#and now that both parts have finally been released i can put all the moodboards together in a post for my own appreciation

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (maknae line)

read hyung line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 11.3k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: as much as writing royals was tricky, it's kind of 🤢 sad 🤢 to see this au end. that being said nobody ask me for a pt 2 pls i need to recover from the trauma LMAOO and as always, huge thank you to the queen of royal au's herself @sorryimananti-romantic for helping me finish the fic and for teaching me how to make moodboards using something that is *not* word doc :')

san

pov: you're forbidden lovers

“shh,” san hushes you with a teasing curl of his fingers that are buried inside you. “wouldn’t want everyone outside to know what a dirty little slut the princess is, do you?”

his other hand covers your mouth, stifling the breathy moans and desperate whines that escape your lips as you sit in between his legs, naked and pressed back to lean against his chest

there is the sound of water splashing over the edge of the bathtub when san hooks his feet around your inner ankles so that he can spread your legs wider for him

he presses the palm of his hand harshly against your clit and your back arches with a muffled worship of his name

“or maybe you like that,” he teases “you like the idea of people knowing how good i make you feel with my fingers”

san removes his hand from your mouth and lowers it to pinch your nipple, smirking against your neck as you babble incoherently

he coos as he adds yet another finger into you, “imagine that, everyone knows you as the princess who loves being fucked dumb. and by one of her servants, no less” 

all caution is thrown to wind and you drop your head back to lean against his shoulder, mouth lolling open with unrestrained pleads for more, more, faster as he angles his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside of you

“cum, princess” he demands

you grip bruises onto san’s thighs and arms when the pace of his fingers doesn’t relent even after your orgasm has washed over you

his arms tighten around you as his thighs flex to keep you still in his hold

you let out a choked sob from the overstimulation, teetering between pain and pleasure

“give me one more, i know you can do it,” he coaxes

the hand that has been fondling your breasts snakes down to rub your clit

with his fingers knuckle-deep inside of your pussy and his other hand playing relentlessly with your sensitive clit, the scale tips over and your vision blurs as another wave of pleasure hits you, more intense than the first one

“princess?” and then a knock. “are you okay?”

san slowly draws out the remainder of your orgasm with lazy thrusts of his finger into you

you just know he’s enjoying himself when you have to hide the shakiness in your voice to answer back to your maid outside, “everything’s fine. i’ll be done soon”

“soon?” san smirks, lifting you up by the waist to align your folds with his swollen cock. “then we better make this quick”

because you and san do not have the luxury of time, much less the luxury of love

he isn’t just another one of the numerous servants who serve you

he is everything to you despite how taboo it is for a princess and servant to love each other

his insignificance within the palace makes it much easier for him to slip away; for nobody to take notice

but at the same time, his insignificance is the whole reason why you two must be secretive in the first place

you make sure san has safely snuck out of the bathroom before you finally exit the bathtub and stand on unsteady legs

you allow your maids to come in and help you into the elaborate attire you are to wear for the afternoon

your parents have informed you that you are going to have visitors, thus requiring you to look your best

without much time left until the appointed meeting due to your…escapade, you make your way to the great hall, catching a glimpse of san’s dimpled smile from amongst the other body servants and waiting staff in the room

you have only just settled into your seat next to the king and queen when the guard outside the doors announces the arrival of your guests - the monarchs from the neodonian kingdom

schooling your expression to one of neutrality, you watch as they enter

and then you realise it isn’t just the neodonian king and queen who have come to visit

but the prince as well

he is undeniably handsome and pleasing to the eye with his sleekly gelled hair, chiseled features and tall, sturdy build

the young prince catches you looking at him and breaks out into a friendly smile and-

oh

he has dimples too

the king garners everyone’s attention with a clear of his throat, before he welcomes the monarchs

prince jaehyun, you learn his name is

“after much discussion between ourselves and king jeong and queen jeong, we are pleased to announce our desire for closer relations between our kingdoms,” your father starts, booming voice resounding within the hall

you can’t stop yourself from looking over at him as he speaks with purpose, a strange niggling feeling starting to twist your stomach

the tight smile that your mother passes you from your father’s other side does little to settle your nerves

“as such,” the king continues, “we shall look forward to the engagement between my daughter and prince jaehyun”

there is a roaring sound in your ears, as if you have been pushed to stand under a raging waterfall

engagement

the engagement

you

prince jaehyun

the engagement between you and prince jaehyun

it takes everything in your body not to bolt up from your seat

your hands grip the armrests of your seat with a grasp so tight you are certain you will leave a permanent imprint of your agony

instead, you look around frantically for the one person your instincts are screaming for

where is san?

you are afraid to see how much this is going to hurt him

you are desperate to tell him that you had no idea about this

you are aching to press confessions of love and reassurance against his lips

but just like the insignificance of his status, san is nowhere to be seen

over the two years that you and san have been in your secret relationship, he has gained extensive knowledge of which particular tasks allow him a greater chance of seeing you, which corridors reach you the quickest, and which times during your schedule you have a break

never would you have thought he would use this knowledge to avoid you

it continues like that for the weeks following the announcement

you have no choice but to spend time with your future fiance when your father tells you very clearly to “ensure the prince feels at home”

prince jaehyun is warm and you find yourself getting along with him like you two are friends, but that is it - there are no sparks brighter than friendship

when you spend time with him, you cannot help but compare him to san; san would’ve said this, san would’ve done that, san, san, san

jaehyun engages you in conversation, easily filling in the gaps and lulls with little comments here and there, equipped with a charming laugh and deep dimples

but it only reminds you of san’s dimples and crescent eyes when you two would race through corridors, fingers tightly interwoven as you both run away to a secluded area with hushed giggles

jaehyun points out that neither of you like mushrooms during a dinner and helps nudge the servings on both of your plates to one side

the smile as you say “thank you” does not fully grace your lips because you think about san, who boasts that he will eat all the mushrooms in the world so that you never have to lay eyes on one ever again

jaehyun offers a soft yet sturdy hand to help you down the stairs or when he notices you are walking in heels across an uneven surface

your body recalls san’s rough, calloused hands that leave a trail of goosebumps wherever they touch your bare skin as he worships your body all night long

jaehyun is handsome and he is kind, but he is not san

the night before the king officially announces your engagement with prince jaehyun arrives

and still, you have not had a moment alone with san since he disappeared during that first announcement in the great hall

hurt and longing consume you to the very core

some days it is manageable, a concealed yet incessant thought, like a sticker stuck to the sole of your shoe

other days it wraps around your soul completely like a constrictor tightening as it slowly squeezes the life out of its prey

but you know that you cannot be selfish

what you feel, san feels with an intensity multiplied several times

after all, you are not the one who must stand in the shadows as the love of your life becomes engaged to somebody else, powerless to do anything but watch and poison your own smile with lies

you are lying on your bed when a quick, sharp knock sounds on your bedroom doors

you make no move to acknowledge your visitor, having told your maids very clearly you did not want to be disturbed tonight

your last night as yourself before you become prince jaehyun’s fiance

but then the knocks come a little more urgent, a little more frantic, just like your heartbeat does as it starts to speed up in anticipation

you hold your breath as you hurry to pull open the doors-

and there he is

“san-”

he swallows the rest of your words in a desperate kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw as he walks you backwards so that he can step into your room

he tilts your head and slots his lips against yours again while he nudges your door closed with his foot

it isn’t until you let out a whine as his tongue swipes over your bottom lip that he pulls back to finally look at you, both of his thumbs caressing your cheekbones

you grip the front of his linen shirt, afraid that he will disappear as soon as you let go

“san, i- i had no idea, i didn’t agree to any of this”

he shushes you gently, a painful smile adorning his handsome face

“i know. i know, so please don’t cry, love,” he murmurs softly

you don’t even realise the weeks of suppressed emotions have started making their way down your face in salty trails until san uses the back of his fingers to tenderly brush them away

“i’m getting engaged tomorrow, san,” your voice breaks as reality settles in

you are so afraid

you are so lost

above all, you are so in love with san

“i know,” he reassures again, “but until tomorrow, you are still mine”

and so you spend your last night together

time has always been precious; conversations, kisses and touches rushed and with fervour

but tonight, san takes his time with you

he lays on your bed with you cradled on top of him, limbs tangled together as he savours the taste of your lips against his

he turns you onto your back as he slowly undresses you, leaving tattoos of his love each time he bares another part of your body

he pleasures you with his fingers whilst whispering into your ears, creating a harmony with his praises and the melodious moans that leave your lips

and as he brings you both to your highs numerous times throughout the night like an ingrained dance routine, it is accompanied with confessions of i love you

san holds you against his chest under your blankets so tightly that you cannot tell where your body ends and his body starts

before you drift off, safe and protected in his arms, he murmurs against your temple, “no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what happens in the future, my heart will always be yours”

“as will mine”

you wake up the next morning to an empty bed and an equally empty heart

restless and drowning in a mix of emotions, you pace the empty corridors of the guest bedchambers

which is where jaehyun finds you as he exits his room

he is surprised but is quick to greet you kindly, “good morning, princess. what are you doing here?”

you pause mid-step

what are you doing?

“prince jaehyun,” you let the words come out of you before you can regret them. “can we talk for a moment?”

he nods, entering his room again as he pulls the door open wider for you to follow

jaehyun closes the door and then offers you a seat on his sofa, before pulling up his own chair and settling a respectful distance away from you

“i hope you don’t feel uncomfortable in my room,” he explains, “i thought that we would be less likely to be disturbed in here…considering most people know of our engagement today”

“actually, i wanted to talk to you about that”

“go on,” he encourages you with a dimpled smile

you take a deep breath

“i’m sorry,” you blurt out

and then you are admitting to the prince that he is lovely and charming and caring, but you just don’t see it working out with him

you don’t want to get engaged with him

because your heart already belongs to somebody else

“good”

“i’m so sorry, i should have been honest with you from the start but- wait, what?” you look up from where you have been nervously picking at your cuticles

jaehyun is smiling at you - a genuine smile that you did not know he had

“i’m actually relieved to hear that, princess,” he admits. “because i…also have someone that i love back home”

and for the first time, you and jaehyun truly see each other in the same light

“who is it?” he asks

“his name is san,” and then you add on, “he has dimples just like you do” 

you ask him the same question

you see the way jaehyun’s expression softens with love from just the mere thought of the other

it makes you wonder whether you have the same look on your face when you mention san

jaehyun jokes, “want to be the one who tells your father we’re calling off the engagement? i don’t fancy getting executed today”

but despite what he says, mere hours later, when you are both standing in the great hall before your parents - the kings and queens of both your kingdoms - he is the one to speak up

“your majesty, we have decided to part ways peacefully and would not like to proceed with the engagement. our kingdom will always be your ally, regardless of marital relations or not”

“what?” you see veins starting to appear across the king’s forehead as he tries to maintain his temper, but the queen and the jeong monarchs seem to be taking the news much better

disappointed, perhaps, but understanding

the queen leans closer to remind the king that they had all agreed to this engagement on the terms that the decision would ultimately be yours and jaehyun’s

you suddenly speak up because this may be the only time you have the courage to

“i have one more thing to say,” you declare. “i revoke my noble status and thus declare nullified all the privileges, rules and traditions that come with nobility. i have someone i love and i wish to marry them as myself, not as the kingdom’s princess”

the king roars furiously, “that is enough! leave!” and he slams his hand against the throne’s armrest

shocked and betrayed by your father’s reaction, you rush out of the great hall with tears welling in your eyes

only to run straight into the waiting arms of san

“oh, princess,” he murmurs against the crown of your head as he engulfs you in his embrace

he doesn’t have to say anything for you to realise that he has heard the whole conversation

but you do not care about anything anymore

you are where you want to be, held by who you want to be with

“how are you here?” you sniffle

“jaehyun approached me earlier. i thought i was going to get beat up,” san’s attempt to make you smile is successful

when you lift your head up to look at him, you realise his eyes are wet as well

then you feel his body stiffen as his eyes shift to focus on something behind you

someone

he immediately steps away from you, bowing deeply as he greets the queen

you turn around to see her face adorning an endearing smile

“it’s fine, sannie,” she says, and you are not sure whether you and san are more surprised by the fact that she knows him by name or by the affectionate nickname she has used

“i’ll, uh, leave you two to talk,” he flusters

she thanks him with a teasing remark, “i won’t keep her away from you for very long”

san waits further down the corridor, back turned to give you two a moment of privacy

and then she is stroking your hair affectionately

“i am so proud of you. you’ve grown up so well and you are so brave,” she says

you don’t understand

you ask, “why aren’t you angry?”

“oh, baby,” she fondly runs her fingers through your hair, just like she used to when you were younger. “before my duties as the queen to my people, i am the mother to my daughter. i love you and all i want is for you to be happy”

your lips tremble with emotion as your mother pulls you into a hug

“does sannie make you happy, dear?”

you nod, “the happiest”

“then that is all i want. now go,” she takes a hold of your shoulders and gently turns you in the direction of san. “i’ll talk to your father”

with one last encouraging squeeze, you race down the corridor towards san

he hears your footsteps and has already turned around with open arms waiting to catch you

you hear him let out an oomph! with how hard you throw yourself into him, but he is then swaying your bodies side to side

san pulls back slightly with an incredulous look. “does this mean we can be together? together together?” 

“i goddamn hope so because i gave up my princess privileges for you. no more carriages, no more assorted sweet delicacies, no more daily massages-” you fold down your fingers as you continue listing things off

he cuts you off with a tickle to your sides as he says, “that’s easy to sort out”

“first, you’ll still be my princess,” he unfurls one of your fingers so it stands upright again

“second, i’ll carry you myself so that you never need to use your feet again,” he unfurls another finger

“i’ll give you a treat whenever you want,” he kisses your lips, nibbling on your bottom lip with a teasing tug

“and, dear princess,” he pulls you flush against his body and you have to steady yourself on his chest to avoid tripping over, “i can give you hourly massages…”

smirking, he starts to lower his head to suck pretty marks onto your neck as he whispers in a low voice, “...if you can keep up”

mingi

pov: you're the prince's maid

for what you are about to do, you could very well be executed should somebody catch you

but desperate times call for desperate measures

and there’s no guarantee that you and all the other staff will not be executed anyway…

not with what has just happened in the palace

you push the door closed behind you with a soft click, using the brief changeover of guards to slip inside the bedroom of the youngest prince, unnoticed

you call out softly but urgently, “prince mingi”

when you hear him groggily murmur, starting to bubble towards the surface of consciousness, you dare to give his shoulder a rough shake

“prince mingi, please wake up”

his eyes flutter open, confusion starting to clear the fogginess in his head as he struggles to comprehend the sight of your face hovering inches from his, deep into the hours of the night

“w-what’s going on?” he clears his husky voice, “are you okay?”

you wish you could reach out and smooth the wrinkles of concern from his forehead

reassure him that everything will be okay until he falls back asleep

but there is no time

“the crown prince is dead and we must leave. now.”

the effect is immediate, like you have just driven a knife into his chest

although you suppose it must not feel very different for prince mingi right now

“the crown prince is d-” the word tastes vile on his tongue, so he asks after his second oldest brother instead. “what about prince eun?”

you must drive the knife into him once more

“he was the one who murdered the crown prince, but he has framed you for the murder. there is no time, prince mingi, we must leave now”

“the court will find me innocent,” yet he lets you tug him out of his bed

you hastily help prince mingi into a dark brown robe while you shake your head, “not when your inscribed sword is currently covered in the crown prince’s blood. we do not know who is secretly working for prince eun. until we know for sure, we do not stand a chance of clearing your name”

he knows that you’re right, even if his heart is hoping that you are wrong

the prince slides his hand into the gap between his bed and wall, pulling out a spare sword and wrapping the belt around his waist

eyes sweeping across his chamber one final time, he locks eyes with you grimly before turning to flee

you follow the prince through a back passageway - it’s not entirely a secret and it won’t be long before the royal guards come for the prince, discover his empty bedroom and give chase

but it is long enough to give you two a head start

he helps you up onto the back of his personal horse before he swings himself up easily onto the saddle behind you

with a nudge of his feet, the prince sends the horse into a gallop

you startle with a yelp, having never ridden a horse before, much less one at this pace

prince mingi presses himself a little closer to you and slots his chest against your back as he leans forward to guide your hands to hold the reins with his

“here,” he murmurs, “just follow me”

he shifts one hand to settle on your waist, guiding your body into a comfortable rhythm that dances in sync with the horse’s movements and his own

when he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it, the prince places his hand back on the reins, yet he stays close, keeping you safely encased within his arms to prevent you from falling off

you’re not sure how long you two ride for

but at some point the prince slows the horse to a canter

with the slower sway of the steed, the steady clack of hooves against the forest floor, and the warmth of the prince around you, you drift off to his whispered, “sleep, i’ve got you”

you wake up to find yourself on a scratchy pile of leaves

the events of last night piece themselves together when you spot prince mingi, still adorning his deep blue silk pajamas, leaning against a tree a few feet away

it would have been a sight to see if not for the fact that-

“what are we going to do now?” you sit up, and the prince’s robe, you now register, falls from around your body

the prince gives you a warm smile as you rub the sleep from your eyes with fisted hands

“we’ll head into halsburg. the town is small enough the news should not have traveled that far yet. we’ll replenish some supplies and go from there”

it’s unspoken

the fact that there is no solid plan from there

even if the two of you have managed to escape the royal guards, for how long can you two run?

plus, it will be impossibly difficult to find evidence while on the run, when the answers are within the castle walls themselves

but you push those thoughts aside as you two enter halsburg, the prince’s hood pulled up over his face

you do the bulk of the purchases, less likely to be recognised by the townspeople

it’s mainly food and water for yourself, the prince, and his horse, and a simple tunic to replace his royal pajamas - something you have been teasing him about since you woke up

later that night, hours away from the outskirts of halsburg, you two settle for a couple hours of rest

a small fire crackles away to the song of the cicadas, an occasional pop as the licks of flames cast shadows across your faces

you glance at the prince sitting across from you, who is idly fiddling with his pajama top

specifically, the royal crest of the song family embroidered onto its front pocket

your heart clenches painfully, knowing the death of a family member is hard enough to process without the additional weight of being framed for murder, much less by your own brother who is the real culprit

“prince mingi…” you start, voice low

he glances up at you, eyes softening as he curves his lips up into a small smile, “i’m okay.”

you hesitate for a split second before letting the clench in your gut pull you to your feet, and you shuffle to settle back down in front of the fire, except this time beside the prince

all the while his eyes never leave you, not even when you nudge his shoulder softly and say,

“you don’t have to be strong. not in front of me…”

and he knows

because despite the differences in your social statuses, you are the person he trusts the most

you, the girl who used to trip over the lengths of his robes that you carried, now a woman who holds herself righteously and bravely

you, who chose to risk your own life from the moment you woke him up in his chambers

you, who is still risking your life to flee with him

“only if you stop calling me prince,” he jokingly nudges you back, attempting to make the atmosphere lighter despite the wetness that is starting to paint his eyes. “with you, i am just mingi”

“okay, prince mingi,” you tease

yet, you still extend a hand out to him, palm upturned in a silent invitation for comfort should he wish to seek it, because you can tell that he isn’t quite ready to seek it verbally

mingi laces his larger fingers through yours, tucking your interlocked hands closer to his body as he draws his knees up so that he can rest his chin upon them

mingi thinks that he feels numb more than anything, but he finds he isn’t as surprised as one would expect him to be

perhaps he always knew of his middle brother’s thirst for the throne 

he just never thought it would be enough to spill blood

for now though, he lets himself be distracted by your thumb tracing mindless patterns against his knuckles

he lets himself relish in the heat radiating from your side that seems to warm him from inside out, even as the embers of the fire slowly lose their glow and die out with the darkening night

the days start to repeat themselves

you two cover as much distance as you can while sparing what time you can afford for yourselves and mingi’s horse to rest

mingi has decided to travel to prince yunho's kingdom, an old and trusted ally who may be able to provide you two with protection while he pulls strings to fight back against prince eun

from his calculations, the journey will take at least another two weeks

and although mingi doesn’t tell you this, deep down he does not know whether you two have two weeks left

the threat of the royal guards catching up hangs over the two of you like a hangman’s noose

neither of you have brought up that night by the fire either

but something has definitely changed in the way you seek comfort and reassurance in each other

as if so long as you have each other, everything will be alright in the end

when you feel him tremble as he sleeps curled around you, restless from a plaguing nightmare, you hush sweet nothings and brush his locks away from his forehead until his breathing steadies out again

and when you’re seated on the saddle in front of him, you now having long grown accustomed to horse riding, he still finds himself resting a comforting hand on you somewhere - your hips, thigh or over your own hand

sometimes when he is laughing softly with you, your arms brushing against each other, you imagine a different story; one where you are worthy of loving him

sometimes when you are tucked into his chest, small exhales escaping your open lips as you sleep, mingi imagines a different story; one where he is able to love you freely

because despite the blood running through his veins that has ultimately led to his downfall, you still look at him as though he has placed the stars in the very sky that you two have spent countless nights under

and although he knows the reality is that he cannot, he tries to write his own story, even if just for tonight

you are lying in his arms, legs tangled together, when the question comes tumbling out of his lips

“will you stay with me, forever?”

he feels you still in his embrace, before you’re pulling back a little to look at him with a chuckle

“you should be asking a princess that, prince mingi, not somebody like me”

“you are a princess in my eyes”

you can’t help the endearing look that crosses over your face as you lightly tap his nose, “you know that is not how it works”

“then we can run away. for i am already as good as dead to my kingdom,” he tells you with boyish determination

“you cannot, mingi. your people need a good prince”

“but what prince would i be if i cannot even boldly love you? the person who is dearest to me?”

under his sincere gaze and the weight of his words, you allow him this moment of solace

because perhaps, you want it just as much as he does

“okay, i’ll be your princess,” you breathe out

“forever?”

“forever”

that night, it is just you and mingi - no titles that separate your world from his, no looming threat of death - just two people in love

even as an uneasy pit settles at the bottom of mingi’s stomach, a growing feeling that gnaws away at him into the early hours of the next morning

he is startled awake, your expression frightened, and he immediately understands when he hears the thunderous chorus of hooves hitting the ground towards you two

mingi had known there was not much time left, but he did not think that the inevitable confrontation would happen this soon, only mere hours after the soft kiss he had pressed against your forehead

the desperate attempt to escape once more is futile, the royal guards closing the distance within minutes

left with no choice but to stop, you and mingi demount and the guards move to flank you both in a wide semicircle

when the head of the guards, prince eun, saunters forward, mingi matches with a stride of his own so that he can step in front of you

“you killed the crown prince, eun,” mingi spits at his brother

“running and denying your actions up until your very last moments, i see,” prince eun laughs condescendingly. “and you even took a little dog with you, too”

mingi presses you closer to his back, hiding you from the leering gaze of his brother

prince eun smiles smugly at mingi’s reaction, before he takes out a scroll and unravels it

“for high treason of the assassination of the crown prince, the king hereby decrees the immediate revocation of nobility of his third son, song mingi, and for the execution of song mingi and his maid upon sighting.”

you press your nose into mingi’s back, taking one last inhale of his familiar scent

the bowmen all take aim as prince eun sneers, “any last words, brother?”

mingi turns around, and all you can see in that moment are his warm eyes and dimpled cheeks

“i love you, my princess,” he proclaims

“forever,” you reply

he brings his lips down to connect them with yours, drowning out the distinct vibration of loosening strings and the hiss of flying arrows with the roaring symphony in your hearts

you’re unsure what pain swallows you whole first - the pain as an arrowhead sinks into your chest, or the pain as you realise that this is the end of your short-lived love with mingi

you struggle to keep the smile on your face as you lock eyes with mingi, trying to memorise the loving gaze that adorns his own face

you see his mouth moving, but the pain exploding throughout your body is too loud for you to make out his words

with your last breath, you gasp out your final confession, “i love you too, mingi. we’ll meet again in the next life”

as the world starts to fade away, cold creeping into your limbs, you hope that in another story, in another lifetime, you and mingi will be able to find each other again

wooyoung

pov: you're the princess of a rival kingdom

“absolutely not, advisor lee,” your mother raises her nose in the air

“your highness, i understand but-”

“oh please, do not flatter yourself, queen cho,” queen jung spits out, “you are not the only one who abhors the idea”

you glare at the prince sitting across from you, your own gazes reflecting the tension in the room

advisor lee has suggested that your family and the jung family host a joint royal ball as a grand display of amity between the two neighbouring kingdoms, particularly between the princess - yourself - and their prince - prince wooyoung

there have been spreading rumours in town of the strained relationship between the two royal families

which aren’t entirely untrue

as a child, the two kingdoms have been loyal and steadfast in their alliance and friendship

in fact, it is not uncommon to find you joining prince wooyoung in his kitchen, begging the chefs to let you two lick the spoons

or to find prince wooyoung squatting next to you in your garden as you both look at the ladybugs

but as power imbalances emerge and political agendas start to diverge, a wedge is driven between your families

the relation is now dangerously close to severing completely, but not without the increasing attention of the towns surrounding the two kingdoms

and one of the last things both royal families need is unease and disunity amongst the commoners

which brings advisor lee to look on with exasperation as he tries to do his job - advise

except neither your mother nor queen jung look ready to accept his advice

your father nods slightly at the two of you, “you are dismissed, as are you, prince wooyoung”

you curtsy as the prince takes a slight bow, before you obnoxiously flick your hair over your shoulder and turn away on your heels

you escape to the garden, knowing that the meeting will take at least another hour before you are required to bid the jung family farewell

except, surprise surprise

who do you run into

you narrow your eyes at prince wooyoung as he steps towards you, who has one eyebrow quirked, “a royal ball, he says?”

“absolutely not,” you fold your arms across your chest

“oh please, do not flatter yourself, princess,” he sneers, not dissimilar to the nasally tone his mother had voiced her dissatisfaction earlier with

neither of you back down, daring the other to say something else

before you two break out into giggles, eyes glittering scandalously

“did you see your mother deliberately pass the salt instead of sugar for the tea?”

“and then the face my mother made when she took a sip of it-”

he pulls you to crouch behind an azalea bush as you both chortle like children, out of sight, before he brings you in for a dizzying kiss 

you sigh, resting a hand on his chest

“do you also abhor the idea of dancing with me, prince wooyoung?” a teasing lilt in your voice

“absolutely,” he nods grimly, “why go to all that effort when there is a much grander and longer-lasting solution?”

“and what is that, my prince?”

he sneaks another chaste kiss from your lips, “for me to take your hand in marriage, my princess”

at his words, your smile dampens

“you know that i would say yes in a heartbeat. it is not i who needs convincing, but our parents”

because despite the growing hostility between your two families, the relationship you share with wooyoung has, ironically, blossomed into one of well-concealed adoration, intimacy and love

you two have come to learn that that one slightly lighter stone on the western side of your kingdom’s outer walls comes loose, and is the perfect size for slipping a piece of paper behind it

you two have also come to learn that every fourth week, if you ask your personal tutor enough questions about the plants laid out on the store’s table in front of you during your scheduled lesson in town, you’ll be able to drag it out long enough for you both to just catch a glimpse of each other as he and his escorts cut through the town on their way back to his kingdom

and of course, you two have come to learn the most isolated spots in your own respective kingdoms, like the second stairwell leading down to the cellar in wooyoung’s palace

and amongst the azalea bushes in the back garden in yours

which is exactly how you knew that he would appear, how you knew that he would give you those sweet kisses you have been craving so desperately 

as wooyoung cups your jaw to kiss you once more, one that leaves you wanting to chase his lips forever, he bets you that it’ll only take two weeks of close-quarter meetings between your royal families before one of your mothers blow up and the ball idea falls through completely

in response, you bet him that they won’t even last two weeks - one at the most

except you’re both wrong

the meeting turns into two, followed by several more as the planning goes ahead

sometimes, the meetings are held in the jung palace

other times, their family journeys to your kingdom instead

one thing that stays constant is the malevolence in the air

the parents are sarcastic snipes and saccharine smiles

and on the surface, you and wooyoung are further extensions of your own parents’ simmering loathing for the other

but under the intricately-carved wooden table, you two are playing footsies, jeweled heels and leather shoes engaged in a playful fight

you see how many times you can slide your heels up along his shin, gradually inching closer towards his inner thigh with each coquettish touch

he has you pass him anything and everything under the guise of forgoing the help of the numerous royal butlers and maids around the room to deliberately irritate you

really, it is to accidentally brush his fingers over your hands; to see the pretty shade of rose that settles over your cheeks and ears as you both try not to break out into giggles

and perhaps, during the meals that may take place during the meetings, there have been a couple of peas flicked at each other here and there when no one is paying attention

(unbeknownst to you two, the maids and butlers alike must hide their own endearing smiles)

the weeks turn into months and you practically have a permanent glow radiating from you, now that you have been seeing the prince so frequently

(which also does not go unnoticed)

as you select a necklace from the assortment of choices to emphasise the plunging neckline of your off-shoulder gown, you wonder how the day of the royal ball has arrived so quickly

your personal maid, jihye, carefully fixes the clasp of the necklace around you before stepping back to let you look in the mirror

you smooth a hand over the soft lavender charmeuse of your dress, nervously looking at jihye

“how do i look?”

“stunning, my princess,” she assures you, before adding, “prince wooyoung will definitely love it”

“prin- he- what? i- sorry?” you say unintelligibly, before you try to salvage the situation by tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you laugh her off

but jihye just looks at you knowingly

meanwhile, prince wooyoung is already at the grand hall, the jung family having arrived two days prior for the final preparations of the ball

he and his friends, princes from kingdoms located further up north and towards the east, are lingering around one of the tables decorated with flower arrangements and elaborate candle holders, ignoring the longing glances of other attendees, women and men alike, thrown at their striking posse

wooyoung is trying to keep his gaze subtle, scanning the vast number of people at the ball without craning or turning his head, searching for one particular face

yours

prince yeosang nudges the others, jerking his chin to motion towards the distracted wooyoung

when wooyoung finally realises he isn’t as subtle as he thinks, all his friends are already looking at him with varying degrees of smirks

“just know that if there were not so many people here,” wooyoung begins with a pleasant smile, “i would flip you all off right now”

before he can try stepping on his friends’ toes in the form of petty revenge, prince seonghwa points towards the entrance as his smile grows impossibly wider

“look”

wooyoung turns around

and like any typical man who is head over heels in love, the world around him slows down

the gushing whispers spreading throughout the ballroom fade into the background

because finally, there you are, gracefully stepping past the threshold of the arched doorway in all your alluring beauty, accentuated by the way your curled locks and flowing gown frame your body

for the briefest moment, you lock eyes with him, and wooyoung feels his brain shutting down on him

“you’re going to catch a fly in your mouth, woo”

“pick up your jaw. it’s on the ground”

prince yunho pretends to dab wooyoung’s mouth with the ruffled sleeves of his cream shirt, “you’re drooling, darling”

at that, wooyoung smacks his lips dazedly before coming to a moment of realisation, blinking hard twice to bring himself back to reality

“god, you’re hopeless. just go up and talk to her,” prince hongjoong snickers. “the whole point of this ball is to show off how ‘close’ your families are anyway”

wooyoung grumbles that he knows, he’s just looking for the right timing

which, unfortunately, does not seem to come

you spend what feels like the next two hours being whisked around, feigning polite interest as you are forced to engage in dull and bland conversations with numerous men of differing royal statuses, all of whom are no doubt trying to make an impression on you in hopes of becoming a potential suitor in the future

not that you have eyes for anyone apart from the one who already has your heart

the very same person who is currently fed up with watching you converse and let your hands be kissed by men who are not him

even if he knows you are pretending, he thinks that you sure are damn good at giggling at all the right times

you are trying not to let your smile turn into a grimace as the older-aged man, lord ryu you think, boasts of his wealth to you, when wooyoung enters your peripheral vision

“princess, lord ryu,” he greets you both, before looking down at the latter, “pardon me as i take the princess for a dance”

lord ryu, visibly irked but unable to say anything to the prince of significantly higher status, lets go of your hand to step back into a bow, “of course, prince wooyoung”

you giggle, this time genuinely, as wooyoung takes your hand to gently lead you towards the center of the ballroom, where several others are starting to waltz to the soft music that is now playing

you rest a hand just below his shoulder, feeling the sturdiness of his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, as he places his other hand to settle on the dip of your waist

a little possessively, you might add

“you look beautiful today,” he murmurs lowly, away from any prying ears

“only today?” you quirk an eyebrow teasingly

his voice drops down an octave, “well it’s not every day that i can tell you, princess”

wooyoung’s eyes flicker down hungrily to look at your lips

you run your tongue slowly over your bottom lip, knowing it will drive him absolutely crazy that he cannot just take you right there and then in front of everybody

and you can see the moment his resolve snaps

“meet me for some fresh air in ten,” bringing his lips as close to the shell of your ear as he dares

and then he’s gone

you become progressively antsy as you wait out a generous amount of time after he leaves for you to also slip away from the ballroom

wooyoung pins you against a pillar as soon as you emerge in the garden, aching to kiss you and fight for dominance until you’re both breathless and light-headed

“you don’t know how desperately i wanted to kiss you in front of everyone - let the whole world know that you’re mine,” he nips at your bottom lip

you rest your hands on his chest, fingers curled around the pleated front of his satin shirt to hold yourself steady as he turns your lips into an artwork of swollen cherry reds

he tilts your head back a little more, your mouths moving in tandem, soft moans drawn out of you, when-

“what in god’s name is going on?”

you and wooyoung startle apart at the shriek

the blush dusting your faces pale almost immediately at the sight of not just your mother, but also queen jung and a few of the royal staff

it’s kind of amusing that of all things for the two queens to have the same mindset about, it is the discovery of you and wooyoung’s secret relationship that unites them, both sharing twin expressions of horror and revulsion

you’re ripped from each other’s arms as you are forced back into the confines of your bed chamber, royal ball long forgotten

your only solace is learned later that night, when jihye brings a trolley of food you have no appetite for, that the jung family have not yet returned to their kingdom

they are still in your palace somewhere

yet that does little to soothe your tears, overwhelmed by the drastic turn of events, and you do not know when you fall asleep that night

all you know is that it is to a bed too cold and a longing in your heart too gaping to ignore

“princess,” you look up to see jihye standing at your door the next morning, almost apologetic, “the king and queen request for your presence in the throne room”

as you approach the room after tidying your appearance, your breath hitches when you spot him just by the double doors

you barrel forwards into his waiting arms, uncaring of the staff following behind you

not that they have the heart to stop you either way

“i thought you would have been forced to leave,” you blurt, unable to believe that wooyoung is right in front of you

“i’m still here,” he chuckles. “i have been summoned by your parents”

your heart drops down to your stomach at his words as you realise what this meeting is about

“and i am glad they did, princess,” wooyoung is quick to interject before your apology makes it past the tip of your tongue. “i am going to ask for your hand in marriage. officially”

“what if they banish us from ever seeing each other again?” worry overwhelms you as your breathing quickens

wooyoung gently laces his fingers through yours, bringing up his other hand to cup your face and run his thumb comfortingly over the curve of your cheekbone to keep you grounded

“no matter what happens today, no matter what the outcome is,” he looks at you with the fierce determination of a man ready to give up anything and everything for your sake, “i will never ever stop fighting for you”

he presses his soft lips against yours

“for us,” he vows

your breathing evens out, and while your heartbeat still pounds inside your ribcage, you know that it marches in rhythm with the man in front of you

this time, not afraid to appear in front of the rulers of your kingdoms - your parents - you and wooyoung nod in reassurance at each other once more, hand in hand, before you both push the doors to the throne room open

together.

jongho

pov: you're under his protection as your royal guard

over the din of volunteered names in the meeting room, jongho steps forward

“your majesty, i will accompany the princess,” he declares

“choi jongho?” your father scans him up and down with regard before nodding in approval, “it is decided then”

“him? surely i need another person with me as well?” you protest

your father quirks an eyebrow at you, a subtle reminder that whilst he is your father, he is also the king

“no, you will need to travel in disguise and stay as discreet as possible. only jongho will accompany you as your royal guard”

your father looks away and starts to address the next item on the meeting agenda; it is quite clear there is no room for argument

meanwhile, jongho sidles up to you

“you trying to catch bugs or something? close your mouth, princess,” he teases under his breath

you nudge him with an elbow, “you’re the only bug i see around here”

he rolls his eyes but you both snicker in unison when one of your older sisters turns around to shush you with a dirty look

regardless, you stay silent for the rest of the meeting

you’re not sure why jongho stepped forward to take on this task

because for someone who is your main royal guard and is supposed to be loyal and obedient, he sure makes it clear that his job is about as gratifying as babysitting

(“you can’t talk to me like that. i’m the princess”)

(“no, you’re not. you’re an idiot”)

in fact, when you had been notified a few days prior that you would be traveling with one other royal guard - who had yet to be decided at the time - jongho had spent every single day gloating that he would finally get a break from babysitting you

and yet here he is

with the opportunity to hand you off to somebody else

but instead, baring his teeth at the other guards who offer themselves up for this scouting mission

he would never admit to it either, but jongho personally spoke to the king years ago about being rostered on as your main bodyguard since he’s “known the princess for the longest and so i can protect her the best”

you don’t want to travel to the border

you’re in charge of maintaining security and defense along your borders and with neighbouring kingdoms, usually dealing with complications remotely through the ministers and advisors who work for you

this time though, there has been recent unrest near the southern borders of your kingdom near denport, a city notorious for bandits and fugitives

the situation has worsened with increased risk of bloodshed, thus has the need for you to survey the borders in person

and as the youngest sibling of five, the king has made it very clear that this is your opportunity to prove your capabilities

jongho makes sure to remind you of this fact when you grumble your way through packing a satchel of essential items to take with you

(“your fluffy slippers are not essential, princess”)

(you listen and throw them back onto the floor of your bedchambers, but stuff in a few paperweights when he isn’t looking out of petty revenge because you know he’ll end up carrying your bag for you later when you ask him to)

it’s a relatively long journey to denport, so as soon as you are ready, jongho having long finished packing his own bag, you leave your kingdom with him at your side

by the time the sun is starting to set later that day, you’re passing through a small town

he suggests calling it a night and recuperating at one of the inns

you wait while he inquires about available rooms and then follow him through a small alleyway to the inn that he has chosen for the night

you take all but one look at the rotting wood and creaking sign at the entrance before you are crossing your arms like a petulant child

“there’s no way i’m staying the night in this sorry excuse of an inn”

he merely blinks

“you’re technically not the princess right now so you better listen to me or god help me, i’ll-”

“you’ll what,” you challenge, nose-to-nose

or nose-to-throat, you suppose

but before you can dwell any further on your height difference, jongho picks you up, slings you over his shoulder like you are nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and walks into the inn without a care in the world that you are screaming bloody murder

you resign to your fate and flop uselessly against his back as he carries you up the stairs

instead, when he throws you onto the bed upon entering the room, you look up at him sultrily and smirk, “ooh, now i’m turned on”

jongho shakes his head with exasperation but you don’t miss the redness that is creeping up the back of his neck as he turns around to close the door shut

“wait,” you sit up on the bed, “we’re sharing a room?”

“it’s safer. i’ll sleep on the sofa”

you scrunch your nose at the arrangement, but you do admittedly feel a little more at ease in the unfamiliar room of the inn

you start to take a shoe off before a thought flits through your mind and you point the shoe in your hand at him like a weapon, “you better not snore”

jongho rolls his eyes as he steps forward to take the shoe out of your hand, and then he is bending down to help slip off the shoe from your other foot

a thank you lies on the tip of your tongue

“you’re the only snorer in this room, princess”

nevermind.

it’s gone.

you’re settled in bed, waiting for jongho to finish washing up and turn off the lights, when you spot it

holy shit

your immediate reaction is to seek his protection

“jongho!”

the door to the bathroom swings open almost immediately as he rushes out, eyes alarmed, alert, and zeroing onto you

water drips off the ends of his hair and you can still spot suds on his exposed torso

“what’s wrong? are you okay? are you hurt?” his voice is laced with restrained panic

you point to the corner of the room and then he sees it too

his body stiffens completely

because, mere metres from the two of you, presence sinister and dangerous…

is a fucking spider

all is quiet and still for a while, your eyes flickering back and forth between your royal guard and the spider in a tense standoff

then, just as you are about to speak up, jongho grabs his bag and swiftly turns on his heels to head towards the room’s door

“where are you going?!” you shriek

he looks at you forlornly from over his shoulder, “to prepare for my execution”

“what the fuck are you on about, jongho?”

“for abandoning my duties and failing to protect you. farewell, princess. you are on your own from here-”

his sentence is cut short as the spider scuttles towards him

and that is how you two, disguised, but still a royal princess and royal guard no less, are given an eviction warning because he streaked through the corridors of the inn half naked and screaming at the top of his lungs

needless to say, the innkeeper ends up having to remove the spider for the two of you

“you’re so embarrassing,” you whisper to him once you two are finally settled in bed and on the sofa

“no, i’m jongho,” he cackles

you don’t humour him with a response, but you know he snickers himself to sleep that night

you can’t help but let the corner of your lips tug up as well

a few days later after leaving the town, you two are resting side by side against a tree trunk when you decide to grace jongho with the opportunity to redeem himself

he’s currently halving a sandwich so you two can share

“if i were trapped in a forest full of spiders and you were the only person who could save me,” you ask gravely, “what would you do?”

without missing a beat, he replies, “prepare to grieve your death and make sure your pet cat is well fed in your honour”

he passes you the bigger sandwich as you turn to look at him with the most scandalised expression

“can you at least pretend to think for a bit?” you grumble

there’s a hint of a smile on jongho’s face when he apologises, “okay, sorry. ask me again”

you hit him with a different scenario this time

“if you had to fight a giant spider who had taken me hostage, what would you do?”

he hums thoughtfully for a few seconds, unscrewing a canteen of water for you and placing it by your side

“i would say, she is all yours, your spidery majesty, and then i would bow and walk away”

“fuck you,” you shove him good-naturedly with your shoulder

he swipes the canteen before you can knock it over and presses it into your smaller hand instead, giving it a quick pat as he dismisses your insult, “sure, if you think you can handle my dick”

“like they say,” you waggle your eyebrows at him as your voice drops down lower, “practice makes perfect”

jongho’s stoic facade finally cracks when you lean in closer and he hurries to stand up and put some distance between you and him

he shifts his legs subtly, clearing his throat to say, “we should go, denport is close”

when you’ve finished off the last of your sandwich, you dust off your fingers and grab jongho’s offered hand to stand up too

“let’s go”

one thing you have both noticed is that the closer you get to the border between your kingdom and denport, the quieter and thicker the atmosphere seems to get

the small towns you pass through have less people roaming around; in fact, most people seem to flee back into the refuge of their own houses, locking their doors and closing their windows when they catch sight of your pair

and then it happens

your plan goes awry

you and jongho are harshly awoken by a commotion outside the small room you have rented for the night

there’s a sickening smell accompanied by wails of grief in the air

when you rush outside, all you can see is a huge crowd of people gathered and your ears strain to pick up on the broken hushes of information being thrown around

“his son is lucky to have been spared”

“lucky to have seen his father slaughtered by bandits?”

“i heard it wasn’t money that they were after, though”

“those damned denport devils are up to something”

that’s all you pick up on before jongho snatches your arm and leads you back into the inn, telling you that it’s too dangerous to be out there; too dangerous for you two to continue traveling

which leads to the very first argument you ever have with him

you two butt heads all the time with your own fiery fronts and hardheadedness but more often than not, he yields to you

you’re facing him in the dim room - it is shadier than that first inn you two made a stop at weeks ago, but you’re both sharing one room just like you two have done at every single inn since

“we need to go check it out!” you shout at him

jongho takes a shaky breath as he tries to keep his voice even, “no, we should go back to our kingdom, report on the situation and call for backup!”

you throw your hands up into the air, “we’re already here - we’re basically at denport! what if something blows up soon? it might be too late by the time we go back”

jongho steps in closer as his eyes narrow

you don’t cower because you know he would never hurt you, but you do step backwards because you don’t think you can keep a clear head when he is standing so close to you, proximity dizzying like the buzz of alcohol

“of all times for you to play hero and do something that you weren’t asked to, why now? why put yourself in danger?”

your back hits the wall as jongho corners you

your chest heaves, as does his, both of you overwhelmed with emotions

he holds your gaze but his eyes are rounded with agony and distress

you don’t understand why he is so against your decision

you don’t know what to say, until your eyes flicker down involuntarily at the movement of his lips parting to exhale-

“damn, jongho, your lips are real chapped. you should use some of my lip balm”

he blinks hard at the absurdity of what you chose to say

he looks at your lips

he makes a decision

“then give me some of yours,” he says, a little breathless

and then he’s pressing his chapped lips against your smooth ones, the taste of coconut filling your mouth as your lip balm smears

suddenly, he pulls back with the audacity to look shocked as if you are the one who kissed him

and then he leaves the room without another word

he doesn’t return that night and you don’t manage to sleep either

you wonder when you started becoming used to falling asleep with him in the same room

jongho clears his throat awkwardly when you open the door in the morning and find him leaning against the wall just by the doorframe

you’re not sure whether he came back not too long ago from god knows where, or whether he was actually standing guard outside all night

you think you know which one it is, even if he doesn’t confirm it

“we’re checking out,” he mumbles, shuffling briskly into the room to grab his few belongings he had left and exiting the room again with you trailing behind

neither of you say much more to each other

you think that he’s going to lead you back the way you two came, lead you back and undo the weeks’ worth of journeying and go back to the castle

but then he’s sighing, deep and burdened, and he gently takes your hand to continue on towards denport

he’s never held your hand before

not like this, at least, tenderly tugging you along with every step so that you are no more than a few inches away from his side

you want to bicker with him and chortle together like usual but you keep quiet, giving him the space that he appears to need even if he is physically ensuring you are tucked right into his side

you two walk until the sun has dipped below the horizon

from what you know, you are right along the southern border and denport will only be another half day’s walk away

jongho makes a small bonfire before he joins you to lean against a fallen log

he shimmies off his coat and drapes it over your legs and then the forest also settles into silence along with you both

it’s now or never

“why are you so against us going to the border?” you ask him

he runs his fingers through his hair

an unruly tuft of hair stays upright and you fold your arms to stop yourself from reaching out and smoothening it for him

he looks at you as he says, “i’m fine with me going to the border, it’s you i’m not fine with. you do remember that i’m your royal guard, right”

“is that all there is to your reason,” you push, “that you’re my guard?”

you both know you’re referring to more than just the argument itself

jongho’s gaze breaks away, looking ahead at the flames of the fire instead

he is silent

for once, jongho is unarmed; no immediate snark or teasing remark to toss back at you

you hear him swallow and take a breath

“i…i don’t know,” he starts. “all i know is that with each passing day, the more i want to keep you safe”

jongho looks at you again, eyebrows drawn down ever so slightly

“why do you make me feel so worried?”

at his words, your heart clenches in an unfamiliar way and you attempt to lighten the mood, “maybe you like me”

“maybe i do”

oh.

with the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes, it almost looks as though he is about to cry

“please, don’t go to the border, princess,” he begs softly

his plea remains unwavering and you find your heart doing the exact opposite

after a few seconds of silence, you say

“okay, jongho. i won’t”

the tension from his shoulders seeps out and he gently tugs you towards him so he can tuck you into his side once again

“you promise that we turn around and go back tomorrow morning?”

you nod against the warmth of the crook of his neck, then murmur, “do you think father will be disappointed in me? for returning?”

he rubs a hand up and down your arm soothingly

“of course not, princess. you’ve already done so much more than you needed to. he’ll be proud of you”

and then he adds on, “just like i’m proud of you”

this is the first time anyone has ever really validated your efforts; being the youngest of a large family means you are often overshadowed

caught off guard, all you can do is whisper out, “thank you, jongho”

he hums and you feel his smile against the crown of your head

you’ve never been drunk before, but you think that this is the closest you have ever gotten

you are intoxicated by him

“if you’re thankful,” the rumble of jongho’s voice against your cheek is pleasant, “can i ask for something?”

“whatever you want”

he eases you from the comfort of his neck and tilts your chin up slightly with a finger, cheeky grin plastered across his face

“can i have some more of your lip balm?”

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around...   word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni.   a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3   —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand​ also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’) 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break—you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

[metalbuckaroo]

🍒Be Good🍒

💋 SUMMARY// At 3am, every Sunday, Bucky locks his bedroom door to watch his favorite camgirl. What's to happen when he finds out he's much closer to her than leaving generous tips on her videos?

🍒 WARNINGS// Smut, cursing, oral (m receiving), bucky being nervous and cocky all at once, a smidgen of subby bucky, big dick bucky, i think that's it.

💋 AU// Roommate!Bucky x Camgirl!Reader

🍒 NOTE// OK, finally it's done 😅

💋Ronly Friends Masterlist💋

🍒Main Masterlist🍒

Moodboard by// @commonintrest

"Why are we here, exactly?" Bucky asked as the two of you walked into the shop that was filled with different sets of lingerie, sex toys and other things meant for sexual pleasure.

"If you're still serious about doing the video, we gotta get stuff to hide who you are." You shrugged, wandering towards a rack that held masks. "Well, I'm not very sure how many people have metal arms. It'll be kinda obvious."

"Nothing a jacket and some gloves won't fix."

You had expected Bucky to change his mind the next day, but so far he hadn't. He wouldn't say it outloud, but the thought excited him.

Even though you had told him there wasn't any actual sex involved, he just thought about the way your lips were going to feel around him and the glossy red lipstick you had worn in the videos would smudge against his skin and off of your lips.

"How about this one?" He pulled his gaze away from your lips to look at the black mask you held in your hand. "Would I be able to breathe in that thing?" He chuckled, taking it from you. "Well, yeah. There's holes."

Bucky lifted the mask to his face, holding it in place as he looked at you. The rubbery plastic covering from his nose down, leaving his denim blues visible.

Your lips curled up in a smile, raising your eyebrows. "You have really beautiful eyes." Bucky laughed lightly at the compliment, tossing the mask into the basket you were holding. "Thanks, cherry."

🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒

Bucky's head was swarming with thoughts as he sat on your bed that had been covered with a large throw blanket, the backdrop blocking the off white color of the walls and your headboard.

You stood in front of him, one of his t-shirts covering the lingerie set you wore as you set up a tripod. "Okay, stand up." You said with a soft smile, clipping the garter belt to the stockings and looking to him.

Dropping to your knees one at a time once he stood, Bucky sucked in a sharp breath when your fingers worked at the button of his jeans. "I thought you said that pictures were first?" He said, exhaling slowly. "They are, but pants aren't required."

He nodded, his cock already stirring in his jeans at the sight of you on your knees in front of him- tugging the tight fabric down his legs so he could kick them off. "Just one last thing-"

Goosebumps raised on his skin when your lips pressed to his hip bone just above the band of his briefs. A bright red lipstick print gracing the skin when you pulled away and stood with a proud smile.

Sitting back down on the bed, Bucky cleared his throat. "Now what?"

Your foot pushed his apart, trying to keep your eyes away from the bulge in his underwear as he leaned back on his forearms. "Just relax." You shrugged, adjusting the leather jacket to show more of his bare stomach and making sure the metal of his left shoulder wasn't visible, before handing him the mask to put on.

He heard a few shutter clicks after you went back behind the camera, watching as you pressed a few buttons then took the few steps back to him.

"Get 'em?" Bucky said, swallowing thickly when you moved to straddle his lap. "Hands here." You moved his gloved hands to hold your backside, his fingers pushing the hem of the shirt up a little. "You sure?"

Bucky hated that he was showing how nervous he was to be in such close quarters, he'd wanted this since the day you moved in.

"Bucky, if you're not sure about doing this we can stop." You said, leaning away a little to look at him. "It's not that-" he shook his head, words slightly muffled by the rubbery plastic covering the lower half of his face. "I wanna do this."

He cleared his throat and gathered all of the confidence he had as he shifted under you slightly. Your hands resting on his shoulders as his gave a soft squeeze to the supple flesh of your ass, biting back a groan when you brushed the erection straining against his briefs.

A few more shutter clicks and you stood, Bucky finally taking a deep breath to calm the pounding in his chest.

"This seems a little unfair." He said, watching you lean to get your mask from the dresser. "How's that?" You mused, cocking an eyebrow at him

Bucky leaned forward to toy with the hem of the shirt you were wearing. "Take it off." His husky tone sent a shiver down your spine. Thought you tried to hide it by gripping the bottom of the shirt, lifting it up and over your head before dropping it to the floor.

You could feel his slate blue eyes piercing through you, his breathing uneven as his gaze raked over the way the two piece, lacy and white lingerie fit your body as you stood behind the camera again.

"Ready?" Bucky swallowed thickly and nodded, not looking from you as you sunk down to your knees again. Reciting the rules you told him yesterday in his head.

'No kissing, it's too intimate, and be good.'

He lifted his hips enough for you to pull his briefs down his thighs, your breath catching in your throat when his erection sprung out. Long and thick, the tip red and swollen, like it was aching to be touched.

More confidence washed through Bucky at your expression, lips parted as you pumped your hand along his shaft a few times. Eyes flicking up to meet his as your tongue poked out to catch a bead of precum leaking down from the slit, eliciting a low groan from him.

Moaning softly at the salty taste tainting your tastebuds, your lips wrapped around the bulbous head. Glossy red lipstick smudging to the skin just like Bucky had pictured it would.

It didn't take much for Bucky to fall into the rhythm and completely forget about the camera pointed at the two of you. Wanton moans and pants leaving his lips, muffled by the mask but still very audible.

His hand holding the back of your head as you swallowed him down to his base, drool leaking around your lips and down your chin as you squeezed the thick muscles on his thigh- moaning around him

Bucky was already so close from the feeling of your throat constricting around him, he wasn't sure how he fit but he didn't care, it felt amazing.

His body relaxed when you pulled away to take a few gasps of air as you fisted over him. "C'mon, cherry..." he panted, stroking the back of your head, knowing he couldn't tug the hair due to it being a wig.

He was trying to listen to your rule about being good, resisting the urge to fuck up into the warmth of your mouth or rut his hips onto your hand.

But, the manicured hand he had thought so much about was finally wrapped around his cock and he didn't know how much control he had left.

"Remember, you gotta be a good boy." You teased when you leaned up to talk in his ear, smirking when his cock twitched in your hand.

"Fuck-" Bucky said in a low, drawn out moan when you took him in your mouth again, moving your hand to gently roll his balls in your palm as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

His eyebrows knitted together, hair fallen forward and partially shielded his face as his hooded eyes watched your every move.

You felt his balls and muscles in his thigh start to tight in your hands, his hand slipping down to hold the back of your neck when your cheeks hollowed to take more of him.

"Oh- fucking shit-" he hissed before a string of Russian curses poured out of his mouth, his release shooting down your throat.

The wicked smirk that plastered across your face when you pulled off of him made Bucky shudder, the grip on the back of your neck loosening. Watching you with a dazed look as you stood.

Bucky stood from the bed once he got his bearings again, pulling the mask off and cupping over himself as if you hadn't just swallowed his spend. "What about you?"

Lifting your head to look at him as you started to put the stuff away, you shrugged. "That wasn't part of the agreement."

He felt bad that he wasn't going to return the favor, noticing how your slick had soaked through the fabric of your lingerie. "But, you-"

You pecked a kiss to his cheek and patted his red tinted chest. "Just take the win, Buck."

As much as you wanted to, you were ready to cross that line yet. Maybe another day, but for now- the sated look on Bucky's face was enough for you.

Bucky cleared his throat and nodded, leaving your room and making his way to the bathroom for a shower.

He glanced down at the red lipstick smears when he shut the bathroom door, letting out a heavy sigh as he pulled the velcro straps of the leather gloves and tugged them off.

🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒

After both of you had showers and changed, Bucky stood in the kitchen with you as you cooked dinner. Trying not to think too hard about what happened less than an hour ago.

"Y'know, I didn't know you can speak Russian." You grinned, leaning back against the counter across from him. "Now you do." He said, lifting the beer bottle to his lips.

He knew what you were about to say from the teasing smirk that tugged you lips. "You liked being called a good boy, didn't you, James?" You cooed, stepping closer. "Shut the hell up." He muttered, looking to the floor.

Your arms went around his neck loosely, smiling up at him as your fingers messed with some of his long hair. "Awe, you did." You giggled, Bucky rolling his eyes at you. "You're gonna burn the food."

Bucky looked over his shoulder when the front door opened, Sam walking in. "Oh, fuck me." He groaned, turning so Sam couldn't see the strain in his briefs you caused from such a small amount of touch. "What are you two up to?"

"Dinner- stop barging in." Bucky snapped, eyes following his friend as he walked towards the fridge. "Yeah, not gonna happen. Steve is still whining about Peggy." Sam said the name in a mocking tone, holding a beer out towards Bucky. "I'm in my underwear and I'm not your personal bottle opener."

Raising his eyebrows, Sam nodded his head towards the bottle in his hand. Bucky taking it to pop the lid off with his silvery hand.

"Didn't they end it like- a month ago?" You asked, not looking from the pan on the stove. "Mhm, I don't think it will ever stop."

"Give him time, heartbreak isn't easy." You shrugged, a chuckle coming from both Sam and Bucky. "Someone break your heart? Please, cherry, they'd be stupid." Bucky mused, making your heart flutter in your chest.

"That's sweet, but everyone gets their heartbroken at some point." You pointed the spatula at him and he out his hands up in defense. "Ok, ok. Don't spank me." He laughed, the playful look in his eyes making you smile.

"Don't tempt me, I will."

🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒

Taglist: @likeahorribledream @cxddlyash @iwannabekilledtwice @bookstan0618 @glxwingrxse @yliumy @pineprincess @makbarnes @cupcakehinch @doasyoudesireandlive @magicwithinnightmares @preferredrealty @andy-is-gay @stucky-my-ship @marvel-3407 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @i-l-y-3000 @avoxzy @impala1967666 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @supernaturalbaesduh @bucky-hues @suchababie @an-adult-midget @pinkoctober99 @ju5tyna20 @hallecarey1 @jxlystan @elizabeth228 @secret21121 @strwbrrybucky @busybeingtrash @harrysthiccthighss @everything-burns-down @ynsdiarys @commonintrest @eireduchess

@hesvoid34 @mrsbarnesinmyimagination @rachellovesloki @mal-edictions @teenagedreams-bucky

[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.”

[sfb123]

I just read your drunk Liam fic and I just HAD to send you some prompts!!! From the prompt list you hyperlinked 9, 16, and 17 maybe? (Preferably liamxriley) pretty plz?* insert puppy dog eyes🥺*

Well… since you inserted puppy dog eyes…

I wanted to try to incorporate all three of these into one story, which actually worked out really well. Then, the issue came of how to make that apply to Liam and Riley. Luckily, my current binge obsession is the 90′s sitcom Mad About You, and there was an episode the other night that set a lightbulb off in my head, so this fic is loosely based on that episode. 

Prompts:

“We should grab coffee together sometime.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

“You need a lift?”

(Prompt pulled from this list. Feel free to send me more!)

Word Count: 1,431

Warnings: Adult language, mild innuendo

A/N: Thank you @phoenixrising308 for pre-reading. Your kindness and support are unparalleled, and I love you dearly. 

Also a thank you to @txemrn​ for dealing with my unnecessary back and forth about this moodboard. I ended up going with it, even though we were both so wishy washy about it. 

A/N 2: This is my third prompt story this week, I’m going to take a break and quietly write by myself for a while. I’ll continue to work on the asks I have received, and please please feel free to send more. I’m having so much fun! I just don’t want to bombard you all, so I’m going to start pacing my posting. When I finish a piece, I just get so excited when I finish something that I want to show you all so badly! 

***

Liam and Riley sat across from each other at the table, sharing the piece of cake that sat between them. They were in New York visiting Riley’s family for a few days, and her mother had insisted that Eleanor spend the night, so the royal couple was taking full advantage of their child-free night, wrapping up the evening with dinner at one of Riley’s favorite restaurants. 

“Hey, check that out.” Riley tipped her head toward the bar, where a man was approaching a woman who was sitting alone at the bar. “He’s going to shoot his shot and try to pick her up.”

“How do you know?” Liam asked, watching as the woman nodded, the man immediately sitting down beside her. 

“I worked in a bar long enough, I can read the body language and tell you exactly what’s going to happen.”

He turned to his wife, a skeptical expression on his face. “Prove it.”

“Wow, you don’t even believe your own wife. I’m wounded.” She placed her hand over her heart in mock devastation. “Fine, I hope you saved room after that cake, because you’re about to eat your words.”

Riley went on to explain what each was saying to the other, and accurately predicted each move that was made. Liam was so impressed that part of him felt like she may have hired these people specifically to act out this scene. 

“Now watch, he’s going to pull out his phone and try to get her to put her number in.” She said, as the man reached into his back pocket. 

“Is he going to get it?” Liam couldn’t help but be invested in the story that his wife was narrating for him. 

“She’s going to give him a number, but see how she’s already almost standing up?” Liam nodded, waiting with baited breath for her to continue, “She’s going to give him a fake number, and then leave immediately. She doesn’t want to reject him to his face.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s life, we’ve all done it.” Riley replied nonchalantly. 

Liam’s gaze snapped to face her. “You’ve given men fake numbers before?” 

She nodded and shrugged. “Lucky for you. You never know, I could have ended up suckered into marrying one of those creeps. Or like locked in their basement or something.”

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I consider myself very lucky for that.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. 

“Oh oh, here we go, look!” Riley brought his attention back to the bar where the woman was shaking the man’s hand. “Ooooh, not even a courtesy hug. Game over, dude.” They watched the woman exit the restaurant, as the man started typing on his phone. “He’s sending a text to the number she gave. It either won’t be delivered, or he’ll get a reply from someone who is most definitely not that woman.”

“That poor man. He just wanted to find love.”

Riley sighed, shaking her head. “Ahh my sweet, romantic king, your naiveté is so heartwarming. That man is just looking to get laid.” She laughed, “For all the normal experiences you missed out on, aren’t you glad that you never had to pick up women at bars?” She paused for a second. “Present company excluded, of course.” 

Liam laughed, his expression quickly turning serious. “Actually, I kind of wish I could have had the opportunity. I think I would have been good at it.” Riley arched a brow at him. “I mean it, I got you to quit your life and fly all the way to Europe because of one night, didn’t I?” 

“Touché.” She drummed her fingers against the table in a brief moment of thought, “But can lightning strike twice?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Pick me up. I’ll go sit at the bar, you come over and shoot your shot. No social season, no friends, no boxy work uniform. Just a regular guy picking up a regular girl.”

Liam smirked at the proposition. “You’re on.”

Riley left the table and took a seat at the far end of the bar. Once she was seated he put down some money to cover their dinner, and made his way to the bar. “Excuse me miss, is this seat taken?”

She looked up, smiling politely and shaking her head, motioning with her hand for him to have a seat. 

“I’m Liam.” He extended his hand. 

“Riley. Nice to meet you Liam.” She placed her hand in his, and he brought it to his lips. “A hand kiss instead of a shake, bold move. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I actually just moved to the states from Europe.” 

The bartender approached and took their orders. Liam instructed him to open a tab to cover himself and Riley. He took Liam’s card and stepped away to make their drinks. 

“So, why is a beautiful woman like yourself sitting here all alone?” He asked once they were alone again. 

Riley tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at the bar, playing up her role. “You’re sweet. I uh… I was supposed to be meeting someone, but I think they stood me up.”

“Well, their loss is my gain.” As the bartender set down their drinks, Liam lifted his glass in Riley’s direction. “A toast,” He waited for Riley to raise her glass before he continued, “To the missteps of old friends, which allow the opportunity to make new ones.”

“So we’re friends now?” Riley asked as she tapped her glass against Liam’s. “That’s awfully presumptuous.”

“Well, we’ve only just met. I’m hoping that perhaps we could get to know each other and see where the evening takes us.”

Riley agreed, and they began with some small talk. Riley stuck to her pre-Cordonia life, while Liam had done a pretty good job of coming up with a non-Royal backstory. They sat there talking, and drinking and ‘getting to know’ each other. Riley was impressed with Liam’s subtle flirting skills and decided that he was right, he would have been pretty good at this had he been given the chance. 

The lights came up, and Liam’s bill was dropped on the bar in front of him. “It looks like they’re closing up.” He said as he reviewed the receipt, signing his name at the bottom. “This was a lot of fun Riley, I would like to see you again. We should grab coffee together sometime.”

“I actually don’t drink coffee, I think it’s gross.”

“Oh.” Riley smiled to herself at the disappointment in his voice.

“I would like to see you again, though.” She reassured him. 

He looked up at her and smiled. “Could I take you to dinner, maybe?” 

“Dinner would be nice.”

“Great!” He noticed the annoyed expression on the bartender's face, they were officially the last customers in the bar. “We should probably go. I’ll walk you home.”

“I actually have a car waiting for me outside.” He dropped his head, again disappointed by the rejection. “You need a lift?”

He smiled widely, standing from his seat. “I’d like nothing more.” 

He offered his arm, she slid off the stool and linked hers through his. They exited the restaurant, and were greeted by Bastien, standing in front of their SUV. Before the guard could reach the door handle, Liam released Riley’s arm and jogged ahead, opening Riley’s door for her. 

“Such a gentleman.” She smiled coyly as she slid into the backseat. He smiled and got in after her. 

“Back to the hotel, your majesties?” Bastien asked as he entered the driver’s side. 

“Yes please.” Riley answered. 

Liam looked at her curiously. “Assuming I’m going to come home with you, bold move.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to come, but I promise you’ll have fun if you do.” Riley said in a sultry tone, closing the distance between the two of them.

“Riley…” Liam’s voice was just above a whisper as she leaned in, finally pressing her lips to his. They pulled back breathless from their kiss, their eyes remained closed as they rested their foreheads together. “I guess lighting can strike twice.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is the second time I picked you up in a bar, and the second time you kissed me first.” He grinned triumphantly. 

Riley leaned back, laughing as her eyes met Liam’s. “I guess that means you win?”

“Great, let’s go back to the hotel so I can collect my prize.” He brought his hand to her cheek and pulled her in, kissing her again. 

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @bbrandy2002 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @emersynwrites @emkay512 @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @pixie88 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @shewillreadyou @sincerelyella @sweatyrysconnoisseur @tessa-liam @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612 @neotericthemis

Liam:

@amandablink @ao719 @yourmajesty09

One Shots:

@bebepac @darley1101

[yuta-nakamots]

we go up - l.mk

Pairing - Mark x Reader

Genre - Fluff, College!AU

Warnings - one single mention of sex but no descriptions of it

Summary - Growing up was a part of life. Though you were scared of all that the future holds, you looked forward to going through it all with Mark right by your side.

Word Count - 4.2k

A/N - this was supposed to be released 4 days ago ahaha I passed all my classes so that’s really what matters. anyways, here’s this fic to celebrate Milly’s 3 years on Tumblr and 5 years for me and my blog

Written for the Moodboard Collab hosted by @bumblebeenct​​. Also part of the Neowinter Festival hosted by @czennienet.

Song: We Go Up. Color Set: #1.

Never would you have thought that you’d be on the path to living in the real world so soon. Summers were for relaxing and having fun but you’ll never regret jumping at the opportunity to travel the world with Mark Lee instead.

Mark’s parents were executives for a travelling company that offered a variety of trips all over the world. You knew it was part of their job to visit those countries and survey the different options available and put together plans based on them but with Mark having just graduated from college and you going into your final year, it was soon to be a job shared by both of you as well.

It hasn’t been long since you first began dating him, in fact, it hadn’t been long since you first met him on your first day on campus. Both of you were moving in on the same day and crossed paths as you were lugging your two loaded suitcases in through the main entrance of the dormitory. Your family hadn’t come with you, putting their faith in you to make it to your school on your own, so you could only guess how pitiful you must’ve looked to others.

“Hey those look pretty heavy, I can help you with that if you’d like,” you looked up to find the owner of the voice and were met by a handsome boy with a smile you’d never forget, “my name is Mark, by the way.”

“Uh, y/n, nice to meet you and yeah, actually, if you could take this one it would help me so much.” You told him as you pulled up the smaller of the two suitcases.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take the larger one? I can handle it.” He looked at you with eyes full of interest, his pupils almost resembling boba thanks to the odd lighting in the hall.

You shook your head before turning to head to the elevator, “I only just met you, I wouldn’t make you do this. Besides, it’s not even that much heavier than the other one.”

“Alright, whatever you say. What floor are you on though? I can help you move in if you don’t have anyone else.” He offered kindly.

“I’m on the third floor,” you informed him, “but don’t you have somewhere to be? You couldn’t have just been sitting around in the lobby.”

You say his expression morph into one of panic before quickly relaxing, “oh, I was just on my way to the university center to pick up my keys and get my mail. Gosh, you made me think I was late to something important.” The laugh he let out was so full and loud, it felt as if it were reaching out to you.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything else you should be doing?” You question as you pressed the button for the elevator. “I’d hate to be the reason why you missed a meeting or something.”

Mark pulled out his phone as both of you waited for the elevator. “No, I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything else planned for today. I just had to move in earlier and that’s it, I don’t have any solid plans.” The doors opened and let out a few other people, who you guessed were also students, before you and Mark stepped in.

“I just met you though,” you pointed out, “how do I know that you’re not some weirdo that’s gonna try steal my stuff?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Really? I mean, not like in a bad way ‘really’ but I can promise you that I’m not trying to do anything bad.”

You hummed in mock sarcasm, “mmhmm, that’s what they all say.”

“If you don’t believe me I’ll give you my number if you want or like my room number, even-”

“Mark I was just joking dude.” You laughed, amused by how gullible the boy was.

“Oh…” he breathed, relief settling over him as the doors opened up to the third floor, “but can I still get your number though?”

“Beat me to my room and I’ll think about it.” You took off running in a random direction, unsure which way you were even supposed to go in.

Mark followed close behind, “wait but I don’t even know which room number to look for!”

“Maybe that’s the point!” You shout back.

continue as always, wild and free

Though he did not make it to your room before you, you still gave him your phone number to thank him for helping you with your luggage. Mark was kind enough to stay and help you unpack your things and get your room set up. He even accompanied you to get dinner from the cafeteria since it was already getting late by the time the two of you finished unloading everything.

Over the next few days before classes, you hung out with Mark and any other freshmen that you happened to run into. You found out that Mark was a business major and planned to minor in tourism industry management. As for you, your major was biology with a focus in ecology.

Mark seemed to love sharing about himself as seen from the way he eagerly told you about the company his parents worked for and how he was interested in someday becoming a part of it which was why he chose his intended path of study. You had come in the college with the intent of wanting to make a difference in the world and help tackle one of the biggest global issues, which is climate change, leading you to your chosen track.

Mark was a great listener and seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say. If he thought anything was lame or dumb, he hid it very well because he seemed to be picking up all the information you put down. You had come in knowing that most people in large corporations didn’t think much about the environment. Either Mark was faking it to keep his new friendship with you or he genuinely held the same beliefs as you. You chose to believe it was the latter.

All throughout your first year in college together you and Mark stuck together, always preferring each others company, even within the large group of friends you managed to accumulate with him. Luckily he was only one floor above you so he wasn’t far away at all. If you ever needed anything, he really was ‘one call away’ and would come running even if it was just to catch a bug in your room.

Freshmen year came and went, both you and Mark went back home for summer vacation and came back to campus as sophomores. You both kept in touch and regularly updated each other on things like Mark’s trip to Britain with his parents. That was the first real glimpse you had into his dreams and goals for his future. Meanwhile you just ranted to him about all the terrible customers that came in at your part-time job, though he didn’t seem to mind at all and always offered you his company.

Sophomore year was when he asked you to be his girlfriend. After the two of you had eaten dinner together as usual and were walking back to the dorms, that was when he had finally made a move. “So, uh, I know this may be kind of sudden but I actually really like you.” He told you.

You looked up at him as you continued walking next to him. “And in what way, exactly?”

“In a ‘I like you as more than just a friend’ kind of way.” He replied, looking down at the leaf-covered sidewalk.

“Well lucky for you, I might just like you in the same way.” Mark’s head shot up and his eyes met yours.

He blinked rapidly and his gaze never left yours, as if searching for the truth. “Wait, like really?”

“Yes, really.” You pulled him closer to you so he wouldn’t walk right into the tree that was coming up.

“Does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” He asked after mumbling a quick ‘thank you’.

You stopped walking and turned to face him. “If you ask properly then I don’t see why not.”

“Oh, uh,” his eyes flitted left to right before finally settling on yours, “will you be my girlfriend?”

“No.” You tried to hold your laughter in the way his eyes widened but you just couldn’t. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend you stupid! I didn’t say all of that for nothing, oh my gosh you really are so gullible.”

Mark’s mouth opened slightly before he closed it again and then burst out going “don’t do that to me for crying out loud! You don’t even know how I was actually about to cry if you said no just now.”

You grabbed his hand and quickly interlaced your fingers with his. “There, I’m sorry. Do you feel better now? Do you want me to kiss you to make you feel better?”

“Uh, yes? To both?” He spoke, still shaken from earlier.

You raised his hand to your lips, kissing that back of his hand with a smile. “Thank you for choosing me.”

i’m gonna try flying a little further

Things continued on in this way in your relationship, always keeping things lighthearted and never too serious. Thankfully both of you had past dating experience and weren’t completely clueless on how to act toward each other. One thing led to the next and you had your first kiss with him the day he was leaving to go home for winter break. “I love you, stay safe, don’t die.” You called out to him as he got into his uber.

“Got it babes, love you too.” He sent you a kiss before shutting the door which you happily caught and held to your heart.

It was during that break that the two of you told your parents about each other and things went surprisingly smooth of both ends. Mark had even informed you that his parents were interested in meeting you after he told them about your field of study. “Yeah they were so intrigued by it! They’ve been looking into more sustainable and eco-friendly options for a while now so I think this must’ve struck a chord with them.” He chattered excitedly over the phone.

“Dude, don’t make me even more nervous about meeting them-”

“Hold up, did you just call me dude?” He questioned.

“It’s not like you don’t call me dude as well.” You commented.

Mark let out a laugh on his end. “Alright, fair enough. But not to alarm you or anything, but they said that I could bring you along for one of our trips during summer if you’re down.”

“Oh my gosh, seriously?” You exclaimed.

“Yes, seriously,” he confirmed, amused at your enthusiasm, “should I tell them that you’re interested?”

“Mark is that even a question? Of course I’m interested.” Your excitement was almost bubbling over from the way everything seemed to be working in favor of you and Mark.

The next summer, you did indeed tag along with Mark and his parents to who were more than happy to meet you and share information on their company while visiting Nevada. Mark wasn’t lying when he said that you interests ‘struck a chord’ with them. Sometimes it seemed like you were more like their child than he was with how much his parents talked with you about possible green options to inquire for. It was thanks to them that you decided to minor in tourism industry management like Mark, even though it would set you behind one year in graduation.

Going into your junior year, you were able to put together a small scrapbook of sorts with all the pictures from the trip to Nevada and gave it to Mark to celebrate your one year anniversary. “Wait, when did you even take that picture of me though?” He asked while looking at the picture of him spread out on a hotel bed like a starfish.

“You smacked me with your arm so I woke up and it was like, seven in the morning so I decided to just fool around and take pictures of you,” you explained with a smile on your face, “if you look in that bottom corner, you can see my foot because I had to stand over you but not too closely so my legs were like a triangle over you.”

Mark shook his head as he laughed at your antics before gently closing the book. “I love you, you know that right?” He placed a kiss on your cheek and sat back to adore you with his eyes practically sparkling.

“How could I not? I’d be worried that you may not know that I love you.” You told him playfully, setting the scrapbook aside and straddling his lap.

“Baby, that’s the last thing you need to worry about.” His voice fell into its lower ranges as he began kissing you in a way he never has before. It was on that night, the night of your first anniversary that the two of you made love for the first time in your shared campus apartment.

make me beautiful in the memories

When you brought Mark home for the holidays, your family was more than thrilled to meet him and you thanked whatever supreme being existed out there for blessing you with him. He got along well with your parents and even became a favorite of all the younger kids, especially when he joined them in making a snowman out in front of your house.

“Look y/n! Marky helped us start building a snowman!” Your younger sister exclaimed before running off once again to join some of your cousins.

You watched as Mark helped them roll the largest ball of snow around the yard until it was at least a third of his height. “Come join us y/n!” He called out. “You can get the rocks and sticks to make his arms and face.”

One of your younger cousins came by to join you as you sifted through the snow to find nice rocks to use. “When are you and Marky getting married?” He asked.

“Married? We’ve only been together for a year.” You told the little boy.

“Oh, hmm, well it’s never too early to start thinking.” He decided before finding a cute little stick that he deemed fit to function as a nose for the snowman.

You joined Mark in rolling the second ball of snow while the kids made the last one. “So what was that I heard about getting married?” He questioned.

Suddenly your cheeks felt warm and your eyes darted away from him and back to the mound of snow in front of you. “Uh, nothing, one of the kids just was asking if we plan on getting married.”

“He’s right, you know,” Mark spoke quietly, “it’s never too early to start thinking about it.”

“I mean, we’re still so young though.” You told him.

“That doens’t mean I don’t see myself having a future with you.” Mark commented as he picked up the ball of compacted snow.

“Gosh, you’re so chessy. What next? Names for our kids?” You joke as you watch him place the ball on top of the largest one at his knees.

He winked at you once the snowman had his torso complete. “Already on it.”

Spring semester was spent planning for Mark’s graduation in the following year and getting the classes for your minor arranged. His parents invited you to go with them to Hawai’i which you politely declined, as you did not know much about the people and culture and did not have time to accurately research before going thanks to all the summer classes you were taking to ensure that you’d graduate on time.

You and Mark decided to live off campus for his last year in college and though it was inconvenient to have to cook your own meals and walk a little bit further to get to school, it was all worth it when you got to make the memories you did with him.

“So you just crack the egg and drop it in the pan?” He hesitated, the said egg hovering over the edge of the frying pan.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Mark, how many times do I have to tell you? You just crack it and let it fall into the pan. It’s not that hard.”

He mocked your expression after you said ‘it’s not that hard’ as he cracked the egg into the pan, yelping at the way the oil splashed up at him. You left to freshen up a bit, having been woken up by the ruckus Mark had made in the kitchen only to come back five minutes later to another bout of him yelling for help. “What now?”

“I, uhh, I think I burned the egg.” His face was tinged with shame as you came over to the stove, sliding the egg in question onto a plate before lifting its side to see that it was indeed burnt.

“I don’t know how you manage to burn an egg after I leave you for such a short amount of time.” You tell him as you pull another one out from the refrigerator. “Here, try again. You’re lucky it’s the weekend.”

“You’re not gonna let me stop until I’ve successfully cooked an egg, huh?” You shook your head to answer his question, causing Mark to let out a sigh before going to add a little more oil to the pan.

look time fly, we fly, changes come with time

Days like that were normal for the two of you, though more often than not, you chose to order food since Mark was clearly not very trustworthy in the kitchen and you weren’t all that better yourself.

Living with Mark was not always happy and fun, though. Sometimes the two of you fought and sometimes it was over the smallest things like how he didn’t put his clothes into his hamper after changing out of them or how you’d leave your belongings strewn about the apartment.

Being with him taught you that a relationship is a two-way thing. Everyone has their flaws and if you truly love someone, you’ll learn to work with them to get solve problems that arise or get around them.

Getting to live with Mark and see him everyday was certainly a lot more convenient, especially when both of you were swamped with finals and had little to no time to go out on an actual date. Falling asleep in each others arms and waking up to the sight of the other was enough for those times. In those mornings where you woke up before Mark and didn’t want to get out of bed just yet, you took the time to be thankful for the path of life you were on and how thankful you were to have met the boy in front of you.

It was moments like those that made it all worth it.

When Mark graduated in the following spring, you sat in the crowd alongside his parents, watching him and your past classmates walk across the stage and receive their diplomas.

“Ah, he looks just the same as when he graduated from high school.” His mother commented. She even pulled up his old pictures and showed them to you, making you laugh at how cute he was back then. You could hear his voice in your head, whining about how he’s not cute but you paid it no mind.

The rush of emotion you felt when the name ‘Mark Lee’ was called and he stepped out in his cap and gown was truly something else. You stood up and cheered alongside the rest of his friends who were seated around you, the bunch of you only getting louder when his head jerked in your direction and he smiled and waved to you all.

the reason why i can be fearless is because you’re looking at me with your two eyes

“That’s going to be you next year, you know.” Mark’s father stated nodding over to where Mark was playfully chest-bumping his fellow graduates. “Okay, well not like that, but you know what I mean.”

You let out a laugh as you watched Mark stumble and nearly fall. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Do you have any plans for summer, dear?” His mother inquired.

“I have a few classes from June through July but I believe I do not have anything for the latter half of June until school starts again in August.” You informed her.

“Would you like to come along with us to Paris then? We missed you greatly last year and felt you would have enjoyed the experience more than Mark did.” She explained as she pulled up more pictures of Mark though this time it was him in a botanically garden getting scared from all the bugs. “I’ll send this one to you.”

You thanked her with a smile on your face and graciously accepted her offer to travel with them to Paris. Mark was over the moon when he heard that you’d be going with them, especially since this was going to be the first time he’d be allowed to lead the meetings and events.

It felt like school hadn’t even finished from the way you went right back to work for your summer courses and Mark got to putting together his first few projects for the company. He was intent on showing the executives that he was a fully capable individual and was not trying to simple ride off of his parents achievements. You were proud of him for that.

By the time you all got to Paris, it felt like a much needed breath of fresh air from the constant hustle of school and work. One of the first places Mark took you to was one of the local night markets near the hotel you were staying at. You pulled out your light blue polaroid camera which Mark had gotten awfully used to within these past few years and took multiple pictures of him eating street food and walking around under the stringed lights.

i need you right here

“Oh, that fountain looks kinda cool.” He exclaimed, walking out of frame.

“Mark you can’t just do that when I’m about to take your pict-”

“Yeah yeah, you can take pictures here instead. It looks prettier.” You both paused to admire the sculpting of the stone and the way the water and the coins at the bottom of the fountain glittered under the night lights. Mark sat down at the edge of the fountain after a bit. “Here, you can take them now.”

You took a few before handing of the camera to him so he could take a few of you. “Have you ever thought that this is where we’d be after all this time?” He asked after giving the camera back to you and joining you next to the fountain. “Like, back when we were freshmen, we didn’t know where we’d be within the next few years and here we are, together, three years later.”

“I think you’re jet-lagged, babe, but yeah I see what you mean.” You agreed, falling into the rhythm of the way the water spilled over from the top tier into the lower ones and out from there into the base at the bottom. “We went from clueless freshmen to young adults breaking out into the real world.”

You watched as Mark dug around in his pocket, pulling out a single coin and enclosing it in a fist. “I wish for things to stay the same- no, for us to- wait, no, I wish for us to remain happy together while facing all the challenges that our lives have to offer us.” With that, he tossed the coin into the fountain and you both followed it as it sunk to the floor.

He pulled another coin out and offered it to you. “I wish…” you began, trailing off as you thought of what more you could possibly say, “I wish for us to stay together for as long as time allows and that we will get to watch each other grow and fulfill whatever plans that life has for us.”

As your coin hit the bottom, Mark pulled you in for a hug. “I really do love you, you know.”

“Yeah I know.” You hugged him back, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

“Look at me, babe.” He whispered, causing you to glance up at him. Whatever you were about to say was cut off by Mark’s lips against yours.

It felt like nothing else mattered at that moment. Nothing except your lips against his, his arms around you, your hearts and souls connecting as one.

we go up

[btsmosphere]

Crossfire | KTH

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Moodboard Masterlist

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 1.5k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: violence, swearing, interrogation, torture (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: okay, when I was dividing my chapters I didn’t really think about how long each part was, I just split them where it felt right. sooo I’ve ended up with this really short part, but as an apology for that I will be uploading the final part early, on Thursday instead of Sunday!!

Also if anyone is interested in checking out more of my work, I now have a masterlist up and I posted a halloween Jimin fic earlier this week - find it here

Taehyung closed his door behind him and leant against it, shutting his eyes and exhaling.

They had made it out of angel. Just.

Entering in a car, they raised no suspicion. He had been lying on the floor of the back seat with Jimin, three boys crammed in above him while Yoongi crouched in the boot. The base leader had agreed to wait for the car, saying it was expected, though they made sure the handful of guards all saw the driver as he was waved through, known as one of Shinhyuk’s.

Their modern-day trojan horse then opened, and as planned, the head of the base had placed the whole building in lockdown, pretending to be surprised that the bangtan boys were found inside. Thus, Shinhyuk had been locked in his office, and the guards sent to man his door were all defects too, doing nothing while their boss pounded on the door, all in pretence of protecting him.

Of the guards they passed, only about half were still under Shinhyuk’s thumb, and they fought their way through with ease, all six of them come to rescue their brother.

Eventually, they were all positioned as lookouts while Jin and Jimin fetched the younger, but Shinhyuk had overridden the system and let himself out before they had left the final door.

In the end, they were in a standoff as Yoongi frantically hacked through the last code lock to freedom, hopefully flooding their system with enough malware to keep Shinhyuk occupied for some time, even if they hadn’t taken him down.

It had been a close one, but they made it. They always did.

Opening his eyes again, he let himself dwell on what was ahead instead. The only light in the house filtered underneath the bedroom door, so he climbed the stairs to greet you with a smile on his face.

But the room was empty.

“Y/N?” he yelled, spinning around.

Next he ran to the bathroom, pounding on the door, but it fell open straight away. It was unlocked, empty and dark.

Stumbling back out onto the landing, he tugged a hand through his hair. Already, his breathing was accelerating and he spun around again, eyes looking left and right as though you might suddenly jump out at him.

“Y/N?” he cried, feet pounding down the stairs.

He tore through the downstairs space, finding it equally abandoned.

His thoughts were tripping over each other as he stood in the centre of the living room, cold terror pulsing through his veins. Fumbling hands reached for his phone and shakily he pulled up Namjoon’s contact.

“She’s gone.”

You flinched as soon as your eyes cracked open. Only a flickering yellow light lit the room, but you had just surfaced from complete darkness. Swallowing, you found your throat dry, your head throbbing.

Trying to stretch your aching shoulders, nothing budged. Your hands were fastened behind you with rough and unyielding rope, pulling your shoulders painfully against the back of a chair. Warm liquid had soaked the top of your sleeve.

“Oh good.”

A rough voice broke through your haze of pain and you opened your eyes again.

In the middle of the room stood a stocky, balding man, dressed in a smart black shirt though it was rumpled. But it wasn’t the sight of him that made you gasp. You were tied up in the middle of your old living room.

The space was the same, except guns lay on the coffee table and duffel bags were piled up in one corner. Not to mention the two burly guards standing at either corner.

“So you’re the girl that’s been causing such a fuss,” the man who must be Shinhyuk rose from your dad’s tatty sofa and strode towards you, “I must say I’m impressed. Jintao, or should I say, Jake, assured me he knew you from college, and knew where you might run.

“We never expected this. Running off to join bangtan? But I suppose you had fun while your father worried sick about you, didn’t you, little slut.”

You could do nothing but stare down at Shinhyuk’s smart shoes. Dread had joined the pain filling your body.

“I was impressed that your little friends were able to escape me earlier,” he told you. Your head rose a little, sighing in relief as you heard they had made it out, “but I wasn’t worried. Now I have you to bring them back in.”

Chewing your lip, you prayed they wouldn’t come.

“Now,” Shinhyuk suddenly bent down, his hand gripping your cheeks harshly while you threw your head about, trying to throw him off. He just laughed, showing his teeth, “your lovely dad’s on the way to see you right now. And it’ll be a much sweeter reunion if I can show him to you unharmed.”

Your blood ran cold, still jerking away from his touch.

“And once your boyfriends get here, I won’t sentence you as badly if you just answer some questions I have.”

Wolfishly, he grinned, finally releasing you from his grimy fingers. In your chest, your heart thudded against your ribcage as you wondered what you could do.

“I want you to tell me where their properties are.”

Not meeting his eyes, you stayed silent.

Tutting, he crossed the room back to you, hand meeting your cheek with a loud slap.

Simply staring at you, he waited as you breathed in and out, reeling from the hit.

“Fine, let’s say you don’t know,” he started up again, “let’s try something else. Are any other members of my army spies for you?”

You held your tongue, and once again were met with the palm of his hand.

“How brave you are, protecting them,” he snarled, voice deadlier by the second, “if I don’t have some answers by the time your father arrives, he’s going to feel what you are, and more. Try again.”

Helplessly, you shook your head. This time, he punched you and you felt the harsh cut of his ring into your temple, tears springing to your eyes and you let your head fall to the side, breathing heavily.

Just then, another sound met your ears.

Shinhyuk spun towards the noise whereas you didn’t move. Outside, on the side where you knew the front of the apartment to be, came a grunt and a thud. Then another, followed by silence.

Striding over to the corner where a guard stood, Shinhyuk held his hand out and gestured for something. The guard handed over a black receiver, which Shinhyuk spoke into.

“What’s going on out there? Lee? Park?”

“Two of the bangtan boys, boss, they came like you said. We’ve got ‘em on the floor.”

A sadistic smile crossed Shinhyuk’s face.

“Put them in the kitchen. I’ll deal with them in a bit.”

“Copy that,” the voice came from the other end, and crackled off.

Heart sinking to your stomach, you watched Shinhyuk approach you again with a proud smirk. Outside, you heard the front door creak open in the way it always did, before slamming shut.

“You don’t have long, sweetie,” Shinhyuk’s words made your stomach churn, “who are the spies?”

“You really don’t trust your men, do you?” you finally spoke up, already knowing it unwise. But what did you have to lose? Either your father or your friends were going to get hurt and you were panicking.

“Little bitch-“

A sharp kick landed on your shin, which was tied flush against the chair leg and took the full force. You had to bite your lip to contain your cry.

“That’s it,” he grinned, “let your friends hear you.”

Another slap.

By now your eyes were watering, face cut and smarting, but you pressed your lips together.

Your eyes had been closed, anticipating the next strike, but nothing came. Lifting your head again, you found Shinhyuk with his back to you. When he turned around, you saw he held a knife, lifting a lighter up to its edge and flicking it open, flame leaping up and dancing along the blade.

Terrified, you watched the orange glimmer reflecting in his eye as he walked towards you.

“One more chance,” he gave you the ultimatum, but you already knew your answer.

Gulping, you looked him straight in the eye, desperate not to crack. But his mouth turned to a snarl when he was faced with silence, and he jammed the lighter into your arm.

You choked on your cry, determined not to make a sound, but Shinhyuk wasn’t playing around. The hot blade pierced your arm, and you couldn’t stop it as a scream ripped from your throat, drawn out as he dragged it down, leaving you gasping.

And then several things happened at once.

“Boss!” you heard Jake – Jintao – shout from the back of the apartment.

Shinhyuk turned to the sound.

Both doors into the room burst open.

The guards raised their guns.

And there, weapons cocked and ready to face them, stood five bangtan boys.

And they were pissed as hell.

Stay tuned and reblog! Comment or message me to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @kim-ji-hyeons-world​ @preciouschimine​ @just-a-dorito​ @ireallylikefoodandyoutube​ @tatastaetaemainblog​ @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @veronawrites​ @ironica-m8​ @min-shadow​ @harleygirl808 @aianloveseven​ @rjsmochii​ @vantooru​ @un2-verse​ @pimentelssmile @moonlight-mochi​ @anonymousnerd​ @kagami-s-void​ @weasleyswizarding-wheezes​ @norathewitch​

[lordabovehelpme]

Hey Lordy I hope you’re enjoying your vacation!❤️ I was wondering if in the future you’ll write a flashback in your Days Filled with Love series to their wedding day? Knowing you, it would be the most adorable wedding ever and I’d LOVE to see that😘 Have a fantastic day! I send u tons of hugs!!!💖

Day of Remembrance - Din Djarin x Reader

Moodboard by the amazing @jedi-jesi

A/n: JESIIIIII!!!! NOOO THIS IS TOO CUTE. I LOVE THIS IDEA. I SAW YOU SENT THIS IN AND SQUEALED. HOPEFULLY THIS LIVES UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS!!! LOVE YA DARLING.

So this is the next chapter to my days with love series so I would highly recommend reading the other chapters first.

You can find the first part here :)

Also, I have no idea what actual mandalorian weddings are like, so please don’t comment “that’s incorrect” mostly becuase you would be right. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay all five are down and asleep.” Walking into the living room, you brush your hands on your skirt. Your husband sits on the couch, cleaning one of his blasters.

At the sound of your voice his helmet lifts to meet your gaze. When he sets the weapon down, you smile and rush to sit on his thighs.

“Well hello to you too.” Instantly, his hands latch to your sides and give you a playful squeeze.

Frowning, you tap the beskar helmet. “Why are you still wearing this?”

“I was waiting for you to come take it off me.”

Biting your lip, you grab both sides of his helmet and reveal his face to your home. When it reaches his forehead you stop and admire him. Big brown eyes stare at you with so much love it makes you dizzy. A small smile makes his lips slightly upturn and his cheeks are a little prickly.

Not being able to stop yourself, you press your lips to his own. “You’re so handsome.”

“Mmh.” Pulling away from you his eyes sparkle with lust. “You say that everytime.”

Scoffing, you playfully bat his shoulder. “No I don't! And even if I do, it is the truth.”

He chuckles and grabs his helmet, quietly setting it down besides you two. “You remember how that was the first thing you said to me on our wedding night?”

Placing a finger on your chin, you recall the eventful day, and night, of your wedding. “Wait, you’re right! Maker, I could have said anything else.” Shaking your head you bashfully tuck your head into his chest.

Two arms wrap around your back and rub circles into your sore muscles. “I wouldn’t have had it any different.”

***

A shiver runs down his spine as your fingers grasp the sides of his helmet. His hands rise to cover your own, neither pushing you away nor helping you. Uneasy, yet more excited than he’d ever been before.

Slowly, painfully slow, you start to lift his helmet from his head. Will you like him? WIll you think he’s ugly? Will this change how you see him?

As his helmet is fully pulled off he scans your face, searching for disgust and revoltance.

“Din…” Your voice is soft and gentle, wavering under the intense emotion of the moment. Letting the helmet drop to the ground, one of your hands moves to cup his cheek.

He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and leans into your touch, a gesture that happens frequently. However, usually the extra weight of his helmet falls into your hand, but now… now it’s just him.

“You’re so handsome.” A large smile breaks onto your face and your eyes become watery. His stomach erupts in sparks, relieved that you haven’t rejected him. Your other hand rises to grasp the other side of his head, fingers tracing his features.

A smile of his own brightens his features and his chest swells with adoration.

His wife finds him handsome.

His wife.

Leaning down, he presses his forehead against your own. Slowly, he kisses each of your palms, as if trying to memorize every single inch of them.

“Kiss me?” He nearly melts at your request. Meeting your gaze he finds that words no longer form on his tongue. All he can do is close his eyes and press his lips upon your own.

Neither of you move, lips held against each other, perfectly content in the moment. He can’t even form a thought right now, not a single word pops into his head. It’s like he's become sedated with your touch.

One of his hands rests on your hip and the other grabs your cheek. You lean into him and start moving your lips against his. Groaning, he squeezes your side and starts to mirror your actions.

He can feel your smile as you grab his bottom lip, carefully biting it. His brain short circuits and he freezes. One of your hands trails around his neck and up into his hair. Fingers weave through the curls at the back of his head and slightly pull.

What once was a tender moment has turned into a hot passionate haze.

Breaking from your mouth, he attacks your neck. Latching onto your skin he groans at your taste. So sweet, he wants to tell you. However, it seems you’ve taken his speech when you put him under your spell.

“Din.” Your voice is hushed and breathy. He smiles himself when you lean your head, giving him more access to your addicting flesh.

Deciding that he needs air, he reluctantly pulls away from you. Both your chests move up and down as you suck in breaths.

Finally, he seems to have regained enough composure to form thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Eagerly, his fingertips trail across your covered thigh.

“Never been more sure in my entire life.”

Smirking, he grabs your hips and lifts you up, only to throw you on the bed. Throwing his armor off as fast as he can, he crawls on top of you. “Good.” He whispers before mashing his lips upon your own.

***

The fireplace crackles and pops as it emits heat into your living room. Your head rests on his chest while his fingers rub away your stress.

Giggling you look up at him, “You wanna know my favorite part of our wedding?”

A hum of approval rumbles through his body to your own.

Laughing now, you shake your head. He looks down at you and smiles, finding your laugh contagious.

“What?”

“Remember how… how bad your hands were shaking?” You barely get the question out through your giggles.

Throwing his head back he groans, “I thought you didn’t notice.”

Now you really laugh hard.

***

Cara smiles at you from the small crowd facing you and Din. In her arms you can see Grogu squirm and point at you two.

The armorer nods at Din and he is presented with a ring. Not just any ring though. A ring made to perfectly fit your finger. Smiling you look at the missing piece of his armor. He had melted down one of his shoulder pieces to forge you a ring.

This is one of the things you love most about mandalorian culture, how these violent warriors hold so much sentimental value in things. He had insisted on not buying you a ring like other poor excuses of men and making you one, just as other mandalorians do.

He had spent hours and days on your ring, not settling until it was perfect. The worst of it though was how he wouldn't let you even peek at it.

You watch as he grabs the ring before lifting your hand. It’s a simple band of beskar, but the fact that he wore that beskar for so many years, then melted it down for you, makes your heart swell and your eyes watery.

His helmet tilts to look at you. A crack comes from his vocoder that you recognize as his breath. A hushed “I love you” quietly travels to your ears, and only your ears. Smiling, you softly utter the words back to him.

Looking down, you watch as he brings the ring to your finger. However, his hands shake and fumble. Slowly, he shakily slides the ring down your finger, letting it rest on the base. But his hand remains clutching your own, not wanting to let go.

People cry out with glee and clap as the armourer announces your names. Albeit, your eyes can’t leave your conjoined hands, even as he leans down and presses your foreheads together.

***

“Oh come on, it was cute!” Grabbing his cheeks you bring him to face you.

“It was embarrassing.”

Giggling you pepper his face with kisses. “Who knew I could make the strong mandalorian shake?”

His eyes stare at you with a haze you know too well. “I’ll make you shake.”

A small yelp escapes your lips as he twists you under him, encompassing your body beneath his own. He dives in and latches onto your neck, sucking and biting on already formed bruises. You giggle as his scruff tickles your skin.

“Don’t laugh, this is serious.” The words mean nothing as he chuckles himself.

“I can’t help it! I love you too much.”

He smiles and trails kisses all the way to your mouth. However, he just hovers over your own, millimeters apart. “Why did you stop?”

Opening his eyes, he looks at you with a soft gaze. “I’m so happy you married me.”

Your own face lights up with a megawatt smile and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into your kiss. “I’m happy I married you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Part: Family Day 

Well there it is. Again, please don’t comment saying how I wrote the wedding wrong. Becuase I really have no idea what they usually are like. The only weddings I have been in are my southern cousisns. So I’m pretty sure there won’t be any bbq at their weddings. Haha.

Anyway, feedback is always appreciated! 

Love you guys, Lordy :) 

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi

If you want to be added/ removed from my taglist, please just give me a holler :) 

[awackyphdinadorkable]

Cherik Moodboard - Casino AU

As Sebastian Shaw’s security manager at the Hellfire Casino, Erik has seen people gamble their lives away for just another roll of the dice or because they foolishly believe that no one can beat the cards they have in hand. As a result, he never tries his luck with the slot machines or by playing poker. After all, Erik knows the house always wins.

When Azazel and the others inform him that they have taken someone who supposedly cheated at the poker table, Erik is shocked to see the one gambler he ever played against - and lost to - roughened up in the basement.

“Charles?”

Erik makes arrangements for the man’s release. After all, Charles broke no rules by using his innate abilities as a telepath against human scum. Things are only different once you bet among your own kind, the mutants. At least those are the rules in the Hellfire Casino. And Erik enforces those rules with the same iron-clad fist with which he can control metal.

Erik still can’t believe it, though. He thought he’d never see Charles again in a lifetime.

“Vice versa,” the telepath assures him as Erik takes him to his apartment to allow Charles to clean himself up after Azazel and the rest went a bit too roughly on him for supposed cheating. But leave it to Charles to “forget” to tell them that he is a telepath and sport that ridiculous smile even with a split lip.

They met about five years ago, at some bar downtown. Erik only ever went there to get away from Shaw for a while, after the two winded up with an argument about how to handle the “mutant question”. And out of nowhere, Charles sat down next to him and wanted to convince Erik to buy him a drink. And that even though Erik made it very clear that he was not searching for company of whatever kind. But Charles kept at it, arguing about how this was his first time in the city, “finally free, for a couple of days” and how he wanted the “whole experience”.

Long story short, Erik didn’t wake up in his apartment the next morning, and he was not alone in bed. Because apparently, he dared to gamble, and of course, he lost to a gambler. You always lose when it comes to gamblers, one of the first rules you learn in the business, and yet, Erik forgot it when he looked into those big blue eyes, full of hope.

It was a blissful time, against all odds. Room service, playing chess, talking about everything and nothing, and enjoying a seemingly endless appetite for one another over and over again. Charles fascinated him in ways Erik couldn’t put into words even now. There was something mysterious about him, just like it is now. The perfect poker face.

The only thing Erik knows about Charles is his dream and how it came into existence. Charles told him that much the morning he woke up, sitting on the window sill, watching the lights of the casinos fade in the light of dawn. Charles started playing poker “professionally” when he was still a child. He helped his stepfather keep the family estate. Because Kurt Marko was about as good at playing poker as he was raising his son and his stepson. Young Charles had spent numerous nights in the room next to where his stepfather invited wealthy businessmen to gamble with him, forced to look into their minds and learn the game. Charles only ever planted the “inspiration” for his stepfather to raise the stakes or fold, but never told him that he was silently watching on with his telepathy.

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to know that there was a sure way to win. Or else he would have kept at it even more.”

When Kurt Marko passed away, Charles hoped he’d finally gained his freedom, but no such luck. His stepbrother had since learned of his abilities and just raised the stakes. As the oldest, he was in charge, and Charles would only inherit once he was 21. And so, Charles was forced to play along, continue the game without a chance to fold and start over new. That was when he got dragged to the casinos by his older brother, or rather, to tell him what to do, sitting behind the dumpsters while Cain pretended to be the ace at the poker table.

The night he and Erik ended up in bed together was the time Charles ran away from home. Because his brother got an “inspiration” to pursue his dream of becoming a soldier and join the military. Charles just wanted to wait until Cain was gone, so he wouldn’t have a chance to put the family estate on the line at a last round of poker, as he had threatened to do if Charles did not oblige.

“He wanted to go to the military long before he started gambling. It’s merely a push. At least that’s the more comforting thing to think… that we both will be free afterwards.”

Charles came to the city to get a bit of starter money and then pick up his education again. Genetics, Erik learned, because “mutations are groovy”, apparently. Thus, the trip to the city was a way of saying goodbye for Charles. And so, when Erik and he left the hotel room later on, they understood that it was not just a goodbye to the city but to each other as well.

But now, five years later, Charles is back at gambling - and Erik can’t understand why. He thought Charles wanted to make something out of himself, become a teacher, do some good in the world. And yet, here he is, sold on the belief that he can win against the house. Shaw’s house, no less.

“Why are you back, Charles?”

“It’s a free country, you know?”

Still that same smile, still that same attitude. Erik knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but he is shocked. He thought that given the chance, Charles would be smart enough not to try bet away his freedom again.

“I mean it,” Erik insists. It’s not like they are a couple or anything. They winded up having sex - lots of sex - over a weekend five years ago. Erik knows Charles doesn’t owe him explanation the same way he knows it’s not his place to lecture him. And yet, he can’t help himself. Because no small part of him had hoped that Charles would gain his freedom and would keep it.

But it seems that the game’s already swallowed him and Erik just didn’t see the signs.

“I mean it, too, Erik. You of all people should know what a gambler would do in the city this time of the year.”

“You want to take part in Shaw’s tournament.”

Charles just laughs at him, brighter than he should after delivering such news. “And we have a winner!”

Erik can’t understand any of this. Charles is so clever, so kind-hearted, and yet, he sounds like one of the gamblers he watches throwing their lives away as they roll the dice, day in, day out.

Even the short time with him five years ago assured Erik that Charles was an inherently good person, which is rare enough, especially in this kind of domain. While Charles has a wicked side to him, his intentions always come from a good place. At least that was the impression Erik was most sure of by the time they bid farewell. A telepath who spends a weekend with a stranger, for casual sex only, only to then hold the stranger close as he cries for the mother and father he lost, though he didn’t allow those tears for so many years? Such a man can’t be a bad person, can he?

And even if not, Charles is clever. And so he should know that there is no way he can win a tournament in the Hellfire Casino, even less so when Sebastian Shaw himself is playing. Charles won those games because he was playing against humans, people without telepathy. Which makes it not that much of a great gamble beside the danger of being discovered. But things are different from Shaw’s internal tournaments, hosted specifically for mutants and thus adapted to “make them all equal” at the table.

But Charles doesn’t seem to care much, no matter what Erik tells him.

“I thought you wanted to finish up school and become a teacher.”

Charles shrugs. “Been there, done that. You can call me Professor, by the way.”

“Then why would you be here for Shaw’s tournament? If you have your professorship, if you are a teacher?” Erik demands to know. “I thought that was your dream.”

“Dreams change.”

“When did yours change?” Erik wants to know.

Charles just smlies at him, brighter than he should have any business smiling. “Isn’t that obvious? The day I met you, of course.”

“What did that change?”

“Wrong question. Who changed my dream is the appropriate question,” Charles lectures him. “and the answer to that is just as simple: You.”

“Me?”

“Before I met you, I thought I was the only one, I told you. Don’t you remember? I thought I was the only one with such abilities. The dream I had before, of teaching, getting out gambling, it was just about my life, but after I realized that there is people like us out there… I had to raise the stakes. I want to build a school for the likes of us. To train together, grow together. But you know how it is… dreams cost money.”

Erik still tries to wrap his head around what he is hearing. “I thought you prevented Cain from gambling the estate away.”

“I did, but it turned out that Kurt initially used the money out of my inheritance to gamble with his friends. Some loophole in the contract. And he went to their places, so I didn’t know. It was never on his mind. He didn’t care. By the time I wanted to open up the treasure chest, there was a big nothing in there. I have the estate, but I have no means to make it a school. And for what I have in mind, I don’t get federal funding. So… I have to get the money somehow.”

“And so you think winning it by gamble is the honorable solution?”

“In my experience, the people running casinos are no angels. And even if they weren’t… I’d find it about just right that somoene like Sebastian Shaw would come to fund my school. After all, he is such big talk about the mutant question, right?”

“Shaw’s rules will make it impossible for you to use your telepathy. He’s never lost in his entire life,” Erik warns him.

“Well, he will lose to me. It will be a valuable lesson to him.”

“Charles.”

“And it may be one for you as well.”

Erik frowns. “What now?”

“Shaw is not invincible. Even if he likens himself to be one, he is not a god. His opinions are not absoulte. What he thinks about mutantkind doesn’t have to be absolute either. And if you asked me, there is more than just one shady thing about a man who keeps a telepath in his company but is too afraid to take off his helmet in the presence of one. I told you as much already five years ago. It seems I failed to teach you that lesson back then.”

“That man took me in. He raised me as his own son after my mom died. He made me his right-hand man. He gave me a purpose.”

“When it comes to Shaw, you have a perfect poker face, because you believe in the cards Shaw handed to you all those years ago. But once you are ready, open your eyes and think deep if those cards are not biased in any way.”

“Shaw would never…”

“Wouldn’t he? You know, you say that about a guy who runs a casino.”

“And you are a gambler,” Erik scoffs.

“And you are worth more than being some lackey to watch the security cameras for a guy whose only intentions are power and more power, with his means of acquiring it being money and more money.”

“And you just want money.”

“I want money to build a future. Shaw wants money to destroy one,” Charles tells him. “And even if all of that were untrue, you can trust me on that one thing, gambler now or not.”

“Which would be?”

“I am here not just for my dream, I am here for yours, too. So you may choose your own future instead of just following Shaw’s lead. It’s a free country, I told you. I will show you. Because I am a gambler at heart.”

Charles excuses himself shortly thereafter and is gone before Erik can come up with a great rebuttal. What’s it to him anyway? Fine, the two were involved for a short amount of time, and Charles was on his mind more than any other fling he’s ever had since, but Erik knows he can rely on Shaw. That man was him like a father. And even if he does not always agree with the methods, Erik knows Shaw is right about how mutants are superior and have to fight for it.

Much to his dismay, Charles winds up at the tournament despite his warnings, full of himself and absolutely sure that even Sebastian Shaw can’t beat him, even as they put the collar on him to supress his telepathy, even as he sits down at the poker table with the likes he wanted to get away from as he watched dawn wash over the city lights five years ago.

To his credit, Charles keeps winning the first rounds. No less did he expect. Charles spent more time in casinos than most men twice his age have in their entire lives. For better or worse, Charles has played poker for almost all of his lifes, trying to beat the odds. Erik just cannot understand why Charles chose this tournament, why he chose such a risky game. There are other tournaments, against humans, that he could have won in a landslide.

Instead, he is here, back in the city, his eyes always set on the man sitting next to Erik, watching, laughing, enjoying himself, Sebastian Shaw. The man who saved him, the man who gave him purpose, who handed him a deck of cards and told him to shuffle.

For so many years, Erik watched people gamble, gamble their lives away. And so he knows they aren’t to be trusted. People who have something worth keeping shouldn’t be that foolish to give it all away. If it’s worth keeping, you’d have no reason to put it on the line. It should be enough.

Then why does he want to trust the gambler smugly grinning at him whenever he wins another round, gets one step closer to Shaw’s table? And why do Shaw’s words suddenly sound so different in his ears, when he was so sure that they were the groundwork not just for his future but that of mutantkind?

Why does he want Charles to win? After all, Erik knows that the house always wins. The odd thing though is that Erik is suddenly no longer sure whether he wants the house to win…

[lumosandnoxwriting]

MADS

MADS

MADS

CONGRATSSSSS ON THE MILESTONEEEE MWAHHH!!!

you deserve this sm :3 !!!!!

could i ask for a ✨ for mmm first time with fred? maybe you could add innocence/corruption kink, if you're comfortable with that? and can i ask for a 🌸 for my fic "never be so kind you forget to be clever"? thank you!!! i absolutely love you so much!!!!

here's a cute lil gif!!!

Jess!! thank you so much, mwah! I’m going to drop your moodboard first and then your headcanon will be under it with a readmore!!

my follower celebration is now over, I’m just finishing up the rest of the asks in my inbox! thank you to everyone who participated!

🌸 - never be so kind you forget to be clever

under the cut there will be NSFW content minors, DNI! (includes sex, fingering, innocence kink, corruption kink!)

✨ - First Time with Fred

When Y/N and Fred first started dating it was no secret that Fred was more experienced than her

Even though they’d been out of Hogwarts for nearly a year when they started dating Y/N still hadn’t gone all the way with anyone

And it’s not that she didn't want to, she just wanted to wait for the right person

Fred had secretly hoped he’d be that person, but he never pushed Y/N into doing anything other than making out and some light petting under their clothes

But every breathy moan she’d let out as Fred massaged her breasts or rubbed her slit through her panties would drive him wild, and the knowledge that he was the one making her feel like that for the first time was enough to get him hard in his trousers

So one evening when they’re laying in Fred’s bed, and Y/N pulls away, looking up at Fred with her big doe eyes, her lips red and puffy from his mouth his cock is already starting to harden before she even asks the question burning the tip of her tongue.

“I’m ready, Freddie. I’m ready to, you know. I wanna, with you.”

Fred’s cock twitches in his trousers and he immediately knows what she’s talking about, but he needs to hear her say it.

“You wanna do what, sweetheart? You gotta tell me, use your words.”

The sight of Y/N’s face heating up as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth turns him on endlessly, and it takes all of Fred’s willpower not to reach down and start palming himself.

“I, I want you to fuck me. Please, Fred. I want you to be the one who takes my flower.”

Fred can’t help but groan and he leans in to kiss Y/N slowly. “of course I can do that for you, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, make you feel good.”

Naturally Fred takes the lead, undressing them both slowly, his lips always touching some part of Y/N, only leaving so he can whisper words of praise to her. Telling her what a good girl she is and how beautiful she is.

Once they’re both naked Fred has Y/N lay on her back against the pillows, her legs spread wide as he lays next to her on his side. 

He’d start my slowly trailing a hand down her torso, his lips pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder as he watches goosebumps erupt from his gentle touch.

Fred would be sure to pause at her breasts, letting his hands cup them gently as his thumbs brush over her nipples gingerly.

The noises coming out of her mouth as someone touches her there for the first time drive Fred mad, and he keeps moving his hand down, desperate to touch her sopping cunt for the first time. 

“Alright, love, I’ve gotta get you ready for me okay? Since your pretty little pussy is untouched I’m going to need to stretch it out a bit so I can fit inside of you. Is that alright?”

Y/N nods, whining as Fred’s fingers rub across her slit. “Yes, that's okay Freddie. I trust you.”

Fred starts slowly, just pressing his index finger against Y/N’s slit, slowly moving it through her wet fold and up towards her clit, just lightly circling the sensitive bud. 

“This right here is your clit, sweetheart. Have you ever touched it before?” Fred’s cock twitches when Y/N shakes her head, and he surprises a groan. “It’s very sensitive, and touching it or rubbing it will help you have an orgasm.”

Y/N gasps as Fred starts to rub slow circles on her clit, electric shocks of pleasure radiating through her cunt as her hips bear down onto his touch. “Oh Freddie! I like it, I like it when you touch my clit.”

Fred can’t help but rut against her thigh, and he drags his finger through her folds towards her entrance, wanting to go slow, but also desperately needing to feel her cunt wrapped around him. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m going to put my fingers inside of you now, okay? Let me know if it hurts at all and I’ll stop, okay?”

When Y/N gives Fred the go ahead he slowly slips his first finger inside of her, just slowly moving the digit as she adjusts to having something inside of her. 

Fred opens Y/N up for him slowly, making sure to talk to her the whole time, explaining what he’s doing. When he finally gets two fingers into her he crooks his fingers, and Fred swears he could cum from the noise she made as her g-spot was stimulated for the first time alone. 

Once Fred has three fingers inside of Y/N and she’s rocking back against his hand, begging him for more he feels comfortable enough to move to the next step, and he slowly pulls his fingers out of her, cleaning them off with his tongue before he situates himself between her spread legs. 

“Alright sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you now, yeah? Been such a good girl for me, helping me get you ready for my cock. I’m gonna go slow, okay? And if at anytime you want me to stop just say Niffler and I will, okay?”

“Okay,” Y/N pants, making grabby hands at Fred. She sighs in relief when he grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers, pressing their hands against the bed above her head. “Please, Fred. I need your cock, need you to fuck me.”

Fred pushes into Y/N slowly, watching her face for any signs of pain as he moves. He slides into her inch by inch, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze each time he slips in deeper. After a few minutes Fred is buried inside of Y/N completely, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself from cumming at the feeling of her tight cunt squeezing him. 

“Feels so good, Freddie, please. Need you to move,” Y/N begs as the slight pain she’d felt starts to turn to pleasure. She starts to bear her hips down against Fred, her walls fluttering around his cock. “Feel so full Freddie, love it. Love having you inside of me.”

“Such a dirty girl,” Fred teases as he starts to move his hips, bringing a hand down to rub slow circles on Y/N’s clit. “Where did my innocent angel go? Hm? You learn how to take one cock and suddenly you’re a little whore.”

Y/N moans at Fred’s words as he starts to fuck her a bit quicker, her hips moving in time with his thrusts. She can already feel an orgasm building in her core and she squeezes Fred’s hand. “Please, Freddie. Wanna cum.”

“God sweetheart, I turned you into my little cock whore, didn’t I? You’re gonna want my cock stuffed inside of you all the time now, aren’t you?” Fred groans, picking up the pace of his circles on her clit. 

“Yes, Freddie. Such a dirty girl for you. ‘M your d-dirty little cock whore now.”

Hearing Y/N talk so lewdly and knowing he was the one that brought it out in her pushes Fred over the edge, and Y/N’s name leaves his mouth as he cums, his cock twitching inside of her as pleasure washes over him. 

He keeps thrusting his hips through his orgasm, rubbing harsh circles on Y/N’s clit to help bring her to her own orgasm. 

The feeling of Fred releasing inside of her mixed with the movements of his hand on her clit pushes Y/N over the edge, and her whole body trembles as a cry rips from her throat, feelings of intense pleasure she’s never felt before washing over her. 

Fred carefully pulls out of Y/N as she recovers from her high, leaving her on the bed for a moment to head to the bathroom so he can run a bath for the both of them

He presses kisses all over her face as he carries her into the bathroom, whispering about what a good girl she was for him. 

As they lay in the bath together, Fred rubbing Y/N’s back as she rests against his chest she looks up at him, a small grin on her face. 

“So, when can we do that again?”

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Finger Painting

One shot

This is for one of my most favourite writer's challenge! My one-shot entry for @jtargaryen18 writing challenge for her and Chris Evans' birthday month 😄

Description - It's been a month since the reader (Y/N) and Chris Evans have started dating. As the reader is plump around the stomach and the hips, she feels awkward having sex with Chris and so, has been putting it off. But what happens when Chris walks in on her "finger painting"?

Warning - Female masturbation, mentions of porn

Only 18+ proceed!

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

Moodboard is by the wonderful @donutloverxo ! Show her some love people 🥰

1 month, 4 days, 2 hours and 26 minutes ago, your dreams had come true. You had started dating Chris Evans! The two of you had met at an axe-throwing club, where you worked. Chris had failed to hit the axe on the wooden board, multiple times. After his first few futile attempts, his group of friends had started teasing him relentlessly, which had further made him anxious.

You had seen him fidgeting with his hands, his breaths shallow as he kept running his hands through his hair. You recognised the signs of anxiety when you saw them, being a victim of anxiety bouts yourself. That's enough, you had decided and taken it upon yourself to share some tips. Chris had followed your instructions and hit his mark, successfully silencing his friends.

After then, he had visited the club almost every week for 5 months. He often offered to buy you a cup of coffee "in exchange for sharing your wise axe-throwing wisdom" he had put it. Putting your anxiety at bay, you had finally given in.

You smiled remembering the coffee-date. It was a simple under $20 date but it had been full of priceless, magical moments. The warm coffee in your hands, soft and crunchy chocolate chip cookies, slow walk under the gorgeous yellow and orange autumn trees, and a lifetime worth of conversations to keep you both company.

After a few more of such simple dates, Chris had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. Still high from the magical date, you had agreed without a second thought.

What you didn't realise was that while dating Chris was a dream come true, it was also as if one of your worst nightmares had come alive.

You found yourself constantly wondering how can someone like him date someone like you?! While you were sure Chris was sculpted by Michelangelo himself, on the other hand, you knew that you were the inspiration for the Michelin tire mascot. And so, even after dating him for 1 month, 4 days, 2 hours and 45 minutes, you still couldn't muster the strength to get physical with him.

While Chris hadn't made any moves to get intimate with you, you knew time would come wherein you would have to either talk to him about it, or get naked in front of him. You didn't like either of those prospects.

Sighing, you laid down on your bed, feeling down after a long day at work. You needed to make yourself feel good. You needed a release.

As you prepared for your bath, you heard your mobile ring. "Hey baby," Chris' voice sounded cheerful on the other end of the call, "wanna watch a movie tonight?"

"Hey Chris, I am too tired. I think I will just go to bed."

"Awww. Are you going to sleep already? Did you eat?" he inquired.

"I was actually about to take a bath, then eat," you replied.

"You sound so stressed baby. Why don't you do some finger painting? I am sure that will make you feel better," Chris suggested.

You have no idea, you thought. "Yeah that's a good suggestion. I will do that."

"You should. I bet they are masterpieces," he said, subtly expressing his desire to view her finger paintings, again.

"Hehe yeah," you laughed awkwardly, "I got to go now. Will take to you tomorrow, 'kay?" you said, eager to cut the call.

"Mmm okay. Take care of yourself baby," said Chris.

Chris found it weird that you had never shown him any of your paintings. Plus, you also avoided the question or were quick to change the topic. With curiosity getting better of him, he decided to head for your place, picking up wine, flowers and chocolates along the way.

After the long bath, you laid on the bed. Legs parted, your left hand immediately went to your bare sex, foregoing all the formality with your breasts. Your right hand browsed through Chris' video interviews on your mobile phone. While porn had worked well for you earlier, it just wasn't good enough anymore. You didn't find those naked, muscular men attractive now.

Selecting your favourite video interview of Chris, you played it on your speaker. His deep and strong voice blared on the loudest volume, while his bearded face, and a tight tshirt hugging his muscles filled your smartphone screen. You were already getting wet, your fingers easily diving through your folds. Time to do some finger painting.

When Chris reached your apartment, he heard a muffled male voice through the door. He tried the broken doorbell and when you didn't answer his knocks, he used the spare key hidden under the welcome mat to enter.

At first, he was surprised to hear a male voice talking on the speaker. He thought maybe you were listening to a podcast. But there was something familiar about the voice...

After a moment, realisation struck! You were watching his interview! Aaawww which meant you were missing him. Good thing he came down to pamper you.

Wishing to surprise you, he sneaked around the living room and entered the kitchen, only to find it empty. Then he heard a small moan from your bedroom. He carefully entered through the ajar door and found one of the most sexiest sights in front of him.

You were sprawled on the bed, your back arched just the tiniest bit as you rapidly thrusted 2 fingers inside of you, with your other hand fondling your bundle of nerves. He raised his eyebrows and smirked, finally understanding the meaning behind finger painting.

He slowly started rubbing his growing erection as you neared your release. You ended your ministrations with an exclamation, your body hitting the mattress as relaxation flooded through you. A peaceful smile crept up on your face, as you felt your release seeping between your thighs.

You screamed with shock as 200 pounds of drop-dead-gorgeous landed on top of you. 2 twinkling eyes, filled with lust and a cocky smirk flashed above you. "Honey, if this is what you call finger painting, then I would love to dip my brush in your paints," Chris said right before he captured your lips with his.

That was it. All it took was a hungry, sexual and passionate kiss to drive away all of your doubts, your anxiety.

You almost laughed at the speed with which Chris disposed off his clothes, his hard and unyielding body merging together with your soft, plump frame, eliminating all the distance between you two.

[cynicallystiles]

Seasons of Love: The One with the Cabin

Disclaimer: Moodboard made by me. Pictures found on Google!

Author: @cynicallystiles

Request: @itrocksmysocks​ basically requested this by making me obsessed with the triplets a year ago.

Warning: Swearing. Slight sexual content.

Notes: Chapter four is here! The whole thing still isn’t finished ahead of time like I wanted. Annnnndd I’m already falling behind schedule lol! Thanks for your patience! Please COMMENT/REBLOG if you enjoy it!

Pairing: Kallie Hayes (OC) x Mendes Triplets

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Chapter Three Chapter Five

Words: ~5.37k

"Kalliope!" The sound of her name accompanied by excessive knocking stirs her awake abruptly.

She startles and rolls off the bed onto the floor. "Ah! Jesus, fuck!" She groans and sits up, rubbing her shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" Her sister asks through the door, and Kallie can hear the amusement in her tone.

Pulling herself upright, she glances at the bed and sees Shawn's smooth, muscular back. "Fuck," she mumbles, barely holding in a laugh. "Uh...yeah! I just tripped getting out of bed!" She calls back with a little chuckle.

"It's nine right now, goober. Figured you'd want to be up in time to shower and help with breakfast," Cassie chuckles before her footsteps recede down the hallway.

Releasing a breath of air, Kallie turns back to the bed to find two brown eyes looking at her. "Jeez!" She gasps and closes her eyes to normalize her fast-beating heart. "When did you wake up?" She asks when she opens her eyes again.

"Hard to sleep with all the noise around here," Shawn teases. He rolls over and stands, allowing the sheets to slide off of his almost naked body. Kallie's eyes watch his muscles tighten as he stretches his arms above his head. "I can feel that ya know," he laughs.

She scoffs and stands to make her bed as he finds his clothes. "No, you can't," she argues with warm cheeks as she finds a loose shirt to pull over her shoulders. "I told you you weren't supposed to sleep here!" She groans and starts pushing him toward the window.

"Hey!" He protests as she gets the rope ladder. "You're the one who told me to hold you more," he reminds her and opens the window quietly.

As she secures the ladder to the window and rolls it down the side of the house, her eyebrows furrow. "No, I didn't," she denies, focused on making sure he won't injure himself.

"Yeah, Kal, ya did," he insists while hanging halfway out of the window.

Kallie shakes her head. "Well, I don't remember. Now, go! Before, anyone sees you," she giggles and places her palm flat against his forehead to push him down the ladder.

Shawn quietly enters through his front door and tries to sneak upstairs. His foot doesn't even hit the first step when a voice behind him makes him jump. "Where the hell have you been?" Turning, he sees Peter and Raul entering from the living room.

"Just went for a morning jog," he chuckles nervously.

Peter squints at his attire and crosses his arms. "You don't look like you went for a jog," he accuses suspiciously after seeing no sweat despite him wearing pants and a hoodie in hot weather.

"It was a light jog," he shrugs innocently, "didn't want to stink too much for breakfast since you two always take the hot water."

Raul rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "Well, I showered last night. So, there's water left to clean up before we head over," he explains casually.

"Wait," Shawn stops leaning against the railing and takes a step forward. "You never shower at night," he states in confusion.

He just shrugs. "Yeah. Kal and I got a little messy last night," he chuckles and heads back into the living room, ignoring the twitch of Shawn's eye.

The boys arrive at Kallie's just as she's setting down the final plate of food on the table. Her hair is still damp around her shoulders from the shower, barely curling as it dries. Conversation flows chaotically while the boys catch up with Cassie and her moms.

Shawn catches Kallie's eyes as she takes the last sip of her almond milk. She asks him what's up by pinching her brows together. He nods subtly toward the kitchen. Concerned, she stands up.

"I'm gonna start clearing the dirty dishes," she informs everyone as she gathers some plates.

Shawn follows suit. "I'll help," he offers.

"But, cleanup is my thing," Peter points out in confusion.

Patting his shoulder, Shawn takes the dishes he's holding around the table. "Relax, for once. I've got it covered." He disappears into the kitchen after her.

"What's going on?" She asks in a hushed tone as she leans on the counter next to the sink.

Setting the dishes in the sink, he crosses his arms and turns to her. "What exactly did you and Raul get up to last night?" He sighs.

A chuckle slips past her lips before she sees the distraught in his eyes. "We just got ice cream and went to the park," she explains with a shrug.

"And that's it?"

Kallie lets her mouth part in surprise. "Should there be something else I don't remember?" She didn't like the accusation in his tone and Shawn's increasing jealousy was starting to irritate her.

"No," he deadpans, looking out the window above the sink. "It's just that Raul said you guys got messy but you didn't have dirt or anything on you when I came over."

Kallie clicks her tongue and scrunches up her face. "Are you kidding me?" She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms as well. "We got a little childish and were fighting with the ice cream, Shawn."

"But, you-" he begins but she inhales deeply and he cuts himself off.

"I got it in his hair, but he only got it on my arms. It was easy to wash off in the sink before you came," she scoffs.

He drops his arms and steps toward her. "Sorry, I just-"

"I know what 'you just'," she sighs in disappointment. "You can't keep getting jealous every time I hang out with him. Or Peter."

Looking at his feet, he mumbles, "I know."

"I think we should pause this," she declares quietly.

He quickly looks up to meet her eyes. "What? No! I'll stop being jealous. I'll-"

"It's not about that," she lies. She could feel things getting complicated between them and she didn't want that. "We're gonna be at the cabin all summer and there won't be time for it anyway. I don't want to ruin our last summer there with the drama if we get found out."

Nodding slowly, Shawn starts to calm down a little. "That makes sense. But, what about when we go back to university? I mean, we all still live together," he points out.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," she admits. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." As Kallie finishes her sentence, Peter wanders into the kitchen. "What's up?" She asks with a gentle smile, causing Shawn to look toward the door.

He shuffles shyly toward them, causing her to giggle. "It felt weird sitting out there not doing the dishes with you," he admits with a small grin.

"Then, come help me, Penguin. Shawn is terrible at rinsing," she teases. Shawn meets her eyes with a silent look of fading sadness as Peter sidles up close to her with an enormous grin at one of her many cute nicknames for him. He watches them bump shoulders and giggle before leaving with a sigh.

Later in the day, the boys help load Kallie's bags in the back of Shawn's Jeep before they start their trip to the lake. After hugging her moms and Cassie, they all head out of the house.

"Lemme guess...Kallie gets front seat as always," Raul teases, heading for the backseat.

Shawn nods with a cheeky grin, but Kallie also heads for the backseat. "Actually, I wanted to share the back with Peter..." She sneaks a glance at Shawn who has shock written on his face. He's worried that this 'pause' might be about more than she's letting on.

"Why though?" He clears his throat as Peter catches up to them after saying extended goodbyes to her family.

She shrugs while Raul is already riding shotgun. "This time we're learning sign language." Kallie then looks at Peter as she teases, "We've only got around two weeks left to become fluent."

His eyes flit between Shawn and her, picking up on the unsaid tension between them. He's quiet. But, he's not stupid. Peter lets his features melt into a smile that puts Kallie at ease.

"Sweet!" Peter jostles her by the shoulders excitedly before opening the door for her. With a small glance at Shawn, she gets in the backseat. "Wait...is the sign for 'cabin' this...or...this?" He asks to distract her from whatever is upsetting her. She chuckles as he slides in next to her practicing two gestures that look similar, but neither are anywhere close to meaning 'cabin'.

Clenching his jaw, Shawn slides into the driver's seat and pulls out of the driveway. The usually short two-hour drive to Muskoka was going to feel a lot longer without Kallie up front with him.

The first time that the Mendes' took Kallie to their beautiful cabin at Lake Muskoka was the December after she had first met the boys. Before she was allowed to go, their parents had to meet her parents. They ended up getting along so well that they invited her parents and her sister along as well.

After finally pulling up next to the cabin, Shawn flings off his seatbelt and races toward the door. "I gotta use the bathroom!"

Both of their parents chuckle. "We told you not to drink a whole hot chocolate before we even left Pickering, son," Manny reminds him playfully.

The adults work on unloading the bags, while the rest of the kids pile out of the vehicles. Kallie's eyes are immediately drawn to the lake nearby, covered in white. "Woah," she breathes out, a little intimidated by how big it is.

"You remembered your skates right?" Peter asks from a few steps behind her. She nods silently, not wanting to say that they all had to go out and buy new ones for this trip.

Before Peter can make more conversation, Karen calls out to them, "Lunchtime first! Then, you can skate all you want!"

"I'm starving!" Kallie declares with a giggle as she loops her arm through his. He's a bit surprised but he doesn't say anything as they walk quickly back into the house.

Peter is helping Kallie shed her coat just when Shawn comes back from the restroom. "Kallie, come sit next to me! I'll share my Oreos with you," he entices her.

"Oh, okay!" She says with a small glance at Peter. Shawn is so excited that he runs to the dining room without looking back to save their seats. Leaning toward Peter, she whispers conspiratorially, "You can sit on my other side if you want."

He nods happily and they join everyone else for a quick but filling lunch. Raul is the first to finish. He practically flings his dishes in the sink before issuing a challenge. "Last one on the ice is a loser!"

There's a brief second of silence before the sounds of chairs scraping on wood and dishes clanging overlap. Each one hurries to put their dishes in the sink and get their winter gear back on. Shawn is second out the door not long after Raul, both carrying their hockey skates by the laces.

Cassie and Kallie are neck in neck as they fly through the door in their many layers with brand new ice skates in their mittened hands. They get to the edge of the lake and make quick work of changing their footwear. Cassie throws herself onto the ice in third place, not even caring that she has no idea how to work the skates.

When Kallie knots her last lace, she stands up and puts her mittens back on to dust off the snow on her jeans. She hesitates at the edge, uncertain of how to get started. Her right blade almost touches the ice when she hears the door close in the distance. She looks back to realize that Peter wasn't racing with everyone else.

He takes his time to make his way to the lake while the grownups file out of the cabin behind him. They go about getting the fire pit going so they would all have somewhere to warm up in between activities.

Peter has a bag slung over his shoulder that looks a lot like the one he keeps his drawing stuff in. Kallie was going to wait for him to catch up, but Shawn skids to a stop mere inches from her.

"Let's go, Kal!" He urges and takes her hand to pull her onto the ice. "Once you get going, it'll feel easy!" She tries to protest as he pulls her further onto the ice, too far away from the bank to leap to safety.

Her skates glide along easily as Shawn skates backward, pulling her by the hands. She looks up to see Raul skating in a figure eight, while her older sister seems to be catching on fast. Raul breaks his formation to speed past and bump Shawn's shoulder.

"Hey! I'm gonna get you for that!" Without thinking, he lets go of Kallie's hands to chase after Raul.

She automatically bends over slightly to gain some kind of balance, arms outstretched in front of her in case she falls. Slowly, she pushes off one foot to slide a little faster. An excited giggle escapes her as she continues to practice this in a safe little circle.

Deciding that she's got the basics down, she stands up straight. Her arms stay poised to catch her if something bad happens but she manages to skate in a wider circle. She picks up speed and feels the cold wind whip at her face.

A little further ahead, she sees that her path is going to cross with Shawn and Raul's. The two of them were done with tag and were now racing in a circle. This makes Kallie realize very urgently that no one taught her how to stop.

Panicking, she tries to veer to the left. The tip of her skate catches a chip in the ice and sends her sprawling toward the bank of the lake. She sits up with a hiss, clutching the knee that took most of the impact.

"Kalliope!" She turns toward the sound of her name and finds Peter gliding toward her from the bank. She watches the way he tips his foot upward to use the back of his blade as a brake. He squats down beside her and looks at her knee. "Are you okay?"

She purses her lips and looks away, embarrassed about the crash and burn. "Yeah, it's just scraped," she mumbles, noticing his drawing materials scattered around his bag as if he dropped them in a hurry.

"Then, let's go again," he replies simply and stands up while holding out his hands for her. Kallie turns her head sharply toward him. "I promise I won't let go of you until you want me to."

His reassuring but crooked smile made all of her embarrassment go away. He doesn't care that she's bad at skating. It also made her happy that he would stop doing his favorite thing to teach her how to skate. So, she grabs his hands and lets him help her up.

Peter begins explaining all the "do's and dont's" of skating on lake ice. Apparently, it's different from skating rink ice. He tells her a fun fact about penguins and she laughs, bringing Shawn's attention back to her once again.

He skates over quickly and takes her hand that's not clutching Peter's forearm. "I can teach her from here! You probably want to go back to drawing anyway," he dismisses Peter.

"I don't wanna slow you down," she offers. "You play with Raul while I learn the ropes and tomorrow you can teach me hockey!" He looks at her skeptically, glancing to Peter on the other side of her who is pretending to be very interested in his skates. "Promise."

He nods. "Okay, if you're sure..." Kallie smiles in return and Shawn can't help but smile back. "Be careful, okay?"

"Always, duh," she teases before turning back to Peter. Shawn hears the conversation fade as Peter leads her around the lake. "So, penguins really build nests out of rocks?" She laughs.

He nods with a chuckle before spending the better part of two hours patiently teaching her how to skate. Once he's sure she's got it, he lets go and watches her glide ahead of him. She's so enraptured in skating that it takes a minute to realize he's not holding her hand.

Kallie immediately digs her heel into the ice and turns back. "Hey!" She crosses her arms with a pout as he skates up to her.

"What?" He laughs, "you were doing amazing!"

Her lip quivers the slightest bit and she avoids looking directly at him. "You promised you wouldn't let go," she murmurs.

"Kalliope," Peter breathes out her full name guiltily, "I'm really sorry. You were just doing so good and that's how mom and dad taught us how to ride bikes...so I figured..." he trails off with a shrug.

She sniffles and he's unsure if it's because she's sad or because of the cold. "Don't do it again," she pleads before carefully unfolding her arms to her sides.

"Promise," he instinctually replies. She raises her eyebrows at him. "For real this time." Peter grins and takes her hand tightly in his. Kallie can't help but smile as he pulls her along the edge of the lake.

"Moms! Look! I'm doing it!" She yells in excitement at her mothers. They both get up and quickly make their way to the edge of the lake with their cameras.

Proud looks cross their faces as they capture the two of them skating close together, hands tightly clutching each other. Manny and Karen come up behind them and share a knowing adult look. Cassie skates over to get in the pictures before Raul and Shawn join. Soon there's a picture of the five of them all wrapped around each other that they have framed and hanging on the living room wall of the cabin.

Kallie runs her fingers along the wooden frame of that picture in the living room, in the exact space on the wall that it's been hanging for about twelve years. She grins momentarily, the nostalgia quickly fading to sadness as the reality of it all hits her. This is probably the last summer they're gonna spend together here.

As the door creaks open and the boys clatter inside with arms full of bags and laughing, she shakes herself out of the sad mood. "I could've helped carry my stuff in, ya know!" She chuckles and moves to close the door behind them.

"That is absolutely not happening on our watch!" Shawn spouts nonsense while he struggles to keep a grip on her duffles.

She nods empathetically before taking them out of his hands with zero effort. "Seems like you need to hit the gym, Mendes," she digs at him as he automatically stands up straighter without the extra weight of her bags.

Kallie makes her way upstairs toward the bedrooms while the boys stare after her. "How is she doing that?" Shawn muses out loud and with a little envy.

"When did she get more ripped than you, bro?" Raul teases to Shawn's chagrin.

Peter interrupts as he walks backward toward the stairs. "She's always been able to carry her weight. You two have just always been too busy staring at her ass to notice." With a smirk, he spins around and jogs up the stairs, bags slung over his shoulders.

"Okay..." Shawn stretches out the word. "But, when did the runt start lifting like that?" Raul laughs out loud while he jostles Shawn's shoulders and shoves him toward the stairs.

When they were younger, the boys would share one room, the girls another, and both sets of parents had one to themselves. Since they're here by themselves, each could have their own for the whole summer. Kallie stands in the hallway debating which one to take as the boys catch up to her.

"What are you doing?" Raul questions with a chuckle. "Unpack so we can hit the lake before dark!"

She looks between the four doors and then the three boys. "Who's staying in what room, though?"

"Well, which one do you want?" Peter asks her and she quirks her brows together.

"Whichever one is left after you guys pick." She says it so simply. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The boys loved that about her. She always made sure they were taken care of.

"Dibs on mom and dad's old room, then!" Raul shouts before taking off toward the end of the hall.

"No fair!" Shawn shouts after him.

"I'm the oldest! Of course, it's fair!" He calls back.

Peter chimes in with a laugh. "Technically, Kallie is the oldest! But, whatever!" He shrugs.

"Guess I'll take our old room," Shawn sighs, unhappy with being cheated out of the master bedroom.

As he wanders back in the direction of the stairs, Peter touches Kallie's elbow gently. "You okay?" She'd gone quiet since looking at the door to the girls' old room.

"Mhm," she takes a deep breath and zones back in on Peter's concerned look, "promise." She forces a small smile.

"You can have the room your moms used," he offers kindly. "I don't mind staying in the smallest one."

When she glances back at the door, she can't bring herself to disagree. "Thank you..." she says quietly. He nods in understanding. "I haven't been able to go in there since..."

"I know." He takes her hand and squeezes it before going to settle into his room. She stands there for a second more before heading to her moms' old room and unpacking briefly.

That room holds a lot of memories for her. For all of them really. Not all of them good ones, though. She finds her favorite swimsuit and throws it on before putting her hair in a single braid. Meeting the boys out front, she doesn't fail to notice how all of their gazes linger on the dips and curves of her body. She shakes it off and heads to the water with them in tow.

Later that night after everyone's showered and dinner was long over, she sits on the bed in her room scrolling through Pinterest for new recipes to try. A knock draws her attention to the doorway where Raul leans against it.

"Hey," she sets her phone in her lap, "need something?"

He shrugs, almost stepping into the room but hesitating. "Just wanted to make sure you're doing okay," he confesses. Kallie takes a deep breath. "We haven't been back here since senior year..."

"Yeah, I know," she deadpans and looks toward the window. She closes her eyes and sighs. "Sorry. Thank you, I'm fine."

This time, he doesn't hesitate to enter and sit at the edge of her bed. "You don't have to apologize. It's okay to not be fine." He sets his ringed hand atop her knee over the blanket.

"I know," Kallie pauses, "I know that." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than him. "It just feels wrong to not be fine, ya know?" She shrugs and plays with the yarn of the blanket.

He chuckles lightly. "It's also okay to be fine." She glances at him before he continues. "I know you miss her. But, you can miss her and move on. Lin wouldn't want you to be sad forever. That's not who she was," he comforts her.

"I don't wanna move on, Raul," she whimpers finally and reaches her arms out to him. He instantly brings his arms around her waist and squeezes her tight.

"That was a poor choice of words on my part," he admits into her hair. "I meant..." he pauses, struggling for the right thing to say as he rubs her back soothingly.

Kallie rubs her nose along his neck and he stills. "I know what you meant." She sniffles and pulls back from him, wiping at her wet eyes. "Thank you."

"I'm just down the hall if you need anything," he promises as he gets up. She smiles softly at him as he leans in and kisses her forehead. Sighing at the soft gesture, her eyes close in response. "Night, Kit Kat."

She fights a grin. "Night, Playboy."

Kallie lays back on her pillows as Raul leaves. She's about to turn out the lights when Shawn walks by toward his room. "Hey," she calls softly. He freezes and backtracks a few steps to be in the open doorway.

"Hey, Kal," he replies while sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Her eyes flick to his chest and his lack of a shirt before reeling in her thoughts. "Everything okay?"

He heads into her room and closes the door behind him by habit. Her eyes widen and he realizes what he did. Shawn turns back to open it but she stops him. "It's okay, you can leave it closed," she chuckles.

"Right..." He makes his way over to her and sits gingerly on the bed. For a minute, they just sit in silence. It stretches on awkwardly since they haven't really talked since she asked for a 'pause' on their pact. "I'm really sor-"

"I just wanted to-" They both pause after talking over each other and giggle. "You go." She nudges his hand with hers, leaving it close by but not touching.

He nods. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how I acted this morning," he begins timidly. "It was wrong of me to accuse you of anything and to not trust you."

"It's okay," Kallie responds automatically even though Shawn shakes his head. "No, it really is. I get the whole sibling jealousy thing. It's not as intense with my sister but I get it," she chuckles and he cracks a grin. "You're all my best friends and I don't want to cause trouble between you three..."

Shawn sighs. "Is that why you paused us?" He questions. Slowly, she nods and he closes his eyes to compose himself. "Thank god," he breathes out. When he opens his eyes, she has a confused look on her face. "I'm relieved that it's not because of me or something," he laughs.

"No!" She laughs too. "I guess I just wanted to cut it off before any complications started messing with our Musketeer dynamic." His eyebrows scrunch together, wondering what she meant by that. "Never mind," she scoffs, changing the subject, "I'm glad we cleared this up though, eh?"

He blinks a couple of times, his mind trying to find what exactly has been 'cleared up.' "So, this means..." Shawn stalls, hopefully sending the message for her to finish the sentence.

She giggles and finishes it, "That once we go back to Toronto...we can unpause." His lips pull into an elated grin, causing her cheeks to blush for no reason. "We're all gonna be really busy, but if our schedules allow...then, yes. We can unpause," she informs him.

"Yes!" He cheers before catching himself and regaining composure. Clearing his throat, he responds, "I mean, thank you. I would very much like that. And I promise to keep my jealousy in check from now on."

Kallie nods like it's an appropriate response. "As you should," she giggles.

"I'm gonna leave before you change your mind," he declares. Before he does, Shawn leans in and places his lips on hers briefly but passionately. He pulls back with a knowing look. "Just to leave you wanting more until the next time, eh," he teases as he practically sprints to the door.

She throws a pillow at him and misses. "Goodnight, you heathen!" He rolls his eyes and disappears down the hall.

After a moment, Kallie turns out her light and closes her eyes to go to sleep. She tosses and turns for a while before throwing the blankets off of her in frustration. She grabs her phone and unplugs her charger from the wall before creeping down the hallway.

Quietly, she raps her knuckles on the bedroom door a few times. A few seconds pass and she hears him call out in a whisper-yell, "It's open!" She carefully opens the door, trying not to make it creak, and peeks her head in.

"Hi." She hesitates in the doorway, looking around and then at her feet. Taking a deep breath, she tip-toes in, closing the door behind her with a light 'click.'

Peter turns his book over and lays it open in his lap when he realizes she just walked into the room she hasn't step foot in in almost four years. "Hey, Kalliope." She smiles softly as her full name leaves his lips. Kallie doesn't know why, but he's always called her by her full name. And he's the only one who does.

"I forgot to bring Copper," she admits, dragging her feet as she walks toward the bed. Silently, he flips the blankets over so she can crawl in next to him. He knows she can never sleep without her stuffed fox. The only way she can is if she can cuddle someone in his place.

Kallie quickly tosses him her charger to plug in. Then with a childlike grin, she crawls over him to settle in under the blankets. Peter looks away as the T-shirt that she's wearing lifts up, exposing her underwear slightly. He didn't want to, but he notices that they were men's boxer briefs and he has to stifle a laugh. Kallie always prefers comfort over anything else, gender norms be damned.

She's about to cuddle into his side when she realizes that he's shirtless. Swallowing slightly, she tries not to rake her eyes over his smooth chest and the way his butterfly tattoo accentuates his bicep. You wouldn't know it when he's wearing his sweaters, but Peter stays fit.

"I can put on a shirt if it'd make you more comfortable." He snaps her out of her daze when he notices her staring.

Kallie quickly makes her eyes meet his warm caramel ones. "No, you don't have to do that," she breathes out, "I was honestly just thinking about the last time I saw you shirtless."

"Oh..." A blush crawls along his neck and up to his cheeks. "It's been a minute, eh?" He chuckles. She tips her head to the side and pulls up one shoulder in a shrug with a giggle.

With a comfortable atmosphere, she scoots closer and he lifts his arm to make more room. Kallie leans up and kisses him on his cheek, lingering a second longer than usual. He breathes in deeply, notes of cherry blossom drifting from her hair. When she pulls back she looks at him for a second before laying her head down on his chest.

He makes sure she's comfortable before pulling the blankets back up and positioning his book so that he can hold it with one hand. His other gently caresses her side and rubs circles into her back. Peter begins to read out loud even though Kallie doesn't know what the book is about. Truthfully, she never cares. She likes him reading out loud to her because of the sound of his voice mixing with his heartbeat under her ear.

Occasionally, he lifts his hand up to play with her hair or run his fingers along her scalp. She hums contently and cuddles closer when he does. He finishes his chapter and sets the book on the nightstand before turning out the light. He wraps both arms around her and settles into the pillows.

His hand finds hers in the darkness laces their fingers together. Carefully, he brings her knuckles to his lips and lets them linger there. When he's finished, he rubs her knuckles with his thumb. "Goodnight, Kalliope," he whispers, assuming she's asleep.

Kallie's head nuzzles his chest and he feels her lips brush the skin of his collarbone before pressing in for a long moment. She angles her head up to his ear and whispers back, "Goodnight, Peppermint."

Tag List: @marissje​ @mariamuses​

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 15

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

If you’re new to Sapere Aude, please click the link above to start from the beginning. There’s so much going on right now that you’ll be way too confused to start from this point. Plus, there are some major bombshells that won’t be as fun if you read this and get a bunch of spoilers.

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Trigger Warning: A brief moment of physical abuse.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Disclaimer: I have no current affiliation with any other Via Imperii themed stories. Any claims that I have pre-read anything are false.

Word Count: 3,435

A/N: Guys, we’re really in the home stretch now, we’re slowly but surely getting some resolutions. I finished this up the other day, and am already halfway through the next chapter. I’m hoping to have the series completely written by the end of the weekend or early next week. I have some really exciting and unexpected things coming, and I can’t wait to share them with you!

Thank you, as always, to the amazing, @phoenixrising308​ (<--- my fandom soulmate, you may know her as @jessiembruno​, follow her new account so you don’t miss a second of her incredible work) & @txemrn. And to @twinkleallnight for my lovely moodboard!

Tags: Listed below, hit me up to be added or removed.

Liam’s eyes fluttered open, his wife slowly coming into focus in front of him. She was already awake, and smiled at him as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Morning.” She greeted him softly.

“Hi.” He placed a hand on her cheek and leaned in, leaving a lingering kiss on her lips. 

“Do you want to talk? Drake texted me, he got Eleanor out of bed, so we have some time.” Liam silently nodded his head. Riley removed his hand from her cheek and kissed his palm before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. 

Liam rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head with a groan before sitting up next to Riley, taking her hand in his. “And I thought our wedding was an eventful day.” He chuckled lightly. 

“Liam, real talk.” Riley replied, combing the fingers of her free hand through his hair.

“I...I feel like I got some closure. I needed that moment. When it was just you telling me that she was alive, it was easy to ignore, or pretend it wasn’t real. But with her standing in front of me, I had to face the truth, face what she did to me. And now she truly knows how much she hurt me. I can move on now, and truly put her in the past.”

Riley smiled at him. “That’s great, I’m so proud of you. I also noticed that you told Thomas you still wanted a relationship with him?”

“He holds no responsibility for what happened, he was born into a life that he had no control over.” Liam’s expression became more pensive as he spoke about Thomas. 

“And you understand the feeling, so you’re cutting him some slack.”

Liam nodded. “Sort of, we were both born with certain responsibilities and expectations, I can understand his feelings of obligation. As much as I missed out by losing my mother, and him, he lost out on even more. He was supposed to be a prince, he is a prince, and he’s lived as a commoner his whole life. We both missed out on so much by not having each other, like we should have. I can’t get that time back, but I can try to make up for it moving forward.”

“You’re amazing Liam, you know that right?” Riley looked at him adoringly. 

He brought his hand to her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “You may have mentioned it once or twice before.” He leaned in and kissed her. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to properly show you how happy I am to have you home and safe.” He kissed her again, this time pulling her into his lap. 

She giggled as his lips began working their way down her neck. “Liam, we don’t have time right now. I’m sure everyone is waiting for us. Rain check?” 

Liam lifted his head and placed his forehead against hers. “You promise?” He kissed her softly on the nose.

“Have I ever let you down in that department?”

“Never.” He kissed her deeply, running his hands down her back until they rested on the curves of her ass.

“Good, then let’s go.” She kissed him one last time before getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Once they were ready, they headed downstairs and headed to the smaller dining room. Eleanor noticed them immediately and charged at her mother. “Mommy!”

Riley lifted her daughter into her arms and held her close for a moment before pulling away and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey baby girl, were you a good hostess to our guests while mommy and daddy were away?”

“Yes mommy, the best hostess!” As Riley brushed some hair out of Eleanor’s face, Eleanor noticed the marks on Riley’s wrist where she had been bound the day before. “You have a boo-boo mommy.” 

“I know baby, I do.” She held her wrist out so Eleanor could look at it. 

“I can fix it.” Eleanor grabbed Riley’s hand and brought her wrist to her lips, kissing the marks with a loud smacking sound. “There you go mommy, all better now.” She smiled at her mother proudly. 

Liam looked on, quickly swallowing the lump that formed in his throat at the sight. In that moment, it hit him again that not only would he have lost his wife, the best thing that had ever happened to him, but Eleanor would have lost her mother. He quickly shook off the thought, everyone was safe, and they were about to take steps to eliminate their greatest threat.

“Thank you Eleanor, it feels so much better.” Riley gave her one last hug before putting her back down. “Why don’t you go see Miss Gladys, she’ll take you into the kitchen to get something to eat. We need to have a grown up breakfast.”

Eleanor nodded and ran out of the room in search of Gladys. Riley and Liam approached the table as their friends stood to greet them. “Sit down weirdos, this isn’t a royal function, this is breakfast with friends.” Riley waived them off as everyone sat at the table. It was silent for a moment, nobody quite sure how to break the silence. “So I guess we should start by addressing the elephant in the room. Neville and Mara kidnapped me yesterday. Before you start with me; I’m fine, Neville has been arrested, Mara is dead.”

“Good riddance.” Olivia interrupted. The group laughed at her comment, breaking some of the tension in the room. 

Their friends listened with bated breath as Riley and Liam recalled the events from the day before. Riley told them about the kidnapping, and everything that transpired between her and Neville. She told them how Eleanor had come to her rescue, Liam tensing slightly, as this was the first time he had heard that part of the story. She went on to explain that Liam had come face to face with Eleanor, and how proud she was of him for confronting her and lifting that huge weight of his chest. 

Liam picked up the story from there, explaining that he said what he needed to say to get the closure he needed with his mother, and that he wanted to try to build some kind of a relationship with Thomas. He still wasn’t sure what that relationship would look like, but he was excited to find out. 

“So where do we go from here?” Maxwell asked, once the group had been fully caught up. 

“Well, we need to squash the Auvernal thing once and for all, and I think there’s only one way to do that.” Riley said. It was something she had been thinking about since the meeting where revisiting the alliance came up. “We’re going to have to release the information we got when we destroyed the alliance the first time. The only way we are going to put an end to this is to tell the world that the twins are not blood heirs to the throne.”

“But what if this group tries to spin it, or screw with the records?” Drake asked. Nobody was quite sure how to answer that, but it was a legitimate concern. 

“We out the Via Imperii. If they’re a secret society, announcing that they were behind the kidnapping of our Queen, and were trying to push forward a marriage alliance with heirs that do not have true birthright to the throne will knock them off their high horse.” Olivia stated. 

“But how do we know they know?”

Riley tapped her fingers against the table, thinking for a moment before chiming in. “We don’t Max, that’s fair. But they probably do, they seem to know just about everything else. Even if they don’t, they’re not going to hold their own press conference to contradict us. It kind of goes against their whole being a secret thing.”

“Very well, I will make sure to get a press conference scheduled in the coming days to make the announcements.” Liam chimed in. “I will also set up an emergency council meeting to inform them of our decision, and also move things forward with Neville.” 

“What are you going to do to him? Can I be the executioner?” The excitement in Drake’s voice made Riley and Maxwell giggle, while Olivia rolled her eyes.

Liam chuckled lightly before responding. “I have thoroughly thought out his punishment, we will review it in the council meeting tomorrow.” He cleared his throat before moving on to the next open item. “Finally, I have promised Thomas and his mother that the crown would protect them for their assistance in saving Riley. Nobody knows about Thomas’s connection to the crown, or my family, so he will not need to remain in hiding. However, he is going to be a target of the Via Imperii, so he will no longer be able to guard my family. I do have a position in mind for him, I would like him to work with Bastien and I to completely overhaul the guard program.”

“It’s about damn time.” Olivia scoffed. 

“I agree, Olivia. Regrettably, I have let the current program go far too long, and it almost cost my wife her life.” He reached over, taking Riley’s hand in his, offering an apologetic smile. “We absolutely cannot let another Mara slip through the cracks. With his intimate knowledge of the Via Imperii, I feel that he would be a great asset.” He paused as the room nodded in agreement. “As for his mother, she was a notable figure in Cordonia for many years, so she will need to remain in hiding. We will need to set her up in a safe house with a team of guards.”

Olivia cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. “I can house her in Lythikos.” All heads snapped in her direction, and she sat a little taller in her seat to overcompensate for the discomfort she felt in that moment. “When I was a child, she showed me a kindness I had never known at a time when I needed it most. Liam, I respect your decision not to reconnect with her because of what she did to you, I hope you can respect my decision to want to help her because of what she did for me.” 

Liam nodded. “Absolutely Olivia, as long as she and I do not cross paths, I will put her in your care.” 

“Ok, so we have all the work stuff out of the way. There’s a plan, nobody is in any immediate danger. Can we please relax and have a nice breakfast and enjoy what’s left of our getaway weekend?” Maxwell asked dramatically. 

“Amen to that.” Riley replied, pulling her napkin from the table and placing it in her lap. The group dug into their food, the mood much lighter than it had been when Liam and Riley arrived.

The next day Liam walked out of the state room. He had just adjourned the emergency meeting of the Royal Council to discuss everything that had been uncovered during their trip to Valtoria. He rushed to catch Drake, who had slipped out while Liam was still shaking hands and saying his goodbyes to the other council members. “Drake, hold on a moment.” 

Drake stopped walking and turned to face his friend. “Hey Li, what’s up? I was just going to head home.”

“I was actually hoping you could help me out with something. I’m heading down to the cells to personally deliver the news to Neville.”

Drake’s lips curled up into a devious smile. “And you want me to be there to see it all go down? Liam, I’m speechless. It’s not even my birthday.”

Liam chuckled and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Well, it’s not just for you to bask in his misery, I need your assistance.” His expression turned serious before he continued. “Drake, after what he did to Riley, I don’t trust myself alone with him. I need you to be there to pull me off in case I go too far.”

“Li, you know I’m always there for you for anything you need, but do you really think I’m the best person to stop someone from hurting Neville? Honestly, I can’t even guarantee that I won’t jump in and throw a couple of punches myself.”

“Then we will bring Bastien along as well, but I would really appreciate it if I had you by my side for this.”

Drake nodded, and the two of them headed for the cells with Bastien in tow. When they arrived, Bastien took Neville from his cell and put him in one of the interrogation rooms. They waited before entering, giving him time to sit alone with his thoughts. Once Liam felt he had waited long enough he looked to Drake and the two entered the room together. Drake stepped back into the corner as Liam approached Neville, who was sitting at a table, but stood immediately upon the King’s entry. 

“Ah, so you are capable of showing respect to your betters. I had heard otherwise.” Liam took a seat, signaling for Neville to do the same. 

Neville scoffed. “Your majesty, I always have. Your queen just doesn’t happen to be one of them.”

“Oops, wrong answer.” Drake chimed in from the back corner. 

Liam shot up from his seat. He charged at Neville on the other side of the table, lifting him by the front of his shirt and holding his gaze. “How dare you speak of your queen, my wife, that way.”

“Liam, why don’t you give him the good news, before you beat the shit out of him? That way he’ll be able to fully appreciate it. I know I will.” At Drake’s words, Liam released Neville who shot an angry glance in Drake’s direction. Drake winked at him. 

“Of course Drake, thank you for keeping me on task.” Liam straightened his jacket and returned to his place at the table, sliding a folder across it to Neville. “Neville, you have officially been stripped of all of your titles and lands. This paperwork will provide you with the specifics, but as of about an hour ago, you are no longer a noble.”

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, shocked at the new development. “You mean I am a…” He trailed off, unable to utter the word. 

“You’re a commoner, just like me!” Drake cheerily finished Neville’s sentence for him. 

Liam raised a hand to silence his friend. He was enjoying this just as much as Drake was, but as King he did need to keep an heir of levelheadedness about him. “You will also be tried with treason for kidnapping Queen Riley. Your trial will begin next week, and I don’t think you need me to tell you, but I will. It is not looking promising for you Mr. Vancoeur.” 

Neville crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. “Wonderful, just let me know when the execution is to take place.”

��Oh Neville.” Liam laughed as he stood, once again walking to the other side of the table. “Do you really think you are going to be let off that easily?” Neville cocked an eyebrow as Liam got in his face, his demeanor calmer than before. “I have final say in all sentencing, and for you I have something in mind that will make you pray for death. You will be spending the remainder of your days in your cell, eating food that doesn't even register on the Michelin guide, knowing that you have no status, no pull. The life you once knew, a distant memory as you sit here for decades to come. That is the worst possible punishment I am able to bestow as your King.” Neville leaned back and audibly gulped. “As far as the punishment I am able to bestow as a husband…” Liam squared his shoulders and brought his fist back before thrusting it forward, making hard and fast contact with Neville’s jaw, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. As he laid there holding his face, Liam approached once more, this time kicking Neville swiftly in the ribs. “How dare you lay a hand on my wife.” He crouched down on the ground, lifting Neville by his shirt. “Please know that there is more I would like to do to you, but you are not worth any more of my time. Just remember that my American commoner wife will be up there enjoying every luxury in the world, as she deserves, while you rot away down here dreaming of the life you once had.” 

Liam landed one last punch to Neville’s face before letting go of his shirt and watching his head hit the ground. He then slumped over, breathing heavily as the adrenaline began to wear off. Drake approached him and patted him on the shoulder lightly. “C’mon buddy, let’s get out of here. You got what you came for.” 

Liam nodded silently as his friend helped him to his feet. Drake draped an arm around Liam’s shoulder and walked with him out of the room. He looked at Bastien, who had been waiting at the door and signaled for him to return Neville to his cell. Bastien gave Drake a curt nod and retreated to the interrogation room as Drake and Liam made their way back to the main area of the palace.

When they reached the foyer, Drake stopped Liam before he reached the steps. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want to go to your office for a drink or something?”

Liam brushed him off. “I’m fine Drake, I’m just going to head up to my quarters and relax with my family.” He extended his hand to Drake. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

“Of course man. Any time, any place. You know that.” Drake shook his hand and pulled him into a hug, clapping him on the back before pulling away. “I’m going to call you later to check in.”

Liam gave him a small smile before turning and heading up the stairs towards his chambers. Upon entering, he was greeted by an empty living room. “Riley?” He called out.

“Bedroom.” He heard her faint reply from the hallway and followed the sound of her voice. 

He entered the room as she was exiting her walk-in closet holding multiple hangers. “I mean honestly, I love my life and how much you spoil me, but do I really need this many black dresses?” She let out an exasperated sigh before looking up and noticing Liam. “What happened? What’s wrong?” She dropped the dresses she was holding and rushed up to him.

“I just got back from the cells.”

“Liam Rys, what did you do?” Riley placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. 

“He’s fine, the medics will bandage him up. I’m sure losing his title hurt him much more than I did.” He grabbed her hands off of her hips and brought them to his lips. “He hurt you, Riley. He tried to take you away from me. I know he’s going to be punished for what he did, but it won’t ever be enough.”

Riley lifted his hand, examining it. It was red, bruises already beginning to form at the knuckles. She kissed each knuckle softly. “Come on, let’s ice it before it gets too bad.” She held onto his hand, leading him into the kitchen. “Sit.” she pointed to the kitchen table. 

Hey obeyed, sitting at the table as she went to the freezer, pulling out an ice pack and wrapping it in a dish towel. She joined him at the table, sitting on his lap, and taking his injured hand in hers once more. She pressed the ice pack to his knuckles, he hissed slightly at the feeling. She pressed her lips to his in a lingering kiss as she continued to hold the ice to his hand. “To distract you from the pain.” She said with a wink as she pulled away.

“You have always been my favorite distraction.” He brought his free hand to her face, pulling her into a deeper kiss. “When is Eleanor due back?”

“Mmm..a little over an hour.” She cooed.

“Perfect, that will be more than enough time.” 

“For what?” 

“For me to cash in my rain check from yesterday.” Liam removed his hand from under the ice pack and lifted Riley bridal style to the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them.

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia​ @athena-penrose​ @bbrandy2002​ @chemist-ana​ @choicesficwriterscreations @choiceskatie​ @cordonia-gothqueen​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @emkay512​ @gabesmommie1130​ @gkittylove99​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @kat-tia801​ @khoicesbyk​ @kingliam2019​ @lucy-268​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @mile9213​ @mom2000aggie​ @nestledonthaveone​ @phoenixrising308​ @pixie88​ @queen-arabella-of-cordonia​ @queenrileyrose​ @secretaryunpaid​ @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ @tessa-liam​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @twinkleallnight​ @txemrn​

Sapere Aude:

@burnsoslow​ @busywoman​ @gardeningourmet​ @ofpixelsandscribbles​ @tinkie1973​

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612​

Liam:

@amandablink​ @ao719​ @yourmajesty09​

[wolveria]

Buttons - Ch. 3

Pairing: Therapist!Connor x f!Reader

Summary: Connor knew he shouldn’t be so attracted to his patient. It wasn’t right, especially when she had been nothing but sweet to him.

But when the opportunity presented itself to finally get a taste of her, he couldn’t help himself.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit dubcon

Word Count: 3.4k

Co-authors: @uh-kitty-got-wet​, @groovylabrat​, @technohumanlation​

AO3

(Moodboard created by @uh-kitty-got-wet​)

“I would tell you if something was wrong, of course,” you said, trying not to shiver as the hand remained where it was, heavy and hot on your shoulder.

“Not having nightmares again, are you?”

The question was perfectly reasonable, so there was no reason for your cheeks to be on fire or for you to clutch the couch cushions as tightly as you did.

“N-no. No nightmares.” Oh, definitely no nightmares.

He hummed thoughtfully, and then he slightly squeezed your shoulder, making you jump.

“You’re incredibly tense,” he said, repeating the motion. “You shouldn’t hold so much tension in your muscles, especially here. It increases the chance of cluster headaches and neck injury.”

You couldn’t breathe, or think, or function at all as he moved his hand closer to your neck and pressed the pad of his thumb against the top of your spine.

“You’ve got a knot. Right… here.” He rubbed the spot harder, digging into the sore muscle.

You moaned, and immediately slapped your hand over your mouth.

He stopped moving his thumb.

Fuck, you thought, panicking. Fuck, fuck.

“Sorry,” he said with a little laugh, as if you hadn’t done the most embarrassing thing in the world. “Forgot to warn you this might hurt a little. If it gets to be too much, please tell me.”

Oh. He thought you’d moaned in pain.

You lowered your hand from your mouth, nodded and gave a strangled, “Okay.”

Connor placed his hand on your other shoulder, effectively doubling your heart rate as you pressed your thighs together. You felt like you were going to explode or catch fire on the spot.

He began to rub both of your shoulders, long and deft fingers working through your muscles. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, your nipples were painfully hard, and you ached between your legs.

All from a simple massage that probably meant nothing to him. It wasn’t fair.

“Is this all right?” His voice had dropped to a low murmur that was sinful enough to short-circuit your brain. “If you’re uncomfortable, just tell me to stop.”

“No,” you rushed out, immediately flushing. “It’s-it’s fine. Great, really. I… think I needed this.”

He gave a low chuckle. You were pretty sure you could come from his voice alone.

“Really? I couldn’t tell at all,” he teased, fingers pressing into an especially stubborn muscle. “But honestly, someone as young as you shouldn’t be so tense. It’s unhealthy. Are you practicing any muscle-relaxing techniques at home?”

“I don’t think so. Unless drinking counts,” you sheepishly added.

“No, drinking does not count,” he reprimanded you, even as you could hear the smile in his voice. “I have a few suggestions, if that’s all right?”

“Sure,” you said, head hanging forward as you continued to relax. He could do anything to you right now and you wouldn’t care. It felt so insanely good, better than any massage you’d ever had, and those fingers and his voice were better than any porn.

You really needed to stop lusting over your therapist. It was wrong, pathetic, and clearly pointless. This wasn’t going anywhere except to give you another broken heart.

“Well…” He moved his hands back up to your neck, the tips of his fingers gently cradling the columns of your throat as his thumb worked against your spine. You thought you had died and gone to heaven. “Lying down and reading is a good one. Stretching your muscles everyday also helps. Relaxing in a hot bath.

“And, of course, there’s masturbation.”

You stopped breathing. Went stock-still like a frightened rabbit before a hunter.

“Really?” you asked faintly, on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up. Did he know what you had done just before your session? Was he just teasing you some more?

“Yes, absolutely,” he said, still massaging your muscles as he had a whole bunch of tensed up ones to work through. “It even helps bolster the immune system. I recommend it to all my patients.”

“Oh.”

All his patients. It didn’t mean anything. He was just being a good therapist. Of course he was. He was a professional and you were a pathetic lowlife who let your innocent crush run wild until it had become totally perverted and—

Connor’s hands went still as he leaned down, put his mouth close to your ear and murmured, “I can show you the best technique, if you like.”

This couldn’t be happening. Surely, you were still dreaming. There was no way—

“Okay.”

He seemed surprised, going by the short breath he sucked it, but it was nothing compared to your own shock. Had you just really agreed to let Connor show you how to masturbate “properly”?

He removed his hands from your shoulders, and for a moment you thought he was going to laugh at you, tell you it was a joke and you really were pathetic to fall for it.

Instead, he stood before you, peering down so intently that you felt he could see right through you. Hear each beat of your heart and listen to each shallow, pulled breath.

Normally, the glasses perched on his nose gave Connor a soft, endearing look. Now he looked almost predatory as his analytical gaze roved over every inch of you. And then he reached up, pulled at the knot of his tie, and tugged it off in one swift motion.

You gripped the edge of the couch. Holy shit.

Connor sat down next to you on the couch, and the parts of you that felt they were on fire burned even brighter.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice raspy and low as he looked you in the eye. “If we have to stop later, you’ll be even tenser than before, which will make this entire exercise ineffective. So once I start… I plan to not stop until it’s finished.”

This was really happening. You nodded, licking your dry lips and swallowing the lump in your throat, voice shaky but the words clear.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He gave a little smile, so faint you almost didn’t catch it, and then he took your hand, holding the back of it against his palm.

“Good. Then let us begin.”

Connor sounded so formal it was almost funny, as if this really was some kind of legitimate therapist practice, but there was nothing professional about the way he gripped your hand, placed it on your thigh, and pushed it up your skirt.

“I’m glad you wore this today,” he said, almost conversational except for the hoarse quality of his voice. “Makes it easier for the both of us.”

A small whimper escaped before you could tamp it down, the tips of your fingers against your inner thigh combined with Connor’s low praise already too much. How were you going to do this and survive with your mind intact?

“It’s all right,” he breathed against your cheek. “Don’t hold anything back. This is all about making you feel good.”

You couldn’t hold back, even if you’d wanted to. Connor pressing your own fingers against your clothed sex was enough to pull another noise from you, a stifled, strained whine.

“That’s it,” he instructed sweetly, guiding your fingers into a slow, circling motion over your clit. “Just like that.”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to be quiet despite what he’d said, and Connor gave a sigh.

“You’re not relaxing.”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to respond; Connor pushed your hand harder against the fabric barrier over your clit just as he gently wrapped his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to the side so he could press his nose against the side of your neck.

“Relax.”

He said the word against your skin, moving lips forcing a shudder out of you, and just as if he had you under a spell, you began to relax, muscles becoming loose and pliant under his control.

“That’s my girl.”

Between the guide of his skillful fingers, his lips teasing your neck, and his low, murmured praises, you were already well on your way to reaching that peak. He felt so warm, his voice more raspy than usual, and that hint of cologne you’d always thought smelled nice was now intoxicating.

But just as you started to feel your walls tightened, Connor pulled your hands away, and you gave a pitiful moan.

“Impatient, aren’t you,” he teased, drawing your hand up your mound and to the waistband of your panties. “Insatiable little thing.”

You were beyond speaking at this point; all that was left to you were needy whines and breathy, strangled groans.

Connor, meanwhile, seemed as composed as ever, even with his tie removed and the top button of his collar undone, leaving a delicious swath of pale, smooth skin. You wanted to reach out and suck on it, leave a hickey he would have to hide from his next patients, and the thought made you wild with need but your hands remained next to your legs, clutching the cushions for dear life. You didn’t know if he would let you touch him, but you wanted to, desperately.

Still leading your hand, he dipped your fingers under your waistband, moved them down, and guided them over your folds. Your face was on fire, made worse when you both felt how drenched you were.

“It seems to me you really needed this.” Was it your imagination, or did Connor’s breath hitch and nearly stutter? “How long have you been… wound so tight?”

As he said the words, he pressed your fingers inward, teasing and prodding your entrance. You rolled your hips and arched against the back of the couch, unable to keep still or quiet as you released a muffled cry.

“You’re holding back again.” You felt something warm and wet against your skin, and belatedly realized he was dragging his tongue along your neck. You whimpered and tried to squeeze your thighs together over his hand. The stimulation was too much and not enough.

With his free hand, he grabbed your knee and forced your legs apart.

“What did I say about relaxing?” he nearly growled, sending a shiver up your spine. “Even now, you’re still fighting it. You have to trust me.”

You nodded, eyes still shut down, because you couldn’t look at him without dying on the spot. It was purely self-preservation at this point. “I trust you,” you managed to breathe out.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Connor nibbled at your earlobe, gentle but the scrape of his teeth still forced out your moan. “Now for this part… you have to make sure you’re properly lubricated.”

As if to make his point, he swirled your fingers between your folds, coating them with your slick. “If you do this technique dry, it’ll be uncomfortable. Painful, even. We don’t want that.”

You were barely able to follow his words, enjoying the lull of his voice more than anything. It was better than in all your fantasies combined.

He moved your fingers upward, placed them directly on your clit, and began to move them. A counterclockwise motion that was slow and methodical but already threatened to break you to pieces.

“The key is to set a steady, rhythmic pace,” he said, his tone ridiculously formal again except for the hoarseness. “Another tactic that people overlook is to keep your body relaxed, but to keep this area taut.”

Connor slid your fingers down again to your entrance, teasing against it before returning to your clit. He continued to speak, ignoring your choked cry as if he hadn’t heard it.

“Tensing and flexing your pelvic muscles is key to achieving a satisfying orgasm. So in this case, I do want you to tense up here. Can you do that?”

Oh, fuck, was about the most coherent response you could come up with, but you managed to choke out a, “Yes.”

You really did try to follow Connor’s instructions. Relax your muscles except for between your legs. Easy. Except you were a giant stress-ball of horny and you wanted to jump into Connor’s lap, unzip his pants, and sit on his dick.

The thought made you moan and arch your back again, desperate to move your fingers faster, but Connor wouldn’t let you, forcing your fingers to remain at the slow, torturous pace.

It was good, so good, but it wasn’t enough, and Connor was keeping you just short of reaching your peak. He might actually succeed in driving you crazy.

Fuck it. If he was going to keep torturing you, you were going to enjoy it was much as possible. With your free hand, you slipped it under your shirt, pulled your bra down, and rubbed your thumb harshly over the nipple. The additional stimulation made you almost sob with relief, unable to be still as you squirmed and pushed up against his hand.

You heard Connor suck in a breath, his hand suddenly still, and without thinking you grabbed his lax fingers and forced them back onto your clit. Directly. His hand remained frozen, even when you tried to move it. Despite his lanky limbs and slim body, he was very strong.

You finally opened your eyes, met his warm brown ones, and desperately begged.

“Please…”

He chewed the corner of his lip as if conflicted, even with his hand down your panties.

“Please, Connor.” Your words were a choked moan, his name a sinful plea on your lips, and you saw the moment his resolve break.

Swallowing hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob, he removed his hand entirely from your panties. For a moment, you thought you’d misinterpreted, but then he lifted his fingers to his lips, glistening with your slick, and cleaned them off with his tongue before popping them into his mouth.

You just stared at him, sure your mind had just broken, especially when he pulled his fingers from his mouth with an indecent pop.

And then… he removed his glasses.

You’d never seen Connor without his glasses before. He looked… barely restrained. His eyes, normally so warm and soft, were sharp and edged like the blade of a knife. Like he wanted to take you apart and make you all his.

Apparently, that’s what he intended to do.

Connor rose to his feet and stood between your knees after kicking them apart, barely giving you any time to adjust before he knelt on the cushion between your legs. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, settling you into his lap and trapping you between him and the back of the couch.

You watched, mouth dry and chest heaving as he unbuckled his belt and harshly pulled it from its loop, tossing it aside. His eyes never left yours even as he unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out of his boxer-briefs.

You’d never thought it was possible for a cock to look so delicious, and his was mouth-wateringly gorgeous. A nice size and girth, flushed and already leaking precum at the tip.

He didn’t give you enough time to admire it; Connor looped one arm around the small of your back, lifted your hips, tugged aside the crotch of your panties, and pulled you up onto his lap. The tip of his cock pushed past your slick entrance, and he slid the rest of the way inside without much difficulty from how wet you were, but you were suddenly so full you could barely breathe.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your ear. It was the first time you’d ever heard him curse. “You’re so… tight.”

You held onto his broad shoulders like a lifeline, fingers digging into his dress shirt and whimpering as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist.

“Connor,” you nearly sobbed from relief and the almost-painful fullness. You didn’t care if it would hurt, you needed this. Needed him. “Please… fuck me.”

With a low growl, he thrust forward, crushing you between the couch and his chest, half-holding you up as he thrust into you again. Each drag of his cock inside you made you moan, or cry, and you buried your face into his neck as your walls already started to tighten around him.

He felt better than a dream, hitting the spots you could never reach yourself, the sound of his hips slamming into yours wet and obscene in his small office. You could feel yourself dripping, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared.

“Connor.” You repeated his name, over and over, voice rising in pitch the tighter you became. “Connor.”

“I know,” he gasped out, fingers digging into your hips as he increased the brutal, merciless pace. “You’re doing… so well, baby girl. You’re… almost there.”

You half-sobbed at the praise, wanting to come so badly, but at the same time, conflicted. Never wanting it to stop. Not wanting this fantasy to be over.

Maybe Connor sensed it, because he latched onto your throat with his mouth, nipping and sucking and kissing your skin as if he could live on that alone.

“Come for me,” he growled, and you did, unable to do anything but obey.

You gripped him so tightly you must have left bruises, arched your back, and cried out sharply, your whole body shuddering as you pulsed and throbbed around him. Stars exploded behind your eyes as pleasure sparked through every nerve and inch of your skin, and all you could do was cling to him tightly so you wouldn’t drown beneath the waves.

Connor gave a choked curse, his pace staggering into shallow, uneven thrusts, before he pushed all the way inside and shivered hard. He held you tightly against his chest as he groaned into your hair, panting and holding you on his lap as his cock twitched and throbbed inside you.

Only when you felt his cum start to leak out of you did you remember you hadn’t used a condom.

Shit.

You expected him to pull out of you, to tell you to get out now that he was done with you. Instead, Connor kept his arms around you as he shifted over, sitting back and pulling you onto his lap, still embedded deep inside you.

And then he did something you never would have expected; he took your head between his hands and drew you forward, pressing his soft lips against yours. Tender, warm, and inviting, the tip of his tongue licked against your lips. You gasped and shivered and he pulled back, a small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

“So…” His smile fell and he looked almost nervous. You almost missed it because he had lowered his hands to your hips and begun tracing distracting circles on them with his thumbs. Even through the cloth of your skirt his touch was warm and electric. “I don’t know if you would be interested… but…”

He faltered again and you weren’t imagining the shyness there, which was crazy because he’d just given you the best orgasm of your life. What could he possibly have to be bashful about?

“Yes?” you asked, surprised at how raw you sounded. You curled your finger into his hair, liking the softness of it, and needed to do something with your hands before you decided to start riding him again. His cock, even though it had softened, was still very distracting inside you.

Connor’s cheeks a pretty pink, so endearing and awkward as he leaned into your touch. “I was wondering if you’d… maybe want to come over to my house tonight?”

You blinked at him. Probably the fifth time he’d broken your brain in so many minutes.

“I mean,” he flushed a deeper pink, “I feel like I at least owe you dinner. I’ve been told I’m a decent cook, and… that is, if you don’t want to sue me for… for malpractice—“

You surged forward and pressed your lips against his, forcing him to stop talking.

Connor gave a startled gasp, giving you the opportunity to lick into his mouth. You could feel his dick give an interested twitch inside you. You groaned, shifting your hips a little. You knew your time was almost up, so there was no possible way for a round two, but…

Going to Connor’s house? Having him cook you dinner? Maybe even stay the night in his bed?

You broke the kiss, took a steadying breath of air, and smiled down at him.

“Yes,” you said. “I’d love to.”

[navegandoaciegas]

five more minutes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: secret relationship, general smut warnings, explicit language, 18+ please.

Summary: Three times when all you wish for is five more minutes of time with Bucky. AKA, dating co-stars is complicated, and that’s why you chose to keep your relationship a secret.

A/N: I wrote this for @wxntersoldiers​ ‘s 6k AU writing challenge and I chose Actor!AU. I hope you like this! English is my third language so please forgive any mistakes. Also I tried to make a moodboard but I’m not artistically inclined so... 

Five more minutes is all you could ask for every time the clock strikes 7AM and Bucky has to rush out of bed, silky sheets tangling up his legs, tripping over his own feet as he scrambles to put on a t-shirt that he hopes your smell doesn’t linger on; in the darkness he stumbles on the shoes you’ve thrown away in a haste to get undressed, and curses you for drawing the blinds at night before finally sneaking out your hotel room with a whispered ‘see you on set’. Groggy like you always are in the morning, you wait with bated breath for him to text you he’s back in his, unseen by the rest of the cast and crew that swarm the place at 8, your secret safe another morning, before falling back asleep. 

All you want is five more minutes of his chestnut hair sprawled over his pillow, his soft snores and jerky legs, his prosthetic arm weighting on your waist and warmth radiating off of him that compensates for his blanket hogging tendencies.

“Just five more minutes.” he grumbles when the alarm goes off, the same thing he says every morning, the same four words he used to say everyday back in school; just like his mother would drag him out of bed anyways, ignoring his pleads, so do you.

Turning around you press sweet kisses on his forehead and graze his stubble covered cheeks.

“We don’t have five minutes.”, you whisper, “Makeup and hair is coming in an hour.”

Bucky groans in annoyance and buries his face deeper in the pillow, mumbling something about wanting to stay with you all day.

Five more minutes is not too much to ask for, and today you decide that the planet could stop spinning on its axis and time could freeze, all for a little more time together before you have to face the reality of your relationship.

Fleeting moments, longing looks, lingering touches: a small price to pay to keep the rest of the world from poking and prodding your love, questioning your motives, twisting and warping reality until your unadulterated feelings are but a publicity stunt, until one is an abusive asshole and the other is a serial cheater, and what was once a safe haven becomes the source of all pain and insecurities.

But in the darkness of your hotel room, in your little oasis of peace, you’re not a clandestine affair, but a precious secret that’s worth keeping, and all that matters is you and him; there’s no shouting paparazzis, no nosey interviewers, no assuming public, just you and your sweet kisses, Bucky and his delicate touches.

His hands roam over your body, goosebumps spreading behind his soft caresses, heat pooling in your core when he kneads the flesh of your thighs and ass, nipples stiffening when his teeth graze them. 

Five more minutes, and maybe a little more, is all you ask for, just enough time for you to explore his body, tug on his hair, nip his throat and kiss your way downward, careful not to leave any sign of your love, no mark of your sweet possessiveness.

Five more minutes of his tongue delving in your glistening folds, his long fingers circling your bud, of you bucking your hips to meet his thrusts until he’s buried deep inside you, and the burn of him stretching you gives way to pleasure. 

Your head is yanked back when he pulls on your hair, his cock sliding in and out of you as your clit keeps rubbing on the sheets, his hips hitting your ass as he fucks you into the mattress. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the pillow to muffle the moans and screams erupting out of your mouth.

Your walls clench around him and you feel your orgasm near, pleasure shooting from your core to the rest of your body, toes curling and mind hazy; Bucky follows close behind, his cock swelling as he snaps his hips harder and faster, until he spills inside you, hot release filling you so much you come too, clamping down on him and milking every last drop he gives you. 

These moments as you recover from the explosion in your bodies, these adoring looks when you bask in the aftershock of pleasure, these rare cuddles after making love to you: you don’t get them often. And as most beautiful things in life, they’re not meant to last.

A knock at your door bursts your loving bubble and jolts you back to reality, the harsh reminder of not being able to scream your love at the top of your lungs hitting you like a freight car.

“I got you breakfast.” announces the faint voice of Peter, your PA May’s nephew, the college kid who runs errands for you, brings you coffee and holds your purse when you’re out shopping, the same kid people speculate you’re hooking up with about any time he’s photographed with you, the same way you’re rumored to be sleeping with half of Hollywood.

You and Bucky both sigh, knowing those five more minutes you wish for are delayed yet again, and now you’ll have to find a way to successfully sneak him out of your room.

🎬

Blissfully unaware is how you’d describe the people in your life, always so close to finding out, to walking in on you doing something you’re not supposed to, and yet so far away from the truth, so painfully oblivious that they could never even suspect anything. 

Their blindness makes you delirious with excitement: your love is only yours, you don’t have to share it with anyone else, because you don’t want to, because you’re greedy and selfish like that and because holding hands under the table, sneaking kisses between takes when no one is watching, fucking in the trailers with the door ajar because you secretly want to get caught, is the rush of energy you never knew you needed to feel alive, the fix of adrenaline you can’t live without.

Heated touches, swollen lips, rough hands on your body, open mouthed kisses. Panting, moaning, crying. Fuzzy hair on your sensitive nipples, strong legs between your own. Rough sand underneath you, the sound of the waves that beat on the shore in your ears.

He looks so beautiful under the orange Hawaiian sunset, red faced and disheveled, hair sticking everywhere, his hard length pressed against your core. You feel warmth inside you when he looks at you, when he grazes your skin with soft caresses, when he peppers your neck with kisses. Your heart is beating out of its cage and-

“And, cut!” Pepper, the director, shouts at the top of her lungs, interrupting the magic of the moment, “You guys did amazing!” 

The crew starts packing as Pepper congratulates you, praising your ‘great on screen chemistry’, the kind she’s never seen before, and the realism of each of your touches and looks. You wish you could say you’re that good of an actress, but the truth is when Bucky touches you the rest of the world disappears, you’re not Karina and he’s not Oliver. It’s just the two of you, and sometimes you have to stop yourself right before moaning his name instead of Oliver’s. 

That night he’s in your room again before a movie premiere you’ve both been invited to, with a nicely packaged pink bag, “A gift.” he says holding it up to you, “Wear this tonight. Don’t worry, I washed it before.”

Absolutely not, is the first answer you give when you unwrap the white tissue paper around the present, but as always Bucky manages to be too convincing for your own good: the promise of all the things he can do with his tongue if you behave like a good girl is all it takes for you to change your mind.

At the premiere, you wear the vibrating panties like he’s asked of you.

It’s humiliating in the best way possible the way he smirks watching from afar how you squirm every time he controls the vibration so it’s high enough that you feel an orgasm near, but not fast enough that it seems achievable, a sweet torture he’s subjecting you to as you slowly rub your aching core on the seat whilst struggling to keep a straight face when people talk to you. You’ll both look back to the pictures taken tonight and remember what you were hiding. It’s your dirty little secret, the glances you steal, his hand controlling the device in your panties and increasing the speed every time a man dares talk to you. You’re going out of your mind, desperate to lose control and aware you can’t do that. 

Bucky tries to entertain this interviewer who’s flirting with him, but all he can concentrate on is your thighs clenching and your face glistening in a fine sheen of sweat. He sends you a look, and you don’t even need words or gestures to get up from your seat and head straight to the restrooms where he’ll be meeting in enough time that it won’t seem suspicious.

After all, you’ve perfected the art of sneaking around. 

When you get out of the stalls and back to your seat, eyes half lidded and lips swollen, Natasha smiles, completely oblivious to what just went down in the bathrooms, and the idea adds to the pulsing ache between your legs.

Outside, bodyguards part the crowd, flashing lights blind you, loud voices overwhelm you. You make your way through the shouting paparazzi and fans that ask questions you dread to answer. One day you will, likely on some scripted talk show, reading a speech May will have prepared off the teleprompter.

“Fans have been speculating about you and Barnes dating, can you tell us more?”

“There’s been talks about a whirlwind romance between the two of you, both on screen and off.”

One day you will.

You smile at the cameras, joke with interviewers. Bucky spots you from afar and smiles when your eyes lock together.

Surrounded by hundreds of people or on a desert island, underneath the bright lights of Hollywood or in the darkness of the trailers where you’ve fallen in love, all that matters is him and you.

One day you will, but not today. Today you need five more minutes. Today your secret is still yours, your love is only yours, and you have no intention of sharing.

🎬

You never ask for much, never wish for the moon; you just want five minutes of peace and quiet, five minutes where paparazzi don’t follow you around like hungry hyenas, where you can grab lunch with an old friend and not have journalists speculate about your love life as you eat. 

“So, who is it this time?” Bucky asks in a monotone voice, hands rubbing sunblock on your shoulders.

“Quentin Beck.” you reply drily, scrolling through your Instagram feed. It was Bucky last time, Carol Denvers before him, among an endless list of actors and models.

He hums, “How long?”

“Couple of weeks, maybe months? Who knows.” you shrug, sipping on a margarita, contemplating the beauty of Tony’s private island. Your eyes are met with a horizon of endless blue, sky and ocean fusing into one, resembling Bucky’s eyes; white sand burns the soles of your feet, and a gentle salty breeze blows his hair. 

TMZ reports rumors of you sneaking out of Beck’s hotel room in the early hours of the morning, hours you spent blissfully asleep on Bucky’s chest.

“Not me, I didn’t realize you were dating someone else.” he deadpans, unfolding the beach chair and sitting on it, only for it to collapse on itself, sending him ass first on the ground.

You can’t help the ugly but heartfelt laugh that escapes you at the sight of your hunky boyfriend folded in half, and you only laugh out more when he glares at you.

“I bet you’d help Beck out if he fell on his ass.” he grumbles, struggling to get up.

“I would because he’s my boyfriend, apparently.” you giggle.

The look in Bucky’s eyes would make anyone cower in fear, but you can’t decide whether it turns you on or amuses you. One moment you’re laying on the beach and the next thing you know, Bucky’s hauled you on his shoulder, prosthetic arm keeping you in place as he rushes to the shore. 

The ocean is surprisingly warm and calm, much like his eyes. Forehead against yours, he holds you up so you’re clinging to him like a koala, and you both sway along the gentle waves.

You press your body onto his and he groans in your mouth when you slant your lips against his, kissing him possessively. Your hands are needy and desperate as they roam over his lean body, tug on his hair, reach in his swim shorts and palm his cock, and his touch is bruising on your thighs. You hiss at the stretch of him inside you, and your walls clamp down on him as he bounces you on his cock, grunting filthy promises and sweet praises into your ears.

While he makes love to you in the ocean, the sun kissing your skin and salt clinging to your bodies, you both moving in sync, the rest of the world is speculating on your love life, rumors spreading around like wildfire about who you might be dating, thousands of photos of you and Beck eating together, articles being written about your commitment issues. You wonder which one of your so-called friends would sell you out in a heartbeat, which one of the crew members would out your relationship with no hesitation if they knew.

And the fullness of him inside you and the sweet secret you two share like teenagers hopelessly in love are the biggest fuck you that you could think of.

You never ask for much, only for five minutes of bliss, and among the gentle waves of the ocean and underneath the scorching sun of the tropics, you finally got them.

🎬

masterlist

I hope you liked this. if you did, please consider reblogging and leaving some feedback, it helps me a lot 🥰

[desperationandgin]

The Honeymoon (Market Price)

Rating: Mature

Also Read on: Ao3

Market Price from chapter 1

All of the Market Price one-shots

Summary: Jamie and Claire’s honeymoon.

A/N: Shout out to trashyKT for coining this ‘Pandemic Porn.’ It’s my new favorite phrase EVER. Also thanks to her, @happytoobserve and @walkinginland for the extra eyes! I couldn't be more honored that so many of you have told me this is your go-to happy fluffy place. So, in the face of the pandemic, I give you the fluffy Fraser's honeymoon. If you've never read any of Market Price, you certainly won't be lost, but I'd love it if you gave the rest of the series a shot ❤️

And sorry, I’m not a graphic maker, pls enjoy my moodboard free words, lol

+++

The Honeymoon

When she begins to wake, it’s with resistance.

In no way does her dream-self want to give up Jamie’s red curls bobbing between her thighs as he thoroughly enjoys himself, but Claire can’t stop the pull of wakefulness. A deep sigh of unfulfilled want rises from her belly, evolving into a quiet gasp of surprise as flames ignite, her body being moved gently until she’s flat on her back. Jamie pushes her legs apart by one knee, and she’s awake.

Her husband of forty-eight hours is buried between her legs, and the first thing she does is let out one note of a laugh that dissolves into a moan as both of her hands move to the top of his head. Somehow, his hair has never felt softer, like a collection of curled feathers. His tongue on her and inside of her makes her feel electric as his fingers press indents to her hips that won’t quite leave bruises. He’s holding on for dear life, and she’s giving him every reason to.

Pleasure begins to build, making her back arch up, up, up, until only her shoulder blades are resting on the bed. Jamie moves with her, more determined than he’s ever been, and she thanks God for it. The precipice suddenly feels too close, the inevitable drop too far down, and Claire scrambles to grasp at him, to both pull away and push him closer. She feels his growl of perseverance as a vibration in her body, and her hands grip his hair, grabbing twin fistfuls.

Jamie’s lips form a hollow of sensation, and Claire shatters, aware of nothing save for the persistent tongue eagerly lapping her up. It takes her brain a moment to realize he isn’t stopping, and when she falls again, he’s there to gently guide her down.

Time fades away, and her body seems to melt into nothing. His kisses falling against her stomach bring her back to consciousness, and she stretches languidly. She can still feel the pleasure in every limb of her body, and when she rolls onto her side, she opens her eyes to see Jamie. Her heart, having just caught back up, stutters for a moment at the sight of him. His hair looks as though a small tornado blew through it, and his face is bright red, but it’s his eyes - so blue she could soar into them - that break her wide open.

They reach for one another at the same time, instinctively, and her head tucks against his neck, her leg moving over his hip as he guides himself into her.

“When you look at me,” she whispers, one hand laying flat along his cheek, “I can see everything, Jamie.”

Keeping his gaze on hers, he raises his hand to cover the one against his face. “Tell me what ye see, Sassenach,” he requests, voice low as he begins to move in her slowly.

She can’t break his stare, pouring her heart into his as she speaks. “It’s always been us.”

Their souls have known one another for an infinite amount of time, and Jamie turns his head to kiss her palm, breathing heavily against it for a moment. “You are mine, mo nighean donn,” he gasps, then gathers her as close as he can while still moving. “Mine, now and forever.”

Claire wants to somehow meld with him, to feel every part of him become a part of her, and as her pleasure breaks for a third time, she feels him spill into her, his quiet gasp of release an utterance of her name, whispered as an offering of thanks to the Almighty.

In the quiet after, they lay wrapped around one another, her head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat, steady and sure, causes her to drift until his voice quietly rouses her as his body shifts away from her.

“I’ll return for ye,” he promises, and she protests with a grab at his backside when he vacates the bed.

Turning to watch him pad naked into the bathroom, she hears the suite’s large shower turn on, and she smiles softly at his thoughtfulness. When he returns, he holds out a hand to her and she takes it, standing and letting him pull her into a kiss that turns into him lifting her so that her legs can wrap around his hips. By the time they make it back to the bathroom, he’s having his way with her against the wall, the fingers of one hand building her up until her desperate cry of release drowns out the sound of the running water. Only afterwards do they begin the job of getting clean.

The shower is tame, at least to start. Neither of them particularly wants to wind up with an injury, though that doesn’t stop Jamie from very thoroughly washing her body. By the time he’s crouching in front of her, it’s as if his mouth has a mind of its own. There’s no effort required on her part with her back against the wall and Jamie holding her securely, so she gives in on the assumption she probably won’t break a hip.

This time when she comes, it’s with a quiet sigh of his name, head bowing as if in deep prayer. She’s murmuring quietly, and he has to stand again to hear her over the water, his arms wrapping around her.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you. I love you.”

When he tilts her chin up so that she can look at him, the glaze of tears in her eyes causes his own Pavlovian response to her emotion, and he takes her hands in his, cradling them against his chest.

“I love you, my own. My wife. I love ye so much I could burst wi’ it,” he says quietly. They each let their own happy tears fall, mingling with the water in the shower. Once he’s just as clean as she is, they step out, toweling off only to fall damply back into bed.

“What time is it?” she asks, stretching languidly against him.

Reaching for his phone, he has to smile at the lock screen photo (Claire with her mouth wide open and her eyes closed in a laugh he can still hear). “Quarter to noon,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms back around her.

She hums and burrows against him, breathing in the clean, soapy scent of her husband. “I’m ravenous.”

Jamie growls against her neck before ducking lower to press a kiss between her breasts. “Mhmm. So am I.”

Feeling his grin on her skin, Claire tugs at his hair until he’s looking at her.

“Ye meant food,” he says sheepishly.

Laughing, she nods after stealing a kiss of adoration from his lips. “Yes, your wife could do with some real food. There’s most likely something within walking distance.”

He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “That means putting on clothes.”

Claire snorts. “Well. We have to at some point. If you want to see any of Greece, I mean.”

“Not yet. Unless ye’re starvin’,” he adds.

But she’s so charmed by him that she shakes her head with a soft smile. “Not yet,” she agrees.

For a while, they drift together, until Claire reaches out to drag her fingers lightly along his hip. “What are you thinking of, right now?” she asks quietly.

“How worth it t’would be, to get up and go to the beach. I want to see ye in the new bikini.”

Her laugh is loud and rousing, more awake now as she rises on an elbow to look down at him. “I didn’t think you paid attention to what I wore,” she teases.

“Aye, I do, when it’s itty and bitty…”

“Not yellow-polka-dot, though,” she interrupts with a bright grin.

“Oh, I saw. Bright red. Verra bawdy and bold,” he says, hands rising to cover her breasts, unable to resist.

“I thought you liked me bawdy and bold.”

Jamie grunts, evidence of what he thinks about her in a red bikini growing against her thigh. “Wouldna have ye any other way,” he agrees.

“I could be bawdier, maybe,” she suggests, shifting so that she can press a soft kiss to his chest, then one lower, down his abdomen.

Swallowing in anticipation, he reaches out, tugging at a curl. “I’m no’ going to stop ye in yer efforts,” he promises, then groans as her lips press a kiss to the tip of his cock.

“So, you’re interested, is what you’re saying?” she teases, dragging her tongue up the length of him.

She’s made it so that all thought ceases immediately, and there’s finally a delayed aye of agreement.

Claire knows what she does to him, that she reduces him to a single brain cell and one single want. She knows she can do it from across a crowded room with a simple look. As she pleasures him, she takes her own, a hand snaking between her thighs. As the sounds in the room fade to white noise, she feels his head rise and knows the moment he realizes she’s touching herself.

He turns stone hard and she breaks just before him, pulling her mouth away as her hands finish both of them. She closes her eyes for a moment, each of them panting before forcing herself up to reach the tissues on the nightstand. Mess cleaned, she drapes herself across him and sighs contentedly.

“Now can we go and get food?”

“Aye,” he chuckles, gathering her close to kiss her lips. “Aye, we can go.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two servings of souvlaki and loukoumades later, they walk aimlessly, avoiding most of the larger tourist traps thanks to her fuzzy memory of a trip taken when she was twenty-two.

“And what were ye doin’ in Greece at twenty-two?” Jamie asks, eyebrows raised.

“Kissing cute local boys, mostly,” Claire replies casually.

“Trying to relive the glory days of yer youth?”

“Why, are you interested?”

He pulls her into a kiss right there on the street, tasting honey and cinnamon on her lips. By the time he breaks it, she’s grinning.

“Aye, verra interested, ye could say.”

They laugh, holding hands as they walk leisurely throughout the afternoon, not making it to the beach, but buying random trinkets and postcards; small things to remember their time spent mostly making love. They stumble into a restaurant hidden away in an alcove just before the sun has a chance to set, winding their way through the main dining room and toward open-air seating. Dinner is spent on a patio roof, drinking wine and eating lamb, and during a dessert of white chocolate and berries, she brings the conversation around to their future plans.

“I’ve been thinking about our flat.”

He swipes at a bit of rogue chocolate on the plate with one finger, licking it clean. “Aye? What about it?”

“I think it’s only a two-bedroom and we need more space. Unless you’ve decided we only need the one child.”

Jamie grunts. “I see yer point. And it would be better to have the luxury of time to find a place to live.”

“A place we pick together,” Claire points out, smiling as his face softens.

“A house, ye reckon?” he asks, a slow idea forming as he tries to suss out what she’d like.

“Something close to Lallybroch for the farm. I don’t know what we’ll find, but-”

“I could build ye one, Sassenach.”

Claire’s taken by surprise, and she pauses with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“I could draw up the plans, hire home builders, but aye. And I could do it on the land we already own,” he decides, seeing it in his mind’s eye.

“How big of a house?” she asks curiously, ignoring the rest of the dessert completely now.

“To fit six weans-”

“Six! That’s up from four.”

“To fit four to six weans,” he continues, undeterred, “We’ll need at least six bedrooms, I reckon.”

Claire considers this. “Ours, of course. And five additional bedrooms to figure out the rest. I suppose it’s a good plan.”

“And I dinna ken where we can find all of that, plus plenty of bathrooms, all wi’ in Broch Mordha.”

He has a point, and she looks out over their view, at the way the sun is setting and the birds are flying in Vs toward home. Looking back at him, she reaches across the table for his hand, her thumb moving over the gold of his wedding band.

“My husband is going to build me a house. Is that what I can tell all of my friends at the hospital?”

Jamie’s smile is slow and makes her stomach tighten into a knot of anticipation without his uttering a single word.

“Ye can tell anyone ye’d like. The decision is made, Sassenach.”

Just like that, she’s getting a house. “How do you do that?”

He finishes the wine in his glass, looking at her curiously, a quiet hmm? indicating he wants to know what she means.

“Make me feel secure. As though there isn’t anything I need to worry over on my own.”

“Because there isna anything ye need to think on by yerself,” Jamie responds right away. “We’ll do this together, Sassenach. I’m no’ saying the house will be done tomorrow or even this year, but once we’ve returned to Scotland, we’ll go look at the land, decide where to build.” There’s plenty of space thanks to Brian Fraser’s thoughtful planning decades ago.

“You’ve made me feel like this from the beginning,” she insists, not meaning only since their vows. “I thought I’d ruined everything on our first date, that I’d offended you by burning supper. But you didn’t miss a beat.”

“And now, one ruined meal, a dozen or so - what I’m assuming were perfect - dates, and a thousand kisses later, here we are, Sassenach.”

He stands and reaches for her hand, and once she’s facing him, her arms wind their way around his neck.

“Here we are. On a rooftop in Greece on our honeymoon. Not a burnt morsel of food in sight.”

They both laugh softly, foreheads meeting. “Ye’re getting better.”

“Because you’re teaching me.”

He brings his hands to her hips and smiles. “I’ll always teach ye. Anything ye want tae ken.” For a moment he doesn’t move, and it’s just the two of them in the sunset, swaying to the sound of the ocean in the distance.

When he speaks, it’s so soft that she, just as quietly, asks him to repeat himself.

“Sorcha.”

She raises her head just enough so that the tip of her nose can graze his. “What does that mean?”

“‘Tis yer name in the Gàidhlig,” he begins, pulling back enough to be able to cradle her face. “But also ‘light.’” He pauses to find his words before speaking once more.

“Ye’re my light, Sassenach. A beacon to call me home.”

Claire’s eyes are wide as she fights the urge to cry, losing the battle as he reverently draws her hand around to kiss her wedding ring.

“There are days I believe ye were only shining for me.”

She wonders how he does it; how he can undo her with words. As a tear slides over the apple of her cheek, she speaks quietly, leaning in so that the words can fall softly across his lips.

“That’s because I was. I am.”

They hold one another as the sky fades into gentle purples and pinks, and the world is all around them, suddenly new with possibility.