#i've been noodling this around my head

[figsbass]

that's life

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[selfspinninglies]

I am sooosooso normal about the death note musical do not ask me about it

[sushirrrry]

TRACED a harry styles x original character one shot word count: 22k (!!!!) cw: m/f intercourse, dirty talk, humiliation kink, talking her through it, marking kink, the slowest burn I've ever written, angst, praise kink,

summary: lily and harry go to a dinner party, harry wants to talk her through it, & harry seemingly loses chess to let her take control.

read part 1 before part 2.

this is one of the longest one shots I've ever written - over 20k WOW - I've also never written a part two so this just solidifies that this was needed & I hope you loooove the continuation of harry and lily <3

enjoy!

_________________

Harry had his feet up on her coffee table like he lived there – that wasn’t a new thing, he had been like that with her since day one.

Lily stirred the simmering pasta sauce and watched him from the corner of her eye—one leg crossed over the other, fingers absently flipping through a book he definitely hadn’t asked to borrow, curls damp from a recent shower before he had left his apartment, leaving little wet patches on the collar of his faded t-shirt. He scrunched his nose, almost in a move to push his glasses up on his face.

“You’re looking very comfortable,” she stated, staring at the sauce as she began lifting the wooden spoon to taste her work. Needed salt, she thought.

Harry looked up, deadpan from the book he had been reading as if he caught only the end of her sentence. But, to Lily’s surprise, Harry always listened to every little word.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“It’s just… you know. You didn’t even knock.” Lily bit her lip; she didn’t want him to feel like it was a bad thing, but she always had never… experienced this kind of relationship before.

Harry not only didn’t knock, he left his jacket on the ground next to his shoes and grabbed himself a can of Diet Coke from her fridge.

She didn’t just love that he was making himself comfortable – she reveled in the way that he truly was just himself around her.

“I brought the wine for dinner,” he said, holding up the bottle beside him so that they could enjoy it with their dinner. “That’s basically knocking.”

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled, which only seemed to encourage him and all of his antics. She knew that he lived off of the energy that she fed him, which only made him want to push further.

“Also,” he continued, placing the book face-down on his chest as he let his head rest on the back of the sofa, “your neighbor already thinks I live here. He asked me to move my car. Called me ‘buddy.’ I didn’t correct him – said, ‘Hey buddy, can’t usually get out in the mornings, mind parking a bit closer on that side?’”

She flushed a little and turned back to the stove, hiding the way her cheeks from him or she knew that he would react to it. Harry had this effect of slipping past defenses without trying, of filling a room without forcing it; of being comfortable in a space she still sometimes tiptoed through.

She poured the pasta into a strainer and hesitated as she thought of her next question. She knew that there was another question on the tip of her tongue, and she wasn’t sure how to entirely bring it up to him.

It was something that she was a bit self-conscious on, considering she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to partake, but she knew that Harry would be all in the moment she asked.

“There’s, um… a thing on Saturday,” she said, nonchalantly, not wanting to make it a big deal.

Behind her, the couch creaked as Harry sat up, setting his book down again.

“A thing,” he echoed, amused. “That sounds incredibly specific, please don’t tell me anything more – I’m overwhelmed with information.”

She rolled her eyes at his wittiness, “It’s just…  it’s friends, a dinner party,” she said quickly. “We do it every few months. Potluck style. It’s – I mean, it’s nothing fancy. You don’t have to come. I just thought maybe—”

He was already walking toward her when she went to pour the noodles back into the pot.

“Lily,” he said, soft but certain; standing next to her now, he looked down at her. The way that this hand caressed the side of her wrist, he bit his lip at the hot touch. “I’d love to come.”

She met his eyes, those maddeningly open, green-flecked eyes that sat behind those glasses, and tried not to let her breath catch.

“I, uh… I get weird. Around a lot of people. You know that – I mean, even friends. It’s just… that’s actually overwhelming to me. And then having to tell them about you,” Her eyes widened at the way it sounded, “Not that I don’t want to introduce you! I do! It’s –“

“I know.” He reached past her to grab two plates, brushing her shoulder just enough to make her heart race. “But I also know you’re not weird, and that you’re just a bit socially aware to a higher degree than most. I live to be the life of the party, ergo, why we work together.”

“That’s because you’re… not normal,” she muttered with a slightly sly tongue.

Harry grinned at her response. “Normal is deeply overrated. You’re charmingly mysterious. I’m outrageously good-looking and have very talented hands in one way or another. We make a balanced pair.”

Lily scoffed, dishing pasta onto both plates, grateful for something to do with her hands.

“Besides,” he added, tone light but sincere, “I would enjoy seeing you in your world. I’ve already conquered the tattoo shop. Your apartment. That bakery you pretend not to like but always take me to.”

“I don’t always—”

“And now,” he said, stealing a forkful of pasta from her plate before she could stop him, “it’s time to infiltrate the friend group. Win hearts. Win stomachs. Probably win you all over again, but that’s a given.”

She looked at him then, really looked—at the ease in his smile, the affection under all the teasing. He wasn’t just saying yes to a dinner party. He was saying yes to her – he was saying yes to being seen with her, which was the most encouraging part of the entire thing.

Once both of them had their plates, Lily making sure that Harry got his own garlic bread, since he always liked to steal bites of hers, they took a seat at the small table that sat in the nook in Lily’s tiny apartment.

Only two seats; practically on top of one another. But, Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way.

A tiny candle flickered between them—not lit for ambience, really, just left over from the power outage two weeks ago, but it cast enough glow to soften the shadows and make everything feel vaguely more intimate than Lily had intended.

She twirled her fork through the pasta, hyper-aware of every clink of metal against ceramic. Harry ate like he always did—unapologetically, making sounds of appreciation like it was the best thing he’d tasted all week.

“You know,” he said between bites, “if I’d known you were capable of this level of culinary magic, I’d have made you cook for me on day one. Now I know why everyone always wants to kiss the chef.”

“You would’ve scared me off on day one if you told me you wanted to kiss me,” Lily muttered, biting at her lip before looking up with large eyes. The large doe-like eyes that drew Harry in so quickly and effortlessly that day in the shop.

He paused, then smiled like he knew exactly how right she was.

“Probably,” he agreed. “But you’d have come back, obviously. I have that effect on people.”

She glanced up at him, cautious as she took a bite of her pasta. “You’re very confident.”

“I’m also very observant,” he said, nudging her plate slightly closer when she paused too long without eating. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Haven’t left yet?”

She blushed and dropped her gaze, taking another small bite. Harry leaned back in his chair, watching her over the rim of his freshly poured wine glass.

“You ever just want to flirt back?” he asked casually, like he just wanted to rile her up.

Lily cleared her throat, eyes going anywhere but up to the man in front of her. She could feel his grin; could feel his cockiness radiating from across the table.

“I-,” she managed after wiping the side of her mouth with her napkin. “I- I don’t know - ”

“Don’t what?” He coaxed, leaning forward a bit on the table; his lopsided grin was just teasing her now. It was such a small table she felt that he was practically in her lap. “Say it.”

She shook her head, lips twitching, but she couldn’t look at him directly. There was something disarming about the way he looked at her—like he saw every flinch, every half-formed thought behind her eyes, and still wanted in.

“I’m not good at that stuff,” she said quietly. “Flirting. Saying the right thing. I always second-guess it. Myself, all the time.”

Harry’s grin softened, just slightly. Enough to let the joking drop into something real.

“That’s the thing, though,” he told her. “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to mean it.” He stopped for a moment, letting the façade drop before he shrugged. “You already have me; you don’t have to work that hard to keep me.”

She hesitated, toying with the edge of her napkin. “What if I don’t know how to mean it the right way? Or you take it the wrong way?”

“You don’t need a script, Lily,” he said gently. “You just need to stop trying to edit yourself so much.”

The silence between them hummed. Not heavy—just charged, like air right before lightning struck down. It felt like they were waiting for the ball to dorp.

She finally looked at him, and when she did, he wasn’t smiling anymore. Just watching her with a quiet, impossible patience.

So she said the first honest thing that came to her mind: “I like when you’re over here,” She tilted her head, finally letting her eyes lay on his, “You fill the space, and it’s nice.”

Harry’s mouth twitched – he couldn’t help how, in her own way, that was one of the nicest things she could have said.

“See?” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re a natural.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, his fork dangling from his fingers as he studied her for a moment. The way that her hair sat on her shoulders, her make-up was soft but in a dewy way. It made her look alive; made her look like she was glowing from the inside out.

“I like when I come over, too,” he said, quieter this time, trying to match her energy even though he could scream it from the rooftops, if he was asked. “Kind of feels like I’m being let into this secret little world of yours. Even if you pretend it’s nothing.”

Lily blinked at him, unsure what to do with the way his voice lowered like that—gentle, teasing, but edged with something honest. She could barely hold eye contact without her pulse jumping out of her chest.

“I don’t pretend it’s nothing,” she said, almost defensively, shaking her head a little bit.

“No?” His eyes softened. “Then what is it? The bit of nonchalance.”

She floundered, not because she didn’t have an answer, but because all the ones she did have felt too vulnerable. Too true. She swallowed and looked down at her plate. They ate with such purpose, letting their meal be an invited guest in their conversations.

“It’s... it just feels safe,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper as she pushed her pasta around on the plate. “You being here. It’s … different than my quiet. I like quiet, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to make a big deal of it, because then maybe it’ll start being a big deal. It just feels new, and I like the energy that you bring.”

Harry was silent for a beat. Then, with a quiet response that made her feel bad for even allowing his glow to dim: “You know I can be quiet, right?”

She let out a soft laugh. “You’re never quiet.”

“Sure I am. When you’re reading. Or cooking. Or when I’m trying not to scare you away by saying dumb things like I really like the way your voice drops when you’re unsure of something.”

Her breath caught.

“I—what?”

“Exactly like that,” he said, tilting his head as if examining her, gentle and warm and utterly infuriating.

Lily’s fingers tightened around her fork, licking the edge of her lip before feeling the heat of her cheeks rising rapidly. “You do this to me on purpose.”

“What, tell you the truth?” he asked. “Yeah, I do. Relationships are based on truth, aren’t they?”

She shook her head, looking away, cheeks burning at that. “You’re too much sometimes.”

“And yet,” he said, reaching for his wine again, “you still invite me over.”

He didn’t say it like a challenge. He said it like a fact. And maybe that was the thing about Harry—he didn’t demand anything from her. He just let her react, unravel, exist. And somehow, that made her want to give him more.

She reached for her own wine, took a long sip, and when she set the glass down, her hand brushed against his on the table. It wasn’t an accident, though, even though she made it seem that way. Harry stilled, just for a second, as if giving her the choice to move away.

She didn’t.

Instead, she stared at their hands, fingers only barely touching, and said, “I don’t really do this.”

He didn’t move. “Do what?”

“This," She gestured between then, "People. Letting them in.”

His thumb ghosted over the edge of her pinky, the smallest touch. “I know.”

Her chest felt like it might cave in as she took in his words, knowing that he meant them. But not in a bad way. Not in the way she used to associate with being seen.

“I’m trying,” she whispered; and she had been.

She had been trying so hard to compartmentalize this feeling – it was so new. Dating, this whole thing. Harry was so forward, so ready to give affection at any given moment. And then there was Lily, so shy, so meek. So unsure of herself at times.

Harry’s voice was steady, warm. “You don’t have to rush it. I’m not going anywhere.” After another moment, he shrugged, “I don’t have to go with you on Saturday, if you feel that’s rushing it.”

She looked up then, answering quicker than she could have imagined herself, “No, I want you there.”

And maybe it was something about the candlelight, or the way he was still watching her like she was worth waiting for—but she leaned forward, slowly, unsure, until he met her halfway. There was hesitance on his end, knowing it was so unlike her to initiate something that could have possibly lead to rejection.

The kiss was soft. Barely there. Not because of hesitation, but because it didn’t need to prove anything. The taste of red wine on his lips, the taste of the creamy tomato sauce on hers.

When she pulled back, she felt like she’d exhaled something she’d been holding in for years.

Harry smiled, lazy and lopsided like he had been completed overwhelmed with affection. “You’re absolutely ruining me, you know that?”

The way that his voice lowered told her everything she needed to know but would be too afraid to admit. He was absolutely wrecked with her. It was a feeling that could not be described, a feeling that was heavily influenced by the pure attraction and cadence that Lily showed him. Every ounce of her was shifting; her ideas, her thoughts, her wants and needs.

All she could think about was him. It felt too good to be true, it always felt that way no matter what she was thinking. But, sitting here with him in her small apartment on the east side had been more than enough to swell her heart a few sizes larger.

It was enough to calm her; to allow her the dignity to hold her shoulders back and feel that her confidence was there, that she couldn’t have dream this life if she slept for a hundred years.

And she hoped that same confidence would push her through introducing him to her friends – she hoped that her friends found the same intrigue in him that she had. It was all she could do; hope.

***

Saturday.

Lily had a thing for being extremely early, and Harry had a thing for showing up when he was told, but usually fifteen minutes late. So, by the time Harry had arrived at Lily’s apartment like they had agreed, the dinner party was already in full swing.

When Lily and Harry arrived—warm laughter spilling out through the slightly cracked apartment door, the hum of music and clinking glasses weaving a comforting kind of chaos.

Lily shifted the lemon bars in her hands and looked up at him. “We can still turn around.”

Harry, carrying the wine under one arm like a casual afterthought, gave her a look that was both amused and gentle as he looked at the front door. “We’re already here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I brought wine – again,” he said, like that solved everything. “You made lemon bars. That means we’re the best guests here by default.”

She gave him a look, nerves fluttering in her chest. “Just… don’t be too charming, okay?”

Harry’s grin went wide, delighted but also a bit slated by the way that she said it. “You say that like I have control over it.”

Before she could roll her eyes, the door swung open with surprise even though they had knocked—Ava, already barefoot, hair up in a messy bun, holding a wine glass and looking thrilled at seeing the two of them. Her eyes went from Lily to Harry, a bit shocked that there were two of them standing there.

“Finally,” Ava said, stepping back, allowing the two to come in the foyer. “I was starting to think you two were imaginary.”

Lily smiled shyly, gesturing towards the lemon bars that sat in her arms. “These are lemon bars. They’re still a little warm—”

“She made them,” Harry added quickly, shrugging.

Ava took the lemon bars in her arms, smirking at the two of them, “Of course you did, Lily – I’m sure they’re divine, like always,” Her eyes trailed back to Harry as he gave her a warm smile, “You must be Harry, then. We’ve all heard so much about you. I’m Ava.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ava – hope they were good things.” Harry greeted, nodding her head at her. He held a bottle of wine, showing it to her, “Table for this?”

Ava turned to bring them into the room where everyone had been sitting, “Yes, we can put everything over here."

The two of them followed her into the living room and dining space; it looked like mostly everyone was there, which gave Lily already a burst of annoyance that they were semi-late, but it seemed that everyone still hadn’t eaten yet, so that made her feel better.

“Sorry we were late,” Lily offered, feeling Harry’s hand on her back.

“It’s my fault,” Harry shook his head, “Lily would never be late.”

Ava set the lemon bars on the table, taking a sip of her wine before smiling, “Oh, we were worried about her! She’s never late to anything, so I was worried something happened.”

“Gotta’ keep her on her toes a bit.” Harry charmed, “Take her out of her comfort zone once in a while. Not every day you meet a girl who’s just perfect in everything.”

The look on Ava’s face was one of surprise as she noticed Lily’s blush creeping on her face, she gave Lily a small look before she said, “She is quite perfect, I agree,” Ava cleared her throat, “Uh, please help yourselves to something to drink – we have wine, liquor, beer,” She looked at the table, “Stuff in the fridge, whatever you want. I think we are still waiting on a few other people.”

Ava placed her hand on Lily’s shoulder as she moved around her, whispering in her ear, “You said cute, not a fucking art-house stud.”

Lily turned her head as she watched Ava walk away with a devilish smirk on her face, wine being brought to her lips.

Harry turned to Lily with a triumphant look. “See? Easy. I’ll get you something to drink to wash away those nerves.”

Inside, the apartment buzzed with easy energy: twinkling string lights, a mismatched table set with dishes people had clearly brought from home, the comforting smell of baked brie and roasted vegetables wafting from the kitchen where Ava and her partner, Landon, had been standing as they tried to get everything together. It wasn’t fancy, but it was theirs—and Lily was suddenly very aware of how much it meant to bring Harry into it.

Her friends greeted her with grins, hugs, and raised eyebrows as they noticed Harry standing beside her. Most of them had heard something about Harry, but seeing him there—tall, casually dressed in a dark button-down with his sleeves pushed up and his tattoos peeking out from the unbuttoned collar, curls slightly unruly, charm dialed all the way up to a level past one-hundred—made it real.

“So,” said Danika, one of Ava’s friends who Lily had met a few other times, “You must be the tattoo guy.”

“That might be me,” Harry said, sliding into a seat on the couch with a bottle of beer, like he’d always belonged there. That was the thing about Harry – he didn’t need to be babysat by Lily, he just moved around and talked to whomever. It didn’t take effort, so Lily just watched from afar. “But I answer to many titles. Lemon bar connoisseur. Bad influence. Harry, mostly.”

“Professional bullshitter, Lily added under her breath, settling beside him. Harry moved to make room for her, even pulling her into his lap a bit.

He bumped her shoulder, playful. “She likes it, though, so I have to keep that image up.”

Danika bit her lip as she stared between them, “You are so not what expected for Lily,” She gave Lily a look, and then back to Harry, “But I think that’s what makes dating fun, isn’t it?”

Harry turned his head to see Lily blink over at him, “Chance is a funny game, but it’s cool when it works out in your favor.”

The small black skirt, the flowing white top with bell-bottom sleeves, her hair pulled back into a half-up with a clip. The way that her lips were pink and flushed, her eyes mesmerizing with long lashes and a flurry of freckles that danced along her skin.

Every part of Lily reminded Harry of what he saw in her the very first day, and how lucky he had been to have her walk in the tattoo shop that day. 

They fell into an easy rhythm as the evening unfolded. Lily didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was with that soft, deliberate thoughtfulness her friends had always loved—and Harry made space for it, never talking over her, but always giving her room to speak if she wanted to. It was subtle, but she noticed.

She also noticed how quickly he won everyone over. The jokes, the way he remembered names immediately and would say them back as if to engrain them, the way he complimented Ava’s vintage glassware and meant it. He teased, but kindly. Told stories with the kind of easy confidence she envied.

When the group started sharing their worst first-date stories, Harry leaned in like he’d been waiting for this exact opportunity.

“I once took a girl out who told me—mid-bite of my club sandwich, mind you—that she thought tattoos were a cry for attention and that insecure people got them as a shout for help.”

“Oh no,” Ava gasped, covering her mouth. “That’s so crazy.”

“She said marking your skin was a sin of God as he had made you the way he wanted to,” he added. “I told her my parole officer was calling to schedule my court date so I could leave.”

Laughter broke around the table, and even Lily couldn’t hold back her smile at his ridiculous way of trying to make people laugh.

But what made her heart ache—just a little—wasn’t the way everyone liked him. It was the way he kept glancing at her, like she was the one he was trying to impress. Like she was the reason he was being funny. Like none of it mattered without her eyes on him.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Cynthia asked, one of her other friends, chin propped in her hand, eyes bright with curiosity as she stared at the two of them. “And please say it was some cool, grungy bar or a chance encounter at a bookstore where Lily was probably holding way too many books, so you offered to help her carry them home.”

“Not exactly,” Lily’s stomach fluttered, but before she could open her mouth to say any else, Harry leaned forward with an exaggeratedly serious expression; he’d had a few drinks that that point, so his usual chattiness had just upped.

“She walked into the shop like she was going to pass out,” he said, grinning, from the memory and the alcohol mixed together. “Wanted a tattoo but looked like she’d rather die.”

Lily groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Harry—”

“She was really adorable,” he continued, undeterred by her groans. “Kept second-guessing everything. I offered her water like three times. Thought she’d bolt when I turned my back or something.”

“I almost did,” Lily mumbled into her hands.

“But she didn’t,” Harry said, glancing sideways at her. “She sat there and took it like a champ.”

“And the rest is history?” Ava asked, grinning, leaning into Landon.

Harry’s voice softened, just slightly, his hand finding her thigh under the table as they sat next to one another. He looked over at her, a small bait of confidence hopefully.

“I- uh,” Harry, without much to say for the first time ever, found himself trying to hold back the large smile that was trying to break on his face, “Yeah. Something like that.”

Lily peeked at him through her fingers, heart thudding.

It wasn’t the story, really. It was how he told it with the sense warmth, like he had been waiting for her to step into that tattoo shop forever. With just enough truth to make it funny, and just enough fondness to make it feel like a memory worth keeping, even if his version was dramatized a bit.

“And then I asked her to get coffee with me, and I just – I don’t know, I didn’t want to live a life that didn’t have her in it anymore. Really weird how life can do that sometimes.”

At that, Lily turned to look at him – really look at him. His usually goofy, overwhelming self made her shy and want to let him shine. But the comment sat with her for a moment as she felt her radiance for just a small moment; he wanted to live in a world where she shone. He wanted to uplift her, show her off, show her how much she meant to him, and that made her feel as high as she could get.

Danika took a large sip of wine, shaking her head, “We’ve been waiting for Lily to find someone that understood her sparkle.”

Ava added, “She’s quiet, but she’s got unbelievable layers.”

“Guys,” Lily shook her head, letting her hand travel over Harry’s larger one that held on her thigh. “You’re too much.”

Later, while people passed around homemade brownies and Lily’s lemon bars and refilled their drinks with more laughter and drunken smiles involved as the night had gone on, Ava leaned in as they sat on the sofa together and whispered, “He’s a keeper.”

Lily nodded, cheeks warm as she took her own sip of wine. “I know.”

And she did. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was playing catch-up in her own life. She had someone who moved at her pace—someone who never asked her to be louder, or bolder, or someone she wasn’t.

Harry caught her looking at him just then, across the table from where he was sitting, listening to a story. He gave her the smallest wink of an acknowledgement. He didn’t need to be sitting near her to let her know he was thinking of her.

The last of the wine had gone warm. Someone queued a playlist that drifted into soft jazz, and the light hum of conversation settled into the quiet, comfortable lull that came when the night had peaked and begun its slow descent. People were sitting around, enjoying conversations with one another.

Lily sat on the sofa, legs crossed as she took in the conversations around her, her glass empty in her hands, watching the soft chaos of her friends—legs tucked under them on couches, laughter now more breath than sound, plates empty except for brownie crumbs and lemon bar sugar dust.

Harry was leaned back in a mismatched dining chair, his arms crossed, ankles kicked out, the kind of relaxed posture that didn’t try to impress but still managed to. He was in the middle of a story—one of the tamer ones—and she watched as her friends fell into his rhythm easily, drawn in by his dry humor, the wry twist of his mouth when he delivered a punchline without raising his voice.

She watched with intent, watching the way that people were drawn to him in a way that made her jealous, proud, and rigorously enticed in so many ways.

She had noticed that Ava wasn’t around, and moved towards the kitchen to help with some clean-up.

The kitchen was a mess in the way all good parties left it—crumb-speckled plates stacked in the sink, wine-stained glasses balanced precariously on the counter, and serving spoons abandoned in half-empty casserole dishes. Lily stood barefoot in front of the sink, sleeves rolled to her elbows, warm water running over her hands as she scrubbed a baking dish that had once held mac and cheese.

Ava dried a wine glass beside her, hip bumped against the counter, her bun unraveling slowly over the course of the night.

“I really like him,” she said, not bothering to pretend it was a casual remark.

Lily didn’t look up, focusing on getting the dried cheese off the pan instead. “You’ve said that three times.”

Ava shook her head, trying to read Lily as best as she could. “I know, I know. I just keep saying it in case you forget.”

Lily smiled faintly with the thought of her friends loving Harry, rinsing suds from the dish before handing them to her friend who held the drying towel, “He was good tonight.”

“He was,” Ava agreed. “And not in a ‘look at me, I’m impressive’ way. Just... easy. Like, charismatic and fun and… what you need.”

“Yeah,” Lily said softly, acknowledging her friend with a few nods and biting her lip as she continued to focus her hands in the sink, “He makes things feel easy.”

There was a pause as Ava handed her a towel and leaned back against the counter, watching her with the quiet knowing that only came from years of friendship, and for Ava to actually see Lily the way that Harry did. Lily had tried so hard in friendship, wanting to be seen and wanting to be heard. It was something she needed to work at, but she knew that Ava had been that person for her.

Ava had met Landon, they had been together for years and Lily had seen how easy it could be. She knew it was possible – but Ava was beautiful, and charming, and had everything working in her favor.

Lily, on the other hand, worked hard to make all of those things true.

“You’ve never brought someone into this part of your life before,” Ava acknowledges, “Around us, around your friends.”

Lily paused, drying her hands as she nodded, with a knowingness, “I know.”

Ava bumped her shoulder, smiling at her friend. “I’m glad it’s him.”

Just then, the sound of someone walking into the kitchen archway took them out of their conversation to stare at the individuals, already shedding the faint chill of the night air, a leftover lemon bar in hand, half-wrapped in foil like he’d just raided the fridge.

“Thought I lost you,” Harry said, voice low and playful. “I was gonna have to just leave with the lemon bars and never speak to anyone again.”

Lily turned, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “I’m just helping clean up.”

“I figured that’s what you would be doing,” he said, stepping further into the kitchen. He glanced toward Ava and lifted the foil like a peace offering. “Permission to steal her?”

Ava raised her hands, throwing the towel she had on the counter. “By all means. She’s yours.”

Lily gave her a quick look—soft, grateful—and then followed Harry to the door, the two of them slipping on their coats in the hallway. After a quick goodbye, some hugs and thanks given, Harry held the door open for her with a crooked grin.

The air outside was cooler than Lily expected when they made their way out of the apartment building, brushing over her skin in little bursts as she stepped out onto the front stoop. The last remnants of laughter and music echoed faintly behind them like a memory—dull through the walls, yet still lingering in her chest like a hum. The warmth of the wine, the soft buzzing of the evening’s attention still wrapped around her like an oversized sweater.

They walked through the quiet city streets under a pale wash of streetlights, close enough that their arms brushed now and then. The air was cool, the kind that snuck under your jacket and made your skin remember how to feel.

Harry was quiet for once—not in a moody way, but in the way that people get when they’re letting something settle. Lily felt it too, his usually bubbly-self had become quite dim. The party had been loud in the best way, but she was glad for the quiet now, for the sound of his sneakers on the pavement and the occasional soft laugh when he brought up something Ava had said.

Harry walked beside her, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, the other carrying the half-eaten tray of lemon bars. His strides were loose, unhurried, like he had nowhere to be but next to her.

“You know,” he said as they passed under the golden haze of a streetlight, “I think I won.”

Lily blinked up at him, pulling her jacket closed around her. “Won what?”

“Dinner party MVP. Best guest. Most charming presence. Take your pick.”

She huffed out a laugh, cheeks feeling the hurt from smiling all night. “You made one joke about parole and complimented someone’s playlist because they were playing the Pixies. That’s a low bar.”

“Flawlessly executed, ten out of ten,” he said. “I rest my case.”

The streets were quiet at this hour, the occasional hum of a distant car passing, but not too many people past them. Lily pulled her jacket tighter around herself and fell into step just a little closer to him. He made it known that he wanted her close, letting his arm hug over her shoulder to pull her into him as they walked.

Lily heard Harry take a deep breath before he cleared his throat, slowing their walk as they approached an intersection.

“Uh, so,” he started, turning to face the opposite way from her apartment, “My place is actually closer to here than yours is.”

The way he said it wasn’t an invitation, really, but more of an observation that he wanted to introduce to her. It was clear that he may have wanted to give some hints, but didn’t want her to feel that he was pressuring her to do anything she didn’t want to.

It had only been four months – three months of this. It felt that every move they made could be new if they allowed it to be, but the feeling of nerves was there occasionally when they wanted it to be. Harry felt nervous thinking of what she would say, how she would react.

“Five blocks that way, actually,” he said. “You wanna come over? If you’re too tired, you don’t have to, but yours is thirty minutes and two trains. I was just thinking – “

“I’ve never been,” she said before she could stop herself. It came out smaller than she intended, but the intrigue was there.

He glanced over at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then: “I know.”

The way he said it wasn’t loaded. It was just true.

“Okay,” she said, nodding against his arm, her voice steadier now, with decisiveness. “Let’s go to yours.”

Harry didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. The kind of smile that said thank you and finally and I won’t mess this up all at once.

So, they turned towards Harry’s apartment instead. Lily moved first, taking a few steps in the direction Harry had initiated and he felt a ping in his heart as he felt her want, her draw for something new. It took a lot out of her to do something like that, so he appreciated the enthusiasm for the invite.

Harry’s building was one of those old, converted warehouse spaces—tall windows, exposed brick, creaky floors. The kind of place that felt a little like a movie set if the movie was about someone who collected too many books and didn’t own matching chairs.

Ivy was curling along its edges like the veins of something alive. Inside, the stairwell creaked beneath their feet, wooden banisters worn smooth by time. He unlocked the door on the third floor and pushed it open with a sweep of his hand.

The apartment smelled faintly of cedar and ink and paper. The walls were cluttered with framed sketches—some in color, some in pencil. Books stacked in towers against the wall. A vintage record player. A dying plant he kept insisting was “in recovery.” A collection of mismatched mugs on open shelves in the kitchen caught her attention, too.

As soon as Lily stepped inside behind him, she felt her breath catch—not in awe exactly, but in recognition. The space was... him. Every inch of it radiated intention in a messy, artful kind of way. The floors were hardwood and scuffed, a rug with curling edges stretched beneath a low coffee table cluttered with sketchbooks, candles, and what looked like a half-assembled model of a ship that she wasn’t sure he had started, or if he had bought it like that. She wouldn’t have put it past him.

The walls were gallery-like—framed ink drawings, messy charcoal sketches pinned directly to the plaster, a few Polaroids tacked up among them with friends and memories he undoubtedly wanted to keep. There were books stacked in teetering piles by the windows, next to old records and mismatched furniture that somehow didn’t clash but harmonized, like an accidental symphony.

It was a mess, but in the kind of way that told a story. Like everything had been touched, chosen, kept.

“Sorry it’s not minimalist and beige,” he said, throwing his keys into a bowl shaped like a skull. “I was going for eccentric artist with emotional depth.”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Lily murmured, turning in place, arms crossed over her body.

“Boring? Empty?” Harry offered, shedding his jacket and tossing it on a hook by the door. He offered his hand for hers, “Wrong place.”

She shed her jacket, handing it to him with a thanks, “No. It’s... layered.”

He grinned. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

She wandered to the windowsill, where a cracked clay dish held a mess of rings, paperclips, and what looked like a tiny glass vial of gold flakes. A small, battered lamp cast a pool of warm amber over the couch, worn in the cushions and draped in a navy throw that had clearly seen better days.

“This just feels like someone lives here,” she said, staring out the view of his apartment, down onto the street that they were just walking on.

Harry raised a brow, maneuvering into the kitchen. “Good. I do. Every day.”

She looked over her shoulder, catching the way he was watching her—not impatient, not expectant. Just there, fully present, as he always seemed to be. He stood in the kitchen, pouring them each a glass of water, and returned to hand her one.

"You’re nervous,” he said softly, observing her as they stood awkwardly in the corner of his living room.

“I’m not—” She stopped, exhaled as she looked at the glass he handed her. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Harry didn’t press her, of course. He simply sat on the edge of the couch and let her move at her own pace. No rush. No demand.

“You know,” he said, swirling his glass a little, “for someone who gets nervous, you’re surprisingly bold.”

She glanced over at him, confused, she moved to sit next to him but just kept still for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“You walked into a tattoo shop alone. You let me talk you through your first ink, even though I could see you were ready to bolt.”

“I didn’t bolt. I usually do."

“Exactly.” He smiled at her over the rim of his glass. “Takes guts.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered. “I get overwhelmed easily. You know that.”

“I do,” he said. “And I like it.”

Lily turned slowly toward him, cautious. “You like that I get overwhelmed?”

“I like watching you work through it,” he said, voice low and warm like honey moving over. “I like the way you get quiet, like your whole world shrinks to one thought. I like how deliberate you are—how you don’t give anything away until you mean it.”

She swallowed, feeling that the way he said it meant something more as if it had a double meaning as they sat there next to one another. “That’s not how most people feel about me.”

“I’m not most people.”

He set his glass down and leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the couch, like he’d carved out a space for her without needing to ask.

Lily took a step closer, biting her lip as she felt that boldness he had talked about.

“Do you," She swallowed thickly, feeling her skin tingle at the thought of looking up to see him staring at her. When she did, it was all she saw.

"Do you bring girls here often?” she asked quietly, feeling embarrassed for asking the question at all, or prying enough.

“Nope.”

“Not even for—” She gestured vaguely, face flushing as she crossed her arms. “You know.”

He chuckled, deep and low, but feeling entirely too warm from watching her stand in front of him - the fact that she would even insinuate that made him feel a laugh in his throat.

“Nope. Not for that, either.”

She shifted on her feet, flustered. “I guess – I mean, we haven’t even…”

“No,” he said, lips quirking at her suggestion, but finishing her thought for her so she wouldn't have to. “We haven’t.”

The pause hung between them. Not tense. Just thick with awareness. She started to notice the more noticeable things about him; the way his nose ring fit snug, the way his mustache was perfectly groomed, the glasses on the bridge of his nose eventuated the sparkle in his eye, the mess of curls that fell onto his forehead that were a bit windswept as you walked back to his place.

“You never tried,” she said, almost barely making it past her lips.

“I could tell you weren’t ready. And it’s more fun this way.”

Her brow lifted at his choice of words. “Fun?”

He sat forward slightly, his voice dipping as he reached for her hand.

“Yeah. You’re like this beautiful, intricate lock, and I like figuring you out piece by piece. What makes you laugh. What makes you blush. What makes you look at me like you’re doing right now,” He made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning back a bit as he looked back at her, “I like when you look at me like that.”

She hadn’t realized she was looking at him like that—like she wanted to kiss him and also hide from him at the same time.

Harry stood slowly, hand still holding hers, and closed the space between them until she could feel the heat of him, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath. Such a different side, such a welcoming side.

“If you put the wrong key in the lock, you can break it real easy. I don’t need all of you tonight,” he said gently, his fingers running along the side of her face, pushing hair off her shoulder. “Not until you want to."

She didn’t pull away, all she could do was lean in.

And when he kissed her, it was slow, and patient, and made her forget every careful thing she’d rehearsed in her head. She didn’t think - it was all by feeling.

Harry bent his head and touched his mouth to hers like he was learning something—pressing in, pulling back, giving her a beat to catch up. His lips were soft but firm, coaxing her open little by little, his thumb brushing her jaw as if grounding her there.

She responded this time. Surer of herself than she had been before. She knew that Harry liked kissing her; it was something she felt confident on by the way that he held her tightly like he wanted more, more, more. Her hand slid up to his chest, fingers resting lightly against the beat of his heart, and she kissed him back with a quiet kind of hunger that surprised even her.

He made a sound in the back of his throat that was low and revenant and deepened the kiss.

His hand slipped from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, tilting her just enough to draw another sigh from her lips. She stepped into him, the front of her body brushing his, and he instinctively pulled her closer. His other hand splayed along her lower back—guiding, not pushing.

The tension shifted quickly—gentle heat started turning into something sharp, more urgent.

Lily’s breath hitched when his teeth grazed her bottom lip, and that tiny sound, which was barely more than a gasp, nearly undid him.

Harry’s fingers flexed at her waist in an attempt to keep himself sane. He wanted her. God, he wanted her.

Every part of her—shy and fierce and uncertain—was undoing him, piece by piece. The softness of her mouth, the way she clung to his shirt like she didn’t know what else to hold onto, the slight tremble of her breath. He could feel the heat building in his body, the ache of wanting to press her against the nearest wall and kiss her until she forgot her own name.

But he didn’t. He pulled his hips back when she went to press herself against him even more. Just slightly, so she wouldn’t make a huge deal of it.

But, then her eyes opened with a lidded daze and her lips were swollen with a maroon color so obnoxiously addictive, her breath uneven. Harry practically screwed his eyes shut to try and not think about how she looked right now.

Instead, he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her jaw. Slower now, softer. Trying to calm the fire roaring beneath his skin. She fell into his touch, a small giggle escaping her breath as he tickled his way down her neck.

“Harry,” she breathed, her hand fisting in the front of his shirt.

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing the hollow just beneath her ear. “I just… I just need a second.”

She pulled back, blinking at him at him as if something was off. “Did I do something—?”

“No.” He was firm, steady with his response. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right.”

Her brows drew together.

“I mean, I’m not exactly thinking gentleman-esque thoughts at the moment,” he admitted with a hint of humor, his voice raw now as he drew back. “But I want to make sure you know how much I want you. Not just when it’s hot and dizzy and hard to think. I don’t want you thinking that’s why I brought you here, or what I’m trying to get."

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a trembling exhale, she nodded as if to understand. And in that nod was something he hadn’t truly seen from her since on that table at the shop— undoubtably trust.

He kissed her again, just once. Slow. Thoughtless. Instinctively.

Then, without letting her go, he pulled her toward the couch, collapsing gently into it and guiding her down with him, cradling her against his side. She curled into him like she’d done it a hundred times, her body pressed to his, her hand resting on his shoulder as he held her close.

His chest rose and fell beneath her, slow and steady, but Lily could feel the tension in him still—just below the surface. That aching restraint felt so coiled up. The way his hand moved slowly along her back in comforting strokes, even though his jaw was clenched and his thighs were still coiled tight beneath her.

The apartment had gone still, the kind of stillness that came only after hours of slow conversation and soft touches, not the heated moment that settled between them.

The lamp was still glowing nearby, casting gold along the edges of the bookshelf and outlining Harry’s profile in warm light. They were curled together on the couch, Lily tucked into his side, her cheek resting against his shoulder, one of his hands stroking gently along her spine in slow, absent motions.

She hadn’t spoken for a while. Harry didn’t push either way. But then her voice broke the silence—barely above a whisper.

“I used to move too fast.”

His fingers paused, then continued—no rush, no shift in weight. Just presence, like he was acknowledging he heard her but didn’t need to say anything and break her thought.

Lily swallowed before she continued, finding her footing. “With guys. I’d just… go along with things. Let things happen. And I don’t think they meant to take advantage of that – I-I mean, not all of them. But it was like… once things started, I didn’t feel like I could say no. Or stop. Or even slow down.”

Harry didn’t speak but he bit the inside of his cheek as he listened, his hand moved to the back of her head, gently threading through her hair, grounding her there with him.

“They liked me more when I didn’t object,” she said, her voice shaking now, almost in disbelief she was continuing down this path. “When I didn’t ask for space. Or softness. Or… time.”

She felt her words catch as she kept speaking, so she stopped for a moment. His comfort didn’t stop, only intensified as they sat.

“I think for a while I thought I had to be that version of myself. Or no one would stay.”

She felt the shift in his breathing before he even spoke.

“You're in good hands here,” Harry said quietly, he kissed the top of her head as he let his fingers dive through her hair.

“I know.” She looked up at him, eyes shining, lashes damp. “That’s why this scares me more.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, like it physically hurt him to hear her say that and to watch her get teary over memories that she felt were difficult. He cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing gently along her under eyes to the tears she felt ashamed of.

“I’m not here because I’m waiting for you to give me something,” he said to her directly, sitting up a bit. He had to tell her so she knew his truth. “I’m here because I see you. And I like you exactly as you are. Not in spite of how careful you are. Because of it.”

She blinked, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead—light, like a promise rather than a confirmation.

Lily let out a shaky breath and let her hand rest over his heart again, feeling its steady rhythm beneath her fingertips. “I’m not used to being allowed to take my time.”

“I'm sorry they weren't patient with you, and I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could be patient.” Harry said, eyes on her like she was the only thing in the world. “I don't want you to sit here and feel like I'm pressuring you, because I'm not."

Harry smirked for a moment as he shifted his legs, "It's just biology, really – you should feel good to know you turn me on, but I don’t need you to accommodate me."

Lily sat with her head on his chest, letting the silence fill the air as she listened to the sounds below them on the streets. Like it was the soundtrack that narrated their moment here on the small sofa in the unfamiliar apartment that had started to feel like her favorite book. Something she would revisit, something that would bring comfort every time she opened it.

They were still curled together on the couch, a blanket soft and bunched around their legs. The vulnerability in the room lingered like the last notes of a song—quiet, resonant, humming beneath their skin.

Harry let out a breath, long and low. “You know, I wasn’t expecting tonight to feel like this.”

“Like what?” Lily asked, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt as she pulled at one of the buttons.

He tilted his head, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he pushed his feet up on the coffee table, out in front of him. “Like I’m… not even thinking about what I can’t do with you right now. Just… what I get to do someday. Which, at this point, right now, is lie on this couch and stare at your cute little nose while you breathe on my collarbone.”

Lily huffed a small laugh and turned her face further into his chest, trying to hide the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “That’s romantic.”

“It is. Very romantic,” he said, mock-serious. “It’s taking everything in me not to climb on top of you and wreck you, but really all I can think about is your damn button nose.”

Lily blinked, caught completely off-guard—and then she laughed. Really laughed. That kind of soft, surprised laugh that left her glowing.

“You can’t say things like that when I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

Harry looked down at her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? You’re very cute when you blush, which is why I keep trying to make it happen.”

She tried to hide her smile but failed as she dug her face into his neck. “You’re such a menace.”

“I’m a patient menace,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make her pulse quicken, looking at him this closely had made her think differently of him. The way that his skin was perfect; small moles and dimples and the scent of cedar and ash had coated her memory. “Which is far more dangerous, if you really think about it.”

Lily shifted beside him, trying to ignore the way his words settled low in her stomach. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Course I am.” His hand moved idly along the side of her thigh, fingertips trailing to help pull over the blanket. “You’re curled up against me, making these tiny sounds when I talk too close to your ear. I live for this.”

“I don’t make—”

“You do, trust me,” he interrupted, his mouth now just inches from her ear, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. “Especially when I say certain things.”

She stilled, feeling her heart beat faster. He didn’t move, either.

“Like what?” she asked, quieter now, pushing for an answer. She was playing a dangerous game, but Harry was down to push her further; make her squirm, make her blush so bad she would have to take a cold shower later.

He smiled back at her, thinking about what he could say to do just that. He almost didn’t know how to reply, opening his mouth before he shut it to rethink his answer. “You want me to prove it?”

“I want to know what you’d say,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

His hand moved again—slow, gentle, deliberate on top of her thigh. Her skirt was moving up her thighs, and he tried not to think about that. “I’d tell you how long I’ve been thinking about your mouth. Everywhere. How every time you bite your lip when you’re nervous, it makes me want to push you up a wall you just a little.”

Lily’s breath hitched at the boldness of his words; she could tell he had a filthy mouth when he wanted to. The cockiness oozed from him; she fluttered her eyes shut at the thought.

“I’d tell you I notice the way your thighs press together when I say something filthy, even if you pretend not to hear me.”

She swallowed, trying to be discreet at how her thighs pressed together just then. Of course he noticed.

“I’d tell you I think about you riding me, slow at first, real quiet like you can’t even manage a word,” he murmured, “until you get brave. And I think you're real brave, you know – I think you get in your own world."

Her eyes fluttered closed knowing he had completely won.

“And I’d tell you exactly what I’d do when you start to fall apart on top of me. How I’d hold you through it. How I’d talk you through it. How I'd–" He bit his tongue to keep from going.

Lily’s chest was rising and falling faster now, a slight tremor in her fingers where they rested near his ribs. But her voice—when she finally spoke—was steady. He flinched at the way that her fingertips felt hot against him, almost burning through the material of his shirt.

“And you wouldn’t push me?”

Harry’s hand stilled, then retreated, settling gently against her waist.

“Never,” he said. “This doesn’t work if it’s not yours too.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze unreadable. “You’d talk me through it?”

His mouth twitched into a smile as he stared at the ceiling then, huffing out a breath of laugh as he couldn’t believe she was teasing him like that. “Every word, baby. Every breath. Every goddamn second.”

A long pause stretched between them, thick with tension but not pressure. He waited—still, steady, letting her decide what came next. Lily’s lips parted. Her voice was soft, but certain.

“Okay.”

Harry didn’t know how to react, lifting his head to see where her thought process was.

“Not yet, though,” she said quickly when she realized that he had some concern written on his face. “But when I’m ready… I want that.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for hours. Then he smiled—soft and full of something deeper than hunger.

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” he said, almost simply, as if they hadn’t just been talking about something dirty but about something that he knew she needed, “Exactly how you want."

Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just looked at her—really looked at her as if studying every freckle on her face—as if he could memorize the exact shape of her words, the way she said when I’m ready like it meant something sacred. And to him, it did. It was written in scripture.

She was still curled against him, her cheek against his shoulder, and his arm was resting lightly around her waist now. Not pulling her closer. Just there—like an anchor. Steady in the dark water to help make sure she didn’t float away.

His voice was low when it returned. Not playful this time, but with an earnest nature that fluttered the depths of his heart as he thought about his admissions.

“I think about you all the time,” he said, nodding into the universe. “Not just in the way you’re probably imagining. Though… those thoughts aren’t exactly rare. But,” He swallowed, “I just think you’re… really special.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes cast downward, heart beating faster now. The way he said it was unfiltered—blunt, but a hint of hesitancy that she barely saw from him. Like he liked wanting her but knew that he was human– he knew that she was just as capable as producing heartbreak as he was.

“I think about how you’d taste when you’re breathless,” he continued, voice sliding over her skin like velvet. “How your body would feel under me – not even just in a sexual way, but a personal way. How you’d look when you finally stop holding yourself back.”

A sharp inhale escaped her lips as she thought of the moments that Harry could have of her. Harry heard it. Felt it, but he didn’t pounce. Didn’t lean into it like a challenge. He waited, watching her closely.

“You can tell me to stop, and I will.” His voice was practically a breath – he wanted to give her the opportunity, the one that hadn’t been given to her prior. He wanted her to make the rules.

She didn’t – no, of course she didn’t. After a few more beats, he kept going, voice a little lower now, as if daring her to stay in the moment with him.

“I think about what your voice would sound like—messy and raw—saying my name when you’re close. Or when you want something but can’t say it out loud.”

Lily’s thighs pressed together. She didn’t even realize she’d done it until Harry’s eyes dropped—just briefly—to where her legs shifted beneath the blanket. His breath caught at the acknowledgement.

“And I think,” he said, pausing to brush her hair gently off her cheek, “about how good it’s going to feel when I finally get to have you. Not just your body, Lils. The way you trust. The way you unravel.”

She turned her face into his neck then, unable to hold his gaze, hiding in the space where his pulse beat steady just beneath his skin. Harry didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease her for getting shy in the middle of their own heat. He just smiled—something soft and wrecked and tilted his head so his lips brushed the crown of her head.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured into her, almost like to engrain it into her.

“I think I do,” she whispered, her breath trembling as she tried her best to maintain a steady voice.

His hand moved again, slow and lazy over her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt—but only just. The pad of his thumb brushed bare skin there, and it was electrifying, practically shocking him.

“You want to tell me what you want?” The way that his voice asked made her tremble, so softly it was almost a plea.

Lily hesitated at the way that he asked her. Her throat was tight. Not from fear—but from the weight of the want. The newness of it being okay to speak it, almost like she felt drawn in.

“I want to stay here,” she said finally, after a few moments. Even though she loved the way he spoke out to her, she wanted the opportunity to think of it. “Just like this. For a while.”

Harry nodded, eyes heavy-lidded but calm as he let the thoughts swirl around them like a cloud of alchemy. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple like it was a ritual.

“Then we’ll stay here,” he said, simplicity hanging between them. “Exactly like this.”

His fingers didn’t wander further, because he didn’t feel invited. His mouth didn’t ask for more. But his body stayed close—warm and steady—and his desire never left the room. It simply curled around them, like a quiet storm waiting to break when she was ready to call the thunder down.

And she would. God, she would.

But tonight, she breathed him in, curled tighter against his chest, and let herself rest in the heat of what they hadn’t done yet. And the sweetness of knowing that when they did—it would be everything. It was almost addicting, the thoughts, rather than the action.

They hadn’t moved in minutes, but everything about the space between them felt alive. Lily was nestled into the curve of Harry’s chest, his fingers grazing lazy circles over the sliver of skin just above her waistband. It was nothing, but it made her skin hum, made her breath stutter every time he touched that one spot again, again, again.

He hadn’t said anything since she told him she wanted to stay like this. And he hadn’t asked for more.

But her body told the truth. The way his thumb paused when she shifted her hips, not knowing if she wanted more or was asking for space. The way his voice had grown quieter, rougher, when he said her name just moments before.

“Still okay?” he murmured now, his lips brushing against her temple.

She nodded but gave him a quiet yes to confirm.

“Good.” He kissed her hair again, breathing in the sweetness of the vanilla of her shampoo. “But I’ll have you know that if you keep squirming like that, I’m going to start taking it personally.”

Lily’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and she buried her face against his collarbone. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he teased gently, his voice a little heavier now. “And it’s kind of killing me.”

She smiled shyly, but didn’t deny it. He shifted just enough to look at her, his eyes scanning her face carefully. “Talk to me, I’m ready to hear your voice.”

Her lips parted, then closed again. Her pulse was wild beneath her skin; she bit her lip as she let their eyes investigate each other’s again. She didn’t know how this felt so right. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to get it perfect,” he said, brushing his knuckles along her jaw as if to coax her. “Just tell me what’s in your head. Anything.”

She hesitated for the slightest moment; her gaze flicking down to his lips and then back up to his eyes that held so much curiosity and a ferocity of intrigue. Her fingers gripped the hem of his shirt, like grounding herself to him would make the words come easier.

“I want…” She stopped, swallowing. “I want you to touch me more.”

Something flickered in his expression—something sharp, almost like he wasn’t expecting her to be vocal about her needs. He just wanted to hear her, to listen to her, to do as she asked.

“You want me to touch you,” he repeated softly, his hand still on her waist, waiting.

She nodded again, so sure of what she wanted, but so unsure of how it felt to be listened to. “Just… slow. I get overwhelmed.”

“I know.” His thumb traced the slope of her hip, the way that his thumb brushed against her skin tickled her softly, making her bristle at the touch. Harry stopped for a moment, letting them settle. “But you want it.”

Lily breathed outwards, nodded again, “Yes.”

“Where?” Harry’s voice was direct, wanting full consent of the direction.

She exhaled shakily, trembling under his gaze, and whispered, “Anywhere you want. As long as you don’t stop talking to me.”

That broke something in him—in the quietest, most sacred way.

Harry leaned in and kissed her jaw, slow and careful. “I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart,” he murmured. “What I want. What I’ll do. How good you make me feel.”

Her breath hitched. She was already shaking under his hand, not from fear, but from anticipation so deep it made her bones ache. There was an adrenaline that was building up in her; the same kind of adrenaline that she had felt the day she got the tattoo from him. A shaking feeling that gave her a wound-up energy.

“I want to feel you,” she said, voice almost breaking. “But I need you to help me go slow.”

His hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye.

“I’ve got you,” he said, firm and low. “You say stop, I stop. You say slower, I’ll move like fucking honey. And if all you want is my hands and my mouth and my words? Then that’s all you’ll get. For as long as you want.”

Her body relaxed against his then, something in her melting completely, and the way she looked at him—hopeful, wanting, a little scared—was the most devastating thing he’d ever seen. She leaned in first this time.

And when he kissed her, it was deeper than before, hungrier—but careful.

Every breath they shared from then on felt like a promise. Every word he whispered into her skin was one more brick laid in the foundation of trust. And every inch he touched was earned like a medal of honor. Harry kissed her like the whole world had gone quiet except for her breathing; it was the soundtrack that played in his brain.

Lily’s hands had slipped up beneath his shirt—tentative at first, resting against the warm, lean curve of his ribs—but as he kissed her deeper, her fingers curled, wanting to feel more. She could feel the way that his muscles contracted, the way that he held himself back from moving further. It was a slow, deep want. He groaned softly into her mouth at the contact, like even the lightest touch from her could undo him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he breathed, lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

She looked at him then, wide-eyed and flushed, her chest rising fast beneath the soft cotton of her shirt. “I think I do.”

Harry’s eyes darkened just slightly, but his hands stayed gentle—one braced behind her back, the other slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to trace slow, reverent lines along her waist. He watched her carefully as he did, his gaze asking permission even when his body begged for more. Lily didn’t stop him.

Instead, she leaned into him, shifting closer until she was straddling his lap, her knees tucked on either side of his hips. The move surprised them both.

Her breath stuttered. “Is this okay?”

Harry’s fingers tightened just slightly where they rested against her bare skin.

“Fuck, Lily,” he murmured, his voice low and thick as he felt her hands against his chest, moving down to his hips so that she could stabilize herself. The question hanging on his breath was pushed back to her, to solidify that her actions were matching her words. “Is it okay?”

His hands slid up her back, dragging her closer, but he still held back. His whole body was tensed in restraint, like every nerve was screaming to move faster but he wouldn’t. Not until she asked.

“You can touch me more,” she said, voice breathless but certain now; her shyness was masked by the spark of electricity that hung in the air between them. “Please.”

He groaned at that, tilting his head back slightly so he could look at her—his hands now cradling her waist like she was something rare and opportunistic; like being with her was a prize.

“I’ll show you anything,” he said. “Everything, if you let me. Just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

He kissed her again—this time with more heat, more hunger. And this time, when his tongue swept against hers, she met him halfway. Her hands moved to the base of his neck; she felt his head tilt up to meet hers in a fit of need and angst. With each pull of his hair, an elicited groan escaped from between his lips into hers, the vibration creating a sense of need.

Her hands moved to roam beneath his shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head without breaking the kiss, letting her touch him freely now—her palms mapping his chest, his stomach, the ink that curled down his ribs like secrets.

He exhaled hard, forehead pressed to hers. “Lily…”

“Please,” she whispered, and that one word—so soft, so open—was everything.

His hands skimmed beneath her shirt next, lifting the fabric inch by inch, waiting for her to stop him. She didn’t.

When he pulled it over her head and tossed it to the side, his breath caught—his hands hovering, his eyes reverent, like she was art. Like he wanted to memorize every inch.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, barely able to breathe it.

She shivered, nerves fluttering in her belly, but when he touched her again—his hands trailing slowly along the curve of her waist, up her sides, then gently over her ribs. He kissed down her neck, down to the space just above her heart, always slow, always waiting for her to say no. Instead, she leaned into him, leaned into his touch to let her mind wander at the true feeling of want.

Not only did he want her – he wanted to treasure her. His hands were warm where they skimmed her bare sides, fingers brushing along the gentle curve of her ribcage. And then he paused—just under the swell of her breast, where a faint shadow of ink curved along her skin.

Harry pulled back slightly, catching the breaths that he felt he only had a few left, his fingers hovering.

The small, delicate linework he’d drawn months ago sitting beneath the pads of his fingers as he rubbed over it gently. Her first tattoo.

“God,” he murmured against the heat of her skin, brushing the pad of his thumb over it. “This is mine.”

Lily’s breath hitched—not from possession, but from the way he said it. Like it meant something more than ink. Like it was sacred.

“I almost didn’t go through with it,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the spot. “But you did. You let me mark you.”

His hand stayed there, palm warm and flat against her ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of her breath as if it was his only lifeline now. Lily reached for the hem of his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. He didn’t stop her; he just lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head, baring his chest to her, skin golden in the low light, scattered with ink and soft shadows.

Her hands rested against him—curious, slow—exploring the tattoos she’d only glimpsed before. One on his shoulder, a pair of birds settling on his collarbone, a large butterfly under his ribs. A name near his heart in small, typewriter lettering.

“Do they all mean something?” she asked, tracing the edge of one with her finger.

A huffed out laugh came from his lips as he shook his head, “No, not at all.”

She looked up at him, face flushed, eyes wide and unguarded. And then she kissed him. This time, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t tentative. She kissed him with want, with memory, with the understanding that this had always been building to something. Her hands slid over his shoulders, his chest, fingers flexing like she wanted to know him by feel. She pulled him in, and he felt like a sailor in a sea filled with siren songs.

Harry groaned softly, low in his throat, and gathered her closer, one hand slipping to the small of her back, the other threading into her hair as her mouth moved over his. His restraint frayed—she could feel it in the way his grip tightened, in the way his hips shifted beneath her.

But he still held the line. Every kiss, every touch was for her—measured by what she asked for, what she invited. When she rolled her hips gently against him—just once—his breath stuttered, and he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

“Lily,” he whispered, his voice tight. “I need to slow down. Or I’m going to forget how.”

She nodded, humming softly as if to protest, but knowing that she respected his boundaries as she should her own. She knew that she should stop – she didn’t want to move faster but she found it very hard to remember that when she could feel the way that he protected her, she could feel the way that he drew her in so heavenly.

“I want you so badly,” he admitted, his hands shaking slightly now as they cupped her hips to stop her from moving. “But I don’t want to take advantage of just… this moment.”

Lily’s lips brushed his jaw. “You make it hard to want to wait.”

He smiled—wrecked, tender, and completely enthralled with the way that her voice dripped with anticipation and need. “I think that’s the point.”

His hands moved back to her tattoo; his mark. And the only thing he wanted to leave on her that night.

They stayed tangled like that for a while—breathing each other in, heartbeat to heartbeat, the space between them simmering with unspoken want. Lily was still straddled in his lap, her chest against his, their skin pressed so close it felt like her nerves were tuned to his every breath.

Harry’s lips were at her jaw, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth again. Slow, dragging kisses that made her stomach twist with need and something more dangerous—safety. Her hips moved once more—subconsciously, involuntarily—and she felt the way his body tensed beneath her, how he froze mid-kiss, like his control was snapping at the seams.

Then, he pulled away. Not far. Just enough to look at her, chest rising and falling faster now.

“Lils,” he said, breathless and rough and with enough clarity in his head to know that he had to stop, “I’m going to stop thinking straight.”

He could tell that there was an internal struggle as he looked up at her. It was such a different portrait; she was so shy and flushed and reserved when he met her – this was such a different version of her. The darkness in her eyes, the want and need of satisfaction was controlling her now, but he wanted to respect her and understand that this was not the time and place.

“Come here,” he murmured, and kissed her again—slow and deep, like a promise instead of a goodbye.

When he pulled back again, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m gonna get you something to change into, yeah? Then, I’m going to take the coldest shower of my entire life and try not to punch a hole through my own wall.”

Lily laughed softly at his comment, still breathless, her cheeks glowing with affection and embarrassment. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I do,” he muttered, moving to stand and gently lifting her off his lap, setting her on the couch with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Because if I look at you like that for one more minute, this blanket’s not going to be the only thing I rip in half.”

She blushed a red that he hadn’t seen yet. He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her sitting in the golden spill of lamplight, her body thrumming with sensation, her lips swollen and tingling from his kiss. She let her fingers play with them for a moment, knowing how they tingled. A minute later, he came back with a soft, oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

“Boxers are clean,” he said, tossing them gently into her lap. “Shirt is… eh, probably fine.”

“Probably?” she teased, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Might have worn it without washing, hard to tell,” he replied, grabbing a towel from a hook by the door. “You can sleep in the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Lily sat up straighter as she held the clothes between her fingers. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, already heading toward the bathroom. “I, uh, probably need to just be alone.” He bit his lip thinking of what would happen if they fell asleep next to each other in the warmth of his bed after what he knew she was capable of.

He shook his head as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe. “Just leave a pillow out here for me?”

She watched him grab his own stuff, clothes and items in his hands before he turned back to her one last time, her heart tangled somewhere between longing and gratitude. Just before the bathroom door closed, he leaned back out, hair tousled, his eyes warm despite the fire still simmering just beneath the surface.

“Lily?”

She turned her head up, “Yeah?”

He smiled at the large eyes that stared back at him, “Tonight was perfect. Even if we didn’t finish what we started.”

She held his gaze for a long, humming beat. Then nodded, the shyness in her coming back, “Yeah. It was.”

Harry gave her one last smile before shutting the door softly, falling back into it as he let out the largest breath. His eyes shut as he tried to unravel every small feeling that he had ever felt for someone and tried to make sense of the way that he felt now.

He was doomed.

***

One Month Later

Rain pelted the tall windows in uneven rhythms, wind pressing against the glass in slow, heaving breaths with the scent of apples and blossoms from the wax candle that burned on top of the stack of books. The city outside was blurred—soft gold street lights smudged by the storm, like the whole world had decided to lean in, hush up, and listen.

Inside Harry’s apartment, the candle flickered in the corner, casting long shadows across the hardwood. The floor creaked faintly beneath them, the storm beyond the glass a steady hum beneath the stillness of the space.

They sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the low coffee table, a worn chessboard between them, the pieces already in mid-battle.

Lily was bundled in one of Harry’s hoodies, sleeves pushed up as if she had been getting serious about the game, bare legs tucked under her. Harry sat across from her in gray sweats and a loose black t-shirt, sleeves hugging the curve of his arms just right. His hair was still damp from the rain he’d run through earlier to grab the takeout from the corner store, curling around his temples in soft spirals.

“I hope you know you’re going to lose,” Lily said, flicking her rook across the board with precision; the way that her voice was soft and gentle was that much more enticing, as it didn’t have the edge of someone vicious.

Harry narrowed his eyes, thumb rubbing over the edge of his mouth in concentration. “You’ve gotten cocky.”

“I’ve been studying.” Lily answered with a bit of pride, taking a sip of her tea.

“Studying?” he repeated, eyes flickering up to her. “Oh, so that’s why you ignored me for half an hour the other night.”

With a bitten smile, Lily shrugged at him with nonchalance. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was… strategizing.”

“You were watching tutorials on how to crush me at chess.”

“Same thing,” she said, smiling sweetly, innocently.

Harry leaned back on his hands, his legs stretched out long across the worn rug, spine curved just enough to show off the way his shirt clung across his chest. He was watching Lily the way he always did when he wanted to rattle her - calm, unreadable, mouth ticking up like he knew something she didn’t.

His eyes moved slowly across her face, cataloguing her as he studied the curve of her cheekbone, the soft flutter of lashes as she focused too hard on the board, the slight smirk she kept trying to swallow. His gaze lingered, like he was filing it all away for later.

“You know,” he said, pursing his lips with a low, teasing voice, “we never agreed on stakes.”

Lily looked up, raising an eyebrow, her bare thigh brushing against the edge of the table. “Stakes?”

“For the game.” Harry gestured lazily at the board, his fingers toying with a captured knight that sat on the edge nearest to him. “There should be consequences. And a clear winner.”

Her mouth twitched as she tilted her head, wondering how he could turn everything into a romantic gesture. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind?”

He grinned, devilish and slow. “If I win,” He threw his head back in thought before he turned it back up to look at her, “I get to choose exactly how I kiss you tonight.”

Lily blinked at him, and he didn’t miss the way her spine stiffened, the way her fingers fidgeted for half a second before stilling. Her throat bobbed as she moved her piece – a pawn this time.

He tilted his head, his voice dipping to a low murmur. “That includes where… how long… how soft—or how not soft.”

“You’re already kissing me whenever you want,” she managed, trying to sound bored but falling a bit short.

“True,” Harry said, shifting forward, his elbows resting on his knees now, gaze warm and steady. “But tonight, I want permission to be creative.”

Lily stared at him, her pulse starting to pick up speed. There was a curl of heat in her stomach that hadn’t been there a minute ago. She swallowed. “And if I win?”

Harry leaned in, closing some of the space between them. The warm glow from the nearby lamp threw soft shadows over his cheekbones. His voice came slower now, thicker. He moved another piece, a knight.

“Then you get to tell me how you want me.”

Thunder rumbled outside low and heavy, rolling through the walls like an echo of what was already building in her chest.

Lily nudged a pawn forward, fingers steady even if her breath wasn’t. “I think I’ll be keeping you on a leash.”

Harry’s smirk sharpened as he glanced at her legs, then up to her eyes. “God, that’s hot. Say more things like that.”

“Harry.” Eyes like darts hit him before she moved her own knight, to which he bit his lip. He hadn’t been pay attention, and that was clear before he needed to make a more strategic move.

He moved without hesitation, sliding his queen across the board until it landed with a soft click far too close for comfort.

“Check,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lily stilled, her eyes flicking to the board, then back to him. “You're kidding. Shit.”

Harry’s fingers trailed around the rim of his water glass, slow and deliberate as she turned her eyes from the game to him then.

“Am I? Because if I win… I think I’ll start by kissing your thighs. Just above the hem of these little shorts you’re sporting.”

Her breath hitched at his words, almost like they were a kiss of breath. She glanced down at her lap as though realizing for the first time how much skin she’d shown.

When she looked back up, his gaze was already there.

“And then I’ll ask,” he continued, leaning in just a little closer – he was trying to get into her head so he could win, “if you want me to keep going. Or if you’d rather just watch me lose my mind because you’re being such a tease.”

“You’re cheating,” she said, breath catching as she shook her head to get into the game again. She had to win now; she couldn’t have him getting away with this.

He raised his brows, shaking his head. “Nope. Just thinking ahead. Like any good strategist would.”

Lily flushed but kept her composure. Her hand hovered over a knight, then moved it swiftly, landing with a firm, clean snap.

“Check,” she said, daring him with her eyes.

Harry blinked, leaned in like he didn’t quite believe it, then exhaled through his nose. “Well, well. You’ve got me in quite a pickle here, love.”

Inching forward on her knees, holding herself up on her elbows above the game, closing the distance between them. The tips of their noses were just inches apart now. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You just didn’t notice because you were too busy staring at my mouth.”

He stared at her lips for one second too long.

“Oh, I noticed,” he said, his voice rawer now. “I’m just trying to think ahead for when I win, what I’ll get for it, that’s all.”

She froze. Her cheeks turned crimson, her hands going still in her lap.

Then, she whispered, “But, what if I do?”

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes locked on hers, the air between them tight and electric. His hand reached out slowly, placing a piece before his eyes darted back to her.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating her profile in pale silver as if in response to his daring move. The crack of thunder followed with a low, distant roar that shook the apartment windows.

Lily stared at the board like it could give her answers, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“You’re stalling,” Harry said, his voice soft and amused.

“I’m thinking,” she replied, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her as she tried to give him the best poker face.

He leaned forward again, dragging his gaze across her throat, her collarbone, down to where her hoodie hung loose over one shoulder. “It’s part of my charm. Verbal misdirection. Seduction tactics. I have layers.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He shrugged, the shirt pulling on his biceps. “And yet you’re half a second from climbing over this board and proving me right.”

“I’m half a second from destroying you,” she said, moving another piece deliberately.

He looked. Then smiled slowly. “God, that’s also hot. You’re ruthless when you play dirty.”

Harry shifted again, slow and catlike, stretching his legs out with deliberate ease as he leaned back on his palms. His shirt clung across his chest, the motion flexing the line of muscle in his arms, veins visible beneath the skin. It was effortless and sharp at once, and Lily caught herself watching the way his fingers flexed against the rug like he was resisting the urge to move toward her.

His voice was low and teasing, but there was a new weight in it now—something thick, laced with want. “What happens if I win the next game?”

Lily’s eyes narrowed, but her pulse betrayed her, jumping hard in her throat. She tried to hold onto a thread of composure. “We haven’t finished this one.”

He didn’t blink. Just tilted his head and gave her a look that could’ve set the entire board between them on fire—steady, heated, and too-intimate. His gaze dropped, slowly, down to her bare knees folded beneath her and back up to her mouth. The air between them buzzed.

“Just planning ahead,” he murmured, tongue licking over his lips. “You’re the slow burn type.”

Her breath caught. She rolled her eyes, but the pink blooming beneath her cheeks gave her away instantly. She was glowing from the inside out. “Is that a compliment?”

Harry didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he shifted forward on his elbows, the dim lamp casting his jawline into shadow. He watched her like he was about to devour every inch of her quiet—then said, voice dropping to something barely above a rasp: “It’s the highest one I’ve got to give.”

“You’re all soft gasps,” he continued, each word dragging heat across her skin, “and coiled tension and the tiniest sounds when I touch you just right. You act like you’re not asking for it, but your body language says it all.”

Lily’s hands trembled. Her knees dug into the rug beneath her, but she barely noticed. Her breath came unevenly now, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him. His stare held her there like a magnet. Still trying to pretend at composure, she pushed a piece forward. The sound of it on the board felt too loud, too final.

“Your turn,” she managed out, wondering how the game of chess had turned into a game of cat and mouse.

Harry didn’t move right away. His eyes had shifted now—less teasing, more reverent. Something unguarded flickered in his expression, like he was fighting between the game and what was happening underneath it. He looked at the board, then at her.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he kept them still. Instead, he leaned closer, eyes scanning her like he was reading every sharp edge and soft corner. Then, with slow precision, he made his move. Lily didn’t speak; she didn’t have to.

She reached for her queen, the pads of her fingers brushing the carved edge like it was glass. She lifted it and placed it down with the quietest, most lethal sound she could make.

Tap.

“Checkmate.”

Harry didn’t move. He sat perfectly still as if her voice had frozen something inside him. The rain outside had softened to a hush, like even the sky was stunned into silence. His eyes flicked to the queen, then to her face—lips parted, breath shallow, gaze full of something unreadable.

“No,” he said, breathless and barely laughing. “That’s illegal. I’ve been seduced into defeat.”

Lily beamed, her smile slow and wicked as it overtook her flushed features. “Nope,” she said. “Just outplayed.”

Harry exhaled like he couldn’t take it. “You cheated,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes still locked on hers. “With your mouth. And your thighs.”

She leaned forward slowly, closing the final inches between them until their noses almost brushed. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Someone’s a sore loser.”

“Christ, Lily,” he groaned. Harry let out a sharp, strangled laugh—half disbelief, half desperation—and dragged a hand through his curls, tipping his head back.

She crawled around the board slowly, carefully—not like she was teasing him, but like she was still figuring out whether her body could be that bold. Her knees nudged gently against his thighs before she eased herself into his lap, featherlight, like she didn’t quite believe she had permission to be there until his hands came to rest on her hips.

His thumbs traced absent, grounding circles over the fabric of her shorts as she settled, still and quiet, hands pressed gently to his chest. He was so solid beneath her, muscles coiled under skin, breath just a bit too slow like he was trying to keep himself from reacting too quickly.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, but she tilted her chin and looked at him, nervous, but not backing down.

“I believe…” The way that she murmured was barely above a whisper, “I won the right to tell you how I want you tonight.”

His hands gripped just a little tighter at her hips, like he was holding onto restraint by the thinnest thread. His eyes searched hers, begging her to volley with his wittiness and eagerness.

“And how’s that?”

Lily swallowed, her lashes fluttering as she dropped her gaze to his collarbone, her fingers tracing a slow, trembling line along the edge of his shirt.

“I don’t know exactly,” She was so sure but so unsure of how to ask. “But I want to… try. I want it to be slower this time. But not soft. Just… different.”

His chest rose sharply beneath her hands, and she dared a glance at his face again. Harry’s eyes were wide and burning, like her words had reached straight into his chest and cracked something open.

“M'kay,” He breathed out, biting his lip. “I can work with that.”

She smiled—small and shy and impossibly lovely—and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. It was careful, unsure, but full of intent. When he didn’t move—just sat perfectly still beneath her—she kissed him again. Fuller this time. Her mouth brushing over his like she was testing how close she could get before she melted into him entirely. Her hands flattened over his chest, not searching this time, just feeling.

Heat pooled in her stomach as she adjusted in his lap, her hips shifting without thinking, slow and unsteady like they had before. This time, he didn’t stop her, he let her.

Harry let out a breath like he’d been holding it in all night.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he grumbled, voice ragged against her lips.

She hesitated for only a second before whispering, and narrowing her brows at him with blame, “You started it.”

That broke something loose in him—he laughed, soft and wrecked, and kissed her again, this time with just enough hunger to make her gasp. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tentative but needing. She rocked once more accidental, but very much not, and Harry pulled back with a low, guttural groan, his hands flying to her waist like a lifeline.

Instead of answering, she bent down and kissed his neck—slow, warm, her mouth brushing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. She nipped, then soothed the spot with her tongue, and he shuddered beneath her.

“I need to hear you say it,” he said, his voice wrecked now. “Tell me you want it.”

She leaned back, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, and looked him in the eye with her forehead pressed to his.

“I want this,” she said. “I want you.”

His exhale was audible—part disbelief, part reverence. But he still didn’t move.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, his hands frozen on her hips, like if he let them roam, he might lose all control. He flexed his fingers in almost an aching way. “Because I swear to God, the second I let go, I’m not going to be able to pretend I don’t want to keep you like this forever.”

Lily smiled softly, and then—without speaking—she lifted the hem of her hoodie and tugged it over her head, tossing it somewhere behind her to reveal that there had been nothing underneath. Harry’s breath punched out of him, his hands gripping her thighs now like he was trying not to fall apart right there on the rug.

“Jesus Christ, Lily.”

She just leaned in again, kissing him deeper, more insistent on what she really wanted. And when his mouth opened under hers, his restraint snapped—but only just. He kissed her like he meant to unravel her. Like she was the answer to every sharp edge he’d ever carried. His hands finally moved, up her sides, over the curve of her back, palms broad and reverent, holding her like she was both precious and powerful.

“You’re everything,” His breath was hot as he breathed into her mouth, nipping lightly at her lips as he did so, making her giggle, “You know that?”

She kissed him harder in response, pressing her chest to his as his hands slid beneath the waistband of her shorts, slow, testing the boundary line that neither of them had crossed before. She shifted in his lap again, letting out a quiet moan when she felt how hard he was beneath her.

“Fuck,” he breathed, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut. “We need to slow down. I have to—”

She rocked against him again, firmer now, grounding herself there, and grabbed his face between her hands. He still didn’t move for a second as if feeling the internal struggle that she continued to test of him. Like he needed to feel her say it again with her body. And she did—reaching between them, helping him out of his shirt, kissing the ink over his heart, then his throat, then his mouth again like she couldn’t get enough of him.

“Please,” she whispered, mouth hot against his jaw. “No stopping this time.”

And with that, the game was over.

Harry held onto her tightly before throwing her around, her back hitting the rug as he turned them over. Her breath escaping her at his sudden roughness that made her back arch into softness of the rug.  The rug beneath them was rough but grounding, a scrape of texture against the softness of her thighs as she lay back, her body still buzzing from the way he’d kissed her.

Thunder grumbled outside, low and distant, like the sky was holding its breath.

Harry hovered over her, braced on one elbow, eyes raking slowly down her body like he didn’t know where to touch first – he felt like this was his first time and everything was new and exciting again. His free hand was spread across her stomach, warm and steady, thumb tracing over the faint line of her ribs. It was such a relief to have someone who wanted to listen to him; to keep it slow and to allow there to be such intimacy in a moment.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” His eyes drifted down her long torso that had practically opened for him; watching as her chest fill and emptied with every breath, “Lying here like this for me.”

Lily swallowed, cheeks flushed, her fingers curling into the fabric of the rug before she moved her right hand to pull at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“I’ve thought about this,” he went on, dragging his hand, dancing his fingers between her breasts, over her collarbone, to cradle her jaw. “Every night since you walked into my shop. I used to wonder what you'd sound like underneath me,” he whispered almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak out loud, “How you'd taste when you stop trying to be polite.”

She made a quiet, involuntary sound that she wasn’t even sure if she recognized, and Harry smiled—slow with the devilish feeling of sin, like he was unwrapping something delicate and unearthly.

“You like that?” Harry asked, his voice low and gravel-smooth, each word dragging along her skin like a slow flame that burned each inch of her. He nodded slightly, coaxing, his eyes locked on her face. “You like when I talk to you like this?”

Lily turned her head, her cheeks flushed so brightly it spread down her throat. She tried to hide in the crook of her arm, but he followed, chasing her retreat with his mouth—kissing her cheek, her jaw, the delicate spot just beneath her ear where her pulse thudded.

“You get so shy,” his voice was so soft, but set an electricity that made her ache.

“But you don’t stop me.” He kissed lower, the words barely a breath against her skin. “You don’t want me to stop.”

“No,” she whispered, the word barely a thread of sound. “No, no, no.”

He groaned into her neck, like her voice alone unraveled him. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Then his lips found hers again—hotter this time, deeper, slower. His hand slipped lower, between her thighs, fingers sliding deliberately beneath the waistband of her underwear, exploring with pressure instead of permission. Her breath caught, her body opening for him instinctively, hips tilting in invitation as she pushed herself into him. She was already soaked for him, dripping in anticipation, but he loved the long game.

Harry broke the kiss with a sharp exhale, dropping his head to her shoulder like he needed a second to breathe her in.

“Fuck, Lily,” he nipped at her neck, knowing he left a mark – God, he loved leaving her marked.

His fingers moved again—gentler now, more curious than greedy. He found her rhythm, learned it in seconds, and when he brushed right where she needed it, she gasped, her hips jolting in a need she had forgotten about. Her hands flew to the rug beside her, grasping for something solid.

“Look at me,” he said, and his voice was commanding now, but not harsh in any means.

Her eyes fluttered open. His face hovered just above hers so wrecked and beautiful, jaw tight, lips parted, but his eyes—his eyes were steady, dark with focus and want.

“I want to hear you when I do this,” His fingers circled her clit now, slow, devastating. “I want to know exactly how good I make you feel.”

She moaned—soft and sweet at first, her hand flying up to stifle it. Harry caught her wrist, gently but firm enough that made her gasp – almost choking a sob.

“No,” he said, tugging her hand away and pressing it above her head, stretching her out. “I want you loud for me, baby. So fucking loud when I touch you.”

She shuddered at the command, the praise, the sheer gravity of his attention. He wasn’t just touching her—he was watching her unravel, mouth parted like he was memorizing every sound, every twitch of her body beneath his hands.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he whispered, kissing down her shoulder, her collarbone as he watched the way that her nipples hardened as his mouth breathed cooly over them, “Gonna play with you until you’re begging for it. Gonna keep you on this floor until you forget how to say anything but my name, you understand?”

“Harry,” she gasped, hips rolling into his hand now, voice high and broken.

“I’ve got you,” he said, kissing her again, the heat of his voice was radiating through her, practically pumping the blood flow of her heart, “You just stay open for me. That’s it. Just like that. So fucking good.”

Her thighs trembled, the muscles in her stomach tightening as he slid her underwear down her thighs so slowly, kissing his way down her legs as he went. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her knee until she was breathless and shaking beneath him. His eyes tried to memorize the way that she laid along his floor, fully on display for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed out in a haze, pushing his hair on his forehead; the hunger in his made him feel ravished, practically growling as he pushed her knees apart. He could tell that she was tensing, waiting for him to come back to her.

His fingers found their way back to her, spreading her with two as he stared at the way that her head pushed to arch her back, gasping in a fit of need.

Harry moved down, his mouth attaching to hip as his eyes flew to her reaction. Shaking hands wrapped around his curls, almost like she was scared of his reaction to being touched as he let his fingers push inside of her – warm and tight. So tight.

When his mouth finally replaced his fingers, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes against her, she cried out—a raw, desperate sound—and he groaned against her in response. His hands gripped her thighs like he needed to ground himself, to feel her coming apart in his arms. And still—he didn’t rush. Every time she got close, every time her breath caught, and her body tightened, he eased back just enough to draw it out.

It was never to tease or to play games. To worship her. To show her what it meant to be wanted with patience.

“You’re already falling apart for me,” he said against her skin, spitting directly on her as she gasped. Smearing his spit and her wetness together against his fingers, he practically came right then and there.

His eyes flew up to her, “You want more?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling, shaking as she could feel herself starting to lose control but every time she started, he stopped and it only made her want to cry – she wanted it so bad.

Harry demanded more, “Say it.”

“I want more—please, Harry.”

“Mm,” He wanted to tease her – to embarrass her just a bit. “You don’t want my fingers, do you? You want more?” He nodded, trying to get her to push herself, “Tell me what you really want.”

Lily fidgeted on the rug, practically mewling at his words. Her face was flushed as she tried to cover herself, but his hands moved her arms again as he came face to face with her again.

“You want to be fucked, don’t you, angel?” He swallowed as he blinked a few times, wondering if he was pushing a boundary too hard, “I’ll give you my cock, but only if you say please.”

Lily gasped, her breath making the skin against her ribs tighten, “Please – God, Harry, please.”

The storm outside had quieted to a gentle patter against the windows, but inside, the air was thick with something louder than thunder—want, built slow and careful over weeks, finally breaking open between them like a held breath let go.

He kissed her deeply then, tasting every part of her mouth like he needed it to breathe. His body fit perfectly between her thighs, warm and heavy, the press of him against her core enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. It made him groan—a quiet, wrecked sound, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

Lily arched into him, her hands skimming down his back, nails dragging lightly over skin, and he shivered from the contact. She’d never seen him like this—undone, desperate, but still so careful. Like holding himself back was the price of having her.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“I’ve never wanted someone like this,” he shook his head. “It’s driving me out of my fucking mind, like I may need to be sent away after this.”

He worshiped her with his mouth and hands, slow and reverent, every sigh and gasp she gave him another thread snapping in his chest. Her thighs around his waist, her breath on his neck, the way she moaned his name like a secret—it nearly broke him.

Harry pushed his own sweats down, letting himself free of the practical torture. Lily’s thighs practically captured him, pulling him towards her as they fit together, Harry hovered above her, breath shallow, eyes dark and tender as he brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead. His thumb lingered at her temple, like she was something delicate and precious—not because she was fragile, but because she was giving him something no one else had earned.

“What do you need?” He asked against her, “Condom?”

Shaking her head, she blinked at the ceiling, wondering if she was really on earth any longer.

“N-No,” She swallowed, “We don’t – we don’t need one, if you don’t – I mean.”

The stuttering made him smirk, shaking his head as he pulled his lips into his mouth.

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean, I’m clean – I just meant - ”

“IUD,” Lily breathed out, feeling the weight of the small conversation that hadn’t been had. Not that it killed the heat of the moment, but Harry just nodded with confirmation to ensure that she was taken care of.

“Oh, sick,” his lopsided smile made her heart flutter, “So, I mean, theoretically,” He licked his lips, holding himself over her, one arm bent and the other pushed up, “Should I pull out? Like… I mean, do you…”

Lily blinked at him, shaking her head as she thought of it, “I… I don’t think I mind. I’ve never had someone… like, inside.” She bit her lip, knowing that it was trembling as she used her shaking hand to move some hair from her face.

“Really?” Harry asked, biting the inside of his cheek, “I mean, I don’t know… if you realized, but I do have a thing. About like,” Lily noticed the faint hint of color that may have been spreading on his cheeks now, “Marking.”

Lily swallowed, breathing heavy before she cleared her throat, “Um, like, I’m yours?”

“You’re so fucking mine,” Harry stifled a breath of a laugh before he shook his head, letting his mouth fall back down onto hers, “Fucking love marking you, baby. Mine, all mine.”

His body aligned with hers, skin with skin, the space between them shrinking until there was nothing left untouched. Everything moved slowly, deliberately—like they were memorizing the moment, not just physically, but in every breath, every shared glance, every heartbeat echoing between their ribs.

When he began to move, there was no rush. Just a gentle give and take, a rhythm born from trust and quiet longing. Lily gasped, a sound caught between surprise and surrender, and Harry stilled as he pressed himself in, letting his cock take every inch of her.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Just feel me. That’s all I want.”

Her hands clutched at his back, and she nodded, her body adjusting to him, inviting him in piece by piece. Every movement from him was careful, attentive, like he was listening to her body as closely as her words. And when her hips moved to meet his, when her breath hitched in time with his, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a vow made in silence.

It had been a while for both of them - since either of them had been intimate like this. Lily couldn't remember a time that she had felt so worshipped, so looked at. Harry couldn't remember a time when he cared so much about the person underneath him; it made his heart spiral in a frenzy of haze.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, barely able to form the words. “So fucking soft, baby. Fuck.”

She pulled him back to her mouth with trembling fingers, her eyes wide and heavy with want.

Their bodies moved together in rhythm, matched breath for breath, sigh for sigh. And when she started to tremble beneath him, clutching at his shoulders, he talked her through it—whispering her name, telling her how beautiful she looked, how perfect she felt, how much he needed her.

The room had heat and breath and the sound of skin meeting skin in a fervent, terrifying need. Every inch of them slick with sweat and want, tangled in each other like they didn’t remember where he ended, and she began.

Harry was moving deeper now, slower, but harder—like every thrust was significant and laced with a drug so addicting that he couldn’t stop if the room was on fire, like he wanted to make her feel it days from now. His voice was wrecked in her ear, low and constant, a stream of words that curled around her spine like smoke.

“God, Lily—fuck, you feel like heaven,” He struggled to practically breath as he felt her hips meet his,; he sat up for a moment, pulling himself out of her where he heard a bit of a reaction from her. “This pussy could make me religious."

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails dragging over his back in jagged little lines that only made him groan louder. She couldn’t speak, it was like someone had taken her sound and replaced it with breath.

"You... feel so good," Lily murmured out, practically no voice left in her. The small vocals made Harry's ear perk up, like it was enough to keep him going.

“You’re so—tight, baby, so fucking good—taking me so well. So sweet. So fucking sweet.”

She whimpered beneath him, body shaking in an adrenaline high, breath catching with every roll of his hips. And still, he kept talking, kept praising her like he couldn’t get enough.

“You were made for this. For me. You hear me? This perfect little body—fuck.”

Her thighs tightened around him, and her breath stuttered, the pressure building like a crescendo she couldn’t quite name. Harry saw it—felt it. His hands cradled her face, eyes locked on hers like he needed her to look at him when she broke.

“That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing hers. “Let me see it. Let me hear it. Don’t hold back now, baby—give it to me.”

She gasped, high and desperate like she was about to cry, but Harry knew that it was just pushing her to the limit. “Harry—”

Her voice shattered into a cry as the wave crashed over her, her back arching, hips locking around him, her entire body burning and trembling and opening. It was an all-encompassing need that her body clung to him to stabilize her high to the tallest degree.

And he lost it. Harry groaned, deep and broken, his forehead pressed to hers, his rhythm stuttering as he chased the feeling of her falling apart beneath him.

“Jesus—Lily, I’m—fuck, I’m right there, baby—don’t stop looking at me—don’t stop—”

He came with a ragged moan, his entire body felt like he was flat-lining, chest heaving against hers like something sacred had broken loose inside him. His hands shook where they gripped her hips. His mouth found hers again, wild and uncoordinated, but desperate—hungry for her even now. Her hands wrapped around him tightly to keep him as close to her as physically possible.

They stilled together, bodies wrecked and breathing each other in like air. Lily blinked up at him through heavy lashes, her chest still rising and falling in shallow waves. Harry was staring at her like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and the angels from heaven had come down to get him.

“God fucking damnit,” He breathed out without realization that his entire bodily pressure was laying and pressing Lily completely. She felt the safeness and the gratitude, wanting to be buried like this forever. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. Smiled—slow and dazed with a stare so lost in space that she could barely understand what was happening around her. “I’ve never been better.”

He exhaled, lifting up just a bit to get a better look at her underneath him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me either.”

Harry brushed his thumb along her cheek, watching her as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. Lily felt the urge to smile, but her candor was sleepy and wrecked and glowing.

“I feel like the rug might be embedded in my spine now.” She muttered out, laughing just a bit as she tucked some of Harry’s curls behind his ear.

Harry laughed, pulling her closer. “I’ll buy you a new spine, if that’s what you need.”

She closed her eyes and tucked her head under his chin, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel scared. She felt chosen.

Maneuvering themselves, Harry finally felt the need to reposition them, laying on his own back as he stared at the ceiling with her. Lily moved instantly to lay next to him, cuddling up to rest her head on his chest as he pulled her close.

They lay tangled on the rug, breaths slowing, bodies slick with the warm aftermath of what felt like a lifetime compressed into a few hours. Lily’s head rested against Harry’s chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat a quiet comfort against the storm still murmuring outside. Harry’s fingers traced lazy circles along her spine, his touch featherlight now, as if afraid to break the fragile bubble they’d built around themselves.

Eventually, he murmured out, “You know, I think I’m going to have rug burn.”

Lily lifted her head, blinking up at him with a tired smile. “Rug burn?”

He grinned, a crooked, breathless smile. “Yeah. This little rug? It’s seen more of us than any piece of furniture should.”

She laughed quietly, the sound light and warm in the hush. “You’re ridiculous.”

The room was dim and golden, all corners softened by the warm spill of the lamp and candle that had started to flicker with the burnt down wick. Rain still kissed the windows, quieter now, more like a lullaby than a storm. Their clothes were scattered in lazy pieces across the floor as Harry and Lily tried their best to redress themselves.

Lily started to stir first, her skin flushed, her hair damp with sweat and curling at her temples. He started to feel her shift a bit in the quietness, and as he looked over at her, she started to lift her head.

“I should go to clean up,” her voice hoarse and quiet, her fingertips brushing at his collarbone as she lifted on her arm.

Harry groaned softly, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her elbow. “Can’t believe you want to move. I was hoping we’d just fuse to the carpet.”

She laughed—sleep starting to become more of a need than just a want, still breathless. “I don’t think your back would survive it.”

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered, rolling onto his side with a sigh, carefully untangling their legs.

Lily sat up slowly, her body aching in that good, golden way. She reached for the shirt he’d discarded earlier and tugged it over her head before padding barefoot down towards the small bathroom, her silhouette briefly lit by the hallway light as she disappeared into the bathroom without another glance.

Harry watched her go, arms folded under his head, eyes soft and dazed. There was something in the way she moved—still a little shy, a little unsure, but comfortable now. Like she wasn’t afraid to take up space in his home anymore. He sat up with a groan, grabbed a blanket off the nearby chair, and tossed it over the rumpled rug before pushing himself up and stretching. His muscles ached in all the right ways, but his mind had already drifted to his bedroom.

He had put his sweatpants back on, starting to get ready for bed by making sure the door was locked, the windows were shut, the lights were off. He flicked off the last lamp on his way down the hall, the apartment falling into quiet shadows behind him.

By the time he reached the bedroom with two cups of tea, Lily was already there.

She stood near the window, back to him, gazing out at the rain-slicked city. She wore only his shirt—long on her frame, hem brushing the tops of her thighs—and a pair of pale cotton panties. Her damp hair clung to the back of her neck, and the faint curve of her bare legs were decently on display.

Harry stopped in the doorway. His breath caught as he just stared and admired.

It wasn’t because she was half-naked, but because she looked like she belonged there. In his shirt. In his space. Like a painting he wasn’t supposed to touch but he had somehow been invited into. Lily turned slightly, noticing him. Her lips curved, soft and self-conscious.

“What?” Was all she could muster to say as she bit on her lip in a way that made Harry’s eyes glow with significant admiration.

Harry blinked and shook his head, he could barely look anywhere but forward like he was afraid she’d disappear if he even looked to the side.

“Nothing,” He answered, “Nothing at all.”

She flushed, tugging at the hem of his shirt, suddenly bashful again. Harry crossed the room in a few slow steps and reached her to set her tea down on the bedside table then. She laughed as he tugged her gently onto the mattress, both of them sinking into the sheets in a tangle of tired limbs and lingering heat.

Wrapped in his shirt, tucked against his chest, Lily felt something settle inside her—a hum, a knowing, like she’d finally found where she was meant to land. Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his fingers sliding into hers beneath the blanket.

“I was scared of this,” she whispered, her voice low and vulnerable in the hush.

“Of what?” Harry asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“This kind of closeness. Letting someone see everything. It’s... it used to feel dangerous.”

He was quiet for a moment, one hand stroking the soft skin at the small of her back.

Then, he opened up, a completely different thought coming acrossed him, “You ever read The Little Prince?”

Lily tried to think, shrugging a little bit as she thought, “Not since I was a kid, I don’t think.”

“Well, there’s a line in it that stayed with me,” he told her. “‘One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.’”

He went on, voice softer now. “I didn’t really understand it when I first read it. But now, I think it means that the things that matter most aren’t what people show you. It’s what they try to hide. And when someone lets you see that... it means everything,” He turned his head, eyes laying on her as she looked back at him. “Reminded me of you, I guess.”

She looked up at him then, eyes shining.

“That’s what you did,” he said. “You let me see you. And I’ll never take that lightly.”

She didn’t respond with words. She just kissed him—slow, deep, and filled with everything she didn’t know how to say, showing him that not only did she see him, she felt him – every inch of him with a certainty that made her scared to death and hopeful all at once.

***

A Few Weeks Later.

It was a Friday afternoon when Lily decided to walk back into the shop. The bell over the tattoo shop door gave a soft jingle as Lily stepped inside, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, heart thudding despite the knowledge of who was inside and who she was there to see.

Harry looked up from behind the counter, caught mid-sketch of another project he had been asked to create, his curls tied up messily in a clip that he had been sporting for the longer hair, and another pencil tucked behind one ear. His glasses had started to slide down his nose before he lifted his eyes to look up at who had come in.

“Well, well, well,” he said, that lopsided grin, the one that always started in his eyes before it reached his mouth was on full display. “If it isn’t my favorite distraction.”

Lily shrugged, trying to play it cool, though her pulse betrayed her. “Thought I’d come in for something permanent.”

His brow arched at the confidence she wore; so different than she had looked when she previously stood there. “What – you here for another tattoo?”

She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small, carefully folded piece of paper, shaking it in front of him. It looked fragile somehow creased but smoothed out, like she'd been carrying it with intention. She held it out with quiet fingers.

Harry took it from her without a word, unfolding it slowly. His thumb traced the edge of the paper unconsciously as his eyes scanned the familiar handwriting. And then he felt himself start to chuckle, start to shake his head before he looked back up at her and then down at the paper.

The quote sat in the center of the page like something sacred.

One sees clearly only with the heart.

The room went quiet, except for the low hum of the shop lights and the rain sliding down the windows. Harry didn’t speak right away. His expression softened, all of his usual wit and casual confidence falling away, stripped bare in the span of a heartbeat.

He looked up at her, blinking like he was seeing her in a new light. “Lily…”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting slightly under the weight of his gaze. “I want it here,” she said softly, reaching to touch the inside of her left arm—just below the bend of her elbow. “Just small. Simple. Just for me.”

She paused, then added, “But I want it to come from you, of course.”

Something flickered across his face—something deep and quiet and unspoken. He glanced down at the quote again, then back at her, as if trying to be sure he’d really heard her right.

“You know what this means, right?” he asked, voice hoarse with more than just surprise. She nodded, eyes steady despite the way her fingers curled in her coat pocket.

“Well, to me, it means I see you too.”

And just like that, all the air seemed to shift between them; thicker now, heavier with meaning. The kind of meaning that didn’t need to be spoken to be understood. Harry stepped around the counter, sleeves pushed up, falling into a space of pure obsession and completely on a different planet. There had always been a part of him that knew that he would find this, but when he looked at her, he realized how much of him had been waiting for someone like her all along.

No teasing. No smirk. Just his fingers sliding into hers—timid but foundational, warm but alive, and there.

“Let’s make it permanent, then.” he told her, nodding. Without another word, Harry gripped her hand into his, pulling her back to his work station – back to where it all began.

Back to where he knew he was in love. And to be loved, is to be seen.

[seungcheorry]

the heater is on, the floor isn't as cold as it should be when mingyu gets out of the shower. the smell of noodles - with the exact seasoning only you knows how to cook - invades his nostrils and goes straight to his stomach. it growls, and he looks down at his toned torso like a pregnant lady.

he did eat on his way back to korea, but can you blame him for being hungry once again already? when you're literally in his kitchen cooking his favorite dish, wearing his favorite perfume? for you, mingyu can even ignore the fact that you're terrible at surprises and that he unfortunately found the package you've been hiding in your drawer - he took a little bit longer in the shower because he was training his surprise face for when you give him the watch he's been talking about for a while now.

'oh, babe, you shouldn't have to' sounds more convincing than just a gasp and wide eyes, right?

he smiles to himself at the thought of you, trying to be so sneaky buying him a gift, with your big eyes and pretty smile. he sighs, choosing to put on his old red t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants instead of many of his fancy clothes.

deep down, mingyu knows he should do something. i mean, he's such a people's person - he's always so busy and surrounded by them -, perhaps that's how he should spend his birthday weekend too, right?

or perhaps that's exactly why he doesn't want to. he's so tired from traveling and performing and coming back home, maybe he deserves a good rest with you and only you.

with this thought in mind, and his towel over his head just like a kid and not like a 28 years old man, mingyu goes to the kitchen to find you stirring something.

"it smells nice", he comments, coming up to you.

"yeah? you want a taste?", you say, already grabbing a spoon and feeding mingyu some of your food. for a few seconds he just close his eyes, an overwhelmed smile in his face. "so?"

"best thing i've ever tasted in my life."

you laugh out loud, pushing him out of your way. "you always say that when i cook."

"and it's always true."

you roll your eyes, ignoring how mingyu basically puts his face into your pan so he can smell your food better.

"have you decided on your cake flavor yet? we should start baking or we gonna pull an all nighter in the kitchen."

"that would be fun", mingyu shrugs. "eating cake at 3am? count me in."

"it sounds nice, but you also need to rest. you spent way too many hours on a plane, baby."

again, mingyu shrugs. he walks up to you, adjusting his towel so he can see you better - you laugh, because the towel looks as if mingyu had the longest hair ever.

"i can rest tomorrow, it's my birthday and i wanna spend it with you."

"your birthday was yesterday."

"oh my god, you hate me so much..."

mingyu pulls you closer, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he pretends to fake cry. deep down he knows that, yeah, you could never truly hate him.

"big baby", you murmur, patting his back.

"always", he laughs like a little kid, wrapped around you. "age is just a number."

a/n: happy belated birthday to my pretty boy kim mingyu. i love you for sharing the same braincell as me, thank you for always making me smile and for encouraging me to be a better person, to try the things i want. i love you, mingoo, i truly do. ❤️🍒

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs (teaser!)

update: this fic's been posted! click here to read <3

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au || crack, fluff, teensy bit of angst because a certain someone doesn't know how to communicate their feelings...

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── haii everyone it's been a long time coming...i've been having a MAJOR writer's block and also just kinda taking a break because work has been more tiring on my body so i've just been exhausted recently so i apologize for the lack of content,,,but WE'RE BACK! if anyone's ever watched backstreet rookie (it's my comfort show i love kim yoo-jung), i'm kinda going for those romcom vibes here hehe. this sneak peek isn't as revealing as my others,,,it's quite short but this one is gonna be a lil more rom-com mixed with eventual angst because what is heeseung if not a yearner?

send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3 (current tag list at end of post :D )

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and the same unimpressed, judgemental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spice and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help—” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

this made me crave ramen.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

<3, addie

current tag list: [bolded couldn't be tagged, sorry :( ]

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[etherealyoungk]

ramen & fate | boo seungkwan

SUMMARY: in which you meet a rich guy at the convenience store during a late night ramen run.

PAIRING: chaebol!seungkwan x reader

THEMES: strangers to lovers, meet cute kinda

WARNINGS: fluff, use of curse words

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

A/N: @wheeboo happy birthday my love! this is a little gift from me to you! this is such a silly idea but i thought i'd write it out for you and i hope you like it <3

you walk into the convenience store and walk inside and the faint sound of pop music hums from the speakers overhead, blending with the quiet hum of the refrigerators in the back. you barely notice any of it though because your mission is clear - ramen. you really needed a ramen fix right now.

you make a beeline for the ramen aisle, the craving gnawing at you and nothing else would do now, not after the day you've had. there's a strange comfort in that little cup of noodles, in its simplicity, in the way it tastes exactly how you expected it to. your eyes scan the shelves and you spot your favourite ramen, only to find one left on the shelf. you immediately reach for it without a second thought, but so does someone else.

your fingers brush against another hand, and you pause, startled. your eyes follow the hand, trailing up a crisp white sleeve, past a perfectly tailored suit jacket, until they land on the face of the man reaching for the same cup of ramen. he’s tall so you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. his expression is cool, almost unreadable, his jawline sharp and sleek, his styled hair making him look like he just walked off the set of some corporate drama.

"oh," you say, blinking as your hand hovers over the cup.

he looks down at you, his brows lifting slightly as if in mild surprise, but he doesn’t immediately pull his hand back. "looks like we’ve got the same taste," he says, his voice smooth.

you blink at him and wrack your brain for a response before you let out a nervous laugh. "well, it is the best one", you reply as you look at him.

he smirks faintly, tilting his head. "i agree, but there’s only one left."

there’s a pause, the moment stretching out as both of you keep your hands over the cup of ramen and suddenly this feels like some sort of high-stakes negotiation situation.

"i—uh—had a long day," you say, trying to justify your claim, though you immediately feel silly for doing so. "i really need this ramen".

his smirk softens into something resembling amusement. "and you think i don’t?", he counters, raising a brow at you. "i’ve had back-to-back meetings since seven this morning", he says.

"well, i’ve been running around non-stop too", you protest, your grip on the edge of the shelf tightening. his gaze flickers between you and the ramen before he exhales, and lets out a small resigned sigh and to your surprise, he takes his hand away.

"alright," he says, stepping back slightly. "you win, take it", he says as his hand swings down. "really? thanks," you say, though your tone is cautious, like you’re not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of trick.

he gives you a small nod, then glances at his watch, grabbing a different ramen from the shelf and walking to a different aisle without sparing you another glance. you blink, a little confused but get about on your mission to get the ramen. you grab a few more stuff, some kimbap and something to drink and make your way to the cash counter when you spot the man in the suit again.

"i'm sorry sir, but i don't have change for such a big bill", you hear the worker say. "unless you buy items for that amount, i don't really have a way to give you back your change", the worker continues.

you walk front and put your stuff on the counter. "i'll pay for his stuff", you say and he looks at you.

"i've got it, i'm sure i have smaller bills somewhere", he says as he pulls out his wallet and your eyes nearly pop out with the fat wad of cash you see in it, all big bills. what the fuck. you decide to ignore what you just saw and by the time the man in the suit is digging his wallet, you've already paid for your stuff, his included.

you take your things and towards the corner of the store to cook your ramen. once the ramen is done, you take a seat and that's when the man in the suit appears again. he’s got his own ramen cup in hand, the sleeve of his tailored suit pushed up slightly to reveal an expensive looking watch. he moves methodically, peeling back the lid of his ramen cup and pouring in the hot water with a steady hand, there's no hesitation and no fumbling. he catches your gaze, and you quickly look away, suddenly very interested in your own noodles. you can feel his eyes on you for a moment, but then he goes back to his ramen, silent and composed. you sneak another glance at him and think to yourself - he is pretty handsome.

you’re halfway through your noodles, the warm broth hitting just the right spot on a cold night before you hear the shuffle of footsteps coming towards you.

"mind if i sit?" he asks, his voice smooth and you nod. he sits down with a kind of effortless grace, setting his ramen down in front of him and adjusting his sleeves like he’s dining at a michelin-star restaurant instead of a dingy convenience store. you focus on your noodles, hoping he won’t notice the way your gaze keeps flickering back to him and you watch as he stirs his ramen and takes a bite.

"you didn’t have to pay for my stuff, you know," he says after a bite, breaking the silence.

"it’s not a big deal," you reply with a shrug. "maybe you should carry smaller bills next time", you tell and you can see the faint smile on his face.

"i swear i thought i had change on me", he says, rather to himself.

"doesn’t seem like you need to worry about it," you remark before you can stop yourself. “i mean, with a wallet like that.”

his smile widens slightly, and he leans back in his chair, resting an elbow casually on the table. "appearances can be deceiving," he says, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent you can’t quite place.

you raise an eyebrow. "right, and expensive suits and fat wads of cash are just a camouflage?", you ask.

"something like that," he replies, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes now like he’s enjoying this back and forth talk, like he's amused by you.

you huff out a soft laugh as you shake your head. "well, next time you’re low on change, i suggest hitting the ATM before wandering into a convenience store", you tell and he nods.

"noted," he says, and there’s a warmth to his voice now.

"i’d like to pay you back", he says after a moment, but you shake your head.

"that's not necessary," you reply, waving a dismissive hand. "it’s just ramen", you say.

and he just looks at you, and it looks like he wants to say something more, but he settles for giving you a small smile instead. "alright, if you’re sure".

after finishing his meal, he gathers his things, straightens his perfectly tailored suit and offers you a polite, "thanks again," before leaving.

you think that’s the last you’ll see of him, until you notice something on the table, his sleek black leather wallet, the kind that practically screams expensive. your eyes widen as your hands reach out for it and you mutter under your breath.

grabbing the wallet, you flip it open and find a few crisp bills (all large denominations, of course), some credit cards and a single business card tucked inside, but there's no name, just a logo and a phone number. you hesitate for a moment before you decide to call the number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

for the next few days, you keep the wallet with you, figuring he’ll eventually call back or text or come looking for it, but nothing. it’s not until a few days later, when you’re rushing through a crowded sidewalk with a bag of groceries in one hand and your phone in the other, that fate decides to intervene. you’re trying to balance too many things at once, not paying attention to where you’re going, when you collide hard into someone coming from the opposite direction. the impact sends your phone clattering to the ground and your grocery bag spilling open. "oh, come on!" you groan, crouching to pick up your things.

"sorry about that", a familiar voice says, and you freeze mid-reach.

you glance up to see him, the ramen guy, in his perfectly tailored suit guy, crouching down to help. he looks as polished as ever, his suit immaculate despite the chaos of the street and he notices you at the same time, and his eyes widen slightly.

"you," he says, clearly surprised.

"you," you reply, just as surprised. "i've been looking for you, you left this", you say after you've gathered all your groceries and stand up. you dig into your bag and bring out his wallet, handing it over to him.

his expression shifts. "i didn’t even realize it was missing until yesterday, but by then, i figured it was gone for good", he says as he looks at you.

"well, lucky for you i found it,” you say as you hold it out for him. he takes it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and his smile softens. “you have no idea how much this means, thank you", he says

"you’re welcome," you reply and he looks down at the wallet in his hand, then back at you.

“i owe you, again", he says. "let me buy you dinner, it's the least i can do, please", he asks and you blink, caught off guard.

"dinner? that's...", you trail off as you chew on your lip, considering his offer. "but you don't even know me?", you say, unsure.

"i'll take my chances", he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“alright,” you say, nodding. “dinner sounds nice.”

the smile that spreads across his face is slow and warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds and it softens his polished, professional look, making him seem boyish almost.

"i didn't get your name", you ask.

"i'm seungkwan", he says, holding out his hand and you reach for it, shaking it, the warmth of his hand engulfing you. "yn", you say, giving him a small smile.

you both exchange numbers and you head home, and it's only then that you wonder if he'll actually follow through. and a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

ramen guy: this is seungkwan, does friday evening work for dinner? let me know what time works for you.

you reply quickly and his response comes almost immediately.

ramen guy: perfect, i’ll take care of everything, looking forward to it.

when friday arrives, you find yourself standing in front of the address he sent—a restaurant that looks like it was plucked straight from a luxury travel magazine. the building is sleek and modern, its glass walls shimmering in the golden hour light. your nerves spike as you step through the grand entrance and suddenly you're thinking that this must be some kind of joke, that he must have sent you the wrong address by mistake because holy shit, you could barely afford this place. a host greets you with a warm smile when you walk inside. “you must be here for mr. boo seungkwan” they say, their tone polite but knowing. boo seungkwan?

the person guides you towards a private dining room and it's a beautifully set table near the window that overlooks the city skyline. you spot him waiting there and he stands up the moment he spots you, a smile lighting up his face.

he was wearing an all-black suit, and it was perfect for him, tailored to perfection, the fit making him incredibly handsome and attractive and the fit made him look effortlessly sophisticated, yet there was an ease to his posture that made him seem grounded. his dark hair was styled just enough to look intentionally tousled, a few stray strands falling over his forehead. there was something about the way he carried himself, confident but not cocky, poised but not stiff. his smile was the same: genuine and unpretentious, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, yet somehow, in that black suit, he couldn’t help but leave an impression.

“you made it,” he says, his tone warm as he steps forward to pull out your chair for you. "yeah", you say softly, still trying to take in the posh ambience around you.

as the evening unfolds, you’re surprised by how easy he is to talk to. he’s incredibly down-to-earth and he listens intently, laughs at your jokes, and is just so sweet, a complete gentleman. his genuine interest in you, paired with his relaxed nature, made the evening feel warm and comfortable and didn't make you feel intimidated anymore.

“so, what exactly do you do?”, you ask, looking at him.

he hesitates for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “family business,” he says, clearly trying to downplay it. “it’s not that exciting.”

"so what exactly is this family business?", you ask but seungkwan only chuckles softly in response. "it's not as cool as you think. let’s just say it's a lot of paperwork, meetings, and business stuff", he makes an exaggerated motion of his hands like he was emphasizing the mundanity of it all. the date ends on a good note and he even offers to drop you home, but you decline, not wanting to impose on him anymore.

it isn’t until days later, when you’re scrolling through your phone that you stumble across an article and you realize just who he is.

heir to the boo family conglomerate, boo seungkwan spotted at his newest restaurant with someone: who’s the mystery guest?

your jaw drops as your eyes scan the article, which details his family’s massive business empire—including restaurant chains, luxury hotels, and even media companies. the photo accompanying the article shows him stepping out of the very restaurant where you had dinner with him, wearing the same outfit he had that evening, looking effortlessly handsome and polished as always.

and just then your phone buzzes with a new message from him at that exact moment:

ramen guy: i hope you enjoyed the dinner last time. let me know when you’re free again, i owe you another one.

taglist: @joshuaahong @paindivinemp3 @fallingforshua29 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852

@weird-bookworm @mirxzii @naaaaafla @wheeboo @icyminghao

@lvlystars @gyubakeries @wootify @ihrtboo @n4mj00nvq

@yoozuku

[alllgator-blood]

GET SHAMURA'D @eliza-forget

I've wanted to draw your mura design for a long time, but I never got around to it til recently. I think you were my first mutual on here so I'm surprised it took this long, but HERE THEY ARE. I HOPE I DID THEM JUSTICE?? It is time for River's Top 3 Favorite Parts of Your Shamura Design:

The face for sure, I really dig the mask kinda look their face has, I have a pet tarantula and her face is also a big mask-type structure that comes off in one piece when she molts. But it's still like their ACTUAL FACE which makes it cooler than a mask.

THE HAIR?? C'MON. I had to dedicate a corner to just putting silly accessories in their hair. Idk if their hair quite counts as an enby mullet but that's what I've been calling it in my head lmao

How do I say I think their paws are really cute without sounding like a freak. Spider paws are just like cute by default c'mon. That's the #1 way to win my heart with a shamura design, making them scary as fuck but having random cute features snuck in. SO GOOD.

Was gonna draw them interacting with my pre-injury buff shamura because I think those two would hit it off, but I thought it'd funnier if I picked my skrunkly ancient version of them instead. The contrast of seeing like the scariest fuckin spider demon ever holding a wet noodle of a creature was too good to resist.

[jackhues]

it's not hate... | oscar piastri

note: okay so i was bored and i got a random inspiration i hope y'all like this <3 i think this will have 3/4 parts, but they might be split up if i reach the picture limit.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader, logan x best friend!reader, one sided!enemies to lovers

next

faceclaim: various, from pinterest

youruser & logansargeant

liked by y/bffsuser, oscarpiastri, yourmomsig & others

youruser: gang's back together 🤘

pinned youruser: welcome back to america @/logansargeant glad you could join us! -> user: i love how she seems sarcastic but i know babes is so happy he's back

user: logan living out his frat dreams

user: this would be logan daily if he didn't go into racing

user: wait i'm confused... who's this? -> user: y/n y/ln! from what we know, her and logan are best friends since they were born or something. she finished her undergrad, but i think she's doing law school now (?)

user: i ship -> user: ew

y/bffsuser: not pictured is the entire drink falling out -> logansargeant: it wasn't my fault! she moved her head -> youruser: yeah okay, blame the woman -> logansargeant: i blame when she's wrong. and you are. -> user: stop they're so sibling

yourmomsig: aw no one posted the pic of y/n falling off the bed during the fight -> youruser: MOM! -> logansargeant: i tried but she stole my phone -> user: well we know who the favorite child is now

y/bffsuser: @/yourprivuser no photo creds -> user: IS THAT Y/N'S PRIVATE USER???!!! I NEED TO BE ACCEPTER NOWWW this comment thread has been deleted

oscarpiastri has requested yourprivuser!

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y/bffspodcast

liked by user, user, oscarpiastri & others

y/bffspodcast: surprise episode out now! take a listen for exclusive deets on logan's love life, his best friends, and the time he almost became a dad to a baby crocodile

tagged: logansargeant

user: i'm sorry, logan did WHAT NOW?

user: A CROCODILE?? -> user: well he does live in florida

user: it's a crime that y/n and oscar haven't met before. i need the irl best and the f1 bestie to get together and spill tea on logan -> oscarpiastri: well we might have to change that this weekend -> user: OSCAR??!! PLEASE DO IT! I BEG!

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Y/BFFS PODCAST - TRANSMISSION timestamp: 4:40-8:23

y/bff: i mean, you've known y/n your whole life, right?

logan: my whole life, yup. like, i was maybe only a few hours old when i saw her for the first time. you already know this, but like we have the same birthday, december 31st 2000. and we're also born at the same time, in the same hospital, literally right across the hall from each other.

YB: same time? like seriously? how did i not know that?

LS: *laughs* i mean, same time. down to the minute, at least. it's why we call each other 'twin', we're born at the same time. and like our parent knew each other and joked that we might be born on the same day... little did they know

YB: *laughing* that's insane. oh my gosh, and you guys have just been best friends since then. i love that. i assume you're the one who's got all the younger high school stories about her. i got some college ones, but you have the real gold mine, don't you?

LS: i've got my fair share of our insane stories, yeah

YB: mind sharing one?

LS: i'm trying to think of one that's not absolutely insane... oh okay! so one time, we were in the pool, it was summer, and then y/n just stops trying to murder me with the pool noodle and goes still. i'm confused as hell, so i'm trying to see what she's doing but she tells me to shut up. she's watching the bushes around the pool, so i swim to the edge of the pool next to her, and the two of us are just watching the bushes. i have no idea what's going on, but y/n's waiting for something. and then, a baby croc starts walking out of it, and it's so small, but like it's mom was nowhere. we didn't know what to do. and y/n *laughs* y/n goes, "oh we have to adopt it". i'm like what? but she just start spiraling "oh we're his parents now. he just saw us. what if the mom died? i don't know how to feed a baby croc? but i have to learn, it's my baby croc now." finally she calms down, and we get everything sorted out, but she cried when we had to leave the baby crocodile. adopted it and all within three seconds of seeing it

YB: *laughing* i'm dead, oh my god that sounds like her though. that's so fucking funny, she made you a crocodile dad!

--

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Y/N ADJUSTED HER SUNGLASSES, the Miami sun nearly blinding her as she walked towards the paddock. Next to her, her racer best friend, Logan Sargeant, nearly skipped along next to her. She could feel his excitement at being able to race so close to home again, and it honestly helped lift her own spirits.

Logan smiled and waved at some cameras and fans nearby, grinning brightly and taking the time to stop and sign some stuff. Once the fans had trickled away, Logan made his way back to his best friend, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked, turning his head away from the cameras so they couldn't read his lips.

"I'm great," she promised.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he reminded her. "We can say you were sick, or you weren't feeling well, or you just forgot, or-"

"-That I have diarrhea?" Y/N grinned a little. "You know, all of your solutions to this thing seem to involve me just running away or ignoring it."

"I mean, it's how you take on most of life," he shrugged.

"I've never felt more called out in life," she rolled her eyes. "Look, we've got a plan. I head over to the garage first, take a few pics, then say 'oh I have to go. I haven't even been to Williams' garage yet'. I've got this Logie, I promise. Besides, I don't even hate him. If I did, there would be a lot more violence threatened and swearing involved. I also would've blocked him."

Logan didn't look necessarily convinced, but he didn't argue either. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "If you need anything, send me a 911 text. I'll be on standby the entire time, I swear."

Y/N smiled at the boy, waving goodbye as she dropped him off to the Williams garage.

"I know you'll be there," she smiled. "It's what we do. Be there for each other."

MEANWHILE, IN THE MCLAREN GARAGE, the Aussie driver was pacing back and forth, turning back to the entrance every few seconds.

"Yeah, great job at being subtle, Osc," Lando Norris, his teammate, commented sarcastically. "Who're you even waiting for?"

"Y/N," Oscar answered simply.

Normally, he'd engage in banter with his Brit teammate, but he was too nervous to give answers longer than a few words. He was finally going to see Y/N, in person. Not on the other side of a screen, not a flash of hair that ran away too quickly, not a caller ID he'd see on Logan's phone all too often. After all these years, he was finally going to be able to see her, face to face.

He had to admit, he did seem a little pathetic trying to contact her. But the DM he'd sent years ago on her public account had never gone through. And he'd left it, thinking maybe they weren't meant to know each other, simply to know of each other.

But then he'd seen her private instagram, with so few followers, he knew that she wouldn't be able to miss it. But maybe she didn't use it, or maybe it was an old account, but he had no luck on that account either.

He finally mustered the courage to ask Logan for her number and just reach out. He was surprised and a little shocked she said yeah, but he was in too deep now to change his mind.

"Oooh, who's Y/N?" Lando teased. "Is she a girlfriend?"

Oscar whipped his head towards his teammate, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Why are you a literal child?" he asked. "Y/N's a friend. Well, she's a friend of Logan's. His best friend. And everyone found out the two of us never met each other, and they went crazy saying we have to meet and whatnot. So I invited her here to take a few pictures."

Lando tilted his head, almost as if he was dissecting the truth behind Oscar's words.

"Logan? Logan Sargeant's best friend? Her name's Y/N?"

"Yes, Lando. And everyone says I'm his best friend in racing, so we have to meet or something."

"Alright, I believe you," Lando decided. "Call me when she gets here, I want to take pictures with her too."

"Sure," Oscar answered nonchalantly.

Turns out, there was no need to call him over, because a second after he'd said that, she walked in.

Oscar stared at her as she looked around the garage, her eyes drinking in just how different it was from the Williams' garage that she was used to.

Lando made a noise between a snort and a laugh, causing Oscar to glare at him.

"No, nothing," Lando nodded to himself, ignoring Oscar's silent question. He cupped his hands over his mouth, shouting across the garage, "Y/N!"

Her head whipped over to the sound of her name, her posture relaxing the slightest bit as she realized it was only Lando and Oscar and not some random person. She didn't exactly know them, never even met them, but she knew enough of them to be a little comfortable.

She smiled slightly as she reached them, "Hey. How are you guys?"

Lando looked to Oscar, who simply stared at Y/N, before decided to take the reigns. "We're good, thanks for asking. I'm Lando, my friend here is Oscar, and I assume you already know that."

"Yeah, I watch enough F1 to know that," she smiled, falling into easy conversation with the Brit.

"Well it's nice to know you didn't take an invitation from a man who's name you didn't know," Lando joked. "That's what I call important information."

"I went a step further and made sure he was known by a friend of mine," Y/N continued the banter. "My best friend." She turned to acknowledge Oscar, "Logan spoke highly of you for a long time now. It's nice to finally be able to meet you."

"Yeah, same," he nodded. "I mean, Logan's spoke a lot about you too. All the time. He still does. It's nice to meet you too."

Oscar resisted the urge to close his eyes and curse himself out.

Y/N didn't seem to mind his stuttering and stumbling. In fact, her posture seemed to straighten out a bit, and her smile turned a little bit more warm.

She was beginning to realize that no matter how bad Logan had gotten it, Oscar was human too. He was new to this, and he probably had someone defending him the way she defended Logan. Maybe she was a little harsh on him. She just didn't like how it wasn't fair.

It was why she wanted to be a lawyer. She wanted to try and make things fair for people.

But in defending Logan with her entire heart and soul... she was being unfair to Oscar. She could try and be nice. It's only for a few minutes. After that, she could go back to avoiding him.

"So, how do you wanna do the pictures?" Y/N asked. "We should get them done now, I might have to leave early if my laptop doesn't work. I have a few assignments due."

"Right, yeah," Oscar nodded. "We can- uh-"

"The lighting's nice over there," Lando pointed out. "I'll take the picture of you guys."

"You don't wanna be in it?" Y/N asked.

"No, I'm alright," Lando smiled. "Unfortunately, I'm not best friends with Logan, unlike you two. Besides, I'm pretty good with a camera."

Y/N frowned at the reminder that Lando was one of the drivers who wasn't friends with Logan. She quickly fixed her expression, but Oscar noticed (only because he'd has his eyes on her ever since she entered). He was tempted to ask her about it, but she smiled and his brain froze up.

"Alright then, let's take the picture."

--

youruser

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, y/bffsuser & others

youruser: miami, you were fun 🤍

tagged: logansargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri

pinned youruser: to my haters: fuck you, i'm always proud of logan. no matter what. i chose him as my best friend and i'll choose him again every time. i'm just sad y'all have never loved someone so much to understand what it means to always be proud of them, no matter any outcome. he's my best friend, my brother, and the outcome of race isn't going to change that

pinned youruser: i heard there was a logan's besties meet up @/oscarpiastri -> oscarpiastri: oh yeah, did you end up making it? -> youruser: swipe to find out!

landonorris: same time next race 👀👀 -> youruser: wanna do my class for me?? -> landonorris: i will understand nothing. -> oscarpiastri: as if you understand anything ever -> landonorris: all grown up now, are you? -> oscarpiastri: shut up

mclaren: it was a pleasure having you stop by! next time, you should stay for longer! -> williamsracing: stop stealing her from us

williamsracing: loved having you around for the weekend!

alex_albon: wowwww, i didn't even make the cut this weekend -> youruser: all the pics i took of you were 0.5s -> alex_albon: thanks for showing some mercy

user: stop she looks so pretty

user: logan bestie meet up... but where's logan? -> user: getting attacked by a haas in his home race -> user: oof

user: TELL EM GIRL!

user: i want what she and logan have. like they'd DIE for each other

oscarpiastri: it was great to finally meet you! hopefully it's not the last time either -> user: boy please TRY to be subtle

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PART TWO

notes: i hope y'all liked this, don't forget to like + reblog! alsoo... comment on this part (not any others) if you want to be tagged, i might not respond but i'll add you to the taglist if you comment.

but my tags don't always work, so you might want to follow my writing tag 'naqia writes!' or the tag for this short series 'the bsf of my bsf! series' so they show up on your dash at some point :)

[urprettylildoe]

yandere demon who's tricked you into making a deal with him.

you've grown up roughly. while you watched everyone around you born into the world with a silver platter in their mouths, you've had to settle for scraps and leftovers. you're sick of it.

so when a man as devilishly handsome as him wanders into the life, promising you a life of wealth and luxury, who are you to refuse the opportunity?

oh, and he's true to his promise. you've got everything at your fingertips: status, money, connections. people admire you when you walk into rooms. and it's all starting to get to you as well.

but all good things come to an end.

"i heard about your little speech today," you turn your head in the direction of that velvety voice to find him sprawled out on the plush bed of your dreams, his hair spread out like a halo, contradicting to the grin on his lips that screams trouble.

you hum, choosing to glance at your reflection in the mirror and fix your collar. it's true; what he says, and you're quite proud of it yourself. "Mm, so you have." the people attending were eating right out of your palm.

he chuckles, sitting up on his palms, "can't say m'not impressed. after all, you have come a long way from your own life." you fail to notice that the glint in his eyes is different.

you smile, hands resting on your hips, "it's gonna help my image for next week's gala" padding across the room, you look through the designer in your closet, "speaking of; what should i wear? blue? yellow? red?"

"Interesting," he hums.

as you ponder to yourself, a hand closes itself around yours. his lips touch your ear.

"It's such a shame that your time's up." he coos wickedly, voice sinful. your chest constricts. no, what is he talking about?

it can't be...

you exclaim and rip your arm out of his grasp, eyes wide and legs feeling like limp noodles. "but the contract said —"

"three years," he repeats, watching it dawn on you, and you can tell there's not an ounce of pity in his empty chest that beats with nothing. "and if i recall correctly, we made the deal on this fateful day, exactly three years ago."

your chest heaves. you can't lose everything, not after you've reached the top. "please, I need more time."

his gaze is hungry, unwilling to indulge your wishes any longer, "the more you have, the more you want, angel." his hand slithers up stroke your hair, "and i've been oh, so patient for all this time, but a deal's a deal.

and it's about time you kept your part, hm?"

you recoil, feet moving towards the door before he materialises in front of you, hand on the small of your back to steady you against him and smell the delicious salt of your tears.

he smiles, albeit condescendingly, kissing your tears and lapping them up. "now, let me have your soul. promise to handle you so gently when we're down in hell, angel."

it's on you for trusting him.

and don't worry, he'll make sure the world moves on without you, when you're down in the deepest, darkest pits, sitting on his lap and tainted with ruin.

[woogilicious]

rent's cheap, ghost included ꒰ wooyoung ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: broke college student!wooyoung x ghost!reader (gender neutral ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 2.4k words ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: comedy, fluff, hurt/comfort, supernatural au, soft angst ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: curse words, discussions of depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of death (non graphic), wooyoung being an annoying little shit sometimes ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ a.n: this oneshot is more casual than the others and it's actually my favourite, lol. i know it sounds cliché, but i just really love this type of storyline so much.

You don't know who the hell decided to rent out your house to another human so soon. It's been, what? Two months since the last one moved out? And you were this close to getting peace and quiet.

But nope. Now you're stuck with watching some college kid struggle to drag in a suitcase twice his size and sad looking rice cooker into your kitchen.

You float near the ceiling, arms crossed, frowning hard enough to wrinkle the ghostly air around you.

He's muttering under his breath the whole time. "God, finally," he says, wiping sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I don't even care if this place is haunted. It's cheap, and I'm broke, so I've accepted death."

You narrow your eyes. He's accepted death? Oh, honey. We'll see about that.

You watch as he dumps his stuff in the middle of the dusty living room, sighs deeply, and flops onto the floor, face first. You wait for a bit.

...now.

You blow a cold breeze past his ear. He shivers, shrugs his hoodie up to cover his head like a turtle, and immediately starts snoring.

What?

No screaming? No running away? He's just... asleep?

You float down closer, staring at him. He's cute, you guess. A little stupid, maybe. Who sleeps on the floor without a blanket?

Fine, you'll step it up.

Later that night, after he wakes up and shuffles into the kitchen to cook himself some instant noodles, you slam the cupboard doors. Not once, not twice, but eight times.

He doesn't even flinch, just stands there, stirring his sad little noodles, muttering, "Me too, buddy," like he's the one haunting YOU.

You rattle the windows, and he throws a thumbs up at the ceiling.

You drag a chair across the floor with an awful screech and he shouts, "Sounds good, friend!" and keeps eating.

You...

You don't know what to do with this guy.

He's ruining your reputation as a ghost.

You float around, sulking, until you finally decide that if he won't be scared of invincible ghost you, then you'll just show yourself.

You remember the last tine you showed yourself. An old man had almost died of a heart attack and you felt so bad that you cried.

But Wooyoung? He deserves it.

You focus real hard, pulling your form together. It's a little tricky since you haven't done it in a while, but you manage. A little translucent, and a little floaty, but you look decent.

You drift right in front of him while he's standing by the sink, trying to get the hot water to work.

"Hi," you say, your voice a little echoey and spooky on purpose. "I'm the ghost haunting this house."

He blinks, dropping the mug he was holding which thankfully, was empty. He tilts his head a little. Then, with all the enthusiasm as if someone finding out their favourite ramen flavour was back in stock, he grins and goes, "Cool!"

You stare at him and he stares back, so genuinely delighted that you actually float back a little, suspicious.

"So―" he sets the mug on the counter carefully. "Are you, like, a real ghost? Or, like, a stress hallucination? I mean, either way it's fine, but it'd be sick if you were real."

You blink at him, a little thrown off. "...I'm real."

He pumps a fist in the air. "Hell yeah! This house is awesome, cheap rent and I get a new friend? Awesome!"

You don't even know what to say to that. No one's ever been happy to see you before. You're kinda... weirdly flattered?

After that first night, everything gets... weird.

Day by day, Wooyoung just keeps talking to you. You don't even have to show yourself anymore. Half the time, you're just floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching him live his life like he's got an invisible roommate.

And oh my god.

He. does. not. shut. up.

You kinda thought he would calm down after a while. Maybe get tired of talking to a ghost who barely replies.

But, nope! Turns out, for someone who is constantly tired and has panda eyes and sighs like he's carrying the weight of the world on his back... he's got a lot of mouth energy.

"Today I dropped a whole box of paper towel at work and my manager looked at me like I committed a crime," he tells you one afternoon, kicking his shoes off and throwing himself face-first onto the couch. "Like dude, calm down? It's just a paper towel, not some fragile diamonds."

You hover over the lamp, just blinking slowly.

He waves a hand in the air, half heartedly. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Your silence is valid too, and you're so real for that."

Some nights, he sits cross-legged on the floor, eating cup noodles as usual and watching weird documentaries on YouTube. All of a sudden, he tells you some random facts.

"Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?" He says, pointing the noodle cup at you like it's a microphone. "And they can just vibe with no bones. Just, squish around."

You just float nearby, dead silent.

"I think you'd like being an octopus," he adds thoughtfully. "You're kinda floaty too."

Sometimes you wonder if you're the one who is getting haunted by this loud, chaotic, tired human.

Not that you mind, exactly. It's just new.

But one night, it's different.

You know the second he walks in.

He slams the door harder than usual. He doesn't kick his shoes off, doesn't mutter a tired "I'm home" like he always does.

You drift down from the ceiling, watching.

He throws his work apron onto the floor and his hands are shaking a little.

"Fucking―" he starts, then cuts himself off, dragging his hands through his hair. "Customers are the worst!"

He paces the living room in circles. You follow him slowly, floating just a few feet away.

"This one guy today," he says, voice getting louder, "This asshole―he yelled at me for like, five minutes straight because the yogurt he wanted was sold out. Like I fucking make the yogurt myself, right?"

You float quietly.

He's not really talking to you. He's just letting it all pour out.

"I hate it," he mumbles. "I hate this stupid job. I hate that I'm broke. I hate that I'm killing myself for college when I'm not even smart. I'm just doing it because―" he stops, swallowing hard. "―because if I don't, my parents will be disappointed. Tsk, like they aren't already."

You reach out without thinking―your hand passing through his shoulder gently―trying to comfort him, even if he can't feel it.

Wooyoung laughs a little, but it's not the funny kind. It's broken.

He sits down hard on the couch, staring at the floor, then he looks up, right at you.

Even though you're invisible, somehow, he knows where you are.

"...Hey," he says, voice small. "Is it fun? Being a ghost?"

You blink.

"Like... is it better?" he keeps going, softer now. "Do you get to just... stop worrying about stupid shit? Like bills and parents and yogurt?"

He huffs a breath that's almost a laugh.

"I mean, if it's better," he says, looking back at the floor, "Maybe I should just―you know? Join you."

The room goes very, very quiet.

And you.

You feel something deep in your chest, something you haven't felt in a long time. Fear.

Not for yourself.

For him.

You don't even hesitate to pull your form together. No more floating half-there, no more hiding. You focus until you're solid enough that he can see you clearly.

You step forward, right in front of him, and say―out loud, real and desperate―"No. Don't do that."

Wooyoung's hand snaps up. His eyes go wide, so wide and then―just like that, he breaks.

He lets out this raw, awful sob and crumples forward, burying his face in his hands. It's not loud, or dramatic. It's quiet, like it hurts too much to even cry properly.

"I'm so tired," he chokes out between broken gasps. "I'm so fucking tired of pretending."

You kneel down in front of him, trying to catch his gaze, but he just keeps talking, keeps pouring it out like a dam that has finally broke.

"Everyone thinks I'm―" he waves a hand weakly. "The funny guy, the loud guy, the one who never shuts up. And I guess you probably think that too."

Well, that is true.

"But I'm just..." he presses his hands harder against his face. "I'm just filling up the silence so I don't have to think about how empty I feel. I'm trying so hard to make life feel like it's worth living."

He looks up, and god, his face is so red and wet and messy that it hurts to look at.

"But to me... it's nothing."

Your chest aches.

You don't think. You just move.

You wrap your arms around him, and somehow, somehow, for the first time, he can feel you.

His body stiffens in shock for half a second. Then he breaks even more, grabbing onto you like he's drowning.

He doesn't care that you're supposed to be a ghost.

He doesn't care that you're supposed to be scary.

He just needs to be held.

"Let me," he whispers, voice totally wrecked. "Let me join you."

You shake your head hard. You pull back just enough to cup his tear streaked face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"No," you whisper. "Please. Don't waste your life."

He shudders.

"I know it's hard," you say, your voice shaking. "I know it feels like there's no point sometimes. But you're still here. You're still breathing. You're still fighting, even when it sucks."

You swipe your thumb under his eyes, wiping a tear.

"…and that's brave, Wooyoung. Braver than anything I ever did."

He frowns, confused through the tears. "What do you mean?"

You exhale slowly.

"I became a ghost," you say, "because I gave up."

His eyes widen.

"I thought… if I stopped trying, the pain would stop too. And it did. Kind of? But now I'm stuck."

You glance around the living room, the cracked walls, the flickering lightbulb.

"I'm stuck here, watching life go on without me. Watching people laugh and cry and live—even when it's messy, painful and unfair and I can't be a part of it anymore."

You look back at him, and your voice cracks.

"I would give anything to have another chance. To eat bad noodles, to get yelled at by annoying customers. To walk down a street and feel the sun."

You grip his shoulders tighter.

"And no matter how bad I want to have another chance, I can't. But you still can."

He stares at you, breathing hard, hands still clutching your sleeves like he's scared if you'll disappear if he lets go.

"Please," you whisper. "Don't throw it away. Not like I did."

You don't know how long you stay like that, holding him. But slowly, Wooyoung's breathing starts to even out. He blinks up at you with swollen eyes and puffy cheeks and somehow still manages a tiny, tired laugh.

"You're kinda… a terrible ghost," he croaks. "Aren't you supposed to scare me away or something?"

You smile a little, brushing his messy hair off his forehead. "Maybe," you whisper. "But I think you're scarier."

He snorts. "Fair."

You squeeze his hand, gentle but firm.

"Wooyoung," you say softly. "You're not alone."

He swallows thickly.

"I'm here," you say. "I'll be here. As long as you need me."

You press your forehead lightly against his. Your voice drops to a whisper.

"Let's heal together."

He squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking out again—but this time, they feel lighter.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Let's do that."

He pulls you into a hug again. Tight, real, so full of feeling you almost forget you're supposed to be a ghost. You hug him back just as hard.

After a long moment, he mumbles into your shoulder. "You gotta promise me, though. Promise me you won’t leave me."

You smile.

"I promise," you say.

Life doesn't magically fix itself overnight.

Wooyoung still comes home with bags under his eyes. He still has days where he slams the door and mutters about rude customers.

But he doesn't cry alone anymore, because you're there.

You're there when he drags himself into bed and mumbles goodnight to the ceiling. You're there when he rants about dumb professors and overpriced cafeterias food. You're there when he laughs too loud at memes on his phone and shows you even though you can't actually hold his phone yourself.

But slowly, you see the light coming back into him.

He even starts bringing back little cheap snacks from the convenience store. He leaves them on the counter with a little sticky note that says, "For ghostie" even though you physically can't eat them.

It makes you smile anyway.

Tonight is movie night.

You're curled up on the couch, or well, floating while cross legged slightly above the couch. While Wooyoung got three blankets wrapped around himself like a burrito, clutching a giant bowl of popcorn.

"Okay," he says, eyes shining. "We're watching a horror movie. A real one. None of that jumpscare baby stuff."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "You sure about that?"

He scoffs. "Pft. Yeah! I live with a ghost so I'm built different."

You smirk. "Right."

He picks some indie horror movie that looks grimy and messed up. Lots of dark woods, and creepy faces in mirror. Within fifteen minutes, Wooyoung is already sitting suspiciously closer to you. Within thirty minutes, he's gripping the popcorn bowl like his life depends on it.

You nudge him in the side.

He yelps so loud he throws a handful of popcorn straight into the air.

"Oh my god—!" he gasps, clutching his chest.

You stare at him.

"You," you say, pointing at him, "are scared of this?"

He scowls, cheeks turning red. "It's spooky, okay?!"

You float a little closer, crossing your arms.

"You literally live with a whole ass ghost. A real one." You jab a thumb at yourself. "Me. Hi. Real ghost."

He huffs. "Yeah, but you're not scary! You're—" he waves his arms vaguely. "You're you!"

You stare. He stares back, defensive.

Then you burst out laughing.

"Unbelievable," you snicker. "Wooyoung, living with a real life ghost, defeated by a low-budget horror film."

He grins, wide and stupid and alive.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you both feel it. Hope.

Real, stubborn, stupid, wonderful hope.

And maybe that's what living is, you think. Even if you're technically not breathing anymore. Just being here, together.

It’s messy and imperfect.

It's life.

[mbsneur]

Long time no see

Alexia Putellas x Reader

@melissabarreraswife

Summary: Alexia has not been home for a long time, and she brings you a present that you will surely be happy about

warnings: Smut18+ minors DNI, Cunnilingus, strap using

A/n : my requests are open for wishes

My Masterlist / more from Alexia

A Thursday evening in Barcelona over a whole week had passed when Alexia went to the national team

The apartment was quieter than usual, the scent of Alexia's favorite detergent and the smell of the warm kitchen floated in the air from the small room covering the cloudy weather outside.

You were happy to see Alexia again, the last days had been long without seeing her smile. The long conversations after training weren't the same as being alone without the familiar face you used to see every morning.

The pot on the stove blew softly in the air as you continued stirring you thought about cooking Alexia's favorite meal, fresh pasta with a homemade tomato sauce it has become a little ritual of yours that you always cook her one of her favorite meals after long trips or training.

After a while, you heard footsteps outside the door a key turned in the keyhole. The familiar sound of Alexia's boots came into the room, a broad smile spread across your lips and your eyes widened as you set the spoon down and looked towards the door.

Your heart beats faster as you look into her brown-green eyes. A smile stretches across her face “Hola, guapa” she calls across the room as she closes the door behind her. You sprint towards her and land directly in her wide-open arms.

Your face buried in her neck as you rub against it you pick up the smell of her freshly washed hair. She pulls you tighter against her front "Did you miss me?" she asks with a smile and tries to push herself away from you so she can look at you, but you press her tighter against you. She lets out a little laugh "So that's a yes?” she adds, closing her arms tighter around your hips.

Alexia takes a deep breath as she leans into your embrace, her hands gently stroking over your back and you feel how you both relax against each other "I also missed you, Bonita" she whispers and her voice has a calming effect. A little smile is reflected in your eyes as you pull her into a warm kiss. Her hands are still on your back and your hands are slung around her neck. 

Your lips lock as if you hadn't seen each other for years. You deepen your kiss, and she pushes away from you and looks directly into your eyes "I've got a surprise for you" she says and you slightly tilt your head "May I see them now or must I wait until Christmas?” you joke, and she taps your bottom "You will get your surprise today but for now I smell something good. You have cooked something for me?” she questions and gently detaches herself from your body.

She slides over to the stove and takes a look in the pot "It smells heavenly" she says with raised eyebrows, you smile at her words and go over to the cupboard to take two plates out "Let me set the table since you have cooked", she takes the spoon out of your hand and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek.

// 

When you have prepared the meal, Alexia quickly takes the pot with the noodles and carries it to the table. She taste tests the sauce after you.

// 

You talked about everything possible that happened in the week.

"You know I love football but I’m always looking forward to coming back to you after weeks since which I have only slept in hotels and stood on the field," says Alexia taking a bite of the food.

"it was quiet here without you," you say and smile at her. "I missed you before, I finally called the janitor so now our heating is fixed," you say, laughing and Alexia chuckles also.

She reached out her hand to grab yours.” I mean it seriously, whenever you are not there it feels like a part of me is missing," you say and wrap your hand around hers.

The silence that followed was not unpleasant, just familiar before Alexia pulled her hand back to eat a spoonful of her noodles.

// 

The time passed when you were finished with the dinner. You had cleared the table, and you wanted to wash the dishes but Alexia kept you from it "Put it here, let’s do that tomorrow morning I still have a surprise for you" she whispered and hugged you from behind. Her head rests on your shoulder as you drop against her.

You nod slightly and notice how Alexia’s arms loosen up "So you sit on the couch and I will quickly go to my suitcase and I’ll be with you in a minute," she says as she rushes into the hallway. You run to the couch and make yourself comfortable on the pillow. 

Alexia comes back with a big black casket she looks at you slightly nervously and watches any reaction you make. Your stomach tightens as Alexia comes closer, she sits down directly opposite of you, her back leaning against a pile of cushions, her eyes fixed on yours as she smirks at you.

“it's just a little something but I'm sure you'll be happy about it,” she says proudly as her shoulders rise. She holds out the box to you and you take it nervously in your hands. It is well wrapped with a bow around it “What did I do to deserve this, Ale?”, you ask in admiration as you look at her. “I bought it when I was traveling alone in Madrid, it's just a little something”, she says and shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. You slowly open the bow and pull the lid off the box. Alexia’s cheeks are now deep red, you notice her nervous demeanor before your gaze turns back to the black box. You see a white velvet bag and your hands start to sweat as you take the gift out.

You open the velvet bag and pull out a new strap, a big one, probably the biggest one you have now. Your jaw drops and your pupils widen as you look up at Alexia again.

You waste no second and lean in immediately to kiss her hard. Your tongue slides into her mouth and it rolls against hers. Your lips become stronger against Alexia’s and her hands find their way to your ass. Your body is tense after a few seconds."I can’t wait to ruin you with this baby", she whispers and nudges her nose. Your lips are wet and red from your previous kiss."Ale, now please" you say to her and your lips meet hers again. This time she gets up and tries with all her might to hover over you. Her hands explore your body as if it’s the first time. "Right here, right now?" she asks with a curved eyebrow and gently strokes over your thighs."Yes right there, right there" you whisper, gasping as you try to push her hands closer to your center with your thighs.

She kisses you further your kisses are all mixed up and wet these obscene noises that you give off are unmistakable "Ale please" you moan and try to rub yourself on Alexia’s thigh.

She bites on your lower lip which makes you shudder. Your hands clasp tightly around her neck to press closer "Please, Ale, I haven’t had you in so long" you moan and you beg again. Your breath trembling as Alexia’s knee presses deeper against your pussy

"Use your pretty mouth baby say what you need" she whimpers as she looks into your radiant eyes. Alexia looks at you, her eyes full of desire for you with lust that she could not hide for so long.

"Alexia, fuck me" you weep and moan, waiting for some kind of reaction. She gets up quickly and removes her clothes, she has some bruises from her training. Her shiny tight skin sticks out immediately which makes you moan again. "Take off your clothes," Alexia demands.

Your hands desperately try to grab her body to speed up the whole thing but Alexia doesn’t go for it. She’s relaxed as she always is. "Give me your gift" She smiles and points in the direction of the silk bag. You take it and put it in her stretched hands immediately. 

She pulls the harness over her hips and you start to whine on the spot. You feel like you almost explode so desperately for your long-awaited orgasm. She bends down to you, her silicone cock rubs the inside of your thighs and her lips find their way to your hard nipples. She sucks vigorously as she grabs your twist to bring down your head. 

Your fingers hang in her blonde hair as a whine comes from your lips. As she takes the other nipple firmly in her hand, she teases every inch of it as the strap presses against your front side. Your hard nipple touches her fingertips. She takes your breast in her mouth and moans against your nipple.

She starts to care for the other nipple as her tongue snaps against it “Fuck Ale, please do something" you whine and press her head further down but she just hums against you and continues her work. With a loud plop, she lets go of your nipple and looks up at you, her eyes are big. She looks so horny, lips swollen just like your nipple.

She looks into your ruddy face. Your eyes are also full of desire "You make me crazy you know" she says breathlessly as she pierces her fingernails into your ribs which makes you squeal slightly. Her tongue drives a long strip over your belly she spreads your legs further apart to detect your smell.

"I need you please" you whine and push her against your body. Now her hands have no choice but to leave your ribs. She smiles naughtily as she looks down at your dripping pussy before you have a chance to beg again she shoots out her tongue and licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clitoris.

Only a desperate hum comes from your throat. Her lips close around your clitoris as she starts to suck. You rock against her mouth, her strong arms lie you down. Your thighs and your mouth are wide open when she fucks you with her tongue. Your fingers catch in her hair as you beg for more. 

"Give me your fingers Ale," you say as you moan. You buckle against her as one of her arms detaches from your thighs and wanders to your core. Her middle finger teases you easily which makes you babble.

At your next breath, Alexia presses two of her fingers deep into your hole which makes you let out a little scream. She makes her finger curl perfectly against your g spot where her tongue has not yet stopped sucking on your clitoris. Obscene sounds fill your room, the moist noise becomes louder with every push, and this makes you groan.

A wave of lust overcomes you as you let out a pornographic moan. "Oh mierda" you moan and lift your hips against Alexia’s face and try to fuck her face. When you look down you see that her eyes already know each inch of your body. Alexia’s licks at your clitoris become stronger which makes you cry loudly.

This feeling brings you closer to your first orgasm and Alexia feels how tight your hole around her fingers gets "I’m so close fuck" you moan and bend your back again. Your moan gets deeper as you feel your legs turn into jello."Don’t stop I’m gonna come" You moan and your muscles start to tense.

You let it happen and with a loud whine. You tremble on her fingers as you come. She comforts you until you have calmed down completely.

Alexia looks longingly up at you her eyes are glassy and her face looks like she's just had an orgasm her fingers are wet with your juices as she wipes them on your stomach making you wince underneath her. 

.

“I want your cock now” you moan as she gently removes herself from you, causing you to whimper softly.

‘“How bad do you need it?” She taunts and looks down at you, your mouth open in horror “Don't be ashamed I love it when you are such a desperate cock slut” she adds with a grunt “Yes, baby please fuck me” you answer her and moan as she pulls away from you completely.

She now guides the tip of the cock to your entrance you let out a throaty moan as you feel her move it up and down. Another moan escapes you as she pushes the toy into you and lets you adjust before pulling it out and eagerly thrusting her hips forward.

“Mierda” you moan as she starts to pick up a brutal pace your hands clasp around her neck searching for any free flesh for your fingernails to dig into. Red streaks form all over Alexia's back.

“How tight are you mh? Haven’t been fucked for a while? “She asks herself before kissing you and swallowing every little sound you make. You feel the toy stretching you completely and you wrap yourself around it so full she pulls away from you to look down and see how well you're taking her.‘“You’re so pretty you know that?”She gasps as her hips get faster and faster. 

She reaches the spot that makes you fidget and squeal. "Can I come, please?" You beg and moan as she goes deeper into you. The clapping echoes through the quiet room."Fuck come for me, Bonita" she stutters and stops. She starts to stretch you open and that’s all you need to get on her cock. Your hips are shaking and Alexia is trying to prolong your orgasm in which her finger finds their way to your clitoris and rubs circles. You scream as your legs cling to her hips and tremble uncontrollably.

Your orgasm overcomes you as she attempts to pull out of you. "Alexia no stay in me" you whine and she chuckles at your words "Good girl" she whispers as she pushes you on your belly. "Get on your knees," she says grunting and helping you up.

You try to come up to breathe but t, there is no time for that. She firmly pushes into you. Her hand wanders and taps your butt. She focuses vigorously on what makes you cry before she pumps back into you. Her hands rest firmly on your hips and your sight is clouded as Alexia fills you again so well.

Her name comes out a few times in a croak. Whines leave your lips before her tempo once again quickens. Alexia draws you closer to her so you don’t fall.

A moan comes out of alexias mouth as the strap rubs on her clit. Her orgasm gets closer her head falls back her fingers drill harder into your hips and you whimper and whine under her.

Your second orgasm comes closer as you hear Alexia moaning louder and louder. "Please" you whine when you hear how Alexia starts to sound more desperate "Please come in me" you beg again and alexias moaning turns into deep grunting.

Your orgasm overtakes you both at the same time your legs tremble again but this time only slightly. Your eyes are turned firmly in the back of your head and you feel how Alexia pushes slower and her hands become softer on your hips.

She gently rubs your clit until it becomes too much. Your hand pushes Alexia’s away.

She takes her cock out of you and lets herself fall on the bed next to you. You crawl immediately onto her chest and give her small kisses on her cheek. “I missed you and your gift was great" you whisper, relieved and Alexia begins to smile "Your pasta was also very tasty" she whispers back.

[rueclfer]

saturdays are for the blondes // fratboy smau part two

a/n: i imagine frat'splug! hawks to be the type of guy who doesn't actually smoke that often bc he's on a baseball scholarship and doesn't wanna risk it so he just hustles hehe *written under the cut*

denki kaminari, katsuki bakugou, hawks

"What are you putting on a shirt for?" You mumble, sitting on the edge of the sunken mattress as you watch Keigo dig through the dresser.

"Kinda gross to be walking around this grimy frat house without a shirt on, don't 'cha think? But any other time and occasion, I'll take more than just the shirt off for you." He slightly turns his head and shoots you a suggestive look before turning back towards the dresser.

You press your lips together as your already flushed face heatens, silently thanking the alcohol for masking this blush.

After rummaging around, he pulls out a basic black tee with a skull print in the front. "Cute or nah? Could you see yourself stealing this?"

"Shut up." You drunkenly laugh, crinkling the half empty plastic water bottle in your hands. "Cute enough, but it screams too much of Dabi."

"It is his clothes I'm stealing from, after all." Keigo takes off his baseball cap with the university's seal, and slips the shirt over his head, letting you take in the full view of his arms stretching his torso up as he maneuvers the fitted shirt over his body.

"I forgot what a fucking noodle he is." He lightly stretches out the sleeves for his biceps.

Yup. That's why he's the star player on the baseball team.

It may have been the alcohol sneaking its way into your mind, but nothing had ever looked as good as Keigo did in this moment. Every now and then with his back turned to you, you pulled the collar of his shirt up to your nose and deeply inhaled his scent: a mix of laundry detergent, marijuana, and his citrusy-sandalwood based cologne- a scent you were all too familiar with.

"Alright, dove." He kneels down at eye level with you. "Sober up a little bit more and then I'm gonna take you home, got it?"

You nodded your head. "You're too good to me. Thank you for taking care of me." You sigh.

"Mmhm." He hums, letting himself take a seat next to you, leaning back on the mattress with his hands behind his head. "Favorite customer, remember?"

You pout for a moment, now leaning down with him, elbow propping your upper body up.

"Why is that pretty face of yours making that expression?" He looks over at you with an amused smirk.

"I dunno, just thinking." You mumble. "Hypothetically, is it a conflict of interest if we got together? Mixing pleasure and work or something like that?"

Keigo stops breathing for a moment, watching your face carefully. "Uhh I don't think so." His voice slightly cracks, bringing a faint blush to his cheeks. "I mean, no. Hypothetically, no it's not." He coughs. "Uh, why?"

You scoot yourself closer to Keigo, watching his eyes widen and face deepen into a harsher blush as you reach up to remove his baseball cap.

"Hypothetically, would that be something you're interested in?"

He stares at you for a beat with no response, causing your stomach to twist in anticipation. He'd been a relentless flirt for years, and now that you've presented him with an opportunity to be with you tonight, he wasn't going to take it?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You break the silence.

"I've liked you since we were freshmen." He blurts out, letting his hand come up to cover his mouth from the outburst. "And you're evil for giving me an opening to kiss you right now when you're drunk as shit, because I'm not going to."

"Like me? Not just want to get in my pants?" You cock your head to the side, slightly confused.

"Are you fucking kidding me? In love, actually." He nervously chuckles. "Anyways! Uh, we have to leave."

He jumps out of the bed, grabbing your wrists and hoisting you up, causing you to stumble into him.

"Wait what? In love? You drop that piece of info and you wanna leave?" You whine, holding onto his shoulder to stabilize yourself.

"Well, you're drunk and I don't want either of us to say anything we'll regret. Plus this conversation needs to not happen in Dabi's bed or else he'll gut me." Keigo nervously laughs, placing the hat back on his head.

"Yours or mine? You know what, are your roommates home? Maybe I'll just drop you back at yours and hand you off to them, and then we'll talk more about this when you're sober?" He frantically checks his pockets for his phone and keys, clearly panicking now after the sudden confession. "You know, since you're still drunk and I really like you and don't want to fuck this up and-"

"Keigo." You grab the fabric of his shirt to stop him. "There's a reason why I'm always buying from you at stupid hours of the day. I like your stupid flirting, and I like teasing you back, and spending time with you, alright? Don't ask me to repeat this when I'm sober, but I do really like you and I only ever said no because I thought you were a whore."

"Okay, ouch." He lets out a shaky chuckle. "You're really trying to fucking kill me tonight, aren't you?" He blows out a breath of air, lifting his hat and running his hand through his hair. "Okay. We'll talk on the drive and then I'll drop you off at home then, okay?

"No." You whine "Sleep over. My roommates aren't home to take care of me."

He stops for a second, looking at your flushed cheeks, glossy eyes and pouty face. Keigo knew you were his weakness, something he could never say no to and it might ultimately be his downfall- losing profit, almost throwing a game because he saw your face in the stands with his jersey number painted on your face, and risking this persona he spent years mastering.

"I'm taking the couch or the floor, and I'll be expecting a kiss and a debrief date in the morning, got it?"

[kittenisstarstruck]

Sick Days

How these sweethearts would take care of you when you get sick. Posting because i've been fighting the worst illness of my life and I need an outlet.

KUROO:

You barely register the sound of the front door shutting. Your head is heavy against the back of the sofa, wrapped in a cocoon of fleece and tissues and general misery. A sniffle escapes you before you can suppress it, and then—

“Hey, kitten.” Kuroo’s voice is warm, like the first few rays of sunlight through your curtains. “Still feeling like death’s less charming cousin?”

You don’t bother answering. Just nod weakly, snuggled deeper into your blanket. The TV plays some quiet background show you’re not paying attention to, more for noise than actual entertainment. He doesn’t ask again—he gets it.

A few minutes later, he’s kneeling in front of the coffee table, carefully ladling soup from a pot into your favorite chipped ceramic mug—the one with a little black cat on it. He holds it out to you, already blowing gently over the top.

“Made you the miso soup you like. The one with tofu and those seaweed things you like even though they’re kind of weird.”

You take the mug with both hands, letting the steam soothe your raw nose. “Thanks,” you croak.

Kuroo watches you like a scientist waiting for an experiment to confirm his theory. When you finally take a small sip and don’t immediately grimace, he relaxes.

“There we go. That’s the stuff, huh?”

You nod. The warmth of the broth spreads slowly through your chest, and for the first time all day, you don’t want to crawl out of your own skin.

He reaches over with a thumb and swipes at your mouth. “Soup casualty,” he murmurs, inspecting his fingertip like it’s part of the job. “Can’t have my patient getting soup stains on my couch.”

You blink at him, a little dazed. “I thought this couch was already ruined from that time you spilled ramen.”

Kuroo grins, entirely unrepentant. “That was character-building for the couch.”

You try to smirk, but it turns into a cough. Instantly, he’s pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, tucking it gently under your chin like he’s wrapping a fragile parcel.

“You’re alright,” he says softly. “Just need rest. And more soup.”

You lean your head on the back of the sofa again, soup cradled against your chest. He sits down next to you, close enough for his thigh to press against yours, radiating that particular Kuroo warmth.

In a world that feels a little foggier, a little heavier today, Kuroo still manages to make things feel lighter. Sweeter.

Even the soup.

KENMA:

It’s raining outside, just enough to blur the windows, just enough to make the world feel far away. You’re nestled into the corner of the couch, swaddled in a blanket so thick it’s starting to feel like a cocoon. Your head is heavy, your throat aches, and nothing tastes right—not even the tea Kenma made you earlier.

You hear the soft tap of bare feet against the wood floors before you see him. He’s holding a small bowl of soup with both hands like it’s something precious.

“I didn’t know what kind you’d want,” he says, voice quiet like he’s afraid of disturbing you. “So I made the one my mom used to make me when I was sick. It’s... kind of simple. Just broth, noodles, a soft-boiled egg.”

You blink at him from your pile of blankets. “Sounds perfect.”

Kenma kneels beside the couch, placing the bowl on a small tray. Then, wordlessly, he helps you sit up, adjusting the blanket so it doesn’t fall off your shoulders. You murmur something that might be “thank you,” or maybe it’s just a tired sigh. He hands you the bowl and watches as you take a slow, tentative sip.

You hum quietly. “Warm.”

Kenma nods like that’s all he was hoping for.

But then you feel it—the tiniest drip of broth escaping the corner of your mouth. Before you can grab a tissue, he’s already leaning in, thumb brushing delicately over your skin.

“Got it,” he says, eyes still on your face, thumb lingering just a moment too long.

You blink at him. “You’re being really gentle.”

He shrugs, sitting back on his heels. “You look like you’d break if I poked you too hard.”

Despite everything, you smile. “Flattering.”

Kenma doesn’t smile back, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders again, tucking it in like you’re something he wants to keep warm and safe.

“I paused our game,” he murmurs. “I can keep playing solo if you want background noise. Or I can just stay here.”

“Stay,” you say, without thinking.

He doesn’t move. Just leans against the couch, close enough for your foot to brush his leg through the blanket.

You take another slow sip of soup.

In a fevered, foggy world, Kenma doesn’t ask you to feel better right away. He just stays, warm and quiet, until the soup is gone and your eyes start to drift shut. And even then, he doesn’t move.

LEV:

Your bedroom feels like a cave—dark, warm, and completely sealed off from the outside world. The blinds are half-closed, and your phone’s been untouched for hours. All you can do is lie there under too many blankets, alternating between being freezing and sweating, your head stuffed with cotton and your throat sore enough to make even a whisper feel like effort.

And then—

CLANG.

Something crashes in the kitchen.

You groan. Loudly.

A few seconds later, Lev pokes his head through your bedroom door. His silver hair is fluffed from rushing around, and he’s wearing an apron you don’t even remember owning. “Hi!” he says like he’s just come home from a long day and not like he’s been loudly destroying your kitchen.

“Are you… okay?” you croak, eyeing him like he might be carrying another metal pot behind his back.

“Better question is: are you okay?” he says, dramatically making his way over to your side. “You look kind of like a sad burrito. A sick-rito.”

You blink at him slowly. “Lev…”

“I know, I know. I’m not proud of that one.”

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed like you’re made of glass. In his hands is a bowl—some kind of soup. He holds it out to you like an offering. “I made you chicken soup. Kind of. It’s mostly broth and noodles and a suspiciously cube-shaped chicken I found in the freezer. But I tried really hard.”

You reach for it, but your hands are shaky. He notices, of course, because he’s watching you way too closely.

“Wait—no, don’t move. I’ll feed you. I got this.”

“I can—” you start, but he’s already sitting closer, blowing gently over the spoon like it’s something sacred. He raises it to your lips, one hand steadying your back.

You take a sip. It’s… not bad. A little salty. Very warm. Weirdly comforting.

“You’re not dying, right?” he asks, watching for your reaction.

You shake your head weakly. “Not yet.”

Lev grins. “Nice. Because if you die, I’d have to keep your plants alive, and we both know that’s not happening.”

You snort—then cough. He panics instantly, putting the bowl down and grabbing a tissue with so much force it tears in half.

Once you’ve stopped coughing, he tucks the blanket back up under your chin, brushing hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says, softer now. “You’ve got me. And soup. Mostly me, though.”

Your body aches, your nose is stuffed, and your brain feels like it’s been microwaved. But Lev is here, fussing over you with his weird soup and his lopsided apron and his warm hands.

And for the first time since this miserable flu took you down, you feel just a little bit better.

MORISUKE:

You don’t even remember texting him.

You just know that when your shift ended, and you slumped against the wall near the entrance of your workplace, head pounding and vision swimming, your phone slipped from your fingers—and the next time you looked up, Yaku was there.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes one look at you—damp forehead, pale face, sagging shoulders—and makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

“You should’ve called me earlier,” he says, not unkindly, but with that sharp-edged tone that always means he’s more worried than he’s letting on.

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” you mumble, voice like sandpaper.

Yaku raises an eyebrow as he opens the passenger door of his car and gently—gently—helps you in. “You think driving home half-conscious isn’t more of a bother?”

You blink up at him. “I wasn’t gonna drive. Just rest for a minute. Then maybe nap on the sidewalk.”

“That’s not the win you think it is,” he mutters, buckling you in.

By the time you make it home, your fever’s spiked and your limbs feel like they’re filled with wet cement. Yaku helps you inside with a firm arm around your waist, guiding you straight to the bed with no room for argument.

You think he leaves—but you’re not sure, because you blink and suddenly he’s back, slipping your shoes off with careful fingers.

“Soup’s on the stove. You’re not allowed to die before it’s done,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your forehead.

You try to joke, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “It’s a please don’t scare me like that again, is what it is.”

Ten minutes later, he returns with a tray—tea, a warm towel for your forehead, and soup in a mug with a little crab on the side. He doesn't hover, but you can feel him near—watching your breathing, checking how much you drink, adjusting your blanket when you shift.

You whisper, “You're good at this.”

Yaku shrugs. “I’ve had to patch up plenty of idiots after volleyball practice. You're just my favorite one.”

Your heart flutters despite the flu.

He sits on the edge of the bed once you're settled, brushing a thumb over your temple. “Next time, just call me right away. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the day or if I’m in the middle of something. You’re not supposed to be out there pushing through this alone.”

You manage a weak smile. “Yes, Nurse Yaku.”

His lips twitch. “Damn right.”

And even though your head still aches and your throat still burns, the pain dulls a little—because Yaku is here, and you’re warm, and the soup tastes just a little better with him beside you.

[princessmaybank]

Sick Day With Mommy

Pairings: Sick!Boyfriend!JJ x Fem!Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Handjob, Spit, Blowjob, Mommy kink, etc.

Summary: JJ is sick and can only think of one remedy.

Author's Note: It's been a while, here's a quickie 😘

"Oh my poor baby, how can I help?" I ask sitting next to my boyfriend who is currently groaning in bed. I reached my hand up to touch his chest for comfort and he placed his on top of mine. "I don't knowww." JJ whined. "I'm sorry Jay..here I'll go make you something to eat." I smile and stand up before he pulls me back down. "Nooo I want you princess.." He whined again. I lightly giggle to myself and hug him. "You need to eat baby." I say trying to convince him. He shakes his head 'no' before telling me he's not hungry.

I sit there holding him for a little bit longer before trying to stand again. JJ pulled me back down so he was holding me again. "Baby, please just let me go make you some food." He nods lightly and loosens his grip on me.

I walk to the kitchen and start preparing a homemade chicken noodle soup for him. While I wait I grab the thermometer and head back to his room.

"Here put this in your mouth." I push the thermometer close to his mouth. "That's normally my line princess." He chuckles and I roll my eyes before shoving it under his tongue.

"101.2, Jay you need to go to the doctor." I say calmly but it just makes JJ's eyes go wide. "No! No doctors!" He shouts. "Easy Jay..but you need to get checked out." I sit next to him and rub his thigh gently. "You can check me out all you want, don't need a doctor f'that!" He teased causing me to roll my eyes again. "Plus my last doctor told me that sex is the best medicine-" I cut him off with laughter. "Is your doctor cousin Ricky?" Before heading out I kiss his forehead. "He's the best! He'd prescribe weed and beer too!" He shouts as I walk into the kitchen.

When I come back with his soup, he is half asleep on his phone, scrolling through Tiktok. "Baby, sit up you need to eat." I say kindly, setting his food down next to him. "You sitting on my face, doesn't require sitting up. Actually it would be easier if I laid down." He shimmied down a bit more. "Your throne m'lady." JJ points to his face. Once again my eyes roll back.

"If I suck your dick will you shut up and eat your soup?" I've never seen his eyes glimmer so fast. Shaking his head with a violent yes, he sat up just enough for me.

I sink down between his legs then pull down his pajama pants and his boxers as well. He springs free from the fabric that was holding him back for so long. His hard cock was dripping as he throbbed under my gaze. "Don't just stare it baby, please fuckin' touch me." He says through shaky breaths, watching my every movement.

My hand moves to my mouth and I gather my spit into my hand before reaching out to stroke him with it. The pumps are painfully slow at first, even I can admit that, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"F-Fuck baby...speed it up please.." I hear him whine above me. If he wasn't sick right now, I would act like a brat, but I guess he gets a pass today. My hand starts speeding up its pace. I spit on his cock to lather it more in my saliva so my hand can glide easier.

For a moment I look at JJ and our eyes meet. He's so gorgeous with his jaw dropped, head hanging back, and sweat on his brow. "Oh shit baby- don't look at me like that." He says, not breaking eye contact. "Like what Jay?" I keep my eyes on him as my tongue pokes out just enough to lick his tip.

JJ's head tips back and his eyes close as I wrap my soft lips around his pretty pink tip. I relax my throat before I take him all the way down. "Mmm" A moan spilled from my lips, vibrating his cock. "Oh p-please mo-mommy don't stop-" He whimpered. Jay had never called me that before. It was new and enough to excite me. I needed to hear it more.

JJ's wish was my command, so I picked up my pace and never stopped. His tip was nearly gagging me but I knew I could take it. Jay's hand reached down and wrapped into my hair, tugging as hard as he could. "Y-yes mommy- oh mo-mommy just like that-" He whined. His eyes look to mine for a moment before tossing his head back. "You're so h-hot m-mommy- p-please let me cum- I'll be a good boy- I'll eat the soup- please let me cum!" He begged and it was the most beautiful sentence I have ever heard.

"Cum for mommy baby, you can do it-" I encouraged. His hips jerked as he clawed at my arm with one hand. "Fuck- fuck-fuck fuck mommy!" He screamed as his cum shot down my throat.

After I clean up I come back and sit with him. "That was the best blowie I've ever had- thank you baby." JJ panted. I smiled at him and let him calm down before feeding him his soup.

"Yeah this is delicious baby- but I still think you'd taste better-" He laughed. I shake my head no and giggle. "Let's get that fever down and I'll do all the face sitting you want."

And just like that JJ was so excited to do anything to feel better faster.

[uumeboshii]

wc: 1, 104

content warnings: breeding? ! reader is referred to as ma'am. feminine pronouns. oral (fem rec)

"Hinata Shoyo, the acclaimed professional volleyball player and part of Japan men's national team, coming up next week!"

The cheerful voice of the show's narrator vibrates through the room, announcing the appearance of your fiancé. He had been thrilled when the show's producers and parents contacted him, wanting him to come on the show and do some activities with the kids. He flew to South Korea within a week of talking and making arrangements, stayed for another to explore the city he was staying at, and would be coming home in a few days.

The screen showed clips of Shoyo smiling at the camera, looking around with a baby in arms, and- oh, taking a nap with the baby on his chest. You couldn't help but smile at the image; thoughts stirring in your mind (are you ovulating soon?) so loud and fast that your phone ringing almost makes you scream.

"Sugar! My flight is booked. I'll be home in three days, do you want me to bring you anything from Korea? They have a ton of varieties of that spicy ramen you like so much..." Shoyo's voice was bright, bouncing off the speaker as he named all the different flavors of ramen "... and curry, wait, there's also one of those self-heating Hot Pot bowls"

"Mmm... bring carbonara and curry ramen, and some rice cakes if you can" Yes, ma'am! He responded, hanging up. He was so sweet to you. Would his babies be as cheerful as him?

Five days later, Shoyo was at home, resting, eating of those spicy curry-flavored ramen while you sat on the couch, waiting for his episode on the show to begin.

"I can't wait for you to watch it, the babies were so cute!" He says, a mouthful of noodles going into his mouth.

Nodding, you try the noodles, hoping the overwhelming heat will overpower the feeling in your lower abdomen.

It all goes well. Shoyo helping the older kid to tie his shoes, calling him endearing names every other sentence. You can't help but picture the kid with orange hair and your partner's big smile. Shoyo taking said kid and his younger sibling to the convenience store right after they expressed their craving for some melona ice cream bars, both of them holding his hand. He was so caring, so protective. Would he prefer to have boys? He seemed so at ease with them. And then, her. After coming home, the father had brought the youngest in the family to meet Shoyo, and it was impossible to miss the way his eyes lit up. She was a year old, hair in two little pigtails at the top of her head, in a yellow onesie.

Everything became a blur after that. He was so sweet to her, so soft. His eyes never left her, a secure hold on her at all times. Such a good father.

Sleep doesn't come easy.

Tossing, turning and groaning, your brain just can't sweep away the image of Shoyo with children of yours. Happily running through your house, their voices filling your ears.

Being pumped full of cum by your perfect, sweet soon-to-be-husband who'll take care of all of you.

You reach your hand out to your partner, tracing lines down his bare back. Poking his ribs, softly scratching the tan, freckled skin. His muscles tense when your nails leave red marks behind, a low mumble coming from your fiancé. "Hm?"

"You okay? Why are you up?" He says, turning around, facing you. His eyelids still open and close with sleep, a pair of fingers going straight to the ends of your hair. You nod. Your hand reaches up to caress his cheek, a leg pulling him closer to you until your lips meet for a kiss. It's soft until it isn't. Hunger takes over quickly, your teeth pulling on his lip as his hands grope your ass, positioning you on top of him. You sit on his hard-on to give the both of you a minute to breathe, moving slowly back and forth.

"I've been so wet all day, Sho— can't do it anymore," you blurt out, the thin fabric of your underwear sticking to your outer lips, making everything so, so uncomfortable. You hear him mumble some prayers before pulling himself up, all his weight on the palms of his hands as he pushes himself to you. Your lips clash, he has you leaning back as he takes your waist in his arms, his big muscles crushing you. Managing to lift your hips, you shimmy out of your shorts and squeal as Shoyo shifts your positions and throws you to the mattress, giggling. He snatches your shorts and dives into you, biting and kissing and sucking your inner thighs. His face gets closer to your heat, inhaling your scent as his arms around your legs, locking you in place.

"I can tell", he says. You try to close your legs around him, but his grip on you is so secure you only feel the tip of his tongue as he gives a kitten lick to your clit. A shiver goes through your body, his tongue licking long strips on your slit. "God, I've missed you."

Whimpering, you run your hand through his hair as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit; his tongue traces shapes along the folds of your pussy, nose bumping you with every move. It's as if he's doing it for himself, for his own pleasure.

Your grip tightens when you feel one of his hands snake and position itself at your entrance. His fingers prod at your hole as he keeps sucking, adding one finger and curling it upwards as his tongue presses flat against you. You grind on his face and he lets you, another finger being enough to have you moaning in a higher pitch, "Shoyo-Sho, mhm, just like that"

It fuels him, burying his face even deeper along with his fingers, pumping and curling just right. Your nails dig into his scalp and that's when he loses it, grinding against the mattress; he's so intoxicated with your scent, your touch, your voice, he just has to have you cumming on his face. Which you do, when he moans right into your core as he keeps fingering you. The burning sensation on your stomach spreading all over your body sends shivers down your spine and legs, which tighten around Shoyo's head as he keeps kissing. Your heart races. Shoyo climbs up your body, his nose breathing in the scent of your lotion.

"I wanna make you mine, no one'll take you from me"