#i would rather chew glass than go to work tomorrow!

[lightspren]

oooo a headache from the all day long anxiety freak out, been a while since i got one of those

[visenyatargaryen]

girl i am so beyond tired of the grind

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

One Step, Not Much but It Said Enough

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Farm/Prison

Warnings: None

Summary: Someone had to make a move. In the end, it was neither of you.

A/N: First November request. It can be found here.

*gif is not mine

You pushed your glasses up on your nose for the umpteenth time in less than half an hour, cursing yourself for never checking with your optometrist about contact lenses before the world went to shit. Not like you would have known to buy a lifetime supply because the dead were going to rise up and eat the living. Oh well. 

You didn’t dislike your spectacles. You actually enjoyed having them. You used to pick out the snazziest frames you could find that meshed well with your personality. Still, having glasses in the apocalypse wasn’t easy, by a long shot. 

Especially now, when you were trying to set up the perimeter line and it was a million degrees outside, the sweat accumulating on your skin making your frames slide down. It was actually rather infuriating. 

You were tying off a line when a shadow loomed over the string in your hands. “Here.” Before you could look up, a sunhat was placed on your head. You reached up to adjust it before leaning back to meet Daryl’s eyes. “S’one’a Carol’s.” He motioned toward the hat as he crouched on the other side of your line. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, hoping he’d credit the sun for the rosy coloring of your cheeks. You suddenly felt unsure of your work and hesitated to continue while he watched. 

“G’on.” He encouraged, chewing on a blade of grass while those blue eyes flitted between you and the string of cans. You took a deep breath and carried on, soon becoming lost in your work as you moved from sector to sector. The hat did help, but eventually, you found the frames teetering on the end of your nose once again. 

“Damn glasses!” You didn’t even bother to adjust them, simply sitting back on your heels with a pout. Daryl had followed you, having already done his hunting for the day. You weren’t really sure why he was hanging around. His presence never bothered you but did make you increasingly nervous. The man was attractive and, though he’d fight hard to never admit it, he had a huge heart. 

“What ‘bout ‘em?” He looked up from cleaning his bolts, tilting his head when he noticed your adorable pout. He laughed in the form of an exhale through his nose and leaned forward, using his middle finger to push your glasses back to their rightful place. “They suit ya.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, blinking at him with wide eyes. It wasn’t until his brows drew inward and he began to smirk that you realized you had been staring at him for far longer than necessary. There was a noise akin to a squeak when you quickly went back to work and tied off the last of the perimeter. “Done!”

“‘Bout time.” The archer drawled, already standing next to you. “Ya hungry?” He was holding out a hand to help you to your feet but you just couldn’t seem to make your body function. “S’a hand. How it works is ya put yours in mine an’ I pull ya up.” You suddenly deadpanned at his his version of a grin. “C’mon, now. Carl gets there first an’ there’ll be none left for us.”

You took his hand and let him pull you to your feet. “Thanks.” He hummed in reply, falling in step beside you. You walked quietly back to the fire and your friends, about to branch away from him when you felt his hand on your arm. 

“Hey, um—” You looked up just in time to see him look back from gazing at something behind you but he kept speaking before you could turn to investigate. “Y’wanna go with me tomorrow? Huntin’, I mean.”

You knew how your face lit up, there was absolutely zero hiding it. You had always wanted to go with him. Honestly, you wanted to go anywhere with him. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush. Embarrassing. Regardless, the fact the he had invited you after spending all afternoon watching you string up cans between trees made your heart beat just a little faster. 

“Hell yeah, I’d love to! I mean, as long as I won’t be in your way.”

“Ya won’t be. M’gonna teach ya.”

Your jaw gaped. “Really? You mean it?”

Poor Daryl just looked confused. “Wouldn’a said it if I didn’t.” 

You just managed to stop yourself from diving in for a hug. “I’m looking forward to it.” You smiled, tilting your head when you noticed the slight flush on his cheeks. He scratched at the back of his neck and nodded. 

“Good. We’ll be leavin’ ‘fore first light so get some sleep.”

You nodded and watched him walk away, apparently forgetting that he didn’t eat. You chuckled to yourself, pushing your glasses up yet again but not at all bothered by it this time. When you turned, you barely caught the knowing smile that Carol wore before it faded and she went back to eating. You removed the hat Daryl had brought you, looking at it with narrowed eyes, then to where Daryl had disappeared, then to Carol, then back to the hat. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. 

Well played, Carol. Well played. 

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

ok, i'm being so brave and making the rec post that i told anon i would do like three days ago.

the obligatory caveats. this is not comprehensive—i haven't read all the fic in this fandom, and i've barely looked at anything not in english. my reading habits are pretty broad—i'll read almost any pairing, and am generally willing to suspend my disbelief to do so. i am not usually an au person, though this fandom is doing its absolute damndest to prove me wrong on that point.

also i have…more…fics that i felt i should rec somewhere, so probably this is rec post one, but ten felt like enough and also saying things in public where people can hear me is, it turns out, absolutely excruciating. please no one be mean to me about this post, especially if you wrote one of these fics, because if you are i will simply fill my pockets with rocks and take to the sea, ok? ok.

excited to find out what i manage to do that ruins the formatting, links the wrong fics and/or people, or otherwise breaks things in this post. please tell me if i've fucked up, or if your fic is on this list and you would rather i keep your name out of my mouth, or whatever.

first, a very special mention to the mlc reference guide by @yletylyf. this is such an incredibly comprehensive and generous resource. you want a timeline for this show that does an incredibly poor job of maintaining its own timeline? it's here. you want episode summaries? they're here. you want all the people and places? they're here. if you're writing fic, you want this guide, because it's so much easier and faster than scanning episodes or subs files to figure out the name of one specific guy or whatever. it also means that at least occasionally you work on the thing rather than accidentally rewatching the same scene five times, or hypothetically watching two to four episodes without even really thinking about what you're doing. the reference guide is the unsung mvp of fandom.

beyond porch and portal, difanghua, teen, by willowdream. this is the vampire au that i didn't know i wanted? the author posted it and their note was like 'i'm trying to be the change i want to see in the world,' and i was like ok sure, i'm not really convinced that the change i need is vampire aus, but i'll give it a go, and then i did and was like, oh shit, i'm eating fucking glass about this vampire au, i'm chewing on my own fucking fingers, i'm so fucking normal about this, i need another hundred thousand words of this and also seventeen more vampire aus in my inbox by monday morning. i literally finished reading it and scrolled right back to the top to read it again. i have no idea why this fic hits so hard, but it took me out at the knees. the voices are perfect. something about it is just impossibly compelling.

不安的遠離，再无歸期 | restless distance, without return, fang duobing/qiao wanmian, mature and teen, by @difeisheng. this is technically two fics but they're short and you should read both of them because they're such a brutal, perfect encapsulation of grief, and a really beautiful acknowledgement of the ways that fang duobing and qiao wanmian can be read as reflections of each other, separated by a decade, and it just fucking guts me. i dunno. it's about the grief! it's about the yearning! it's about someone who understands parts of you that you wish didn't exist! i think i've reread this like once a week for the last six weeks and i feel like it gets overlooked because it's not A Ship but like. it could be. it should be.

dance the silence down, fanghua and feihua, explicit, by @momosandlemonsoda. this fic. ugh. ok. i'm breaking my own rules. i had two when i started writing this post: no works in progress, and no reccing things that i haven't left a comment on, like a goddamn grownup. this one fic is breaking both of those rules and i feel bad about it and will hopefully spend like, all day tomorrow just commenting on every chapter or something, but i have to do this. this fic is so good. this fic ruins me. this fic is 63k, still a work in progress, and also if i were losing the whole internet tomorrow and i got to keep one fic in all the world and it was the only fic i could have for the rest of time, it might have to be this one, even as a work in progress. i ignored this fic for so long—by which i mean probably two of the four months since i first watched mysterious lotus casebook—because i was like, i don't like aus, and i especially don't like rock star aus. (or sex work aus, and you're never gonna fucking believe what else this author is writing and what else i absolutely cannot get enough of—this is a sneaky bonus rec for all i wanna do is wrong, another fic that i feel so so so normal about!) but then i was like okkkkkkk but. maybe i'll try it. people seem to be nuts for it. and then i read it and i was like OH HOLY SHIT PEOPLE ARE FULLY CORRECT TO BE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED ABOUT THIS and normally, honestly, i wouldn't bother posting a rec like this because it's like 'oh haha have you read the five most popular fics in this fandom?' and it feels so redundant, but i know for a fact that a friend of mine who finished watching the show yesterday is reading this post, and even if everyone else has read it, she has not! anyhow as a former music person and a former diner cook, this fic like. i don't know. i feel like it broke me but also fixed me? i literally criticise writing professionally and every time i try to talk about this fic i find myself speechless because it's so perfect to me. i am deeply unwell about this fic. every time a new chapter comes out i sit down and read the whole thing again, yes, all sixty-thousand-plus words of it. some nights you go to bed and you're like 'what's the fucking point?' and then you're like 'no wait, there will eventually be more of dance the silence down,' and somehow that makes things suck a tiny bit less. my wife has made me take out like six sentences from this rec because they're too intense and too weird about it but i need you to understand: you have to read this fic.

in this dream, there is a lover to share this life with, fanghua, g, by @lianhuajing. alternative ending for the end of episode 27, in which li lianhua—precious man who has yet to discover a hill he's not willing to die on—apologises to fang duobing the only way he knows how, and it's wildly upsetting for everyone (but it's ok and it doesn't end miserably, no one panic). this is a delightfully angsty treat, and i love how conflicted fang duobing is in it—i feel like it's not something that i've seen explored a lot, but this poor boy really fuckin goes through it—his best friend and his childhood idol are the same person but are lying to him about it, and his dad's not actually his father and has been lying to him about it, and his best friend/childhood idol may have killed his father, and—yeah, is lying to him about it. like? someone give this poor man a hug and a cup of tea and a snack and a blankie. i love that we get to see some of his internal conflict in this.

quintessence of dust, feihua, teen, by justthereforit. this plays with one of my very most favourite tropes in the world, which is the one where the heart is a physical object and a physical form of trust and control and surrender and—like. this is so good. it's set in episode 13, which is, for me, one of the absolute peak angst points, and it absolutely nails it. di feisheng who's upset and vulnerable and frustrated and angry, li lianhua who knows he's going to die and can't bear the thought that he's going to take anyone else down with him, and they're both just so fucked up. chef kiss. i love it when everyone is emotionally wrecked and continually like 'ok no, i can take one more knife in my soul to protect someone else', and this absolutely delivers on that.

under moonlight, we change our futures yet again, feihua, explicit, by @thesilversun. the wedding room! obviously we have to have a wedding room fic, right? i'm not going to lie: i'm willing to suspend a lot of disbelief for wedding room fics, but in this one, it's actually a wonderfully, horrifyingly plausible setup. it walks a really fine line of keeping people in character, and acknowledging the inherent horror and seriousness of the situation, and also providing some desperately hot sex, and also managing to get the emotional beats of it, too. it has a sequel, which imo really has to be read as the conclusion to this fic, and it's just as good. it's possible that some of what i'm saying here is 'i love vulnerable-inside crusty-outside di feisheng' but like. i do. i love it so much.

what's sealed away, feihua, teen, by @bbcphile. AMNESIA FIC yessssss, a-fei my beloved, fics that handle brain damage/memory issues/amnesia well my beloveddddd. i love the a-fei arc, but i also have had a number of brain injuries and some other stuff that means that my own memory is…not so great, so i sometimes really struggle with how often amnesia in fiction is played off either as nothing to worry about or as a funny thing where everyone's in on the joke except the person who has amnesia. this fic is a great and sometimes very visceral exploration of a horrifying experience, and a really fantastic study of a-fei/di feisheng as a character, as well as the relationship that he has with li lianhua. a-fei trying to balance the trust he has in the sense memory of his body with his understanding of his relationship with li lianhua with li lianhua's reaction to—everything, really—is really well done and wonderful/terrible to read.

我只愿面朝大海 | i wish only to face the sea, g, by foreverstudent. ok so you wanna fuck yourself up some more? go read this. this is canon divergence from episode 39, and fang duobing has learned too well the lessons he's been taught, and sees the shape of things before li lianhua ever touches the wangchuan flower—so he sets about making sure that he won't be able to throw it away. this is agonising and gorgeous and maintains the canon relationships while developing the narrative differently. i wept literal tears. i was like 'ok that's it the worst part is over!' and then i remembered that there was another part coming and then i started crying. anyhow, it is—as ever, with me—about the devotion.

我住長江頭, 君住長江尾 -- i live upstream, you live downstream, fanghua, teen, by @rimbaudofficial. ok so this is Not a fic that i should like, because i am a massive academic failure and despite being in my forties have regular nightmares about having to re-engage with academia for like. any reason. HOWEVER. as noted, i read indiscriminately, even when i'm like 'reading this is a terrible idea and will be upsetting for me personally!', so i was like 'well, how bad of an idea can it possibly be?' and then instead! it was. incredibly charming? it was so fucking cute? the fang duobing characterisation in this is somehow just perfect to me—he's simultaneously confident and vulnerable, and also just so deeply committed to the weird clueless guy who he's decided is meant for him. di feisheng and li lianhua have a perfect weird-bros friendship. i would read another ten chapters of this and i would love it.

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | two.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

—word count: 3.6k

—chapter content/warnings: nothing too bad since we're still in the beginning stages of things lol, cussing, friends being supportive, friends being instigators and projecting!!, hwa still being hwa, yunho being shy and awkward but very caring

You scrambled to get your literature review done, almost forgetting that you had to send it to Yunho before officially submitting it to your professor. It's a bit past midnight when Seonghwa decides it's time to drop you off— even if it gets incredibly late, he'd prefer to drop you off at home rather than let you stay.

All Seonghwa's bullshit plans.

You yawn as you quietly step into your shared apartment, careful not to wake your roommates as you pull out your laptop and finish your lit review on the kitchen island in the dark. It fucking sucks that absolutely nothing is coming to you for this review because now, Yunho is probably going to think you're just flat out dumb for not being able to see what everyone else sees.

"Hey." You whip your head up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. Seungmin groggily walks out of his room and into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. "Why are you working out here in the dark? Did you just get home?" You nod.

"Mhm. Forgot I had to finish that literature review and send it to Yunho."

"Forgot already?"

"Shut up, okay? Not my favorite assignment to work on. Besides, I wanna give him some time to review it and chew my ass if he needs to. Rather him than Dr. Nelson at this point." You type away, probably hella nonsense and gibberish about the movie at this point.

"Hm." Seungmin hums as he quickly drinks his water. "Don't stay up too late."

"I won't. Just gonna give this a few more words then send it off." You sigh. God, you almost regret asking Yunho [out of all people] for help. He's super smart and he always knows what he's doing. Was this the right route to go? Maybe you should've just asked Dr. Nelson and dealt with it.

"Mkay. Goodnight then, Y/N." Seungmin yawns as he drags himself back to his shared room with Soobin. You decide that you're gonna take another 10 minutes to finish off the review, giving it everything you can think of right now. If it needs tweaking or any additional details, Yunho can surely step in and help. You feel exhaustion hitting you quickly, giving your review the last bout of energy you have left before you shower and call it a night.

"Done." You say to yourself, sending it off to Yunho as an attachment. 

He probably won't look at this until later.

You make sure to double check your emails and assignments, keeping track of everything that's due and needs to be turned in—

Ding.

You peep the notification that pops up on the bottom right of your laptop screen.

"1 New Email from: Jeong Yunho (jeongyh@kq.edu)"

"What the fuck?" You mutter to yourself. It hasn't been a whole 10 minutes since you sent the email. You click on the notification anyway, letting it bring you to the new email in your student inbox.

— do you have time to meet really quickly later today? i wanna go over your review with you. cool if you can't though, just prefer to talk to you in person instead of marking up your page without any explanation to back it up.

You sigh and sit there, trying to remember your schedule for tomorrow. You do have a 45 minute break in between your morning classes. Hopefully, he's free.

— sure! i'm free from 10:15-11. does that work for you?

"1 New Email from Jeong Yunho (jeongyh@kq.edu)"

— yup, i don't have class till after lunch. i'll be working at one of the booths in the library.

You sit back and respond, feeling a bit of relief.

— cool, see you. :) thanks for your help.

Yunho sits at his desk, feeling a bit awkward and nervous even though you can't see him right now. It's probably a little pathetic at how quick he opened up your email, but to be fair, you seemed like you really needed the help and that's what he wanted to give you. You aren't necessarily writing bad reviews, since you're hitting all the right points. But, he has Dr. Nelson figured out. He doesn't want just the facts— he wants you to think outside of the box, write out the emotions, feelings, outcomes of all the actions, give examples, state what your thoughts are on how this effects the surroundings, other characters. You just need to add that little umph to your reviews and give him more than the bare minimum. Yunho gets it though, it's not easy to tap into that all the time. That's why he's here to help. 

He's hoping he can be the help you need.

"Did you come in pretty late last night or was Seungmin sleep walking?" Soobin scratches the side of his head as the two of you walk towards the library.

"No, that was me." You chuckle.

"Did Seonghwa at least walk you to the door? Cause that's late."

"Yeah right." You scoff and Soobin shakes his head. "Whatever though, he drops me off as close as possible to our building."

"Still. He should at least walk you halfway."

"Mm, yeah." Is all you respond with. "Anyway, lunch later? I have to meet with Yunho to talk about this review."

"Oh? You're actually meeting with him? That's new. I feel like that's something out of the ordinary for Yunho."

"He asked if we could so that he could explain better instead of just marking up my review." 

"That's nice of him."

"Yeah, hopefully I'm not too much of a pain in the ass."

"Doubt it. You just need a little guidance, that's all. Sure he'll be super helpful." Soobin smirks. "He seems to not go out of his way for people, maybe he likes you."

"Are you serious right now? All because I need help over a literature review." Soobin laughs.

"Just saying. I already like Yunho way more than Seonghwa."

"Okay, I'm leaving. I'll see you later." You roll your eyes and enter the quieter side of the library where the booths are located. It's easy to spot Yunho, especially with that towering figure of his even while sitting. Today, he's wearing a navy and white flannel, with a grey shirt underneath. His hair falls to his face as he leans over to write some notes. He has one finger placed on a page in his textbook, while the other hand is busily writing away. He glances to and from every now and then, only looking up at his surroundings when he feels you approaching.

"Um, hi." You awkwardly stand near the booth with your books tucked against your chest. He simply looks at you before giving you a tiny, pursed smile and returning his attention to his books.

"Hey." He moves his book and notebook closer to himself in order to give you some room. "Sorry, just need to finish this right quick."

"That's okay. Take your time." You slide in awkwardly and set your books on the surface of the table. "Thanks for going over my review."

"No worries." He says softly before finishing up his notes and shutting his books closed. He brings out his laptop and types away to unlock it, pulling up your document before turning the laptop towards you. "So."

"Sorry, I know it was bad." You look at him, a little shy and embarrassed. He tilts his head a bit and furrows his brow while looking at you.

"Huh? No, it wasn't bad, Y/N." He lets out a small chuckle. "You're hitting the right points, Dr. Nelson is just super complex and wants you to use these facts a bit more." He points at a line in your review. "You talk about the characters feelings here after an upsetting moment, which is right. But, how does it affect their surroundings? Their actions, the people around them, what they get themselves into to cope. How does feeling bad branch out to all these things? Why? How does it contribute to their overall attitude, to the overall character?" You nod. 

"It seems so easy to talk about, but I don't know why I have so much trouble doing it. I feel kinda dumb." He shrugs.

"You're not. You just have to dig into the details a little more and use those examples instead of staying safe and stating what we know already. It's easy to stay safe because you know what you're stating is gonna be right. Dr. Nelson just wants a little more than that, is all."

"Thanks, Yunho." He gives you a toothless smile.

"Of course. Uh," He scratches his temple. "Let's go through everything else? So, I can be of better help to you?" You nod.

"Only if you're okay with it."

"Yeah. Just wanna make sure I help you out correctly." He lets out a shy chuckle before thoroughly going through your literature review with you. He asks you the right questions, allowing you to edit your own document on his laptop while the two of you continue to converse. He shares his thoughts and the things he's included on his review, making it easier for you to understand what you were missing and leaving out in your own.

Literature was never your favorite. You partially didn't care enough to put in enough effort, hence the lack of patience and understanding with the assignments— the lack of patience and understanding with your own professor.

As 11 closes in, you sit and look at your fully edited review feeling content. You look at Yunho, a small toothless smile on your face while he awkwardly glances around the library to avoid long eye contact. He gently taps his hands against the surface of the table, waiting for you to break the silence.

Which, you eventually do.

Thank god.

"Yunho, I feel so much better about this." You slide the laptop over to him. "Thanks for helping me, seriously. I don't know what I'd do if I had to see Dr. Nelson's comments again."

"It's not a problem." He shrugs. "I um, can continue to look at your reviews if you want?" Your eyes light up as you nod delightfully.

"Really?"

"Sure."

"I have to repay you somehow, that's too much on your plate isn't it?"

"It's not. I wouldn't offer if it was." He chuckles a bit.

"Lunch one day?"

"You don't have to."

"I would like to. Or, if our schedules don't work, we can always meet for coffee and go in on the café desserts."

"Sounds good." He smiles and pulls out his phone to slide it towards you. "Mm, do you think I can grab your number? Sorry, don't mean to be lame about it. I just figured it'd be easier instead of emailing each other. Unless that's what you.. prefer?" You chuckle and shake your head.

"No, this is totally easier. Don't worry." You plug your number in before sliding it back to me. "There."

"That's me." He says after giving you a quick ring so you can save his number on your own phone. You start to gather your things to start heading to class when you hear a familiar laugh come from one of the aisles to your right. You turn over your shoulder to catch wind of the noise, finding Seonghwa deep in conversation with another classmate, another senior girl [actually this one is probably Hyeri?] She seems to be laughing at his jokes, even though they probably aren't that funny. Somehow, the way he looks at her [along with any other female who isn't you] breaks your heart.

Breaks your heart even though there isn't anything else left to break.

Seonghwa briefly makes eye contact with you before his eyes quickly dart to Yunho, then back to Hyeri in front of him. You quietly continue to gather your things and swallow the lump forming in your throat, unsure why you allow this feeling to completely ruin your mood. Yunho takes note, for sure though. Again, he's not sure if he should feel bad because you surely knew what it was like getting tangled with Seonghwa. That was no secret on campus. However, he's an empath, and seeing that you've been kind and calm around him— he can't help but feel bad. A tiny bit sad, upset even, that you continue to let yourself mess around with Seonghwa when you deserve so much more.

Yunho challenges Seonghwa a bit though, letting his eyes linger on him until Seonghwa breaks away first. He checks on you and parts his lips slightly because he wants to say something, anything— he's just not sure what. Eventually, he settles with:

"Are you okay?" It's clear you're not and Yunho immediately feels stupid as fuck for settling with that question.

"Hm, yeah. Just tired, is all." He nods, watching as you slide out of the booth and swing your bag strap over your shoulder.

"Don't hesitate to text me if you need anything else. I'll try and help." When he says it, he's hoping you can catch onto the fact that he's someone who could listen to your troubles. He's not good with words or opening up to people, but he thinks he could at least offer that after seeing the way you sank in front of him. His eyes dart back up to you when you tuck your books back to your chest and smile at him.

"I will. Thanks again, Yunho. Lunch or coffee soon, okay?" You say sweetly before leaving him back to his lonesome. 

"How was your date with Yunho?" Soobin asks as he forks his salad and takes a big bite. You glare at him before shaking your head.

"This is how rumors spread, you idiot." Chaery smacks him on the back of the head, making him laugh but slightly wince in pain at the same time.

"I'll whoop your ass if you say that word and Yunho in the same sentence one more time." You roll your eyes. "My literature review session with him went fine. He did help me out a lot, practically added another page to my review from all the edits we made."

"That's good." Soobin says, laughing. "Are you gonna have him review your literature stuff from now on?"

"Probably, it comes so easy for him. Or, maybe I just lack the patience." You shrug. "But, his help would definitely be nice. I need to push my grade up."

"Mhm." Soobin wiggles his brows.

"He's pushing this Yunho agenda so much." You point at Soobin while looking at Chaery and she shrugs.

"I mean don't get me wrong, I'm on the same bloat." You glare at her. "But, I'm on your side more than anything!" She quickly bounces back, making you sigh.

"I give up." You mumble as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. Suddenly, your phone vibrates off to the side, making you lazily tap your screen to see who the notification is from.

"Better not be Seonghwa." You glare at Chaery once again.

"I'm taking this to the couch." You stick your tongue out before grabbing your phone and walking over to the couch in the living room. Because it's not, and you don't really wanna deal with your teasing friends even more.

yunho: btw, i like this website if i don't really wanna dig too deep into the details

yunho: it's a good website that summarizes a lot of the themes in books, and they have a huge catalog

You smile and respond back, feeling appreciative that he thought of you.

yunho: srry for the triple text, hope i didnt bother

you: you didn't. thank you, yunho :) i'll bookmark this that way i won't have to bother you so much lol

yunho: you're not a bother haha but np. have a good night!

you: you too!

Then, another comes in. And of course it's Seonghwa. But, the message isn't your typical message, no. It's a message that easily rubs you the wrong way because why? Why does Seonghwa like to pull this shit?

seonghwa: since when did you talk to jeong yunho? lol

you: why does it matter?

seonghwa: it's a simple question?

you: you're ridiculous, you know? we're in the lit same class. again, not that it matters .. ?

seonghwa: how am i ridiculous? lol

you: whatever seonghwa

seonghwa: why are you upset, baby? i'm just asking. i don't see what yunho's point is

you: he has no point, he's just helping me out.

seonghwa: okay, sure lol do you wanna come over? could use your company ): 

you: not tonight

you: maybe you can call hyeri, or whatever her name is. i'm spending time with my roommates

seonghwa: baby, seriously? i was talking to a classmate. can we not fight over dumb shit again?

you: goodnight seonghwa

You sigh out of irritation, tossing your phone aside. It's a bit close to 10pm, but you feel like getting some fresh air and taking a quick walk around the complex would do you some good. 

"Chaery, can we take a walk?" She looks at you and nods.

"Sure."

"What about me?" Soobin asks with a mouth full.

"You're eating."

"I can take it with me."

"It's girl talk." He cringes a bit and shakes his head.

"Nevermind. Be safe, come back soon." You chuckle just as Chaery walks out of your shared room in a hoodie. She has one of your jackets in your hand, handing it over as she gets closer.

"It's a bit cold tonight. Jacket?" 

"Thanks." You smile at her as you throw it on and zip it up, sliding into your slippers before walking out. Chaery is right; the air is colder, crisp. It has a little bite, especially against your skin. Chaery wraps her arm around yours, pulling you close for extra body heat.

"What happened, babe?"

"Huh?"

"You told Soobin it was girl talk." You laugh a bit and nod.

"Oh yeah, right. It is." You sigh as you hold her close. "Nothing, it's just Seonghwa. He texted me just to ask when I started talking to Yunho and what his point was. Got on my nerve."

"Ew, what's his problem? Y/N, seriously. You can do so much better than him. I know it's not easy, and I know he has his moments with you. But baby, you deserve someone who is always sure about you and who will be happy to flaunt you off."

"I know." You sigh. "It's like every time I think about leaving, he does something to keep me close."

"But, it shouldn't be this way, you know? You shouldn't have to wait for these moments. It should happen every day if he really cared about you."

"Yeah." Is all you can say because what can you say? It's hard to break it off with Seonghwa because this is your routine, something you've gotten used to— his presence is something you've gotten accustomed to. Even if it he isn't necessarily the best, he keeps you company. The kind of company that you like.

"How was meeting up with Yunho? Did he help you with your review?"

"A lot. He is super helpful, and he offered to keep helping me."

"Aw." Chaery giggles. "That is so sweet of him."

"He's actually really kind, and patient. I offered to take him out for lunch or something one day."

"Cute. Yeah, you should! Get to know him. Maybe he just needs a little pushing out of his shell, you know? You could probably help him in return." You shrug.

"Maybe? He's still—" Suddenly, Chaery's eyes shoot up to the figure ahead. She does a little gasp before making a cute noise and dragging you closer.

"Yunho!" She says, waving at him. He looks a little startled, but he stops in his tracks and waits with his hands in his pockets— a shy, small smile creeping at the corner of his lips. "Wait, oh my god! I didn't realize you lived here, too! I mean, so does the majority of campus, but still!" You sure as hell didn't know either, and you feel a bit bad that you just probably never noticed. 

"Uh, yeah. I just live over there." He points at his building.

"Who do you live with?"

"Kang Yeosang." Chaery nods.

"Ah, cute. What a pair." You give her a look before shifting your attention back to Yunho. He quietly waits for the next part of the conversation, his eyes softly gazing over you. 

You're cute.

"What are you doing out here this late?"

"Could ask the same for you two." He chuckles and nervously scratches at the nape of his neck. "I, uh, can't sleep sometimes. The walk kinda helps."

"Ah, I see. Makes sense."

"So.." He awkwardly says, shifting weight from one foot to another. "Also couldn't sleep?" You shrug.

"We just needed to get out and get some air." Chaery cuts in for a follow-up to avoid any Seonghwa talk. Though, she knows Yunho wouldn't do that to you. 

"It's getting late though, and pretty cold."

"We're just gonna walk to the end then walk back."

"Hm, okay." 

"It was nice running into you." Chaery smiles. "I hope you can get some rest tonight!"

"Hopefully. Have a good night." He looks at her, then you; he gives you a very tiny, very subtle nod of acknowledgement. With that, the two of you walk past to continue your walk, Chaery praising how gentle and good-looking Yunho is until the end of the walk. Yunho knows the community is safe, but he cuts his walk short just to head up to his building and get a better view of yours. He hangs over the railing near the stairs, catching sight of you and Chaery. He watches as you circle back around to your building, slowly heading up the stairs. He can hear your laughs from where he stands, and he's glad you seem to be okay tonight.

It's good that you have great friends by your side.

When your figures disappear into the hallway, Yunho feels content, relieved— knowing you've both made it safely home. He turns on his heel to make it to his own apartment, greeted by a dark living room with echoes of Yeosang yelling at his PC.

At least you're okay. 

At least you're not outside, waiting in the cold.

At least you're with good company.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie [bold = can’t tag 😭]

[invisiblerambler]

I would rather chew glass than go to work tomorrow. I say this literally every day but being forced to go to an office building where I do MAYBE ten minutes of work a day makes me so crazy. I know I have under 3 months left but Jesus h Christ that feels like too long right now

[jungk0oksthighs]

Stay With Me | Hope pt.1

exhusband!jungkook, singledad!jungkook, E2L, angst, fluff, smut

Word Count - 3.5k

Your would’ve been wedding anniversary has always been a difficult day. Warnings: swearing, oc is v bad with technology, alcohol consumption, one mention of vibrators, heavy angst 

MINISERIES COLLECTION

Today is a particularly hard day for you, giving that it would’ve been yours and your ex-husband’s wedding anniversary. Thankfully your son Seol is sleeping at a friend’s house this weekend so you have the space you need to mope, though truthfully some company wouldn’t exactly go a miss. It’s nearing five pm when you decide to give Hoseok a call and see if he’s free, but maybe that decision has been influenced by the three glasses of wine you’ve downed.

“Hey, you okay?” Hoseok’s voice makes you smile, you’ve been on all of three dates with him at this point and if you’re being honest he has real potential.

He’s a single father too, he has a nine year old daughter and he’s been divorced for almost one year now. It’s not been mentioned why he and his ex-wife got divorced, but having said that your exes rarely come into conversation when the two of you go out.

“Hey Hobi…” An affectionate nickname people at work, including you, call him. “Everything’s good, are you free tonight?” You chew your lower lip with anticipation, you’re yet to sleep with Hoseok but if he fucks anything like he kisses… You know that you’re in for a treat.

His chuckle is deep on the other end of the phone, “Not tonight I’m afraid, I’m on dad duty this weekend. You sure you’re okay? You never call me.”

“Ahh…” Your disappointment is evident, but you understand entirely. Children come first one hundred percent, you can’t be mad at him for being a good father. “No I’m fine honestly, my son is sleeping out tonight so I just wanted some company I guess, but I completely understand that you’ve got your daughter.”

At this Hoseok makes a tsk sound between his teeth, followed by a dangerous panty-dropping frustrated sigh, “Trust me I would love to come over and keep you company Y/N, but I can’t tonight. I’ll make it up to you another time.”

“Looking forward to it.” You hum flirtatiously, smiling like a school girl.

He chuckles again and you can practically see his big grin through the phone, “Me too, I’ll text you tomorrow.”

It would appear that the stars are not aligned with you tonight, everybody you know is busy, absolutely everybody. Your friends either have parental commitments or have other plans already. It’s okay though, you figure it’s probably best to spend tonight alone in a hot bubble bath having some self-care time rather than getting wild with one of your besties. Though after you’re forth glass of wine you’re halfway there already.

After a soak in the tub you’re feeling pretty buzzed from the alcohol, it’s almost seven pm and you decide to get changed into a pair of red silky pyjamas that always find a way to boost your confidence. Eye mask on, more wine poured… Music, you need music.

“Alexa… play that’s what I like by Bruno Mars.”

Playing marry you by Bruno Mars from Spotify.

“No, no! Alexa! Play that’s what I like by Bruno Mars!”

Playing when I was your man by Bruno Mars from Spotify.

“No! For fucks sake…” You groan, flicking the cap on the wine bottle into the unknown, even technology wants to remind you of what today should’ve been. Fuck Alexa. Fuck everything. Fuck…you? Maybe a few rounds with your vibrator would take your mind away from today’s date, and since you’re home alone… Why the fuck not?

Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now, Our song on the radio but it don’t sound the same.

The sound of Bruno singing his about his sorrows drowns your house through every speaker, flooding your senses and causing your heart to ache just a little bit more than it already did. Who are you kidding? You’re not in the mood to fuck yourself right now. 

Fifteen years ago today you married the love of your life, the father of your child, your best friend, truthfully the only man you’ve ever wholly loved. Ever since your trip to the beach with Jungkook you’ve been confused about where you stand with him, now more than ever. Do you miss him? Yes. Do you regret divorcing him? Yes, wait. No. Do you accept his apology? Yes. Would you ever take him back?

I should have bought you flowers, and held your hand, Should’ve gave you all my hours, when I had the chance.

…Maybe.

“Alexa! Stop! That song just makes me think about Jungkook…” You admit with a pained sigh, downing wine straight from the bottle. It’s ridiculous, you divorced him. You’ve no right to miss him, you’ve no right to wonder what your life could be like with him if you ever gave your relationship another chance… No. Exes are exes for a reason, it’s just because it’s your anniversary. Would’ve been your anniversary. That’s why you’re wallowing in self-pity right now.

Calling Jungkook

“What?! No! No no no no no, nooooo!” You sprint to the nearest home speaker, almost slipping on the tiled floor of your kitchen, “Alexa! Stop—”

“Hello?”

“Alexa! Stop!”

The sound of breathy laughter leaving your ex-husbands lips echoes through what was once your shared home, “Trouble with technology Y/N?”

You groan in return, snorting mostly to yourself, “Is it that obvious?”

“So… is this a completely random call or were you talking about me and Alexa decided to let me know?” He’s giggling, he always found it so funny that you’re more than just a little useless when it comes to technology. Even after your divorce there’s been times where you’ve had to contact him for your account passwords and login details for various apps and devices.

“I’m home alone so rest assured I wasn’t talking about you.” You half-lie, technically he was mentioned but nobody save for Alexa heard it. That bitch betrayed you good, as soon as this call is over you’re putting her straight in the trash.

“That’s good to know. Where’s Seol?”

“He’s at a friend’s house for the weekend, hence why I’m here alone.” You sigh, taking another gulp of wine when your throw yourself up onto the marble countertop.

There’s a brief silence as though he’s contemplating what to do with that information, but finally after what feels like way too long he speaks, “Well… I hope you have a good night whatever you decide to do. It’s been nice talking to you, but I guess I have Alexa to thank for that.” He laughs again, you just know he’s shaking his head in disbelief right now.

“Sorry if I disturbed you—”

“Not at all, I’m just in the store buying some wine actually… Rough day.”

A pained smile tugs your lips, a bittersweet feeling coursing your veins. At least you know it’s not just you who is affected by the date. Should you invite him over? Would that be a complete disaster? Because right now it doesn’t sound like a terrible decision. It does beat drinking alone, and things aren’t awkward between you it would be fine. But there is the incident of your almost kiss in the hotel room—

“You still there? Or has Alexa fucked you over again?”

You grin, playfully rolling your eyes, “I’m still here.”

“Alright…”

Fuck it. Why drink alone when you can drink with someone else who happens to know exactly what you’re going through?

“Hey Kook…?”

He sniffs, you can hear glass bottles clinking in the background, “Mmm?”

“Would it be weird if I invited you over for a drink tonight?”

The silence is deafening, your heart is pounding and you’re about to tell him to forget you ever said anything when he clears his throat down the line.

“I mean it does beat drinking alone… Which is all I had planned for tonight anyway.”

You’re smiling again, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

After a quick outfit change you’re back in your kitchen wearing an emerald green smock dress, it was the first thing you could find in your wardrobe and you figure it’s much better than answering the door in sexy red silk pyjamas. You��re nervous, and dare you admit it a little excited to see your ex-husband. Why? You’ve no idea. What you do know is that when you open the front door and you’re greeted with Jungkook wearing a simple oversized white t shirt, ripped black jeans and boots of the same colour, you’re happy he’s here.

“Hey… I see you’ve started without me?” Jungkook’s heavily tattooed arm gestures to the almost empty bottle of wine sitting atop your kitchen unit. His smile is playful, gorgeous even when you sigh in defeat and nod.

“Shit, you caught me… So did you bring more wine?”

“Mhm, the good stuff too.” His hum is chipper, he’s looking down at you with a fond gaze that makes your chest swell with something vaguely familiar. “I brought soju as well, good job really cause I’ll need some shots to get on your level since you’re already drunk dialling people.” He winks, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

You point at the home speaker in protest, “Hey she’s the one who drunk dialled you! I had nothing to do with it!” Except you kind of did, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Jungkook makes quick work of getting a glass for himself along with two double-sized shot glasses from the cupboard. Muscle memory takes over, he remembers exactly where you keep everything because heaven forbid he ever put something back in the wrong place when he lived here. Your organisation skills could win awards. It’s not long before he’s topped up your wine and poured himself a glass too, as well as two shots of peach soju – which just so happens to be your favourite.

“So…” He hands you a shot, when his inked fingertips graze yours you struggle to bite back a coy smile, “To us I guess?”

Your brow quirks, “To us?”

“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?” His eyes squeeze shut in feigned embarrassment for a second but he carries on, looking you dead in the eye for a moment you will never forget, “Happy kinda anniversary Y/N.”

Oh shit. That.

You swallow thickly, clinking the tiny glass against his with an apologetic smile, “Happy kinda anniversary Jungkook.”

It’s ten pm when you realise you’re beyond wasted, as is Jungkook. You’re both dancing together in the dining room, there’s distance between your bodies but you can still feel his warmth even from here. His cheeks still have the cutest tinge of pink to them when he’s drunk, and he’s far from coordinated when he sways his hips from left to right in sync with the beat of the music.

“Alexa!” You slur with a lazy grin, near empty glass of wine loosely in your grip, “Alexa! Play that’s what I like by Bruno Mars!” Whether the home appliance likes it or not, you are listening to that song one way or another.

Kook claps excitedly, mirroring your haphazard smile, “That’s such a good song! Nine out of ten, well done!”

Nine out of ten, your smile drops for a moment. Ever since your first date you and Jungkook got into the strange habit of rating things that didn’t need to be rated. Song choices, food, tv shows, outfits, cars, even children’s names when you were pregnant… You name it you guys rated it. It was the first of many inside jokes and quirks you shared throughout your relationship, and it suddenly dawns on you that he never stopped doing it.

Playing when I was your man by Bruno Mars from Spotify.

“No, no no no!” You yell, “Play that’s what I like by Bruno Mars!” But it’s too late, the song has started and the lyrics hit you harder than ever.

Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now, Our song on the radio but it don’t sound the same, When our friends talk about you all it does it just tear me down, Cause my breaks a little when I hear your name

Jungkook takes a beat to listen to the lyrics of the song before scoffing humourlessly with a small head shake, finishing his wine in one swift gulp that looks borderline painful. His stare is fixed to your face, you’re looking back uncertain of what to do next when your ex coughs, shouting loud enough to be heard above the music.

“Alexa! Play that’s what I like by Bruno Mars!”

Playing that’s what I like by Bruno Mars from Spotify.

As soon as the preferred song choice kicks in you’re both screaming along to the words, god help your neighbours. Jungkook even going as far to make up impromptu dance moves that have you folded over in fits of hysterics, drunkenly pointing to and grinding on nothing. Sometimes you forget how hilarious he is, he can make you belly laugh at the drop of a hat.

“Kook stop!” You wheeze, “I’m gonna pee!”

But he doesn’t care, his animated facial expressions have you howling with laughter when he gets up on the dining table in one swift jump. He’s snapping his fingers to the beat, bobbing his head along to the song. It’s when he drops his weight in a messy slut drop that you cave, running to the downstairs bathroom before you actually piss yourself laughing.

The realisation of how drunk you are hits you when you’re sitting on the porcelain throne, as it usually does. It’s so nice that you and Kook can have a good time together without it being awkward, in a way it makes you nostalgic of how things used to be between you before it got bad. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. Why did things have to get bad? God Jungkook is the perfect man in almost every single way… You miss him so much. You miss your drunken escapades together. You miss waking up to him in a morning. You miss going to bed with him at night, and you definitely miss the way he made you feel in bed.

When you return to the dining area Kook has already poured more drinks, thankfully he’s back on the ground and he’s wearing his signature bunny-like grin that causes your heart to flutter. He’s so fucking handsome. And that’s not the alcohol talking either, he really is breath taking.

“Another shot?” He winks, albeit very exaggeratedly.

You jog over to him with a bright beaming smile, “Thought you’d never ask.”

“This is fun right? We haven’t been drunk together in a while…” Kook playfully cocks his head to one side, watching your reaction closely.

“Yknow I was just thinking the same thing…” You admit rather sheepishly, “This is fun. I’m glad we can do this.”

The atmosphere shifts to something less messy and more familiar, perhaps even fringing on romantic when he closes the distance between your bodies, loosely gripping your waist, “Me too. Alexa! Shuffle music. Come on let’s have a proper dance...”

Playing your song by Elton John from Spotify.

Your heart stops beating. Jungkook’s heart stops beating. Fifteen years ago to the day this was your first dance song that was played at your wedding. It’s like technology itself is screaming at you, constantly reminding you both what today is. Jungkook is the first to move, he tugs your body closer to his, swaying his hips from side to side when you drape your arms over his strong shoulders. It’s familiar, it’s romantic, it’s nostalgic… And in an ironic twist of fate, It's perfect.

It's not long before your head rests against his collarbone, he still wears the same spicy cologne you notice. His fingers dance along the base of your spine when you move with him, a content hum rattling his broad chest quiet enough to almost go a miss.

“Now this song has always been a ten out of ten.”

“Kook…?” You whisper, mindlessly toying with the dark hairs gathered at the nape of his neck.

“Mmm?”

You know what you want to say, but you also know that there is absolutely no way you should say it. You want to tell him you miss him, you want to apologise for everything, hell you want to get onto your tiptoes and plant a soft kiss to those lips that made you fall in love with him. But you can’t, you’re drunk, he’s drunk, it wouldn’t be right… Even if this moment is the most content you’ve felt in years.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to watch your profile curiously, his tongue darts out and wets his lips, drawing more attention to the area you’re already thinking too much about.

“Are you okay?” His voice is quiet, he’s still languidly swaying left to right with you between his arms but his full attention is fixed on your eyes. If you had the power to freeze time you would, because this is it, this is the moment you finally admit to yourself that you still love him.

You’re nodding slowly, gaze never straying from his big brown doe-eyes that are hooded and slightly reddened from wine and swimming with something that can only be described as hope.

“I-, I’m fine.”

He stills his movements, in turn stopping you from swaying while your wedding song continues to play in the background, “Are you sure? Do you want me to leave?”

As if on instinct you tip toe to be closer to him, his breath is warm against your face, “…No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Y/N…” He whispers, bringing a hand up to gently cup the back of your head, “As much as I want to kiss you right now… We can’t.” When your face visibly drops he continues, “Because it would mean something very different to me than it would to you.”

“Kook…” You’re blinking rapidly, trying to find the words you want to say.

“I should go.” He admits with a light sigh, one filled with pain and regret.

You’re cupping his jaw, completely infatuated with the way he’s looking at you, “No… Please don’t leave.”

“I have to.” He swallows, resting his forehead to yours, “Because if I don’t, I’m gonna end up kissing you.”

You wet your lips subconsciously, brushing back a wayward strand of his hair that’s fallen into his eyes, “Then stay...” You breathe, heart hammering inside your chest.

Jungkook walks you backwards until the swell of your ass hits the dining table behind, his arms cage you in either side of your hips. The way he’s staring at you… With so much adoration, so much hope yet so much sadness. It’s enough to make your heart race and break all at once.

“What are you saying Y/N?” His voice is low, his right hand comes up to your chin, tipping it upward and angling your face to his.

“Don’t go... Please don’t go.”

His lips ghost yours, they’re so painfully close to yours that if you move even just a tiny bit you’re certain they’ll touch. “Are you sure...? What do you want me to do?”

Your eyes flutter shut in preparation for what’s about to happen, the next words that leave you are barely audible but Jungkook catches them when he’s gently tracing the front of your chin with his thumb.

“Stay with me.”

x

[gravessyard]

Birthday Poptart

Notes from the Crypt: Happy birthday Tartaglia! *shoves him off a cliff* jkjk, or am I? I wanted to do something for his special day. Yes, I am still quite ill so this fic took off on a completely different direction than I expected so I may have to add a second chapter, but regardless, I hope you enjoy

Tags: GN!Reader, angst with some fluff sprinkled in

Summary: All you wanted to do was spend his birthday with him

Two weeks. You spent 2 weeks wracking your brain for ideas on how to celebrate Childe’s birthday only for it to go down the fucking drain. You sighed hard, swirling the glass of wine you had in your hand as you sank further into the warm bubble bath that was drawn for you, thanks to your generous host who welcomed you into his home after he found you wandering the streets of Liyue, soaked to the bone from the storm. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, the pain is a nice distraction from the ache that is now the hole you feel in your heart, the very one Childe carved out himself. You thought you had a great plan, a nice candlelit dinner at home, a bubble bath with some oils and fresh flowers you spent at least a good hour meticulously picking and sharing wine underneath the stars! Hell, you even thought of going further should the mood strike, but it would seem the gods had something else planned for you. He had work, he said. He’ll be home late, he said. Let’s celebrate tomorrow, he said, and while you were disappointed, you still happily agreed, simply content that he was still willing to celebrate his special day with you even a day later.

You scoffed into the wine glass as you took a sip, thinking back to how he kissed your cheek this morning but ignored the empty feeling it left behind, like he did it as some chore. At the time you thought nothing of it, too caught up with changing dinner plans since Childe seemed to want to postpone the grand birthday dinner. It was no issue to you, all you had to do was pop into town to grab a couple of vegetables and some meat and cook something simple that you can save for him when he comes home. What was meant to be an easy trip ended up turning your life upside down, as when you were in the middle of picking out radishes from Chef Mao, you heard the unmistakable laugh of your boyfriend. Confused, you looked around the busy street to catch him idling nearby, his arm around the traveler’s shoulders. You wondered for a second if they had crossed paths just now when you felt your heart drop, watching Childe pull them close to press a kiss to their cheek, and then another to their lips. You didn’t even realize you had dropped the radishes you were holding, Chef Mao calling your name with concern.

“y/n? hey, are you alright?”, Mao asked, walking around his place behind the booth to your side, where he gently placed a hand on your shoulder and finally broke you from your spell. You whipped your head at him, eyes wide and glassy and stuttered out apologies, quickly gathering the radishes you had dropped and giving him possibly way too much mora before mumbling something about being in a hurry and rushing off, unable to stop the tears from flowing freely down your cheeks. You weren’t aware if Childe had seen you, nor did you really care as you know exactly what you saw, and you certainly didn’t want to stick around for an encore. Your mind was in shambles, cursing not only yourself but also the man who apparently preferred to celebrate his birthday with the traveler rather than with you. While you were walking with no destination in mind, you were also piecing together the times Childe claimed he would be held up at work or the nights he came home at ungodly hours, it became clear as day that he didn’t need to work overtime hours with how fucking rich he already is, he was just using that as an excuse to go meet up with the traveler! And you let it happen for months! You choked back a sob, stopping in the middle of the bridge before the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and going to the ledge, suddenly feeling nauseous. You didn’t register the rain that was now soaking through your hair and clothes, too numb to notice you had begun to shiver and teeter a little too close to the edge, you couldn’t even register the rushing footsteps approaching you until you felt a hand roughly tugging you away. You shrieked, losing your balance, and falling into a pair of sturdy arms.

“y/n? What on teyvat are you thinking? It’s highly dangerous for you to be that close to the ledge!”, Zhongli sternly scolded you, the poor heart attack you gave this man when he exited the parlor and looked to see you practically about to jump. He couldn’t think of any reason why you even would, which only made him worry even more as he looked you over carefully, making sure you weren’t physically injured. He gave you quite the fright too, enough to make you sob hard in his arms, your own arms struggling to hold the radishes you were still cradling for dear life.

“Ajax… I saw him… k-kissing the… the traveler”, you whimpered, and Zhongli’s shoulders began to relax, his worry of you trying to throw yourself off the bridge morphing into worry that you had been a witness to adultery. He rubbed your shoulders, mentally wonderig how cold you must be and quickly began to usher you away, straight to his place. Being romantically involved with Childe, you had also made friends with Zhongli, so you were no stranger to his abode, it was a humble little place, nice and cozy for someone like him. You had even joked with Childe, telling him if he was ever caught cheating then you’d move in with Zhongli because his place was so nice, how unaware you were back then. Zhongli welcomed you into his home, not caring that you both were soaking wet as he coaxed the radishes you were holding out of your grip and onto the side table, the sounds of your sniffling and sobbing was breaking his heart, you didn’t deserve to have this happen to you, so he made it his personal mission to make sure you are very well taken care of.

“y/n, may I have the honor of taking care of you tonight?”, he asked gently while he held your hands as if you were made from porcelain. You sniffled, remaining silent for a few seconds before nodding, and with a squeak you were lifted bridal style into his arms and carried into the bathroom where he began to draw you a bath. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, feeling drained from all the crying as you watched Zhongli pour all kinds of stuff into the filling bath, it was kind of therapeutic. Milk, flowers, dried fruits, oils and bubblies, the room was beginning to fill with steam and the heavenly scent of his concoction before he deemed it satisfactory enough and straightened up to look at you.

“Please step in and relax, I’ll return shortly with some wine. I recently acquired a bottle recommended by a friend in Mondstadt and I would like to get your opinion of it, so if you’ll excuse me”, he bowed his head before leaving the bathroom, giving you the privacy to peel your wet clothes off and step into the water. To say the temperature was perfect would have been an understatement, you felt like you were being hugged by a blanket fresh out of the dryer. You sighed out, dipping low enough to keep your chin above water and just soak before you heard knocks on the door after some time.

“Come in”, you called out, Zhongli enters with two glasses of wine in his hands, passing you one that you gratefully take and sipped. It was smooth, semi-sweet and doesn’t attack the taste buds, which you appreciated since you weren’t a fan of bitter wines. You noticed your host had changed into silk pajamas as he took a seat on the edge of the tub, sipping at his wine and giving you an expectant look. It was a look that told you he was ready to listen, and you couldn’t help but give him an appreciative look before laying your breaking heart out for him. You told him everything, from the times Childe had lied to you about work to seeing him kiss the traveler today, and he simply nodded while you spoke, taking sips of wine in between and even extending his hand out to you when your voice began to crack, tears threatening to fall again. He ran his thumb over your knuckles while you ranted at him, pitching in his opinions, and expressing immense disappointment in Childe over this outcome of your relationship until you both fell into a comfortable silence.

“I’ve laid out some clothes for you in my bedroom, when you finish up come meet me in the kitchen while I prepare a hot meal for us to enjoy”, he stood and once again bowed his head, a gesture you couldn’t help but smile at while he left you alone. You took a moment to soak in silence, the water long gone lukewarm, but you paid it no mind, you mostly wanted to gather your thoughts for yourself. You scoffed at the kiss Childe gave you this morning, it was definitely different than the one you saw him give the traveler earlier. You finished your wine along with your bath, draining the water and tossing out the rehydrated fruits before wrapping yourself in the robe that thankfully Zhongli keeps in his bathroom before stepping out and making your way to his bedroom. You thought of proposing the idea of rooming with Zhongli while you searched for a place of your own, archons know you don’t want to continue living with Childe if he was just going to keep stringing you along like he currently is. You stopped in your tracks when you saw the matching pajama set that was laid out on the bed, your emotions getting the better of you and you began to sniffle again, chuckling to yourself while you got dressed and walked into the kitchen where Zhongli was finishing up a simple dish of radish veggie soup using the radishes you were clinging onto earlier. You were grateful to have met a man like him, his friendship was something you treasured and even now, when you’re at your lowest, he’s been nothing but a gentleman and doting on you, you were beginning to think that maybe you had made a mistake in choosing Childe to date.

“Zhongli… Thank you, for everything”, you began, giving him a teary-eyed smile and your cheeks flushed slightly when he cupped your face in his hands, wiping away any stray tears and giving you a warm smile.

“You need not thank me; I’m simply doing my duty as your closest friend and confidant… Now sit, we’ll eat and maybe head to bed? You must be exhausted after today’s ordeal”, he laid a hand on your lower back while he ushered you to sit, preparing a bowl of soup for both you and himself and sitting across from you to enjoy dinner.

“Hey ‘Li… Can I stick around for a while? I don’t think I wanna… go back to Childe’s house after today”, you asked sheepishly, pushing your spoon around the bowl. Zhongli didn’t hesitate to agree, putting your heart and mind at ease and even suggesting he accompany you to retrieve your belongings if you liked. You nodded happily, flashing him the warmest smile he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing and making idle conversation while you both finished dinner. After the dishes were washed, he insisted on sleeping on the couch while you took his bedroom but couldn’t deny your request of sharing a bed after you held onto his sleeve, a sad look in your eyes over the thought of sleeping alone. He held you that night, whispering all the fun things you both can do after you move in until you fell asleep.

Morning came quicker than you anticipated, waking up from a dreamless sleep, you could still feel the fatigue in your muscles as you took in your surroundings. You stretched a hand out to feel for Zhongli but felt something cold instead. Confused, you sat up and picked up the cold metal, looking at it and all at once you felt like the air was punched out of your lungs. Tucking it into the waistband of your pajama bottoms, you met Zhongli back in the kitchen where he was preparing breakfast, and afterwards you both changed and made the way back to Childe’s place. You were half hoping he was home, possibly concerned that you hadn’t returned the night prior, but you were hurt and frustrated when there was no sign of him, instead there was a note saying he missed you and he was once again, going to be late coming home. Zhongli made no comment on the subtle drop in temperature, instead asking where you two should begin and you lead him into the bedroom you once shared with Childe and began to gather your things. You two worked in silence, Zhongli packing your items in the luggage you provided while you silently wiped at your eyes and nose, you could feel your blood grow colder the longer you stood in this space that held so many memories. Despite the time you spent with the harbinger, you didn’t have a lot to your name, which you supposed could be a blessing now since it meant you didn’t have to return. Zhongli carried your luggage for you out of the house, but before you could step further you faced the home you once called yours and stared at it, the hurt and pain that Childe put you through fueling your new vision to allow you to thrust your hand out and encase the entire home in ice.

“Take that, asshole”, you puffed out, turning on your heel and following Zhongli back to your new home. He made a mental note to congratulate you on your new vision while you both began a new chapter in your lives. Somewhere in Liyue, Childe got the coldest chill up his spine he’s ever experienced and felt something was terribly wrong.

Epitaph: This piece can also be found on AO3. Oops, accidentally made it zhongli x reader, hence why I may need to add a second chapter, but hey congrats on your new vision! It's weird how I write a lot about cryo vision lmao I'm really hoping this isnt just a jumble mess because I'm still really fucking sick lmao I just couldn't resist writing something that involved our favorite harbinger, even if he barely made an appearance asdhfk

[jazzmynerule]

Cars outside

prompt: this is kinda like a part two of ‘gold rush’ but in stiles’ perspective

warnings: none :)

✿.｡.:* *:.｡.✿ ✿.｡.:* *:.｡.✿ ✿.｡.:* *:.｡.✿ ✿.｡.:* *:.｡.✿

i’m packing my bags that i didn’t unpack the last time

stiles couldn’t comprehend how somebody could be as beautiful as y/n was

that way she made his stomach churn with butterflies anytime she looked his way

he knew if she was his he’d never let her go

ever

i’m sayin’ “see you again” so many times it’s becoming my tag line

he doesn’t understand how somebody so beautiful could exist

she’s like a rare crystal amongst a bunch of fossils

but you know the truth i’d rather hold you than try to catch this flight

he dreams of having the most perfect life with her

four kids, two boys and two girls, a puppy and a big house in the country surrounded by farms

he would do anything for that girl

even break his own heart

so many things i’d rather say but for now it’s “goodbye”

every day he takes the long route to his locker just so he can pass her and see her angelic like smile

makes his heart pound against his chest like he’s just finished running a marathon

you, say i’m always leavin’

it pangs his heart knowing she’ll never share the same feelings but he can’t help but fall more in love with the girl everyday

she’s like a drug

he’s addicted

you, when you’re sleepin’ alone but the cars outside but i don’t wanna go tonight

“hey y/n, i’m so sorry to ask but do you have an extra pen..? i kinda forgot mine again”

stiles chuckled awkwardly as he turns in his chair to face to big grinned girl

“of course stiles” she smiled as she handed the boy her last pen

“you’ve sucked me dry of my pens stilinksi” she giggled making tender eye contact with him

“yeah sorry about that, i always forget to give them back.. plus i don’t think you want them back anyways i always chew the lids up till there’s nothing left to chew”

she giggled at his words which made his stomach turn into a zoo full of butterflies

“you can keep it” she smiled

i’m not gettin’ in the Addison Lee, unless you pack your bags, you’re comin’ with me

he had to find a partner for the english presentation

he couldn’t go with Scott because he already chose allison and nobody else liked the poor boy

before he could even look for a partner he felt a tap on his shoulder

“wanna be my partner? my friend isn’t here today” y/n smiled up at the tall boy watching his face light up with joy

“don’t even have to ask” he smiled back at the girl

“great! where do you wanna do the project?” she questioned

“we can’t work on it at mine, dads gone a bit cuckoo from the case he’s working on”

“alright so we’ll do it at mine, does tonight after you finish training sound good?” she asked putting her stuff down and grabbing her pen out of her pocket

“yeah tonight works” he replied

the small girl grabbed his hand and wrote her address on his palm

“i’ll see you tonight then” she smiled a toothy smile and walked out of the english classroom

 leaving stiles to fist pump the air like a two year old

i’m tired of lovin’ from afar and never being where you are

there he was standing on y/n’s front porch knocking on her door frantically

his heart was pounding a million beats per/minute if that was even possible

he’s never been so nervous in his life and that’s saying something because that boy is anxious mess always

close the windows, lock the doors, don’t wanna leave you anymore

“hey stiles” y/n smiled as she opened the door

‘god she’s perfect isn’t she?’ stiles thought as he saw the girl

her hair was in the messiest bun he’s ever seen, her glasses were hanging to one side as if they’ve been fixed on multiple occasions and her eyes were dripping with sleep

even when she looked like a hot mess

she still made stiles go weak in the knees

ooh-ooh, ah-ah

“hey if you’re tired i can always come back tomorrow?” stiles said taking a step down from her porch

“no it’s fine trust me i was just taking a nap” she half smiled

“you sure y/n?”

“yes stiles”

he was starting to get a weird feeling of guilt in his stomach the more she she told him to stay like he was draining the only energy she had left for the day

i’m starin’ at the same four walls in a different hotel

he couldn’t focus on anything she was explaining for the project

he didn’t understand any of the words she was saying

all he could hear was the mumbles coming from her beautiful lips

the lips he wishes he could peck every second of the day

It's an unfamiliar feelin' but I know it so well

the way she would fix her glasses anytime she looked at stiles made him go crazy

just the way she sat so close to him was driving him insane

he doesn’t understand how somebody like y/n is breathing the same air as him

Oh, but you know the truth I would rather hold you than this mobile in my hand, but I guess it’ll do because for you I would run up my phone bill

“Stiles are you even paying attention?” Y/n sighed setting her pen down on the bed

“uhm duh yeah obviously” stiles scoffs sarcastically

“such a bad liar” she snickered looking in the boys eyes

You say I'm always leavin', You, when you need me the most, But the car's outside, But I don't wanna go tonight, I'm not gettin' in the Addison Lee, Unless you pack your bags, You're comin' with me, I'm tired of lovin' from afar, And never being where you are, Close the windows, lock the doors, Don't wanna leave you anymore

his body felt paralysed like he couldn’t move

her eyes were his favourite part of her

not her pretty pink lips or her squeezable rosy cheeks

her gorgeous glossy y/e/c eyes

the way they soften when they look at him

or how they squint when she laughs

Oh, darling, all of the city lights Never shine as bright as your eyes

“you have the most prettiest eyes y/n” stiles sighed watching as her face grew red

“if this is one of your stupid pranks to play with my emotions stiles that isn’t funny” she laughed dryly seeming as if she thinks he’s lying

“it’s not y/n seriously, you’re eyes are so mesmerising” he smiled down at the girl

even when sitting down he was still a few inches taller

“thank you stiles” she smiled back at the boy

his face held an emotion she never thought she’d see when looking at him

admiration

he placed his hand on her cheek and stroked it lovingly with the pad of his thumb

“the prettiest girl i know” he leant down and whispered in her ear which sent shivers down the girls spine

“no that’s Lydia” y/n whispered back

“nah uh, it’s you” he argued moving back and smiled

“always been you y/l/n, always you” he chuckled lightly

“what do you mean?” she asked tilting her head like a confused puppy

“since third grade i’ve been so unbelievably in love with you it’s like my heart was gonna explode every time you walked past me”

“what? no it can’t have been me i mean you literally stuck hearts on lydia’s papers every english lesson” y/n shot up from her spot on the bed and started fiddling with her fingers

“i did it to everybody y/n, even your papers but i was too scared you’d see so i ripped the page out and kept it in my bag” he answered standing up as well

“oh my god” at this point she felt like she couldn’t breathe like her lungs had collapsed on her

“hey it’s alright if you don’t share the same feelings you know kinda knew you wouldn’t anyways, he smiled down at her trembling figure

before he knew it the girl pulled his face down and gave him a quick peck on the lips as a way of showing him she does like it back

“oh well i guess you do then”

———

a/n: this took me forever and a half to write this.. i lost motivation half way through if you couldn’t tell but i kinda wanted to finish it and get it out there for you guys :)

[starks-hero]

Right a Wrong

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You, Sam and Bucky get to work repairing Sam’s family boat. Turns out the boat isn’t the only thing in need of fixing. But with help from you and Sam, Bucky figures some stuff out.

Word Count: 3,745

Warnings: a bit of a make-out session but not enough to be classed as smut, tfatws spoilers! 1x05

a/n: This is a direct result of watching episode 5 too many times. Spoilers below!

|| Part Two ||

Small waves lapped gently against the dock and the afternoon sun warmed your back as you worked on the old boat.

You were standing side by side with Bucky, crowbar in hand as you attempted to pry off the old metal cleats from the boats side, whilst he expertly pulled rusted pipes apart and threw them into a pile. As if on queue, one of the pipes on the opposite side of the ship burst, hissing and spurting out white clouds of steam. You marvelled at how quickly Bucky reacted, quickly crossing the deck and sealing the leak with an abrupt upward turn of the pipe with his metal arm.

"Where did you learn so much about fixing boats?" You teased, motioning to the now fixed pipe with your crowbar. Bucky dusted off his hands.

"I used to work on the docks in Brooklyn before the war." He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow and taking a seat on a crate next to you. "I picked up a few things."

He furthered his point by leaning over and pulling at the cleat you'd been grappling with. It came away from where it was attached to the boat's side with ease in Buckys iron grip. He smirked as he tossed the scrap aside and you rolled your eyes.

"Show off."

Bucky chuckled, sitting back as Sam stepped onto the boat. He was carrying a crate in one hand and shook his head when he noticed Bucky's smirk and your dismissive smile.

"Alright, you two." He placed the crate down and pulled out two green bottles, throwing one to Bucky and handing you the other. "Beer break."

Sam took a seat across from you both and you sighed as you opened your beer, raising it up to Bucky.

His annoyance was discredited by the fond smile that broke through his expression as he begrudgingly clinked his bottle with yours. You reached over and did the same with Sam as the three of you relaxed under the heat of the Louisiana sun.

"It's starting to look good," you noted as you glanced around the boat and Sam smiled.

"Yeah, it's coming together." He took a swig of his beer. "You know, Sarah and I were talking." He started and both you and Bucky glanced up at him. "And we could use the help. Don't suppose you two would consider staying around a while? Just till we get a lead on Karli."

The offer caused a noticeable smile to pull at your lips whilst Bucky shifted beside you at Sam's words. His agitation grew and he stood.

"I've got my plane to catch tomorrow, a hotel room for the night," he said, raising his bottle to his lips to hide his doubt. He really didn't have that much of a plan beyond that.

"You're just gonna set me up like that, huh?" Sam asked and Bucky shrugged.

"Well, I don't want to make it weird for your family."

"Just stay here," Sam said and you couldn't help but nod subconsciously. The truth was you really didn't really want to leave. There was something about staying with the Wilson's and spending the day fixing up an old run-down family boat that made everything seem so normal. It gave you a sense of home, a sense of normality that you hadn't had in a long time. For a while, it even made you forget about the flag smashers, Walker, all of it. It was a much-needed break.

"The people in this town are the most welcoming in the world. They don't care if you wear small t-shirts or if you've got six toes or if your mom is your aunt-"

You laughed and Bucky barely hid a chuckle behind a huff of breath and a bright smile.

"Okay, I get it. The people are nice."

You placed your bottle aside and turned to Sam.

"You're sure Sarah doesn't mind?" you asked and Sam's smile only widened.

"She's the one that offered."

Grinning, you sat back and nodded. "Then I don't see why not."

"See?" Sam pointed to you and then Bucky. "Just stay, man."

Bucky shuffled his feet for a moment before finally answering with a begrudging, "Okay. Alright." He didn't say anything else as he turned and walked down the boat.

"He'll come around. He probably just wants his space." You said, picking up your beer. Sam nodded, taking a swig of his own drink.

"I hope you're right."

You woke up feeling more refreshed than you had in a while. Your hands and back hurt slightly from the tiring work on the boat, but it was a dull ache compared to the constant throbbing that came after a mission. Your cheeks were warm, surely as a result of the hours spent out in the sun the day before.

Both you and Bucky stayed the night. Sarah had offered you the spare room and after a solid fifteen minutes of bickering, you finally conceded to Bucky and agreed to sleep in the guest bed. He took the couch.

The sun was just beginning to rise up over the water when you and Bucky both headed back out to the boat. Sam joined you not long after. You worked until mid-afternoon, reluctantly taking short breaks. You fell into a quick rhythm as you worked around the boat. Surprisingly, the three of you seemed to make a pretty decent team off of the battlefield.

"Hey, can you pass me a 12-300?" Sam asked from under the boat's control panel. Bucky reached into the toolbox and placed the wrench in Sam's outstretched hand. A few seconds later Sam was rolling out from under the controls and glaring disapprovingly at Bucky.

"What?"

"I asked for a 12-300," Sam stated plainly. "This is a 10-250."

"No, it's not." Bucky bit back.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not!"

"Hey, geniuses." You cut their bickering short as both men turned to look at you. You held up the grease-slick wrench that had been misplaced and tossed it to Sam. "You left it below deck when you were working on the engine."

Sam muttered a quiet 'thanks' as he got back to work. Silence settled over the three of you for a few minutes until Sam decided it was getting awkward.

"So, are you still planning on leaving tonight?" He asked from under the station and Bucky nodded, before realising Sam couldn't see him.

"Yeah," he said loud enough for Sam to hear. "I'll be out of your way soon."

You could hear Sam's sigh from beneath you as he clambered back to his feet and stood between you and the super-soldier leaning against the wall of the cabin.

"Well, there's no hurry."

Sam didn't say anything else as he cleaned the oil and grease from his hands with a cloth and stepped off the boat. Bucky sighed and let his head fall back behind him.

"Go," you ordered plainly and he looked up at you.

"What?"

"Go," you said again, nodding your head towards where Sam was walking away. "You both need to talk. Bucky, whatever you're not saying, it's getting to you. So go talk to him."

Bucky hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He glared at nothing in particular but his gaze softened when it found you and he muttered a quiet, 'fine.' You stepped aside as he made his way past you and stepped up onto the dock, heading after Sam.

"And don't be a smart ass!" You called after him. He didn't reply, but you could only hope that Sam and Bucky's conversation would be somewhat constructive.

"Nice shot!" You retrieved the football from the back of the goal as Cass, Sam's eldest nephew, celebrated his score.

Once Sam and Bucky had left the boat, you had headed back to the house, helping Sarah with any errands or chores, doing anything you could to help out. Sam and Bucky had been gone a little over an hour and you didn't know if that meant their talk was going very well or very not. You'd been sitting rather uselessly on the couch, waiting in anticipation, when Sam's nephews had invited you to play a game of football. And how could you refuse?

You tossed the ball back to the boys who eagerly pounced at it. You were stood in the small goal, allowing both boys to take as many shots as they wanted. AJ stepped forward and kicked the ball, groaning when it flew off to the left, a few meters away from where you were standing and missed the net entirely. He glanced down at the ground, disheartened.

“Hey, it's alright, AJ.” You smiled as you ran to grab the ball and passed it back to him. “Come on, try again.”

With encouragement from his brother, he took the shot and this time the ball planted itself in the top corner of the goal. Both boys cheered as they celebrated and you smiled. You dusted yourself off, your knees and hands covered in dust from the football game as you turned to head back inside the house. Both boys protested as you left but you promised them you'd be back. The more time you spent with AJ, Cass, Sam and Sarah, the more you didn't want to leave. There was something about staying with the Wilson's that made you feel content. It was homely and offered a sense of normality that the last few weeks had caused you to miss.

You entered the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water. Sarah had told you over and over again to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, glass in hand and just basked in the feeling of not having to worry about donning a suit and risking your life at a moments notice. It was something you could get used to.

“That was adorable.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of a voice and you found Bucky joining you in the kitchen. He was smirking fondly.

“You and the boys.”

You chuckled softly and shrugged. “They're sweet kids.”

Bucky nodded, pulling a glass of his own from the shelf and filling it with water from the tap. It furthered the sense of domesticity that you were really starting to love. He took a seat at the table across from you.

“So,” you started as you placed your own glass aside. “How did it go? You and Sam.”

Bucky chuckled and you couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or genuine, but something about the grin that lingered on his lips had you banking on the latter.

‘‘Not bad,” he admitted eventually with a shrug. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “We talked. He said if I'm going to fix anything, if I'm going to get what's left of him out of my mind.” Bucky subconsciously ran his hand across his temple. “I'm going to have to put in the work. Help the people I wronged instead of just saying sorry.”

You nodded, silently making a note to thank Sam later on. He always had a way with words, he could always get through to people. That's why he was given the shield.

“He's got a point.”

Bucky scoffed and hung his head at your words. “I should have known you'd be on his side.” There was no hostility in his words. He just sounded amused, and maybe a little tired.

“I don't think this comes down to whose side I'm on, Bucky. We both want what's best for you.” You answered honestly and Bucky glimpsed up at you. He anxiously toyed with his hands as you spoke, looking vulnerable, and slightly lost despite how hard he tried to hide it. You knew Sam had already spoken to him, but it couldn't hurt for you to say something as well.

“Look Bucky, telling yourself that you're okay and that everything that happened doesn't matter anymore because you've made 'amends' isn't going to help.”

He sighed, shuffling his feet against the tiles of the kitchen floor. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

“And I know you're probably tired of hearing this but, you're not him anymore, Bucky. You're not the winter soldier. Everything you did whilst you were him wasn't your choice. Just because you remember it doesn't mean that it was your fault. It's not your responsibility to fix it.”

Bucky sighed but didn't interrupt. He was listening. This wasn't like the therapist that he was forced to sit in front of and lie to every other week. This was someone he trusted, someone whose words he valued. Someone he honestly believed could help. He sighed but nodded to show that he was still listening.

“I think Sam’s right,” you said. “It might not be your responsibility to fix everything that went wrong but trying could help. It could give you that closure that you keep chasing after. You need to let go, Bucky. You need to forgive yourself. Maybe you just need the people who are hurting to forgive you first. Then you can learn how to do the same.”

Bucky's expression was unreadable. So many emotions flashed across his eyes you found it difficult to pinpoint just one.

“How do I start?” he asked quietly. It just seemed impossible. There were so many people he'd hurt, so many people he'd wronged. He'd left children as orphans, wives as widows and parents childless. How could he possibly start trying to fix or make all those people feel in any way better?

You smiled softly at his question. “Small. One at a time,” you said simply. “Then just keep putting one in front of the other.”

Bucky considered your words, glancing down at his hands as he thought. Before long, a small smirk pulled at his lips.

“I can't decide who'd make a better therapist. You or Sam,” he joked and you laughed, shaking your head dismissively.

“Well, Sam did council veterans so I think he takes that title.”

“I'd say it's pretty tied,” Bucky said, walking across the kitchen and standing next to you as he washed his glass, drying it off and placing it back on the shelf. The room fell into a comfortable silence.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He said after a moment, his tone sincere and his expression genuine as he looked at you. You nodded, gently placing your hand against his shoulder.

“Don't mention it. You know I'm always here if you need to talk.”

The sound of a football colliding with the wall dangerously close to the window followed by two voice's loudly shouting, 'sorry!' in unison drew a quaint laugh from you both.

“Duty calls.” You grinned, patting Bucky on the back as you passed him. “Team Wilson is missing its goalkeeper.”

Bucky chuckled, watching you go. You crossed the kitchen but his voice stopped you just as your hand reached the doors handle.

“Y/N?”

You turned back around to face him and couldn't help but notice that he seemed a little more apprehensive than he had before.

“Yeah?”

He exhaled slowly, willing himself to tell you what was on his mind.

“I was just thinking things over and you know, I’m leaving today,” he hesitated slightly before glancing up at you. “And I guess I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

Your hand slipped from where it was still holding the brass handle of the door. You tilted your head as your mind fully processed his question. The shock must have been evident in your expression as Bucky rushed to continue.

“I know you're planning on staying here and I get why.” He pulled a tattered red book from his pocket which you immediately recognized as Steve’s. He began absentmindedly turning the pages, running his fingers over the paper. “I want to try and start fixing things, making things right. But truth is I have no idea where to start. I thought that maybe you could help me with that?”

“I thought you wanted your space," you admitted after a moment.

“No.” He shook his head. “That's the last thing I want.”

You thought it over, resting your back against the door. Bucky trusted you, evidently a lot more than you thought he did. Not only was he comfortable enough telling you how he felt and admitting he didn't know what to do next. But he also wanted you with him. It was clear he was holding back, not wanting to overwhelm you by admitting just how badly he wanted you to go with him. But the way he eagerly watched you as he waited patiently for your answer was a dead give away.

You wanted to help Bucky, you wanted to be there for him. If that meant helping him right his wrongs and staying with him during that trying time, at least until Sam got a lead on Karli and the Flag Smashers, then you were more than happy to comply.

“You're sure about this?” you asked and Bucky pushed off the counter and crossed the room, stopping just in front of you.

“Absolutely.” His voice dropped down to a hushed whisper. “Come with me.” His hand gently caught your wrist, his fingers running up your arm. His face was inches from yours now, your breaths mingling. “Please?”

His lips pressed to yours before you could answer and you immediately kissed back. Your hand fell against his shoulder, the other laying gently against the nape of his neck. He groaned quietly against you, his arms finding your waist as he gently guided you backwards till your back met the wall. He pressed into you, his hands roaming up your body and you moaned as he deepened the kiss.

“Yes.” You answered when he pulled away slightly and he smiled against you, relieved. Neither of you said anything else as Bucky sighed and pulled you closer, his thigh slipping between your legs as he pinned you to the wall.

God, he'd wanted to do this for so long. Wanted to kiss you, to feel you against him. He wanted you. Your hand slipped into his hair and you pulled him closer, smirking against him. You'd wanted this just as bad. And you both only had your own stubbornness to blame for taking so damn long. It didn't matter now though. Not as he gently bit down on your lower lip and you slipped your hand under his shirt and felt up his chest. It all felt so natural, so right.

“Ten minutes.”

Both your eyes flew open at the all too familiar voice, Bucky pulling away from you so quickly he only barely avoided falling over a nearby chair.

“I left you two alone to talk for ten minutes,” Sam repeated from where he was standing on the other side of the room, his arms crossed. You tried to subtly smoothen out your clothes whilst Bucky ran his hand through his tangled hair.

“We were,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “We were talking. We...talked.”

Sam nodded, entirely unconvinced, and smirked. He reclined against the counter, showing no sign of leaving anytime soon. A painfully awkward silence settled over the kitchen as Sam continued to shift his knowing stare from you to Bucky.

The humiliation of the entire situation seemed to get to Bucky first as he clasped his hands together after less than a minute.

“You know, what? I'm leaving in a few hours and I've got to pack so I better just go-” Bucky rambled as he shot you a subtle apologetic look before turning to Sam, who was nodding along in faux agreement to his pathetic attempt of an excuse.

Bucky quickly crossed the kitchen, Sam harshly patting him on the back as he passed him and left the room. Leaving just you and Sam alone. You turned to your friend and found that he was still grinning at you with that same mischievous look in his eyes. You felt like a deer in headlights. In an attempt to act as though Sam hadn't just walked in on you and Bucky making out, you tried making normal conversation.

“Sam, there was actually something I wanted to tell you. I know I said I was going to stay for a while but I guess there's been a change of plan. I-”

“I know.” He cut you off and his smile only widened when you looked at him in utter confusion. “You honestly think he would have asked you to go with him if I didn't tell him to get his shit together first?”

Your confusion slowly melted away and was replaced with a look of disbelief. You laughed despite yourself. You should have known Sam had something to do with it. ‘‘How long have you been playing cupid?” you asked jokingly and Sam chuckled.

“He needs you, Y/N. More than he wants to admit,” Sam said, tone now more serious than before. “Things will be fine here, I'll call you as soon as Torres finds us something to work with. But right now, he needs your help before that hole he's stuck in gets too deep for him to climb out of.”

You sighed as the weight of Sam's words set in. He was right, Bucky really did need you. That wasn't a responsibility you could afford to take lightly. Not that you planned to.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said genuinely and Sam smirked as he crossed the room and pulled you into a hug. He could tell you needed it.

“Anytime.” He pulled away and offered you a warning glare. “But I swear, if you two making out the minute I turn my back becomes a regular thing I'm going to kick both your asses.”

“Got it,” you nodded, barely stifling a laugh.

Sam's scowl melted into a smile and he motioned towards the stairs. “Go on, get your things together. You've got a plane to catch in a few hours.”

You smiled and headed upstairs after Bucky. Sam leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and a satisfied smile. Getting you two together had taken more work than he'd thought. But he knew it would be worth it, you both needed each other. Whether you were willing to admit it or not. And Sam was confident that if there was anyone that could help Bucky and offer him that sense of home and peace that he was so desperately craving, it was you.

tag list: @bakerstreethound​ @miraclesoflove​ @doozywoozy​ @kealohilani-tepise

[emilybradshaw]

English Rose - A Bradley Bradshaw Story

Chapter 9

Hey my lovelies, sorry it's been a while! I've been away and everything has been hectic! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

TW: Angst, a creepy rapey perv, incredibly protective Bradley and Dagger Squad.

Taglist: @bratshaws

Emily had about half an hour to pull herself together before she was hopping on the back of Maverick’s motorbike to join Penny who had left to set up at The Hard Deck. She’d never been on a motorbike in her life so was clinging onto Pete like there was no tomorrow. They did ultimately arrive at the bar unscathed as Pete offered Emily his hand to help her off.

“You not coming in?” she asked.

“I have a few errands to make first, but I’ll make an appearance later, is Bradley going to be in tonight?”

“He said he was, I think the whole squad are stopping by, according to Hangman anyway”

“Well, I’ll you later, have a good shift” he smiled at her as she walked up the steps into the bar.

She opened the door to the bar and saw Penny taking down all the chairs ready for the night ahead, with it being the weekend it should be busy one and with the Daggers set to make an appearance she had a feeling she would be rushed off her feet.

“Hey, how was your date with Rooster?”

“It was lovely, we just went down the beach and back, talked a bit”

“Did you tell him, you know, about earlier?”

Emily stopped, looking up at Penny and starting to chew on her lip again, “No I didn’t, I don’t think I want to”.

“Well, I’m sure Pete’s already said this to you, but he will understand and he will support you, it’s the type of person he is”

“Yeah I know, I just don’t feel ready yet”

“Well, until you feel that way, I’m here and so is Pete and you can come to us about anything if you need it, alright?”

Emily just nodded, moving to start taking down chairs from the other side of the bar, thinking about what Penny had just said, she was very lucky to be where she was, with these people. She couldn’t work out how she had got so lucky, but she really wasn’t complaining. As soon as she’d done the chairs she began to take some glasses down and started to stack them underneath the bar, in easy reach for the impending rush they would be facing very soon.

“I’m just gonna take these bottles out to the bin Em, can you get the cash from the storeroom please”

“Yeah sure thing!”

When Emily returned carrying the cash from the till Penny was still outside as she could hear the bottles smashing against the sides of the bin, but there was another person that had appeared in the bar, he was propped up against the side of the bar, smirking to the girl as she approached with the drawer for the till.

“I’ll be with you in just a minute”

“Sure thing, Sugar. That’s a lovely accent you’ve got”

“Everyone says that, I’m from England” she laughed at the man, slotting the drawer into the till and turning to face him. He was middle aged, maybe mid-fifties, quite large with a beer belly, a little too old to be referring to her as ‘Sugar’ she thought. “So, what can I get you?”

“I’ll take a bottle of beer, and whatever you’re having” he chuckled, his eyes scanning her up and down as he spoke, she so wished she had popped her longer top on this evening rather than the red cami she had found tucked in the side of her suitcase.

“That’s kind of you, but I don’t drink” she lied.

“Well, that’s a shame, Sugar. Will have to think of another way to repay you”, he handed over a five dollar bill, telling her to keep the change as he did so. As she turned to the till again she heard Penny heading back into the bar and behind the counter, shuffling past Emily as she did so, gently moving her by the waist slightly so she could get to the cupboard beneath the till. The man at the bar looking at Penny but not daring to speak to the older woman, probably for fear of being thrown out if he said the wrong thing.

Emily went about setting up the rest of the bar for the evening ahead as the man from earlier kept his position at the bar, watching the young girl’s every move. She knew this and was becoming quite uncomfortable with it. As she walked past her, Penny grabbed Emily softly by the wrist, “you know, if he’s making you feel uncomfortable, I can ask him to leave”.

“No, it’s okay, I can handle it. He hasn’t actually done anything wrong, it’s just a vibe I’m getting” she smiled up at her boss, a flicker of worry still evident in her eyes.

“Well, the moment it becomes more than just a vibe, he’s out” Penny replied, rather forcefully.

Emily returned to the bar and was immediately asked for another drink by the man, “I’m Frank by the way” he added as she passed him another beer. She simply nodded, not replying with her name, “what, don’t I get to hear your name you pretty little thing”

“It’s Emily” she replied shortly, “now is there anything else I can get you?” The man shook his head as she once again turned to the other side of the bar and began to clean it up and get ready. She sighed, this would be long shift with Mr Creep lurching over her, she did hope Bradley would make an appearance, that would make it pass faster.

About ten minutes later Frank piped up again, “I’ll have another” he said, waving the empty beer bottle around his head, Emily without words obliged and handed another bottle to the man, taking payment in a silent fashion. It was only now that the bar had started to fill up, small groups trickling in, but no daggers to be seen yet. Unfortunately.

After another half hour the bar was bustling, and yet again Frank needed another beer. “Come on Sugar, what can I get you?” he asked for about the millionth time, clearly not knowing when to take no for an answer.

“I’m good, honestly”, she smiled, trying her best to be polite as she slid the change across the bar top for him. As she began to retract her hand to move onto the next customer he grabbed her wrist, not nearly as softly as Penny had earlier, “hey, what the fuck. Get off me” she shouted at him, clearly startled by the turn of events. Frank did not let go, he simply dug his nails in deeper, earning a hiss from the girl he had captured. Before she had the chance to say anything else a voice popped up from behind Frank.

“I suggest you take your hands off my girl before I do something I might regret.” Bradley. He had showed up at precisely the right time, Emily smiled, still in the grip of the man, but genuinely relieved to see her boyfriend and his Squadron behind him. “Now, I’m gonna count to three and by the time I finish, I expect you to be out of that door… one…two”, that was all Frank needed, he abruptly let Emily loose and quickly shuffled off from the bar to the door, followed by Payback and Fanboy to make sure he actually left.

“Are you alright?” Bradley’s demeanour completely changing as he looked to his girlfriend.

“Yeah, I am now you’re here. Thank you”, leaning over the bar to kiss her boyfriend, met with an ‘ew’ from Hangman and the sound of a slap from Phoenix shortly after, she pulled away chuckling and turned to get the whole squad beers. “On the house, on account of being my Knights in Shining Armour… obviously Phoe, you’re included in that”.

“Yes Ma’am” Phoenix quipped, patting the girl on the shoulder as the squad walked over to the pool table and assumed their usual positions.

“I’m fine Bradley, honestly. I need to get on though, look at how many people are here!”

“As long as you’re sure, I’m over there if you need me. And Emily, I’ll drive you home tonight”

She smiled at him, giving him another quick peck on the lips before she carried on serving customers. It was about an hour before the rush died off and Emily turned round to see the biggest mountain of empty bottles she thinks she had ever seen in the box.

“Hey, Penny, I’m just gonna take these bottles out there, we’re overflowing down here”

“Good idea!”

Emily stepped out from behind the bar, carrying the large box with her, watched every step of the way by Hangman, while Rooster was currently engaged in a very serious game of pool with Bob, who was surprisingly good at the game. She reached the bottle bin outside but had forgotten it was locked, fumbling with her keys in the jeans she placed the box of bottles on the ground to attempt to manoeuvre her jeans to find the key in the pocket, she was sure the pockets weren’t this deep earlier she thought. As she found the key she went to turn it in the lock and as she did she felt two hands around her waist, she smiled, “Brad, I’m working”, she turned around to face the pilot, except it wasn’t him. Instead of her boyfriend, she was met with the face of Frank.

Before she had time to scream he clamped a hand over her mouth and pinned her against the wooden wall to the bins. As he spoke she could smell alcohol on his breath. It was evident he had gone to the Liquor Store to get something stronger. “Now, Sugar. Let me repay you for earlier” he smirked. Emily didn’t think, she kneed the man with such force he doubled over, clutching his crotch and howling in pain. She made a break for it back to the bar door but was yanked back by her hair and slammed into the ground, being pinned behind a vehicle so no one could see, “you’re not getting away from me now Sugar, you’ll enjoy this, I promise”.

Tears began to form in her eyes as she fought but made no progress, she shouted and shouted but there was no one outside and the music and chatter from inside the bar drowned out her screams. As he moved his hands to her jeans the weight of his body was suddenly removed from her.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” the voice bellowed, slamming Frank into the car, beside her Phoenix appeared, quickly hooking her arms underneath the girl’s shoulders and helping her to stand up. Emily looked round and saw Hangman practically feral, pinning Frank to the car.

“I SHOULD KILL YOU, I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF SHIT” he screamed at him, Emily still in Phoenix’s grasp as Fanboy too made his way out of the bar to look for his two friends who had left the bar without word minutes earlier. Presented with the scene in front of him, and Phoenix holding you as you full on sobbed, the reality of the situation sinking in, he muttered three words, “I’ll get Rooster”. Before heading back into the bar to find the aviator. If Hangman was feral, what would Bradley be like?

About twenty seconds later the doors to the bar flew open and Bradley, quickly flanked by Fanboy, Coyote, Bob and Payback and shortly after followed by Penny walked out to the scene of sheer carnage in front of them.

Rooster scanned the scene, he didn’t know what was going on, Fanboy had just grabbed him and told him to come outside, he looked to Hangman who had the man who had grabbed Emily earlier pinned to car, screaming obscenities at him as he did so, then looked to his left where Phoenix had his girlfriend in a hug.

“What the fuck has happened?” he demanded.

Hangman, as calmly as he could began to relay the information. “I saw Emily leaving the bar with the bottles like normal, but she was a long time so me and Phoenix came out to check on her to make sure she was okay, especially with what had happened earlier. I come outside, I hear her screaming, and I mean screaming. Then I look behind this car and this piece of absolute shit is on top of her trying to pull her jeans down.”

Bradley takes a moment to process what he has just heard, his eyes going between Hangman and his girlfriend, he then tries to launch himself at the man, but is held back by Coyote.

“She needs you, Rooster. Let us deal with him” Coyote said to his friend as he turned him in Emily’s direction and let him go. Bradley wasted no time in scooping you into his arms, quickly joined at your side by Penny, as the rest of the Daggers took Frank away to teach him a lesson.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe, I promise”, he spoke softly, rubbing circles in your hair and Penny rubbed them in your back. “He’ll never come near you again, I promise”.

“Take her home Bradley” Penny whispered, “stay with her too”

“I wasn’t going to leave her on her own Pen, not after this” he said as he began to guide his girlfriend to the bronco, “Come on darlin, let’s get you home, yeah?”

Emily muffled a yes from her position inside Bradley’s chest, clutching onto him for dear life, not wanting to let go.

“I’ve got you baby, I’ve always got you” Bradley whispered into her hair as he helped her into his car, shutting the door and climbing in the driver’s seat.

“Let’s get out of here.”

[luxwritesfanfic]

On Tap

Sherlock insists that it would work better with the reader on top and after the night they’ve had, there’s no point in arguing. Or, the one where reader plays superhero for poor Greg and her beloved detective. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t even taken your shoes off when your phone started ringing in your purse. Sighing, you dug around for it with one hand and reached for the lightswitch with the other. Work had been incredibly stressful since you were working short during flu season and everyone in London had been feeling under the weather apparently. You had told your coworkers that if they really needed you that you would come back even though you had put a solid 16 hours in. Sherlock and John had gone out for John’s bachelor party so you didn’t mind working late, and Bucky was visiting his brother in the States so all your time was truly yours. You had thought about soaking in the bath or catching up on that show you always missed, but all of those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the ringing persisted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You tried not to sound like you’d rather chew on glass than clock one more minute into the hospital but you weren’t sure you were so convincing.

“Come get him. Please, for the love of God, come get him.” At hearing Greg’s voice, you were both relieved yet confused. Sherlock must’ve invited him last minute to celebrate with them, you didn’t remember him saying that he was coming along.

“Oh, I didn’t know you went out with the boys! Where are you guys?” It was nice to know they were all having a good time. You liked Greg and thought he was a really good friend for Sherlock and John. You had plopped down on the couch and had started pulling one of your shoes off when he said, “No, I didn’t go with them. They were brought to me. Someone called the cops on them and now I’ve got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum arguing about the solar system and taking turns puking in my waste bin. Please, I beg of you, come get him. Matter of fact, I can bring him home. If that makes the process quicker--- I mean easier.” You heard Sherlock trying to take Greg’s phone in the background, asking to talk to you and then quickly after arguing with John once more if it was really that important he knew they orbited the sun. Greg sounded just as exhausted as you felt and you could only imagine how annoyed he was by the drunk detective that he was already annoyed with most of the time sober.

“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come get him. I’m actually at my flat though, so if you could meet me at his place that would be awesome. I’d just need a few minutes to finish up here...” You mourned the hot bath you were never going to get to take and worked on shoving the shoe you just took off back on, “did you call Mary for John?”

“Yes, she’ll be over soon. As soon as she gets here, I’ll bring Sherlock. You’re doing the Lord’s work, thank you.” With that, he hung up and you went to your room to pack an overnight bag. You were exhausted and if you had to go all the way to Sherlock’s, it would be easier for you to crash on the couch than to try to come back home late.

By the time you got to Sherlock’s, you were dragging your feet up the stairs and you could barely keep your eyes open. You had received a text from Mary when she picked John up saying “good luck” and you wished you knew what you were walking into. You had never seen Sherlock drunk, or heard any stories of him being drunk, but you were sure he was even more eccentric than he was sober. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be jumping with joy at the experience to see Sherlock so out of character. 

You went into Sherlock’s room and laid out some pajamas for him and went ahead and put a water bottle and some Advil on his nightstand because you were sure he would need it. After doing that, you changed into something more comfortable too and rummaged through his fridge to see if there was anything to eat. Thumbs, unsalted butter, and milk that shouldn’t look like blue cheese was what was on the menu and you had decided sleep for dinner sounded much more appetizing. You’d go shopping for him tomorrow.

Greg had texted that he was outside but Sherlock didn’t have his key so you made your way down the steps to meet them. Upon opening the door, Sherlock looked up at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. He stumbled towards you and held you at arms length with a look of wonder on his face. “Finally! Y/N, I was thinking I’d die from being surrounded by total stupidity, and here you are. Ever the shining light and the beacon of hope.”

You felt the heat from his stare and turned to Greg to try and keep your composure under all his attention. “Uh.. I— thank you. For bringing him home.”

Still staring at Sherlock and shocked by his outburst, Greg met your eyes with a knowing smile. “It’s no trouble. He’s your problem now. Good luck, my dear.” He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a very drunk Sherlock Holmes and a dozen steps to climb.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning towards the door, “do you think you can get up the stairs? Or do you want me to help you?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started until his eyes widened like he forgot who he had been talking to. It had only been a second but he saw the look that flashed across your face. You hated when he made you feel dumb because you always tried so hard to keep up with him, and he knew that. You didn’t have a chance to react before he quickly interrupted. His previous statement was immediately followed by, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please help me.”

You just nodded, unsure of what made him have such a quick change of heart but you were happy he did. You hated him thinking you were dumb. In comparison to him, maybe, but you were intelligent in your own right and you did a better job of keeping up with him than most. He threw his arm around your shoulders to steady himself and allowed you to lead him carefully up the stairs. He started telling you about his night and it honestly sounded like he had a great time, and so did John. You were really happy that it all worked out even if they did end up with Greg at the end of it all.

As soon as the back of Sherlock’s legs hit his chair, he was down in a clean swoop and you took the opportunity to start untying his shoes. He seemed like he was lost in thought and was quiet for a few moments but you could tell from the way he was swaying that he was too far gone to sober up before the morning.

“I already put your clothes out for you and I’ll help you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’ll love me for that in the morning.” You smiled at him as you pulled off his loafers and moved to stand up so that you could figure out how you were going to get him out of his chair.

“Will I, though? Will I tomorrow once I’m in my right mind?” He asked, and while he didn’t say it in an ignorant tone, it sounded like Sherlock, and that was close enough.

You looked at him hoping he’d say something else. But he didn’t, and he looked back at you with a look of confusion as if he was really expecting you to answer that. It seemed like just last week he was in your bed trying to convince you that he didn’t have eyes for anyone besides you and now he’s reminding you that he’s not even sure of that. Sherlock could have you at the top of the poll and then have you kissing the ground in the same hour if he tried.

“It’s just a saying. I didn’t really mean...you know, let’s— let’s just get you to bed. It’s late and you have a date with a hangover in the morning.” You could tell he was on the verge of passing out which was good in the way of no more awkward conversations but horrible in that you’d never get him into bed as dead weight. So you pushed things along and eventually got him in bed before he was out like a light.

Draping the blanket over him, you watched as his eyes fluttered behind his lids and how his lips twitched as fell into a deeper sleep and you were sure then that you would never love anyone more. You would never understand how he didn’t realize how beautiful he made the ordinary and how easily he made everything extraordinary. Afraid that you’d turn to stone if you spent any more time staring at him, you turned off his light and made your way to the living room where the the couch had never looked more inviting. It didn’t take you long to get settled in and asleep seeing as the TV in the background ended up being the perfect thing to mask Sherlock’s drunk snores and you had never been more tired in your life.

—

“I thought you were staying over?”

It had only been a few hours since you  had put Sherlock to bed when he found himself looking over you on the couch, wrapped up in his bedsheet.

“M’right here.” You murmured into the pillow, body still turned away from Sherlock on the couch. He was probably still drunk and you were hoping if you laid still enough he’d wander back to bed.

He didn’t respond to you, instead he continued to stand and stare with his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You had drifted back off only to be nudged awake once more.

“I won’t fit like that.” He gestured with the hand not holding the sheet to the couch, sounding exasperated like he had been explaining this to you all night. “It’ll only work if you’re on top, so get up so I can lie down first.”

You didn’t process what he said really, you just knew that if he was being persistent and you didn’t do as he asked he’d never let you go back to bed. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light and swung your legs off the couch, standing on stiff bones. Sherlock immediately made to get comfortable on the couch while you stood dazed and confused and he cleared his throat expectantly when he had finally got settled. He was on his back with one arm holding the sheet up between himself and the back of the couch allowing room for you to climb over and snuggle right into him.

All you could do was blink and hold his stare as he waited expectantly, still holding the sheet for you. You didn’t think he was asking you to lay with him, especially with how close you’d two be. Sure, you shared your bed before, but there was always enough room for you both to have your own space. You could tell he was getting embarrassed by your reaction, or lack there of.

“I didn’t think this would be rocket science, even for someone like you.” His nervousness was showing as he yanked his arm back down and curled into to himself like a child. You jumped into action so you wouldn’t upset him any more and shook his shoulder as you whined, partially from exhaustion and from missing the chance to sleep next to him.

“I’m tired, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what you were asking. Come on, open up. Let me in.” You continued to shake at his shoulder until he looked back at you. He looked wrecked from drinking all night and you knew this bout of sobriety wouldn’t be as easy on him in the morning but you were sure he looked holy.

Sherlock reluctantly brought his arm up again and you wasted no time sliding under the sheet and tucking yourself under the crook of his arm. He smelled like beer and mouthwash and Sherlock and you thought you were going to go into cardiac arrest when he brought his arm back down on you, subsequently pinning you down to him. It was definitely a tight fit especially since the couch barely fit Sherlock but you had decided that if you had the opportunity to sleep with him like this every night that you would. Back pain be damned.

The steadiness of his heartbeat was already working you back to sleep. Sighing content, you let your body fully relax and sink further into him.

“You never answered my question.” He shifted next to you and kept you close to him all the same, his head leaning to rest on yours.

“Hmm?” You made an incoherent sound, your breath evening out as you fell asleep.

“My question,” he whispered more so to himself as he worked it out in his head. The feelings he found himself harboring for you were ones he had never felt before. He thought  so highly of you in a way he couldn’t understand even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. You were patient with him when he got on your last nerve and was amazed by him when other people would tell him to piss off. You were always kind and warm and made him feel human even after he spent so long separating himself from his feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at anyone else the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So yes, he thought. Yes, he would love you in the morning. He’d love you when you’re angry with him for putting himself at risk during a case and he’d love you when you were overly tired and petulant after he made you stay up all night to keep him company in the lab. He loved that you valued him regardless of what he offered you, and that you always showed him that even if he never reciprocated it. You were never embarrassed by him, you always tried to learn about what he was interested in, and you never doubted him even when he was wrong.

Girlfriends weren’t naturally his area... but he didn’t think he would mind if it was you. He liked being close to you and physical touch wasn’t something he had sought out often before. He found that he chased the opportunity to be near you at all times. He thought you looked lovely in scrubs and a lab coat and even lovelier in your everyday wear, even if you considered it plain. He had begun to notice the way other people stared at you when you walked by and it left him with the most unsettling feeling. But then you’d smile at him and despite himself he’d smile right back and he wondered if anything in the world mattered to you besides him. Because in those moments, nothing mattered to him besides you.

Sherlock woke up alone again the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had. Light was shining through the curtains and he cursed the sun for rising another day as he covered his eyes and groaned. Peaking through his fingers, he saw that the Advil and water had been moved to the coffee table for him and when he reached out for it he noticed the note on the table. He sat up with one hand gingerly holding his head as he read it.

“Got called into work to help the girls. John and Mary are coming over for lunch, so text me what you want me to bring home. We can’t serve our best friends buttered thumbs for lunch. I’ll see you soon!

  -Y/N xx”

He held the note in his hand, contemplating what his next move would be. You were interested in him, that he knew for sure. He’d contemplated casually mentioning to everyone that you were dating, but he technically hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend and you two had never talked about any mutual feelings. Maybe he’d kiss you when walking you to your taxi, but he knew he’d make you stay with him instead of letting you go home. Possibly tonight when you were laying in his bed he’d tell you it had to be you, it could only ever be you.

Leaning back against the couch, he rubbed at his eyes and decided he’d call John over early and he’d help him sort it out. John always helped him. Standing up was harder than it looked apparently, as Sherlock wobbled to the side and fought the urge to puke. Perhaps he should shower first, surely you wouldn’t say yes to being his if he didn’t look his best.

He remembered how he looked and acted last night and winced. On second thought, maybe you would. You had already given yourself to him for better or for worse and soon enough, he smiled, he would give you himself in return.

[asset35-maya]

Confession prompt from this list

“Just listen, real closely, alright. And stop laughing.”

It’s late.

It’s a fancy neighbourhood. And Gavin doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing there.

The building is taller than any he’s ever visited, let alone lived in. There’s exotic plants in the lobby and jazz music playing in the elevator.

Trust the plastic prick to manage his finances this well.

Gavin gets to the top floor. He pauses to take in the abstract art on the walls.

They can afford to put Manfred paintings in the hallway? Holy shit. I should turn around and go home right now.

He comes to a stop in front of a double-door. The only one on the floor.

Penthouse? Damn, Tincan…

He starts to reach for the door bell, but then pulls back.

This is crazy. What am I doing?

He spends a few minutes floundering and is just about to walk shamefully back to the elevator when a crashing sound resounds from within the apartment.

“Goddamnit!”

Gavin smiles to himself. His clumsiness and colourful language have fully rubbed off on his partner. Cyberlife’s deep learning algorithms were no match for the company of Gavin Reed.

“Janice, you come back here right now!”

Gavin frowns. He’s heard plenty about the feisty cat but never understood why she had a name befitting an old office secretary. He didn’t understand a lot of things about his partner… but he supposed that was part of the appeal.

Another crash. A loud feline yowl. An exasperated groan.

Is he trying to bathe or skin his cat?

Gavin waits it out as the meows and grunts and crashes continue.

He feels a bit like a creep, eavesdropping on his partner through the door, but he honestly doesn’t know what to do next. He’d worked himself up after a few whisky shots with Hank… the old man convinced him to finally go do the deed… and then all his confidence drained as soon as the autonomous taxi rolled up outside the glittering residential complex. His old insecurities came back in full force.

People like me don’t belong within a mile of this postcode…

What was I thinking?

People like me don’t belong within a mile of people like Nines.

The door suddenly swings open violently.

“Jenson, if it’s about the fucking noise again, I swear to RA9! You are two floors down! How the fuck can you-”

Nines breaks off as he registers the identity of the man lurking outside his door. His blue eyes widen in surprise. Gavin stares back in equal surprise.

The android standing slack-jawed in his doorway looks nothing like the stoic, snooty RK900 that Gavin has come to know and love.

His dark hair hangs loose around his face… he’s bare-legged, actually in his boxers… and there’s a long slit ripped into his thin white t-shirt. Gavin is also a cat-owner. He knows the look. But never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined it on Nines.

“Um… hi …”

“Gavin! What are you doing here?”

“I… was in the neighbourhood.”

Nines nods slowly and Gavin kicks himself mentally.

“Just wanted to say hi. And now I have. Bye.”

Cheeks burning, he’s halfway through turning on his heel, when Nines reaches for his arm.

“Hey wait!”

And before either can say anything else, there’s a flash of black fur shooting though the crack in the door.

“Fuck, Janice!”

Gavin drops to his knees instinctively and deftly traps the rambunctious little animal. He stands up with a grimace.

“You sure she’s a cat? Acts and smells like a dog.”

Nines rolls his eyes and takes his pet back.

“She got stuck on top of my kitchen cabinet and fell in the compost box when I tried to get her down.”

“Man, I keep telling you to buy her a treehouse. She likes exploring.”

“It’ll ruin my whole aesthetic.”

“Can’t be worse than the respect Janice shows your decor today. Get one. I’m telling you. Asshole stopped shredding my curtains immediately when he got his.”

Nines shrugs noncommittally but his LED cycles yellow in a manner that tells Gavin he’s ordering a kitty treehouse immediately.

Janice struggles in Nines’ grasp, clawing at his ruined shirt. He glances down and tosses her back into the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him. He looks back at Gavin, arms folded over his chest.

“As much as I need it, I’m guessing you didn’t come here to give me pet advice in the middle of the night.”

“No…”

“Then what’s up, Gavin?”

He stares at his feet. The alcohol haze that brought him to Nines’ doorstep is clearing. Under the glow of the crystal chandelier hanging above them, Gavin feels very stupid.

“I… it’s nothing. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Gavin, my scans are telling me all kinds of things right now… but I’d rather you tell me yourself.”

“What?”

“Yeah sorry, I forgot to disable my facial analysis… emotion recognition… and um… pheromone detectors…”

There’s a knowing look on Nines’ face and Gavin feels so damn small.

Guess I shouldn’t bother taking the elevator down. I’ll just jump.

“Tell me, Gavin. Before Janice chews through all the cushions on my couch.”

“I… Nines...”

“Gavin.”

There’s silence, even from within the apartment. Nines’ eyes briefly dart to the door, scanning right through it to check on Janice no doubt, and flit back to Gavin. A teasing smile is playing on the corner of his lips.

The whole game is up. He already knows. Just tell him.

Gavin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Should I go wash the compost off my cat first… or are you planning on telling me sometime tonight?”

His eyes fly open to see Nines stifle a giggle.

What a cocky prick!

Several moments pass with Nines’ mirth steadily increasing and Gavin’s shyness transforming into annoyance.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“Why?”

“Goddamnit Nines.”

“You’ve never visited me before. I have no idea why you’re here. The least you could do is give me an explanation for showing up unannounced and interrupting my night.”

“Alright, you prick. Just listen, okay. Just listen, real closely, alright. And stop laughing.”

Nines’ hand actually comes up to cup his mouth as his frame shakes with silent laughter.

“You got a lot of attitude for someone getting their ass kicked by a tiny kitten.”

Nines doubles over and holds up a finger, actual tears streaming down his face.

“Oh my god. You’re such an idiot. I can’t believe I was worried about coming here. Shut up for a second. Shut up.”

Nines props himself up against his door. His chest is heaving and he looks ready to burst into another fit of giggles, but he manages to hold it in valiantly.

Gavin clears his throat. He’s come all the way and he’s going to say his piece, fears and insecurities and everything else be damned.

Just as he opens his mouth… Nines pushes himself off the door and reaches for his face. Then suddenly, somehow, he’s being kissed.

Plush lips cover his own, and his eyelids flutter shut as Nines pulls him in. By the time they part for air, both are panting and intertwined in the entranceway.

Nines bumps his nose against Gavin’s.

“So did I guess right? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

Their eyes lock for a moment and laughter threatens to bubble up once more. Lips trembling, they both manage to quell it. Foreheads touch and each man’s gaze dips back down to the other’s mouth.

They start to lean back in… and then there’s a spectacular shatter of glass from the other side of the door… an accompanying screech… and absolutely no chance of escaping the hilarity that bursts forth once more. 

[comfortwriting]

Tied To Me - F.W

Masterlist, Writing Prompt Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Taglist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader 

Prompt 102: Your cum flowed down his length, your insides starting to feel raw and sore from his cock pounding inside of you, you were feeling ravaged… and you were loving it.

Prompt 104: “Oh would you look at that” he laughed lightly “I can see my cock poke through your delicate stomach.”

Prompt 105: His warm sperm shot inside of your mouth, you swallowed it down, feeling it travel down your throat, filling you up.

Prompt 106: “Be careful” he warned you, fucking you faster “you know how bad I want to knock you up.”

About/Requested:  Fred and Y/N go out for a meal, Fred bumps into some investors who helped him out with his shop a few months back - the investors flirt with you and tell Fred you’re out of his league, when you get home - you’re in for the night of your life.

Warnings: 18+, smut, mention of food and eating, dirty talk/vulgar language, swearing, breeding kink, unprotected sex, belly bulging, oral (male receiving). 

"I can't believe I have never been here before, I can't believe I can actually afford this now!" Fred smiled widely, pride sparkling in his eyes.

He held your hand over the table in the warm and dimly lit muggle restaurant that played classical music during your stay. You smiled back at him and took a sip from your glass, swallowing the non-alcoholic cocktail.

"I'm so proud of you, Freddie." you stared into his prideful eyes and blushed as the waiter came over to take your orders, collecting your menus and walking off to communicate with the chefs.

"I couldn't have done it without you, love." Fred smiled, tracing circles into your palm "I'm really looking forward to our future, Y/N."

Your fancy, well presented, and mouth-watering dishes arrived, the two of you feeling slightly out of place surrounded by Rich families with perfect table etiquette and high class, a women sat across the room, playing with her pearl necklaces that rested upon her upper chest whilst her partner poured wine into his glass, the bottle costing more money than you had earned this month.

You and Fred ate your meals, discussing future plans, the taste of the food and how treats like these were more meaningful - although Fred insisted that you deserved more experiences like these and that he would make sure you experienced them more often now that his shop had become a huge success.

Drinking the last of your non-alcoholic cocktail, savouring the gorgeous taste of the raspberries, Fred asked for the bill which arrived just as fast as your drinks, he went bright red in the face realising he didn't completely understand muggle currency.

"Uh.." Fred couldn't look you in the eye, his embarrassment spreading across the room as other guests turned around to stare at him "Just give me one second."

Two tall men in suits were in the corner of the restaurant near the entrance door, talking to one another and pointing at your boyfriend when they spotted the back of his head.

"Fred-"

The two men walked through the restaurant, getting closer and closer to your table.

"I'm trying my best, Y/N," Fred stressed, staring at the change and pound notes in his wallet.

"Freddie, turn around!" You whispered, slightly worried and concerned for Fred's safety, the men looking rather intimidating in their suits, their hair slicked back with gel.

The taller man tapped on Fred's shoulder and spoke out in surprise, sounding rather surprised "Mr Weasley?!"

Fred turned around and burst into a cheeky grin, getting out of his seat and shaking their hands, getting stuck into an immediate conversation, you sat back in your chair and watched, slowly taking Fred's wallet, counting out the muggle money for him that he needed to hand to the waiter who stood behind the bar, cleaning glasses and speaking to other members of staff.

"Fancy seeing you here in a place like this!" the shorter man spoke out.

The taller man leant to the side, peering over at you whilst you counted the notes and getting the exact change of coins into the palm of your hand.

"Who is this stunning young woman?" he asked, walking over to you.

You stared up at the man who stared at you, not even two metres away from you.

"This is my girlfriend, Y/N." Fred smiled shyly, the shorter man next to him telling him how beautiful you are and how good you look tonight in your short and black, silk dress and red high heels that matched your lipstick.

"I'm Evan" The taller man outstretched his hand "It's a pleasure to meet you."

You went to grasp his hand to shake, Evan kissing you on the hand, instantly making Fred tick inside. The shorter bloke walked over and greeted you in the same way "and I'm Peter." he smiled, also kissing your hand.

Evan looked down at the notes and coins in your free hand, his mouth almost dropping to the floor "Oh Fred, you aren't making your girlfriend pay are you?"

Fred opened his mouth to speak but got cut off by his friend "It's on me, darling" he grinned pulling out a stack of notes, calling the waiter over "I'm paying for this lovely young ladies meal tonight, and her boyfriends."

The waiter accepted the cash and handed you and Fred tiny little mints for you to chew on as you left, Evan and Peter continuing to compliment you and stress how much you were out of Fred's league.

"Bloody hell! How did he manage to land you?"

"You've been dating for how long and he's not put a ring on your finger?"

"If you were my wife you'd be swept off your feet with children to look after!"

Fred wanted to rip their heads off, swing for them, demand that they clear off and never speak to either of you again - but no matter how infuriated and jealous he felt, he couldn't bring himself to do it; after all, Evan and Peter were the ones who invested in his business, to begin with.

Fred cleared his throat "I think it's time we were off, sweetheart" he pointed to the door with his thumb "got an early day tomorrow."

You nodded and put on your coat, pushing your chair in, Evan and Peter pulling you in for a hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek, encouraging you and Fred to meet them for a drink in Diagon Alley when you were available.

"Thank you again, Evan, for paying-"

"Don't mention it, Y/N! My treat!" he smiled, waving at you and your boyfriend.

"My Treat"

This pissed Fred off big time, this was supposed to be his night, treating you - not his investor swooping in and making him look like a right fool for not understanding muggle currency.

Fred grabbed hold of your hand and stormed out of the restaurant, both of you apparating home, the spinning and speed making you feel queasy and rather dizzy as you landed in your living room, falling on your sofa, the spinning slowing down and the three Fred's blending back into the one you loved.

Fred shook his head, an annoyed expression plastered across his face, he didn’t say a word and walked into the bathroom, getting himself ready for bed - Evan and Peter’s voices echoing in his mind, repeating everything they said.

“You’re too bloody good for him!”

“You’d be silly to stick around any longer without a ring on your finger.”

“I bet you’ll make a brilliant mother!”

“You’re punching, Fred, how did you manage to land her?”

“If I were you I’d propose already - before someone else snatches her.”

You walked into the large bathroom quietly, coming up behind Fred, wrapping your arms around him, resting your face against his back.

“Please talk to me,” you said softly “I don’t like it when you get in a mood and ignore me.”

Fred grumbled and unbuttoned his shirt, you pulled away and stood by his side, pulling on his arm.

“Please, Fred.”

Fred sighed and turned to look at you, shrugging off his shirt down his arms, catching it in one hand and placing it over the edge of the bath.

“I’m embarrassed, Y/N, I’m irritated, I’m pissed off.”

You nodded and stared at Fred’s chest, your eyes taking in every inch of his beautiful skin and perfect body shape.

“You shouldn’t be, Muggle money isn’t the easiest to work out - and Evan helped out anyway which was really sweet-”

“If you like him that much you should’ve gone home with him instead of me then.” He snapped, pulling his arm out of your hand and walking out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

You sighed and followed him, hearing the clunk of his belt hitting the floor and the zipper on his trousers being pulled down.

“Fred, I don’t understand why you’re in such a grump, you don’t need to be embarrassed, shit happens-”

“I’ve had to listen to two of my investors catch you up all night, hearing them express how much they want you, want to fuck you and get you pregnant, saying that I’m not good enough for you, how am I supposed to feel!?”

You didn’t answer, you didn’t know how to feel, you didn’t know what to think, Fred stared at you and became even more ticked off, he scoffed and pulled off his trousers, throwing them across the room, missing the laundry basket.

“I see how it is” he spoke out “You loved it, didn’t you? You loved another man treating you with his money that he has more of than he knows what to do with.”

You rolled your eyes “Oh don’t be stupid Fred! I’m not with you for your money, you know that!” you argued, pulling off your high heels and storming over to your wardrobe, placing your shoes inside at the bottom.

Fred ignored you, making you just as pissed off as he was, you could feel the tiny devil sitting down on your shoulder, whispering in your ear, encouraging you to tick Fred off on purpose, the angel on your other shoulder begging you not to do it.

But you did it anyway, and Fred couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

“You know what” you spoke up, your attitude popping out a little bit “you’re right, I should have gone home with him instead of you!”

Fred’s eyes widened, he grits his teeth and storms over towards you in his boxers, grabbing you by the waist, forcing you to look at him. You swallowed hard and looked him in the eyes, instantly regretting what you said, but also feeling your crotch flutter slightly as his hot breath beamed down on you.

“Is that what you want?” he glared “another man fucking you?”

Fred’s hand snaked to your back, his fingers gripping on the zip on the back of your dress, studying your face before he tugged it down.

“I never said that-”

“But you were implying it, weren’t you?”

“Freddie-”

Fred knew what he was going to do to you, and you knew it too, you could feel yourself getting wet at the thought and at Fred’s touch - his cock hardening in his boxers, poking out like the top of a tent.

Your dress dropped to the floor, Fred grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into him, as you kicked the dress across from you across the room, his lips smashed against yours, you kissed back passionately, feeling his tongue drag against your lips, you opened your mouth and allowed him to explore you with his tongue.

You reached down and started to caress Fred’s hard cock through his boxers, Fred groaned against your lips and with his free hand, grabbed yours and pushed it under his boxers, encouraging you to wank him off - which made your crotch flutter, even more, your wetness creating a tiny puddle in your knickers.

Taking Fred’s large length in your hand, you pumped his cock gently and softly, the two of you still exploring each other's mouths until Fred became impatient, wanting to feel your lips around his cock already.

He pulled away and looked into your eyes, his full of lust and hunger “get on your knees” he ordered, pulling down his boxers as you gripped the base of his length.

“Go on, suck my cock, love.”

You smirked at him and nodded, licking up and down his shaft teasingly before taking him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock before sucking on it gently, Fred’s moans filling the room, your knickers getting even more soaked.

“Fuck, Y/N, that feels so good.”

You pushed yourself and took more of Fred’s length - almost all of it - into your mouth, the head of his cock sliding down your throat, causing you to gag as his hands held onto your head, holding you in place and trying to push you down, causing you to gag and produce more saliva - you looked up at him with your wide and watery eyes.

“That’s it, choke on my cock that’s sliding down your throat.”

Fred continued to moan out, watching you, staring you down whilst you bobbed your head, sucking on his big cock and pumping it with your hand at the same time, sending your boyfriend close to the edge numerous times before he finally pulled you off him, lifting you from his saliva coated cock by gripping onto your hair with his hand.

You gasped for air, swallowing down the pooled saliva in your mouth, wiping your lips as Fred grabbed you by the waist, kissing you again, tasting himself on your lips as his hand stroked your pussy through your knickers.

“So wet for me, aren’t you?” he smirked, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric, his finger hooking the waistband of your knickers, slowly pulling them down.

“Fred” you breathed “I didn’t mean what I said, you don’t have to prove yourself to me-”

“I don’t care” Fred growled, rubbing your clit with his finger, walking backwards and sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling you with him “sit down and fuck me.”

You climbed on top of Fred, your legs spread, slowly lowering yourself down on his saliva coated cock, helping you sit down as he slid inside of you, his cock piercing into you, his length exploring you deeply, reaching your tummy.

Your legs rested at his sides, you needed a moment to adjust to his size and then you began to slowly buck your hips, riding him, also circling your hips which Fred gripped on to keep you grounded, you gasped out loud and moan feeling his cock brush against your G-Spot.

Your fingers got tangled in Fred’s messy hair, continuing to buck your hips and bounce up and down, your breasts bouncing, you leaned back and moaned out loud, the constant brushing of Fred’s cock against your g-spot was sending you over the edge, getting you closer to orgasm.

“Freddie” you moaned out through panting, your voice high pitched “oh Freddie!”

Fred looked up at you with a smirk on his face, you moaning his name - not Evan’s or Peter’s made him feel really fucking good, he couldn’t get enough of rubbing what he had in other peoples faces - even if he was thinking about it and not fucking you in front of them, or living next door to them and fucking you so hard they had to hear your moans like he wanted, but he could imagine it, and that was the nest best thing.

Fred quickly stood up, holding you so you didn’t fall, your legs now wrapped around him, still inside you, as he turned around and placed you on the bed, your back laying against his soft sheets. Lifting up your legs, Fred placed them over his shoulders, his cock sliding even deeper inside of your, causing your mouth to open and a desperate moan to slip from your lips, Fred biting his lip at the sight of you.

“Oh would you look at that” he laughed lightly “I can see my cock poke through your delicate stomach.”

Looking down you could see the outline of Fred’s length poke through your stomach, you could feel yourself getting excited over him filling you up, your walls tightening around him ever so slightly.

“You’re so deep inside me” you whimpered, watching him start to slam in you, your moans becoming more frequent and louder.

Fred held onto your waist, his eyes bouncing across your body, focusing on your eyes, your lips, your rising and falling chest, your bulging tummy, your clit, your breasts, the sight of him fucking you - he didn’t know which detail to focus on because the whole picture was perfect.

Slamming into your wet pussy deeper and faster, the slamming filling the room with your moans and his groans, you lolled your head back and moaned out, gripping your breasts with one hand, spitting in the other so you could play with your clit, lifting your head back up and locking eye contact with Fred.

Your fingers stroking your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm, feeling Fred’s cock twitch inside of you.

“Be careful” he warned you, fucking you faster “you know how bad I want to knock you up.”

Those very words were enough for you when combined with the fast, deep, and hard thrusting.

Your cum flowed down his length, your insides starting to feel raw and sore from his cock pounding inside of you, you were feeling ravaged… and you were loving it.

“Maybe you should” you teased through more panting, causing Fred to twitch again, your legs couldn’t keep still upon his shoulders, your orgasm expanding and spreading throughout your body “that way you’ll be tied to me forever.”

Fred could feel himself getting closer to the end of the race “Tied to you...” he breathed “fuck!”

As much as he wanted to plant his seed inside of you, he knew he couldn’t, not yet - he needed to put a ring on your finger first, so instead of cumming deep inside your pussy, he reached for the next best thing.

“I’m going to cum!” he panted, quickly pulling out, his hard, red, juice coated, twitching cock gripped in his hand.

You lifted your legs off his shoulders and bent them, propping yourself up on the bed, laying on your tummy, your elbows lifting you up so you could welcome Fred’s length back into your mouth, tasting your own juices.

Your lips wrapped around his cock, you sucked as you did before, bobbing your head up and down with your hand gliding up and down in sync with the rhythm, Fred watched you eagerly and couldn’t hold back.

You pushed his cock deeper in your mouth, so close to swallowing him whole as his head hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m - I’m cumming!”

His warm sperm shot inside of your mouth, you swallowed it down, feeling it travel down your throat, filling you up.

Fred slowly pulled his cock out of your mouth, he stumbled backwards, slightly dizzy and then sat down on the bed slowly, swinging his legs over so he could lie down comfortably in bliss, embracing his orgasm.

You wiped your lips and climbed into Fred’s arms, the two of you lying in silence, catching your breaths and cooling down.

“I’m tied to you, Fred.” you muttered “always have been, always will be, I only want you,” you reassured him.

Fred wrapped his arm around you “I’m tied to you too, my love” he muttered softly, kissing your head.

Tags: @amourtentiaa @xmalfoyweasleyx @horrorxweasley @reeophidian @alwaysnforeverfangirl @freddiemylovelg @sebby-staan @inglourious-imagines @onlyfreds @lucymfer @pandaxnienke 

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he��d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[invisiblerambler]

I would rather chew glass than go to work tomorrow. My ADHD ass cannot sit through 3 meetings tomorrow??? And two where I have to pretend to care??? And a big shot is coming to our staff meeting? No thank you. I'm out of that hell hole in fourish months my ability to give a shit plummets by degrees every single day. Whatever is beyond quiet quitting that's where I am now