table.  Why wouldn't I?"

Jaskier rose his eyebrow, but he didn't say anything else.  

While she made a pot of coffee, he curiously watched her while Geralt looked around her small home.  He had quite a few comments to make, but his face would never show it.  [Your name] poured herself a cup of coffee and made it just how she liked before she hesitantly came over and sat down across from the two.  She cleared her throat, her finger tips gently tapping at the warmed mug before she spoke.  

"Who are the two of you?"

"Geralt of Rivia.  This is Jaskier."

She rose an eyebrow, slightly nodding.  "My name is [Your name]."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jaskier grinned, "[Your name].

"Wish I could say the same," she meekly grinned.  "Can you please tell me how you got in my apartment?"

"Like I said," Geralt cleared his throat.  His voice was deep—part of [Your name] wanted to melt at the sound.  "A witch sent us."

[Your name] fought the urge to roll her eyes, but this did not go unnoticed by the Witcher.  He kept his eyes on her, quiet as he did so.  

"A witch sent you.  To my cheap ass apartment.  Likely story."

"He's not lying," Jaskier said.  "He's telling nothing but the truth."

"Yeah?"  This time, she did roll her eyes.  "Prove it."

"Our clothes are not enough?" Geralt asked.  "You are not from the lands we hail from.."

[Your name] looked at their clothes once more.  She had noticed Jaskier's earlier, but the more she looked, she realized how old fashioned they looked—how worn they seemed.  [Your name] crossed her arms over her chest.  She hesitantly looked towards Geralt and gave a small nod.  

"Alright.  I'm listening."

Geralt looked towards Jaskier.  Jaskier returned his gaze and he pursed his lips.  

"Are you going to tell her?"

Geralt huffed softly.  "Yes.  This witch.  We went to her for guidance.  We've been looking for a way to defeat..." he stopped for a moment, looking at Jaskier again.  "To defeat an enemy for some time.  She sent us... here, with a prophecy."

"And?"

Geralt looked at her.  

"What's the prophecy?" she asked, sipping at her mug of coffee.  The steam rose and warmed her chilled face.  Only now did she realize how cold it had gotten in her apartment.  Her heating bill must have failed again.  She cleared her throat, looking at Geralt again.  "Well?"

He frowned.  "A virgin—" Just with that, [Your name] choked on her coffee and she began to blush.  "What?"

This caused a small smirk to form on Geralt's face.  Jaskier saw this and he couldn't help from his smile forming.  

"We are to convince a virgin maiden from lands far away to come back with us to defeat our enemy." he said.  They are profound in music and storytelling."

"Definitely not me," [Your name] blushed.  I'm not profound in anything."

"Ah, so you are a virgin?" Jaskier grinned over at her.  

[Your name] just shot him a look as her blush darkened.  "What else?" she asked, looking back at Geralt.  

"They are to have a heart big enough for two others...  I am still not quite sure what that refers to.  Her heart is pure enough to help us." the Witcher spoke.  He looked towards Jaskier once more.  

Something just told [Your name] that there was something going on between the two—the looks they continued to share made her heart melt in a good way.  Every look was filled with love—one that she wasn't familiar with, but one that she would love to learn to expect from someone.

"We have two weeks to convince her to travel back with us.  Her soul is said to be as pure as the driven snow."

"Alright, alright, but," [Your name] sat her mug down, stuffing her hands in her sweatshirt pocket to keep them warm.  "What does this have to do with me and my apartment?"

"Perhaps you are the one to help us find her," Jaskier said.  

Geralt nodded.  "That is what I have come to understand."

[Your name] tilted her head back as she thought, taking in a deep breath.  "Right.  So.  Two totally hot men show up in my house and tell me I'm supposed to help them with some damned prophecy?" [Your name] looked straight at Jaskier.  "Are you sure I'm not having a stroke?"

He stared at you for a moment before he grinned.  "Hot?  Is there a reason to refer to us as hot?"

[Your name] eyes widened a bit and she shook her head.  "Just ignore that I said that.  You don't know what it means, do you?  God," she groaned softly and squeezed her eyes shut.  Clenching her jaw, she spoke one last time before grabbing her coffee mug.  "Fine.  What is it you need me to do?"

[ikingsley]

Ina x MC: Late Nights

Ina x MC: Late Nights

Summary: Ina misses a date she planned.

Warnings: Angst! Also warning for brief mentions of alcohol.

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1​ @swimmingshoebakerydreamer​

Author’s Notes: I wanted to provide a little more background on Luna, who’s a neuroscience major. I also was craving angst, so this is the product of that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday @12:47 pm

Ina: I’ll see you at home tonight; remember, I’m cooking.

Luna: Oh lord 🙏

Ina: Hey! I promise it’ll be fine. All you need to do is show up. See you then, mi amor ❤️.

But now, it was almost 3 in the morning. The apartment was dark and quiet, except for the TV that was on at low volume. Luna was sprawled on the couch; she had knocked out a long time ago. What was supposed to be a fun date night with Ina had turned into a night of anguish for Luna. 

Ina was supposed to come home early to cook — albeit a very basic meal, but nevertheless, a meal — for Luna. The two were supposed to play some Trivial Pursuit and then cuddle to a movie together. Little did they know that that was quite the opposite of what would really happen that night.

When Luna had arrived at Ina’s apartment to find Ina not there, she hadn’t been worried. She’d been held up in the office quite often before. A student asking for an extension, an administrator here and there...but as the minutes slid into hours, Luna began losing hope. And with that dissipating, Luna became more and more angry. She texted Ina multiple times, just to receive radio silence. She had to rearrange her volunteer schedule at the hospital for this, and Ina hadn’t even bothered to show up at her own place. For such a driven and brilliant woman, Ina could be so irritating.

Ina got out of the cab, lurching forward towards her apartment. She mumbled incoherently to herself as she fumbled with her keys. When she finally was able to let herself into her home, she stumbled over her own heels and fell down, subsequently causing a loud crash sound. Oh crap, she muttered.

Luna jumped up, already on high alert. She looked around, only to find Ina on the floor. Luna gave Ina a sad, disappointed look, but turned away as a tear fell from her eye. This seemed to slightly sober Ina up.

“Wait- Luna!” Ina said desperately, clawing at the floor, trying to get up. The cry in her voice caused Luna to turn around for a split second. “Can we please talk?”

“Ina, you’re too out of it to have a mature conversation. Christ, you reek,” Luna sighed, shaking her head and retreating to the bedroom.

It hadn’t been the first time Ina had come home intoxicated, but those times, Ina was funny, and Luna had taken care of her accordingly. More importantly, on those occasions, Ina hadn’t planned out a date night.

Ina poured herself a shot of coffee and downed it in an attempt to sober up. When she felt like she had gained some sort of consciousness, she walked towards the bedroom. Right before she had reached the doorway, she held herself back, drawing in a deep breath. The conversation that she wanted to take place was going to be heavy, and she knew it.

Luna was curled up on her own side of the bed, scrolling absentmindedly on her phone. Tears rolled down her face, onto the pillow, but she had no control over her them. 

“Luna,” Ina breathed out. It was low, but very well enunciated.  

“You’re welcome to sleep on the couch in the living room,” Luna said sarcastically.

“I know you’re mad. Today was supposed to be about us, and I blew it.”

Though Ina couldn’t see Luna, she felt her eye roll. “You really did.”

Ina walked over to Luna’s side of the bed and crouched down to meet Luna’s eyes. She was met with Luna shifting on the bed, rolling over so that Ina couldn’t see her crying.

“Oh, real mature,” Ina scoffed.

“Bye bye!” Luna said in a sing-songy voice.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Ina snapped.

“MATURITY. She left when you came home, wasted and reeking on our date night. God, just go to sleep, Ina. It’s three in the morning. The couch is practically screeching your name,” Luna said as her voice finally broke. The sarcastic facade could only last a few moments. She pointed to the door, trying to get Ina to leave her alone.

Ina stood in the middle of the bedroom, just watching Luna cry. It hurt. She hurt Luna. What have I done, Ina reckoned, wiping at her own tears.

Finally, Ina trudged out of the room. She plopped herself on the couch; the only times she’d actually slept there were when Luna fell asleep in her arms, and she didn’t want to wake her.

When Ina left the room, Luna let out a sob, followed by a stream of tears. For the past few days, Ina had acted distant. Luna thought it would be a quick phase; Ina had publishing deadlines throughout the year. When a big deadline approached, Ina would immerse herself in her work, and Luna understood. Sure, she was clingy, but she knew how much work meant to Ina. And when Ina met the deadline, Luna was the first to congratulate her, and they’d celebrate together. But never had anything like this happen before. Never had Ina come home smelling this foul. Never had Ina missed a date she planned and seemed excited about. Most of all, never had she let Luna down like this before.

The two hugged themselves on their respective sleeping arrangements. Tears flowed freely and the women tossed and turned. By now, hours had gone by, and neither had slept a wink.

~

The sun had come up and light broke into the window. Luna huddled under the covers, acting as if the sun’s light was the reason she couldn’t sleep. At this point, she had stopped crying - she felt that her tear ducts couldn’t physically produce anything anymore.

“Luna, I love you,” Ina’s voice rang out. 

Had that been real? The sleep-deprived young woman didn’t know if Ina had actually spoken to her or if that was a figment of her imagination, recalling happier times of Ina’s many love confessions.

“Luna,” The voice said again. “God! Just look at me! Please.”

Now, Luna knew she wasn’t hallucinating anymore. She pulled off the covers, facing Ina for the first time in hours. And with a quick glance, Luna discovered that Ina didn’t look much better than herself. It was evident that she also hadn’t slept, and dried tears stained her face.

Luna’s lower lip quivered, and she knew, somehow, she was about to cry again. And once again, she pulled the covers over her face.

“What can I do, Luna? You used to tell me I was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, and now you can’t even look at me.”

“Leave me alone,” Luna grumbled.

For a moment, there was silence, but then, Ina attacked. She yanked off the covers and pinned Luna down with her body. 

“I love-” Ina cried out, but she was interrupted by the pain flashing through Luna’s eyes. It had only been a mere second, because Luna shut her eyes so promptly to ease her pain, but it had taken its toll. 

God, what am I doing, Ina thought to herself, rolling onto the other side of the bed. For a while, the two just sat staring numbly at the ceiling. It was as if they were reflecting - physically together, but mentally, miles away.

It was Luna who clasped the other woman’s hand. Ina wasn’t expecting it, but she returned the grip.

“I’m really sorry, Luna,” Ina admitted. “I’m such an ass.”

“I know you’re stressed, it’s fine-”

“It really isn’t, Luna. I made a commitment, and I failed to follow through.”

“I’m more disappointed than mad or anything else, really.”

And if this was supposed to be any sort of consolation to Ina, it really wasn’t. Somehow, her heart dropped even further into her chest. Having disappointed Luna was worse than upsetting her.

The two sat in silence for a long time, contemplating. They could hear each other’s sniffles every so often, followed by them clearing their throats. Their hearts still beat together as one, even after feeling so apart.

“Ina?” Luna questioned, releasing her hand from Ina’s hand. She moved to face her as Ina did the same.

Before, Ina had only seen glimpses of her lover, but now, it was all real. Luna’s face was now wet with tears, but she still had a small, sad smile on her face. That smile. It was the one that broke her heart into a million pieces, something that only Luna knew how to put back together. 

Ina shut her eyes, trying to not let herself cry for the umpteenth time in a span of 12 hours. 

“Hey. What’s wrong?” Luna asked sympathetically. Ina just shook her head, looking back at the ceiling through her tear-glazed eyes. She reached out to Ina to cup her face. “Ina, look at me. What’s wrong?”

“Look at you. I was the one who screwed up, and now you’re comforting me,” Ina said, letting out a quick breath. This girl was truly something else.

“Missing a date night...that’s not like you. At all. So something’s up, and you’re not telling me,” Luna said intuitively. 

“I-” Ina began, but her voice wavered, and a sob followed. 

“Come here,” Luna said, opening up her arms.

Ina inched towards Luna, and Luna wrapped her arms around Ina. They stayed like this for a while, until Luna brought her hand around to wipe away Ina’s tears. 

“Ever since you started volunteering at the hospital, I feel like we’ve...grown apart,” Ina said.

“I- I’m not sure what to say to that, Ina. I have to focus on my own future, just like you had to in college,” Luna said back softly.

“I know, I know. I’m not asking you to drop it or anything like that. I know you’ll need some kind of experience for med school. I’m just...worried about us,” Ina admitted.

“Is that why you were drinking tonight?” Luna asked.

“Well, my paper was one reason, but then I began thinking about us. How much you’ve grown since we met. And now, you’re about to take the MCAT. You’re already so busy now; imagine when you get into med school and become a famous neuroscientist.”

“We’ve both always been busy, but we’ve managed it. You’re so important to me, Ina. And don’t you forget it. Because I won’t. My future is important, but mainly because you’re gonna be a huge part of it.”

Ina smiled slowly, meeting Luna’s eyes. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Because we’ve been through hell and back, Ina.” That glimmer in Luna’s eyes was back, giving Ina the confidence she needed.

“You know, you’re right. As a great poet once said, ‘Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey,’” Ina chuckled.

“Oh god, you’re quoting Lord Byron now?” Luna broke out into a laughing fit.

“He defined poetry from the Romantic period! Maybe he didn’t find his own...person, but he was a great poet.”

“Well, you’re my person, and I’m yours. You’re not losing me, and you never will. We’re practically stuck together for eternity,” Luna jested. 

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with,” Ina grinned.

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 4

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​​

Square Field: Donna

Word Count: 1513

Warnings: Fluff, hint of reader insecurities. I think that’s about it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 5 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST**   **MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A PATREON**

One thing you learned about living with Dean Winchester in the time you’d spent living in the bunker was that there was always a chance for random, crazy antics to happen, and it was best to just roll with it; because once Dean got something in that pretty head of his there was no changing his mind. It was best to just let it happen, no matter what it was, no matter how crazy it was, just let him get it out of his system. 

When he came bounding into your room like a small, overly hyper child on Christmas morning, pounced on you like a tiger and then commenced to shaking you until you woke up with a start, proclaiming that you needed to get dressed so that the pair of you could get on the road, it was very obviously one of the times you just needed to roll with it. There wasn’t a chance you could sour his good mood. You would never forgive yourself, and he was evidently very excited about this trip. 

It was freezing of course, and if you had your way you would have been happy to just stay in bed, but it was something about that sunshine-filled grin of his plastered across that freckle dusted face that pulled you out of your warm bed, and into the Impala without much of an argument. The more awake you became the more contagious his evident excitement was, and by the time the pair of you had stopped for breakfast outside of the Minnesota state line, the anticipation was killing you, so you asked him again that morning for what seemed like the thousandth time. 

“Dean, what are we doing in Minnesota, and just where are we going? Did you find a case? If so I could have packed my own bag, you didn’t have to sneak into my room at some unlawful hour in the morning to pack for me before waking me up.”

Dean just grinned at you over his coffee mug, mischief written all over his face, and his eyes lighter than you had ever seen them. Maybe it was the shirt he was wearing, but they just seemed brighter this morning. 

“Not telling sweetheart, you will see in just a few minutes, we have to meet someone here, and then we will be on our way, but I will tell you that this is not a case.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out Donna’s distinct accent pierced the air from behind you, “Hey you two,” and Dean was on his feet engulfing the woman in a bear hug.

Donna laughed and swatted him off playfully, reminding him she had a gun in the process as you greeted her with much the same enthusiasm as Dean. It had been a long time since you had seen Donna, and it wasn’t under the best of circumstances the last time you all had been together. 

“How the hell have you been, woman?” you asked as she slides into the booth next to you, and the waitress brings her over a cup of coffee for her. 

“Great! Doug asked me out about a month ago, and between the occasional small hunt, my day job, and him I’ve been pretty busy. How have the two been? I admit Dean’s phone call at almost midnight the other night surprised me,” she said, smirking at the elder Winchester like they were sharing some great big secret. Dean just chuckled into his pancakes as they were sat down in front of him, the waitress setting an equally large platter in front of Donna. 

Donna was clearly a regular here.

“So, Doug finally coming around to, ya know, all this?” Dean asks with a mouth stuff full of pancakes, waving his fork around the table as if to state something obvious to anyone but listening ears from other patrons. Clearly he was trying to deflect the subject from Donna’s previous statement. 

“Yep, surprised me too let me tell ya, but he seems to be coming around. It’s always shocking at first ya know.”

“Well what about Jody and girls?” you cut in, cutting your omelet with one of the plastic forks in front of you. “I haven’t seen them since that hunt in Georgia last summer.”

“They’re doing great! I think Kaia and Claire will end up at the altar before long, and Jody isn’t excited about the new hunting couple talking about taking the big leap, she thinks they’re too young, but I think it will be good for them.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean quipped, whipping his mouth with his napkin, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before going back to the female version of himself who was stuffing her face with equally as much food as Dean. 

You personally had no idea how the hell she did that, you’d be sick for days if you ate that much sugar in the morning. 

The conversation flowed easily between the three of you, catching up on hunts, friends you haven’t seen in a long time, and just life in general. It was normal, it was nice. Things like this were a  luxury a hunter rarely ever got in this life, just a breakfast with friends, and if Dean had driven all this way just to do this with you, you would have been grateful, but when Donna stood from the table to hug Dean goodbye after hugging you, she handed him a set of keys, and said, “You two love birds don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” with a wink that made Dean blush, DEAN, and walked away, leaving you confused and staring at Dean with mouth agape. 

Your eyes met his with shocked amusement as he stuttered on the spot and Donna walked away cackling. When he saw you staring at him he recovered, clearing his throat and throwing his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards Baby, apparently determined to act like nothing had ever happened. You let it go. You knew you could really poke fun at him about it, but it was better to file it away under later blackmail.

“So, what’re the keys for?” you asked Dean, as he continues deeper into the frozen state, humming along with the radio as if he didn’t have a care in the world, it was an amazing sight. 

“For this right here,” Dean states proudly, pointing to what you quickly recognized as Donna’s cabin. Your eyes traveled between him and the cabin. 

“Really?”

“Yup,” Dean said, getting out of the car and you followed him, letting him take your hand and lead you into the cabin Donna had eventually warmed for the two of you once she knew you were coming. “This is day 10. We’re gonna be staying here, just the two of us until after Christmas.” 

You turned to him in utter disbelief at what you were hearing. You and Dean, just the two of you, for ten whole days? Could this be real?

“I thought you could use a real white Christmas, and what better way to experience that than a snowed-in cabin in Minnesota; lucky for you I just happened to know a friend who had one to spare.” 

You closed the distance between the two of you, throwing your arm around his neck and hugging him tightly, which he returned without hesitation. 

“Oh my God Dean! This is perfect!” you tell him, releasing him from your grip and beginning to look around the cabin. It was perfect, and with a little decorating it could be very pretty with some Christmas decorations, and if you could talk him into it, a tree. 

“Only thing is there’s only one bed in the place, but if you're uncomfortable sharing then I’ll take the couch.” 

Your throat closed up for a moment, and you swallowed hard to get your voice to work again. Dean Winchester in your bed was something you had always dreamed of, the question is could you survive it actually happening? 

You couldn’t make him sleep on the couch for ten days, and the bed was plenty big enough to share. 

“I’m okay with sharing Dean, It’s not like you got cooties are something,” you play, hoping to hide your racing heart and the fact that your mind had suddenly turned to mush. 

“Oh sweetheart, I think you like my cooties,” he said, winkie at you. 

Suddenly it was your turn to blush as a wide victorious smile spread across his face. 

“I’m gonna go grab our bags so we can get settled,” he announces before turning to disappear out into the cold. 

You look around at what was going to be your little slice of Heaven for the next ten days with excited apprehension. There was so much that could happen in ten days, but if you didn’t get your feelings under control for a certain green-eyed hunter, you didn’t know how happy of a Christmas you would be able to have when he flat out rejects you.

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Twelve Days Of Christmas Tag List: 

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[janeyseymour]

Wouldn’t Change a Thing

Hello lovely friends! Here we are again with some writing!

Jane Seymour was often left quite confused by some of the habits her fellow queens had picked up in this life. That being said, she wouldn't change a thing about any of them.

Can also be found on AO3 here! 

Jane Seymour was utterly confused at some of the habits the queens had taken up in this new life. Surely, she did some strange things herself, but some of the things that her fellow housemates had made a habit of doing left her flabbergasted.

I.

When Jane Seymour met Catherine of Aragon, the first word that came to her mind to describe her was stoic. The first queen had always controlled herself; she had her golden rule and had to keep her cool, if you will. Yet as the blonde continued to live with her in this life, she found this to be somewhat untrue.

Catherine of Aragon never lost her control when it came to bigger situations where one would often lose their cool, no. When her and Anne would fight, she kept her temper at bay and often walked away from the situation before it could get out of hand. Well, she had lost her temper once on Anne, and that had resulted in the first two queens not speaking for two weeks except for when they had to interact in the show. Since then, Catherine has learned to take the high road.

When Catherine did lose her temper, it was at the smallest things. In all seriousness, the blonde wasn’t even trying to get a rise out of Catherine this time. Yes, Jane Seymour liked to bicker with Catherine. It was fun to watch her get more and more frustrated and watch as she scrunched her nose up. The difference between Anne and Jane was that Jane knew when to stop and tell the first queen she was just screwing with her.

“Lina, I was just playing with you!”

“You’re so lucky I love you,” the first queen would grumble before pulling the blonde into an embrace.

The two were going on with their days as they normally would together: grocery shopping, doing household chores, and preparing to make dinner on their off night. Jane was pushing their cart while Catherine was trailing slightly behind.

“Lina, could we pick up the pace a little? We actually have to get home in time to prepare supper,” Jane chided as gently as she could.

“I wouldn't have to trail so far behind if you would’ve just picked a cart that didn’t constantly squeak! It’s driving me crazy, I swear!” The first queen suddenly grabbed the cart from her and pushed it to the front, leaving Jane in a stunned silence.

Jane stood there watching, almost as if her feet were glued to the ground, not knowing what to do. Catherine wasn’t one to just up and leave afterall, not over something this small. The gold queen left their cart unattended for a few seconds only to return with a new cart, and she began unloading their groceries from the old cart to the new one. She kicked the squeaking cart once in anger before pushing the new cart back over to the blonde.

“There,” she huffed. “Now I can keep up with you.”

From that day on, when Jane and Catherine went grocery shopping together, the third queen made sure to test the shopping cart she chose to make sure it didn’t squeak.

II.

Anne Boleyn was an enigma as far as Jane was concerned. She could never predict what the green queen was going to be doing at any given moment. Jane had accompanied the hyper queen to the mall on a rather gloomy day, a place where she hadn’t been yet. The idea that so many stores were all in one location absolutely baffled her.

“I just think it’s crazy that all of these stores are in one big building together. It’s quite a lot of things to look at,” Jane stated wondrously.

“It just means I get to look at more things that I can’t afford but desperately want! And, I get to... spend time with you,” The second queen trailed off at the end of her sentence. She wasn’t usually one to express her happiness to be with the others, but she meant it.

“I’m glad we get to spend time together,” Jane pulled the girl close to her and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for asking me to come with you.”

“Well, yeah. It’s nice to do things with you,” she giggled as a thought popped into her head. “Once in a while.”

Jane couldn’t conceal her grin as she feigned hurt feelings and gently pushed her predecessor before pulling her back into her arms.

The two had been wandering the mall for quite some time when they found their way to a shoe store.

“Jane! Jane! Look at these shoes! They have wheels in them! I have to get them! Please, please, please, please-”

“Anne Boleyn.”

“Please, please, please-”

“Anne, you can get them, but I’m not buying them for you. This is what you have your own money for.”

“Well yeah, but I thought you would-” she cut herself off. “Nevermind! Thank you!”

For the next coming weeks, months, and years that the queens lived together, Anne rolled everywhere she could: to the theater, around the block, in the theater, around the house- everywhere. One silly purchase made Anne’s life so much better. Jane couldn’t quite understand why the girl needed wheels on her shoes when she could just walk, but if it made the girl happy, well she wasn’t going to be the one to stop it.

III.

Anna of Cleves was another one that was quite a mystery to Jane Seymour. At various times throughout the day, Anna could be seen eating whatever she pleased. The catch? Unless Jane herself had heated it up for her, the food was almost always cold. It’s not that Anna couldn’t heat her food up; she just couldn’t be bothered to.

For once, the blonde wasn't the first one awake this morning. Anna had stated the previous night she was going to wake up early in order to get a workout in before the family’s day off had taken place.

“Okay love, just try to be back before breakfast!” Jane smiled as she closed her door for the night.

Jane walked downstairs and into the kitchen in a slightly sleep driven haze, but she was excited to cook breakfast for her girls today. Jane had figured the fourth queen would still be out and sliding into her seat at the dining room table just as breakfast was served, not an uncommon occurrence. She shuffled to the coffee pot and turned it on before being startled by a chipper,

“Hey Seymour!” The blonde quickly turned around, not having seen the fourth queen when she walked into the kitchen moments ago.

“Cleves! You startled me!”

“Oh, sorry about that.”

“No, it’s my fault! I didn’t notice you when I was walking in.” The blonde grabbed a cup and began fixing it for her morning dose of caffeine. “What special food would you like me to whip up for our day off break-” The woman turned to face the fourth queen.

“Oh shoot,” Anna quicked stuffed as much of the pizza she had into her mouth.

“Are you eating pizza? At...” Jane squinted to see the clock. “7:13 in the morning?”

“Maybe?”

“Anna of Cleves,” Jane sighed. “Is it at least warm?”

“Uh,” the fourth queen drew out. “Yes?”

“You and I both know that is a lie.”

“Yeah it is. I don’t know, I just don’t mind my food being cold!”

“It’s weird, you know.”

“Oh Seymour, I know.”

Jane often found her fellow queen eating cold foods. Whether it was pizza, or wings, or even something as strange as pasta, if Cleves was eating it without the third queen being there, it was almost always a guarantee it was cold.

“It’s cold, isn’t it?” Jane sighed as she made her way around the kitchen.

“Yep!” Anna of Cleves happily dove into her food.

IV.

Katherine Howard was one that was almost always near Jane Seymour. The only times the two were ever really seen apart for longer amounts of time was when the group all retired to their rooms for the night. Even then though, Katherine had made a habit of slipping into the silver queen’s room in the middle of the night. But that wasn’t the habit that Jane found to be strange. In fact, the blonde rather liked that the pink haired queen was able to confide in her for just about everything. No, Katherine Howard had quite a few strange habits.

On a night where Jane wasn’t able to sleep, she had slipped out of her room as quietly as possible, having memorized which floor boards in the house creaked. A few steps later however, she noticed the fifth queen doing the exact same mannerisms as she was; taking large steps to avoid the creaking floor boards and making it through the house seemingly unnoticed. The third queen made her way down to the kitchen just as quietly as the fifth queen had although a few steps behind. With the younger girl’s face in the fridge, Jane made her presence known.

“Kitty?” The pink haired queen jerked into an upright position almost immediately.

“I promise I’m not doing anything wrong, I just got hungry, and I didn’t want to wake anybody, and I’ll just go back to-”

“Kitty dear, you’re not in any sort of trouble.”

“I’m sorry for eating the food and for waking you up. I thought I was being quiet,” Katherine went to push her way past the blonde but was stopped when she was pulled into a hug.

“This is your house too. You get to eat all you want. You didn’t wake me. I was coming down to make myself some tea because I couldn’t sleep either. You have nothing to apologize for.” The rigidness in the fifth queen’s body seemingly melted away at the vocalization that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Do you do this often? Find yourself down in the kitchen late at night?” The girl shrugged. “You know, I’ve never noticed.”

“I kinda figured out how to make it through the house without making a noise. You know, because I had to back then.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have to do that now you know,” the silver queen reminded her. “Now, why don’t I whip up some tea, hot chocolate, and a quick snack for us?”

Since that night, Katherine knew she didn’t have to silently make her way through the house late at night, but she still did, especially when she thought her mother was asleep. Most nights, she was successful. Every once in a while though, Jane would find her making her way down to the stairs as quietly as she could. And every time that happened, the blonde would wordlessly make her way down too to make some drinks and food.

The nights of Jane finding the younger queen in the kitchen had become few and far between now. Now, Katherine found herself more often than not seeing if Jane wanted to accompany her on her late night endeavors before finding herself in the warmth of her mother’s arms.

V.

Catherine Parr was less of a mystery to Jane Seymour. It was a widely known fact that the writer struggled with sleeping at the right time of day and needed coffee to keep her upright most days. But still, the habits that Cathy had taken to were quite strange to the third queen.

“I just get more inspiration at night!” Cathy sputtered as the third queen went to close her laptop for the night.

“Love, I know you do. But it is 2:43 in the morning right now, and we have a show tomorrow. You need sleep.”

“You’re awake too!” She rebutted.

“I was asleep before Kat came into my room. I’m heading back to bed right now, and I advise you to do the same.” The blonde placed a gentle kiss on the sixth queen’s hair before walking out of the room. She stood outside of the door for a few moments to see if her words had done anything. Seconds later, the sound of Cathy’s quick typing was all the proof that she needed to know Catherine Parr was going to be exhausted tomorrow.

“Coffee?” Cathy mumbled as she stumbled into the kitchen.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Jane handed her a cup off coffee just the way she liked it.

“I got like 4 hours,” the coffee addict muttered. “I just had to finish my thoughts or I would’ve forgotten them.”

“Okay, well we have a show at 2, so please be ready to leave the house by 12:30.”

12:25 had rolled around, and the rest of the queens had managed to get themselves into Jane’s van, but Cathy hadn’t left her room since she made a short appearance at breakfast.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Jane muttered as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. “Anne Boleyn, do not think this gives you permission to get into the driver’s seat. You’re not driving!” she threw over her shoulder as she walked up the driveway to the house.

“Catherine Parr! Where the-” Jane opened the door to Cathy’s bedroom to see the girl curled up in a ball and asleep under her desk..

“Cath,” the blonde bent down to shake the sleeping figure.

“Huh?” the writer jolted awake. “Oh hey Jane. I was just catching up on some sleep before we have to leave for the- we have to leave for the show now, don't we?”

“Yes dear, we do. Everybody else is in the car. I can give you five minutes to gather yourself and be outside, but after that, I can’t promise Anne or Kitty won’t come in here and cause you trouble.”

“I’ll be out in five.”

Most days, the third queen walked into Cathy’s room to see the writer hard at work. On those days, she had extra coffee ready, and was unphased whenever she saw Cathy asleep in some of the most obscure places. Sometimes, it was backstage at the theater, others, it was a corner in her room as opposed to the comfortable bed three paces to the left. No matter where she was though, if it wasn’t her bed, Jane found it quite strange.

With all of this being said, Jane Seymour wouldn’t trade her fellow queens for the world. Sure, Catherine of Aragon would break over small things. And yes, Anne Boleyn preferred to roll around instead of walking. Of course, Anna of Cleves ate any of her food cold if Jane wasn’t there to warm it. And her darling Katherine had figured out the floorboards much like she had. Like mother, like daughter, or so they say. And Cathy fell asleep in uncommon areas at various times of the day. Yes, they all had their strange quirks, and Jane knew she had a few too, but she wouldn’t change a thing involving her queens. They were perfect just the way they were.

[probably-writing-x]

Wake up Call

Ander x Reader

Request by @aronpiperstuff : Heyyyyy love :) I love your ander imagines man 🤭they are so good and addictive so i wanted a request of my own :) one where he and the reader are like childhood/school friends and after like a night of clubbing they get really wasted and somehow end up having sex in the car 😂😂 hope you see this Xxx

Gif is not my own

Requests are OPEN🤍

It was already far too bright as you tried to blink through the overpowering light once your eyes were open and your slumber ended. Your head was already pounding and your muscles felt like they’d been practically squashed into whatever uncomfortable position you’d slept in. But more importantly, where the fuck were you?!

You keep blinking to try to get rid of the confusion and distortion clouding your vision, finally seeing clear enough to recognise a figure sleeping on top of you.

“What the fuck?” You mumble to yourself, now realising your muscles were likely pained so much as a result of this sleeping arrangement, in a place you could only assume was somebody’s car.

How on Earth had you gotten here?

You try to take in a few more of the person’s features, their growing curly hair being the first key sign. Oh shit. There was only one person that it could be. And if your nose wasn’t so clogged with the lingering scent of alcohol, you’d have been able to recognise their cologne too. Ander.

“Ander!” You hiss, trying to nudge him to wake him up, hitting his arm that had fallen down from the back seats of the car and now hung where his legs should rest in the car, “Ander!”

He groans and tries to stretch out a little in his sleep, waking up rapidly when he realises it’s not a possibility.

“What the fuck?” He mutters just as you had, blinking as he tries to push himself up.

His eyes fully open and he processes the image of the person he’d been laying on top of. His arms fail him as his eyes widen in shock and he falls back onto you.

“Fucking hell Ander!” You cough as his abrupt connection winds you, “Get up!”

Slowly, and with tense sore muscles, the two of you sit up in adjacent seats in the back of a car you had to assume belonged to Ander. Otherwise, you’d just woken up with your childhood best friend in a car you could’ve broken into.

Ander scans his surroundings before his eyes fall back onto you, widening further when he notices your lack of any sort of clothing. He glances down at himself and makes a quick move to cover himself with his hands.

“What are we doing here?” He questions through a burning blush.

You groan and press a hand to your throbbing head, “I have no idea. I can’t remember anything from last night.”

“We drank... a lot,” He points out, a fact you figured was obvious in the circumstances, “But we didn’t... I mean we couldn’t have...”

You’re just as uncertain as he is. Unwilling to accept the idea that you’d just drunkenly had sex with your childhood best friend in the back of his far too small car after the two of you had reunited after at least five years without seeing each other. That couldn’t have happened, right?

“I don’t know, I don’t know Ander,” You mumble, “I don’t know how we got here, what happened, how we even managed to find your fucking car...”

“We didn’t... we definitely didn’t have sex...” Ander shakes his head.

The both of you make eye contact and stare at each other for longer than you should, hoping any part of his appearance will give you some sort of clarity about the previous nights antics.

“No, no, definitely not,” You agree, “We just need to retrace our steps and figure out what happened.”

“Right, yeah, no, good idea,” Ander encourages, “We should probably get some clothes on first.”

You glance down at your naked form and his and swallow the lump in your throat, “Yeah, definitely didn’t have sex.”

- - - - - -

Only half an hour later, you find yourselves walking back through the town from Ander’s car. You’d soon realised that he’d had his car parked outside of his house so, somehow, you’d made it all the way from the club to his home and got into his car that way. He had the keys on him but they hadn’t been in the ignition so you’d never actually driven anywhere - thankfully avoiding an inevitable drunk driving charge or worse.

“Weren’t you with that guy last night? The one that started talking to you at the bar?” Ander comments as you turn the corner towards the road leading up to the club.

“Right, yeah! The guy with the shaved head!” You say, excited clearly to have picked up some piece of memory, “I think I gave him my number.”

You both pull out your phones and check, hoping maybe this guy would have sent some sort of message to prove anything. Ander laughs at his screen instantly.

“You gave him my number. Guess you didn’t like him that much then,” He rolls his eyes, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

Part of you had been praying that this guy would have been the one you’d been with the night before - to avoid it being your best friend instead.

“Okay, but that’s at least something,” You sigh as the two of you reach the club doors on the corner of the empty street.

“I feel like we went to get food, there were takeout boxes in the trash at my place. We must’ve gone to get food or something,” Ander point out, glancing around at the street, “There! That’s the place we always go to after a rough night out.”

You follow him across the road as you try to imagine your drunken self taking the exact same movements only a matter of hours beforehand. Nothing. Damn you, alcohol.

The food joint is closed, unsurprisingly, and you’re just about to turn away when somebody comes walking round from the back - having taken the bins out or something.

“Hey, um, excuse me,” You stop them quickly, “Are you just about to open up?”

They frown at you, “No, I’m just finishing my night shift.”

“Brilliant!” Ander exclaims, coming up beside you close, “Did we happen to come here at any point last night? Probably pretty drunk?”

The young boy blinks, bewildered, as he looks between the two of you, “Yeah, I remember you guys. You started dancing on the table.”

You and Ander look between each other bashfully.

“Was it just the two of us?” You persist, “Sorry, I just think I’ve lost my phone and we’re just trying to retrace our steps from the night.”

The boy glances down at the phone half sticking out of your pocket before looking back up to both of your waiting pairs of eyes, “No, there was another guy. Tall, pretty muscly, kinda moody because we were all out of kebabs.”

You and Ander both turn to each other excitedly before saying in unison, “Guzmán!”

- - - - - -

Hence, the next place you find yourself is the path towards Guzman’s house. Your headache had subsided a bit as the two of you stopped to get some water on the way but you couldn’t possibly stomach the idea of food.

“Alright, hopefully Guzmán can give us some answers,” Ander sighs, knocking on the door as you stand beside him.

You glance him again and wonder what had changed last night to make you see him so differently. How had he no longer been Ander? And suddenly a boy your drunken mind had no history with...

“Hey! I didn’t expect to see you two up so early!” Guzmán laughs as he opens the door, “What’s up?”

“What can you tell us about last night?” You ask quickly before Ander has the chance.

Guzmán frowns, “Fuck! You two must’ve been bad, come in come in.”

You find yourselves sat on Guzmans couch as he sits on the coffee table across from you. This all felt a bit ridiculous to find out the events of one simple night. But you had to try to convince yourselves that you hadn’t compromised your entire friendship over one night.

“Okay, so you got bored of being upstairs but nobody else was fussed so us three all went downstairs into the actual club. And we’d all had a bit too much, and Ander decided it would be a good idea to start undressing in the middle of the dance floor.”

You look down and smirk a little at the idea, the typically introverted boy coming completely out of his shell.

“I got in a taxi to get home and you guys said you’d walk back,” Guzmán runs a hand through his hair, “I was too drunk to tell you it was a bad idea. Where did you guys end up?”

You and Ander exchange a small glance before quickly looking away.

“We just went home, nothing more than that, right (Y/n)?”

“Yeah, yeah, we just walked home,” You agree, swallowing the lump in your throat as you try to believe the words yourself.

Guzmán stands up from the couch, “Whatever you say,” He laughs as he carries his empty mug back to the kitchen, “But you guys seemed like you were about to fuck last night.”

Instantly you turn to Ander with widened eyes, both of you sharing the same expression as you look at each other. There wasn’t much hiding from this anymore. No amount of searching could give you the answer you were looking for. You had well and truly messed up your friendship last night.

- - - - - -

“Well, I don’t think there are many other places we can go to,” Ander laughs as he hands you the coffee from the cafe he’d just stopped off at.

You carry the takeout cup in your hand and walk alongside him, wincing at the hot temperature, “I guess not. Your memory jogger at all?”

Ander scoffs, “I have a faint memory of you telling me you couldn’t keep your eyes off me all nigh...”

“Okayyyy,” You cut him off, “Let’s leave that there, no need to bring up any of that.”

“I know we don’t really remember much of what happened,” Ander begins, scratching at the back of his neck, “But I had a lot of fun last night.”

You glance at him with a small smile tugging at your lips, “Yeah, me too.”

He blushes a little but you blame it on the heat of the coffee in his hand.

“Just remind me to never get in your car again!”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hii, I'm actually sad-sweet-cowboah and I've always wanted to request something from you! How about modern AU, Arthur surprises reader with a horse she's been really eyeing for a while? Maybe it doubles as a cute proposal? (and just for reference, a gorgeous golden Palomino Quarter Horse!)

Ah I’m so glad you sent this in to me! This was a lot of fun, and Arthur is fucking adorable! 16/10 best boyfriend/husband material, you cannot change my mind! (Will someone make that into a meme?) Anyways, have fun! 

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

(BTW, Arthur’s hot as hell in this pic.....) 

Arthur stands on the deck of his house, lost in thought. He really should be in the barn, finishing up the last of the day’s work, but he’s worried. You should’ve been home half an hour ago and yet he still hasn’t heard from you. He’s texted you, but nothing. Maybe you’re just stuck in traffic. 

You and Arthur have lived together for over a year, and been dating for over two years. He remembers how he convinced you to move in with him, as you’d been adamant. Hell, it’d been hard enough to get you to date him. 

When you both first met, it was like a spark between you. However, you were scared of taking the next step with him, as you were just a natural loner. Not only that, you’d been alone for so long you didn’t think there would be anyone who wanted to be with you. So when Arthur asked you to be his girlfriend, you almost ran off, sure he was pulling your leg. However, something told you that you needed to be brave, to take the leap, so you did. 

About 8 months later, Arthur really wanted you to move in with him on his little ranch, tucked in a canyon not too far from a small mountain town. But again, you were hesitant. It’s not that you didn’t love him, just the opposite in fact. You were so in love, you were constantly terrified that you’d mess up, that he’d end up hating you when you ended up living together. The last thing you wanted was to mess this up. 

Then, shortly after your first year anniversary, the Coronavirus pandemic hit and everyone was sent into quarantine. Luckily you were able to work remotely, so you didn’t lose much money. It was nice working from home, you could stay in your pj’s all day, not worry about makeup, none of that stuff. But you missed seeing your boyfriend and he missed you. The two of you did plenty of video chats, but it wasn’t the same. You couldn’t smell him, hug him, touch him, kiss him… nothing. You tried doing some video sex, but you got outrageously uncomfortable doing it over video chat (what if some hacker got in?), and Arthur wasn’t all that comfortable either. 

Those 60 days were some of the longest and loneliest of your life. You would’ve easily gone to his home and see you, but his little town wanted absolutely no outsiders to come in, so they blocked the roads, preventing you and Arthur from visiting. When quarantine was lifted, that was when you decided to move in with Arthur. After all, you didn’t know if there would be another one. You could work remotely, only having to go into the office a couple times a month for meetings, so the work situation with you was easy enough. 

That was over a year ago, and despite your fears that the two of you would end up breaking up after a few months, the opposite happened. Your relationship grew beyond what you thought and the two of you have never been more in love. Sure, there’s been a few arguments, but nothing bad enough to break things off. For the most part, you and Arthur get along famously. 

Arthur sighs again, still feeling worried. Today was one of the days you had to go into the office for meetings. They never run past five, and the office is nearly an hour away, but it’s nearly eight in the evening. You should definitely be home by now. You must be stuck in traffic, which is why you’ve not answered any of his texts. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. Why he didn’t do this earlier is beyond him. 

A few rings go by and you finally pick up. “Hey, babe,” you say. 

He smiles. “Hey, darlin’. Just worried about ya. Everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Just a big accident on the freeway. I stopped and got dinner too since it’s late. Should be home in like ten minutes.” 

“Good. Kiss ya when I see ya,” he says and hangs up. That’s always how he says good bye to you over the phone and you love it. 

Like clockwork, ten minutes go by and you pull into the driveway. He walks out of the house to greet you, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing you like he always does. He wants to tell you so badly what he’s got planned, but it’s gotta be a surprise. Under no circumstance can he spoil it. Not like this. 

After dinner, the two of you cuddle up on the couch and watch a show before going to bed. He can tell you’re exhausted. These meeting days are your least favorite and they always wipe you out. Arthur cradles your head to his chest as you lie in bed. Within seconds, he hears you snore softly, making him smile. He goes back to thinking about tomorrow. 

Arthur’s owned this ranch for most of his life. It wasn’t always his though. He grew up here with his adopted fathers, Hosea and Dutch. However, Hosea was killed very suddenly a few years ago in a car crash after he’d been hit by a drunk driver. His death had been so sudden that it hit Dutch extremely hard. Dutch ended up just vanishing one day, driven by grief and confusion. Arthur hasn’t seen him since. 

The ranch fell into his hands after Dutch disappeared. He secretly hopes that maybe Dutch will come back someday, if he’s still alive that is. He’d love you two to meet, as he’s sure Dutch would like you better than his last serious girlfriend Mary. 

His thoughts drift to her and he feels even more nervous. He’d been engaged to her for three months before she’d broken it off. She claimed it was because she hated his location, that she wanted to live in the city, not some small mountain town where everything was far away. Perhaps that was true, but he suspected there was more to it than that. After all, when Mary’s father discovered that Arthur had two fathers, he was extremely upset that Mary was dating someone raised by homosexuals. He’s always suspected that her father had a big reason behind why they broke up. Not only that, but he wonders if she was seeing a guy on the side. How could she go from being engaged to being in a new relationship only three weeks after they broke up? Good riddance, though, he thinks. He loves you a hundred times more than he ever loved her. 

You’ve never cared about his upbringing, stating that Hosea and Dutch were at least good parents to him. You’ve known far too many heterosexual parents who were awful, and how many gay couples are out there who’d love to have kids and be the best parents. You weren’t in contact with your parents anymore (he still didn’t even know what they look like), so they aren’t an issue. 

Arthur starts thinking about how sad and lonely your life has been. How you spent so many years alone and how you believed you’d die alone. He’s so grateful for having met you. You don’t deserve to die alone, you’re too good of a person. He kisses your head as you sleep, overwhelmed with his sense of love for you. A smile makes its way to his lips as he thinks about tomorrow. 

Over the past year, as you’ve grown more comfortable to ranch life, you’ve been thinking about maybe getting your own horse. Arthur has a few that you’re certainly welcome to, of course, but you’ve been wanting one to call your own for a while now. A few weeks ago, you’d both been in town to go to the one grocery store there. As the truck went down the highway and passed another ranch, you saw the signs “horses for sale”. In the pasture was a beautiful palomino quarter horse. It looked like it was made of gold as it grazed in the sun. You begged Arthur to stop the truck and just go see the horse. 

He pulled over, unable to resist your excitement, and you went to the fence. The palomino, along with most of its pasture mates, came over to investigate you and Arthur. You patted her nose and Arthur could tell you were already in love with her. However, he had no idea what her temperament was like, so he came up with a plan. 

On the days when you had to go to meetings, Arthur went to the horse’s owner to ask questions and get acquainted with the horse. She was young, only three, but the owner had raised her and trained her himself. He invited Arthur to go on a trail ride using her so he could see how good of a riding horse she was. After only twenty minutes on her, Arthur knew she was perfect for you. She responded to his lightest touch and command. After the trail ride, Arthur bought her, but he kept her at her former owners so you wouldn’t see her too soon. 

Yesterday, while you’d been gone, Arthur went and picked the horse up and brought her back. She didn’t have a name yet, but he wanted you to have that privilege. The man who raised her called her Sierra, but he knew that was your mother’s name and you were unlikely to keep it as you had no desire to see her for as long as he’s known you. He struggles to fall asleep, feeling like a kid on Christmas, excited to show you his gift. He’s also terrified as he’s going to use the horse as a segway for the biggest decision of his life. 

************************************************

The next morning, Arthur gets up much earlier than usual. He’s normally up a bit past sunrise so he can feed the animals and get an earlier start on cleaning before it gets hot. This morning, though, you wake up at the crack of dawn and find his side of the bed empty. After grabbing a cup of coffee, you go out and find him just finishing feeding the chickens. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, a big grin on his face. 

You say good morning and he comes over, leaning across the fence so he can kiss you. 

“Hey, I got a couple more chores to do, but once they’re done, I got somethin’ to show ya.” 

“Okay, I’ll help. What needs to be done?” 

He smiles, loving how willing you always are to help him out. It makes his life a lot easier. He struggles though, as most of the remaining chores were in the stables with the horses, including yours. 

“Um… well, why don’t you go through the chicken coop, see about eggs.” 

You nod and go off to grab the collecting basket. Arthur asks you to finish feeding the chickens as well so he can go into the stable. After collecting nearly a dozen eggs and placing them in the egg storage so they can be sold this weekend, you brush off your hands and start heading into the stables. Arthur darts out, slightly sweaty from his work. 

“Woo, it’s hot. Hey baby, um, maybe you can go get us some drinks?” he says. His tone is weird, like he’s hiding something. 

“Um… okay. Everything okay?” 

“Everythin’s just fine.” He kisses you again real quick and then shoots back into the stables. 

After retrieving two beer bottles, you go out to find Arthur in the paddock, which is attached to the right side of the barn so the horses can go in and out of their stalls. He’s wringing his gloved hands a bit, but smiles when he sees you. What is going on with him? 

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says when you go into the pen and hand him his beer. Instead of opening it, he places it onto a post of the fence. “I wanted to show you somethin’.” 

He looks to the barn and whistles. Odd, he’s looking at one of the stalls that’s been empty the entire time you’ve lived here. Something snorts and out walks the golden horse you’d been admiring for the past few weeks. You gasp and put your hands over your mouth. 

“Arthur, is that…?” 

“She’s yours, sweetheart. I took her for a ride a while ago, she’s a good horse.” 

The filly walks over to you and snorts in greeting, stretching her neck out to bump her nose to your hand. Tears leak out of your eyes as you start rubbing her neck, going down to her withers. 

“Arthur, she’s beautiful!” 

He chuckles softly and walks over to hug you, grinning as you bury your face into his chest. God, you couldn’t ask for a sweeter boyfriend. 

“Thank you so much, Arthur! I love her.” 

“Good. What’s her name?” 

“Did she not have one before?” 

He tells you what her name used to be, but as he predicted, you don’t like it. You think for a moment, studying her golden coat. She swishes her silver tail. 

“Maybe… Freyja? I know you like having names of gods and goddesses for your horses.” 

Arthur chuckles as he thinks about his two favorite horses, Boadicea and Artemis. “If that’s what you want, darlin’. She’s your horse though, you name her whatever feels right.” 

You look at her and smile. “Freyja feels right.” 

Freyja snorts, not giving a single damn about her name. Her eyes are soft as you pat her neck again. 

“Well, why don’t we groom miss Freyja? Maybe you can ride her around the pasture, see how you like her.” 

You nod and go into the stables to grab a brush and hoof pick. Freyja’s very patient as you groom her, standing still as you clean out her feet. Arthur hauls out the heavy saddle after you throw on her saddle blanket and grab her bridle. After cinching on the saddle and adjusting the stirrups, Arthur says, “Oh I forgot somethin’, hold on.” 

He goes into the stables as you pat the horse’s neck again, anxious to hop into the saddle. He comes back out, empty handed and looking frustrated. 

“I thought I left it in there,” he grunts, coming back over to you. 

“What you looking for?” 

“A thing,” he says, ignoring you and shoving his hand into the saddle bag. “I thought I left it… ah ha! Don’t know how it got in there.” 

He pulls his hand out and you see a small, velvety box. He brushes it off quickly and then holds it out to you. 

“Sweetheart, I uh… I been thinking about doin’ this for a while. It would… it would mean a lot to me.” 

You take the box, your stomach clenching. Is this a ring? Or is it something else and you’re just being hopeful? Your heart pounding in your ears, you open the box and see the ring. You gasp. It’s not a diamond, you always hated diamonds. Too common and overpriced. Instead, it’s a silver band, the metal engraved with fancy, swooping curls, a gem in your favorite color perched on top. 

“Arthur?” you say, your voice squeaking as you take out the ring. 

He clasps your hands in his, the ring nestled in your palm. “I wanna marry ya, sweetheart. You… well, you’re more than I could ever hope for in a companion. I never thought I’d wanna marry someone again after Mary…” he looks down and swallows. You know all about her of course. “But that was until I fell in love with you. There’s no doubt in my mind that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” 

Fresh tears are cascading down your cheeks. You look at the ring again and Arthur’s suddenly afraid you’ll say no, or that you’re not ready. He worries that he might have to try and talk you into this like he had when he wanted to date you and then have you move in. He doesn’t want to do that with this though. Just as his stomach begins to sink, you smile up at him. 

“Yes, Arthur. I will marry you, a thousand times.” 

He smiles, swallowing a wave of his own tears and cups your cheek. He takes the ring and slides it onto your finger, then he presses his forehead to yours. For several moments, you both stand there in this position, letting the world go by as you bask in one another’s presence. You slide a hand over his neck, wanting to be even closer to him, your future husband. 

Suddenly something shoves your shoulder hard and it’s followed by a loud snort. Arthur chuckles, pulling away from you. “Think Freyja wants your attention again.” 

You laugh and kiss him before facing your horse and climbing into the saddle (with his help of course). You adjust yourself in the saddle, sliding both feet into the stirrups. Arthur pats your thigh and tells you to just walk around the pen so that you and Freyja can get acquainted with the feel of one another. 

As Arthur watches you walk with your horse, he feels a sense of excitement and contentment. Excited for the future, of course, but he’s never been so sure about anything as he is about this. Marrying you is the only thing he could do, he’s never wanted anything more. 

[jiracheer]

salutations and greetings, 🍊 nonny here! i saw your request were open and in the spirit of spooky season 👉🏼👈🏼 may i request some fall date headcannons- haunted houses, cliche horror movie nights, pumpkin patch dates, or cold night cuddles for Kuroo, Tsuki, or the Miya twins? (but the horror movie could lead to lewdness if so desired, i am 18 turning 19 in November :) )

these ideas have been stuck in my head and it’s a need & a want 😭 obviously you can ignore if not too specific, or if you have too much already waiting to be wrote! Thank you anyway!! ❤️✨

✨ a/n: Hey babe 🥺!! Sorry this took me so long!!! I AM GRR AT MYSELF!!! I had so many ideas and i kept writing n rewriting. Unfortunately I only wrote for Tsukki and Osamu, I hope that’s okay!!

✨ warnings :: creampie, unprotected sex / nsfw under the cut

🎃 TSUKISHIMA KEI

- As soon as the leaves turned an array of oranges, yellows, and reds, and the air grew to be a bit more bitter, you had suggested the idea of going to one of the local farms out of Miyagi to go pumpkin picking to Tsukishima one evening.

- A week went by and one morning you were woken up by Tsukki. He shook your shoulders gently to get you awake, and when your eyes fluttered open and you looked at your boyfriend with such an intense expression of confusion, he really couldn’t help but laugh at your expression and the small line of drool that formed at the corner of your mouth.

- He told you to get ready and to dress appropriately for the weather outside, and you still were confused, but you just shrugged it off as you assumed he was taking you out for breakfast. 

- Once you were ready you two bid your bearded lizard farewell, simply watching as it licked its eye, and you just took it as him saying goodbye as well, and you two were off. 

- You sat in the front seat with his hand held in yours. You had the habit of running your fingers over his knuckles, and every so often you would kiss the back of his hand. It always made him look over at you with flushed cheeks, still not used to all the affection you gave him, but he would always squeeze your hand to let you know that he loves it and you.

- “Where are we going?”

- “You’ll see.”

- His answer was so cryptic you couldn’t help but nervous laugh

- “You’re not gonna like, kill me. Right?”

- Silence

- “RIGHT?”

- You’re silently freaking out and eventually he starts laughing. You let go of his hand to punch his arm, yelling at him for scaring you, and you go back to holding his hand. 

- You do end up falling asleep at some point since you were still pretty tired. Tsukki’s eyes would flick over to you every so often, smiling softly as it was now his turn to kiss the back of your hand and let his lips linger on your skin for a moment.

- You wake up before you arrive and you’re like a kid at a candy store when you see where you are; the pumpkin patch.

- The second your feet meet the ground, you’re already going feral. You’re holding onto his arm as you two walk with other people towards the tractor that would give you a hay ride out to the patch, and you’re practically shaking with excitement.. And from the cold.

 - Tsukki holds you close to his side with his hands rubbing your arms, pressing tender kisses to your temple every so often, but you don’t seem to notice as you seem to hyperfocus on the farm.

- “Tsukki...”

- “Mhm?”

- “I wanna live on a farm :(”

- He snorts at your words and you lean against him, letting your head fall on his shoulder as you look up at him with puppy eyes. “I’m not joking!! Do you know how much fun it would be if we lived on a farm?”

- The blond rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but think about it. A farm, huh...? He could already hear the rooster crow at the crack of dawn, and see a cow or two simply lazing around at the pasture. 

- He could picture you sitting on the porch with a warm cup of coffee, an open spot besides you for him to join you, and then out of nowhere.

- He sees a child.

- His face turns a bright red and he clears his throat, waving away his thoughts. Okay Tsukki, calm down-

- “Come on Kei!” You’re already taking his hand and leading him off the tractor, dragging him around the uneven patch.

- You both look at a multitude of pumpkins. You pick up a few and admire them, and you seem to take an interest in the white pumpkins, and he likes to enjoy the more classic orange ones.

- There’s a small white pumpkin that catches your eye and as you go to pick it up, you turn to show Tsukishima and your foot gets caught on a vine.

- You screech as you stumble forward and the pumpkin falls, breaking apart as soon as it hits the ground.

- “...”

- “...”

- You two ran so far away from that spot and went to check out another part of the patch.

- Eventually, you two settle with a big phat orange pumpkin that’s a bit deformed. Tsukki called it ugly, but you said, and I quote, “He is very gorgeous to me.”

- You decide to name him Eugene and you decide he knows how to do his taxes, unlike Bokuto, and Tsukki laughs.

- The two of you reach the main log house at the entrance and you enter, enjoying the warm air as you get drinks and a few snacks, and you two find yourself back outside.

- “You know..” Tsukishima looks down at his drink, almost too nervous to meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat and sits closer to you, taking your open hand in his as his knees bump into yours.

- Tilting your head, you urge him to continue as you bite into your apple fritter.

- He rubs your ring finger and you almost choke. Your eyes widen and your heart begins to beat rapidly. Oh my God... Was he going to propose to you? You feel yourself begin to sweat as he slowly pulls back, hand going into his pocket-

- “Eugene is an ugly ass name.”

- “I cannot stand you sometimes.”

👻 MIYA OSAMU

- Osamu decided that on October 31ST that the both of you would be watching scary movies, whether you liked it or not.

- You never really took him to be the kind of guy to like horror movies. You assumed he was more into films like Fantastic Mr. Fox, etc.

- He really does like Fantastic Mr. Fox tho.

- When you arrive to his place you greet him happily and with snacks, opening a black bag to reveal candies and baked sweets you had taken the time to make that day.

- Osamu was so happy to see the treats. He gave you a small smile and thanked you with a kiss to your forehead. You blushed at the affection and eventually pulled him to his room to get started on watching the movies.

- You two built a pillow fort and made sure to be careful with his TV, once y’all were settled in you put in the first movie and get started.

- Osamu laid against his headboard with his hair brushing against the blanket above, legs stretched out and an arm around your waist. You laid your head on his chest with one leg thrown over his and resting in between his legs.

- Every so often you’d jump because of a jump scare, or even scream and hide your face, and Osamu would laugh softly at your reactions and rub your back with a kiss to the top of your head.

- You two would talk about what you’d do if you were in a horror movie, which was a poor choice, because Osamu was roasting your ass.

- “I would NOT die 20 minutes into the movie!!!”

- “Y/N.... You push ‘pull’ doors.”

- “.... OKAY BUT-“

- You pause the movie real quick to take an online quiz and as it turns out, you would die and Osamu would survive.

- “Okay Shaggy kin, you win this time.”

- “As I always do, Scooby Doo kin.”

- “STOP.”

- You’re a bit mad when the movie starts again, and you bitterly lay there as Osamu tries to hide his amusement at your pouting.

- He calls your name softly and you look up at him, brows furrowed and lip out. He chuckles and leans down to catch your lips in a kiss, and you feel like you’re walking on clouds.

- As the kiss progresses, you feel yourself losing yourself in it and you shift so that you’re sitting on his thigh now.

- His tongue is in your mouth and you can taste all the sweets he just had, and you moan is the next thing to be consumed as he holds the back of your head.

- You grind your hips against his thigh, starting to pant when your clit brushes against his flexing thigh. Pulling away you gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he peppers kisses down your jaw and neck.

- Osamu puts his hands on your ass, pulling at them to get you closer and to eventually put you on his lap.

- It seems like time flashed right before your eyes because suddenly you’re naked and bouncing on Osamu’a dick.

- Moans come out of your mouth as Osamu hides his face in your neck, leaving you love bites as you work yourself on him. You’re lightly scratching at his back, closing your eyes as you feel his fat cock brush against your cervix

- “That’s it, bunny. Shit- That’s it, babygirl.”

- He brings your left breast into his mouth, the other was slowly being teased with his fingernail tracing a circle around your nipple.

- You whine and beg for him to continue touching you, and thankfully, he does.

- He works at your breasts until finally he shifts so that he can gently pin you down below him, bringing your legs and hooking them over his arms, you arch your back as he hits places he’s never hit before.

- “Yes Osamu... R-Righ there- Oh. Oh right there please-“

- You’re almost driven to tears as he picks up the pace, pounding into you as you cry out his name as your orgasm comes crashing in.

- Osamu’s cold steely gaze comes to rest at where the two of you are connected, and he lets out a guttural moan at the sign of a white ring around his dick.

- With a few final and sloppy strokes, the grey-fading-to-black cook pushes himself forward to cum into you. He grunts as he buries his face into your neck once again, whispering how much he adores you as you cling to him.

- You both lay there up until a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV, making you both jump and nearly break his dick with you abruptly sitting up.

[har-rison-s]

lay all your love on me

request: Maybe and adult Stan nsfw x reader fic where the losers are over for a visit and stans wife (the reader) is being super clingy and wants to make love and Stan says yes as long as she’s quiet and the next day everyone is super awkward because they heard everything but don’t know how to bring it up until Richie blurts it out

A/N: Hhahahahaha I love this. Hilarious. I hope I'll do myself justice on this one, you know, make right my own expectations and plans. I try my best and nsfw is harder to write, unfortunately. Happy reading!

IT masterlist

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main masterlist

gif credit goes to owner, which isn’t me!

warnings: smuuuuuuut :)

“Only if you're quiet, alright, baby-love?” Stanley soothes, laying kiss after kiss slowly on his wife's neck. She's already squirming and mewling, her fingers unsteadily moving through Stanley's hair and over his clothes. She wants them off, she wants them off now. She wants Stanley all to herself right now, and she nods to his words in agreement. “I don't need anymore teasing than I already get.” He states with a breathy chuckle.

Y/N laughs wholeheartedly. Stanley enjoys the sound, but he must keep her quiet, so his soft hand softly squeezes the side of her neck when he cradles her head. It makes Y/N's laughter mewl into a moan. The soft, teasing gestures entice her more than anything.

“I wanna be on top.” Y/N states, her palms flat against Stanley's chest. She's eager and she's lustful, and she wants him now. Though she'd love to ravish her husband for every minute of the night ahead, but they have their kids and friends just next door and should, after all, get some sleep.

Stanley takes both of her hands in his and kisses them, the kisses make Y/N's eyes flutter shut and open. “Get on me, then, princess.” He entices her. Being married or almost forty-years-old doesn't take away Stanley's right to use any nickname he wants, even if it's one that he used as a teenager. It still makes his wife blush, and that's all he needs.

Stanley gets off her and sits at the edge of their bed, waiting for Y/N to take her place in his lap. But she's trying to enjoy this quiet torture of love-making with her husband. She peels her blouse off her body slowly, giving her husband a show. It does him well, his cock already straining against the confinements of his dress pants, and Stanley breathes a sigh instead of the rivalling moan that wanted to so get out past lips, out of the sight of his wife undressing herself.

She takes off her jeans and walks back over to Stanley. She unbuttons his shirt while kissing him again. Both their eyes close, they sigh into each other, lust and love travelling back and forth between them. Stanley cups her bum and lifts her up onto the bed and on top of him.

“You lazy girl.” He tells her. Y/N bites her lip and giggles, giving Stanley a daring look. Her hips move onto and against Stanley's, and when she feels his arousal with the added feeling of her lace underwear and his jeans against her womanhood, she moans so loud Stanley has to clasp a hand over her lips. Y/N's eyes close again and she arches her back.

Stanley watches her body transform, and she's goddess. Her hair flows over her shoulders in long, beautiful waves and creates an enticing contrast with her skin and the color of her bralette. She moves around him with a rhythm that's familiar to him, and his own head falls back. The feeling is incredible, it feels as exciting as it did the first time they made love.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers and the sensuality of it makes Y/N whine, “be quiet.” Stanley pleads, and, deciding that his hand over her mouth doesn't work, watches his fingers as they travel past her lips and between them. Then, into her mouth, and she's already tracing her tongue over his fingertips. Stanley almost moans as loud as she did, but he bites his lip to restrain himself. The sight is heavenly.

They both feel like teenagers on drugs. Rather, they're drugged with each other and the lust and desire they're giving off. Y/N's hands work fast on Stanley's belt and zipper, and they come off messily in seconds, and hit the carpeted floor of their bedroom. They both freeze for a second, waiting for any sounds coming from any other part of the house, but hear nothing. Thanks to the carpeted floor, it makes any sound softer and sound like an accidental thud.

Stanley looks back up at Y/N. She's holding his hand tight between her two small ones and looking deep into his eyes. Words seem to travel faster between their eyes than they could say with moving their lips. Stanley wastes no time then, and slips his underwear down just a little so his full erection could slip past the waistband and slap right against his wife's lower stomach.

She gasps, but has no time to take in its sight as Stanley's already pushing her underwear aside and sliding easily into her. He grunts, as quiet as he can, at how tight she still feels. How slick she is.

“You weren't kidding.” He whispers, referencing to her previous words of how much she wants him. Why tonight? Neither of them know. Perhaps it's seeing Stanley with the kids and his friends. Perhaps it's the shirt or pants he wore tonight. Maybe it's the way he looked at her tonight, she can't decide. But something in her longed so strongly for him tonight that nothing else seemed to make sense and she grew impatient, which she never does.

“Stanley…” she sighs out, his fingers still in her mouth. Her eyes screw shut, and she conceals her whimpers by biting softly into Stanley's fingers. All these feelings together make the man more excited with every second, and he's sure that his release isn't far out of reach.

He starts at his usual slow pace, and Y/N feels the bed underneath them moving with his thrusts, the wooden legs scraping against the soft carpet. Surely they won't be heard, she thinks. Everyone's gone to sleep and the carpet muffles the sounds. But she doesn't think as far as of the headboard hitting the wall behind it gently.

Y/N takes Stanley's hand out of her mouth and holds it for a few seconds, before she guides it down to hold her waist. She slowly bends down to lay against his chest and she runs her fingers over it, over his little chest hairs. She adores them, looking at them and touching them makes Stanley appear in her eyes even more manly than he is, maybe even a little macho. She kinda digs it.

She grips his shoulders as his thrusts start to pick up the pace, and they're both breathing heavily. Now and then, they mewl or whimper, and both have forgot about being quiet all in all. But when he kisses her again, right before both of their climaxes, they moan together, though the sound is quieted by the kiss. Thank God.

“Come, baby-love.” Stanley urges her. “I know you're there.”

Y/N only nods and reaches for Stanley's hand to hold it when she does come. She squeezes it tight, and her eyes shut again until she feels herself dripping all over him. Stanley is driven right over the edge by that, and they both stop moving until their orgasms are through.

Stanley mutters her name like a mantra under his breath, in almost desperate whispers. How he loves this feeling of unloading himself into her… Nothing quite matches that. His thumb again makes its way between Y/N's lips, and she needed that to quiet herself down. Her final moan is usually a very loud one, Stanley knows it by heart, and it's probably one of his favorite ones. But he has to save it for another time now, unless he wants the whole house to wake up at one in the morning and question the loud noise.

She collapses next to him once Stanley's pulled himself off of her, and breathes deep breaths. Stanley reaches for the tissues on the nightstand to clean himself and his wife up a little. Afterwards, he turns back to her and lays a kiss to her forehead. Y/N curls into him, and Stanley gladly puts his arm around her. That was one hell of a something, he thinks to himself. And the thought that they had to stay quiet was exciting him, he must admit, it did add more excitement.

“I think we were quiet.” She whispers to her husband, and he nods in agreement. It doesn't take long for them to nod off, it actually takes only a few seconds.

Following morning is much quieter than the Uris family expected. It doesn't feel like everyone's still asleep, no. It feels more like there's things that need to be said, but just hang on the tip of their tongues and wait for the right moment. But it never really does feel like the right moment to voice what they want to say. Probably because of the kids still in the room.

It's not like the Losers didn't get any sleep, but they were just weirded out by what they heard around one in the morning. Eddie wondered how their kids hadn't woken up from the noises, Ben and Beverly thank God that they didn't. Bill and Mike were just hoping for it to be over as soon as possible, and chuckling to themselves while trying to fall asleep. Richie, instead, was really pissed off that his pure ears had been damaged by his childhood friends deciding to have a little fun. And he was about to burst from this loss.

None of them know how to tell the happy and chattering couple politely that they were a bit loud last night, and so they sit awkwardly at the breakfast table. They stare at their plate of food or in the coffee cup that they've raised up, thinking, just thinking, that maybe there is a way to put it lightly.

When the Uris kids go back to their rooms upstairs, it's like the Losers breathe a little sigh of relief. At least they don't have to worry about kids hearing something they shouldn't yet hear. Everyone, except Stanley and Y/N, exchange glances. There seems to be an actual conversation evolving between these six pairs of eyes, one of going back and forth, one of question and doubt, until Richie's wide eyes frantically widen and his eyebrows furrow at his friends. He can't take it anymore.

“You guys sure were quiet last night.” Richie says in a bursting manner to the couple, and they look a little puzzled at first. But then they realise.

“Oh, my God.” Stanley puts his head in his hands and sighs. Y/N just looks down, blushing and feeling rightfully embarrassed. The Losers don't say or do anything for a few moments, but then they all burst out laughing, and, thankfully, Stan and Y/N join them.

“It might not be the best way to boast about your great sex life, though.” Mike states and sips his coffee. His comment only makes Y/N laugh more.

“Do we even have to apologise?” She questions, doubt in her voice. Richie throws his hand at her in a careless sort of way.

“Don't bother.” Eddie says. “Next time, we'll just invite you all over and see how loud we can get without any complaints.”

That makes everyone laugh again, and the breakfast table isn't so suspenseful anymore.

“Oooh, we should take turns, then.” Suggests Beverly.

“Make, like, a challenge or something.” Richie adds and clinks his cup of coffee with Beverly's.

The idea seems funny to them and the rest. But Stanley and Y/N look at each other with looks that ask “what have we done?”. Stanley lays a kiss upon Y/N's forehead and pulls her closer to him. They watch their friends brainstorm ideas for challenges they could start between them eight, mostly associated with sexual themes.

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