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amysteriousmessenger · 4 years

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‘Oh, to serve a Princess’ - Ray x Reader NSFW fanfiction

Pairing: Ray x implied female reader CW: Face-riding, fingering, slightly obsessive and a little more confident Ray who just wants to be used Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Explicit

You hadn’t seen Ray in a couple of days, almost a week actually. He said he’d been so busy doing another job for the Saviour that he hadn’t even had time to sleep and had been eating at his desk. He cried on the phone that every time he’d tried to sneak out to come and visit you, a Believer had been waiting outside for him to ask where was going. You missed him, that much was obvious from the ache in your heart, but the punch in your stomach was the worry you had for him. You’d been at Mint Eye for several months, but you had yet to see what tied him so subserviently to the Saviour, besides fear. You’d hoped that he’d at least been eating decently while at his desk, but the various candy bar wrapper sounds you had heard over the phone told you otherwise. You couldn’t help but sigh as you stared out of the window into the night sky. The garden was so beautiful, and you knew how much Ray cherished the flowers growing within it. And yet, it brought you little joy to be enjoying it without him.

Averting your gaze towards the small decorative birdcage that resided in the corner of your room, you couldn’t help but see Ray flash before your eyes again as you touched one of the thin metal bars. Even in the dark lighting of your room, the cage glinted a brilliant gold. You supposed that the cage was just like Magenta. It was so pretty and ornate that, surely, a bird would want to fly willingly towards the gilded embrace it to be loved safely from within its bars. A small bird that longed for protection, to live peacefully. However, it was only when that bird flew into the cage that they would realise it was exactly that: a cage. You felt sick, wiping your fingers against the fabric of your black dress. You’d previously been wearing the dresses that Ray had brought you but they were being cleaned and he’d told you he’d gotten you a new dress, but you hadn’t seen him since he mentioned it. So, you remained in the Mint Eye standard black dress, it was pretty, so you didn’t mind. You looked back between the cage and the garden and figured that the garden would be the lesser of two evils since you’d at least be able to get some fresh air. You grabbed your phone, ID card, and a light shawl just in case it was cold. You didn’t have many shoes with you, but the ground looked dry enough to just wear some light slip-on shoes.

You looked back at the cage once again before swiftly making your way to the door, pulling it open, and having your heart jump out of your chest immediately. Someone was on the other side. It took a second or two for your eyes to adjust and to realise that it was Ray. He hardly looked like Ray. His under-eyes looked practically bruised, he’d lost more weight and he was swaying slightly. He utterly looked exhausted.

‘Ray, are you okay?’ You asked, taking in his appearance. He had brought you a bouquet of gorgeous red roses, but you were more concerned about having him get a little bit of colour in his cheek than the deep rouge of the petals.

‘Yes! I am fine, please do not worry about me, my sweet flower. Might I come in? I know it’s late… I’ve only just finished my work.’

‘Of course, you can but… Ray, you should get some rest first.’ You replied, very much wanting him to get the sleep that he had been so deprived of.

‘A-ah, yes, of course… I did not mean to be a burden, I just hoped I could see you. I went to pick these flowers before I came here, to make up for not visiting’ His half-gloved hands moved the flowers towards you, a pleading look sneaking onto his face. He knew exactly how to have you putty in his hands.

‘Oh, Ray. You’re not a burden. Come in, please, sit down and eat something. They’re so pretty, you know that red roses are my favo- A-ah! Ow!’ you flinched, pulling your hand back from the roses. You’d pricked your finger on a rose thorn. It was only a small drop of blood and didn’t particularly hurt after the initial sting. It was just a tiny dot of blood but, to Ray, it was as though his love had directly hurt you. You didn’t think it was possible, but the colour seemed to drain from his face even more as you watched the panic strike across his features.

‘My princess, I’m so sorry! This is all my fault, I should have de-thorned the roses! I’m so stupid! Useless! I didn’t think and now you’re h-hurt!’ Tears began to well in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but think he looked beautiful, even then.

‘It’s okay, Ray! It’s just a little bit of blood, I just need to take the thorn out.’ You tried to console him as he blamed himself.

‘Please, allow me.’ Ray followed you into the room hurriedly, locking the door behind him. He took the roses from you and placed them on your vanity table. He knew his way around your room very well, since he had personally designed it, and retrieved a small first-aid box from your bathroom. You didn’t think he needed to go to such an effort for such a small, insignificant injury, but figured it would probably bring him a little bit of joy to let him care for you after not being able to see you for so long. He guided you towards your bed, as though you were mortally wounded, and sat down next to you as he fumbled through the small box. He set aside a small band-aid, disinfectant spray, tweezers, and cleaning wipe. You felt bad for worrying ray, especially since he’d had such a rough few days, so you wanted to try and lessen his emotional burden by taking the blame.

‘I’m so clumsy, I usually burn my hands a lot.’ You started before laughing and adding ‘Maybe I should get a pair of gloves like yours, so I stop hurting my fingers so much.’

‘My gloves stop me from biting my nails so much. I often don’t realise I’m doing it but sometimes I just get so anxious. My Saviour told me to wear them to stop biting at my nails and to hide them from her sight, she says my hands aren’t pretty to look at. That they’re a sign of my weakness… Maybe, when I get stronger, I’ll be okay without them. I’m sorry, I need to take the thorn out…’ He whispered as he used the tweezers to remove the thin spike from your skin, making the blood form in a little bubble on the surface of your skin. You could feel your heart clenching as you heard Ray speak about his gloves, and part of you wished you hadn’t mentioned it.

‘It’s okay. I like your gloves Ray, they make you look princely.’ You smiled, using your other hand to gently place your hand on his knee. You felt him tense up for a moment before ever-so-slightly moving closer into your touch.

‘Princely? I-I don’t think I’m good enough for that… but, I’d like to be your prince, if you’d let me, princess.’ Ray replied, averting his gaze back to your finger as he delicately wiped at your finger. Clearly, he was no stranger to disinfecting wounds.

‘You look just like a Prince. I was reading earlier, ‘The Happy Prince’ by Oscar Wilde specifically, and when I read about the Prince having sapphires for eyes, I pictured yours.’ You reached your hand up to stroke his cheek softly with the back of your fingers. You didn’t have the heart to tell him how sad the story of ‘The Happy Prince’ was.

‘Ah… I don’t really know what to say.’ Ray focused on cleaning your finger, his face growing warm under your affection. He couldn’t have hidden the light dusting of a blush even if he had tried.

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you… Your eyes are just pretty.’ You added, worried that you had somehow made him uncomfortable. It was unlike you to be so upfront with Ray, but you just had a pull, a need, to make sure he knew how precious he truly was. He’d never think it for himself, so you wanted to make sure someone told him, at the very least, that he was cherished.

‘P-pretty? I’ve never considered myself pretty, but I like pretty things, like you, and flowers, and the sky… Will you allow me to do something a little bolder than usual?’ He asked, pulling his icy eyes up to meet your gaze for a moment.

‘Of course.’ You knew he’d never do anything without your consent, and you trusted Ray to always treat you with tenderness, so even his ‘boldness’ was sweet. He took a quick intake of breath before bringing your fingertip up to his lips and placing the softest kiss upon where the small prick of blood had begun to reappear, leaving a tiny dot of red on his lips when they left your flesh.

‘I want to… be a Prince for you. They kiss their beloved’s hands, right? And uhm, they- they kiss their love to break the spell.’ He spoke, looking back at your hand as he cupped it with both of his own.

‘True Love’s first kiss? But we’ve kissed before.’ You added, a little confused. You’d done more than kiss before, you’d been with Ray for a few months and the intimacy had been forthcoming. Ray’s adoration was obsessive and, whilst he struggled to accept it, no amount of physical affection was ever enough. He always craved more from the second it was over. But he was uncertain and shy, so sometimes he didn’t know how to ask for more and would, in turn, suffer until you next bestowed it upon him.

‘I wasn’t a Prince then… I want to look after you and treat you like a Princess.’ He said, wrapping the band-aid around your finger and only released your hand to tidy the first-aid box away. You noticed that he hadn’t wiped the blood from his lips despite there being no way that he wasn’t aware of its presence. It was probably the most colour he had on his face at that moment, even in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Ray was almost ghostly in appearance, and yet, so beautiful. It pained you that he couldn’t see that in himself.

‘Okay, you can be my Prince, Ray.’ You whispered. It took a moment for him to hesitate before he tentatively pressed his lips against yours. You hadn’t seen Ray for so long, you had almost forgotten how much you craved his touch. His lips were cold and chapped, more so than usual because of having not looked after himself properly. There was a small tinge from the metallic taste of blood before it quickly vanished, and you could taste the hint of all the sugary snacks that Ray had been subsisting on in his IT room. He was quicker to deepen the kiss than usual, not that you were complaining, but at some point or another: you needed to stop to breathe. It was painfully obvious by the darkening look in Ray’s eyes that he’d have much rather given you his last breath than to pull apart for just a moment longer because as soon as he could, he was back to steal intoxicating kisses from you. You supposed it was due to the lengthy separation that had made Ray be this needy, almost to the point of obsessive , but his kisses were like a drunken summer’s evening: warm and yearning. Yearning for the heat he was so constantly deprived of.

This wasn’t your first time together, so Ray knew what you liked. He knew you liked when he kissed down your neck, when his fingertips danced along your bare shoulders, or when you could feel him whispering into your ear. He was always so meticulously focused on pleasing you that always knew what to do even if he didn’t always have the confidence to execute it without coaxing. This was not one of those times. Ray felt this hunger for you each time, but this time, he didn’t feel the same level of uncertainty that he usually did. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe it was having not had his hands on you in almost a week, but at that moment: you were the drug that Ray was the most addicted to. As he kissed along your neck, your hands found their way into his soft, white hair. Without either of you mentioning it, you both fell back onto the bed together, with Ray leaning over you to continue kissing the sensitive skin on your throat. You couldn’t help but let out small gasps and whimpers under his touch, you really had missed him, after all.

‘Ray…’ You half said, half-moaned. You could feel yourself getting turned on, but the rational part of your brain was reminding you that Ray should get some sleep after having worked for such a long period of time. You wanted him to look after himself, even though that clearly wasn’t at the forefront of his own mind in that moment.

‘Yes, my Princess?’ He pulled away from your neck to ask, looking down into your face from above. He was panting slightly, and you didn’t think it was just from the kissing. Like you, he was flushed in the face and his eyes were half-lidded from sheer hunger.

‘Don’t you think… that you should get some sleep? You were working for so long.’ You said, reaching a hand down from his head to cup his face.

‘D-do you want me to stop?’ Ray asked quickly, a moment of panic flashing that perhaps he had gotten too ahead of himself, that you didn’t want his touch.

‘No, but you’re tired and-’

‘This…is nothing. What kind of Prince doesn’t give his Princess the attention that she deserves, especially after he’s neglected her all week? I-I’ll do anything you ask of me, since it’s you.’ Ray was relieved that it wasn’t him misreading the situation, and you were just concerned for his wellbeing. This wasn’t the lost endurance test he’d had; he could stay awake a little bit longer if it meant getting to be in your company. That much he could manage.

‘A-ah…’ You gasped as he turned to kiss along your bare shoulder. You had missed the sensation of being underneath him like this. His cravat was lightly tickling your chest and you laughed involuntarily. He didn’t take his mouth off of you, but you felt him reach up to his neck with one hand and tug the cravat loose, so it didn’t tickle you as much. He also undid his top button, probably to allow himself to breathe better.

‘H-how do you want me to please you?’ Ray asked, still looking for the confidence to be bolder with verbalising what he wanted to say.

‘Mhm, touch me… Ray.’ You moaned into his ear. You decided that if he really wanted to spend the night with his first moment of freedom, who were you to deny the both of you that enjoyment?

‘Like- like this?’ He asked as he tentatively laid on the bed, half next to you and half on top of you. His gloved hand slowly moved up towards your inner thigh as you parted them to grant him access. Ray’s hand disappeared underneath the hem of your black dress as his fingers found the fabric of your underwear. His confidence seemed to falter for a moment of uncertainty until your own hands found their way into his hair again and you pressed a few butterfly kisses against his sharp jawline.

Usually, Ray took his gloves off to touch you since you wouldn’t actually see his hands in the darkness, but this time he kept them on, primarily because you said that you liked them, and secondly because he wanted to live up to the princely imagery you had described to him. His fingers pressed against you gently, moving in small circular motions up and down the length of you. He’d occasionally vary the pressure depending on which spot he was touching, since he didn’t want to accidentally hurt you. He was teasing you and he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Ray quickly found the spot which made you moan the most. Since he was wearing his gloves, he couldn’t physically feel how turned on you were, so he relied on the mewls you emitted to know that he was doing a good job.

‘More… please.’ You sighed underneath his touch. Ray’s hand found its way into your underwear and you moaned into his mouth as you continued to kiss him, It was safe to say that the situation that definitely gotten heated, but you couldn’t tell from whose face the heat radiated the most, ‘Yeah, just like that…’ You affirmed as his fingers circled around your folds, occasionally teasing at your clit. You briefly wondered why he’d didn’t keep his gloves on for this more often, it felt so good. It carried a certain emotion, being touched with leather gloves, that was making you physically weak at the knees. As much as you enjoyed the feeling of his skin on you, you couldn’t deny that the gloves were definitely doing it for you too. He could feel the slickness of your arousal as his gloved fingers slid along your folds until you were melting against his chest. Ray liked that he was in a position to be able to continuously kiss you as he stroked you, he needed all of you at once. He wanted to be in every single one of your senses, the same way that you were all-encompassing to his. His fingers left you briefly, and you mourned for the sudden lost sensation.

‘My princess, would you mind, uhm, lifting your hips up for me?’ He asked in a husky manner that was almost unlike him. He sounded so needy, you immediately complied and helped him to remove your underwear. While you were there, you also kicked off the slipped that you had put on for your long-forgotten walk into the garden. Once you laid back down, Ray’s obsessive hands soon found their way back to your body.

After another minute or so of circling your clit, his fingers lowered themselves to your entrance. He waited, asking for permission, before slowly entering you with his hand. As always, he was patient with your body, especially after having not touched you for a while. He added one finger at first, moving it slowly to let you adjust, before quickly adding another. You had missed the feeling of having him inside you like this. Ray had to adjust his wrist slightly before he continued to let him curl his finger against you, rubbing along your wall in a ‘come hither’ motion. While you had some lube in your bedside table, you didn’t think there’d be a need for it, since you could feel how turned on you were from the cool air hitting the wetness on your thighs. You moaned out affection and affirmations to Ray as he increased his speed as he let you pull him into kisses at will or held his head against your chest. However you wanted to hold him, he’d happily go along with it.

‘It’s so good, Ray- ah, right there!’ You choked as he hit the spot that made you almost see stars. He tried to focus on hitting that spot, again and again, his hand becoming wetter and wetter which each passing tap on your g-spot. You were somewhat embarrassed that you could actually hear the motion of Ray’s fingers moving in and out of you but it just seemed to spur him on more. He really was talented with those fingers.

‘I want... more. I saw something that I want to try. I-I promise I’ll do my best to make it feel good… I don’t quite know how to phrase it. I want to taste you, from above-’ He explained, slightly haphazardly.

‘Are you sure? Won’t I be too heavy?’ You questioned; a little bit uncertain of his request.

‘Of course not. In the video I saw, they used a pillow to support their neck and-’ He started, but you couldn’t help interject with laughter.

‘Ray, were you watching porn?’ It just seemed so out of character for him.

‘No! I mean, technically, yes. It wasn’t mine… I was checking that none of the Believers were trying to look at stuff they shouldn’t be and I… found a video. I thought it looked like you might enjoy it. I found that I… wanted to please you like that.’ His face flushed with embarrassment, even after everything that had just happened, he was suddenly embarrassed that he stumbled across and watched a porn video.

‘We can try it, if you want.’ The embarrassment spread from Ray to you, realising that you were, in fact, going to be sitting on his face. You were a little bit self-conscious about your body, so you said you wanted to keep your dress on, and Ray replied that thought you were beautiful, but he understood body issues and wouldn’t push you since this was already out of your comfort zone. Ray removed his fingers from you again and, with his other hand, he laid a pillow flat on the bed and positioned it so his neck was supported at a slight angle. You were a little nervous about hurting him, but since he wanted to try it, you were willing to give it a try.

You sat up, unsure how to how exactly you were supposed to get on his face without crushing him, but still equally as desperate for stimulation. You lifted your dress up and bunched it at your hips, throwing one leg over Ray’s chest so you were almost straddling him at the next. You waited for him to give the okay to move closer and put yourself in his mouth. You felt his hands steady your thighs as he nudged you close to him, clearly equally as eager to use his mouth on you as you were to have him do it.

Ray started with a few small, sensitive kisses along your folds, earning small shudders from above. You felt a little scared to move, in case you fell and hurt him, so you intended to just let him take his time in what he was doing, he was going you so much attention after all. You felt him stick out his tongue and run it in a line up and down you, your breath hitching in your throat when he grazed it over your clit again and again. And then, almost all at once, Ray pushed your hips into your face, so you were completely on his mouth. It was as though something took over him, a hungry desire that he didn’t verbalise, but you could see burning in his eyes as he took mouthful after mouthful of you, You threw your head back in pleasure and choked out his name in broken moans. You hadn’t expected Ray to be so upfront with wanting to do something like this, and then actually taking control with it.

His gloved hands were on your hips, moving you over his mouth with speed. He was practically begging you to use him, to let him make you feel good. Ray wanted nothing more than to be useful to you, especially like this. He needed that useless body of his to be good for something, to be good for you. He’d never want for anything ever again if you were to, at the very least, allow him to stay by your side like this. This much he could do. Was it selfish of him to think such a thing? Perhaps. But he decided that, with everything he’d endured in his life, he was allowed to keep that one selfish thought close to his heart. It was a little difficult for him to manage while you were obstructing his view, but Ray undid his trousers and began lightly touching his own erection since it had become uncomfortable to ignore, using your own arousal on his gloves as a lubricant. He was already painfully hard from pleasuring you, but he didn’t need any of the attention to be on him tonight, he wanted to be there just to please you, to serve you.

He stroked himself with one hand and continued to guide you over his face with the other. He particularly liked it when you found the confidence to grip your hands in his hair and start moving yourself against his tongue, using him in the way he wanted you to. You had already been starting to get close to an orgasm when Ray had had his hands inside of you, so it didn’t take very long for the sensation to start building once again. Personally, Ray didn’t have too much stamina so he had to delay his own orgasm for as long as possible to be able to continue watching the show above him to his utmost benefit. He preferred watching you as you moved against him, and he felt drunk when you made eye contact with him whilst you did it. He was the only one who got to see you like this, the only one. He didn’t care what he had to do to keep it that way, he’d be possessive, obsessive, compulsive if needs be to ensure that that would remain the case.

Above, you felt the pressure of an orgasm building quickly under the merciless assault of Ray’s tongue. You could feel that Ray was picking up his own pace and moaning onto you, which felt fucking great. He was starting to get close too, which made sense because of how aroused he had been just from touching you. Besides, he definitely hadn’t had any time to release himself all week, he was probably just a bit pent up too. His lips were pursed over your clit, swapping between kissing it and sucking on it and then using his tongue when you picked up speed in order to let you fuck yourself on it, praises and prayers falling freely from your mouth.

‘Fuc- Ray! I think I’m gonna-’ You didn’t even have a chance to finish your statement before Ray picked up the speed he was moving your hips at, quickly sending you over the edge in his mouth. Did he stop moving you, just because you’d climaxed? Absolutely not. Through the blinding pleasure, Ray continued to use his mouth on you until your legs started to twitch from the overstimulation. It was watching you writhe above him, knowing that he’d done such a good job that allowed him to find his own orgasm too, quickly releasing over his hand. He touched himself through his peak, mentally visualising how both of your arousals must look mixed between his fingertips. He closed his eyes, feeling lost in the moment where all of his pent-up frustrations from the last week came crumbling down into a moment of practical peace.

When he was done, you removed yourself from his mouth and collapsed on the bed next to him. You were both panting heavily as you crawled to his side, placing exhausted kisses along his jaw and temple. His hair was a mess from where you’d run your hands through it, but you thought it just made him look cute. You weren’t surprised to see how quickly the exhaustion took over Ray after he caught his breath and you convinced him to take the risk and sleep in your room for the night, since you weren’t entirely certain he’d made it all of the way back to his own room without passing out. You took turns in the bathroom, cleaning yourselves up from the unfolded events of the night, and crawled into bed together.

‘I love you, Ray. I really do.’ You said, embraced in one another’s arms in the darkness.

‘I love you too, my sweet Princess.’ He replied, clearly trying to fight off the sleep to continue talking to you.

You pressed one more kiss into his pale cheek, ‘I wish you’d know how precious you were to me.’ You whispered, but he was already unconscious.

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

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kodachrome.

summary: you give harry a camera for his birthday and the two of you are more than excited to put it to good use.

warnings: smut, 18+

word count: 5k

song inspo.: kodachrome - paul simon

It’s true that you may have had ulterior motives with Harry’s birthday gift.

His hands are delicate, fingertips running across the surface of the Polaroid camera as though he’d break it if his grip got any tighter. The packs of film you’d purchased with the camera rest on the coffee table, being thoroughly ignored while Harry examines his gift, and you duck your head just a bit to read his expression. Slightly confused, brows furrowed, a small grin tugging at his lips - it’s what you’d expected with a gift like this, because it isn’t as though either of you need a camera. Surely both of your phones are better quality than the photos you’ll be taking with the Polaroid but it’s for the aesthetic, you suppose.

“Do you like it?” you question, voice soft.

Harry rests the camera on his lap and glances up at you, large hand moving to rest over your knee through your jeans. “Well, I love it, ‘course.”

There’s a second part of his response that’s left unsaid - perhaps the question of why you’d gotten him it - so you lean in, chin resting on your boyfriend’s shoulder and your lips drifting dangerously close to his ear. Just enough that you know his jeans are growing tighter and he shifts in his seat on your living room couch as if to prove it to you. “Thought it might be fun to start taking pictures of each other.”

A beat passes with silence, and then he turns his head to look at you, nearly bemused by the concept, as though he doesn’t know exactly what you’re implying. “Wha’ kinda pictures?”

You hum softly, reaching over to the coffee table to pick up one of the film packages, already beginning to tear open the wrapper. “The kind that’ll make touring more fun for both of us.”

Harry pauses, eyes narrowing at your fingers ripping open the crinkly film packaging, and you can practically hear his rebuttal of the idea before he says it. “Thought we said no nudes - people could find ‘em, babe.”

“Physical copies are more secure than digital ones,” you tell him, picking up the camera from his lap to put the film in. “Are you telling me you don’t want to take pictures of me sucking you off to have with you on tour? ‘Cause that’s very out of character for you, Mr. Styles.”

He snorts and the familiar sound is like music to your ears, and then he reaches over to grab the film-loaded Polaroid from your hands, fingers tracing over the small rainbow printed on the front of the camera. “I do,” he confesses, voice dropping in a way you recognize all too well, and your stomach drops with it. “Yeah, I do.”

You lean sideways, resting against the arm of the couch as Harry shifts to face you, raising the camera up to his face with a grin gracing his lips that doesn’t at all match the mood of what you do next - mere seconds before Harry takes the picture, you grip onto the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your chest for the camera to capture as his mouth drops into a soft ‘o.’

The click of the photo being taken is nearly deafening against the sudden thick silence, flash blinding you for just a moment and you’re left blinking furiously to regain sight as Harry lowers the camera to his lap. The camera spits out the photo, still white and undeveloped, and he picks it up with delicate fingers to rest it on the couch cushion between you two.

Your shirt drops back over your chest as you shift closer to Harry, pretending like you don’t hear the way his breathing has picked up and how his eyes keep darting to examine your side profile as if trying to see if you’re as affected as the photo as he is - and you are, of course. It’s possibly one of the hottest things you could ever imagine doing with him, taking photos like that, and you can’t lie and say that the redness blooming in his cheeks isn’t adding to the moisture you’re feeling in your panties.

You drag your thumb over the image slowly developing on the Polaroid between you. You can see the beginnings of the outline of your body, though it’s too light to discern the details yet. “Starting to come to. What do you think?”

It’s a stupid question and you already know the answer but it’s more gratifying to hear the way Harry’s voice cracks as he begins, “S’hot.”

“Just hot?”

“Like, g’na cum in m’pants hot.”

You grin and Harry turns his head and it’s practically all you can do to lean in, press your lips to his and feel his hand, pressing to your thigh and sliding upwards. Even through your jeans, his fingers so close to the spot you’re yearning for him has your stomach turning, and you raise your palm to press delicately against his cheek, holding his face close to yours. His breath smells and tastes like the birthday cake you’d been eating in the kitchen with a tinge of expensive wine from dinner with all of your friends but above all he tastes like Harry, the man you love so much, the man who’s reaching down to the couch between you two and picking up the Polaroid with two careful fingers.

“Look,” Harry hums softly as he pulls away from you and you look down at the picture to examine it with him. It’s you, in full color, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt tight above your breasts, exposing the cherry-red bra you’re donning beneath. It’s Harry’s favorite bra of yours - meant to be a surprise for later tonight but you don’t think he’ll mind seeing it early. The photo cuts off halfway up your face but you can see your smirk, smug as you saw the shock on his face just as the photo took. “S’developed.”

Harry’s soft moans are like music to your ears - like a favorite song and you’d love nothing more than to listen to it on repeat, plug in your headphones and tilt your head back until it’s stuck in your head like an earworm.

For now, though, you’re more than content to enjoy them in the moment, and God, you’re enjoying it. He’s always vocal in bed but even more so when you ride him, when his fingers are digging bruises into your thighs to help your movements up and down and the only words that manage to fall off of his lips are breathy cries of your name like prayer, as though you’re a goddess and he’s merely a worshipper at your altar.

Your hips slow into a gentle roll against his, clit brushing up against his pelvic bone in a way that has a chill rolling up your spine, and your hand slides from its place on Harry’s chest to his throat. Wraps around his neck just so, squeezing experimentally to listen to the way his moans crackle in the thick, humid air of your London bedroom, and a rush of arousal gushes to your core at the sight and sound.

“Look at me,” you order Harry, and you think you understand why he’s always so reluctant to hand you the reins when you want them. There’s something special about being above him, knowing that you can control what he does with just an authoritative lilt in your voice - even if he has the strength to flip you over at any moment. Deep down, you reckon he likes being below you sometimes just as much as you adore being on top. When he doesn’t obey your commands, eyes still rolled to the back of his head, you pause your movements completely, and his eyes fly open as if you’d pried them open. “Look at me, Har.”

You tighten your hand around his throat again as his eyes bore into yours, pupils clouded with lust that you’re sure are reflected in your own. When you’re positive he won’t look away from you, his hips bucking up in just the slightest for any semblance of movement, you resume your motions. Roll your hips just once against his, moan catching in your throat, and you keep going. You lift your hips up, thighs trembling to hold yourself up before sinking back down, feeling him fill you again and again.

“Fuck -” Harry gasps, tone cracking and you grin down at him, slamming your hips into his hard enough that the sound of skin slapping skin nearly overpowers his voice - but it doesn’t, and you’re oh so glad that you could hear it. “Feels - feels so good, babe.”

As dominant as you’re trying to be, his praise nearly makes you break and it would be the perfect moment for him to grab your thighs and flip you over but you regain your composure just as fast as you’d lost it. Your voice is shaky as you loosen your grip ever so slightly on his neck, leaning backwards enough so your clit is on display for him, glistening wet with the mixture of your juices together. “R - rub my clit for me.”

And he complies, hand sliding down his sweaty abdomen until two fingers are pressed to your clit, rubbing soft circles into the overly sensitive nub but you don’t want soft, you want hard. So you push your body forward, pressing your clit further into his fingers and he’s not stupid - he catches the hint and presses down harder, circles tightening into hard rubs that has your head dropping back, sweaty hair sticking to your back.

“God,” you tell him, rocking your hips more against his as a reward, “feels so good, Har. Doin’ so good - keep doing that.”

And he does, of course. Keeps rubbing your clit like he was born for it and in return you ride him with the new form of vigor that he earns, eyes rolling back into your head. When you look back down at him, grip tightening like a noose around his throat, you’re nearly overwhelmed by how fucking spectacular he looks. All sweaty hair, mouth dropped open in a permanent ‘o’ and his eyes struggling to stay open.

You could decide to merely engrave it in your brain for all eternity, but you have a better idea to memorialize it.

You swallow thickly, hips slowing to a near halt as Harry’s eyes fly completely open, threatening to complain. “R - reach into the drawer, Har. The nightstand.”

You can read the confusion on his face clear as day but he follows your orders, reaching over to tug open the nightstand drawer. Sitting inside, clear as day, sits the white Polaroid camera, and Harry knows what to do before you tell him to. He picks it up with one shaky hand and you immediately reach to grab it from him, turning it over briefly in your hands before raising it up to your face.

Briefly your hips roll over his, gentle but enough for him to rest his head back into his pillow, lips turning upwards into a satisfied grin and you know that’s the best shot you’ll get - his face contorted with pleasure, hair spread out over the pillow, and the flash of the picture being taken only makes the scene look that much more angelic.

You grab the photo with two shaking fingers and lift it up to examine it, resting the camera on the bed beside you. It hasn’t developed and so you shake it just for a moment, feeling increasingly needy to fucking see it but you know it will take time - and you certainly have a lot of that.

“Open up,” you direct and he obeys, mouth dropping open and you insert the picture onto his mouth, watching his teeth and lips clamp onto it. “Now, keep it nice like that ‘till it develops. You can do that, can’t you? ‘Course you can.”

“Keep those eyes on me, babe.”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, eyes rolling nearly completely back in your head as you search to meet Harry’s. When your eyes find his it’s difficult to maintain, vision nearly completely upside down as you hang off the edge of the bed of your Malibu hotel room, fingers gripping so tight onto the duvet you’d be surprised if your nails hadn’t torn through the fabric. Gripping the coversis the only way to not reach out for Harry’s thighs and he’d forbid you from doing so with the threat of not being able to cum - a risk you’re rather unwilling to take.

His fingers brush your neck, surely searching for the bulge indicative of how far his cock is shoved down your throat, and you can tell he’s found it when he squeezes just hard enough to have your vision go fuzzy. Your tongue swirls around the swollen tip of his cock, feeling him slide out of your mouth just enough for you to press a gentle kiss to the tip, his hiss showing how much he appreciated the gesture before he’s pushing back in your mouth.

He’d been starting slow, fucking your throat gentle to make sure you’re alright with it. It’s not often that you do this - you prefer to be on your knees for him, with his hands in your hair to occasionally force you to go faster. But there is certainly something better about this, struggling to keep your eyes open and feeling blood rush to your head while trying to keep your sore jaw wide open for Harry to fuck.

Eventually, though, the slow pace had been abandoned and you can feel him picking up the pace, hips bucking into your face just fast enough to make you feel like you’re losing your damn mind but you wouldn’t have it any other way, even if you’re nearly gagging on him with every other thrust.

“God,” Harry moans, and through your blurred vision you can see his palms coming down to cup your face, using his leverage on your cheeks to increase his speed. “God, look so fuckin’ - fuckin’ pretty, baby. So pretty, takin’ my dick so well. Look at tha’ - moan f’me, babe.”

And you do, of course. You moan desperately and it’s muffled as his pelvis presses nearly flat to your face, holding himself there, and your cheeks hollow as you suck him, and you watch him toss his head back with sheer ecstasy and it encourages you to hold out for just another extra second before your hand flies towards his thigh, smacking twice, and he pulls out of you immediately until only the tip of his member rests on your tongue.

His thumbs massage your jawline as you flick your tongue over the tip of his cock, taking the second of pause to catch your breath and relish in his touch. It’s only a moment, though - you jerk your head just once up and he takes the gesture as it is, an invitation to keep going.

“There y’go,” Harry breathes, hands sliding downwards until he’s grasping your throat, heels of his hands massaging the lump in your throat as he had before. “Should take a picture of you - remember this forever.”

Do it, you want to shout at him. You love when he takes pictures and you’d love nothing more than to see yourself from his perspective but it seems that he didn’t need your suggestion - resting on the bed is his Polaroid camera from when you’d dumped your bags when you’d first gotten to the hotel and it’s become a traveling staple since you’d gotten it for him - you two never forget to bring it with you.

His fumbling hands raise the camera to his face, cock still thrusting in and out of your willing mouth and you make sure your eyes are open when the flash goes off, the click intensely loud in the hotel room. Your tongue swirls around his cock, grinning as Harry pulls the photo from the bottom of the camera and tosses it onto the bed, hand sliding down from your throat to your tits and his fingers pluck at your nipple just as the flash goes off again and the camera spurts out another image.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” your boyfriend murmurs, hips thrusting his cock further into your mouth and you gag around him before loosening your throat to take him, no way of encouraging him to continue but he doesn’t need it. “M’so fuckin’ close - and m’gonna cum on your face, and in your mouth, too. D’you want that?”

You nod.

“Knew you would.” His face is nearly adoring as he stares down at you and it’s an expression that doesn’t match the absolute filth of what’s in your mouth. “When I’ve painted your face like - like fuckin’ Michelangelo - m’gonna take another picture, and then m’gonna fuck you.”

It sounds just about perfect to you and you nod vehemently, Harry’s palm closing in around your breast and squeezing and in turn, you tighten your throat around his length and it gets the response you’d wanted - a sharp buck of his hips, and then he pulls out of your mouth.

Your lips close in around the tip of his cock, sucking on the swollen head and you can tell by the way his head drops back that he’s there - just a moment later, his hand pumping his cock, thick ribbons of cum spurt from the head and it’s warm as it lands on your face, and your tongue darts out to lick at the bit of it that had landed near your lips.

His breathing is heavy, desperately trying to catch his breath and it has a rush of pride coursing through your veins - only you do this to him, leave him needy and desperate and just as the smirk graces your lips, he’s muttering, “Say cheese,” and the flash illuminates your hotel room once more.

There’s something almost relaxing about having Harry’s face between your thighs.

It’s a sensation you’ll never tire of no matter how often it happens - and with his absolute adoration for the act, it happens often. Sometimes it’s hard and intense, fingers digging into your thighs and leaving bruises that won’t vanish for days, but other times - like now - it’s nearly offhanded. Lazy and gentle, his tongue swirling around your clit as your fingers lightly brush through your hair, your free hand clutching Harry’s Polaroid, waiting for the best moment to take the picture you’re yearning.

Your fingernails scratch at his scalp, digging deeper into his head as his teeth brush against your clit just enough to have your back arching upwards, hips bucking up into his mouth as a soft moan escapes your throat. You can practically feel Harry smirking as his tongue rests flat over your folds, juices gushing to the apex of your thighs at the motion.

His breath is hot against your cunt as his lips close around your clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud and his palms smooth up and down your thighs, gently holding your lower body down before your hips can buck up to meet his mouth again. “Try not to move,” Harry mumbles against your pussy, voice sending vibrations rolling through your body and a chill slithers up your spine, head dropping back onto the arm of your living room couch. The movie playing on the television - Groundhog Day - has been long forgotten, abandoned from the moment he pushed you to lie on the couch and pushed off your sweatpants. “C’mon, baby - stay still f’me.”

You swallow thickly, raising the camera to your face and peering at Harry through the small screen. You can’t see his face - just the mess of curls on top of his head and your fingers combing through the locks - his palms, smoothing over your thighs gently - his eyelashes, on display while his eyes remain shut with pleasure. He tells you, again and again, that he loves eating you out more than you do and you’ve always rolled your eyes because there’s no way in hell he likes it more than you -

But sometimes you do believe him.

“Do that again, Har,” you murmur, voice dropping into a breathy cry as Harry repeats what you’d asked him to, his nose nudging at your clit while his tongue flicks at your folds. It’s at that moment that you take the first picture, flash illuminating the slick that coats your mound in a way you hadn’t noted before - at the sudden brightness Harry looks up and you can see your wetness surrounding his chin and mouth, pure proof of how hard he’s been working your cunt, and you take another picture.

The two images fall into your palms and you rest them on your stomach, tugging your shirt further up your torso so they lay flat on your skin. Harry’s eyes drift upwards for just a moment, scanning the faded outline of your legs wrapped around his shoulders and you can see the beginnings of a smirk working his lips before he turns back to the task at hand, tongue parting your cunt before it slips inside of you, thrusting in and out.

“Fuck,” you breathe, legs tightening around his shoulders and forcing his head further into your cunt, and he moans into your folds at the motion. “Fuck!”

“Y’like tha’?” Harry questions, voice rolling through your body again and you toss your head back with a moaning sob, pushing your hips further up to him. “Yeah, y’do.”

“Har -” you swallow thickly as his lips close around your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. “Har - oh my god, I’m gonna - gonna cum -”

“Cum f’me,” and his voice is gruff and desperate, practically a plead for you to cum on his tongue, to bless him with your juices. “Cum on m’tongue.”

Whatever he’d been spouting before about keeping still is long forgotten, your hips bucking upwards to meet his mouth as your orgasm washes through you. It’s intense and near brutal, not any sort of match for the energy Harry had been maintaining but it doesn’t matter - it’s so relieving that you don’t try to fight it, just let your body relax and your head fall back with what’s nearly a scream.

His flexed tongue continues lazily thrusting in and out of your cunt, helping you through your orgasm like it hadn’t affected him one bit but you know that isn’t true. You can see his lips, turned into a grin and his eyes darkened when he glances up at you, hands on your thighs sliding across your skin until his thumbs lazily pull apart your lips, giving him easier access to the parts of you he craves.

He’s going for your second orgasm - you know that. And you also know it won’t be too long until you get there, especially when his thumb focuses on your clit, massaging the over-sensitive nub as your cunt clenches vehemently around his tongue.

Click. One final picture, of Harry’s hands and face pressed to your pussy, devoted to getting you off and not worried in the slightest about his own neediness. When you’ve rested it to your stomach, next to the other two fully-developed images, you let your arm fall off the side of the couch, letting the camera slip from your fingers and land silently on the carpet, more than intent to focus solely on your boyfriend between your thighs.

Within moments you’re at the edge again, Harry’s face deepening between your thighs to help you ride out your second. Your hips roll against his lips, his thumbs rubbing your clit until you’re sobbing out towards the ceiling, heels digging into his back and forcing his body towards yours. You’re so lost in the sensation, in fact - and on the developed Polaroids sitting on your tummy - you hardly register his mumble of, “Think y’got a third one f’me?” But when you do -

Fuck.

On Harry’s next birthday, you have a very different gift idea planned.

The plane tickets to Greece were the main course - a vacation you’d both dreamt of taking for as long as you’d known each other and you’d never gotten around to it, but you figure there’s no time like the present to knock it off your bucket list. And you could tell Harry was overjoyed, turning and wrapping you in a hug so large you nearly fell off of your seat in the middle of his favourite restaurant.

The side to the main course, though - the appetizer? - is what you’d been waiting for him to open, and not in the middle of the restaurant. It’s only when you two get home, your arms hooked together, giggling like teenagers as Harry fumbles with his keys, that you pull out the small envelope with his name scribbled on the front in red pen.

“Go ahead,” you tell him, pushing yourself to sit on the marble countertops in your kitchen while Harry situates himself between your legs, turning the envelope over in his hands with the same lingering curiosity he’d held last year. “It’s not gonna bite you, Har. Just open it.”

He rolls his eyes at that, a grin tugging his lips upwards as his fingers dig into the paper, tearing the envelope delicately open and you can tell he’s trying not to rough up the wrapper too much, in case he’ll want to keep it for sentimentality but you’re positive that, once he finds what’s inside, he won’t care too much.

Then he dumps the contents of the envelope onto your lap, ten small Polaroid pictures falling onto your dress where it covers your thighs, some face up and some down and as soon as Harry’s eyes scan then, you can see the red blush creeping up his cheeks.

“You fuckin’ minx,” he breathes, and you grin, leaning forward to drop your forehead against his shoulder just as Harry picks up the first Polaroid. Turning it over in his hands you glance down to look at which one he’s examining - it’s a close up he’d taken, his palm wrapped around your neck tight enough that his fingers turned white and you can remember the exact moment. How you’d whined and begged him to go harder, to God, fuck me like a whore, Har, and he’d responded by grabbing your throat so tight you saw stars before he released you.

“I like that one,” you confess, nail dragging over the edge of your jawline where it’s cut off by the camera before you reach down to your lap, overturning every image so you can see them all before grabbing one. “This one - it’s my favorite, though.”

You hold the picture up for Harry to see, watching his eyes narrow as he scrutinizes it. It’s a picture of his back, taken when he’d been bent over putting on pants the morning after Valentine’s Day - you’d intended to be inconspicuous, memorializing the array of deep red scratches you’d left on his skin the night before and you were beyond grateful when you saw the developed image. He’d complained when he heard the click of the camera, telling you that if anyone gets their hands on this, they’ll think I’m being abused - but you knew he liked it, because you caught him peeking at it on your dresser during the next few weeks.

It’s a nice thing to do to include it in his gift, though you’d love nothing more than to frame it on your wall to have there forever.

Harry hums gently, grabbing the picture from your fingers and dropping it back to your lap. You can feel his fingertips, drumming along your thighs as he sorts through the photos. “I remember this one,” he tells you, picking up the end of one of the pictures so you can both see it. Your cheeks flush when you see it - you’d picked it to commemorate the very first (and certainly not the last) time the two of you had tried anal. “God, came so fuckin’ hard tha’ day. Look at tha’ - how red your ass is, fuckin’ beginn’ be to spank you -”

“Alright,” you interrupt, feeling heat creep up your neck to your cheeks as you smack the photo out of his hands. It’s a shaky picture, taken while he was balls deep in your ass, his palm spreading your cheeks apart to get the best angle of his cock inside of you - you remember how good it felt, watching the flash illuminate the room and hearing Harry moan as the photo developed where he’d placed it on your back. The Polaroid lands back on your lap and you reach down, sorting through the array of images until you find the one you’re searching for. “Here - thought you’d like this one the most.”

And - God - when he sees it, grabbing it out of your hands to examine up close, you swear you can hear him whine with need as he brings it up to his eyes. It’s a photo of the two of you in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror that had been at one of your hotel rooms and neither of you could pass up the chance to watch yourselves during the moment. Your dress, pulled down over your chest, his hand covering your breasts with his head buried in your neck, and you remember feeling him pressed inside of you, both so desperate and needy that you needed to capture it.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” You prod, pressing your lips to the side of Harry’s throat as his head drops to the side. It was, perhaps, the best sex you two had ever had - you couldn’t walk for a week without thinking of him. “You love it.”

“I do love it,” he confirms, hand snaking around your side to begin tugging your dress up your sides. “Reckon it’s not too early to start working on another year’s worth of pictures?”

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #i hate this so much i didnt even reread it to edit it #also writing 1k words EXACTLY for each section was not a smart decision in hindsight #but whatever.#too late now!

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goshikitsutomusmommy · 4 years

Text

“Incorrect Quotes with Haikyuu Boys„

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10

Synopsis : Different Quotes From Brooklyn-Nine-Nine as Haikyuu Characters

Genre : Comedy

Pairing(s) : Atsumu x reader , Nishinoya x reader , Shirabu x reader , Oikawa x reader

Word Count : 1.03k

Warning(s) : She/her pronouns used , slight violence , suicide mentioned once , eating disorder undertones

Masterlist Link : Here

*Inarizaki manager in this*

Ginjima : Dance with me, Tsum-tsum.

*Whatta Man by Salt ’N’ Pepa’s starts playing*

Atsumu : Ha! No, and a will never dance to that song.

[Name] : Way to go, Tsum-tsum, *Throws a bunch of colorful thumbtacks*.

Ginjima : Whoa!

Atsumu : Are those thumbtacks? What the hell, [Name]?

[Name] : I thought they’d make good confetti.

*Nekoma manager in this*

[Name] : We’re supposed to die together— me in a big explosion, and you committing suicide at my funeral out of respect!

Lev : I know!

*Karasuno manager in this*

[Name] : *Peacefully doing manager duties*.

Nishinoya : *Startling her*, Hands up, [Name].

[Name] : *Quickly put him in a headlock*.

Nishinoya : Hey— no, no, no— It’s Noya! Your boyfriend!

[Name] : Aww, boyfriend.

Nishinoya : *Still in a headlock*, Yeah. Can you release me now?

[Name] : Oh, right! Yeah!

*Shiratorizawa manager in this*

[Name] : That is so cartoony, thumbs down.

Shirabu : What does that even mean?

[Name] : The human languages cannot fully capture the depth and complexity of my thoughts, so I’m incorporating emoji into my speech to better express myself. Winky face.

Shirabu : Oh, god.

*Inarizaki manager in this*

Atsumu : Look, let’s just agree to say “I’m sorry.” on the count of three. One, two, three.

[Name] : *Unimpressed silence*, ...

Atsumu : See? Now, I’m just disappointed in both of us.

*Shiratorizawa manager in this*

Shirabu : Coach asked us to stay after school for extra practice. I had plans tonight!

Reon : It’s okay, you can reschedule your plans.

[Name] : Mhmm, or you could just lie to coach. That’s my policy for everything and it always works.

Shirabu : I’m not gonna lie. I’ll just tell the coach that I have important plans, and he’ll understand.

[Name] : Mm-kay! But, if you do lie! You can’t go wrong with dental emergency. Or death of a triplet. Now that one you can use twice! Haha, smart!

*Later that morning*

Shirabu : My apologies, but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to be at practice today.

Coach Washijou : Why is that?

Shirabu : ... Dental emergency. I’m getting my wisdom teeth pulled.

*Shiratorizawa manager in this*

*Semi, Shirabu, and manager try dieting together*

Part 1/4

Goshiki : *Accidentally bumping into manager and making her drop her food*. I’ll get that for you, [Name]-San! *Misplacing his feet and stepping on the food*, Oops!

[Name] : *Screech*.

Goshiki : Butter feet— sorry about that!

[Name] : Sorry? You bumbling son of a bitch! You just ruined my life! I hope you get hit by a truck and a dog takes a dump on your face!

Semi : Nothing to see here— just a little hypoglycemic rage. Move along!

[Name] : I’m so sorry, Goshiki! That’s not me, I’m never like this!

Goshiki : It’s okay! It was my fault, I shouldn’t have bumped your cashew.

[Name] : Cashew? It was almond, you idiot!

Semi : Shirabu, get your girlfriend.

*Shirabu stepping in and dragging her out*

[Name] : I hope you drown in a tub! I hope you have aneurysm after aneurysm after aneurysm!

Part 2/4

Semi : Where is she?

Shirabu : She went outside like, 20 minutes ago.

*Both of them leave the school gym and follow a trail of burger wrappers they see on the ground*

Semi : [Name], where are you? It’s cantaloupe time!

[Name] : *Chewing two burgers at a time*.

Semi : [Name]! Stop! It’s not too late.

[Name] : I failed, Semi-San! This is my second burger!

Shirabu : ...

[Name] : Okay, I lied! This is my fifth!

Semi : You both betrayed me!

Part 3/4

[Name] : Please eat, Semi-San. You look weak.

Semi : I’m fine! I’m stronger than ever! Watch this, *Heads to a car and desperately attempts to lift it*.

Shirabu : Semi-San, what are you doing?

[Name] : No, no, no, no, no... No!

Semi : See? I’m fine! *Stomach gurgling sounds*.

Shirabu : What is happening?

Semi : Just a tummy gurgle, diet messed up my system... Oh no... *Farting sounds*, Go back inside! *Groaning*.

[Name] : Are you talking to us, or the fart?

Part 4/4

*Semi sulking whilst sitting on the bench*

[Name] : *Milkshake in hand*, Why the long fart? Oh, I meant ‘face’. Why the long face?

Semi : Keep walking, [Surname].

[Name] : Okay, but this is really good, *Shaking milkshake*.

Shirabu : *Nodding whilst eating his chips*.

[Name] : Listen. Shh. Shh. Listen. *Loud slurping sounds*.

Semi : That’s it! I give up!

Shirabu : Why do you care so much about this diet? You’re in perfect shape.

[Name] : Mhmm, amen!~

*Aoba Johsai manager in this*

Part 1/4

Coach Irihata : The good news is, if you go and apologize right now, he’ll let the whole thing go.

[Name] : Fine, I’m great at apologizing. I’m a very sweet person. *Walks out the room and pushes Kindaichi out of the way*.

Kindaichi : Ohh!

[Name] : Out of my way, dork.

Part 2/4

Coach Irihata : How is your apology to Oikawa going?

[Name] : I’ve been working on a letter to send to him

Coach Irihata : Yes... I saw a draft of it on the bench.

[Name] : What did you think?

Coach Irihata : It was so horrifying, I had to destroy the whole pad.

Part 3/4

[Name] : Oikawa, I came here to say I’m sorry.

Oikawa : Oh, good! Go ahead.

[Name] : No, that was it. I did it, I said “I’m sorry.” Hey I said it again. Now I got one in the bank, so I can do whatever I want to you.

Oikawa : What are you even sorry for?

[Name] : Come on, man. I said the words. I paused afterwards. I even averted my gaze to make you feel like the alpha.

Oikawa : Yeah, but you didn’t mean it! I’d like you to apologize like you mean it.

[Name] : Fine. I’m sorry you screwed up my entire day. I’m sorry you’re a terrible volleyball player. I’m sorry for your goat face, rodent brain, and your weird goose body. I meant all of that.

Part 4/4

[Name] : Hey, Oikawa. I’m sorry for making fun of you in front of everybody... And also for making fun of you behind your back.

Oikawa : Didn’t know you did that, but thank you for the apology, [Name]-Chan!

[Name] : I’m not done. Also, sorry for making fun of you during my book club. Those people don’t even know you. That was uncool.

Author’s Note : I think it’s very obvious that I was in a mood to write for Shirabu JANDKDJXEN, I just love him Sm and he’s so underrated— OH AND THANK YOU FOR 20 FOLLOWERS, THIS MEANS SMEJDENDN ILYYY

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

Text

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis.

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased.

He needed a reality check.

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.”

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?”

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?”

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.”

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.”

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

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Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win.

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.”

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money.

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!”

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready.

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.”

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?”

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?”

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?”

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked.

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate.

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through.

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two.

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up.

1st: (First initial). (Last name)

1st: H. Zemo

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before.

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.”

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night.

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Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round.

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?”

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone.

“Oui.”

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name).

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you.

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything.

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth.

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress.

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego.

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind.

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce

#Baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #racing au #daniel brühl #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #john walker #john walker is STILL an asshole #multichapter story #chapter 2 #“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

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unnecessarywriting · 4 years

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To Be a Chocolatier - Remus Lupin

Young!Remus Lupin x Reader

A/N: This is something I was working on. I hope you all like it. Remember, requests are still open!!! Thank you for all of the support <3

To Be a Chocolatier

Breakups are fun. Typically they consist of muggle films, ice cream, chocolate, firewhiskey, sad songs, and occasionally some parties. These were all true for you, except, you weren’t as sad as you were letting on. True, you had just been dumped by a decent Ravenclaw, and you had been dating long enough for the “L-word” to spill out of your lips, but that doesn’t mean you were sad. He wasn’t the one. You knew that from the beginning, but he was fun and was comforting to have around. Now, two days after the breakup you sit in the common room with a book in your lap as the fire roars. It was pretty late considering the silence. Typically, it was too hectic for you to get some relaxation, but tonight it’s quiet. Too quiet. That means the infamous Marauders were out doing something.

You flipped through the pages in the chapter, enjoying the warmth that emanated from the fireplace. You were aware of most of your surroundings, however, you didn’t hear the girl step out from her dorm into the common room. She stood by the stairs and quietly observed you, trying to understand you.

“You feeling alright Y/N? I know this breakup is pretty rough, but you should really get some sleep.” It was Lily Evans, a long-time friend, who was too pure to understand the truth of the situation. Lies, especially about love, are a complex concept, and the clever witch could never understand. So, you play along. She feels like she’s helping, and you don’t get a guilt trip about leading anyone on, although he was the one who broke up with you. And, it was to be with another girl, so who was really leading who?

In the end, you nodded your head and said that you would be up in a minute, and that you just wanted to finish your chapter by the fire. Lily seemed to believe you and went back up to the dorms. A few pages later, you heard the portrait and assumed that the boys were probably returning from whatever mischievous quest they were on. Three of them paid no mind to you as they giggled their way back up to their own dorm. One of the boys, however, caught wind of your presence.

“Y/L/N right?”

“That would be me. You are Lupin, Gryffindor prefect and babysitter to those three,” You said motioning your head up to where the boys just were. He chuckled and nodded.

“I heard what happened with that Ravenclaw kid. I know we don’t know each other well, but are you okay?” He seemed almost uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Yeah I’m fine. Things happen I guess. I’ll move on soon enough,” although truth be told I already had. He sat down on the couch next to me.

“What are you reading?” You closed the book with your finger on your current page and showed him the cover. It was a muggle book you picked up from a muggleborn a few weeks back. It was just something you used to pass the time. You both sat next to each other with a comfortable silence. All that could be heard was the crackling fire. Then, you heard a bit of rustling and looked over to see him pull out some chocolate. As he was breaking off a piece for him to eat, you held out your hand to him. He looked at you incredulously. You motioned your hand towards him. Eventually he placed the piece of chocolate into your hand, and you shoved it into your mouth.

“Chocolate cures everything you know,” you said, still savoring the sweet taste.

“Not everything,” he responded bitterly. You glanced over at his features.

“Well, maybe those things that it isn’t curing don’t need to be cured,” you offered.

“Maybe. What about you, are you cured of your breakup yet?” You laughed.

“After that small piece? It’s gonna take more than that my friend.” You began to get up, realizing that it was getting late, and you did have to go to class in the morning. You wished him a goodnight and walked up to your dorm. A small smile glued onto you face the whole way up.

For a few days after this occurrence, you would see Remus around school, and in classes. If you saw that he had chocolate, you would wander over to him with a hand raised, awaiting your prize. Everytime he would chuckle at your child-like attitude and shake his head, but ultimately, you always got what you wanted. The other Marauders were becoming more interested in these interactions. Remus was not someone who was often involved with the girls at Hogwarts, in fact, this was the first real time that they saw something like this from him.

When it came time to go to Hogsmeade, you made your way with Lily by your side. She was complaining about some stunt that James pulled. You knew that she secretly liked him back, but you would never call her out on those feelings, at least not until she was able to realize them herself. You both walked into Honeydukes, where you were scanning the aisles looking for the best sweets.

“So, are we finally going to stop stealing my precious chocolate away from me?” I smiled to myself before I turned to meet his face.

“Well, it just so happens that the cure for a breakup requires a higher dosage of sugar than what you have been offering me. This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook quite yet,” you finished with a smirk.

From afar, four pairs of eyes were watching this encounter. The three boys and Lily were amazed to see what was becoming of their friends. Sirius and James made it their mission to get Remus to ask you out. Peter was along for the ride, since he liked seeing his friend happy. Lily, on the other hand, was skeptical. You were supposed to be recovering from a breakup, so why were you so quick to move on? She knew Remus, and thought he was a pretty decent guy, and she didn’t want him to get hurt by becoming the rebound.

You were unaware of how you were feeling. In your past relationships, there had been a sort of convenience and comfort to not being alone, but none of those boys managed to elicit real emotions. You were giddy for the first time in your life, and it was scary, but also exciting. Everytime you were around Remus, it was like things were falling into place, and you couldn’t have been happier. Remus was also beginning to feel something for you. It seemed as though whenever you were around, he had a smile tattooed on his face. Even if you weren’t around, he could feel his lips start to turn upwards with thoughts about the next time he would see you.

A few nights after the trip to Hogsmeade, you sat in the common room with all four of the marauders. You were over on a chair minding your own business with another book in your hand. Occasionally, you would glance up and peek at Remus. Sometimes, your eyes would meet and you would send him a playful wink. During one of these instances, Sirius and James made the choice that tonight was the night to get you two together.

“Prongs, I think I need help on that transfiguration assignment.”

“Sure Padfoot, let’s do that. Wormtail, we may need you for, uh, moral support.” With that the two schemers dragged their friend up to the dorms leaving you and Remus alone in the common room. He looked up at you and motioned his head to the recently vacant place beside. You put down your book with a playful pout, but smiled as you made your way to him. The next few hours consisted of different conversations about everything and nothing. You were both now laying down on the ground, when you sat up and looked at him.

“If you were a muggle,” you paused.

“If I were a muggle what?” He urged sitting up to face you.

“No. It’s dumb. Forget it.” You went to lay back down but he grabbed you and pulled you up.

“Let me hear it. C’mon, I deal with those three idiots upstairs. Anything you say sounds smart.”

“Okay. If you were a muggle, what would be your dream job, and don’t you dare say a teacher or professor, because that is just plain cheating.” You spit out the last part knowing he would choose the easiest of the options.

“I don’t know. Maybe, uh...He looked around the room and saw a wrapper. How about a chocolate maker?” You laughed obnoxiously at his answer. “What? It’s not that funny,” he replied sheepishly.

“Oh, Mr. Moony, to be a chocolatier. What a fitting dream it is.” You continued to laugh at his choice, and eventually he joined in.

Your night together ended in joyous laughter. It was perfect, and you soon found yourself in a place you never thought you would end up. You were falling hopelessly in love with Remus Lupin, and there was no you were coming back.

The next morning, you had slept in. You didn’t mean to, but your dreams were filled with Remus and you just couldn’t bring yourself back to reality where you two weren’t together. At breakfast, Lily made her way to the Marauders to talk to Remus about his relationship with you. She wanted the both of you to be happy, but she didn’t want anyone to get hurt in the process.

“Lupin. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Remus looked at the boys, but eventually got up to talk with Lily.

“You know, Y/N is still dealing with her breakup, and I just can’t help but wonder how you fall into all of this. I mean, they were together for a while, and I’m just worried that she is using you to get over him. I’m sorry.” She finished with a nervous look on her face. Remus’ expression was unreadable. Was he angry at Lily for making such accusations? Was he upset at himself for falling for someone who was using him? He needed time to process so that is what he did.

Later that day, you saw him in the halls with Sirius by his side. You wandered over to him like you had been doing all of this time, but he just shouldered past you and left you confused and alone. Sirius looked as though he was apologetic, but even he didn’t know what was going on. When he asked Remus about it, he was told to “mind his own damn business.” This was a clear sign that Remus was pissed, and no one could figure why.

This occurred for another week. Both you and Remus were feeling the effects of this distance. You two had grown so accustomed to the time you spent together. The smiles and inside jokes were gone and no one knew why, except for Remus and Lily. They boys were annoyed with the sudden irritability of their friend, but they thought it had to do with his furry little problem. Well, the full moon had gone and nothing changed. Remus was still bitter, and no one could stand it anymore.

On the other hand, Lily was seeing what real heartbreak looked on you. Before, you were reserved, but there was nothing that told her that you were really grieving the loss of a relationship. The lack of contact with Remus was taking a toll on you. You were sad all of the time. You hardly smiled anymore, and you lost the spark that made you so incredible. It wasn’t until you started skipping meals to avoid having to look at Remus that she realized that she had made a huge mistake.

One morning, she went to breakfast alone, which concerned Remus because you typically tried to talk to him or the other Marauders in the morning. This time it was different, and he was worried, but more than anything he was angry. He shouldn’t have had this much of an impact on you, especially when this was all your fault. You were the one who was using him to get over your ex. At least that was what he thought. After letting these thoughts get to his head, he made the decision to leave the great hall and take some time to himself in the library.

This was the perfect opportunity for the three boys to get an idea over what happened from Lily. She told them everything, including how she thinks that she made a huge mistake. Sirius and James started plotting different ways to get the two together, but Lily knew that she just needed to come clean to her friend and pray that you would forgive her in the end.

Later that day, you were in bed contemplating which sweets to eat, hoping that they would end the emptiness you felt inside. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat any of the chocolate you had bought prior to the silent treatment you were receiving from the boy that made your heart pound. As you picked up some sugar quills, you heard the door open. When Lily appeared before you, she looked desperate.

“There’s something that I need to tell you, and I just need to start by saying that I am so sorry.” She paused and waited for your reaction.

“Go on then,” you said carefully.

“Well, you see, uh, a little while ago, I um, had a chat with Remus. I was trying to look out for the both of you. I may have, just slightly, insinuated that he was your rebound, and that nothing good could come out of whatever you two had going on. Listen Y/N, I am so sorry, and I see now that what I did was wrong, and I know you will never forgive me but-”

“Stop rambling,” you interrupted. “I’m not mad, well I am, but I understand. I was playing up the whole breakup thing before and you were looking out for Remus. I understand where you were coming from, but I just wish you would have talked to me about it before. This thing with Remus is more than anything I’ve had before.” Lily watched you with a small smile. She made a huge mistake in thinking that you didn’t really care for Remus. Here you are, already plotting how to get him back. You never would have done that for anyone else. It was refreshing for Lily to see you growing up and falling in love.

“Lily, you were the one who caused this issue though, so I’m gonna need your help.”

“Whatever you need. I can’t see you mope around the dorm anymore.”

“Good, but this plan may require a bit of flirting with a Potter. Do you think you can handle it?” She laughed.

“I don’t even think I need to flirt to get him to help.” She thought back to this morning and how desperate the boys were to get their friend back up in high spirits.

The rest of the day and the following morning were spent making sure that the plan was perfect. That night, you set everything into motion. You had been waiting by the fire in the common room, just out of sight from anyone who was entering through the portrait hole. Sirius was bringing Remus to the common room, while Peter and Lily managed to keep everyone out of the common room for as long as possible. James was assigned to charming the common room to keep Remus inside for a little while. It wouldn’t last long, but it should be long enough that you two make up.

When you heard two voices enter the common room, you panicked slightly. What if this didn’t work? Had you really lost the only person you’ve ever really fallen for when you did nothing wrong? You were petrified to say the least. When he finally got wind of your presence, he went to rush up to his dorm but James pushed him back.

“You two are going to talk whether you, Mr. I’m-too-stubborn-for-my-own-good, like it or not.” With that, the two pranksters left you two alone. Remus looked at you with a look that you could only define as that of betrayal.

“You know, I lied that night when you gave me that piece of chocolate.” He looked at you with confusion written in his features. “I was cured of my breakup long before you showed up. I didn’t understand what heartbreak felt like until you stopped talking to me. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, you weren’t aware of the truth. Don’t get mad at Lily either. She wasn’t aware either. Listen, from what I hear from the boys, you have been pretty insufferable lately, and I know that it’s my fault but I think I found a way to fix it.”

Remus watched you carefully as you walked towards him. You held out your hand to him, and in it was some chocolate. His eyes trailed up to yours where you held a hopeful smirk.

“Chocolate cures everything, and right now, I need you to be cured so you can see just how much you mean to me Remus. You were never the rebound. You’re so much more than that to me, and I don’t want to spend another day of my life without you there with me.”

He silently grabbed the chocolate and began to unwrap it. He stopped and looked up at you with a mischievous grin.

“It’s melted, my dear.” You looked at the item in his hand and facepalmed.

“I’m so sorry Remus, I was waiting for you by the fire, and well, chocolate and heat don’t really mix all that well. I thought this was going to be romantic.” You felt so stupid. How could you mess up the easiest part of the plan?

He scooped up a small bit on his finger and sucked on it. “It’s still delicious.”

You looked up and grabbed some as well just as he had done before.

“Darling,” he began, “you’ve got a little something on your lip.” You smiled.

“So do you,” you said before closing the gap between the two of you. When your lips met, it was heavenly. The combined taste of chocolate and Remus sent you to another realm. You brought your hand to his face, unaware of the chocolate that was still on your fingers. When he finally pulled away, you saw the mess you had made. Small giggles spewed from your mouth, and they soon turned into large laughs.

“Mr. Moony, you really are taking this whole chocolatier thing too far,” you managed to get out between laughs. He brought his hand up and felt the residue of his sweet gift. He looked at your face, completely guilt-free, and down at the bar of melted chocolate. He smiled and sneakily swiped a few of his fingers into the chocolate. He waltzed over to you as you tried to calm your breathing after your giggle fit.

“Well, I think it’s about time that you become Mrs. Chocolatier. Don’t you think?” He dragged his fingers down your cheeks and across your lips, as your face contorted into that of pure surprise.

“Wow, you really do look the part now. Oh, to be a chocolatier Ms.Y/L/N.” He brought you in for another sweet kiss. But was interrupted by the sound of gagging from Sirius and James.

“We leave you alone for a couple of minutes and this is what you two do? Look at this mess. And to think Moony, you call us children.” You and Remus just giggled at the small ranting from Sirius before he pulled you in for another kiss.

#sirius black imagine #james potter imagine #lily evans #marauder #hp marauders #harry potter imagine #Harry potter x reader #young remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #Remus lupin #remus john lupin #hp Remus lupin

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tsukishumai · 4 years

Text

First Kiss Scenarios- Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, Matsukawa (Aoba Johsai edition!)

OIKAWA –

The weather was particularly beautiful when Oikawa had taken you out to see the cherry blossoms. One 25 minutes train ride had taken the two of you to a park you had never been to before, but Oikawa had told you about many times.

This was probably the fourth weekend in a row that Oikawa had shown up at your door, insisting that you go and get ready because there’s this place that he just /has/ to take you to.

You take one look at his face, always plastered with excitement, and there’s just no way that you could say no.

Oikawa is fidgeting next to you; if he wasn’t pulling at the hem of his shirt, he was tugging his collar, or running shaky fingers through his brown hair.

“Are you alright?” you asked, and he jumped at your voice, nodding as his cheeks begin to flush.

“Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be? You… look really nice today.”

You brush your fingers at the new accessory that draped across your neck; a sunflower pendant that hung from a golden chain, smiling at the memory of Oikawa stuttering as he insisted you wore it for today’s outing.

“Thanks… What’s got you all blushy blushy?” “I am /not/!” “You look like a tomatokawa!”

He shoved you lightly, chuckling as you stumbled to the side. “You can’t just add –kawa to any word, that’s not very creative.” You smiled, making your way back next to him and looping an arm through his. “It’s worked pretty well for me so far.”

Oikawa stilled next to you, stopping his footsteps abruptly. You were about to question him, but instead, admired the view of cherry blossoms dancing around in circles as the wind blew around you.

“It’s really beautiful up here. Thank you for taking me –“ “Willyoubemygirlfriend?”

You blinked once. “What?”

You watched Oikawa turn an impossible shade of red, stumbling over his words as he tried to pick the right ones to say. You never thought you’d see the “Great King” Oikawa, usually so smooth and suave, turned into a stuttering, blubbering mess and you thought it might just be the greatest thing you’ve ever seen. “Shit, I messed that up. Wait, let me start over, I had a speech, if you could just – “

You pulled him down by the collar he had been messing with the whole morning, and placed a soft kiss on his lips, smirking in satisfaction when you see his eyes widen.

“Yes, I will be your girlfriend.”

IWAIZUMI –

You have always loved watching Iwaizumi play.

You’ve known Iwaizumi since you were first years; he was assigned to be your lab partner, and the two of you hit it off so well, you’ve been friends ever since.

In class, he was a quiet student that always had the answer whenever sensei asked him a question, turned in his work on time, and actually pulled his weight during group projects.

Out of class, he was your friend that ate lunch with you, walked you home, made fun of you every chance he got, helped you study when you were about to fail chemistry.

During a game though… he was a completely different beast, and just the sight of him was enough to make your body feel like it’s on fire.

You usually try to ignore your growing feelings for Iwaizumi, but when you see him out on the court in his uniform, with his amazing receives and powerful spikes, you can’t help but let your eyes linger on him just a little longer.

It was match point for Seijoh, and you could feel the tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t breathe.

You watched as Oikawa points a finger at Iwaizumi, setting the ball perfectly for him.

Three blockers lock in on Iwaizumi, but that only made the ace’s eyes harden, and you felt butterflies making a home for themselves in your belly

Iwaizumi jumps, and the next thing you heard was a loud slam, your eyes barely able to follow the powerful spike that the opposing team had no chance of blocking.

The crowd around you celebrates as you run down towards the court, cheeks aching from the huge smile on your face that got only wider as you see Iwaizumi get jumped by his teammates.

“Congratulations Iwa-chan!” You yell, and his eyes snap around until they finally land on you.

He gets out of his teammates grips, the last thing you see was his grin before he sweeps you up in his arms and locking your lips in a kiss.

You were shocked for only one moment before you return his excitement with your own.

“Jesus Christ, get a room!” you hear his teammates, but at that moment, you couldn’t give damn.

HANAMAKI –

Hanamaki had been your best friend since junior high.

You were reminded of that so abruptly when you get a call from Iwaizumi to pick him up from the after-game party at Oikawa’s house, saying Hanamaki’s been looking for you like some lost puppy. The party that you just left an hour ago, asking Hanamaki if he’s sure he doesn’t want to come with you, but he insisted it was okay to leave him because he was going to be just fine.

“Why you walking so fast,” Hanamaki slurred

“Because it’s late, and I want to go home, Makki.” You can’t lie, you were a little buzzed yourself, which is what prompted you to head home early in the first place. “You’re lucky Oikawa lives just a few blocks down.”

“Come on, y/n,” he bugged you, intentionally slowing down your movements by rooting his feet down where he stood. “Slow down,” he slid his hand down your arm to intertwine it with your fingers, “Let’s enjoy the walk.”

You let him lead the way, footsteps moving at a glacial pace. His eyes were closed, and he had a certain glow about him, his shoulders slumped in a way you haven’t seen in a while.

“Open your eyes, you idiot,” you say with joking tone, “You’re going to trip over.”

“No, I won’t, I have you to guide me.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to loosen your fingers from his grip, but he just tightened it.

“Stop,” he said when he noticed what you were trying to do, “Just let me hold your hand.”

The fluttering in your stomach doesn’t stop, witnessing the side to your best friend that you rarely got to see.

The two of you finally get to your house, the one that stood directly to the left of Makki’s. He stood facing you at the gate, preparing to part ways.

“You gonna be able to make it all the way over there by yourself?” You joked, and he stared down at you with clouded eyes.

You stared back at him, frozen as you watched his eyelids slip close and he lowered his head to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Good night,” he said, taking a step back and stumbling towards the direction of his own home. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you hear him mutter.

You stand at the entrance of your gate until you see that Makki has safely made it inside his own. Suddenly you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding, slowly lifting your fingers up to your lips.

You chuckled, finally heading inside to get ready for bed, wondering if Makki is going to remember that in the morning.

MATSUKAWA –

People usually have the wrong impression of Matsukawa – they say he’s intimidating, and quite scary looking.

But in reality, he is just one giant 6’2” goof ball.

“What the hell,” he teased you on your usual walk home. “Who the hell eats Kit Kat like that?!”

You just smile, laughing at how easy it is to rile him up.

“What? They present it in one rectangular bar, so what’s the problem?” you peel back the wrapper of your favorite chocolate.

“No, you’re supposed to break off the individual pieces!”

You take one big bite out of the entire Kit Kat, fighting the urge to burst out laughing when Matsukawa just stared at you in horror.

“You… you just want to watch the world burn.”

This time, you actually did laugh, and Matsukawa thought he was hearing music.

“It’s just chocolate, what does it matter how I eat it, as long as it gets eaten?” “I can’t believe I actually like someone as psychotic as you.”

The both of you stopped walking; you, trying to register what Matsukawa just said, and Matsukawa trying to understand why the hell he just said that.

“You… like me?”

A small smile began to appear on your mouth, one that only grew wider as Matsukawa just got redder. He was trying to avoid your stare, and the first words that came out of his mouth came in a stutter.

“Ye – Uh – Well – Hey, look, is that Makki?”

You raise your brow and turn around, getting more confused when you see that there was no one around.

You turn your head back only to see Matsukawa’s face mere millimeters from yours. You inhaled sharply, holding your breath while Matsukawa gave you a second to move away. When you didn’t, he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, placing both his hands in his pockets. “I do like you.”

He walked ahead of you, leaving you a flustered mess.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

Text

I Got You (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is celebrating her two year anniversary with her fiance when her best friend from childhood, Jensen, calls. Something’s wrong with him and he tries to play it off once he remembers what night it is for her but the reader isn’t budging and that may be a good thing for the both of them...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 4,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, vomiting, lying, mention of alcoholism, fluff

A/N: This is a little different for me but I’m really please with how it turned out. Enjoy!

_______

“This looks delicious, babe,” said Andrew as he sat down at the table. You hummed, a little annoyed that he hadn’t let you know he’d be home two hours late. On your anniversary. Your two year anniversary. You wouldn’t mind if he ever let you know but he never, never did and always got mad when you brought it up. You poked at the food and he took a bite, making a face. “It’s a little cold.”

“Well that’s what happens when you reheat it in the microwave,” you said. He bit his tongue and continued to eat quietly, a bit of tension still in the air.

“How was your day?” he asked when he was nearly done with his food.

“Fine. Yours?” you asked, picking at your salad and ignoring the chicken.

“Good. I’m sorry I was late, babe. Why don’t we go out to eat?” he asked.

“It’s our anniversary. I wanted to make you dinner,” you said.

“I ate it,” he said. “You seem hungry still.”

“I’m fine. I just want to watch a movie or something,” you said. He didn’t say anything as he ducked into the bedroom and changed out of his suit and into some sweats and a hoodie. You cleaned up the dishes and went to the bedroom. You grabbed leggings and an old big t-shirt of Jensen’s you’d stolen from his place somewhere around season 10 if you had to guess by the number just under the back collar. You padded into the bathroom and changed out of your skinny jeans and crop top. You took off the new black lingerie you had on and put on something more comfortable. Andrew wouldn’t even notice.

You walked out of the bedroom and found him on the couch, watching some action movie. You sat down in his side and saw your phone light up at the end of the couch. A glance showed it was Jensen and that you had four missed calls from him.

“Did you put my phone on silent?” you asked, reaching over for it.

“It is our anniversary,” he said.

“Yeah and I’m also one of Jensen’s emergency contacts,” you said, rolling your eyes and quickly answering. “Jay?”

“Hey, Y/N,” he said. Something was wrong. His voice was off and it took him a minute to talk again. “Can you come over? I just found out something and I could use you right now.”

“I thought you were in Toronto this week to film for The Boys,” you said.

“I was. Flew down to Dallas for my brother’s birthday earlier. More free time and all, trying to see the family more,” he said.

“What’s he want?” sighed Andrew. You ignored him and heard Jensen take a shaky breath.

“Did someone die?” you asked quietly.

“No,” he said. “No. I found out something though and...I just grabbed a rental car and drove home the past few hours. I had to get out of there.”

“Are you alright?” you asked, already hating the pit forming in your stomach. You’d known him most of your life. You didn’t remember life without him to be honest. Sure, he was away a lot when he filmed but he was back more often now that he was doing shorter gigs and you’d always been there for each other, even during the really busy years. “Buddy.”

“No, I don’t think I’m okay,” he said. He was quiet before you heard him suck in a gasp. “Fuck. It’s your anniversary. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N. God, like Andrew doesn’t hate me enough already. I’m so sorry. Please enjoy your night, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re my best friend and you are so not alright,” you said. “I’m gonna come over.”

“It’s our anniversary!” said Andrew as you turned to glare at him.

“Y/N, don’t. I’m-” said Jensen as you got up.

“Where the fuck are you going?” said Andrew.

“Jensen is important to me, Andrew. He’s always gonna be important to me. I know you don’t like him but he needs me right now. You don’t even care. You didn’t care about dinner or the anniversary or putting in a little bit of effort. I used to really like you too, you know. When we got engaged though, I saw what you really wanted. Well guess what. I’m not your mother. I’m not your maid and I faked it every time,” you said.

“You’re mad at me? He’s the one ruining our anniversary!” said Andrew.

“Y/N, I’m gonna go. I’m sorry,” said Jensen before you heard him hang up. You groaned and went over to the front hall to grab your jacket. You shoved your phone in your pocket as Andrew stalked over.

“Gonna go sleep with your other boyfriend, hm?”

“Something bad happened to him and frankly, the day I introduced you to him was the day you started all this. You have hated my relationship with him from the start. He has tried so hard to be your friend and you’re always mean and you leave him out. Even your friends think it’s a dick move.”

“You want your best friend or me? Cause I don’t like him and I’m never going to,” he said.

“I hope you treat the next girl better,” you said. You took off your ring and slammed it on the front table before grabbing your keys and tugging on your boots.

“Whore,” he mumbled.

“I’d rather be his whore than your wife any day. I’ll move my stuff out tomorrow,” you said. You slammed the door shut after yourself and took a deep breath. You weren’t as upset as you thought you’d be. You’d been considering taking a break with him for the past few months but there was no going back after that. Jensen had never been anything but kind to him and always respectful of your and Andrew’s time together.

You skipped down the stairs of the apartment building and down to the garage, rushing over to your car quickly. Something was still very wrong with Jensen and you needed to get to him asap.

“Jensen,” you said twenty minutes later, finding him outside on the balcony off his bedroom, sitting in a chair with his knees tucked to his chest. There was a half full large bottle of whiskey on the ground and the plastic wrapper from where he’d opened it. His back was to you and he turned his head away as you stepped outside. “Jay, what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. You put a hand on his forehead and forced him to look at you. He was drunk. He didn’t start drinking until he’d hung up with you obviously. He was upset too and it was so rare of you to see him cry.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing his arm. He let you tug him up and into his bathroom. You flipped on the light in the toilet and sat him down in front of it. “Did you eat dinner? Yes or no?”

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Did you eat on the plane? At the airport?”

He shook his head again and you sighed.

“You just did about, I don’t know, seven, eight shots on an empty stomach. You’re not a kid anymore so if Taylor Gregson’s senior party is anything to go by, I expect you to start puking in the next three minutes.”

“Go away,” he said, wiping off his face.

“Yeah, see no, not happening. I’m also staying here tonight whether you want me to or not. Now sit, throw up in the toilet please, and I will make you something bland to eat and get you some not snot covered clothes, okay?”

“Why are you so nice to me?” he asked. He stared up at you and you instantly knelt down, giving him a hug as he hiccuped.

“Cause you’re my best friend and I love you,” you said. “Jensen. What happened?”

“Don’t wanna…” he said, shaking his head.

“Did someone die?” you asked.

“No,” he said again.

“What did you find out? Something with your brother? You said you were at his birthday party.”

“Later please,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” you said. You rubbed up and down his back and you felt him lurch a bit before you shut your eyes and felt wetness on your back. “Did you just throw up on me?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” he said.

“Really is like Taylor Gregson’s party all over again,” you said. “You stay here and I’m gonna take a shower.”

“I got it in your hair I think,” he said. He lurched again but you turned him towards the bowl and he was successful that time. “Ow.”

“Relax,” you said, running a clean hand through his hair for a beat. His body untensed a little but he was still upset and making a mess of himself. “Five minutes and then the shower is yours.”

You took about ten to deal with your hair and you ducked next door to his closet, finding some fresh clothes for the two of you. He managed to not get any sick on himself so after wiping his face off good and getting him to brush his teeth, he looked a little better. You found some pancake mix in the cupboard and started to work on that while he changed. He eventually came out, red eyed and sniffling a bit but he looked sober at least.

“Andrew’s gonna kill me for ruining his night,” he said.

“Andrew and I are over,” you said, waiting for the pan to heat up. Jensen stared as you shook up the jug. “He has always been an ass to you.”

“Y/N. I’m just...he’s your fiance. You’re supposed to prioritize him.”

“He’s supposed to respect people I care about. He is immature and arrogant and mean and he sucks so bad in bed. God, I’ve been dying to tell you how shitty ass of a fuck he is. The most damn selfish little prick I’ve ever met in my life and-”

“Y/N,” said Jensen. You took a deep breath and poured some batter on the pan. “You didn’t breakup cause of me, did you?”

“No. You were just the last straw. You didn’t call cause you wanted a ride or to talk about something that could be done later. You need me. I don’t care if it’s two in the morning, Christmas, my wedding day. You ever call me like that, you ever make me worry like this, I’ll be there in a fucking second,” you said. He lowered his head as you got a plate out for his dinner.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said.

“If you thought I was busy, why didn’t you call Jared? He lives three minutes away. Three,” you said. He shrugged and you sighed. “I never want to see you doing something like that ever again. I never want you to-”

“I’m not a child,” he shot back, suddenly shooting daggers at you, his face hard and green eyes a too dark shade.

“My father is an alcoholic. You want to call him up? We’ll call him up right fucking now and he’ll tell you how it nearly destroyed his life. He is twenty years sober and he can’t have a drink for the rest of his life because he used it when he was in pain. You will never, Ackles, and I mean never, drink to mask pain again in your life,” you said. The pancake was burning and you broke away your glare, dumping the burnt batter into the trash. When you walked back, Jensen was crying at the counter again and you shut your eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I just...you know how my mom used to have me sleepover your house in the middle of a school week cause he was drunk and she didn’t want me to see it. You know how much it used to bother me. Little shrimpy ass Jensen, you would always tell me to sleep in your bed and you took the sleeping bag. I let you take care of me my whole life. You’re bigger than me, stronger than me. You will never worry about money again. You gave me rent money when I got laid off and refused to let me pay it back. You drove me home when I got drunk at a bar after a fight with Andrew. You stood up for me in seventh grade cause I liked science and Harrison Pitt was a dick to me back then. This is not me treating you like a child, Jensen. This is me helping my best friend because he’s in pain and I can’t stop it. All I can do is make him damn pancakes.”

“Can I have maple syrup?” he asked quietly after a few minutes.

“Of course. I’ll get butter too,” you said. You cut up a few pieces and gave them along with the syrup to him. You made up more pancakes to reheat for breakfast, Jensen sniffling to himself as he ate. “Feel any better?”

“A little,” he said. “You were always too good for Andrew.”

“I always knew you didn’t like him,” you said. “But you tried. That’s what was important and a concept he apparently couldn’t understand. Good riddance. Oh and I kinda need a place to crash for a bit after my epic walkout.”

“I got plenty of room,” he said. He pushed his plate away when he finished and washed it up in the sink, grabbing the pan as you put away the leftovers.

“Even miserable you have far better manners,” you said with a small smile. He left the pan on the counter to dry and you wrapped your hands around his arm, leading him back to his bedroom and sitting him down. “It’s later. What happened?”

“My whole family’s been lying to me my whole life,” he said. He sat against the headboard and wiped off his nose. “My great aunt, like the super old one, she made a comment and then made a little face like I wasn’t supposed to know something. I mentioned it to my brother and he seemed coy but I knew then it was true. So I confronted my parents and...well it turns out that I’m adopted.”

“You’re what?” you said, scrunching up your face.

“Adopted. When I was an infant. They were never going to tell me,” he said.

“I don’t understand. I mean you kinda look like your dad and even your brother a bit and your sister has your nose.”

“Coincidence,” he said. “I’m a reject baby. I was given up because the couple that had me? They didn’t want me. I looked them up when I got home. Two hot shot lawyers at some big firm in New York. Three kids. Didn’t want this fuck up of one though. I was an accident. A mistake.”

“Jensen,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “Jensen, you’re not...so many people get adopted. Your family loves you. You’re so much better off with who you wound up with. They adopted you because they loved you. Jensen they-”

“She used to be my mom’s friend. They adopted me because they felt sorry for me. They didn’t love me. They pitied me. They lied to me my whole life. I heard stories about when she was pregnant and the labor and they were all lies. My brother’s always known. My sister is the only one who didn’t. The whole family knew. They knew about the pathetic little baby that no one wanted the whole time,” he said.

“Hey,” you said, climbing into his lap and grabbing his arms. “You are not pathetic. I have met your parents and your family. Some nights when we were little I wanted them to be my parents. I wanted normal parents. You had the ideal family. You have the ideal family.”

“They admitted they were never going to tell me,” he said. “How fucked up is that?”

“They made a mistake in not telling you. You should have known all along,” you said, fixing the stray hairs falling over his forehead. “If I know anything though it is that they love you unconditionally. You gotta forgive them. They wanted you. You are their son and brother. They adopted you because they loved you. It sounds like your mom stopped being friends with this woman. I wonder why that was,” you said. He shut his eyes and rested his head on your chest. You shushed him as he got upset again, kissing the top of his head.

“You’re not hiding any secrets from me are you?” he asked, arms wrapped tightly around your back.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since I was thirteen years old,” you said. He raised his head up and you smiled. “S’okay. I know I’m not your-”

He kissed you out of nowhere, hand cupping the back of your neck, one long, smooth motion as you felt wetness on your cheeks. He moved back slowly, dropping his hands away, swallowing thickly.

“Sorry,” he said. You smiled and moved closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you said. “Always thought I wasn’t your type.”

“You were. I was too young to understand what it was that I felt. No one’s ever felt like you. And I can’t lose you too so I played it safe. Now...I’d rather get this out of the way so I can feel miserable for the rest of my life.”

“You think our friendship is over?” you asked.

“You were engaged an hour ago and I just kissed you. Of course it’s-”

“You’re ridiculous, Ackles, I swear,” you mumbled against his lips. “Like I said, I will always be there. Now I’d love nothing more than to fulfill every teenage fantasy and adult one if I’m being fair right now. But tonight’s not the night for that. Tonight, let out whatever you’re feeling and tomorrow, we’ll talk to your folks.”

You sat back and smiled, Jensen staring at you with soft wet eyes and you remembered the little boy waiting outside school, trying not to be upset. You lay down next to him and recalled the day you met.

“Hi,” you said, the boy turning away. “Why you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he said.

“You look like you’re crying,” you said, walking around his other side. You heard a car horn honk and looked ahead to see your dad behind the wheel of the car. You looked around and saw no other other cars there, the boy wiping his face off. “Where’s your mom or dad?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They said they’d be right here after school.”

“Y/N!” called your dad.

“We’re waiting!” you said back, the boy looking at you.

“For what?” asked your dad.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Jensen Ackles,” he said quietly.

“Jensen Ackles’ parents!” you said. Your dad sighed but he just sat back in his seat and turned up the radio. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“I know. You got the blue backpack. All the other girls got pink ones,” he said.

“I like blue. I like pink too but I like blue more,” you said. “I like the cars on your backpack.”

“Thanks. Do you like cars?”

“Yeah,” you said. You sat down and took off your bag, pulling out a few hot wheels from the bottom of it. “Mom said I could bring them as long as I didn’t lose ‘em. Wanna play while we wait?”

“Okay,” he said, taking a seat next to you.

By the time you and Dean were being called over, the sky was a little dimmer and you saw your dad talking to a couple outside the car.

“I think I gotta go home now,” you said.

“Me too. I see you tomorrow,” he said, holding out the car he’d been playing with.

“You keep it in case you got to wait again. Then you’re not bored. I’ll wait with you though if dad says it’s okay,” you said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. He gave you a hug and you smiled as you returned it. “Do you want to be best friends?”

“Yeah! That’s so cool!” you said.

“Awesome!” he said. You both packed up and ran over to your parents, your dad chuckling as you waved bye to Jensen.

“Make a new friend on your first day?” he asked.

“That’s Jensen. He’s my best friend forever now,” you said. “That’s how it works. I know. Jensen’s got an older brother and he told him all about it.”

“I see. Well buckle up. I’m sure mom’s wondering where we are,” he said. You climbed in the back and saw his parents give a wave as they drove past. “That was real nice of you to talk to that boy when he was upset like that.”

“I didn’t like him crying, made me feel funny,” you said. “Like my chest had a tummy ache.”

“Oh, you’re going to prom with that boy aren’t you,” he mumbled.

“What’s prom?”

“A very, very long way away. Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

“I remember our first day too,” said Jensen. “I’m always a blabbering mess around you, aren’t I.”

“I think I understand what that tummy ache in my chest was. It’s that same feeling I got when you called earlier. I think we really were too young to understand back then what it was that we were experiencing.”

“You mean how I’ve been in love with you since I was five years old,” he chuckled. “Y/N. I still feel really, and I mean really, really shitty. But thank you for coming over. I need you, more than even I know I think.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” you said. You kissed him and he smiled, closing his eyes. “You want to sleep? You had a long flight and drive, not to mention day.”

“Yeah, I want to crash. I’m exhausted,” he said. You moved to get up but he sat up with you, watching you carefully. He swallowed again and you threw back the covers, climbing underneath them.

“Not going anywhere,” you said. He got underneath with you and heard him breathe a deep breath, no sniffles in sight for the first time all night. “Jensen.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“It’ll be okay,” you said. “I promise.”

“I know. Not looking forward to tomorrow is all,” he said.

“Well I’m going with so...can’t be all bad,” you said.

“No. Like you said back then, I stick with you, I’ll be alright,” he said. “Can you get the room light?”

“Sure,” you said. You hopped out of bed and turned off the big light, walking over to his nightstand and finding the switch. You smiled when you saw the hot wheel car on there, Jensen smiling softly as he looked up at you. “Night Jensen.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #rpf #jensen x #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #jensen fanfiction

449 notes · View notes

curls-cat · 3 years

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Sugar/Spice; Snips/Snails

for @grimmtober day 1: Candy! Also on AO3 and ff.net under the same name. but I can’t link it if I want this to show up in the tags. :/ AU: Sabrina grows up in Ferryport Landing.

There’s a boy in the woods. Sabrina sees him, even if none of the grown-ups do. He’s bigger than she is, with curly gold hair like hers, wearing a big green hoodie. He keeps looking at her through the trees and grinning. There are fireflies around him, even during the daytime, even now that summer’s all the way over.

Sabrina knows better than to go outside herself. Mamma and Daddy and Granny all say it’s too dangerous, that she’s too little and sometimes people are mean and might hurt her. And even when people aren’t mean, the woods is really big, and she could get lost so easy. Mr. Canis could find her, but someone mean might find her first.

But there’s a boy in the woods. And there aren’t a lot of other kids in Ferryport Landing. Especially not ones she can talk to (in preschool there’s Bella and Natalie and Toby and Wendell, but only Wendell is allowed to be her friend. And everything else is secrets, secrets, secrets—don’t tell anyone about Mr. Canis, Sabrina, or about what being a Grimm means, or about why you’re extra excited to get to first grade and see Ms. Snow). And all Sabrina’s Halloween candy disappeared last night.

Sabrina wanted to be Alice in Wonderland for Halloween, but her parents said No and Granny said Politics and didn’t explain what that meant, so Sabrina was Stephanie from Lazy Town instead and had to wear an itchy pink wig the whole night and none of the grown-ups knew who she was supposed to be. And now all her candy’s gone and nobody believed her when she said she didn’t eat all of it.

So the next time the fireflies come out, when it’s just starting to get dark and the shadows from the woods reach all the way to the house, Sabrina follows them. They’re pretty, even though up close they’re too big to be lightning bugs, and they glow too bright. She didn’t really think they were bugs.

She follows them as they dance between the long shadows of the trees. She didn’t have time to put on her shoes before she left, so her socks are getting wet in the grass. It’s gross. They lead her right to the edge of the woods, and then they scatter.

Sabrina is, for a moment, alone in the gathering dark of the woods. Nearly all the leaves have fallen, and it’s gray and brown and so, so quiet. No birds or bugs. No Mamma or Daddy or Granny calling for her to come inside. She can see the house through the trees, and it looks warm and safe and like it’s calling her back.

“Scared?”

Sabrina spins around and pulls her hands up the way Ms. White taught her—you have to protect your face—and sees the boy, sitting in a tree a few feet above her. Up close, he’s different than she thought. Still a boy, still a kid like her, but older. Taller. And dirty. He’s holding her candy in his hand. She knows it’s hers because it’s still in her plastic jack-o-lantern with her initials on the bottom in her very own handwriting.

“I’m not scared of you,” she tells him.

He grins, flashes too-sharp teeth. “Sure. That’s why you jumped a mile high when I said something, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!” she says, even though she is, and she knows it. “I’m a big sister!” She balls her fists tighter. “And that’s my candy.”

“Finders keepers,” he says. He unwraps a pack of oreos and pops them in his mouth. His fingernails are too sharp, too.

“You’re rude,” she says, but she puts her fists down. He doesn’t seem mean, just… messy. And gross. And mean, but she said that already.

“So’re you,” he says, and hands her a pack of Starbursts.

Sabrina accepts her candy, unwraps it. Inside there’s two pink ones and an orange one. She wrinkles her nose and eats the orange one. She’s not supposed to have candy before dinner.

She’s also not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially not strangers who are ab-so-lute-ly Everafters.

“Why’d you take my candy?” She sits on the ground. Her socks are already dirty, might as well get mud on her overalls, too. The boy won’t care. He’s dirtier than she is.

“I was hungry,” he says. “I just told the pixies to get me food.”

Not fireflies. Pixies. Sabrina squints at him. “You’re not supposed to talk about magic.” She doesn’t know what a pixie is, but she knows for sure it’s magic.

“I thought this town was full of magic,” the boy says. “A ‘haven for the homeless,’ that’s what your ancestor said when he convinced all of us to follow him over here. Or a prison, if you listen to anybody else.”

“There’s people, too,” Sabrina informs him. “Lots of ‘em. Normal people. Boring people. I have twelve in my preschool class. And they’ve all got parents. Some have brothers and sisters, too.”

The boy looks suitably impressed. Then he wrinkles his nose. “Boring,” he tells her. “I was hoping this place would be fun. But it’s got rules too, huh?”

“Everywhere has rules,” Sabrina says. “My daddy says they’re to keep people safe.”

The boy snorts. “To keep you from having fun, more like.” He pops a Reese’s into his mouth.

Something occurs to Sabrina, then. “How’d you know about my an-cestor?” The new word feels strange on her tongue. She thinks it means like your grandpa, but extra.

The boy nods in the direction of the house. “I watched him build that place. Slowed him down, too. Plus I’ve been watching.”

“I know,” Sabrina says. “I saw you.”

“What’s your name?” he asks. “Other than Grimm. Your first name.”

“Sabrina,” she offers readily. “What’s yours?”

He tosses her another pack of Starbursts. “Puck.”

Sabrina brings Puck food for a few days. She likes keeping him secret. Everyone’s busy with the new baby, and Sabrina loves Daphne, sure, but babies are boring and she doesn’t know why all the grown-ups care so much about someone who can’t even do anything. She also feels a little left out, maybe, and it’s nice having someone who’s hers. They talk. He’s a prince, he says. He’s exiled, he says. He’s famous, he says. He’s the coolest. He doesn’t have to say that part. Sabrina thinks so, too.

They spend afternoons in the cool dark woods, and Puck takes her flying, because he’s not just too sharp, he’s also got wings, because he’s a fairy, which Sabrina has never met before. They share her Halloween candy. He turns into animals, and he listens to her tell him about preschool. She’s learning to read, a little. She can read the street sign for their road. Puck thinks reading and books are boring. She yells at him about it.

That’s the other thing about Puck. If she gets mad at him, he doesn’t tell her to stop throwing a tantrum or go to her room like her parents, and he doesn’t start crying or tattle to someone like the other kids at preschool. He yells back. And then they’re friends again.

Mr. Canis is the one who finds out. He follows her to the woods and says, “I wondered where all the caramels went.”

“This is Puck,” Sabrina says. If a grown-up did have to find them, she’s glad it was Mr. Canis. He’s not a regular grown-up, not the kind who tells her what to do and gets worried or talks down to her. He just talks, and listens. Sometimes he says weird stuff, but other than that, he’s almost like a regular person. “He was hungry.”

“I know who he is,” Mr. Canis says. “I’ve been watching him.” He looks down at Sabrina. “What I didn’t know was that you knew him.”

“He took my Halloween candy,” Sabrina says. “Nobody listened.”

Mr. Canis doesn’t say anything. He looks Puck up and down.

Puck stares right back at him, then, at long last, says, “Don’t get mad at her.”

“I am not angry,” Mr. Canis says. “You should come inside and meet the family.”

Puck wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going to move back inside. I’ve finally broken out of being civilized.”

“I am not asking you to,” Mr. Canis says. “But inside there is food that will not rot your teeth.”

“Everafters don’t get cavities.”

Mr. Canis laughs. It sounds like a dog barking. It always does. “I can assure you we do.” He shows Puck his own too-sharp teeth, points at a shiny silver spot in one of them. “I had this filled myself.”

Puck’s eyes go wide, and his hand comes up to his face. He gives Mr. Canis another long look. “What kind of food?”

“Weird food,” Sabrina informs him. “Granny’s cooking tonight.”

Puck thinks for a second, then shrugs. He grins at Sabrina. “I like weird.”

Puck keeps living in the woods. Sabrina has to tell a grown-up before she goes to see him, now. The grown-ups all have a long conversation after Mr. Canis tells them she’s been going in the woods to visit a Strange Boy (he’s not a strange boy, she tries to tell them, but nobody listens). After, her parents sit her down and have A Talk with her about Danger and how Not All Everafters Are Nice. She listens, even if she thinks they’re coming at it wrong. Puck isn’t nice. She doesn’t want him to be nice.

They grow.

At age nine, Sabrina runs out of the house, ignoring the sound of her dad shouting after her. This time, at least, she’s wearing shoes. She heads straight for Puck’s trash throne. The pixies greet her on the way, rising out of the shadows of another gathering dark, as they always do. She appreciates it, though she barely needs it, can find her way to Puck without any help.

“What’s Hanky yelling about?” Puck asks instead of greeting her. He’s sitting, as usual, on his porcelain throne atop a mountain of broken furniture.

Sabrina throws him a bag of fun size Milky Ways—it’s the family’s Halloween candy, and her mom’s going to be mad that she has to buy another bag, but Sabrina doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything and it’s not like they’ll even be here in a few weeks and her parents don’t care about what she wants, anyway, so why should she care about them?

Puck catches the candy, opens it, and pops one, fully wrapped, into his mouth. He spits the wrapper out onto the ground a few seconds later, covered in spit and melted chocolate. He does this a lot. Sabrina always calls him gross and makes a stink about it. Today all she can think about is how she’s not gonna be able to see this anymore in a few days, because—

Puck notices her silence. “What, Grimm? Finally seen sense about ‘the environment’?”

Sabrina isn’t sure she wanted him to notice. She thinks maybe she wanted him to act like everything was normal and maybe then she could pretend it really was, for a bit. But she sort of also wants someone to listen, someone she can yell at who won’t talk about safety. Someone who cares about what she wants, even if he pretends not to, instead of pretending to when they don’t, like her parents.

“We’re moving,” she says, and she keeps her voice flat, even, because if she doesn’t, she’s going to cry.

Puck stops chewing and stares at her. “You can’t. There needs to be a Grimm in Ferryport Landing.”

“Not all of us,” Sabrina says. “Granny’s staying. But Mom and Dad, and me, and Daphne… we’re leaving. Dad says town is ‘too dangerous.’”

“This is about the stupid ‘Scarlet Hand’ or whatever.” It’s not a question.

“Did they talk to you?” Sabrina asks.

“Nah,” Puck says. “Everyone knows I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina says. Because they’re friends. He’s her best friend, better than Wendell, even, even though Wendell goes to school with her and they’re in soccer together and he gave her a valentine last year that he’d picked out especially for her, the only one in the pack with a lollipop and a sticker.

“I won’t join anything that I can’t be the leader of,” Puck adds, because he can’t just be honest, ever. That’s okay, though. Sabrina understands. Honesty is hard.

She sits down on the edge of the pool, feels rough concrete under her hands, looks at the murky water, the level dropped low enough that she can dangle her feet in and only the very bottoms of her shoes touch it as they sway back and forth.

“When?” Puck asks.

“By the end of the year,” Sabrina says. “Mom got a job, and Dad asked me if I wanted—” her breath hitches, half anger and half rage— “if I wanted to help him pick out an apartment. Like this was exciting.”

“You could run away,” Puck suggests.

Sabrina laughs without humor.

“Plenty of woods,” Puck says. “You don’t have to stay here. Hey, I know! You could go up to the asylum with the other crazy little girls!”

Sabrina halfheartedly throws a piece of concrete at him. It clatters down the side of his trash mountain nowhere near him and rolls to a stop nearly at her other hand, still resting on cracked cement.

“Mr. Canis would find me,” Sabrina says, at length. “And they’d just make me go, anyway.”

“How? The old lady can’t leave, and neither can he. Just run away again before one of your parents comes to get you.”

“And leave Daphne?”

The younger girl practically worships the both of them. Losing Puck is going to be hard enough for her, but losing Puck and Sabrina… It’ll break her heart. And there’s no question about bringing Daphne with them.

For a long time, neither of them say anything. Sabrina had sort of been hoping Puck would have an answer. A real one, one that would work.

“You can visit,” he says at last. “They can’t keep you away forever.”

“Yeah,” she says. Because Mom had said that, too. Said that they could come back on weekends and over holidays, as long as Granny said things seemed safe.

She looks up at the boy she’s known for half her life, who’s been her best friend almost as long, who she’s going to stop being able to see soon. He’s been exactly the same the whole time she’s known him. When she sees him next, she’s going to be closer to his height. She might even outgrow him.

She knew it might happen. They don’t talk about it, but they both know. Someday, Sabrina’s going to have to be an adult, and Puck won’t. She’s not sure she wants to be an adult, but she doesn’t think she wants to be stuck, either. Doesn’t want to be powerless forever.

There’s nothing else to do, though, so she rolls her head to look at Puck upside-down, who’s eating another Milky Way, and says, “Pass me one of those.”

There are Everafters in New York City, of course. Sabrina sneaks out over the weekends, meets Puck’s brother. Gets in trouble. Finds out the Scarlet Hand is here, too. Tells her dad, hopes it’ll get them moved home. It doesn’t, it just gets her in a different kind of trouble. She doesn’t care, keeps sneaking out to get in the right kind of trouble, the kind that means she’s part of her family, still sort of connected to Puck.

In three years, when the barrier comes crumbling down, and the Everafters start trying, really and truly, to take over the world, it pays off. Because now nowhere is safe. And she wants to tell her dad she told him so, but she’s busy trying to watch the news that her parents won’t let her see and find out if her friends are safe and everything is loud and angry and dangerous and she tried to prepare but it wasn’t enough.

They still make her go to school. It’s stupid. None of this matters, and she tells them that over and over, but they make her go anyway, and when she’s proven right because there’s a lockdown on the third day since the Everafters declared war, she’s just angry about it.

She’s hiding in the bathroom with two other girls who got caught between classes, and the other two are crying, when noises come down the hall in their direction. Sabrina looks around for something she can use as a weapon.

The door swings open.

Sabrina prepares herself for a fight.

She’s hit in the face before she can do anything, by a small projectile—a bullet? Since when do Everafters use guns? She’d have thought getting shot would hurt more.

She looks down. No blood on the ground.

Just a green skittle.

She doesn’t have to look up to know who’s going to say “Hey, Grimm.” She doesn't know what's coming next, but as soon as she hears Puck's voice, she knows the can handle it. Together.

#sisters grimm #the sisters grimm #sabrina grimm #grimmtober #grimmtober 2021 #puckabrina #if you squint. it's preslash

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luminescencefics · 4 years

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***

The Catalyst

December 2009

During her fourth and final year at Townbridge, Nora is hardened. She spent her summer reviewing her college applications in between shifts at the beach, picking through each individual essay and making sure her grades were the highest they could be.

Nora was sick of small towns. Newport would always be home, but with growing up comes the all-encompassing need to find a new home somewhere else—which was why Nora was applying for schools in New York City. A place where she can start over without the stinging burn of high school rumors following her every step.

Luckily, Nora still had Lydia and Margot and a few other girls on the swim team, and that was all she really needed at the start of her final year. She didn’t even look at Harry and his friends in the hallways, and whenever they would snicker behind her back or approach her if they were feeling bold, Nora would just spin on her heel and completely ignore them, similar to the way they treated her at the beginning of her first year. And when she would share a classroom with Harry for their AP classes, she would make sure to sit in the back corner of the room where she couldn’t feel his lingering gaze on her frame.

On her eighteenth birthday, Lydia and a few girls took Nora out to dinner at Margot’s family’s restaurant on the water in East Lyme. They paid for her meal and took pictures out on the docks by the ocean and it was the happiest Nora had felt all year at Townbridge.

Nora was riding that high all the way up until Christmas break where she was actually excited to go home and spend the Holidays with her mother. But just like most things in her life, Nora’s high came crashing down when her mother informed her that she couldn’t come home for break, leaving her to spend her ten-day vacation away from school completely alone in the empty halls of Townbridge.

“I’m so sorry, Nora. Mrs. Clemonte is really sick and Warren is already on his way to Aspen with Willy. I can’t just leave her alone! Especially during Christmastime. Please don’t hate me,” her mother grievously said through the speaker of Nora’s brand new LG Rumor cell phone.

“I could never hate you, mom,” Nora replied honestly, curled up in her comforter on her twin bed on the eve before her mother was meant to pick her up from school.

“You’ll be okay though, right? Other students will be staying on campus with you?” Nora could sense her mother’s worry from over one hundred miles away, and before Shannon could hear her daughter sniffling through the phone, Nora took a deep breath and convinced her that she’ll be fine—even if she wasn’t completely sure of it herself.

In all honesty, Nora wasn’t even certain if any students stayed on campus during break, considering her classmates usually booked trips to Aspen or Vail or the fucking Swiss Alps for all she knows. So after confirming with her guidance counselor that the facilities will be open and she’ll be safe to walk around the practically barren campus, Nora’s shocked that the first person she runs into is none other than Harry Styles.

Nora had to blink a few times in the entryway of the dining hall to make sure that the figure hunched over the wooden table sipping a porcelain cup of tea and shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth was actually him. But when she squints and takes into account his discernible curly locks, his signature black trench coat, and his cotton grey soccer sweatshirt with his last name embroidered on the front layered underneath—there’s no denying that it’s him.

She looks around and notices that there are a few other students scattered about, eating their breakfast wearing thick sweatshirts and conversing amongst themselves. Before she can be detected, Nora buries her chin in her thick knitted scarf and walks around the edges of the room towards the kitchen to grab her own helping of eggs and pancakes.

Nora’s gotten quite good at keeping a low profile, so when she finds an empty seat in the corner of the room, completely far away from Harry’s slumped figure, she lets herself breathe for the first time. She unwraps her maroon scarf and unbuttons her navy parka before digging into her breakfast, flipping through her battered copy of The Princess Bride. Every year, Nora rereads her favorite books that were turned into films, and she figured now was as good a time as any to pick up where she left off.

Halfway through her breakfast, Nora realizes a moment too late that she picked the seat that’s closest to the tea and coffee station when she hears her name gruffly fall past Harry’s lips as he stands over her, a completely shocked look on his face.

“Nora?” Harry repeats after a minute has passed with the two of them just staring at each other, wondering what in the hell the other is doing spending their winter break at school all alone.

“Hi,” Nora says awkwardly, avoiding Harry’s gaze and choosing instead to look at the rolled-up paperback sticking out of his jacket pocket. She can’t quite make out the title of the book from her position, but the light blue coloring of the title page is familiar to her for some odd reason.

“What are you…” His words fall from his mouth without any clear purpose. She realizes then and there that the last words she spoke to him were a broken “fuck you” one year ago in Dr. Forrester’s AP Chem lab, and that thought is enough to cause her to stand up abruptly from the wooden bench, grabbing her tray in one hand and her parka in the other, trying her hardest to get out from under Harry’s intense gaze.

“Wait, Nora!” Harry calls after her as she scrambles towards the trash bin to clear her half-eaten plate. She ignores him, the need to get away from him much stronger than her urge to stick around and hear what he has to say to her. And before she knows it, she’s running through the snowy campus with her parka barely buttoned, recognizing a moment too late that she left her maroon scarf on the table in the dining hall in her mad sprint to the exit.

For two days, Nora skips out on breakfast—too terrified to run into Harry again. She eats the rest of her meals by the old fireplace in Millikan Library at odd times in the day, growing far too comfortable with the eerie solitude floating through the towering ceilings.

Most of her afternoons spent in Millikan are quite peaceful, considering the foot traffic is practically nonexistent save for the two librarians working the research desk and the small handful of students searching through the fiction aisle for a new book to read to keep them preoccupied during the break. Her spot near the fireplace is hidden in plain sight, somehow giving her the perfect view of the lower floor of the library while staying comfortably concealed from wandering eyes.

Luck isn’t on her side, though, and while she’s finishing up the last quarter of The Princess Bride, her focus is broken when a familiar maroon scarf drops in the middle of her lap, obstructing Nora’s spot on the page.

When she looks up she sees Harry, dressed in familiar black jeans and a simple white t-shirt underneath his trench coat. Snowflakes dust the tips of his curly hair, and when Nora squints she can make out the purple bags underneath his dull green eyes.

“You left that in the dining hall,” he says slowly, sitting down in the chair across from the matching one Nora is currently curled up in.

“Uh, thanks,” she mutters, scrunching the thick material up and shoving it into her backpack resting on the floor below her. A crinkled Pop-Tart wrapper comes fluttering out of her bag as she attempts to zip it up, and Harry notices it instantly.

“Have you been living off of those instead of eating real food?” he asks. Nora can’t tell if he’s actually concerned or if he’s teasing her, because his eyes are still dull and his face is still blank and she can’t read Harry Styles for the life of her.

When she doesn’t answer, he states simply, “You’re avoiding me.”

“Can you blame me?” Nora responds quickly, looking at him with a layer of sadness hidden underneath her cerulean eyes.

“No, suppose I can’t.” He’s quiet for a few minutes, shifting his gaze towards the carpeted flooring below them. He looks as if he’s thinking very hard, and Nora wonders if he’s trying to figure out how to apologize to her. And when he’s still sitting there, a massive indent in the middle of his eyebrows while his lips pout downward in a frustrated frown, Nora thinks that a person like Harry has probably never had to apologize for anything in his entire life.

That realization is enough to keep her from running away from him again.

Harry lifts his eyes from the floor then, moving his gaze from Nora’s face to the book in her lap. She looks comfortable, wearing thick leggings and a woolen turtleneck, her blonde hair twisted into a low bun behind her neck, allowing her fringe to fall wildly against her forehead. He notices that her snow boots are on the floor, and her socked-clad feet are tucked underneath her thighs on the big chair she’s nestled in. For the first time in a long time—probably ever, if Harry really sits and thinks about it—he feels as if he’s looking at Nora Priestley for the first time, observing every freckle on her pale skin and every line and curve of her face. He’s not quite sure what that means entirely, but he’s sure that it has to mean something, in the grand scheme of things.

If she’s grown uncomfortable under his stare, she doesn’t show it, and Harry’s a bit grateful for that. Without really thinking about it, Harry reaches inside his jacket pocket, revealing his curled up copy of The Call of the Wild.

“D’ya mind if I sit here and read with you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Nora says, her voice pitch wavering, “Not at all.”

What normally would take Nora less than an hour to read, ends up being much longer, because she had suddenly grown extremely distracted with Harry’s presence across from her. It first started when he took off his black trench coat, revealing a threadbare white t-shirt that didn’t seem appropriate with the falling snow outside and the frigid temperature in the air. But it wasn’t the thin material that captured Nora’s attention. Instead, it was the various etchings of black ink swirling up and down his left arm. She tries not to stare, but she honestly can’t help it, because the images of shaded roses and thick anchors and anatomically correct organs is causing her head to spin. Nora never thought that picture-perfect Harry Styles, with all his splendor and daddy’s money, would brand his skin with outrageous tattoos. But it somehow fits, and Nora finds that she suddenly wants to know what every picture means, and its significance to the boy adorning them.

She tries to bring her attention back to her book, but it’s practically no use, considering her eyes keep falling towards his, watching the way he reads the old book in his large hands. From this position with the big bay windows behind her and the light flooding through, Harry’s green eyes almost seem blue. She’s not sure if he’s aware that he’s doing it, but his fingers keep constantly picking at the dry skin on his lower lip, and if there’s nothing left to pick, his fingers just push and pull at the skin as he flips to the next page. Whenever he seems to read a particularly interesting passage, Harry’s brows furrow as he concentrates on the words bleeding off the page. And just when Nora thinks she’s gotten used to his presence, he would absentmindedly fidget in the seat, changing which leg would be crossed over the other, bringing his foot up to rest on the seat so that his elbow can lean on something new, or even moving his body completely, so that his legs fall over the arm of the chair and his head rests against the other.

And when Nora’s no longer distracted by Harry’s existence, she finds that her thoughts linger on the hundreds of questions floating through her brain. She wonders what he’s doing here, all alone during Christmas break when he spends his summers in the south of France or the Hamptons or some other luxurious location. She wonders why, of all places to read an old copy of The Call of the Wild, he chooses to sit near her, a girl he’s supposed to hate. And she especially wonders why she doesn’t mind his proximity to her body, considering he’s done nothing but hurt her since they first met.

Nora finds this entire afternoon to be distracting, and without even finishing the book (even though she acts like she has, because let’s be honest, Nora’s read The Princess Bride enough times to recite the last page), she closes it and throws it in her backpack, exchanging the paperback for her maroon scarf and beginning to lace-up her snow boots. Harry looks up from his book and notices her getting ready to leave, and without saying anything, Nora watches as he dog-ears his page and begins to pull his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

“I’m gonna head to the dining hall,” Nora explains, even though she’s not entirely sure she wants Harry to follow her. But when he stands up from the chair and slips his book into his pocket, Nora finds that she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter, other than to follow him down the stairs and out the front door into the snow.

Townbridge covered in a thick blanket of snow is quite a sight to behold, and momentarily, Nora can forget that Harry Styles is standing near her. Because the snow is falling lightly from the sky, dusting the tips of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and she thinks it’s probably the calmest she’s felt in a very long time.

But then Harry’s elbow knocks against hers as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and suddenly all of the distracting thoughts and the endless questions from before come rushing from her brain to the tip of her tongue, and Nora finds that she can’t hold it in anymore.

“Why are you talking to me, Harry? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” Nora’s words aren’t spiteful in the slightest. In fact, there’s barely any emotion behind them—just a statement that’s been at the forefront of her mind ever since he first approached her in the dining hall two days ago.

“I don’t hate you, Nora,” Harry chooses to say, looking down at her briefly as they continue the short walk to their destination.

“You certainly don’t like me,” Nora replies back, keeping her head down to avoid more snowflakes accumulating on her eyelashes.

“If this is about last year, I really am sorry. You were right to say those things to me in Dr. Forrester’s lab, I deserved it. All of it.” Nora waits a minute to speak, because she’s curious if Harry Styles will grovel in front of her, if he’ll beg for her forgiveness the way she’s dreamt about him doing for the past twelve months. He stays quiet, kicking his boot through a particularly thick segment of snow, and when Nora chances a look towards his face, she can see through his eyes that this conversation is torturing him. The dullness is tenfold, and his lips are in a very straight line and she’s never seen a jaw so clenched in her entire life. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, Nora accepts his apology, because although words have failed him (as they usually have in the past), his eyes give everything away.

The word pushover comes to mind, but Nora doesn’t think it’s a negative aspect of her personality. She was always taught to find the best in people, and if Harry’s apology consists of a handful of words and green eyes twisted in utter agony, she’ll take what she can get.

He holds the door open for her as they approach the dining hall and she gives him a quiet “thank you,” and Harry’s not sure if it’s for his chivalrous act or his bare-bones apology, but he takes it in stride. They grab chicken noodle soup and turkey sandwiches and steaming cups of tea and sit at the table near the large row of windows and for the first time, Nora doesn’t mind sitting across from him.

“So, why The Princess Bride?” Harry asks after a mouthful of soup, watching the way her mouth quirks at the mention of her favorite book.

“It’s one of my favorite movie adaptations. Movies are kind of my thing, I guess,” she explains, holding her warm cup of tea against her hands and she looks so damn cozy.

Harry nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“What about you?” Nora counters, watching the way his head tilts in confusion.

“What about me?” He echoes.

“Why The Call of the Wild?”

Harry grins, taking a long sip of his tea before replying, “I like classic literature. Guess it’s kind of my thing.”

Before Nora can say anything else, or tease him about copying her phrase, Miss Flaherty approaches their table with a bright grin. She’s one of the guidance counselors at Townbridge, an older woman who reminds everybody of their Nana. So when she places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes, Nora’s curiosity is piqued to the fullest.

“Harry! There you are, lovie. Will you be joining us tomorrow for the Toy Drive again? I’m sure everybody will be happy to see you.”

Sheepish has never been a word that Nora would think to associate with Harry Styles, but when his cheeks begin to flush and his eyes look anywhere but at Nora’s, she can tell that he’s nervous. And when she thinks back to Miss Flaherty’s question, more importantly, the word again, Nora’s wondering who on earth the boy sitting across from her truly is.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he tells her, smiling awkwardly.

“Amazing! How about you, Nora? Will you be joining us as well?” Nora’s suddenly aware of two sets of eyes on her, and when she glances at Harry and sees that his face is void of irritation, she nods her head and looks back towards Miss Flaherty.

“Of course! Count me in.”

Miss Flaherty smiles brightly and looks between the two of them happily. “Lovely! I’m sure Harry here will tell you all about it. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

After she walks away it’s quiet again, just the two of them slurping from their bowls of soups, trying to figure out how to address what just happened. Surprisingly, it’s Harry who speaks first.

“Uh, you don’t have to come if you don’t, er, want to.” He’s anxious and Nora wishes he would stop looking at the wooden table and would look at her, instead. Because she’s never given him a reason to be nervous around her, and the fact that he’s suddenly grown so small in front of her is all too confusing for her to understand.

“I don’t mind, really. Sounds cool, actually,” Nora admits, meaning every word.

Harry looks up at her then, observing her to see if there’s any teasing on her face. But when she looks back at him with nothing but a warm expression, Harry can tell that Nora actually means it, and he gives her a gentle smile in return.

Once they finish their lunch, they begin to walk back to their dorms. Nora lives on a different floor of Granary Hall and Harry lives in Quinby House, which is just across the small quarry outside of her building. It’s a comfortable silence, and Nora really wasn’t expecting him to walk her to the front door of her building. She’s not at all mad that he does, though, and when she turns towards him to say goodbye, he looks as if he’s trying to say something to her.

“I can drive you tomorrow to the Youth Center if you want. Easier than taking the bus,” Harry says, pushing his hands against the bottom of his pockets as he shuffles on the pavement in front of her, avoiding eye contact.

Nora nods, smiling softly before saying, “Sure, sounds good. Thanks, Harry.”

Before she can even mutter a goodbye, Harry’s already spinning on his boots towards Quinby House, and Nora’s left watching his figure disappear through the snow, thinking that out of the four years she’s known him, this is the most words they’ve ever spoken to one another.

Nora’s not even sure if she’s aware of it, but when she wakes up the next morning and chooses her nicest pair of jeans and applies a generous amount of mascara to her eyelashes, the idea of impressing Harry is barely even a thought in her mind. But there’s a reason for everything—and the fact that she brushed through her knotted hair and stuck her cherry-flavored lip balm into her pocket before rushing out the door, means that subconsciously she’s thinking about him.

They meet in the parking lot near his black Range Rover, and when he offers her a small smile and opens the door for her, she’s not quite sure what to think. He’s wearing his trench coat again with a grey thermal top underneath, and his curls are stuffed under a bright blue knitted beanie and he looks unbelievably warm. They don’t really talk much but they do listen to Big Star, and when “Thirteen” comes on and Nora starts to sing the words to herself, Harry snaps his head over in her direction with a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

“You listen to Big Star?” he asks, flitting his gaze between the road and Nora’s face.

She smiles, content that she’s shocked Harry, before adding, “Yeah, they’re one of my mom’s favorites.”

He nods, an impressed look on his face. “She’s got great taste.”

The rest of the ride is filled with more of Harry’s musical repertoire to which Nora sings along to the songs she knows. And if she listens close enough, she can hear the low tone of Harry’s singing voice, and she almost finds herself leaning closer towards him so that she can listen more clearly.

When they reach the Youth Center, Harry pops open his trunk and reveals two boxes filled with toys. Nora helps him and grabs the other, peeking inside and seeing wrapped presents of various sizes. They enter the room and greet Miss Flaherty, who immediately delegates Harry and his strong arms to deliver all of the presents underneath the tree, and Nora is sent to pass out homemade cookies and milk and read to the younger children.

It’s a blur of activity, and in between reading A Christmas Carol and making sure the younger children don’t choke on their cookies, Nora almost forgets to watch Harry. She mainly notices him in passing—a quick glimpse of a grey long-sleeved arm passing out presents, an electric blue beanie bouncing up and down in her periphery, a peek of brown suede boots running around behind her. It’s only once Nora’s begun reading the fourth stave, in which the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come visits Scrooge, when she notices denim-clad long legs sitting cross-legged in front of her, with a five-year-old blonde girl perched on his lap.

Harry sits there and listens to Nora finish reading the book, watching the way she acts out each character so that the kids in front of her are completely entranced. Her hair looks shinier today than when they were nestled in the library, and her blue eyes glisten whenever she hears a small child “ooh” and “aah” at the sentence she just read. And whenever her gaze falls on Harry’s, he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face.

When it ends, the little girl in his lap whispers into his ear, “Can we give Nora a cookie? She did a good job reading,” and Harry begins nodding excitedly.

“I think that’s a great idea, love. Up you go, let’s go pick out the prettiest sugar cookie on the table, yeah?” When she latches her small hand into his, Nora can’t help but watch in adoration as he lifts her up and brings her to eye level with the cookie tray, pointing at certain ones and waiting for her little nod of approval.

And when the pair approach her, the little girl holding up a paper plate with a snowman sugar cookie on it, Nora’s smile couldn’t be wider. “Is this for me?” Nora asks, bending at her knees so that she’s eye-to-eye with the small girl.

She nods, bashfully. “To say thank you. Harry said you should get the prettiest cookie.”

When Nora grabs the cookie, she looks up at Harry to find that he’s already looking down at her, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing. But to Nora, it was practically everything, and she spends the rest of the afternoon in a blissful state, a smile permanently gracing her features.

When they get back to campus with both their stomachs filled with cookies and eggnog and Christmas breads, the sun is just starting to set past the horizon. Harry pulls into his parking spot but waits a moment to shut off the ignition, noticing how Nora’s gaze is focused on the sky as it turns from a cornflower blue to a prepossessing tangerine hue. The snow reflects the sunset perfectly, and even though it’s one of the prettiest winter sunsets Harry’s seen in a long time, he can’t stop looking at the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

She finally turns to him just as the sky changes from violet to indigo, “I had fun today.”

Harry nods, agreeing instantly. “Yeah, it was a good day.”

“Do you do that often? Is that why you stay here during Christmas break?” Nora’s not quite sure if she’s overstepping, but when Harry’s jaw doesn’t clench and his eyes stay rooted on her own, she can tell that he’s not as nervous to tell her things anymore.

“I’ve been doing it the past two years. My dad’s been going on work trips during the Holidays, so I just stay here.” It’s a version of the truth that he feels most comfortable sharing, and he’s grateful that Nora doesn’t push him.

“I’m assuming your friends don’t know,” Nora offers quietly, watching as Harry chuckles to himself, the sound being anything but funny.

“Yeah, they think I’m in the Alps.” He looks sad all of a sudden, and Nora wishes she hadn’t said anything. Because the fact that Harry’s father chooses to work during Christmas, thus leaving him no choice but to stay at Townbridge by himself, is a shitty thing to do. But instead of moping, he chooses to donate presents to children so they can have some sort of a normal Christmas, even though he doesn’t get the same in return. That’s quite admirable.

If it were Nora, she would be bragging to her friends about the Toy Drive, begging them to join her and spread more awareness. But Harry—Harry can’t do that. Because his friends would never understand, and that realization strikes Nora hard in her chest.

Giving him one last glance, she asks him, “Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?”

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up in confusion. The sudden change in conversation is a bit jolting, and when he tries to figure out her intention, she giggles uncomfortably before rambling. “I nicked the DVD player from our common room and set it up in my dorm. Nobody really noticed, so I’ve been watching movies on it all semester.” He’s still looking at her, but instead of confusion written across his face, his lips begin to form a smirk and Nora begins to squirm in her seat, much like the first time they met three years ago in the Great Hall. “So, uh, have you seen it?”

He shakes his head once, twice, the smirk growing into a smile.

“Would you like to?” Nora’s not quite sure why she’s nervous, or more importantly, why she’s even inviting him up to her room in the first place. Maybe she pities him in the slightest, or maybe, just maybe, she’s found that she actually enjoys his presence for once in her life.

“Sure,” he replies easily. Nora watches as he turns the key in his ignition to shut the car off, before hopping out and waiting for her by the trunk. They walk inside Granary Hall together, ride the elevator up to the eighth floor in silence, before entering the fourth door on the right.

The room is moderate, practically identical to the one he had last year with Will, but for some reason, it just screams Nora Priestley. He can already tell which side of the room is hers due to the mix-matched comforter set, the thick homemade quilt, the generous stack of books leaning precariously against the wooden desk, and the collection of polaroids stuck to the wall above her bed nestled in the corner. While she takes off her parka and snow boots, Harry leans towards the photographs, smiling to himself when he sees the happiness radiating off of each one.

His eyes seem glued to the images of Nora and who he assumes to be her mother, with their arms wrapped around each other and their long hair tangling in the ocean breeze. They seem to have done everything together—various images of the two of them on beaches and hiking trails and in the front seat of an old car. Harry’s never seen pure happiness before, and he wishes he could burn these images underneath his eyelids so that he never forgets what that feeling looks like.

“That’s my mom,” Nora says from behind him, almost startling him. He turns around with flushed cheeks, an apology at the tip of his tongue for so obviously intruding. But when he sees her face and notices that she’s not angry at all, he feels his shoulders relax.

“You guys seem to do everything together,” he says softly, choosing his words carefully as to not overstep. The topic of family has always been a difficult one for him in the past.

But for Nora Priestley, she seems to have no qualms about the topic, with the way she’s nodding easily with a nostalgic grin on her face. “Yeah, it’s always been that way. Just the two of us.”

Harry doesn’t say much else, but the look on his face says it all. Some mixture of sadness and jealousy, because even though Nora only has one parent, it’s more than the two he’s known his entire life.

Nora fills her arms with the pillows from her mattress and creates a makeshift pallet on the floor against the end of her bed. Harry takes the seat closest to the door and watches amusedly as she begins to microwave popcorn, opening the door with ten seconds to spare so that she can mix in a package of M&M’s.

When she joins him moments later, she flicks the light off and hits play on the remote. Just as the opening credits begin, she plops down next to him and holds the bowl out in his direction.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, completely serious. He’s looking at the bowl with fascination, wondering what sort of salty-sugary concoction Nora just created.

“It’s the ultimate cinema snack,” Nora explains, grabbing a handful of chocolatey kernels and dropping them into her mouth, munching quietly as Harry looks at her with a glimmer in his eye.

When he pauses for a second time, looking between the movie and the bowl in Nora’s outstretched hands, a sudden realization falls over her.

“Have you never done this before? Gone to the cinema and eaten enough sugary sweets to give yourself a guaranteed stomachache?” The opening scene has already begun but Nora’s too focused on the boy next to her who shakes his head solemnly and looks into the bowl, avoiding Nora’s gaze. She wonders what else the boy she thought had everything in the world has seemingly missed out on.

She turns back around to face the screen, unknowingly scooting closer towards Harry so that their sides are nearly centimeters apart. He can feel the heat of her body against his own, and just when he’s about to say something, Nora announces, “Well, Harry Styles, there’s a first time for everything. Eat up.”

And he does just that.

The next morning at breakfast at their usual table, Harry finds that he’s nervous. And not in the way that makes him angry and quiet and want to run away, but the kind that usually is caused by a girl. His stomach feels fluttery and his palms are sweating and he’s consistently overthinking, and he’s not even sure why—because he’s Harry Styles, for fuck’s sake. And the girl in question is none other than Nora Priestley.

But she’s wearing a beanie with a bobble on top and her cheeks are pink from the cold and there’s still snow clinging to the ends of her hair and he can’t help but feel out of his element. And he shouldn’t, truly, because he’s been with enough girls to know that these feelings don’t exist and that he’s probably fallen ill or something, most likely caused by the cookies they ate all afternoon and the popcorn-M&M monstrosity he inhaled during their movie.

They haven’t really said much, and Harry finds that he doesn’t mind, because he’s not really used to comfortable silences. Alyssa talks enough for the both of them and Grace and Erin are practically human echoes. Carter always has something new to say and Will answers him because he knows Harry won’t, so the fact that he can sit in the dining hall with somebody and read from each other’s books and talk about things that actually matter—it’s refreshing.

“These buildings are quite eerie when they’re completely empty, don’t you think?” Nora asks after they’ve disposed of their dirty plates.

“I think it’s kind of cool. Have you not been anywhere else besides here and the library?” Harry asks, grabbing his scarf and knotting it around his neck.

When Nora shakes her head, Harry’s hand reaches out to grab her own and he’s dragging her through the exit before she can even button up her parka.

“Harry!” Nora squeals, nearly tripping over her own two feet when she tries to keep up with his obnoxiously long strides. His hand still has hers in a vice-like grip and he doesn’t seem to be letting go any time soon, and it’s only once they’ve appeared in front of the English building when Nora digs her heels into the ground, causing Harry to turn around abruptly.

“What?” he asks, noticing the way her head shakes aggressively and her eyes are blown out as if she were completely and utterly afraid.

“No way. We’re not going in there, are you crazy?! It’s the most haunted building on campus, and it’s empty. No fucking way, Harry,” Nora says, standing her ground.

But with one roll of his eyes and some gentle prodding falling from his lips, Nora finds that she’s somehow ended up inside the stairwell of the empty building, laying next to Harry on the marble staircase. It’s silent, save for the sounds of their hearts beating in their chests and their even breaths falling from their parted lips. The window over the second-floor landing paints a pretty light through the surface, and Nora finds that she’s oddly comfortable in this haunted building she’s so terrified of.

She wonders if it’s because of the boy lying next to her.

“Where are you off to next year?” Harry asks suddenly, his head tipped towards the ceiling four stories up.

“Columbia, hopefully,” Nora says, focusing on the rays of light creating illusions along the stone walls.

“New York City?” Harry asks, sounding quite impressed.

“Yeah. How about you?” she asks, twisting her fingers absentmindedly in her lap.

Harry’s quiet for a moment and when Nora looks over, noticing the way his eyes close slowly and his jaw clenches harshly, she wonders if he’s okay. “Oxford,” he finally spits out, his eyes blinking towards the ceiling once more. “As expected.”

Nora thinks of how to respond, but before she can string together a cohesive thought, Harry suddenly turns his neck so that he’s facing her. “I hate expectations. I wish they didn’t fucking exist, if I’m being honest. How are you supposed to grow if you’re forced to do certain things that are already mapped out for you?”

Nora looks back at him, unexpectedly understanding a good chunk of who Harry is. How even though he’s Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the perfect boy who seemingly can get whatever he wants, he’s missing one thing. Happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

“What do you want to do when you get to Columbia? Like if you had the choice, and nobody was making it for you, and you didn’t have to worry about anything else—what would make you happy?” Harry asks, a shocking hint of vulnerability laced in between his words.

When Nora stops and thinks about it, the answer is literally right in front of her face. It’s what she’s always wanted to do, what she wishes she could do—but knows deep down that she can’t do. Because it’s not stable and it’s not why Nora went to Townbridge in the first place.

“Scriptwriting. I’d want to write screenplays and work on sets and help construct films that people like me can watch over and over again and never get tired of,” Nora whispers, thinking that if she says it quietly in the stairwell with just Harry around, she can still keep it locked up buried deep inside, away from people who would ridicule her over it.

“What would you do?” Nora asks before Harry can comment on her dream. She’s still not sure she’s ready for that.

His answer comes easier than hers. “I’d want to teach. English lit, preferably.”

Vulnerability is a scary thing. It’s even scarier when it’s shared between two people who, up until five days ago, were practically strangers. As they watch each other, heartbreakingly realizing that these dreams of theirs are just something they’re supposed to chase—a sudden sadness washes over them on the stairwell.

“I can’t do that, though,” Harry says, turning towards the ceiling just as his voice breaks. “Because it’s not in the plan.”

“What is the plan?” Nora asks curiously, eyes still locked on Harry’s side profile, watching the way his jaw moves as he speaks.

“Business Administration at Oxford. An internship at my dad’s company during my second year, and then a full-time job there once I graduate. Board of directors by twenty-five, until I fully take over by thirty. That’s it. That’s my life.” Harry’s voice has never sounded so broken before, and Nora feels her heart splinter a little for the boy lying beside her. Because right now, he’s eighteen, and he’s not supposed to be feeling this inordinate amount of pressure. But he is, and that thought makes Nora incredibly sad.

“And you?” Harry asks suddenly, looking towards her again.

“What about me?” Nora asks cautiously.

“What’s stopping you from becoming a scriptwriter?”

It’s a simple question if Nora really thinks about it. But things aren’t always that easy, and explaining to Harry how his anguish is not too far off from her own is quite a terrifying thought. Because they come from two separate worlds, and finding common ground in the fact that the things they truly yearn for are just not tangible is a sobering experience.

“My mom has higher expectations for me. I mean, I’m The Scholarship Girl. I’m not even supposed to be here. But my mom pushed for me and Mrs. Clemonte supported my application and before I even had a say in it, Townbridge was my plan,” Nora starts, feeling Harry’s eyes on her as she looks anywhere else but in the green of his. “My mom had me young, so she never got to go to college. She’s always telling me to do the things she couldn’t do, make better decisions than she made, be the best version of me I can be. And I do try, constantly. Because she works endlessly and she does everything she can to make sure I don’t end up like her, and that’s a lot of pressure for one person to take, because how can I repay her by studying performance arts and joining an industry that’s already extremely difficult to get into?” Nora’s eyes fall from the ceiling towards Harry, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “I can’t do that to her. It would break her heart.”

Harry nods like he understands, and for a brief moment, Nora thinks that he truly does. Because even though their situations are different and they come from two completely separate walks of life, they both have fallen victim to an excruciating amount of pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sounding more sincere than he ever has in his entire life.

Nora just shrugs, turning her face back towards the ceiling. “Not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, I guess,” Harry whispers, and Nora almost misses it over the sound of her own breathing. But when she feels his eyes warm her left cheek, she looks back at him and sees that he’s suddenly overridden with guilt.

“It’s okay, Harry—”

“—No, no. It’s really not.” He’s staring at her intently, and Nora’s suddenly found that she can’t look anywhere else. “What Carter did was wrong, and I didn’t do anything about it. And you lost all of your friends and he just went on the same as he always did, and the whole thing is just so fucked up.”

“I didn’t lose everybody,” Nora adds sheepishly, wishing this conversation would end. She doesn’t want to relive last year, she wants to forget its existence entirely.

“Still, it was wrong,” he frustratedly repeats. “You shouldn’t have just one friend at school.”

“It’s okay, though,” she says one last time, her voice urging him to understand her so that they can ultimately end this dreaded conversation. “I’d rather have one true friend than a bunch of fairweather ones.”

Harry nods and turns back towards the ceiling, and she knows that he isn’t going to say anything. Because this conversation is over, and what Nora said is unquestionably true. But he doesn’t want to face the harsh reality of his empty friendships, so instead, he stares at the ceiling, wondering how his life would have turned out if he fell into a different group instead of the one he has now.

Once Nora’s back starts to ache against the stone stairwell, she sits up and peers through the window on the second-story landing. The snow is falling down a bit harder now, coating the campus below in a thick, billowing white blanket. She thinks it’s beautiful. She thinks it’s far too inviting. So without thinking (something she’s been doing a lot of this week), she reaches for Harry’s hand and heaves him up, dragging him out of the English building and into the empty quad.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, confusion and amusement weaving together beautifully in his voice. Without answering, Nora reaches down and makes a snowball through her fingerless gloves, before hurling it straight towards Harry’s chest.

He looks at her with his jaw practically on the floor, faking his anger even though Nora can see right through it. She’s giggling loudly, almost hunched over at the shocked expression on his face. And before she can even comprehend it, Harry makes a snowball faster than her own and hits her right in the shoulder.

“Hey!” she calls back, wiping the leftover snow off her parka. Harry’s mischievous grin is clear as day through the thick snowfall, and when she mirrors it back, they’ve suddenly found themselves in a snow war.

Their laughter echoes through the quad and bounces off the stone buildings, and once Nora’s beanie is submerged in the snow and their jeans are soaked through and the only sound they can hear is their teeth chattering together, Harry calls a truce and drags her towards the direction of Quinby House. It’s closer than Granary Hall by at least five minutes, and when he holds the front door open for her, Nora enters without really thinking of the repercussions.

“Our floor’s empty and we have a private bathroom, so, er, if you want to shower first you’re more than welcome to. I’ve got warm clothes you can change into,” Harry offers quietly, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. Nora can’t tell if the blush coating his cheeks is from the snow clinging to his body or something else entirely, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she nods, following him to the last door on the left of the third floor, removing her snow boots in the hallway outside and beginning to walk towards the adjoining bathroom.

Nora closes the door without turning the lock, and immediately turns the shower on to its highest setting as she removes each soggy layer of clothing. She steps in just as the steam is clouding the small room, and when she notices the citrus body wash in the corner, she grabs that one instead of the Irish Spring bottle, knowing that it’s Harry’s.

Just as Harry’s pulled out a tight pair of joggers and his freshly washed soccer sweatshirt, he hears the distinct sound of the door creaking open. When he looks over his shoulder and finds that Nora isn’t peeking her head out from behind, he immediately gulps, knowing that the old door and the hot room caused the hinges to loosen.

As he approaches the door to close it securely, he can’t help but look up and notice Nora’s bare back through the mirror. Luckily he doesn’t see anything else, but still, he finds himself not being able to look away. Her milky skin is slightly red from the hot streams of the shower hitting her back and her blonde hair is sudsy and a part of him hopes that she picked his shampoo instead of Will’s. And when she moves her hair from the nape of her neck, Harry notices four black letters tattooed into her skin, and suddenly he closes the door before he can make out the blackletter script.

He sits on his bed across the room, his elbows resting on his thighs with his head in his hands as he tries his hardest to regulate his breathing. It’s a fucking back for Christ’s sake! Harry’s seen far more amongst other girls, and the fact that her hidden tattoo is causing his heart to beat erratically is giving him a migraine. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley behind that door, and he’s Harry fucking Styles. And he needs to remember that before he embarrasses himself any further.

But when the door finally opens fully and she’s standing there in a tiny towel barely covering her legs and her wet hair framing her blushing face, Harry knows he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley. And she’s standing there naked underneath terry-cloth and he doesn’t try to ignore the fact that his thumping heart and his staggered breathing are all because of her.

“So those, uh, clothes you were talking about…” Nora says awkwardly, staring at the carpeted flooring of his room instead of his face. Because she’s very clearly naked and very clearly uncomfortable, and when Harry points towards Will’s bed where the articles in question are resting, she barely mutters a thank you before the wooden door is shut again and she can finally breathe properly.

When they exchange places, Nora’s grateful that Harry has the decency to bring his change of clothing into the bathroom with him, because if she had to stare at his wet torso, she’s not quite sure she could bear it.

She snoops through his dorm room once she hears the water running, and finds that his side is practically barren. There are no pictures of his family, no personalized anecdotes to distinguish Harry’s side of the room from Willy’s, nothing except a collection of books in the open section underneath his nightstand. She reads through the titles, realizing that Harry does, in fact, have a thing for classic literature.

Just as she’s moved on to Willy’s desk, observing the stoic photograph of him and his parents that must have been taken recently, Harry emerges from the bathroom in comfy sweats and wet curly hair, and Nora looks away before she’s caught admiring his figure.

“What are you looking at?” Harry asks, dropping his wet clothes into his hamper before turning towards Nora’s position against Will’s desk.

When she holds up the frame, Harry looks between the picture and Nora’s face. As Harry studies her expression, noting the way her eyes are clouded with familiarity and a hint of sadness that lingers underneath, he can tell that she knows this family quite well.

So he asks, “You know Will, don’t you?”

“Knew would be the appropriate term,” Nora says quietly, placing the frame back where she found it before leaning her backside on his desk so that she can face Harry properly. “My mom was his nanny.”

Before Harry can comment, Nora quickly adds, “But please don’t tell him that. I don’t want him to think I’ve ruined his reputation or anything.”

“Why?” Harry asks, stepping towards her slowly. When she looks up at him with confusion, he continues, “Why would you let him lie to everybody?”

Nora just shrugs. “He obviously didn’t want anybody to know. But I know the truth, and Willy knows the truth, and he’s the one who has to live with that, not me.”

Harry looks at her from the middle of his room, thinking it’s quite remarkable that her brain works like that. Because Will had embarrassed her clear as day in front of all of his friends, and not only that, he lied, too. Harry thinks that if he hadn’t said those words, and if Alyssa and her friends hadn’t reacted that way, and if he just had a moment to talk to Nora before they had interrupted—maybe things would be completely different.

But Harry doesn’t like to think about what if’s. So instead, he grabs his laptop from his desk and powers it on, laying down on his twin bed in the spot closest to the wall, pulling up his movie library and patting the empty spot on his mattress.

When Nora lays down next to him, her back propped up on his headboard as her left side is flushed with Harry’s right, she asks, “Are we watching your favorite this time?”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “No, I’d rather watch another one of yours.”

Blushing, Nora grabs the computer from his lap and types in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, a classic that she’s sure Harry will enjoy. And when she hands his computer back to him, she tries to ignore the fact that Harry was watching her face instead of the screen.

“Have you seen this?” Nora asks, trying to break Harry out of whatever weird trance he fell into.

“Nope,” Harry admits, balancing his computer in the middle of their thighs so that they can both view the screen properly. Nora tries to ignore the fact that she had to move closer towards him to fill in the gap, but the redness flushing up and down her neck practically gives her away. “Why is it one of your favorites?”

His question is simple in hindsight, but it makes her heart bubble when she realizes that he’s actually interested in the little things about her that seem meaningless. “Well, it’s a classic, and I know that’s sort of your thing,” she says, smiling when she pulls a chuckle from his mouth. “And it’s one of my favorite examples of breaking the fourth wall in a screenplay.”

“What on earth is that?” Harry asks, clicking play once the movie has finished loading.

“It’s sort of like metafiction in literature. Basically, it’s a plot device that scriptwriter’s use when the main character speaks to the audience. Ferris does it, like, all the time.” When Nora realizes that she sounds extremely nerdy divulging scriptwriting plot devices and intricacies about film that nobody really cares about, she shuts her mouth, turning crimson.

Harry doesn’t say anything though, and she’s grateful for it. Because even if he thinks it’s weird and nerdy (which he doesn’t, of course, but he’d never tell her that), he turns his head towards the screen and tries to hide the smile on his face.

And when the opening monologue begins and Ferris is in the shower talking to the camera, Harry whispers into Nora’s ear and asks, “Is that it?” She tries to cover the shiver running through her skin at the feeling of Harry’s lips brushing against her earlobe, but Harry notices it, like he notices everything about her lately. So for good measure, when Ferris breaks the fourth wall again at Cameron’s house, Harry leans over and mumbles, “And this, yeah? This is it, too?”

Nora knows he’s teasing, so when she turns her face in his direction so that Harry can see her rolling her eyes in good humor, he tries to ignore the warmth on his shoulder from where her chin rests.

Around halfway through the movie, Nora finds that she’s suddenly grown tired. She sneaks a peek at Harry and notices that he’s captivated by the movie on the small screen, and she really doesn’t want to interrupt him. After her third stifled yawn, Nora can feel her eyes drooping, and without really thinking, her head falls against the fleshy part of Harry’s bicep. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does flinch for the shortest of seconds, before looking at her and realizing that she looks far too content dozing off on his arm. So he keeps quiet, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

The next morning, Nora wakes up and finds that she’s not in her room. She also finds that her left cheek is smushed against comfy cotton material that keeps rising and falling steadily. And when she finally comes to, she finds that the comfy cotton material belongs to Harry, and the rising and falling belongs to his chest, and when she notices her right arm wrapped securely around his lower stomach just above the waistband of his joggers where a sliver of warm, tattooed skin lies, she freezes. Before Harry can wake up and go through the same motions she just did, Nora springs up, a stupid decision that results in Harry stirring abruptly.

He seems to have realized the compromising position they were just in, and before Nora can run out of the room in a panic, he mutters, “I’m sorry,” in his incredibly scratchy morning voice and Nora finds that it really doesn’t help matters.

Because Harry Styles in the morning is something special. He looks good in every lighting, if Nora is being brutally honest, but there’s something about his puffy face and swollen lips and crackling voice that makes her appreciate him a little bit more than she probably should in the early hours of the day.

“It’s, uh, my fault. I was the one who fell asleep,” Nora offers lamely, raking her fingers through her matted hair to try and alleviate the awkwardness in the room.

And when Harry mutters, “I didn’t mind” at the same time Nora says, “I should probably go,” they both freeze and look at each other timidly. Harry’s wondering why he doesn’t want her to leave and Nora’s wondering why she wants to wrap her body around his again, and it’s all too much for nine in the morning.

But he’s still looking at her, and she’s still looking at him, and somehow they’ve both landed on solid ground for the first time. Harry’s finding out that he quite likes the look of her burrowed in his soccer sweatshirt and Nora’s discovering that she’s never slept better than when she was lying next to him, and when he asks her if she wants him to save their usual table at the dining hall for breakfast, Nora nods, thinking it’s the greatest idea in the world.

An hour later, after Nora’s gone back to her room to change (begrudgingly) into her own clothes and freshen up, it’s almost second nature when she falls into the seat across from Harry with a steaming plate of waffles and fruit. He has her coffee ready for her just the way she likes it, a splash of cream with one sugar cube, and she can’t help but match the grin covering the lower half of his face.

Even though Nora had the best sleep of her life, and waking up next to Harry was something she wishes she could do over and over and over again—she feels guilty. Because Harry is with Alyssa and Alyssa isn’t here and the whole thing makes her head throb painfully.

So, regretfully, Nora apologizes for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

“Nora, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Please stop apologizing, it’s driving me mad,” Harry jokes, stealing the syrup from her hands and pouring a generous amount over his stack of waffles.

“It’s just—Alyssa’s your girlfriend. And I know she doesn’t necessarily like me, but that still doesn’t make it right to share a bed with you,” Nora explains even though she knows it’s driving Harry crazy.

Harry nods, dropping his silverware against his plate so that his attention is focused solely on the girl across from him. “I know, but as I said earlier, I didn’t mind. If I didn’t want you to stay, I would have said something,” and before he resumes eating, he adds quietly, “It’s not like Alyssa’s really my girlfriend.”

“What do you mean?” Nora asks, noticing the way Harry exhales out of his mouth slowly.

“For all intents and purposes, I guess you could call her that. But it’s really only surface level, because if our parents didn’t summer together every year and force us to be together, it probably never would have happened in the first place. But it did, and we put on this show and everybody thinks we’re this happy little couple. And maybe we were, for a short while. But I haven’t really been the nicest boyfriend to her and she’s strayed on more than one occasion, and it’s all sort of scrambled,” Harry admits, staring at his tray to avoid Nora’s eyes. If he did look up, though, he would have noticed the sadness floating through her eyes and the frown swooping over her lips.

The rumors about Harry flirting with other girls and the occasional sneaky kiss in back corner’s of parties have been brought to Nora’s attention on multiple occasions. And even the ones last spring about Alyssa sneaking out of Carter’s dorm room trickled down to Nora’s group of friends, but she did her best to ignore them. Because she knows better than anyone how the rumor mill works, and even though Alyssa, Carter, and Harry did nothing to help Nora, she still couldn’t bring herself to stoop down to their level.

“Sounds like an incestuous mess to me,” Nora decides to say, trying to bring an air of lightness to the sudden uncomfortable topic of discussion.

It works, and Harry finds himself chuckling loudly across the table. “Yeah, it’s all about labels. Kind of a shitty thing to admit, but I’ve never really loved Alyssa. Can’t say I see that happening in the future, either.” He’s willingly giving Nora information that he hasn’t even told anybody before, and she’s not quite sure what to do with that revelation.

“That’s quite sad,” Nora says softly.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, curious.

“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re just wasting your time, I guess,” Nora pauses and Harry can tell she’s trying to figure out how to phrase her next thought. “Maybe I’ve watched one too many movies, so ignore me if I’m wrong, but being with somebody isn’t supposed to feel like a chore. It should be fun. Exhilarating, even. What you have with Alyssa just sounds—exhausting.”

When Harry’s quiet for a few moments, Nora suddenly realizes that what she had just said was probably completely out of order. “Sorry if I’m overstepping, that was probably rude of me.”

Noticing Nora’s distress, Harry gives her a small smile and just shrugs his shoulders. “You’re not overstepping. You’re probably right, if I’m being honest. But at this point, there’s no use in switching things up.” There’s a brief pause in which Nora breathes out a sigh of relief, reaching towards her coffee and taking a generous sip. Before Harry realizes what he’s saying, he asks her quickly, “Have you ever had that feeling?”

“What feeling?” Nora asks.

Harry grins shyly. “Being with someone and having it be fun and exhilarating.”

Nora nods slowly, thinking about Connor. “I think so. For a little while, at least.”

“What happened?” Harry’s not sure if he’s the one who’s overstepping now. But when he notices Nora’s cheeks blush ever so subtly and her lips quirk up into sentimental half-smile, he suddenly feels an uncomfortable knot form in his stomach. It’s twisting and turning and he’s never had this feeling before—not when he found out Alyssa was sleeping with Carter, not when his parents decided to go to St. Tropez without him, not ever. But with Nora sitting across from him looking wistfully in the distance, Harry’s found that he’s practically consumed with jealousy, and he fucking hates it.

“He moved away, and I had to come back here for school,” Nora explains, breaking out of her daydream and looking back towards Harry. When she notices the unreadable expression on his face, she decides to change the subject. “So, what do you want to do today?”

Harry tries his hardest to forget about Nora’s mystery man for the rest of the day, but he can’t help it. The jealousy is like a seed planted in the depths of his stomach, and he feels it growing and growing inside of him until he’s practically turned green with envy. And he has no fucking idea why it’s bothering him so much.

Hours later, they’re back in Nora’s room for another movie night after a day filled with exchanging their favorite novels and talking about things Harry’s never even discussed with his own friends. Nora chooses Notting Hill, thinking that out of all of the movies in her favorites list, this one has got to be one that Harry’s seen before.

But when he shakes his head when she holds up the plastic DVD cover in his direction, Nora’s mouth is already on the floor and Harry can’t help but laugh at her shocked expression.

“How have you never seen this?! You’re British! You should be ashamed! I’m calling Gordon Brown and asking him to revoke your citizenship,” Nora exclaims, setting up the DVD player and inserting the disc inside the tray. She’s changed into leggings and chose Harry’s soccer sweatshirt over the worn-in Townbridge one she’s owned since freshman year, and Harry feels giddy with pride at the thought of it all.

“I already apologized for it! Give me a break, Priestley!” Harry calls back, amusement lacing his words.

Nora finds herself giggling in response, and once the title screen is displayed on the television, she peeks over her shoulder and finds that Harry is getting himself comfortable on her bed. He’s wearing track bottoms and a cream-colored henley, and when he claims the spot near the wall and burrows underneath the quilt her mother cross-stitched for her last Christmas, Nora can’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

“This movie makes me want to visit London,” Nora admits, pressing play on the remote and walking towards her bed. When Harry opens up the blanket for Nora to slide into, she does so easily, feeling the most comfortable she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, dropping the blanket underneath Nora’s chin and throwing an arm around her shoulder.

Nora surprisingly doesn’t flinch. Instead, she curls closer to his body, resting her chin on the planes of his chest and her hand just below. “Yeah.”

“I think you’d like it,” Harry whispers against the crown of her head just as the opening scene begins.

The first few scenes of the movie pass by in comfortable silence. But just after Hugh Grant meets Julia Roberts in his bookstore, Nora can practically feel Harry’s brain whizzing because he’s thinking too hard. And just when it starts to become distracting, Nora asks, “What’re you thinking about? I can hear your brain churning from here.”

He exhales out a laugh and admits truthfully, “I keep thinking about your exhilarating crush.”

Nora feels stunned all of a sudden, her body freezing against his own. “Why?” she somehow chokes out through her dry throat.

Nora can hear the gulp Harry takes from above. “I dunno. Suppose I’m very interested to know what kind of guy swept Nora Priestley off her feet.”

She sits up with her back to the television, completely ignoring the movie playing behind her. The quilt falls from her shoulders and pools around her waist, and she’s suddenly grateful for the cooler air of her dorm room whipping against her neck, because she’s grown increasingly warm. Harry slides his body up on the bed until his torso is flushed against the headboard, staring at Nora with those green eyes that for the first time, aren’t dull. Instead, they’re almost twinkling in the dim lighting of her room.

His gaze is focused solely on Nora—on the messy fringe falling against her forehead, the gentle slope of her nose, the plushness of her pink lips, the angular curve of her jawline. The way she looks buried in his sweatshirt with the sleeves falling past her fingertips causes his heart to beat loudly inside his chest, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her has never been more prominent before in his life.

“I think I’ve always thought about it,” Harry admits quietly, his eyes never falling from her own. Because if they did move, he would have missed the way her mouth parted slightly, a small inhale slipping down her throat. He would have missed the way her eyes widened almost comically, the blueness reminding him of the sky on a pleasing, clear day. And when he takes all of that into consideration, he comes to the conclusion that Nora Priestley is undoubtedly beautiful, and probably always has been. He’s always just been too stupid to realize it.

“You never said anything,” Nora whispers back, staring at Harry with the same ferocity. “You never say anything.”

Harry nods, “I know.” And when he inches his body closer to hers and notices that she doesn’t back away from him, he adds, “I’m saying it now. Am I too late?”

Nora watches the way Harry leans towards her, his body being held up by his hands that are anchored to the mattress in front of her knees. Even though the movie is still playing from the television behind her, she can’t hear anything except for the accelerated beating of her heart racking against her ribs and pounding against her chest.

He’s so close to her now, the tip of his nose brushing against her own so tactfully that Nora’s not even sure if it’s actually happening. At this proximity, Nora can see inside his eyes and she finds that they’re not as green as she once thought. Instead, they’re almost a turquoise color, with golden hues circling his pupil and when she looks closely, she can see her own face in the reflection. And suddenly, that’s the only answer she needs before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and crashing her lips against his own.

Even though Harry Styles is Nora’s third first kiss, it’s the best one she’s had yet. It’s slow at first, just the gentle pressure of two sets of lips pressing against the other’s. It’s hesitant, timid, nervous, until Harry wraps his arm around Nora’s back, pulling her closer towards him so that their fronts are completely flushed. After that, it’s intense, passionate, frenzied.

His teeth nip at her lower lip until she opens her mouth ever so slightly, allowing his tongue to slip through. Once Nora gets the message, she opens her mouth wider, angling her head to the side so that she can slip her own inside of his mouth, the two fleshy organs tangling together causing a reverberating hum to break from the back of Harry’s throat.

The sounds cause Nora to still, and when she breaks away and notices the dark hue in Harry’s eyes, the exasperated breaths causing his chest to rise and fall sporadically, the bright pinkness of his lips—it’s all Nora needs to push Harry back into his seated position against her headboard, crawling over on her knees until her legs are straddling his hips. She slinks both hands through his wild hair until they connect at the back of his head, and their lips connect for a second time.

This time, Nora’s not shy to let her teeth clink against Harry’s in a mad rush to gain dominance over their kiss. This time, Harry’s not reticent to let his hands roam the expanse of her back, slipping them underneath the bottom of his baggy sweatshirt so that his fingers can dance against her flushed skin without a barrier in between.

Nora’s hands fall from Harry’s hair to his neck, to the chain that rests against the middle of his chest that’s exposed through the unbuttoned part of his henley, all the way down his stomach until her fingers play with the hem of his shirt. When her nails lightly scratch against Harry’s lower stomach where Nora knows the tips of two tattooed ferns lie, he gets the hint and unlocks their lips, reaching his hands over her own and pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Nora sits back on Harry’s thighs, watching how Harry throws his crumpled shirt somewhere on the floor of her dorm room without care. His hair is mussed from a combination of Nora’s fingers and the quick way he removed his henley, and when Nora’s eyes ogle at the two identical swallows underneath his collarbones, the small definition of his chest, the butterfly permanently drawn in the middle of his stomach, to the small trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his track pants—she’s hot all over.

Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and find that he’s suddenly nervous. He’s blinking up at her with an indecipherable expression on his face, and when the hands that rest against her hips start to fall ever so softly, Nora grips the bottom of Harry’s sweatshirt and lifts it over her head, throwing it against the floor.

She’s sitting there, against his hips wearing a simple nude bra, and Harry feels his breath constricting in his throat at the sight of her. Her lips are swollen and her fringe is frizzy and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her cheeks begin to flush, Harry’s hands reach behind her neck to bring her down to his face. And just before their lips meet for the third time, he whispers, “You’re beautiful,” against her mouth, sealing it with his own so that she never forgets it.

Nora’s never done this before, but when Harry’s mouth falls to her neck and she accidentally grinds her hips into his own below in surprise, the groan that emits from his throat is practically feral. So, she does it again, her throat hitching when his teeth sink into the fleshy juncture of her shoulder and neck. One of his hands is tangled in her hair, and the other is resting on her hip. But when she grinds into him for the third time, he brings that hand up to the clasp of her bra, removing his lips from her neck and breathing against her mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice sounding more strained than ever before. Nora finds that it’s unquestionably the hottest thing she’s ever heard, and when she brings her hands to rest on his searing chest, her nails scraping against his skin, the whine that falls from his lips might just be hotter.

“Yes,” Nora whispers back, holding her breath when his fingers easily undo the clasp, the straps sliding down her shoulders as the cups covering her breasts begin to fall. When she lowers her arms so that her elbows are no longer bent, the garment falls easily from her body and onto the mattress below.

Cautiously, she looks at Harry and finds that he’s looking into her eyes to make sure that she feels safe with him. The thought alone makes her nerves completely subside, and when she nods ever so slightly, Harry finally lets his eyes fall towards her chest. She watches him as he sits up, bringing his lips to the base of her throat as he places gentle kisses along the expanse of her neck, down to her sternum, until his lips are centimeters away from her breasts. When her fingers tangle into his curly hair, Harry peeks up at her briefly before placing his mouth around her right nipple, his hand softly massaging her left.

Nora’s head falls back and a moan tears through her throat, and it’s the first time that’s ever happened in her life. Harry stills, his lips moving slightly so that he can watch her, and it’s enough to make the bulge in his pants grow until it’s practically unbearable. His tongue continues to move down her body, kissing along the lines on her stomach until his hand moves to rub the fleshy part of Nora’s hips, hesitantly moving towards the front of her body. And when his right hand cups her legging-clad core, Nora’s hands halt in Harry’s hair, and he removes his lips from her body and looks at her.

“I don’t think I’m—” Nora pauses, her confident streak breaking. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you,” Harry says softly, bringing his hand up to take a piece of her blonde hair that’s fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We can do something else if you’d like. But the second you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?” He’s never been this patient with somebody before in his life, and somehow Nora can sense that. She’s incredibly grateful for Harry then, and once her breathing has regulated and she’s no longer anxious, she nods, pecking him softly on the lips.

Harry pecks her back once, twice, thrice until cupping his hand back against her front. He rubs her slowly then, and when Nora feels the stickiness from inside her underwear permeate through the thin material, she shudders against his body. His fingers curl into the waistband of her leggings, and after asking her for permission, she lifts her hips and her knees so that he can pull the black material halfway down her legs, leaving Nora in just her simple baby blue underwear.

Harry resumes his ministrations, causing Nora to wrap her arms around his neck, her elbows resting against his shoulders as her body quivers again. And when his fingertips sneak underneath the material, a long finger gently stroking her slit, Nora’s hands use Harry’s hair as an anchor as her forehead rests against his own as she emits a blissful sigh. Just before his finger slides in, he brings his lips against hers so that he can feel her moans hit the back of his throat.

It’s uncomfortable and awkward at first, and when her breath hitches in her throat and her lips break away from Harry’s, he pauses, looking at her with concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

Nora looks at him, her hand ruffling his hair tenderly as she shakes her head. Grinning, Harry brings his lips back to hers, resuming pumping his finger inside of her.

After a few strokes, Nora starts to feel her rigid body unraveling, and suddenly she’s matching Harry’s rhythm as she grinds down onto his finger. When his wet thumb starts to circle her swollen mound, another moan rips from her throat, causing their kisses to halt.

“I love that,” Harry whispers against her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his own and beginning to move his hand faster.

The stickiness is accruing inside her underwear and Nora can feel sweat brimming at the nape of her neck. She feels hot to the touch, and when Harry changes his thumb strokes from clockwise to counter-clockwise, a fluttering like no other vibrates through her lower stomach as she whines into his mouth.

“I think you’re close,” Harry says, bringing his hand that isn’t inside of her around her lower back to keep her steady. And when his finger curls and presses against a spongy spot inside of her, Nora feels the fluttering turn into a full-blown explosion, and suddenly her eyes close shut at the ferocity of it all.

Nora stills on top of him, feeling the stickiness begin to coat her inner thighs as a loud moan rips from her throat. Her hands move from Harry’s hair to his shoulder blades, and when she opens her eyes and realizes that her fingernails have carved crescent moons into the flesh, she immediately removes them.

The warmth has gone, and in its place, a numbing sort of calmness. Harry removes his hand from inside her underwear and when he looks up at her and sees her irises blown out and her cheeks pinkened and her lower lip indented by her front teeth, he grins smugly and kisses her softly.

“Alright?” he asks once her eyes have opened fully and she no longer is panting against his cheek.

Nora nods, a bit shy considering she just had her first orgasm and she’s not quite sure what to do next. She looks down and notices the bulge in Harry’s pants, and smiles at him unsurely. “If you tell me what to do, I can, er, help you out?”

Harry smirks, running a gentle hand through her hair and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Just, uh, give me a mo’. I’ll be right back,” he says softly, placing two hands on her hips and lifting her slowly so that she’s no longer straddling his waist.

When she pulls her leggings back on, the stickiness is far too uncomfortable between her thighs. Harry notices her wiggle on the mattress and chuckles to himself, finding it all too adorable. When he gets up from her bed, shifting his pants so that his erection is less painful, he turns towards Nora before crossing the hall into the communal bathrooms.

“Where do you keep your linens?” Harry asks from his position by her door. Confusedly, Nora points towards the wardrobe near her desk and he opens it slowly, grabbing a folded hand towel and passing it to her. She smiles softly, thanking him before watching him retreat into the hallway.

After Nora’s changed her underwear and put on a pair of sleep shorts, sliding Harry’s sweatshirt back over her body once her skin has cooled down, she gets back under the covers and turns her attention towards Notting Hill. Harry comes in a few minutes later, the front of his pants lacking a distinct bulge. He looks over and notices her lying comfortably in her bed, and when she moves her eyes from the screen to his figure standing in the doorway, a cute grin covers the lower half of her face.

“You coming to bed?” Nora asks, patting the spot on the mattress beside her. With a quick smile, Harry walks towards her, lifting his body over her own so that he can resume his position by the wall. And just as his arms are on either side of her body, his shirt still somewhere on her floor and his pants low on his hips, he sneaks a kiss from her lips before plopping down next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders tightly.

“Think we can start this movie over?” Harry asks, playing with the ends of Nora’s hair that falls inside the hood of his sweatshirt.

Nora hits rewind, wondering if it’ll hurt falling asleep with a grin permanently stuck on her face.

The next morning, Nora wakes up feeling far too warm. Her backside is flushed completely with Harry’s front, and he’s spooning her tightly. His arms are wrapped securely around Nora’s stomach and she can feel his breath against the side of her neck in hot spurts, his nose brushing the spot underneath her ear. His curly hair is tickling the sides of her face and his legs are slotted between her own and Nora’s never been so tangled up with somebody else before.

And while it’s comforting, there’s no denying that Harry’s body heat is pervading through her skin, and when she wiggles to try and figure out a way to lower the duvet from underneath her chin, it causes Harry to wake up.

As his eyes flutter open, he subconsciously brings Nora’s body closer to his own, and when he finally does open his eyes fully, he notices how close they’ve gotten in the middle of the night. Harry’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow being wrapped up with Nora Priestley has caused him to have the best night’s sleep of his entire life.

“Morning,” she whispers, her chin resting on her left shoulder as she peeks at him behind her. Her blue eyes are foggy in the morning and her lips are beautifully swollen, and even though her hair is knotted and her cheeks have red jagged lines from her pillowcase all over them, he can’t help but grin back at her, finding her perfect.

“Hi,” he says back, his voice cracking from lack of use. They both roll over so that their backs are flat on the mattress. And just when Harry’s about to swing his arm over Nora’s shoulder to bring her closer to his body so that they can fall back asleep, his Blackberry rings loudly from the nightstand.

Before he can let it go to voicemail, he reaches around Nora’s body to grab it, gulping when he sees Alyssa’s name across the screen. Apprehensively, he brings the phone to his ear, ignoring the heat of Nora’s gaze against his cheek.

“Hello?” he mumbles halfheartedly.

“Baby! Wake up, sleepyhead! We’ll all be back on campus in, like, two hours. Our flight just landed. When will you get in?” Nails scraping down a chalkboard would be a better sound than the one he just heard through the speaker of his mobile. Because suddenly, his Nora Priestley bubble has popped. Their ten-day vacation has come to an abrupt end, and Harry can feel the panic begin to spread throughout his body.

“Harry? You there?” Alyssa asks, and it’s only then when Harry realizes he’s been deadly silent.

He coughs into his fist uncomfortably, before saying, “Hey, sorry. Uh, sounds good. My flight got in a few hours ago. I’m actually, er, pulling into campus now,” Harry lies. The familiar feeling of shame washes over him, and when he feels Nora slide out of bed beside him, a puzzled look falling across her face, he’s never felt worse in his life.

“Perfect! Can’t wait to see you, baby!” Alyssa squeals, and before Harry can respond, he hangs up the phone, tossing it purposelessly against the end of her bed.

It’s silent between the two, and not the sort of comfortable silence that they’ve grown accustomed to with each other. Instead, it’s heavy, weighing them both down until they feel fatigued under the burden of it all.

Nora knows deep down that this is it. The Harry she’s grown to adore the past ten days is no longer there. In its place is the cold, disheartening, lifeless Harry that she’s hated ever since he casted her out during the First Year Mixer almost four years ago. Just like with Connor, her romance with Harry is fleeting. It has an expiration date. And sadly, they’ve reached their end.

He doesn’t say much, and she doesn’t expect him to. He’s clearly tormented by all of this, getting out of her bed ploddingly as he scans the floor for his clothing from the night before. He’s distracted as he puts on his wrinkled Henley, slides on his boots without tying them, slips his arms inside his trench coat, and places everything else he can try to remember inside the pockets. And just before he leaves her room, he stops and turns, looking at her with those dull, green eyes from before.

This is it, Nora thinks, watching the way his eyes fall from her face towards his big sweatshirt on her body to her long legs hidden underneath her tiny sleep shorts. He’s going to apologize. He’s going to come back to bed. He’s going to—

“Can I have my jumper back?” Nora feels as if she’s just been kicked in the chest, air ripping from her lungs and falling into the space between her and Harry. She’s never felt so small in her life. And when his eyes are still dull and his foot begins to tap impatiently and he looks as if he’s about to burst, Nora knows this is truly it. The Harry she knows is officially gone.

Or maybe this is who Harry really is. And the version she got was just a figment of her imagination, an imposter Harry, a Harry that only existed within the ten days of Holiday break inside an empty Townbridge Academy.

With shaking hands, Nora rips the sweatshirt off her body, ignoring the fact that she’s only wearing a sports bra below. She flings the material at Harry’s chest, and she hopes that it diverts his attention from her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes.

He sees everything, though. And without another word, he pivots on his foot, his back towards Nora as he enters the hallway and closes her door tightly, trying his hardest to ignore the sound of her crying through the heavy oak.

Nora should have expected it, in hindsight. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

This time around, it’s not like Carter Donnelly. Instead of spreading rumors to their classmates, Harry says nothing—not even a lie to his friends, not even a subtle brag about how he was the first person to ever see Nora Priestley come undone—nothing. He keeps quiet, barely looks at her, and goes about his life the way he always has—as Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the prodigal son, who always gets whatever he wants.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Harry has enough pressure in his life—pressure from his father, pressure from his friends, pressure from fucking everybody who looks his way. It’s enough to break somebody in half, so succumbing to both is easier than fighting them.

So when his friends come back to campus and resume their lives the way they always have, Harry can’t help but follow suit. Because telling them that he spent the past ten days with Nora Priestley is simply not an option, even if they were the best ten days he’s ever had. And it’s a heartbreaking realization, because even though Harry doesn’t really care for his friends that much, he still doesn’t want to disappoint them.

Whenever he passes by Nora in the hallway, he doesn’t bother looking in her direction. When he can feel her gaze on his back in AP English, he doesn’t turn around. And when he sees her sitting at the table in the dining hall that they deemed their own for ten days, he doesn’t say anything. He just feels his heart freezing over until it’s an icy block inside of his chest.

And when he’s taking pictures with Alyssa at prom and notices Nora’s pretty blue dress that makes her eyes shine, he almost feels the ice crack. But then she looks at him, for only the briefest of moments, and in that minuscule period of time, he can see the disappointment and anger in her eyes, and it’s enough to make the ice harden.

Harry tries to convince himself that when he’s standing on stage with Alyssa with a plastic crown on his head, he doesn’t notice a flurry of blue exit through the front door. Because when he looks out in the crowd and sees an empty spot near Lydia and Margot that Nora once filled, he knows for sure that the flurry of blue was her. And halfway through his dance with Alyssa, when he’s looking at her strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes and makeup-filled face and expensive purple dress, Harry feels empty inside. Because he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want to be around her or his shitty friends anymore.

So he leaves.

But it’s too late—of course it’s too late. Because second chances don’t come to people like Harry, and it’s in Nora’s best interest for him to leave her alone. He’s caused enough hurt in her life, he’s done enough irreparable damage to last a lifetime.

During graduation, Harry tries his best to not look two rows ahead of him and stare at Nora in her red cap and gown. And when her name is called, he tries to ignore the singular cheer from the back of the Great Hall, the cacophonous finger whistle echoing off the walls following shortly after. He wonders if he’s the only person who can see the glimmer of pride in Nora’s eyes when she locates her mother in the back of the room. And when Alyssa scoffs under her breath from the row behind him, muttering a, “How fucking embarrassing,” to her friends, Harry turns around and tells her to fuck off.

As he’s stoically taking pictures with his mother and father in the quad after the ceremony, he sees Nora and her mother in his periphery. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than when she’s smiling with her mom, clinging to her so that they can share this moment together. And when he notices her mother’s matching blue eyes filled with pride, he looks at his own set of parents and wonders if they’ve ever looked at him like that before.

It’s almost enough to make the ice melt. But then his father is taking a business call and his mother is whisked away to talk about society functions with Alyssa’s mom, and Harry’s left standing there completely and utterly alone.

“That boy’s looking at you, Nora,” her mother says, eyes falling on somebody over Nora’s shoulder. “Do you know him?”

When Nora turns around and sees Harry standing there, green eyes full of hope and yearning and wonder, she doesn’t spare him a second look. Her head whips around just as quickly, looking at her mother with a small shake of her head.

“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Nora says, meaning every word.

And when she drives away from Townbridge for the final time, she’s suddenly brimming with happiness at the fact that she’ll never have to see those people again. And more importantly, she’ll never have to see Harry Styles for as long as she lives.

*** A/N: When I started writing Fade, it sort of ended up playing out in three acts. So with that, this is officially the end of Act One (and officially my favorite chapter of the entire high school years.) Let me know your thoughts and predictions, my inbox is always open for those who want to scream at me. It’s probably going to happen a lot with this story.

To make room for editing and ensuring I have enough written ahead of time for Act Two to keep with the weekly update schedule, (and because I sort of like the idea of separating things into acts because I’m annoying like that) I’ll be taking a week to sort everything out. Therefore, the next chapter and start of Act Two will be posted on Friday, March 12th. Until then, stay safe and be kind! x

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