#it was a completely empty page with just a previous button

[midnightwind]

something very funny about tumblr bugging out while I was browsing tags and showing me nothing, like it just slapped my hand away and told me to touch grass

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 4 : Crosshair x F!OC

How does one ignore the inevitable? You already know it's useless to try to avoid it, but how do you ignore its presence at your peripherals? The way it taunts you. There is absolutely nothing challenging about being stuck together on an isolated moon completely alone and cut off from the outside universe for an undisclosed amount of time. There should be plenty of wholesome ways to distract oneself... right?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Unprotected Piv, brief angst

Authors Notes: Crosshair and Tah'Nyem are like those cats who hiss and yowl at each other through a glass door but have no idea what to do once it's been opened. They chat a little about Tahny's life, love lives, and the things they refuse to talk about. Paging Medic Crosshair.

Word Count: 6700

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Aliens Tawk by Taw Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 4 : Aliens Talk

Unbelievable.

I looked into my empty pack and the giant tear along one of its seams. 

This was designer…

I huffed and slouched back into the co-pilot chair. 

So this means everything but the inner pocket of credits was lost in the factory. Fantastic.

We had already made the jump to hyperspace, though we weren't headed straight to Ga’hah. 

Crosshair had taken a data device from a pouch and popped it into the navigation with a click. An encrypted code set a scrambled coordinate, a safe house, possibly a moon. We won't know till we get there. 

Our ship wasn't making for an extravagant trip, the partially stripped vehicle lacked any food stores and we had limited water. There were cleaning rags piled in the corners. Some crusty, tattered jackets, and a dusty pair of knee boots in the door less storage closet. The life support system was fine, but once again, freezing. 

Still. 

I got up and searched a pile of rags, picking one out that had the least amount of stains, and headed to the small sink. I wet the cloth conservatively and wiped at the dust on my face and arms, hissing as the rag passed over the scrape on my jaw where the intruder's boot had broken skin. I pulled the cloth away to eye the dark bruise that had come in. Seemed like that happened weeks ago now but it had only been about half a day. 

No medical supplies. I'll just have to tough it a while. 

The damp cloth left me more vulnerable to the cold and I would kill for a hot shower. 

And a snack. 

We had avoided saying anything for a bit now. Hunger was making us both snippy and it was safer to just avoid pushing each other's buttons in the small space. Though, I may be blaming hunger where withdrawal was a likely culprit; felt very alone with my thoughts suddenly…

I ran a little more water and rinsed my face, catching eyes watching me in the mirror when I looked up again. 

“What is it?”

I turned at his puzzled expression.

“Is that ink too?”

He gestures at the red markings and shadows around my eyes. I guess he expected it to fade like my arms. 

“A more permanent variety, yes, tattoos but it's cultural. Means I'm of age.”

He paused, but not at the insinuation.

“You have tattoos on your eyes?”

I looked at him for a moment. I admit the tats were subtle, the lines much finer than what used to be traditional. Most just assumed it was dramatic makeup. 

“...as do you?”

The air was awkward now, and I sighed. We need some food. I hope the safe house is fully stocked. 

And has running, hot water. 

I eased myself back into the co-pilot chair across from him, careful with the torn split of the tattered gown and my manifesto of growing aches and pains. I was physically active but not ‘running around blowing up factories,’ active and the extra wear and tear was catching up to me despite my conditioning. There was no spice to dull the aches and throbs and stings that plagued me. 

“Sorry.”

“Hmm.”

I looked up. 

“For what?”

“I should have let you change.”

He was eyeing my bare, scratched up thigh, though that might have been to avoid staring at the stiffened peaks beneath the thin fabric over my chest. It was always so cold on these ships.

“You're right… You should have.”

I shifted, lifting my knee to rest my foot on the cushion of the chair, letting the skirt fall away exposing the curve of my ass against the seat. 

He cleared his throat and turned back to the racing field of hyperspace, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. 

Serves you right.

It was only fair he lived with the consequences. I looked over at him, pristine besides the streaks of dust here and there and contemplated getting my own set of armor. 

And I'd never leave home without it. 

The thought was glib, and mostly an attempt at amusing myself. My mind drifted to other ways to torment my captive audience. An empty can, hurtling through space. Nothing but two chairs, us, and time to kill.

… I'm just hungry. And bored. Behave. 

“So… spice?”

He broke the silence, seemingly desperate for something else to think about besides my shivering, exposed form.  

“I'm not an authority but… what about it?”

“You, uh, like it?”

“Oh, Yeah, can't deny that… it feels nice,”

“You do it a lot?”

“Not that often, The burnout is no joke, but ‘you can't run the underworld in broad daylight without knowing how to do things safely.’... so, it's fine… I know what I'm doing,”

I put on a mock tone of my father for a bit that seemed to amuse the man across from me. 

“Is that what you're doing? Cleaning up the underworld?”

“It's what my Vah’hadarr says he's doing, cleaning up the dirty side of dirty business,”

There was a little venom in that last part as I thought about the recording and the possibilities of my willful ignorance.

“It's his show…I just manage some of the actual business, It’s club and hotel and theater all in one, and it's a chore making sure it all stays legal and without political incidents,”

“Just that, huh?”

“It's a complicated trade! Mostly flimsiwork honestly, but the workers can be absolute divas when they get in a mood,”

I was on a roll now, the irritability of an empty stomach and an unhealthy amount of disassociation had me focused on the mundane topic. 

“they think because they own shares they can petition me to let them drink away all the booze and blow our spice, And Kahtzi needs to learn to not abuse her authority! The shyte she gets me into, Kriffen workplace relationships…You know, it's actually refreshing having a new set of people trying to kill me!”

I threw my hands up before resting on an arm and rubbing my forehead. 

“Who's Kahtzi?”

I was brought out of the foray into my everyday life and back to the bare cockpit.

I thought for a moment, trying to quantify Kahtzi.

“Mm, Assistant, best friend, on and off lover,”

That would have to do, it was more nuanced than that but hard to summarize. 

He made a noise that I couldn't really interpret, eventually asking:

“On?...or off?”

“Currently?”

…

“Guess I simplified too much. We're never really a… couple, Just… two people who take care of each other? There's not really an ‘on’ or ‘off’, we love each other but don’t really work like that… together, long term,”

A beat of silence and him patting his belt, looking for something and then giving up.

“Why not?”

I smirked a little, shooting him a look. 

“Missing the right parts,”

“There's tools for that you know,”

“Oh but those don't satisfy like flesh and blood,”

He smirked back and we fell silent again. 

“How bout you, tough guy?”

“Me what?”

“Ever been in love?”

A pause as he chewed on that…

“I thought so… maybe, once or twice,”

He finally admitted. 

Cute. 

“Not at one of our houses, right? The girls can be convincing but they are paid to act like that,”

He chuckled. 

“And the boys?”

“Less convincing, that… more your thing?”

“Ah… uh, not really,”

“‘Not really’, what's that supposed to mean? Just like to look?”

“Sort of, just… some clones seem to, I just… haven't,” 

“Fascinating,”

I held my hand like it was holding a holo recorder,

“The courtship rituals of clones seems to be one of varied taste and values, furthering evidence of their individuality,”

He looked at me sideways and I felt like maybe I had gone too far.

“Sorry… I had a professor who did field studies, it's kind of a running joke between Kahtzi and I,”

I had let my guard down, and that was probably a little insensitive. I’m not too sure about clone… culture?

“Don’t be… just, seemed familiar,”

The mood had passed though and I leaned back, letting my eyes flutter shut. 

“I hope we get there soon… it's too cold to relax,”

The quiet air hung around us, thicker than before. 

~~~

I woke up, having dozed off eventually, curled up uncomfortably in the large chair. A tarp or drop cloth of some sort had been draped over me as a makeshift blanket. 

My stomach growled and a pang hit me as the acid started to flow. 

I eased my sore legs down, stretching them carefully; glad to see the fatigue hadn't grown into full on pain, and cast about for my unlikely companion.

He was bent over the console where our encryption chip was plugged in, now projecting data and instructions for our arrival. 

I padded over, my slippered feet not making much noise on the metal flooring. My hand slid to the small of his back, signaling I was there, and I leaned to look around him to the projection. 

Stifling a jump, he shifted so I could see.

We were headed to a red sun system, uninhabited. There were warnings about how much tech we used outside of the bunker, apparently any signals picked up by passerby's would be suspect. Keep the beacon on us, but abandon the ship till it's needed again. 

“So just… sit and wait?”

“Mm,”

“This seems a waste of your talents,”

“It is,”

“I once again ask…Why send you?”

“An impeccable record of self control,”

I laughed at that,

“What's so funny?”

I wasn't sure, that just seemed… wildly inaccurate. No reason to think so though, he had in fact been quiet in control of himself. 

“Is it really all that important? It can't be real that you were ordered not to sleep with me, literally…”

He shrugged giving me a look like he wasn't sure what else could be said about it.  

I scoffed at that, irritated at the confusing perimeters of the situation. 

“and to think, if they stuck me with a Reg it wouldn't have been an issue,”

“What do you mean by that?”

The question wasn't accusing, just a hint perplexed at my wording.

… Maybe I said too much. 

I sobered and straightened, trying to think of a way to side step the topic. 

“I tease, I flirt, but it's all an act… it's my job in fact, to seem available but not be, but I don't push things very far… usually, my actual cravings are…”

An enigma? Rare? A reflection of my inflated ego? Either way this is different…

I trailed off, once again too close to the truth, and retreated slightly. He was raising an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish the explanation and not realizing how dangerous it made him look to me, or perhaps, maybe he did. I deflected,

“Isn't it annoying, to have to follow such petty commands?”

Turning, I wandered back towards him, lifting my arms to rest against his chest plate and leaned in close, remembering the darkness that swirled in him, in me…

How much did he see?

“You were in here, what do you think?”

He seemed to know where my mind had went, but my question appeared to bother him more than intended. There's definitely something hiding in there.  

“I think ignoring direct orders has never been an issue for you… what changed?”

We can't keep this up, without any eyes on us it seemed idiotic to keep denying ourselves. I continued, pressed to him as I was, I had to look up to catch his eyes. 

“Is the Empire really such a loving mistress?”

“...I need to be trusted,”

It was the truth, but vague enough to not answer anything. He did something… I saw it, and he's been in that swirling storm ever since. 

Was it worth it?

There was a harsh beep from the encryption chip warning that we would be dropping out of warp. 

I snapped out of the spell that had begun to fall over us and went back to sit in my chair, strapping in.  He followed shortly.

~~~

The moon under the red sun was eerily quiet. Most of the surface was water besides a few flat islands covered with coniferous pines and ferns. All that could be heard was a gentle lap of water, there were no animals, no insects… no breeze.  

The sky was a deep purple and my skin looked red under the dark filter of the alien sun. Everything else was black. The trees, the ground, the beach of smooth flat stones. 

We had been walking a while, having set down on the opposite side of the designated island as instructed, and were making our way to the bunker that should be waiting for us. Our footsteps made small shuffles and clatters as we moved down the beach, Crosshair holding the beacon out as it flashed quicker and quicker as we found our way. 

I held my tattered slippers in my hand as we picked our way along. The moon was temperate. The sun, large in the sky, cast a moderate amount of heat making the stones comfortably warm beneath my feet. 

“I wonder if it's safe to swim…”

“Should be, but I wouldn't trust it,”

I looked over the smooth expanse of water to our left. The waves were so gentle the horizon looked flat and reflective, the red ring of the sun reflecting in the inky sea. 

The beacon chirped as we came even to a path cut into the ferns and turned to follow it, eventually coming to a large metal alcove jutting from the ground. Crosshair tapped the device to a panel on the door triggering a loud mechanical whine that cracked the otherwise pristine soundscape, and the door was opening. 

The first chamber was dark, the walls thick and insulating. We walked a ramp downward, about twenty paces, before coming to another barrier. 

This door clicked and a blue light illuminated the space, scanning us from floor to ceiling. 

“Welcome. Tah’nyem Ra. And. Companion.”

There was a loud swish and we were let into a small, furnished apartment. The kitchenette and living area were equipped with the usual amenities. Thick ventilation and a bank of carbon scrubbers were recessed by the door, explaining the thickness of the walls.

How well can that actually scrub all the emissions? Where do they go?

With a small electric hum, the lights came on warm and low, and a screen flashed over the couch projecting a feed of the surface. It was all rather lush, despite its size, fine fabric and intricate metal work everywhere you looked. 

A low whistle came from beside me and I turned to look at the soldier, not seeming too out of place against the black tones and shadowy aesthetic of the safe house furnishings.

“This’ll do,”

I dropped my tattered bag to the floor where it hit with a clunk, the credits and old boots from the shuttle landing hard on the tile, and made for the kitchen. 

Please please please

Popping the pantry I laughed in relief as I took in the rows of food stores. Nothing too fancy but it was more than enough for two people to live fat and happy for a while. 

I grabbed two packages and headed to the rehydrator tucked on the wall, catching Crosshair's profile still standing awkwardly by the couch. 

“Relax, Commander, Mission accomplished,”

“Not yet, we still have to get you home,”

He looked at the data stick in his hand, now quiet and dark. It would blink again once new arrangements have been made for me. Which, if my parents left the same day using civilian travel plans…

“We could have days before Vah’hadarr lands on Ga’hah,”

And who knows how long he wants me underground…

“Go on, take a shower or something, you earned it… and probably need it,”

Turning back to prepping food, I popped the packages open and tossed them into the machine, hitting the appropriate buttons so that it started humming softly. 

Crosshair hadn't made much progress, now casting his eyes about the clean, black living room and down to his guns and armor dusted in brilliant red sand. I rolled my eyes, wondering what had him so… of kilter.

“Just put it by the door, someone will probably clean and restock this place later,”

He jerked into motion and started stacking his things by the door frame, pieces of armor plating coming off in loud clacks against the hum of the cooking food. 

I leaned against the counter and eyed the sleek under suit that was emerging from beneath the plates. 

Doesn't take much imagination from there does it…

He moved to remove the belt and codpiece and I turned swiftly to look at the humming rehydrator instead. 

Well that was unlike me…

What is this? Blossoming respect?

Ugh, gotta get rid of that…

Out of the corner of my eye I traced his movements as he crossed my peripheral and into the back room of the bunker. 

I checked the timer on the food and followed, waiting a moment to hear the water start in the fresher before leaning against the door. 

“Hey, pass me your body suit, I'm sure there's a washer in here,”

There wasn't a reply but it wasn't because he didn't hear me.

“It's okay, I'll find a robe or something while you wash,”

A few seconds and the door opened, him in a towel, avoiding my gaze and holding out the black suit.

I took it and the door zipped shut again, quickly. 

There was a closet next to the refresher door and I clicked it open. More towels. Next cabinet had two robes hung inside and I grabbed them both turning back to the fresher and hung one on a hook near the frame, taking the other for myself as I padded back into the short hall. 

There were two bunks opposite the door to the room and another thin door. I opened it to find the expected utilities, tossing the body suit in. Listening to make sure the shower was still running I stripped out of my tattered nightgown and tossed it in as well. 

Wishing I hadn't let him go first, I slipped the robe on, committed to filling my belly anyways. Which,

A beep could be heard from the kitchenette and I wandered back to retrieve my much needed calories, taking the two rolls from the machine and finding a plate to leave one out for Crosshair. I took a bite out of mine and savored the protein and grains, though they could use a bit more seasoning, I was starving. I eyed Cross’s portion and grabbed two more packs from the cupboard. 

That is not gonna be enough.

The faint sound of running water stopped and I scarfed down the rest of my food, eager to shower myself. 

My pace towards the bedroom faltered as the door opened and the tall clone hesitantly emerged, the gray waffle knit doing about as much to hide his frame as the tight black under suit. 

I glanced down at his exposed calves and marveled at their definition for a moment.

“Uh, there's food on the table, more cooking if you're still hungry,”

I pushed past him into the room, wedging him out and shut the door. 

Days shut in alone together and I'm supposed to behave myself. Be’llahl, what did I do to deserve this?

I knew what I did. 

I looked through the rest of the storage and found some silk button ups and trousers. Nothing my size. I checked a few more drawers, but the only female clothing I found were skimpy lingerie pieces. Sighing, I grabbed one of the large shirts and made for the fresher. 

Kriffs sake Vah'hadarr, you sure you don't want me shacking up with soldiers?

Be'llahl or not, I wanted nothing to do with thoughts on why my father's safe house was stocked with such sundries.

The water was already warm, and I stepped into the spray with a relieved groan.

My scrapes and scratches stung as the water flowed over them and I liberally coated myself with soap, feeling like the dust and sweat might never come off. 

At least it's decent stuff. 

My mind drifted as the creamy suds rinsed off of me. Mostly to the brief flash of Crosshair, framed in the door in nothing but a towel. I hadn't really processed the visual but now that I was clean and undistracted by hunger it came back in a vivid assault. 

Two days?... At least. Does today count?

I turned the handle, cutting off the warm stream and stood in the stall, letting the water bead and run down my skin, enjoying the feeling of it a moment before reaching for the towel. 

Finally dry, I carefully slipped on the black dress shirt. It was the style my father wore, the slim cut almost framing my torso, and fell to about mid thigh, reminding me how short I was compared to most Ga’haiians. I thought about rolling up the sleeves but the material fought me on it so they stayed long.

I hung my towel next to the other damp cloth already drying next to the door and stepped back out into the bedroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. 

I'd say the look was seductive, if it wasn't for the bruises and scratches that patterned my exposed legs, the oversized article hanging off my hips in a way that complimented my slim build.

Well, better than lingerie…

Wandering out to the living area I found Cross at the counter on one of the stools, halfway through the third roll and cleaning the smaller of his guns. 

He looked up from his task, eyes traveling from exposed knees to my dripping hair as he took another bite.  

What the kriff now?

I rocked from heel to toe a few times in the awkward seconds, but he was pushing away the cloth his work was organized on and tapped the stool closest to him before finishing the rest of his food. 

Closing the distance at an unsure pace, I slid onto the bar stool indicated and he pulled over another box. He had found the medical kit, popping it open now to retrieve a canister of bacta spray. 

“Oh, I can do that myse-”

He shot me a look and I shut up as he cupped my chin to examine the bruised abrasion on my jawline. 

A warm sensation spread over the wound as he carefully applied the slimy substance. 

“How did you manage to take such a beating…”

The wonder came under his breath as he moved the fabric from my shoulder, pinching a gash together and applying more spray. 

“I can handle a little pain… enjoy it even-” 

I winced, letting free a small whimper as he lifted my sore leg and assessed the damage there. 

“That I can believe,”

A sigh, more spray. 

“Some escort I turned out to be…”

“Don't sweat it, I'm breathing, even have both arms still in the sockets…”

Our eyes met briefly before he finished and set my leg back onto the foot rest of the stool. 

“Those should be healed by morning,”

“Well, thanks doc, what would I do without you,”

He snorted dryly and pulled his gun back, patting at his waist, making a face like he forgot he was in a bathrobe. 

Oh!

I got up and started opening drawers in the kitchen. Finding a little box by the cutlery marked in Ga'haiian.

I triumphantly pulled out a couple travel vials of toothpicks, and rolled them across the counter where he was still perched. They were gratefully snatched up, one quickly finding its way between his teeth. He leaned into his work with more enthusiasm now that he could concentrate and I slipped a few more vials into my bag's inner pocket, moving it from where it was still discarded on the floor.

Wonder when he managed to lose them.

At least he was keeping himself busy; it was my turn to figure out how to spend the time now that my creature comforts had been met. Well, most of them.

Finally free to really roam about the space I realized there wasn't a lot to look at. The living area was made up of a low, deep couch made of a soft black leather, a console with speakers beneath the false window, and another screen housing facing the couch. The kitchenette was barely a hallway, separated from the rest of the space by the thin island counter Crosshair was leaning over. Then the short passage with bunks and utilities to one side and the proper room with the refresher on the other. 

The bunker had no access to the outside holonet, its system self contained and concealed from any scans or probing. This meant all entertainment was limited to whatever was preloaded into the base's memory. 

I scrolled through the holopad, reading through the meager selection of games, films, and music. There… wasn't much. 

Wonderful, we can spend our time playing cards.

I selected an old Diva Shaliqua track and the hypnotic tones of the Theelin’s voice poured from the speakers, making the space more familiar and inviting. 

I turned to Crosshair gesturing to the speakers, and he nodded approval. 

“You a fan of the Divas?” 

“Not really a fan of anything,”

“Mm… Kahtzi’s related you know, not that that's saying much, I think all Theelin are related at this point,”

Kahtzi was a human Theelin hybrid, and would have been rather difficult to meet if I hadn't attended such a prestigious university. There were only about a million or so left in the galaxy. 

There were nested cabinets all around the room and I popped them open systematically, checking their contents. Most were empty, but one contained a few soft knit blankets. I carried one back to the couch and sank into it, pulling the knit tight around me. 

Exhaustion was catching up to me quickly, the nap on the tiny shuttle didn't do much in the way of rest. The warm living room and soft music were lulling me into a state of true relaxation.

It wasn't long till my eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and I fell into a deep sleep. 

~~~

Where's that cultural dress I had made for the meeting, Tah’nyem? 

…

No it's not revealing

…

That's the style, li’ha, the clients appreciate the care we pay to their customs.

… 

Wear. It. 

…

It was dark when I opened my eyes again, the stereo and most of the lights turned off. 

I couldn't see Crosshair, but I could hear his breathing in the direction of the bunks. It didn't take long for me to figure that that was what woke me. The breathing was labored, almost panting, irregular. I got up with my blanket and tip-toed over to the hall to check on him. 

As suspected, his eyelids were twitching rapidly and a sheen of sweat glinted in the remaining light spilling over from the kitchen. I thought about waking him, but the brown eyes fluttered open on their own. He looked disoriented for a moment, but quickly refocused on me standing near the foot of the bunk. 

“What are you doing?”

I sat next to his knees. 

“Just seeing what the fuss is about, you remember what you were dreaming?”

He was quiet for a while. 

“No,”

It was a lie. 

“You know, if you were to talk about the shadows that swim behind those eyes… who would be safer than someone you'll know so briefly?”

That didn't seem to placate him, but he forced himself into something resembling ease. 

“It’s… I'm fine,”

I reached over and took his hand, turning it to massage the palm as I had on the transport only a day or so ago and the ease seeped into him, becoming real. 

“You want to go back to sleep?”

“No,”

Genuine this time. 

“Me neither…”

I cast my eyes about the space, now feeling stiflingly small. 

“Come on,”

I tugged his arm, getting up from the bunk and letting my blanket fall to the floor. 

“Where, exactly?”

“Let's get some fresh air,”

“Prince-... Tah’Nyem, we have to stay within the walls,”

It was the first time he had used my name rather than the more derogatory form of endearment and it sounded wrong in its formality. 

“Tahny,”

“What?”

“Call me Tahny… my full honorific feels… too heavy on your lips,”

No one really called me that anymore other than my mother, but…

“We have to stay inside… Tahny,”

My heart fluttered. The childhood nickname sounded different, colored by his voice, and it only spurred my resolve. 

“Anything a scanner can pick up has to stay down here, empty your pockets and it'll be fine,”

He still resisted. 

“They can scan for life forms…”

“The trees will throw them off,”

I turned, still holding his hand, to be even with him sitting up on the bunk. 

“Please, Crosshair?”

Since we're on a first name basis now…

A little tremor went through him and he sighed, moving to get up but pulling his hand from mine to close the robe that had come undone while he slept. 

Together, we left the mechanical hums and whines of the bunker doors, making our way back out into the dark, red stained landscape. 

The sun was positioned differently, but nothing else had changed since we had passed through hours ago. The rocks were warm on my bare feet, and the water lapped softly against the surreal, black backdrop of stones and trees. 

I could feel his wary presence, calm but untrusting, scanning the horizon. He had grabbed his rifle, and now held it lazily to his side while he took in the alien moon. 

Turning back to the sea, I breathed deeply, expecting to smell salt, but all that came to me was the vaguely green scent of ferns. How good it felt to be outside. 

“I've never seen a world like this, have you?”

“Red suns I've seen, but like this? Not… exactly,”

“New for both of us then?”

A noise of affirmation. 

I stood a moment, taking it in, breathing the fresh air and toying with the buttons of the shirt I was draped in. 

“I wonder what else we have in common…”

I didn't need to use much imagination, having been forcibly dragged through each other's minds. We're both filled with dark, swirling thoughts of people not their own. An ever growing resentment for being perceived, thoughts racing in an ever tightening circle of how to be free of… well, everything.

Death wish?

It seemed like an accurate label, and its hold was on both of us. We flirt with danger in different ways… but we were just begging for one instance, one moment, where maybe the danger will win. End the torture, the loneliness. Give us our freedom. All it took was once. Was one bad decision really better than another?

“Put your gun down.”

“No,”

A pause of consideration,

“Why?”

“You won't need it.”

A moment passed as he fought with abandoning his physical sense of security. Eventually, I heard him put the stock on the ground, apparently leaning it against one of the trees at the edge of the narrow beach. 

With a deft hand, I worked the buttons down my shirt free of their clasps and let the fabric fall with a slither onto the warm stones. 

“Tahny!”

Alarm in his voice. 

“Quiet.”

The command made him rock back from whatever action he meant to take to end this. 

I turned to look over my shoulder. He was only a few paces away, transfixed in a sort of befuddled way. 

“Why do we give them everything?”

“W-what?”

“Everyone else. Those who control us, own us as you will, just… accepting that if they decide to change our lives, abandon us, use us, it's in their power to do so, and yet- what do they let us have for ourselves? What do they think of us?… they don't even see us,”

He didn't answer, I didn't need him to. 

“Listen… you can walk away, go inside, forget this and me the moment we part ways,”

A long moment of nothing but the lap of water…

“..or?”

It was so quiet. I turned and slowly closed the distance, pressing against him, feeling how tense he suddenly was. 

“You can help me remember this beautiful night in a way that would always be ours,”

His breath was carefully even. 

I looked into his eyes, pleading. 

“How many times will you throw yourself at death till it finally snags you? Would you really go off to die without having me? Never knowing…”

He still teetered on the edge of duty and reason but had run out of excuses. His eyes darkened as I reminded him of our grim realities, stoking an anger that reflected what was burning through my core. I kept pushing,

“I don't know how you work but for me… it would be torture to never know you,”

I had my answer when his arms snaked around me, crushing me to him as his mouth found mine, clamping to me with a sudden, desperate hunger; Ravenous to take, to have, to fight back in a way that would bring a smile to Be'llahl.

Hands running over his chest in return, I slipped the robe from his shoulders helping him to catch up to my nudity. 

His fingers roved down my hips, giving my ass a firm squeeze before he carefully lowered himself to the ground pulling me into his lap, never breaking the kiss that was slowly consuming us in flames of lust and hidden rage. 

I moaned into his mouth in need as I felt his cock stiffening against my thighs. Taking him in hand, I felt the weight of him, the length against my wrist as I gripped the base. I couldn't wait much longer. 

“Please, Crosshair…”

My flesh was on fire, his hands on me sending waves of tingles to my brain churning me into a sensitive mess. He stroked his fingers up my spine and I arched against him with a gasp. Using my free hand to cup his neck, thumb caressing the edge of the ragged scar over his ear, he took the opportunity to bite at a nipple that had come in range. 

This earned him another pitiful moan and I stroked his length wanting it inside of me. 

With a low growl he gathered my arms and held them behind my back easily with one hand. The other slid over my hip and down between my legs, gently caressing the tender petals he found there making me tremble as he coaxed the slickness of my arousal to drip onto his waiting member. 

He moaned low, the same need consuming him, and he guided himself to my entrance. There was no resistance as he lowered me down to take him fully, pulling me into him till he was sheathed in me, grinding against my slick and swollen lips. 

We both sighed in relief before our mouths met again, less frantic now. Taking the time to explore the sensation of us, pulling back only to look at each other, bodies now interlocked. He was beautiful beneath me, naked and drenched in red light…

I squeezed my thighs. Rocking myself on his lap, desperate for some friction, he tightened his grip on my wrists. His other arm wrapped around me firmly but he was letting me take the lead. Cross’s lips gently brushed my forehead creating a strange juxtaposition with the rough, dominant hold around my bucking hips. 

The stones under my knees shifted with me as I rode him, his hands guiding my bouncing body. He was trembling, but focused, not wanting this to end too soon. I could feel the pleasure shifting into something more wild as I reached the first threshold. He pulled me down onto him suddenly, slamming into me, driving me over the waiting edge. 

The climax took me quickly, days of tension making me easy quarry, and my knees squeezed his hips as I let out a strangled cry, any other thoughts forcibly scrubbed from my brain as I shook in his hold. My desire was only deepening. I was starting to fear the physical contact wasn't going to be enough any more. I wanted him in my mind again, clawing against my soul. 

“Look at me,”

My eyes fluttered open, not realizing I had closed them. I drank in his face, the rapture in it, the red sun reflected in his eyes. 

This will have to do…

He let go of my arms, letting his left hand drift to my hip while his right trailed up to my neck, holding it gently as he laid back onto the stones. He thrusted up, increasing the power from below. 

The scoop of my hips became violent as I met each of his strokes, arms now free to use his chest  for balance. I dug my fingertips into the firm pecs as pleasure pushed the sense from me; It escaped in wispy moans that carried across the rippling water. It didn't take long for another orgasm to rip through me, harder this time. My muscles clamped down on him threatening to push him free as I cried out, echoing into the quiet, alien night.

I didn't dare look away. With him holding my neck, I couldn't if I wanted to. It was all intensity rolling off of him and a rumbling through his breastbone, pleased with my writhing form holding his eyes so desperately.

“Oh Cross… li’nen, you feel so good,”

The world was spinning, he shifted us, skillfully flipping to be on top of me. My back pressed into the warm stones and I adjusted, wrapping my legs around his hips as he continued with careful, measured humping. 

No… that's not right.

“Don't, ah! hold back,”

His rhythm faltered but he didn't change pace. 

“I don't want to, ha-hurt you,”

“It's okay… I can take it, just… I want it all Cross-hah, give me everything,”

He took a deep, shaking breath… then roughly thrust into me. His chest pinned me as he scooped forward in a full bodied motion taking up a slower, harder rhythm.

I hadn't realized how much he had been restraining himself and I groaned at the new force. It took a moment to acclimate before becoming comfortable. I remembered what was said about his enhanced strength…

I'll have more bruises tomorrow for sure,

The thought was wiped clean as my body shuddered with each hammering thrust, any jolt of pain becoming pleasure as it was lost in the labyrinth of my quivering nerves. All I could do was wrap my arms and legs tighter about him. 

I was getting close again. Listening to his soft grunts as he ravaged me was just as erotic as the physical sensation. It felt like I was floating, eyes glazed, no longer capable of much sound at all. I clung to him, his breath, his heartbeat, the only thing that was real anymore. 

A gasp finally escaped me as everything became brighter. I claimed his lips again as I came, nails biting into his back and legs locking about his hips as my muscles flexed against him wanting him as deep as possible.

It was finally too much for him and his breath caught as he lost the battle with his own pleasure. He pressed back against me, letting my knees pull him deeper as he twitched inside, wracked in his own orgasm, a soft groan against my lips,

“Tahny…”

Before he collapsed over me. The hormones fled, leaving him spent and panting. 

I stroked his back as he rested his forehead against mine and we breathed heavily… together, reduced to our most vulnerable forms. 

Two frightened children, lost and adrift on the edge of the galaxy, grasping for a friend in the dark. 

Shhh... *ushers you away*

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Sixteen: God is a Woman

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Now that you have a plan to save Elvis, it's time to put it into motion. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of drugs, nsfw themes, the colonel, and i think that's all!

Rating: M || Word Count: 12,217

A/N: the fact that i can't finish a novel based on my own ideas but can sit down and in like two months write an entire novel about a man who passed on almost 50 years ago...how expensive is therapy?? fohaufhej

My sincerest thanks to everyone who has read along and given any of your time, energy, and love to this fic. I couldn't have done it without y'all!! I'm incredibly proud to be posting this last chapter and presenting a fully complete fic for only like the second time in my life. I usually quit projects halfway through but this fandom gave me the juice to keep going. TL;DR I love you guys and I hope you've enjoyed ✨ Daddy Issues ✨ :) 💕

Song Rec: god is a woman - ari

This is Part 16 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When you wake up the next morning, you roll over to an empty bed. You sit up quickly and run your fingers through the sheets just to make sure. The sheets are cold. Your heart jumps and aches as you wonder where he could have gone and if he decided not to wait for you, after all. Your fingers stumble onto a small piece of paper in the sheets. You pick it up and unfold it. You smile and breathe a sigh of relief at the familiar scribbles.

Princess, I hope I didn’t disappoint you by not being in bed this morning. Sorry about that. I was thinking about what you said and you’re right. We’re leaving today, all of us. By the time you read this, I’ll be downstairs getting everything ready. I packed up some of my stuff last night. Whenever you wake up, just meet me downstairs. Interior parking garage. D

You run your finger over the letter, relieved that he’d listened to you. Mostly, you’re overjoyed by the small heart drawn next to his signature. You refold the page and hop out of bed to get ready, feeling utterly giddy as you pull your clothes on. You pause to check and see whether there’s anything Elvis left that you might want, taking a quick moment to glance around the hotel room.

As you walk around the bed to look through his nightstand, you remember the box of letters underneath the bed. The framed photograph of Lisa Marie is gone, but when you drop to your knees and glance under the mattress, you see the cardboard box. Reaching underneath, you pull it out and smile fondly. Although this box does contain the letters of Elvis’ previous women, you put your jealousy aside. He might want to have it. You pack it up, along with two of Elvis’ shirts, and head downstairs. On your way out, you notice a variety of pill bottles on the bathroom counter, all closed up and stacked together. You sigh happily. He left the pills.

After sprinting down to the front desk, you ask for the number to Trixie’s room. When she answers, you quickly explain the situation and wait for her to meet you in the lobby. She hands off your bag and, after a quick hug, you dash into the staff elevator. You know the way, without hesitation.

Hugging the letters and shirts to your chest, you climb into the elevator and hit the button for the ground level, where you can walk straight out into the interior parking garage as Elvis had instructed in his letter. You smile as the elevator starts descending. You can’t wait to get him back to Graceland and just make everything right, to help him relax and refuel.

As the elevators open and you step out, you freeze immediately. You’re caught right in between Elvis and the Colonel, who are clearly involved in some sort of massive argument. Your fingers go weak and you drop the box of letters onto the ground. Elvis is half-leaned over with a finger pointed firmly toward his manager. The very picture of tranquility in contrast to Elvis' anger, the Colonel is peacefully smoking a cigar on a couch in the lobby.

“Don’t you Mr. Presley me, you toad!” Elvis is in the middle of yelling.

When you step out of the elevator, accompanied by a loud bing announcing your presence, both men look over at you with surprise. You glance at Elvis first. His gaze softens immediately when it lands on you. His eyebrows fall into their normal position.

“If you are so determined to get out of our contract-” the Colonel begins talking again and your gaze shifts over to him. You squint your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

“Ya goddamn right I want out!” Elvis yells, recentering his attention on the Colonel.

“Well, I will personally lend you the money that you owe to Jamboree Attractions.”

“You still got your claws in me! You’ll still have me workin here like some goddamn slave in a salt mine! You phony no good piece of trash! I should shoot you in your fat goddamn face! Let’s go, princess, we’re outta here.”

He turns to leave and you step forward, glaring at the Colonel as you pass. With your attention diverted, you can’t avoid Elvis’ body when he steps back. He gently bumps into you, pushing you back a few steps. You place your hands on his back to stabilize yourself and then leave them there to help support him. He turns back toward the Colonel.

“Who are you?”

“I am you and you are me,” the Colonel replies, standing up and taking a few steps toward you both.

You can feel yourself growing more defensive by the minute as he approaches. Your fingers curl into the leather of Elvis’ jacket and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from doing anything drastic.

“Cut the horseshit!” Elvis shouts. “Everythin I’ve ever known about ya’s been a lie!”

“EP, you good?”

Jerry’s familiar voice reaches your ears. Elvis holds up a hand to show Jerry that he’s alright. You glance around Elvis’ body to see Jerry sticking his head out from the inside of a black Cadillac, probably the same one Elvis had once used to take you to such a lovely dinner so long ago. That was the night he gifted you the EP collar. You resist the urge to reach up and touch your neck, where that very necklace should be.

“My past is the least of your problems my boy. Everyone else you associate with lives from you, Mr. Presley. Even Vernon. Yes, that’s right, even your own daddy has looked after himself before he’s looked after you.”

You feel Elvis’ body tense up and look up to see his jaw clenching. He must have felt you move because he glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes trace up and down your face with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yes, even her. Your…princess. She, too, lives from you. When you weren’t enough for her, what did she do? She left you, didn’t she?”

Elvis' eyebrows furrow momentarily. You glance up at him and shake your head. You gently slide your hand around to his chest to hold him closer to you. Your heart aches with the Colonel’s words because you know it's true. You have lived off of EP, even though he’s the one who offered in the first place. And you did leave him; you betrayed him even after everything he had done for you.

But as the Colonel's accusation floats around in your brain, your chest swells with anger. You glare at the hideous man in front of you. As if he hasn't also lived from Elvis. As if he hasn’t been taking 50% of every damn cent Elvis has earned. As if he hasn’t taken advantage of Elvis’ talent himself. Your fingers curl into the strings of Elvis’ shirt, white-knuckled. The Colonel continues, as if he had heard your innermost thoughts

“Yes, I have lived from you, too. But the difference is that you have also lived from me. We have supported each other because we shared a dream. We are the same you and I.”

You glance back over at Elvis to see that his eyes are glassy. You can feel his chest rising and falling shakily and you hear his uneven breaths as he stares at the man who ruined his life. No, claimed his life.

“We are two odd lonely children reaching for eternity," the Colonel continues.

Something in what the Colonel says, you're not sure what, triggers you. You can’t stand here and watch as he destroys the love of your life. You unlatch yourself from Elvis and step forward, pointing harshly into the face of the devil himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss. “How dare you compare yourself to him. How dare you claim to have supported him, to have shared his dream, when you’re the one who takes 50% of everything he makes and you're the one who uses it to gamble away your entire fortune. You bastard.”

“Oh, the little girl has opinions,” the Colonel raises his eyebrows, stepping forward to challenge you. “How wonderful. At least I stayed with my boy when it got hard. You ran off like a petulant little child, like a spoiled brat who didn’t get what she wanted.”

“Colonel Tom Parker, or whatever the hell your real name is, I want you to listen and listen good,” you step forward, even closer to him, and stare him straight in the eyes. “You will not send any additional bills or charges to Mr. Presley. You will not conduct any additional business with or in the name of Mr. Presley. You will not sell any memorabilia or merchandise using Mr. Presley’s name or likeness from this point forward. And you will not attempt to contact Mr. Presley again.”

“And why on earth would I respond to your trivial threats, you stupid child?” he asks as he raises the cigar to his lips.

“Because if you don't listen to my advice, you will be receiving a notice in the mail. That notice will inform you of a cease and desist filed against you for your harassment of Mr. Presley and his family as well as your mismanagement of Presley Enterprises. You will be taken before a judge, tried, and convicted of every crime you’ve ever committed, including being an illegal citizen of the United States of America.”

“Oh for god’s sake, my boy,” the Colonel attempts to step to the side of you to get to Elvis but you slide over in front of him, offering a curt smile.

“No. I wasn’t finished. For your reference, and because I'm a better person than you could ever be, here’s a little draft I had written up,” you reach into your purse and fish out the stack of paper, shoving it into his chest. He takes it from your hands, unfolding it to read.

"If you think anyone in their right mind, Colonel, will stand by you when Elvis Presley is the victim, if you think any jury will vote in favor of your manipulation and abuse, if you think I will ever stop pursuing you until you go down, you are dead wrong. I will do everything in my power to make absolutely certain that you cough up every single fraction of a cent you stole from this man, the true talent behind your fortune. I will make sure that you rot in jail for the rest of your sorry days, and I will make sure that you can never, ever, be a presence in his life again. You will live in fear, pain, and regret each and every single day until you die a miserable death. I, therefore, advise you to take my 'trivial' threats very, very seriously. Do I make myself clear?”

The Colonel lifts his chin, his eyes searching yours. Not surprisingly, he seems to find your attitude satisfactorily serious and genuine. He nods and steps away, shoving the cigar back in between his teeth.

“Very well," he replies, turning toward the elevator. "Maybe you should fly away, my boy. Away from all of this. But if you do choose to leave then I, for one, will be very lonely. So would your father. But I think…you may be lonely too."

“He won’t be lonely," you interrupt the Colonel and gesture behind you to the crew waiting. "He has me, he has Priscilla, he has Lisa, and all those people out there. Unlike you, Mr. Presley is a person worth loving and anyone with sense can see that.”

“Perhaps true, my dear. But, you see, Mr. Presley knows the truth about the rock of eternity. It’s forever just beyond our reach,” the Colonel replies just as the elevator doors begin to slide shut in front of his face.

You wait a couple of seconds, your fingers curling and uncurling into fists., your jaw clenching and unclenching, your chest rising and falling. You close your eyes and blow out a frustrated breath before gathering the courage to turn around and face Elvis. When you finally do, your expression softens immediately. He’s staring at you with those same glassy eyes. A tear has escaped and is rolling down his cheek. His head is tilted. He’s gazing at you, just as he did last night when you told him for the second time, and the first time in full confidence, that you love him. You bend down to pick up the box and shirts that you'd dropped before turning toward Elvis.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, approaching him. “I didn’t mean to be so forward, I just…fucking hate him. To see the way he’s hurt you, what he’s done to you…I couldn’t take it any longer.”

You reach up to cup his cheek and he gently leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he nods.

“Let’s go home, princess,” he says. “I wanna get the fuck outta here as soon as possible. This prison ain't gonna hold me no more.”

You smile weakly and wrap your hands around his bicep as you make your way toward the already packed and loaded Cadillac. Jerry holds the door for you and you climb into the car, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Elvis hops in after you and you’re off. After a few moments of driving in silence, Elvis breaks it.

“Thank you."

You turn toward him.

“For what?”

“For tellin the Colonel to go fuck himself,” he says, his teeth breaking through his lips in a huge goofy grin. “For standin up for me back 'ere. For doin what I shoulda a long time ago. You was pretty badass, I ain't gonna lie.”

“Really? I was so nervous,” you return a smile and shake your head. “I didn’t even know what I was saying, really. It just all came out at once.”

“Well, it was damn impressive. But I still don’t understand how you can do this. Don’t those typa legal things cost money? How does it all work, anyway?”

“This is what I was telling you about last night, the idea Jerry and I had. Trixie. My roommate back home has a family friend, Mr. Benson, who also happens to be a very good lawyer. Yesterday morning, I met with him and had him write up this draft. Of course, we can change it if you want. I wasn’t sure what you wanted it to say but at least this gives us something to start with. Jerry and I think that if we threaten real legal action with evidence, then the Colonel will leave you alone and just back off. Frankly, he would be stupid to challenge you in court. But if we do have to go that far, the jury will surely side with you when they can see how much abuse you’ve suffered. I grabbed this too. I thought it might help.”

You gesture to the box of letters. It hadn’t occurred to you before now, but you remember seeing an old receipt in there toward the bottom. Its existence provides real, tangible evidence that shows the Colonel taking 50% of Elvis’ earnings. And that's in addition to whatever evidence Elvis might have kept himself. When you grabbed the box from under the bed this morning, you mostly figured Elvis would like to have it for sentimental value. Now, it could mean so much more.

“Where the hell you get that?” he asks, taking it from your hands. “I thought I lost it.”

“It was under the bed. If I remember correctly, you have an old Presley Enterprises receipt in there which will show just how much the Colonel is taking from your earnings, and I-”

“How do ya know that’s in 'ere?” he glances up at you and you freeze.

“Uh…I sort of…leafed through it one day when you were gone. It caught on my foot and I just wondered what it was, that’s all. I realize…I probably shouldn’t have. I know a lot of those letters are probably personal and all, but…”

There’s really no excuse for what you did, other that the fact that you wanted to so you did. You can feel heat creeping into your face and neck as he stares at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“You read everythin in 'ere?”

“I’m...afraid so, sir,” you say, suddenly terrified that he’s angry with you.

It’s not very respectful to go through your sugar daddy’s mail while he’s not around. That’s private information and some of the letters were most certainly very…private. You release a breath of relief when Elvis chuckles warmly, glancing down at the box. He runs his fingers over it.

“But how did ya pay for it? I thought you was havin money troubles as it was when I was payin ya?”

“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Presley, but I had to sell the gifts you bought me. The dresses, the jewels, all of it. I had to so that I could pay off my debts and the legal fees and the fee for the order and... I know you’re probably furious with me but there was no other way. I knew you needed to get away from that man. I didn’t know how else to do it other than threatening legal action. I-”

“And ya did this all yesterday mornin? Fore you drove four hours up 'ere to convince me to leave?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But what does that have to do with anything?”

He reaches up to remove his sunglasses, pushing them up through his hair. He stares into your eyes with furrowed eyebrows. He shakes his head.

“Colonel was wrong, ya know.”

“Not that I’m not glad to hear you say that," you giggle, "but about what?”

“He said that you're an ungrateful brat. I know I’ve called ya that myself a time or two. But I’ve never been caught more of a fool. Yeah, it’s true that you left, maybe…maybe when I needed ya most. But the difference between you and him, between you and my daddy, between you and everybody else who’s left me in the dust? You came back. And now I find out that ya came back fully equipped to fix every dumb ass goddamn problem that I caused for myself. You came back with the answers to every question I got, to every crisis I need solved. And you did it all in one day, for me. Ungrateful brat is the farthest thing from what you are. And I’m ashamed to ever have called ya that, to ever have believed it.I have never met somebody so selfless.”

“Oh, Mr. Presley…” you shake your head but freeze when his warm hand lands on yours. He curls his fingers around your palm and smiles.

“Ya know somethin else the Colonel was wrong bout?”

“I love the direction of this conversation,” you giggle again. “What’s that?”

“He said that we, me and him, shared a dream. That we supported each other cause we shared a dream. But that shit just ain't true. He ain't the one I share a dream with. You are. You was the one who inspired me to dream. To think, and talk and stand and walk and…and to dream.”

You feel the corners of your mouth turn downward and tears quickly brimming in your eyes. He’s talking about If I Can Dream. It feels like a lifetime ago now, the '68 special. The flash moment of courage in which you told him to sing the song, the first time you were alone together. That girl feels like a different person to you now, so naive and full of hope.

“And you’ve done a helluva lot more to support me than he ever did. But I ain't been supportin you. Financially, maybe, but that's not good nuff. I’d like to fix that. Come live with me at Graceland. There’s plenty of room now without Cilla and Lisa. Without daddy, too, I guess. When I tried to go up and get him to leave, he...he’s convinced we ain't got no other choice but to crawl back to the Colonel. I ain't gonna do that no more. I don't know how much longer we got the house if this cease and whatever doesn’t work but…it’s a big house, I’m sure there's enough space for us both.”

“Mr. Presley, I don’t know if-”

“Please. Don’t make me beg,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“What if that’s exactly what I want to see,” you reply with a smirk. He chuckles. Damn it. You're a goner for those puppy dog eyes. "I would be honored to stay with you at Graceland. You know, I’ve never been to Tennessee.”

“No shit?”

“Never been out of California.”

“Well, I hope Memphis lives up to your expectations.”

“You know, I have a feeling it just might.”

By the time your conversation ends, someone is opening your door and leading you across the tarmac of an airport. You and Elvis board his private jet, the Lisa Marie. You can now confidently say that you vastly enjoy the private jet experience.

Three short hours later, your jaw is practically dropping to the floor as a purple Cadillac pulls up to the beautiful scene that is Graceland. Words can’t describe how picturesque the house is. Your heart flutters with excitement as the driver pulls you around the long driveway up toward the front door.

“Oh my god…” you mumble to yourself. “She's…not at her best," Elvis says as he peers out the window. "I gotta admit I been neglectin her but we’ll get her fixed up real nice for ya.”

You smile at him as the car rolls to a stop in front of the house. A few staff members help you unload your bags and take them into the house. You laugh at the sight of Elvis’ belongings piling up next to the one bag you’d frantically packed overnight. You'll have to call Trixie and arrange for her to bring your things up. After the bags have been unpacked, the driver and staff vacate the premises, leaving you and Elvis totally alone. You help him upstairs where he flops onto the bed and promptly falls asleep, his mouth hanging open as he snores softly. You gently throw a blanket over him and, this time, you don’t hesitate for a minute. You lean down and press a chaste kiss to his head.

“Sleep well, Mr. Presley.”

You start to unpack while he snoozes, too restless to sleep yourself. As you clean out his bathroom belongings, you grimace and pull out a pill bottle. Gripping it tightly, you swear to yourself that you’ll use some of the leftover cash to pay for therapy. You know there are places where people with addictions like Elvis can go to get help. And you intend to make that a priority. Starting on Monday.

─────

The next three and a half months pass as slow as molasses while you get settled in at Graceland. The conversation wasn’t necessarily pleasant but you somehow managed to convince Elvis to attend therapy for his drug addiction. During your argument, he mentioned that Priscilla had also begged him to get therapy so he could be a better father for Lisa Marie. You silently thanked her and hoped you would get the chance to apologize for everything. Although he put up a real fight, Elvis left three days later.

While he was gone, you spent your time cleaning up the house, both outside and in. You got to painting the walls, dusting the decor, planting some flowers, vacuuming, reorganizing, and finally restocking the fridge. You accomplished your housework all while working at a local diner on Beale Street. You served there during the day and worked on Graceland at night. Although you didn't enjoy the flashbacks to your previous job at Chadney’s and the horrors of that lifestyle, working on Beale Street turned out to be quite enjoyable. The people were kind and lovely and fun.

You would never tell Elvis but sometimes you pretend that you own the house yourself, that you’re the mistress of the property. That fantasy helps you get past days when you just want to sleep through the hours.

Despite all of your work, you still find that something is missing. Every time you pass Lisa's room, which happens often since her room is two doors down from yours, you think about those visions of the children on the front lawn, laughing as they play football with Elvis on the bright green grass. Of holidays and barbecues and birthday parties. Of winters, springs, autumns, and summers in the house. And each time you have to shake yourself back to reality and remind yourself that it’s not your place to wish that. Nor it is fair to the ex-wife and child that Elvis already have. You remind yourself that your visions will stay a dream, albeit not a dream you and Elvis get to share.

Trixie came up to visit you for a few weeks, helping clean up around the house and giving you a bit of a break. She also brought a carload of your stuff and asked, whether jokingly or not you’re unsure, if she could move into Lisa's room. With a teasing smile, you said you’d have to check with Elvis.

If you don't say so yourself, what you've been able to accomplish with the house is nothing short of a miracle. In three months, you have completely transformed the place. Every night as you lie down for bed, you're hit with a bout of excitement thinking about how lovely it will be to show Elvis what you've done with the place.

And today is finally the day. After three months, he's returning from therapy. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. Not only are you vibrating with anxious excitement to see how much healthier he looks, but you’re also dreaming of his touch. You now fully understand the sentiment of the saying 'distance makes the heart grow fonder.' You've grown tired of seeing your relationship in sections. Your entire journey together has felt like a series of snapshots and you just want to finally piece them together into an album.

When you hear the car rolling up the drive, you jump up and smooth your skirt down. Gulping and closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and open the front door. You step outside. Your eyebrows immediately raise at the sight of Elvis as he steps out of the car. Your heart pounds in your chest.

He looks incredible. He’s thinner than he’s been in years. He looks fit as a fiddle, stronger even than he was during the filming of the special. He has a healthy tan and his long dark hair is trimmed neatly, although a few pieces hang loose, handsomely on his forehead. When he lifts his head, you lose your breath. He looks almost identical to how he did in 1968. His bright blue eyes are sparkling and when he smiles, you can see it in his eyes. He’s wearing a white button-down, half unbuttoned of course, with black pants. The sleeves are teasingly rolled up to his elbows, tempting you with a glimpse of his muscular forearms. He looks simple, relaxed, comfortable.

“Mr. Presley!” you say excitedly, biting your lip to keep your tears at bay. “You look…wonderful. You're practically glowing.”

“Thank ya, darlin,” he says with a grin. “It’s good to be home.”

“Well, I hope you’re hungry.”

“Always.”

You smile and press your back against the door, opening it for him to enter. When he steps in to walk past you, his head tilts to the side and he pauses, glancing down at you with a smirk. His eyes trace your figure up and down quickly before he sighs softly and enters the dining room. Your heart is pulsing in your head, you can hear it. Words can't describe how much you missed being looked at like that. You close the door and follow EP into the dining room where the food has already been laid out.

You portion out the dishes and then sit in silence while you eat, the room unsettlingly quiet aside from the clinking of your silverware on the ceramic dishes. Every once in a while, you smile up at each other from across the table. You aren't sure about him, but you feel heat in your cheeks each time.

“So, how was it?” you finally ask. “How do you feel?”

He’s silent for a moment, just nodding with a smile.

“Better than I have in a very long time, princess. Much better.”

The next several weeks around the house follow suit. Things are much better than they have been in a very long time. Elvis is doing so much better, looking healthier and happier each day. Unfortunately, though, all those years of drug use have taken a steep toll on his body. You help him every day with gentle stretching exercises just to help keep him in shape. You're also responsible for ensuring that he eats a healthy and balanced diet with lots of water.

To your surprise, Elvis is furious when he finds out how much you’ve been working. So much so that he sets out immediately to look for a recording studio. He suggested a normal job but you quickly reminded him of just how famous he still is. You doubt anyone would hire Elvis Presley for anything other than music.

He starts to spend hours every day in the Jungle Room, writing and recording. Sometimes you join him and just listen or take a nap while he plays softly for you. You’ve taken up football, as much as you can. In the warmer weather, you both play on the front lawn. Or wrestle around on the grass is more like it. You’ve begun to teach Elvis how to cook and how to dance. In turn, he’s teaching you how to play the piano and the basics of karate. Every day feels like a gift and you wake up with a renewed sense of purpose and life.

And you could never miss the tension when your fingers overlap on the piano, or the longing glances you cast each other when you’re directing his body on the dancefloor. Or the way he asks you to stay with him at night, the silence when you lay next to each other, both waiting patiently for the other to be bold.

Elvis is doing so much better, looking healthier and happier each day. Although all those years of drug use have taken a steep toll on his body. You help him every day with gentle stretching exercises just to help keep him in shape. You're also responsible for ensuring that he eats a healthy and balanced diet with lots of water.

In December, you decorate the house for the holidays and learn quickly that Christmas is Elvis’ favorite time of the year. He’d never mentioned it to you before and, with the hullabaloo of the 68 special, Christmas and Elvis always felt like enemies in your mind. A giant snowstorm blew into Memphis just in time and you found yourself buried in beautiful white snow. Graceland looked absolutely magnificent, just beautiful and picturesque like a Christmas card from an old friend. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

As a thank you for all the work you've been putting in, Elvis has offered to cook dinner tonight. While you’re skeptical of his abilities, the idea of a night off is just too good to refuse.

After a long, hot, relaxing bath, you walk into your bedroom to get dressed and, instead, find a beautiful red silk gown folded on your dresser. You spy a note resting on top of the fabric and giggle.

Princess, Surprise! I finally have enough cash to do this again. Not like before but I want you to have something special for tonight. Hopefully my cooking doesn’t ruin it all! I can’t wait to see you in it. D

Your fingers love the feeling of the silk on your skin. The color compliments you wonderfully and you feel just beautiful in it. Although you don’t have an interest in doing a full face of makeup and styling your hair, you do slip on some black heels before making your way downstairs. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your heart drops. None of the lights are on and it’s pitch black. You immediately assume that the storm probably knocked your power out.

“Mr. Presley!” you shout, squinting into the darkness.

You round the corner, still squinting but following a ray of light from the dining room. Once you step inside, you gasp. Candles are strewn everywhere and spread on the dining room table is a feast, probably edible although it's not too nice to look at. Your eyes take in the scene, pausing a record spinning in the back corner. Finally, you dare to glance over at Elvis’ frame. He’s standing behind your usual chair, holding it out for you. He’s in a stylish black suit with a big grin resting on his face.

“My lady,” he says, gesturing to the seat.

You’re so overwhelmed you can’t even say anything. You just take your seat in the chair as he does the same. You chat while you eat, laughing and flirting throughout the meal. When Elvis gets up to put on another record, your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you shout. “Is this-?”

“The Genius Hits the Road,” he nods with a smile.

You laugh and shake your head. That old record from what feels like so long ago. Elvis takes two steps toward you and holds his empty palm out. You glance up at him.

“Dance with me," he says."

Even after all this time, five years and some change, you still feel those butterflies that tickle your stomach. The snapshots of your relationship have meant that every little move forward, every romantic gesture, every small thing feels a thousand times greater. The longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss.

You stare into his eyes, as the light from the candles flickers gently onto his face, and slide your fingers into his. He gently pulls you up and expertly guides you into his arms, his hand sliding around your back to hold you close to him. As you sway to the music, you glance up into his eyes and he down into yours.

"I'm sorry I could never get you the rock of eternity," you say quietly.

"What are you talkin bout?" he asks with a chuckle.

"That's what our deal was. That we would take the journey together. You got me the Ray Charles album, but I never could get you the rock of eternity. Just...too far away, I guess."

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? Honey, the rock of eternity ain't my dream no more."

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"Just like Colonel said, the rock of eternity is forever out of reach. But I got everythin I could ever dream bout right here in my arms."

You shake your head to tell him that you still don't understand.

"You, princess," he chuckles, his fingers reaching up to pinch your chin. "You're my dream now."

Your smile falls and your breath catches in your throat. He smiles handsomely and you clench your jaw to keep the tears at bay. You sway in small circles across the carpeted dining room floor.

“I see ya didn’t sell everything that I gave ya,” he says.

“Oh, I could never do that to this record. It was the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“I was talkin bout this,” he says, and you’re confused until you feel his finger jiggling the TCB ring back and forth on your finger. You glance over at it and smile.

“Oh…that.”

“Yeah, that. How come you kept it?”

“Well, I just couldn’t sell this. My daddy gave it to me,” you say quietly, sliding your hands away from his and onto his shoulders.

His free hand joins his other on your back, pressing your body taut against him. You raise yourself up onto your tip toes and press your forehead against his. He leans down to meet you, both of you closing your eyes and swaying in the darkness together.

“Oh, I see,” he says quietly in that deep southern drawl that you missed so much. “You musta been a real good girl to get such a nice ring, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If I’ve been such a good girl, maybe I deserve something better than a ring.”

“Yeah? What did ya have in mind, princess?”

You open your eyes momentarily, just long enough to see that his are closed and a soft smile resting on his lips. With a gulp, you close your eyes again. As carefully as you can, you slowly tilt your head upward and to the side, your nose brushing against Elvis’. You feel his grip tighten on your back and his hot breath ghost over your lips. You nervously bite your bottom lip and hover in the space between for a moment. Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding against your ribcage. Your heart is fluttering and you can barely stomach the shallow breaths you take. You move forward just an inch, barely enough so that your lips are gently touching. Elvis exhales sharply, his lips twitching under the touch of yours. You hover there for a moment, swaying slowly to the music.

“You gonna kiss me, princess?” Elvis finally whispers against your lips. “Or are we just gonna stand ‘ere?”

You smile against his lips and then, finally, press yourself onto him for the very first time. His lips open to accept yours hungrily. The kiss is warm, deep, and slow. One of his hands gently slides up your spine and wraps around the back of your neck, pressing your kiss deeper into his own. You shiver under his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When your lips pull apart, your eyes remain closed and you drop your forehead onto his lips. He presses a warm kiss to your skin. While you sway back and forth, Elvis presses another kiss to your forehead. Then one to your temple, then to your cheekbone, your cheek, your jaw. His hand glides forward onto your cheek, tilting your head up so he can access your neck. You sigh happily as his lips press down on the skin while his hand pulls your back forward. He kisses your neck again and then gently sucks on the skin. Your fingers grip his roots, tugging his soft black locks. Your head rolls back and your eyes close in delight.

His fingers curl around your jaw, as they’ve done so many times before. His thumb rubs over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and it slips between your lips. You swirl your tongue around his fingertip as he nips at your neck. You can feel your heart fluttering under his touch and your core inches toward tenderness. Stuck in a glazed-over euphoria, you barely even notice when the record clicks off, spinning a song of silence. Elvis pulls back and removes his finger from your lips. You drop your chin and stare up at him through your eyelashes, begging him to understand how badly you need him.

“I don’t want to fuck tonight,” you say quietly.

“What do you want, princess? Ask and its yours.”

“I want you, all of you. I want you to make love to me, Elvis.”

He reaches forward and his thumb pinches the skin of your chin between his fingers. You’re immediately flashed back to the first time that you were alone with him. When he had asked you whether the panties he held in his fingertips were yours. You can almost feel the heat returning to your cheeks now as you think about it.

After he takes your body in, his eyes tracking up and down your figure, he moves to your side. One of his arms snakes underneath your upper back and the other underneath your knees. You yelp and giggle as he hoists you up into his arms, holding you bridal style. You wind your arms around his neck and bite your lip as he smirks down at you. He carefully walks you up the stairs and down the hall into his bedroom. The whole while, you keep your gaze on him, watching his soft smile. When you reach his bedroom, the door is just barely cracked open, too closed for you to enter comfortably.

“Damn,” he says, his shoulders falling. You release an awkward sigh as you can feel the mood starting to drain. He glances down at you with a crooked smile and you furrow your eyebrows.

“What?”

“Hold on tight, princess.”

You raise your eyebrows but clutch harder onto him. Elvis laughs, his chest rumbling against you. He grips tightly onto you and leans back before kicking his heel into the door. It swings open with a bang. As he carries you inside, you laugh, throwing your head back.

“Hell yeah! Those badass karate moves were finally worth something,” you giggle.

He smiles down at you and then pauses beside the bed. He gently lets you down onto the floor. Your hands slide down onto his chest and you tug at the material of his suit jacket. His big hands return to your lower back and he holds you steady. He tilts his head and leans down slowly. You raise yourself up on your tiptoes to meet his lips, pressing against him. He grips your waist and his lips move in between yours. He kisses you again and again and again, somehow pushing harder against you each time.

Your hands travel everywhere, pulling on his clothes, his hair, the skin of his cheeks, as you try everything you can to pull him closer into you. You push back against his chest, disconnecting your lips with a clear pop. You heave as you take the opportunity to push his suit jacket from his frame. It falls onto the floor, lifeless. You run your fingers down his chest before deftly unclipping each and every button. When you reach the bottom of the shirt, you curl your fingers into the fabric and yank it up from under the band of his pants.

You bite your lip as your fingers dance across his bare chest. In the moonlight, you can barely see him, but you prefer to appreciate him through touch only. Something about not being able to see his face makes you pay closer attention to the way his skin feels on yours. You carefully push the shirt from his muscular shoulders. You run your fingertips down his biceps, strong and taut. Your heart pounds in your chest as your mind conjures images of Elvis sweating while lifting weights or doing push-ups. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks. After all this time, you still find yourself flustered by his beautiful masculinity.

His finger slides underneath your chin and he tilts your head up, pressing his lips to yours. You hum contentedly into his mouth, the warmth of his chest radiating onto your skin. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth for him. The feeling of his tongue against yours makes you clutch him closer. His mouth is warm and wet but you love the taste of his saliva on your tongue.

His lips slip from yours and he presses hot kisses down your jaw and onto your neck, biting harshly at the skin. He tugs it between his teeth and then swipes his tongue over it. When he nibbles on your collarbone, you arch your back into him and moan quietly. His fingers find their way to the zipper in the back of your dress. He pulls it up, agonizingly slowly, his fingertips ghosting over your skin so lightly that it almost tickles. When done, he slides his warm palms onto the skin of your back. You suck in a breath as he hovers by your ear, his breath on your skin. Neither of you say anything and you don’t kiss. You just press your cheeks together and his fingers unclip the back of your bra.

When he pulls away from you, you continue to stare up at him. His eyes refuse to leave your gaze even as he lifts the dress from your shoulders. His fingers curl onto the straps of your bra and slide the piece of clothing forward off your arms. His eyes immediately drop down to your chest. He smirks and steps forward, tossing your clothes elsewhere. His hand snakes around your back and he pulls you hard against him. You yelp quietly and then smile as he drops his lips down to you again.

Your hands return to his hair and you tangle your fingers into his locks. His hands cup your hips to push the rest of the dress down where it pools around your ankles. Then, his palms curl around your ass and thighs.

Against your lips, he mumbles, “Jump.”

You obey his command and he pulls you up onto his hips. You curl yourself around him and he walks a few steps back. Your lips move together in harmony as he gently lays you down on the bed below you. He hovers on top, his hand trailing along the side of your mostly naked body. His finger hooks into the side of your panties and he pulls them down. You bend your knee so he can slide them off your leg. He pulls away from your lips and falls to his knees by your core. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. He flings your panties away, glancing up at you with a smirk.

“Nice panties,” he says with a smirk.

He’s referring to the pair of red panties he bought you to replace the ones you originally gave him in 1956. The pair of panties that brought you both to this moment right here. You giggle and he props your foot onto his knee, quickly unlatching the strap to your heels, one by one. You curl your toes in satisfaction at the freedom.

He takes your foot in his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your toes, up your foot, your shin, on your knee, your thigh. When he reaches the inside of your thigh, his breath teases your folds and you throw your head back in anticipation of feeling him. He presses his hand onto your stomach and licks the skin right above your heat. You wriggle underneath him, your core throbbing with need.

You glance down at him and bite your lip. He stares up at you with glazed, dark eyes. His focus is solely on you, nothing else. Without breaking eye contact with you, he curls a hand over your thigh while the other gently tugs at the skin of your inner thigh. You breathe frustratedly and grasp at the bed beside your head. You can feel how swollen you are, just waiting for his attention. His finger moves inside, massaging the outside of your pussy. You gasp at the moment of pleasure when your clit gets stimulated just right from the pressure.

He smirks up at you and, holding your gaze, glides a finger along your wet folds. You bite your lip in response, resisting the urge to wriggle against him. He repeats the action again, applying some pressure by your entrance. You watch his chest heave and his lips part as he slides a finger inside of you. You moan quietly at the relief of stimulation.

He removes his finger and then reinserts two more, pumping you slowly and deeply. In a matter of seconds, you find your body reacting, moving in time with his fingers. He suddenly stops, withdrawing his fingers and sticking them into his mouth. You pout as he licks his skin clean, still glaring at you. Your pussy aches and you rub your fingertips together as you consider touching yourself.

Instead, you decide to tease your daddy, at least one last time. You sit up, scooting toward the edge of the bed. Grasping onto Elvis’ belt, you pull yourself up to standing. You slide a hand around his neck and yank his lips down to yours, kissing him hungrily as you spin him around. His hands grip onto your waist, pulling you against him. You latch onto his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling it out for a moment before releasing it and shoving him down onto the bed.

He falls with a thump and you lean over him, your fingers working to unlatch his belt. You pull it out and then unbutton his pants. With a coquettish giggle, you lean down, keeping your eyes on your daddy, as you take the zipper to his pants in your teeth and pull it down. Elvis smirks down at you, shaking his head.

“Goddamn, you still got it, princess,” he says quietly.

You smile and yank his pants down to his knees. He’s already kicked off his shoes. You drag your fingers over his bulge, tracing the outline of the tip. He breathes deeply, a sure sign that he’s ready for your touch. You remove his underwear and gasp at the sight of his perfect cock. You’ve missed it so much. You saw it so many times before but, even now, it looks just as perfect as it did the first time. The veins pulse before your eyes and the tip twitches. You tap your finger on top and swipe your tongue to taste salty precum, all gathered up nicely for you.

His dick twitches under your touch and you giggle. You trail a finger down his length and then lick the tip with your tongue. He releases another breath and shakes his head. You tap the tip once more before leaning forward, still gazing into his eyes, and wrap your lips around the head. You lean over, pushing him deep into your throat. When he hits the back of your esophagus, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid gagging. When you release him, your saliva is wet on his dick. You spread the liquid around and pump him a few times. He leans back and moans deeply. You bite your lip and hum against him.

“I missed that,” you mumble against him.

“What?”

“The noises you make for me,” you reply with a giggle.

He smirks, suddenly sitting up and leaning forward. Before you can react, his hands are wrapping around your waist and pulling you up on top of him. You chuckle as he turns you over and positions himself on top of you. You settle in below him, your hands resting on his chest. He smiles as he reaches down for his dick. Without leaving your gaze, he positions himself by your entrance. You sigh in pleasure as he runs the sticky tip up your wet folds. He does it twice more.

“I should get a condom,” he says with a laugh.

“No,” you reply, grabbing onto his bicep to stop him. “No, don’t.”

His eyes search yours for a few moments. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“You sure, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation.

“No argument from me," he smirks, leaning down to kiss you.

You giggle as he grabs himself and gently pushes into you. You breathe deeply and shut your eyes as you adjust to the pressure. You moan at the feeling of his length inside you, so gradual and gentle. Of course, you’ve had him before but never like this, never so slow, so tender. You open your eyes when you feel Elvis’ hand on your forehead, pushing your hair back from your skin. His head is tilted, a soft smile playing at his lips. He drags his knuckle down your cheek. You lean into his touch, winding your arms around his shoulders and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. You close your eyes and buck your hips against him, telling him to go. He follows your request immediately, starting to slide in and out of your folds. You instantly feel relief at the stimulation that your core so desperately needed. You move your hips against him as his length pushes in and out of you. You moan with his movements, the pressure building inside your body. You turn your head to the side as your moans grow louder and more frequent. He presses a kiss to your jaw and then rests his forehead against your cheek as he moves against you.

Your eyebrows furrow from the mixture of pleasure and pain. Elvis' arms slide underneath your shoulders and he holds you close to his body as he drives in and out of you. You tug at his hair and he moans against your cheek. His pants are loud in your ear, edging you on.

You smile, the pleasure building quickly. He growls as his movements start to become sloppier and sloppier. You hold him close, steadying him as he pushes into you. You feel the pleasure like waves of need crashing into one another. You bite down on his shoulder, tasting the sweat on his skin. You gasp loudly as he hits your g-spot perfectly, the pleasure so overwhelming it’s almost painful. He buries his head in your neck, his sweat wiping away on your skin. Your fingernails dig deep into his skin as he thrusts in and out of your dripping, swollen folds.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers against your skin.

Nothing else he could ever do or say would send you over the edge like this does. Your heart soars with pride and you feel your body shaking underneath him as you orgasm at the touch of your daddy. Your eyes fly open when you notice the sensation of his warmth flooding inside of you. You both shudder together as you drop down from your highs.

Your chest heaves and you fall limp. With your eyes closed, you barely notice Elvis flopping onto the sheets beside you. The quiet air is filled with your pants as you both gain the energy to check on each other.

Finally, you open your eyes and maneuver so that Elvis’ head is in your lap. His fingers drape lazily across your inner thigh and he starts to draw circles on your skin with his fingertips. You gently stroke his hair away from his forehead with a stupid soft smile resting on your face.

“I like it when ya do this,” he mutters against your thigh.

“Do what?”

“Stroke my hair like that. It reminds me of my mama.”

“...Is that a compliment or should I be freaked out?” you ask and he laughs, turning to lie on his back so he can look you in the eye. You adjust but continue to stroke his hair, watching in pleasure as his eyes close from the sensation.

“It’s a compliment. The highest one I can give. My mama was always my bestest girl. Sometimes I wonder if you wasn't sent to me to take her place.”

“Elvis Presley, are you calling me your bestest girl,” you ask and he opens one eye before closing it again.

“Ya know you never done that fore, neither,” he says and you tilt your head.

“Done what?” you ask with a laugh.

“Called me Elvis. You only ever called me Mr. Presley or daddy. Never Elvis.”

“Yeah…I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why?”

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you ever call me by my name?"

“I guess it felt too intimate somehow? I don’t know. You never really called me by my name either. Not until tonight.”

“I was scared to. I thought it'd make us too close and I's terrified of hurtin ya. Y/N, baby, you don't know how badly I wanted to when you told me you loved me."

"Which time?" you snort. "The romantic time or the embarrassing one?"

Elvis shifts to sit up, crossing his legs. He places his warm hands on your thighs and gently pulls you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his back, holding yourself firmly onto his body. His hands circle around your back. He reaches up to brush a rogue piece of hair from your face and then his eyes gaze into yours.

“Don’t you ever be embarrassed bout lovin me. Baby girl, ain't nobody ever loved me like that before. Nobody. I ain't felt this loved since my mama left me. It don't make no sense to me, why you do. How a woman like you — beautiful, talented, smart, kind — could love somebody as pathetic and selfish as me.”

“Because you’re not,” you whisper, reaching out to cup his cheeks. He scoffs. “You were being abused, Elvis, abused and used by someone you trusted. By someone you loved and someone you thought loved you. And after all of that, you’re still not selfish or pathetic. You’ve never been either of those things with me. I’ve never seen you that way. I wish I could show you how I see you. Not Elvis the rockstar, not Elvis the movie star, not Elvis the Vegas daddy. My Elvis. Who you are in here.”

You gently poke your fingertip into the middle of his chest, where his heart is pumping underneath. A few moments of silence pass as he stares up at you, his eyes glassy. You continue.

“You asked me once why I gave in and said yes to the arrangement. Do you remember?”

“The day after the reporters snapped us together. Yeah, I remember. Course I do.”

“I couldn’t answer you then. I can now. I came because of who you are. Because you and I are the same. We’re both dreamers, idealists, hopeless romantics. Because I knew, even from that first moment at Russwood Park, that you were something special. Something so different that you were out of this world, like a superhero or something, I don’t know. I came because I needed so badly to know that there was another soul out there who understood mine. And you did, you always have. I think you always will.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, moving his hand to cup your face. You lean into his touch with a soft smile. “I adore you. I-I can’t breathe without ya. When you left it was like…” he winces, “like my heart got ripped out my chest, like everything hurt. Like I was dyin'. The only thing made me feel better was drugs. I got so drugged up, so high. But when you came back and it was like…a ray of light just burst through all that darkness. Ya voice, I heard it and I just-I woke up. I have never been more alive than when I’m with you. I do love you, Y/N. Darlin, I’ve loved you for…too long now. I can’t even 'member when it happened.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” you ask, bursting into tears. Your shoulders begin to shake as you cry. He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to catch yours as his hands tilt your face up. He wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“No, no, don’t cry, honey. Please don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry. I know I shoulda but I's scared and too proud to admit it. Every woman I ever said I love you to has left me. The thought of you leavin me for good, forever? I can't take that. I couldn’t imagine it and I don't want to. I was horrified you’d leave me again.”

“I will never leave you, for as long as you want me,” you say, grasping at the chain around his neck. “I promise you, Elvis Aaron Presley, I’ll never leave you.”

“You better not,” he replies and you both chuckle sadly. “Cause I got a lot of makin up to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“For the shit I put ya through. All those late nights and long days, the way I treated ya like an object. The things I said to ya, horrible things. I don’t mean none of 'em and I intend to make it all up to ya.”

“Yeah? How are you gonna do that?”

“I got some ideas,” his eyes drop down to your heat and you playfully smack his arm with a giggle.

“Elvis Presley. Behave, daddy.”

“I do have one idea that I think might just be the perfect start.”

“And what’s that? A shopping trip to replace all the things I sold to save your ass?”

He says nothing in response but takes your hand in his. Your smile begins to drop as he runs his fingers repeatedly over your ring finger. You glance down at your hand and then back up at him with wide eyes.

“Y/N, I been the dumbest fool there ever was. I wasted so much time that I shoulda used bein devoted to you. You give me purpose in life, you give me strength, and you give me the will to dream. I want ya to share that dream with me. Marry me.”

Your smile flattens and all you can do is stare at him. Your heart is racing. The question you never, ever thought you would be asked by a man like him. The Elvis Presley wants you to marry him. Starstruck doesn’t even begin to cover it. You shake your head to bring yourself back to reality and glance down at your naked fingers.

“Well," you say, laughing through happy tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. "Then I guess you better propose."

“What do you mean? I just-”

“A real proposal, Presley. On your knees, with a ring, in a place that’s not your bedroom, please.”

"I'll work on it."

He grins and shakes his head, jolting forward and knocking you down on the bed. You giggle and try to fight him off as his fingers dig into your skin, tickling you up and down your body. When he pulls away, he gently brushes his nose against yours and then presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. You smile and pull him down for a kiss.

───── August 16, 1977 ─────

“I just don’t know how to move on without him. The house and everything are just so…empty now,” you say, sniffing back another tear that threatens to fall.

“I know,” Trixie says, reaching out to hold your arm. “It was all so sudden. I just can’t believe he’s really gone.”

You nod as you both stare at an old photograph. You smile sadly and run your thumb over the glass. Putting it back down on the counter, you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and turn your back on him forever.

“I can’t either. We lost someone very special. A once-in-a-lifetime man.”

“How is he handling it?” Trixie asks, gesturing out the front window toward the man who’s playing football with her fianceé.

“It’s been hard on him,” you say with a sigh. “Edmund was his favorite dog. He was such a good dog, too.”

“Poor, poor guy,” Trixie says, and you shoot one last look at the photograph of your beloved pomeranian dog, Edmund. “At least Elvis is doing better. I’m so glad to hear that therapy worked so well and so fast, too.”

“You’re glad? How do you think I feel?” you say and Trixie laughs. “He does look so much better and healthier, though, doesn’t he?”

You glance out the window at your husband, smiling as you absentmindedly rub your palm on your stomach. You bite your lip as he tackles Trixie's fianceé.

“Do you two need some private time?” Trixie asks.

he throws you a sideways glance with a suggestive quirk of her eyebrow. You shake your head and giggle.

“No, of course not. If you think I’m in the mood to have sex when I’m like this,” you pat your hand on top of your very pregnant belly, “then you’re the one who needs therapy. Even if my husband is the hottest man on earth. At this point, I just want the thing out.”

“Oh, speaking of babies, I think they’re here!” Trixie says, pointing down the drive. You smile at the sight of the familiar car driving up the way.

“They are, indeed! If you'll excuse me, Trix, I'd better rope him in,” you say, taking your leave to approach the husbands. “Elvis, honey, Priscilla and Lisa are here.”

Your husband's head shoots up, his enthusiastic expression complimented by a grass stain. You giggle and shake your head. His disheveled hair flops up and down as he hops over to you with a wide grin. Your eyes catch his bright blue ones and he wraps his arms around your waist. Holding you as close as he can with your belly, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You scrunch up your nose and push him away.

"You taste like grass," you laugh.

He shrugs and chuckles.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

You both turn at the sound of little Lisa Marie's voice. You smile down at her tiny figure as it runs up to her daddy. At nine years old, Lisa is beginning to look a lot more like her mother. But you can still see parts of Elvis in her, like the straightness of her nose and the soft downward tilt of her eyes.

Elvis kneels down and Lisa runs into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around as she giggles and laughs. Your gaze lifts up to see Priscilla and her new husband approaching you. Smiling, you hold your arms out and Priscilla gently wraps herself around your shoulders, rubbing your back gently.

"Priscilla! I'm so glad to see you, and Lisa, of course," you say.

You bend at the knees and scrunch down to allow Lisa to tuck herself into your arms. She rests her head on your belly, her ear pressed against the skin.

"I don't hear anything. Is she still in there?" Lisa asks, glancing up at you.

"Yes, she is. Although, I hope not for very much longer," you reply and shoot Priscilla an exhausted expression.

Priscilla laughs and nods. She steps forward and presses her palm to your stomach. You sigh happily.

"I'm sure it won't be much longer now," she adds. "You look ready to pop to me. How are you feeling?"

"My feet are swollen, my back is killing me, and I'm thinking about selling my soul to the devil for a good night's sleep. So, pretty standard for this late in the trimester, I guess."

"Oh yes, that sounds about right. It'll be over soon. I know Lisa is just ecstatic about having a little sister to fawn over. Have you decided what to call her yet?"

You nod with a smile.

"Love. It was Elvis' mother's middle name."

Priscilla smiles again and your conversation is interrupted by Elvis giving Priscilla a big hug.

While they get to talking, you take the opportunity to observe the guests at your summer party. A retired Vernon and his new wife, Dee, are sitting together on lawn chairs talking to Lisa Marie and some of the other kids. Steve and Jerry are drinking beers while their wives and children play cornhole. Trixie and Max — yes that Max who turned out to be a perfect match for your absolute best friend in the entire world — are lounging on a picnic blanket with plates full of classic summer barbecue.

You snap your attention back to Priscilla, the woman you long considered to be an enemy. Now, she's one of your best friends. It was easier than you expected to work out your differences, especially after you became engaged to Elvis. Lisa Marie was always a priority and turned out to be the best possible bridge to friendship for you and Cilla. Anyway, you both have a lot more in common than you previously thought. One of your favorite shared activities is poking fun at Elvis behind his back. Priscilla is the only other person in the world who truly understands.

You married Elvis less than a year after your engagement. Then, you took a lengthy honeymoon, a cruise across Europe. Elvis finally got to visit so many of the places he always wanted to see. Italy and Greece were his favorites and were so incredibly, almost unimaginably, romantic. You dream every single day of going back.

And you might be able to soon, with the release of Elvis’ newest album, the shining star of this summer get-together. "Dreamer" is the first album Elvis has released since March 1974 and the very first album he's released without the name Colonel Tom Parker pasted all over it.

After several months of settling back into life at Graceland, Elvis did receive threats from the Colonel. You'd called up Jerry and met with Trixie's family friend Mr. Benson to get the cease and desist order finalized before presenting it to the Colonel's people. After a bit of arguing back and forth and a final threat of taking his ass to court, the Colonel finally backed down. It all happened just as you and Jerry had suspected. Agreeing to settle out of court, the Colonel was ordered to repay Elvis back for 50% of what he'd stolen. Although your goal was to take everything Colonel had, every half of a cent felt like a win on Elvis' behalf.

With that situation finally resolved, Elvis became desperate to get back into music. This time, he wanted to do it his way. You watched with unmatched pride as he threw himself into gospel, the genre that had always spoken to his innermost soul. He continued to record with RCA and produced an album that he's happier and prouder of than any other piece of music he ever recorded. You could always tell his passion rested with this kind of music, music that matters, music you can feel in your soul.

As you look at him now, sitting on the grass and drawing shapes in the dirt with Lisa Marie in his lap, you know it. The void he'd been nursing back to health for so many years, that he'd been trying to fill, to replace, to erase. It's gone. He's finally healed.

Later that evening, after all your guests have left, you settle down in the living room with Lisa to watch a movie. Priscilla and her husband dropped Lisa off for the next week and you have plenty of plans to keep the little girl entertained. As you get settled on the couch, Elvis brings you a glass of water. You shoot him a thankful expression. He leans down and gently presses a kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, you slowly and begrudgingly open your eyes, smiling up at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against yours. You scrunch yours up against his.

“I love you, too.”

Your husband settles down on the other side of the couch and Lisa cuddles in between you, completely invested in the movie even though it’s just started. You readjust as a painful cramp rages in your stomach. You’ve had quite a number of them today. But, as with the others, you breathe through it and push further into the cushions.

You all sit in silence as you watch the film. Soon enough, Lisa has fallen into a deep slumber, her head nestled onto her daddy's tummy and her feet resting on your thigh. You feel Elvis’ fingers intertwining with yours on the top of the couch and glance over at him. He winks at you and you squeeze his hand before refocusing on the movie.

You only make it about five more minutes before you suddenly realize that you’re sitting in a wet spot. You gasp and look down to see that your water has most definitely broken.

“What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, jumping to his feet and walking around Lisa Marie to get to you on the couch. You place your hands on your cramping belly and glance up at him.

“I hope you’re ready to be a daddy again,” you say breathlessly.

“Well, thank god I have extensive experience. In both departments,” he replies immediately with a crooked smile.

“You may have extensive experience but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have my fair share of daddy issues," you quirk an eyebrow and he chuckles. "Now, get over here and get me to the hospital before I pop.”

“Yes, mommy,” he says and then pauses, his face flattening in embarrassment as he looks up at you.

“Mommy, huh?”

~ The End ~

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

You fracture light again

★ Chapter 2 of 15, 5691 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warning: recreational drug use

<< 1

1 June, 2018

Inevitably, she recognized the voice she heard on the BBC the night before as Matty’s. Este listened intently to what she could catch of his interview with Annie Mac after the song played, and observed his played-up radio voice—subconsciously comparing it to the humbled one she had encountered over a month previously.

Of course Matty is in a band, she thought. He was the exact type to be a front man; flashy fashion sense, reads essays in his free time, patchwork tattoos. It only doubled the amount of questions she found herself asking. The song was enjoyable, too. It sent a surge of energy through her and Cate, inspiring a late-evening dance party between the two roommates, as they listened to the wordy and humorous lyricism contained throughout the 3 minutes. Este agreed that whiskey really did never start to taste nice, and also hoped that her 27th year didn’t involve any STIs. Her plate of eggs on toast had to wait until after the song was done to be eaten, eventually munched down by a very out of breath Este.

Back at work, she opened her phone, bored during a lull of customers. Typing ‘matty healy’ into Instagram, she found his account easily. The number of followers shocked her, but when she scrolled down to the posts, she only saw a sparse few photos. Este’s original plan was to, quite honestly, stalk his page for answers to all of her curiosities; but his basically empty profile put that idea to a stop.

Her thumb couldn’t help but click the ‘follow’ button before she even had the time to think. Glancing back at the small checklist of things she had to do before closing up, Este got back to work, letting Matty slip out of her head.

✴

[trumanblack]: este.manansala followed you.

Matty had been watching his notifications on social media a little too closely lately. With the new single out, he was heavily focused on the response it was getting, wanting to know what people thought. 

Because of this, he happened to catch the fact that the girl from Greenhouse gave him a follow a few hours after the interaction came through. He was shocked that she found his account, as it had only been active again for a short amount of time, but he assumed that she heard Give Yourself A Try and did some digging. He felt extremely grateful that the new song was well-received so far, but jumping back into the public eye and kickstarting a new era of The 1975 was a mental rollercoaster. Meeting Este felt like the last normal thing he experienced before it all restarted, so he couldn’t get her out of his head.

She reminded him of Manchester, the smell of used books, the venues the band played before anyone knew their name, waiting in line at coffee shops, and the uneven pavements he last tripped over back in April. This sense of comfort he correlated with Este was a little strange, he admitted to himself. It almost brought him to shoot her a DM to strike up a conversation, but Matty thought logically for a moment and decided to just follow her back instead. 

Heading onto the train, he was lucky that more promo brought him back to Manchester. He’d only be in town for a couple of hours, scheduled to meet with some local music journalists to talk about the new song and what’s to come. After his arrival, a few polite people, dressed quite professionally, took turns having a seat with him for a conversation. He enjoyed talking about his art and felt especially excited to dive into sharing the headspace he’d been in while writing A Brief Inquiry. 

Matty had a completely new and introspective way to approach these interviews, and felt the need to answer every question incredibly thoughtfully. In previous years, press always felt a bit silly to him, so he took the piss out of interviewers way too often. Though he was still willing to be lighthearted and sarcastic, the conversations he held recently felt important to him. He felt some responsibility—especially while sitting in the midst of where he grew up—to push support for the arts and inspire the youth in his hometown with the passion he sometimes took for granted.  

“Well, Matty, thank you so much for your time today. I have one last ask of you,” the last interviewer proposed, lifting her pen from her notepad for a moment.

He nodded welcomingly, a smile prominent on his face. “Shoot.”

“Do you have a favourite spot out here in Manchester? Whether it be a pub, restaurant, shop, what have you. I know you’ve spent a lot of your life here and I’m sure people would trust your opinion,” she said.

Matty thought heavily about it, though, sifting through the tonnes of recommendations flooding through his brain. One particular one came to the front, and he selfishly decided on it to sound extra intellectual and mysterious.

“You know, just across the Starbucks on Piccadilly and Gore is this sick used bookshop. Greenhouse, I think it's called. It’s super tiny, but I love going into secondhand shops just to sort through all the cool shit they all have,” he admitted. “Not even just that one in particular, I think the smaller the shop the better, when it comes to Manchester.”

✴ 13 August, 2018

The earl grey tea from Starbucks was super bland, according to Este’s grandmother. 

“Tastes like nothing,” she complained in her thick Filipino accent. Este laughed and offered to take her tea in exchange for her own vanilla latte that sat in front of her. “You know it would just make my blood sugar spike, Anak,” her grandmother denied, calling her ‘child’, as always.

“Well then, you’ll just have to suck it up then,” Este replied, the both of them laughing and happy to be able to spend time together in London.

Her grandmother, Florencia, immigrated there from the Philippines almost 20 years ago to continue her work as a nurse. Despite the rest of the family moving up to Manchester, she and her husband remained in the big city. Now some years into retirement, Florencia always asked her granddaughter to accompany her to doctors appointments, helping them stay as close as ever over the years.  

“You know everything I make at home tastes better anyway. Your Lolo would agree,” Este’s grandmother reminded her, taking another sip of her (bland) cuppa.

“Of course, Lola,” assured Este. “But seriously, do you want me to get you another drink? I don’t want to make you finish that if you don’t like it.”

Florencia thought about it, and almost said no to be humble. But eventually, she agreed, and said, “You know me too well.”

She knew she couldn’t go wrong with a black coffee, and that her grandmother would be much less critical to it; so Este got up from their table in the corner of the busy Starbucks, and queued back up to satisfy the picky woman. Approaching the lengthy queue, she soon realised who stood in front of her. His curly hair sprung in every direction atop his head and Este took note of the few greys she remembered from when they met.

“Matty?” she blurted, immediately regretting being so forward and suddenly anxious that it was a really creepy thing to do. He probably gets stopped by fans countless times a day, she thought and cringed. 

He turned around, the sunglasses sitting on his face making it hard for Este to read his expression. It softened as soon as Matty recognised her. It had been a couple of months since he learned her name for the first time, and—unlike the usual cases of meeting plenty of strangers—he remembered it easily. Maybe it was the fact that he followed her back on Instagram, or maybe just that she was different from those strangers. 

Este oppositely feared that he didn’t even know who she was. 

“Este!” he smiled with relief. 

Even with the friendliness within his demeanour, she felt the need to apologise for yupping at him from behind. “God, I didn’t mean to just call out your name like that,” she chuckled nervously. “That was weird of me,” she apologised.

“Please, don’t be silly,” he told her. “Not weird at all. I’m glad you did, actually. I was in my own little world so I would have never even looked up from my phone,” Matty said, laughing. “What are you doing in London?” 

Este pointed over to her grandmother and their table. “My nan lives here and had a doctor’s appointment earlier this morning. That’s her. I’m horrible at reaching out and coming down to see her so I just escort her to her appointments to kill two birds with one stone,” she admitted.

He looked over and smiled at the old woman in the corner, noticing drinks and pastries already in front of her. “Getting a second round of drinks?” he wondered. She seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't pin any name or context to her face.

“Oh—she didn’t like her tea. I’m just lining up again to replace it with a black coffee,” Este explained, and he understood. "She’s picky.”

A space grew between Matty and the person in front of him, so they both shuffled forward, still quite a few people before it was their turn to order. 

“But what about you? I’ve seen online that you’ve been quite the busy bee,” she asked.

Matty laughed at her use of the childish phrase. “I have been a busy bee,” he mocked. 

She rolled her eyes in response. “You know, I was just leading up to complimenting your new music but just for that I’m going to keep it to myself.”

His eyebrows rose in excitement, letting go of the bit. “No way! You’ve heard it?” he asked genuinely. 

They shuffled forward again. 

“Yes way,” she laughed. 

Matty nodded, trying to portray how thankful he was for the kind words. 

“When my flatmate and I first heard Give Yourself A Try on Annie Mac she said it made her feel like she had tachycardia,” Este said. 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” said Matty, chuckling in the process. 

She giggled at the way he said it like it embarrassed him. “I think it’s when your heart beats too fast, or something,” Este attempted to explain. “The song made her feel like that, I guess. In the best way, I promise.” 

“I didn’t know it until right now but that’s exactly what I wanted it to do!” he replied with genuine happiness plastered on his face. Another shuffle towards the register. “Seriously though, I’m glad you like it. To be quite honest I’m a little embarrassed that you were listening when it debuted on Radio 1. I was incredibly nervous so I kept saying stupid shit.”

Este dismissed his embarrassment and insisted that she enjoyed it. 

Their chat continued as the queue moved at a snail’s pace, Florencia repeatedly glancing over to see what was taking so long. It must have been the late breakfast rush. A thought sprung into Este’s mind after finding out that Matty would be flying out to Los Angeles the following week. 

“Want a book recommendation for the flight over?” she posed. 

His eyes widened behind his sunglasses that were still on, as he tilted his head in curiosity. “Of course. Always,” he confirmed, curious to hear her suggestion. 

Smiling, Este began explaining her choice. “It’s called Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata. I read it all in one sitting on one of my days off last week and it was one of the weirdest fucking books I’ve read this year,” she said with a chuckle.

Matty became conscious of the fact that there was now only one person left before it was his turn. What did she say she was ordering for her nan? A black coffee, right? he tried to remember.

“Weird-good, I hope?” 

“100%,” she defended, grinning at him. 

He thanked her and promised he’d pick up a copy before leaving town, and then finally walked up to the register. The poor worker was the only one taking orders as the other three behind her frantically concocted the drinks. She greeted him with a friendly ‘good morning’ despite the stress oozing from her ears.

“Morning, can I get two venti black pike roasts—one with room, please?” 

The worker nodded and punched his order in. Eventually his payment went through, giving Este her cue to step up and begin her order. 

But, he put a hand on her shoulder before she could greet the girl in the green apron. She looked at him, confused. 

“I got it,” he said simply, without explaining.

Now understanding that one of the two coffees he bought was for her grandmother, she protested and insisted that he accept the ten pound note she pulled out of her pocket to repay him. 

“Este, stop, really. Let me buy your grandmother a coffee,” he argued.

She couldn’t get him to budge, so as they waited for the drinks, they bee-lined for Florencia’s table. Her sparse and white eyebrows furrowed, looking at an unfamiliar Matty. 

“This is Matty, Lola,” Este introduced. 

He waved sweetly to her and they exchanged smiles once the confusion disappeared from her face. “Nice to meet you, madam. I’m Este’s friend.” 

A fuzzy feeling wrapped around Este’s spine as she thought of him considering her his friend.

Her grandmother waved him off, shaking her head. “You don’t have to call me madam, Matty,” she corrected. All three of them shared a laugh, before Florencia continued on, “You can call me Lola.” 

Este’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Christ. She just told Matty Healy to call her Grandmother. Her hands flew to her face, covering it up, and then flying to her hair to nervously smooth down the already slicked ponytail it was in.

He chuckled and replied, “Oh, I’d love to—Lola is a beautiful name you’ve got.”

Florencia immediately locked eyes with her granddaughter and they laughed. “Lola means grandmother in Tagalog. It’s what I call her, and what you’d usually call any female elder in the Philippines,” Este broke the news in the midst of their giggles. 

He went cherry red as worry crossed his mind and he considered how ignorant his comment sounded. Words tried to escape his mouth and form sentences but they were barely coherent. In perfect timing, Matty’s name was called out, signalling that the drinks were ready, so she left him with her grandmother to grab them and let him continue squirming in embarrassment. 

She could tell he was apologising and that Florencia was telling him that he didn’t need to, trying to help him with the pronunciation. 

“It’s not like the name Lola, the ‘o’ should almost sound blunt and cut off,” she explained, and Matty attempted to pronounce it in the way she instructed. They shared an endearing moment of laughter as he tried it a few more times, and Este set down the drinks, interrupting them.

“Here’s your coffee, Lola. Matty paid for it, so you should thank him.”

Delight spread over her grandmother's face as she repeatedly thanked him, using a tone of voice Este rarely heard. She loves him, Este thought, grabbing her necklace and fiddling with it. 

Matty picked up his coffee, not even realising how much time had passed. “Please, it’s my pleasure, Lola,” he tried. 

Florencia nodded excitedly in approval. 

“I’d love to stick around but I’ve got to head over to a meeting. It was lovely meeting you, and seeing you again, Este.” He looked into her eyes.

She looked back at them, even though his shades hindered her from noticing. “Same here, Matty. Sorry if I took up your time by blabbering at you in line,” she apologised.

He shook his head, silently reassuring her, and uttered a quick ‘bye’ before waving at both her and her grandmother as he turned to approach the exit. Smiles were shared between the three of them, and eventually, he was gone.

“Ang pogi n’ya!” **

“I know, Lola.”

** He’s so handsome!

✴ 23 August, 2018

Before cleaning up his flat to take off to LA in a few hours, Matty remembered to reach into the Waterstones bag sitting on his coffee table and grab the copy of Convenience Store Woman that was inside. 

He studied the purple cover and read the reviews advertised on it. ‘Irresistibly quirky! – The Guardian’, and ‘Exhilaratingly weird and funny, – Sally Rooney’ spelled a few of them. Scanning the description on the back, he understood why the underlying theme of everything he had heard about the Japanese book was that it was weird—but he trusted Este’s recommendation and followed through with his promise. 

It was going to be a fast read for him, only containing a short and sweet 163 pages. If he read it on and off through the span of his flight, he could most likely finish the whole thing. 

Matty was looking forward to forming some opinions on the novel and letting Este know what he thought of it, once the time comes. When will I next be in Manchester? he thought. Surely it won’t be for a while.

There was an obvious way to get in contact with her that wasn’t just showing up at her place of employment, but somehow he was still scared to come on too strong; even after randomly meeting her grandmother in a Starbucks. Sliding into a girl’s DMs had a certain connotation that he didn’t want to accidentally display while searching for a lighthearted chat about books with a friendly girl who made him feel closer to home. It wasn’t classy.

He met the rest of the crew at Heathrow, and had a couple of hours to waste time before it was time to board. Sandwiched between Ross and George and sat on the uncomfortable row of chairs at their gate, Matty pulled out the book to get started. All of them had music playing in their headphones, trying to stay reserved and minding their own business. 

25 pages or so into the novel, he was shocked at how many times he had to pause to gawk at its writing, using a pen to underline a few of his favourite quotes. Somehow the author made this impact on him without even using particularly powerful words, which Matty usually ate right up. He wasn’t learning any new words from this book, and it intrigued him. The simpler words made a deeper print on the inside of his mind.

Next thing you know, it was time to board, and he had already finished Convenience Store Woman. The short novel started off strong, but ultimately, Matty had read better. He liked its commentary on conforming to socially constructed standards and how uniquely it was represented with Keiko, the main character, but as he turned more pages, he found it harder and harder to empathise with her. 

“Well, that £11.99 lasted about an hour and forty-five minutes,” he muttered to nobody in particular while he and the guys stood up to get onto the plane.

“Didn’t like it?” asked George, as he took the book from Matty and started reading the back. After a few seconds of taking in the summary, he said, “Sounds a bit weird, mate.” 

“I mean, I did like it, just not that much,” Matty justified, taking back the small book and shoving it in his pocket. 

They paused their conversation as it was their turn to show their boarding passes and passports, walking down the tunnel to the plane. The four of them rarely travelled all together when they weren’t touring, so it was odd to fly as a group just to get some recording done in America. 

“To be quite honest, I’m surprised you even chose to buy a book at full price, especially one like that,” George continued to judge his book choice.

Adam stepped onto the plane first, in front of Matty, and scanned the aisle numbers to find their seats. He found it eventually, and gestured to Ross to come sit next to him; George stuck sitting next to a blabbering Matty, as always. 

“The girl at Greenhouse recommended it to me,” he continued. “You know that used book shop across the Starbucks on Gore Street?” 

“Gore… in Manchester?” George replied. “When did you go back to Manchester?” 

Matty lifted both him and Ross’s carry-ons into the overhead compartment. “Back in April. When I went for my birthday,” he clarified.

George raised his eyebrows. “That was months ago mate, and you’re only reading it now? And since when is a used book eleven pound ninety-nine?” he interrogated. 

Matty rolled his eyes. “Geez, got any more questions for me?” 

The four bandmates sat in the same row, the walkway of the small plane departing the first two from the second two. They tried to get comfortable as the other passengers continued to sort out their bags and find their designated spots.

He looked back at George. “I ran into that Greenhouse girl, Este, just last week. It was here in London. That’s when she told me to read it, since I brought up the fact that I’d be on a long flight to LA, and that we promised to eventually exchange recommendations back at the shop in Manchester. Funny story, actually, I ended up meeting her grandmother that day as well. Lovely woman,” Matty rambled. “And it cost twelve pounds because I bought it at Waterstones yesterday, not at Greenhouse.”

All he received from his friend was a raise of eyebrows in agreement, George resorting back to his music. I’ll shut up now, decided Matty.

✴

Two movies and a couple of bags of complimentary peanuts later, Matty, George, Ross, and Adam were barely half way into their flight. Unexpectedly finishing his book at the gate left Matty with nothing to do. His left butt cheek kept falling asleep and George was snoring soundly next to him. 

Deciding to try and be productive, he pulled out his laptop and placed it on the pull-down table from the chair in front of him. Matty never felt the need to pay for Wi-Fi in moments like these, so he resorted to sorting through the cluttered files on his desktop and tidying them up. Random references and photo inspiration from years and years ago still collected virtual dust in the laptop he’d carried around for the past four years. 

He yawned, then continued quickly opening the countless amounts of .jpeg files he knew were of no use to him anymore and dragging them to the trash icon. The thumbnail of the image he was about to click was difficult to make out, but Matty realised it was a photo of him in the hospital after getting his gallbladder removed back in 2011. He expanded it, the grainy photo filling his screen, and he was shocked to discover that in the meaningless relic from his surgery seven years ago, he recognised the nurse posing beside him. 

Este’s grandmother. 

He rubbed his eyes, which were slightly teary due to his constant yawning, to try and study the photo even closer. That’s her. This world really is insanely small, Matty thought. 

Florencia’s hair was slightly less white in the photo, but her beauty remained the same. Her arms were spread wide to pose playfully and a 22-year-old Matty with a baby-face was sat in the hospital bed. Blue gown on and all, he was pointing at her excitedly. 

Though one of the most common surgeries to have, there was an unlucky handful of complications with Matty’s cholecystectomy. He had to be admitted for a couple of nights and he remembers being fairly nervous about the situation; but Florencia took amazing care of him, and her bright and bubbly personality stood out to him. It really helped keep his spirits high in a relatively depressing place like the hospital; that fact being the reason Matty remembers his mother asking them to pose for a photo together. He decided against deleting it, thinking that if he ever mustered up the guts to message Este, it would be a funny thing to bring up.

Mindlessly clearing his laptop of rubbish made his eyes feel heavy, so he dozed off. The guys followed suit, and for the rest of the flight they fell in and out of sleep; the band seemingly exhausted from the amount of work they’d been doing and would continue to do once they landed in California. 

Excited, and slightly nervous to be back in America, they finally arrived. It was close to 8pm LA time, so nothing special was on the schedule for that night. They smoked a quick zoot outside their Airbnb and discussed what they needed to get done in the two and a half weeks they’d be staying. 

Coming back inside and trying to adjust to the new time zone, Matty emptied the carry-on items he’d need to reach for the most onto the sink in his adjoining toilet and then some onto his bedside table. He came across Convenience Store Woman and opened it back up before putting it away. Flicking through it, he found what he decided was his favourite line. His eyes ran over the paragraph and felt it even more deeply a second time, especially in the context of the city he just touched-down in. Saying it aloud to himself a third time and feeling particularly loose from the weed, he impulsively opened his phone to Instagram and searched for Este. He drafted a message, quoting the book, and sent it quickly. 

It didn’t say much, but Matty was far too tired to care and passed out as soon as his head hit the crisp white pillow.

trumanblack: ‘My present self is formed almost completely of the people around me. I am currently made up of 30 percent Mrs. Izumi, 30 percent Sugawara, 20 percent the manager, and the rest absorbed from past colleagues such as Sasaki, who left six months ago, and Okasaki, who was our supervisor until a year ago. My speech is especially infected by everyone around me and is currently a mix of that of Mrs. Izumi and Sugawara. I think the same goes for most people.’

trumanblack: Ouch I just landed in LA and this part felt too real

✴ 7 September, 2018

���I was wanting to read some more classics,” the curly haired customer explained. “But I just have no idea where to start. I’ve only read ones like The Picture of Dorian Gray and To Kill A Mockingbird and Lord of the Flies. They’ve all been a little heavy, and I don’t know if I’m in the mood for that. I want some more humour, something lighthearted, maybe?” 

“I’m glad you came to me for classics, I have tons of recommendations.” She smiled sweetly at the young woman, hunting down the shelf she stood in front of often. 

“Emma and Persuasion are my favourite Jane Austen novels. I don’t think people realise how funny she is,” Este gushed, pulling a rather old edition of the former book off the shelf. “A likeable main character makes a book heaps easier to read, and Emma is so likeable. She’s witty and confident and charming and reading through her is so fun.” 

Thirty minutes later, full of the worker spewing on about her picks, the customer walked out with both Austen novels in her hand. 

One of Este’s favourite things about her job was being able to just talk about books all day. Her personality was so obsessive that nothing made her feel more energised than trying to get everyone around her to enjoy the same things as her. Whether it be novels, films, music; anything. 

Suddenly becoming aware of the song humming through the store, she realised that the Greenhouse Spotify playlist was looking particularly sparse as of lately. Este worked full time, so she grew tired of the same music repeatedly filling the air. She had to turn over each song quite quickly or else she’d go insane. Whenever these moments arise, she’d spend every free minute on the clock sifting through her Daily Mix playlists on her Spotify home feed to find new material. 

As she had streamed Give Yourself A Try plenty of times, Este found some other The 1975 songs being recommended to her. One called Love It If We Made It caught her eye, and as the store was empty, she played it through the speakers to judge if it was worthy to be added to the rotation. She wondered if Matty ended up reading Convenience Store Woman.

Its powerful beginning took her by surprise, as she felt the pulsing beat deep in her chest. The profanity prevented her from adding it to the shop’s playlist, but she kept listening for her own sanity. The longer Este did, the more she was amazed. Her mouth remained agape as the words stamped into her subconscious and refused to leave. It was extremely bold, desperate, political, and shocking—all intentionally, Este could tell. She wanted to pick apart Matty’s brain. Hear the thoughts his mind whispered to him. Feel his emotions, deep and shallow, and know why he felt them; so much that Este considered letting Matty know how much she loved Love It If We Made It. 

The idea of it scared her; throwing herself into the surely abundant sea of DMs on his Instagram, but the song and her experience listening to it felt important. She was aware that he likely heard praise on the daily and that her message probably wouldn’t mean much to him, but she continued typing away. She barely opened her own DMs herself, so she eventually found comfort in the fact that the chances he would see it were low. 

It was a purely cathartic process, writing the message. Exposing her love for the song helped her put her love for music and art into a concrete and physical space. It reminded her how lucky she was to have the ability to listen to music, read books, and observe film. Este was a sponge, soaking up the world around her with open arms.

‘Love it if we made it is such an important song, I listened for the first time at the shop earlier and felt it so deeply!!!!! Hearing new music and having it impact you is such a beautiful sensation. Thank you for making me feel that again <3 The minute it feels like you’re saying too much it’s immediately just enough. It’s desperate and declarative, in sort of a scary way. But i think that’s the intention. Seriously it might be my favourite song of the year. lmk when you’re back in Manchester, you should come into the shop so i can gush some more!!!’ read her notes app.

Este shook her head and deleted the last sentence, deciding it was a little too much. She ended it with a second ‘thank you’ instead. Did I use too many exclamation marks? she thought. Yeah. Then,  Este copied the text before her thumbs clicked away at her phone with the destination of trumanblack and the paste button. 

To her surprise, she already had a message awaiting her—from Matty. She wasn’t lying that she rarely opened her DMs. It was dated to two weeks ago. Este instantly felt guilty for airing him and never seeing it, and a bit concerned to learn what it was about. She opened it tentatively, and her eyes scanned across the familiar words from the book she had recommended to him. A feeling of relief spread across her chest when realising that he actually went and read Convenience Store Woman, and thought to reach out to have a conversation about it. Este quickly felt guilty again. 

There was no way she was sending her exasperated paragraph of compliments, now knowing that he would see it and that he sent her one first. She tried to match his casual tone and typed a couple of short replies. 

este.manansala: Ugh such a good quote

este.manansala: Conformity can go die x

este.manansala: What did you think of it?

Setting her phone down after being on it for way too long while on the clock, Este busied herself with mundane tasks around the shop. She was a little sad that she sold one of her favourite copies of Persuasion, but it wasn’t the end of the world. She vacuumed the carpet, watered the plants, ordered toilet roll and Brita filters with their work card, re-alphabetised their thrillers, and more. Her goal was to have no time to spiral about a response from Matty—and it was working. 

Soon enough, the shop was closed, and Este was clicking the switches of the handful of lamps that keep it warmly lit after sunset. Sam bought them from various charity shops so they were all different in their shape, size, and colour, but that’s what she loved so much about them. It was a bit of a pain to have to manually do it every night instead of flipping a master switch like most stores, but she got used to the routine and found it comforting.

She twisted the store key into the door to lock up, and the quiet walk down the street to her car allowed her to think for the first time in a couple of hours. The notifications on her phone were itching to be opened and Este could hear them screaming at her. It wasn’t until Este sat at her and Cate’s dining room table to eat her dinner that she finally scrolled through her daunting notification centre. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting on her iPhone was her best friend. 

But, alas, Matty had responded. As she waited for Cate to arrive home from work, Este figured there was no harm in embracing the situation. They both felt some urge to reignite their conversations, whether it be by accident in a Starbucks or intentionally over Instagram. So, she opened it and typed away.

3 >>

[consumedbythemossyforest]

A Pocketful of Sunshine

The goblin stepped up to the counter in the coffee shop, “One black coffee with a shot of charisma, please!” The orc behind the counter whose nametag read Kansif nodded and hit a few buttons on the machine, “And can I get a name for that?” 

“Pocket.”

“Excellent, I’ll have that ready for you in just a moment.” The orc turned around and glanced at the machines behind her and they promptly started whirring. The shop was relatively empty so she turned back to Pocket, “Big day?”

“Ah, yeah,” Pocket said, hand rubbing the back of their neck “I have a job interview in like 30 minutes. How did you know?”

Kansif chuckled, “People only order charisma shots when something important is happening.”

Pocket smiled up at her and damn it was like their entire face lit up. They ran their hand through their hair and Kansif was struck by the urge to brush that hair back into place.

“Ha! Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I’m just nervous y’know? It’s basically my dream job and I really want them to like me.”

With a snap of Kansif’s fingers, another light flicked on behind them, “I’ll add a shot of lavender too.” When it seemed Pocket was going to open their mouth to protest, Kansif swiftly cut them off with, “Don’t worry, it’s on the house. While it might not be magic, lavender always helps calm my nerves.” With that, there was a ding from the machine indicating that Pocket’s coffee was ready. Kansif slipped an enchanted, heat-resistant, sleeve on the cup before she passed it over to Pocket.

“Thank you for the coffee!” They said, heading for the door.

“It’s my pleasure honestly, and good luck with the job interview!” Kansif answered, picking up a cloth and beginning to wipe down the counter.

Meanwhile, Pocket made their way to the building where their interview was being held and took a sip of the perfectly warm coffee. Huh, they thought, the lavender works surprisingly well. As they brought the cup to their face for another sip, a bit of writing caught their eye.

Pocket, I just thought you should know that I think you’d get the job even without the charisma shot. And I’m honestly surprised that I’m doing this without one myself, but let me know how it goes? Maybe over some dinner? Xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Kansif

The words warm Pocket more than the coffee ever could. Of course they had thought Kansif was stunning. She was tall and strong-looking but had kind eyes and a gentle smile. And she had been so sweet to Pocket, helping soothe them and wishing them luck. And now this? It was almost too good to be true, but Pocket was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they carefully slipped the sleeve into their jacket and opened to door to Bharash’s Books and Beats.

A middle-aged (what was considered middle-aged for a Dragonborn? Pocket should probably figure that out) Dragonborn was at the front counter, flipping through the pages of a well-worn copy of Bookseller’s Almanac: The A to Z of Storytelling and Story-Selling. Pocket finished the rest of her coffee, threw it out, and cleared their throat, “Ah, excuse me? I’m here for a job interview?”  The Dragonborn looked up and smiled broadly,

“Of course! You must be Pocket! A pleasure to meet you,” She had set down her book and made her way around the counter, offering her hand for Pocket to shake. They clasped hands, and Pocket couldn’t help but notice how their hand was completely enveloped by the dragonborns. 

“It’s good to meet you too….?” Pocket trailed off, subtly trying to spot a name tag.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Where are my manners? The name’s Bharash,” Not subtly enough, apparently, “I own the store!”

Pocket raised an eyebrow, “You’re kidding. I thought that it was a completely different Bharash who had their name on the store,” they quipped. Then immediately winced, this was the kind of attitude that ensured they hadn’t lasted long at many of their previous jobs. To their relief, Bharash just laughed and clapped them on the shoulder, causing them to stumble slightly, “That’s a good one! I sure am glad that you have a sense of humour, it means you’ll fit in just fine. Now, would you follow me to my office?” Pocket inclined their head in an after-you gesture, “Wonderful!” She glanced into the stacks of books, “Alvarie! Do you mind watching the counter for a bit? I have an interview!” Pocket saw a young sprite poke its head out from behind a particularly precarious tower and squeak back, 

“Yes of course!”

Bharash opened the door to a cozy, dimly lit office. There were leather chairs and a particularly impressive illusion of a fireplace that emitted just enough heat to keep one warm, but not too much that it was stifling. She sat down behind a gorgeous mahogany desk and gestured Pocket to a chair on the other side, “Now, Pocket, you’re applying to be our events coordinator, do I have that right?” Pocket was thankfully feeling their shot of charisma by now and their eyes lit up,

“Yes, I am!”

“Stupendous! Now, would you mind telling me why you applied and what ideas you have for the role?” Bharash sat back in her chair, a gentle smile on her broad face.

“Yeah, sure!” Pocket said, scooching forward in their seat, “There was this library back in my hometown, Mosvil, and every Tuesday night they would host this paint night. The first time I went, I completely fell in love with the space. I had never painted before in my life but the instructors were so nice and patient, it felt like I belonged there. It was this wonderful community that I had become a part of, everyone was included and it was something constant that I could always look forward to.” By now Pocket’s grin stretched across their face and their hands were flying in their enthusiasm, “Ever since then I’ve wanted to bring that sort of space to others. But not just paint nights. I was thinking of doing something different each night. Maybe painting one night, but also knitting another night. Oh and writing…” Pocket trailed off, “Sorry about that. I just get really excited thinking about it.”

Bharash let out a hearty laugh, “Yes, you sure do! And that’s exactly what we’re looking for here. I honestly don’t see any point in dragging this out, you have the job if you want it.”

Pocket gaped for a second before saying, “Yes! Yes of course! Thank you so much!”

“No need to thank me, just bring this enthusiasm with you next week. We can get started on planning and advertising on Monday, how does that sound?”

“That sounds great, ma’am!” and Bharash scoffed,

“Oh no!” Bharash sputtered, “Please don’t call me ma’am, I’m not that old, and we’re definitely not that formal here. Just call me Bharash.” They made their way out of the office and back to the front counter where Alvarie was ringing a customer through. “Well, it was wonderful meeting you Pocket, I’ll see you here on Monday. Nine o’clock!”

“I’ll be here.” Pocket smiled and stepped out of the store. 

On their way home, Pocket pulled out their phone and the coffee sleeve and entered a new number into their contacts. 

Hey Kansif, it’s Pocket! How does seven sound? My treat :) 

And so Pocket smiled, and kept smiling.

[alissaming]

Paper Mario Color Splash Review

Now this is Sticker Star done right, in my opinion. I'll get into all the reasons why here.

Let's start with the story. Bowser is once again possessed by a force beyond his own control, and this time, it's really not his fault the way it was in the previous game. Mario and Peach come to the hub town to visit the Prism Fountain, which is supposed to hold the three primary colors (blue, yellow, and red) and three secondary colors (orange, purple, and green) only to find it completely empty. No toads or anything. After pressing the correct buttons you find a paint can who will give you the power of paint. His name is Huey. Together, the two of you figure out what exactly is going on, find the Paint Stars (each of which opens a different area or activates a different item or creature) to defeat Bowser.

Now let's talk about Huey. Yes, he does get mad at you twice, much like Kirsti, but unlike Kirsti, both times he gets upset are actually completely understandable, as both times you hit him with your hammer. And he's actually very likeable and just has a lot of good energy.

But here's a quick Spoiler Warning, as I'm going to very briefly talk about the ending of both Color Splash and Sticker Star, because this really bothers me. So both Kirsti and Huey have a "self sacrifice" moment. For Kirsty, she turns herself into a sticker to give you extra moves and more power to take on Bowser, ultimately dying. Huey turns himself into a Thing card to become 3-d again, to catch the black paint Bowser sends at you. As you do, he loses more. Now Huey doesn't actually die, he just goes into space, taking the dangerous black paint away. But here's what gets me. Kirsti is unlikeable to me. She not only gets a big self sacrifice scene, she got ressurected as well, because Mario asked for it to happen of the crowns, I guess. And then she gets a big goodbye of continuing to shepherd the Sticker Star. What does Huey get after his sacrifice? This really likeable character who was full of energy? Nothing. He flies off to space, never to return, or even get a wave goodbye in the end credits parade. So annoying.

Anyway, let's talk about the attack system of this game. This time, instead of stickers of varying sizes and limited pages, you get 99 cards, all the same size. Yes, your card pack never gets bigger, but you can carry a lot more kinds of cards. And the bigger attacks that would have been bigger stickers in Sticker Star just take up more of the card. Some have multiple attacks on them (like the three worn jumps card, for example).

I do rather miss the sticker museum, and the card museum isn't nearly as fun, but hey, returning color to the world and figuring out puzzles using Huey is highly entertaining. It really is worth looking into this game, if you're a Paper Mario fan.

All in all, I'd give this game a solid 4/5

[astromaki]

part 3 of second choice ; ceo!shoto todoroki x gn!reader (x ceo!katsuki bakugo) (1617 words)

part 1. part 2. (previous) part 4.

tw ; angst, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, degradation, divorce, mention of alcohol, bad language, slightly suggestive ?

EXTRA INFOS ;; all the characters are aged up obviously (they are 30 here), the point of view of this third part is from shoto todoroki !

confrontation. [7 : 16 pm]

a week has passed since he came home that night drunk. that he had begged momo to stay with him. that he had accidentally seen those divorce papers crumpled by your hands.

momo had seen them too that night, and yet she and shoto had not commented on them. good, he wasn't in the mood anyway.

it had become almost official, even the media had it on their front pages. "one of japan's richest couples on the verge of divorce?", "billionaire todoroki single again?" "y/n, will the heir.ess of their father's company return to being a lawyer?"

he would have liked to say that he cared what you thought about it. if you cried, screamed, were you hurt ? but that would be lying, you were the least of his worries.

and then, wasn't it what he wanted from the beginning ?

that you would end up hating him so much that you would leave him. that he could finally be free of the weight that you represented every day.

and yet his signature was still missing.

"you can't even love your partner properly, and now i hear through the media that a divorce is on the way ? you're pathetic son. i knew i should have married them to touya. " enji's heart-attack voice echoed terribly through the phone, which made shoto sigh. he was even pretty sure he could hear it from across town.

"calm down." shoto said in an annoyed tone. "your marriage isn't a success either, so keep your remarks to yourself. bye. "

"you idiot, don't you dare hanging up on me. i don't care if you can't satisfy your s/o, i don't care if they feel bad about this arranged marriage either. but y/n y/l/n comes from a very famous lawyer's family, so get a divorce and the amount of money you have to give will be huge. "

"i manage them, it will not be a problem. i have to go now. "

the young man finally returned to your room, looking exhausted, his tie loosened and ready to down a few glasses of whiskey.

however, he was surprised to see you. dressed in a beautiful versace dress/suit, you were glowing. well no, he meant that you looked... good.

though, it was the first time he took the time to look at you. to admire you.

the young man finally met your indifferent gaze through the mirror you were standing in front of. that gaze that was so joyful and sparkling at the beginning of your marriage, full of hope to transform this purely financial union into a love marriage.

but that look, devoid of emotion, almost made shoto, Japan's most ambitious ceo, doubt himself. almost.

"i'm surprised you're still using my card to splurge. how much is this one? $1000 ? $2000 ?"

he was tired, exhausted. nut the truth is he was in the mood to be a pain in the ass tonight.

"$ 8,330. plus the $800 pair. " you replied coldly.

your answer was like a slap in the face to your husband. not because of the price, he didn't give a fuck about this.

but this tone right there. it wasn't like you. you were normally so gentle, patient even with the worst of the crap he put you through. that naive kindness that made him want to vomit was completely gone. he didn't expect such a turn of events.

"so you decide to divorce me, but first you want to empty my bank account? you're exactly as I imagined." his look that used to reflect nothing but fatigue was now full of contempt for you.

you finally faced him. shit, he couldn't help but find you beautiful.

"here todoroki, let's talk about the divorce. " you began, quietly walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a stack of documents. "i've signed it, sign it, and i'll take it to my lawyers first thing in the morning.

he snatched them out of your hand and threw them across the room. you didn't even flinch, you even held his gaze. poker face.

a loud silence fell between you. a long silence, uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. heavy and light. sensible and meaningless.

"what's all this about ? who put you up to this ?"

a wry laugh escaped your lips. your new behavior puzzled shoto. he loved and hated what he had in front of him. a challenge.

"you think i need someone to make me realize that i deserve better than an asshole like you ? fuck, let me laugh. "

your hand went to retrieve a piece of paper from your purse. and it was slammed hard against his chest. bakugou’s business card.

he found your face inches from his, your warm breath gently caressing his cheeks. a scent of whiskey filled his nostrils. you were not sober.

"how many drinks are you on? " he asked quietly.

"so now do you care if i downed a whole bottle or not ? oh please shut up. because now that you mention it, your friend bakugou katsuki may have hired me. to be his company's business lawyer. isn't that funny? "

you turned your back on him, unaware of the state you'd put him in. but damn, it was like he'd just been slapped in the face. nausea took over his whole body, his legs became heavy and weak in few seconds only. and he knew damn well it wasn't fatigue.

so you were leaving him, but on top of that you were going to work for his number one competitor ?

he didn't know what hurt more, the knowledge that bakugo had won one of the most competent lawyers in the field or that you were leaving him for him ? was he jealous ? surely not, it was another feeling that repulsed him. he didn't even know.

"have you lost your tongue todoroki ?"

todoroki ? since when did you call him by his last name ? where are the darlings or my heart that used to annoy him so much ?

you finish getting ready, now wearing your long jacket. he had lost his tongue indeed, he didn't know what to say to you. what to do.

y/n y/l/n, you had succeeded in putting your husband to the wall.

but it was only for a moment. he quickly, too quickly, pulled himself together. his usual irritated expression returned.

"you don't see that he's using you to get ahead of me ? i thought you were smarter than that. "

he took a step forward, slowly but surely. like a predator approaching its prey.

"he doesn't care about you. just like no one has ever cared about you, not me, not him and not your bourgeois family. that's why they put you in a loveless marriage so easily. "

a mirthless laugh escaped from his lips.

"y/n, this bastard doesn't give a damn about you. "

you tried to move towards him, ready to slap him, but the alcohol made you capsize and stumble on your carpet. he arrived just in time to support you with his muscular arms. an annoyed sigh resounded in the large room when your sob reached his ears.

nevertheless, a petty smile stretched his lips. there you were again, the fragile and unassertive y/n finally in his arms.

that bakugo had managed to turn your brain inside out. yet shoto knew you better than anyone else. he knew you. better than you knew yourself. you were that puzzle he had managed to decipher long ago.

"that's not true. kacchan wouldn't do that...", you whisper.

"you know i'm right, sweetheart. you know i'm the only one who's honest with you. my love for you is all you need. "

his muscular hand gradually, peacefully, came to caress your back to take off the buttons of your dress. his lips came to meet yours, to draw you into a long, languid, unsentimental kiss. your lips asked for more, your whole soul asked for more of shoto. more of this man for whom your heart never stopped beating. even if his was vibrating for another woman.

you wanted to feel his lips making love to you sensually, sincerely.

you just wanted him to love you for one night. one fucking night.

shoto was ecstatic. he could already see himself opening a bottle of champagne with his father, to celebrate the divorce that would never happen. tonight, shoto had brought out his best acting skills. millions were at stake. he had brought out his best kiss. he had never touched you like that. so gently, so carefully.

he had never called you by any affectionate nickname.

he has done too much to keep you around.

and you were drunk, not stupid.

you finally stood up, moving away from him, reluctantly. nothing he said was true. from his love for you, to his accusations against katsuki.

awkwardly, you put your dress/suit back on properly.

"i have a meeting with my future employer mr. bakugou tonight. i'll be late. don't wait for me, i'll sleep at the hotel tonight, with your card. "

a red color came to his cheeks. anger ? sadness ? jealousy ?

he had never seen you so determined, so proud. and that attracted him. he was going to lose millions, no matter what. but it was you who was going to escape him. for that bastard bakugou katsuki.

the nice little y/n was no longer shoto todoroki's.

AHHH omg sorry sorry i told you i can't do a fluffy end!! >< (comments and reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 tag list ; @nveusii @angelofthorr @missmolliemoo @jazzylove @loki-an-idiot @deepestranchgoopdeputy @mhasimp666 @shotorozu @chscklvr @devilsbooksworld @marshmallow12345 (ones in bold cannot be tagged)

[ilovefandoms102]

Only His-Part 5*

Pairing: Andy Barber x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Andy loves you being pregnant with his baby…

Note: The last and final part…unless y’all want more👀👀👀👀👀👀

Click here to be added to my taglist!

Warnings🛑:heavy smut, literal porn(lactation kink, pregnancy kink, slight mommy/daddy kink but like not in a complete sexual way?, oral(fem receiving), pregnant sex, unprotected vaginal sex)

I will not be held responsible for your media consumption!

Part 4

The graphics I use are reblogged on my page🥰

Andy could not be happier…

Your baby was growing beautifully, your belly was rounding, milk filled your breast’s, and had started to leak a little. Andy could not help but be obsessed with how amazing you looked pregnant. One might say he even had a kink for it.

You were 38 weeks today, and Andy wanted to take you somewhere special. He asked you to wear a pretty sundress….and no panties. You couldn't help but flush slightly at the request, loving how much Andy was obsessed with your body.

It was the perfect day to be on the water, not too hot and not too cold. The wind blew gently as you laid between Andy’s legs, his hands unashamedly down the front of your dress holding your boobs. They were almost completely engorged at this point in your pregnancy, and Andy LOVED it.

His dick twitched when your nipples leaked the sweet, sticky milk onto his palms. You often teased him that he wasn’t going to make it sharing with the baby once they were born. He hated to admit it, but you were right. Of course he would put the baby before himself, but he secretly hoped the baby left some for him.

“You alright my love?” you asked when Andy had gone a bit quiet, but you soon knew why when he gently squeezed your breasts.

“Just fine mommy,” he smirked, moving one hand to rub over your round belly.

“She’s been kicking a lot today.” you smiled, moving his hand to where the baby was moving.

“Daddy‘s princess,” Andy hummed, giving your left boob another squeeze before kissing your cheek.

You giggled, one of Andy’s favorite sounds. You closed your eyes as you leaned back against Andy, feeling the sun heat your skin. You were perfectly content, but Andy wanted to spice things up.

Andy’s hand that was previously on your belly was now traveling lower, and you smiled. His fingers were soaked as soon as he swiped them through your folds. He cursed, tweaking your sensitive nipple making you gasp. Andy swirled your clit, loving the moans you let out. Your legs spread more, your heels hitting his knees.

“All this for me momma?” he asked, grinning when you nodded.

“Yes daddy, just for you.” you whispered, throwing your head back against his shoulder as he moved his fingers faster.

Andy had you cum in no time, flipping you around to straddle his lap once you came down. He pulled your dress down over your left boob, latching on to your nipple and sucking the milk out. You whined, the relief and pleasure mixing as you grinded down against his clothed cock. He growled against your nipple, swatting your ass as he sucked harder. Once that breast was empty, he moved to the other one, making sure to keep teasing the previous one.

“Daddy please! I need you, want your cock in me.” you cried, pulling at his soft hair.

“Patience my love, daddy wants his mommy’s milk first.” Andy smirked, going back to sucking you dry.

You kept wiggling down on him, craving the sweet release again. Once Andy was done, you were so close to cumming tears of frustration pricked your eyes. Andy kissed you, fumbling for his button and zipper. You helped him out, immediately sitting on his cock once he got it free.

“Fuck yes baby, so pretty how desperate you are for my cock.” Andy growled, smacking your ass hard.

“I love it daddy, I love how you make me feel so good.” you moaned, grinding your hips down to his.

Andy splayed his big hands on your belly, his child growing inside of you stirred something in him. He wanted you like this all the time, pregnant with HIS child. He would give you as many babies as you wanted.

“Andy, please baby!” you whined, tugging on his hair.

“Patience momma,” he purred, feeling all over your pregnant belly.

“No, baby please please.” you whispered, practically humping yourself on him.

“I said, patience little one or you won’t cum at all. Daddy will still punish mommy.” he growled, halting your hips and squeezing them tight.

You whimpered pathetically, pouting your lips out which Andy responded to by biting your bottom lip. You gasped as he pulled it before letting it snap back. Andy smirked, seeing you two were approaching the deck.

“Mommy how about we have fun at home, so you’re more comfortable.” Andy offered, rubbing your belly softly.

“But I want you now baby,” you pouted, but Andy gave you a LOOK.

“Don’t be difficult, my love.” Andy said gently.

“Yes daddy,” you muttered.

Andy rushed you inside, lips never leaving the others as you two walked to your bedroom. He shoved the straps of your dress down, the fabric catching on your belly, but you pushed it off so it pooled at your feet.

You pulled away from him only to pull his shirt off, scratching down his abs. Andy gently laid you on the bed, kissing your belly so sweetly. You smiled down at him, threading your fingers through his fluffy hair.

“We love you daddy,” you grinned.

“I love my girls,” Andy whispered against your belly.

You let out a loud moan when Andy swiped his fingers through your slicked folds, your hips thrusting up into him. Andy watched at how responsive you were to his touch, licking his perfect lips as you squirmed.

“Always ready for me my love, so perfect.” Andy praised, fondling your tits with his other hand to make you moan even louder.

Once Andy felt you were ready, he stood and lined himself up. He pushed in achingly slow, making sure you felt every inch of him. Your legs shook violently, already feeling dangerously close to your orgasm.

After he bottomed out, Andy waited a few seconds before pounding the shit out of you. His hands pinched your lactating nipples, scooping up the milk and shoving his fingers in his mouth. The wails and moans you let out had Andy on cloud nine, he swore he never felt as good as he did now. He wanted you pregnant all the time.

You felt encased in pleasure, Andy’s cock hitting all your sweet spots perfectly. It was an added plus how much more sensitive you were, however something did feel a bit…off.

Suddenly, Andy was pushed out of you as a gush of liquid came out of you. His eyes widened as he stared in complete shock.

“Oh my fucking god-baby-you-are you-baby are you alright?!” Andy stuttered, his body froze.

“I think you broke my water honey,” you giggled.

“Oh my god-oh shit-holy shit!” he cursed, running around your room to get you and him some clothes to throw on.

“Hey! You didn’t make me cum, get back here!” you huffed, pouting your lips out childishly.

“You’re in labor for god's sake and that’s what you’re worried about?!” Andy exclaimed, helping you into a sitting position so he could dress you.

“I was so close,” you whined, but finding it adorable how freaked out he was.

“Are you hurting?” he asked quietly, rubbing your cheek soothingly.

“I’m fine baby, I can’t even fee-” you gasped, feeling a wave of pain overwhelm you.

“Sweetheart, let's get to the hospital before you have our child on our bed.” Andy said as he helped you into some comfy shorts and carried you to his car.

Eight hours later, you and Andy welcomed your sweet baby girl into the world…

[frenchfrywrites]

Ok so I was thinking of what they would do if they were to be ghosts and they find themselves having a crush on the new owner of the place they inhabit--

I think Levi would be a very shy ghost, who was so glad that the previous owners left so he had the entire house for himself. Now he can do anything he wants and be alone and not have to interact with others!! Yay!! Except there's a new owner. I think he would be shyly spying on you, trying to figure out who this new person is and what their intentions are and accidentally dropping stuff as he passes through the house. (He drops a glass on the floor. You scream. He screams. None of you expected it.)

I also think he's so used to grabbing things and misplacing them he wouldn't even realize he is lowkey freaking you out.

He would be so perverted too, if you thought Luci watching you shower was bad wait until you hear about Levi, he's a whole ass freak. He watches you piss 😭😭. He's like "Woah!! That's so cool, I wonder if it's warm! *tries to touch the stream and ends up smearing it all over you/the wall*"

MC: 😑

Okay but when you bring the ouija and try to ask him if he is going to hurt you (you have a feeling he won't but you might as well ask), he's so self conscious!! He's also super ashamed of his freakiness. You ask him if he was who dropped the shampoo. He starts "S-O-R-R-Y. I-M. S-O. G-R-O-S-S-H-J-K-L-U-P-YES-NO-A-B-A-S-K-D-K-L-J..." and next thing you know the ouija is flying outside the window like a goddamn Frisbee. Ghost equivalent of a keysmash.

OMG AND WHAT IF HE DIED IN AN ARCADE. First of all: OOF. Second of all, that would be so funny though. You work the night guard shift an arcade, and you think it's a normal job until every friday at 12 am one of the games starts playing itself. (what is this? FNAF? i know.)

It's the oldest game of the arcade and the one almost nobody plays and it's playing itself almost perfectly, so you think the game is just not functioning anymore. Until you see the game ??? lose ??? on itself ??? and then something is thrown on the floor and you get shivers down your spine, someone screams "FUCK THIS SHIT!". And, oh god, is the game possessed?!

No. Leviathan just ragequits after losing.

Eventually after meeting him he asks you to play the game for him because his fingers are too ghost-like to properly press the buttons!! You make one (1!!) mistake and he's mad at you and you're just like. Bro I just work here😑.

ANYWAY anyway here is page 1/190 of my thoughts.

- ♟💙

ohhh my god if you chose to give me more, I cannot wait for your continued thoughts, because already I'm obsessed.

Levi would be such a shy ghost!!

Every thing he does is a complete accident and he freaks out as much as you do. Like every scare has been wildly unintentional. I'm sure the first few weeks are hard for both of you, as he'll forget you've moved in and just behave as usual. But once he does fully register your presence you're all he thinks about.

Definitely watches you all the time, gets off on stuff that you do, then cries because he's so self deprecating around his perversions. You'd piss and then 5 minutes later there's moaning, and a little later a sobbing sound is coming from one of your empty rooms.. safe to say you're terrified lmao. He'd also try to touch you, but since he's shy and scared his hands feel very soft and light causing you to question if there really were arms wrapping around you or are you going insane.

OBSESSED with Levi keysmashing the Ouija board. It takes forever to get a solid response out of him. He'd be swinging the planchette around wildly and throwing it around the room accidently when he gets too nervous. It'd be far better to have him possess your laptop and talk to him through a google doc or something.

I also love the idea of Levi haunting an arcade. I'm sure he's played every game in there, making the owners go crazy because they think their games are breaking constantly. I think your first experience watching him rage quit would be pretty frightening so imagine you find safety in the bathroom or something, from there you hear things get quiet (when he realizes he's upset you), and eventually you come out of your little safe haven and there's a bunch of stuffed animals from the claw machine where you normally sit as a little apology from Levi 😭💖

[landinoandco]

|Shutter speed|

Chapter two : A New Beginning

{Lando Norris x Reader}

Summary: A photographer. A pair of F1 drivers. Triangles. A sticky situation of morals and fighting fate. What could go wrong?

Warnings: none :) apart from a mention of grief and passing of a loved one

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2.9 k 

A/n: welcome to the second chapter of 'Shutter speed.'

I'm going to start a taglist so comment on this post or message me if you would like to be added :)

Previous chapters: Chapter one

Chapter two: A new beginning

By the time Georgie had raced home, it had stopped raining and the sun was beginning to fight its way through the mass of clouds that had filled the sky. The journey home had given Georgie plenty of time to think - to mull everything over about the crazy afternoon she had just endured. They had finally booked their first event since lockdown, the insanely attractive stranger she had met in the coffee shop but somehow it all ended back to a person she thought she had finished thinking about - not that you ever could. Her Theo. Her lovely Theo. 

Theodore was her childhood sweetheart. Theo was everything to her, llike Georgie was everything to him. They had their whole future planned out: travelling around the world and experiencing different cultures, photographing their entire experience and showcasing the beginning of their journey through life on an Instagram they had set up. Before settling down and starting a family of their own. Together. It was going to finish like all the fairy tales did...

And everybody lived happily ever after.

In hindsight, they had jinxed themselves before they had even started, not long after they had finished their A - levels and about to start their next chapter at Uni - Theo had fallen ill. Georgie refuses to acknowledge the illness for she believes it shouldn’t be the way he is remembered, instead reminiscing on the short but meaningful life he lived. Theo died not long after he was diagnosed, leaving Georgie behind with a new and tainted meaning to happily ever after because if it wasn’t with him then what did it truly mean? 

As they say hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Even now, 5 years on, 23 years of age, she is still plagued with the memories and the thoughts of everything they could have had but for some reason the universe was against it all. She hated to think of herself as unlucky because she was blessed to have met Theo in the first place. 

Shaking the memories from her head, she unlocked the apartment door and trudged through - hanging her coat and bag on the hooks then making her way over to the breakfast bar. On top was a fluorescent post-it note that read: “Popped into the city to pick up some new lenses for the cameras. Fill you in when I get back. Fancy getting a takeaway tonight to celebrate? Love you lots ~ Maisie.” 

A takeaway was exactly what was needed. She thought. And a nice warm shower. 

The thing Georgie loves about showers is that they give her the ability to find an answer and solution to pretty much everything and anything. She spent a lot of time in the shower after Theo passed, it was the only thing she could justify enjoying. Striping her clothes off and chucking them into a pile on the floor, she reached into the shower to turn it on - the water immediately rushing out and crashing loudly onto the floor. As soon as she was happy with the temperature, she stepped in - letting the warm water droplets wash all of her worries away. It was the only thing that she felt helped her relax; come to terms with everything she was feeling. 

Her first and main worry was what they were going to do after Goodwood. If they didn’t find consistent work soon they were going to run out of money - they were lucky to have made some good investments and savings leading up to this point to have coped through lockdown. 

Georgie grabbed the shampoo and rubbed it thoroughly through her long waves. She had been to Goodwood a few years back -  Theo had taken her. It was the best date she had ever been on - she remembered it as clear as day. They had found an empty bench to sit on next to the hill the cars climbed in the ever popular annual hill climb - it was there and then they had decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and travel the world. 

Stepping back under the water, she let the water take the shampoo away, watching as the bubbles slipped through the drain. Theo had been a massive formula one fan - dragging Georgie into the sport as well. Jenson Button had been his favourite driver and McLaren his favourite team so naturally that was hers as well. As soon as he passed Georgie had nothing to do with the sport - she refused to watch it and stopped keeping up with the teams. 

She reached for the conditioner bottle, pressing her lips together in a tight line. All of this thought about Theo and the racing world she turned her back on - a slight regret forming in the pit of her stomach, was she ready to go back to it? She remembered the atmosphere of Goodwood when she had been, people from all over the world gathered to celebrate the one thing they had in common: their love for cars. She was slightly envious of the people who got to travel the world, following in the car's tyre tracks and capturing the moments you only get to experience once in a lifetime. 

Georgie paused and furrowed her eyebrows, she was struck with an idea. Whether it was absolutely brilliant or outright stupid and unrealistic, she was yet to find out. Hoping out of the shower and grabbing her towel, she made her way to her room. It was worth a look, she supposed, there was no harm in that. Once she was dressed, she sat at her desk and turned on her laptop; begging fate to be on her side today. 

“Honey, I’m home.” Called a voice from the kitchen. 

“Hey sweetie.” Georgie shouted back, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” 

She pulled up the McLaren careers page, her mouse hovering over the view jobs link. Georgie was ready to travel the world. She was ready to experience life again - after all it was Theo’s dying wish that she completed everything they were setting out to do. Perhaps she was selfish for not coming to this conclusion sooner. 

She clicked. 

Taking one last deep breath, Georgie placed her hands to her forehead and moved her face closer to the screen as she read through the roles. Tyre performance engineer. No. Finance analyst - production. Definitely not. Hope was diminishing rapidly even though it was as she had expected. The chances of finding anything suitable were low. She was coming to the bottom of the list when a role jumped out at her. But not impossible apparently. 

Lead photographer - team. 

And the deadline was Tuesday at 11.59 pm. They had the best part of 6 hours to complete this application. It was going to be tight but possible. 

She jumped up and rubbed her hands over her face in disbelief. Running her hands through her hair, she sat back down - hardly being able to keep still. It was only an application advert - many people were going to be applying. She thought as she exhaled loudly. More experienced people. Skimming through the description and requirements, she almost felt like she was dreaming. It was perfect. The role was to travel with the whole team and capture every moment to later be used on social media and advertising. 

“Everything alright in here?” Maisie poked her head around the door. She was faced with an almost tearful Georige. Her words almost trailed off.

“Do you want to travel the world?” Georgie asked her, her voice wavering slightly.  Maisie seemed taken aback as she moved into the room and sat on Georgie’s bed. “I’m sorry - what? Have you forgotten what’s been going on recently?”

“With a formula one team, Mclaren to be precise.” Georgie corrected and moved aside so Maisie could see the screen. Silence fell between the pair as Maisie read on, Georgie’s leg had started bouncing in anticipation. Minutes later she was met with a frown. “That’s not quite how I had imagined you would react.” Georgia mumbled, sighing. She mirrored her friend's expression, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Before we start fantasizing, I just want to make sure you’re ok with this.” Maisie said softly, taking one of Georgia’s hand in hers. Georgia nodded slowly, rubbing her thumb over her friend’s hand. “This would be his dream. I know he’s watching us - he really is looking out for us, Maise. I want to do it for him.”  

Maisie’s smile grew, “As long as you’re sure. Come, let’s discuss it over take away and I will explain how this weekend is going to work.” Georgie stood up, grabbing her laptop and a notebook, “One thing is for sure. We are going to need one hell of a portfolio.” 

It was now Sunday - the final day at Goodwood. 

To say the rest of their week leading up to this point went smoothly would be a lie. In the end it all got a bit complicated. They submitted their application at 10:58 pm that Tuesday evening - due to it only being a singular role they applied as their business in hope that the combined experience would set them apart from other candidates. Wednesday they spent the day prepping for Goodwood - trying out the new lenses and practising photographing cars they found around London. They were going to watch the Goodwood livestream on Youtube Thursday and Friday to see what they were going to be faced with that Saturday. Until Maisie received a call. It was Mclaren and they had gotten through to the interviews - all taking place that Thursday afternoon on teams. As it turns out, they wanted to have hired someone for the role by Friday in order to be ready for the British Grand Prix the following weekend. 

“I mean it makes sense,” Maisie said, blowing her coffee to cool it down before taking a long sip. “It is their home grand prix after all.” 

Georgie chuckled, “It’s just, I feel like if we were to explain to anyone they would think we were making this up. It’s all happening so quickly.” 

That Friday, ahead of their debut at Goodwood on the Saturday, they got the call. According to the lady Maisie spoke to, it was very close between them and another candidate but the fact they were working at Goodwood tipped the scales in their favour. 

“And.” Maisie started. “We are going to meet with a man called Zac Brown on Sunday, he is the CEO of McLaren Racing-” Georgie was very lucky to have Maisie as she was the businessman - or women in this case - out of the pair. Her people skills were unmatched, how she did it Georgie would never understand. 

Now on Sunday, Georgie was quite sad to see it coming to an end. The atmosphere was one that she had never quite experienced before - it was one that filled her with pride and adoration; something she hadn’t felt in a long time, not to this extent anyway. The whole weekend, a beaming smile had been plastered onto her face - so much so that her facial muscles were beginning to ache. The whole community of people were ecstatic to be there, watching on in excitement as a sport that had missed the company of their crowds opened its doors once again. It wasn’t long before she had agreed to meet with Maisie ahead of their meeting with Zac Brown that she found herself walking up the infamous hill. The loud buzz of conversation seemed to fade, instead the only sound she could hear was the rumble of engines as they came cruising by. She stopped at a clearing where a bench stood proudly, smiling softly to herself as she slung her camera strap over her shoulder, stuffing her hands into her trouser pockets. It hadn’t aged a day. 

Lando Norris had decided to take a break from the main McLaren marquee - he had just finished his final drive of the day and was looking for some time to reflect on the weekend he had just had after having the honour of driving the three cars that Aryton Senna won McLaren their championship titles. It had been a tough season leading up to this point - after Carlos left to join Ferrari he felt this year all eyes would be on him. Many expected Lando to fall into the shadow of his new teammate Daniel Ricciardo, everybody expected him to fade back into the background. Perhaps that was why he trained so hard during the winter break - he had pushed himself right up to the limit. Lando wanted to prove to himself more than anyone else that he was a good driver and he did have potential to fight those at the top, after the taste of a podium in Austria - he was hungry for more. Even as a young boy during his karting career, Lando put pressure on himself - to strive to be the best on the grid - sometimes it meant he forgot to enjoy himself because he was so worried about what other people thought about him. 

He had reached a clearing past the trees. All weekend he had kept half an eye out for the girl at the coffee shop. Part of him was disappointed not to have seen her, he really wanted that second chance. He came to a stop and checked his watch - it wasn’t long until Zac wanted him back; he mentioned briefly about a pair of photographers joining the team. They would be replacing his friend Jason after he decided that travelling just wasn’t practical anymore, who could blame him, his first child was on the way and he wanted to be there with his wife every step of the way. 

Lando brushed a hand through his curls, casting his gaze around before he would make his way back. When a bench caught his eye or more specifically the girl sitting on the bench. She sat with a content smile dancing on her lips, a reminiscent glaze coated her eyes. He took a step towards her, there was something familiar about her. It was like his feet were frozen in place - his brain was telling him to go back but his gut told him to stay put. He stood for a minute or two before it hit him - square in the face and quite frankly he couldn’t believe his luck. It was the girl from the coffee shop. Right in front of him. It was now or never. Lando took a calming breath before going and sitting next to her. 

Georgie was rudely pulled from her thoughts when a person sat down on the bench next to her. She moved her head slightly to see who the intruder was when her heart stopped. Recognition dawned on her face. Georgie knew instantly he had recognised her as the corners of his mouth twitched into a shy smile. “Hi.” His tone silvery and almost breathy. 

“Hey.” She beamed back, “I’m Georgie.” She said, gazing up at him, admiring the way the sun caught around his halo of curls giving them an almost angelic glow.

“Lando.” He told to her, the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. Neither of them could quite believe that they were sitting with each other. 

“I - uh - It’s a wonderful day for it, isn’t it.” Georgie had panicked. She didn’t know what else to say and her mother used to always say:  ‘if in doubt talk about the weather.’ It was something along those lines anyway.  Silently cursing herself, she cringed at her awkwardness only to hear him chuckle at her comment. 

“It’s much better now the rain has cleared off.” Lando instantly felt relaxed around her, he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was that she seemed just as socially inadequate as he was. “So Georgie.” He savoured the way her name rolled off his tongue. “What brings you to Goodwood? I hope you don’t mind me saying this but I heard you talking about it before you rushed off the other day.” 

Georgie inched closer, almost leaning into the comfort and warmth he seemed to provide. “My friend and I are photographers and she somehow got us into working for the Goodwood Festival of Speed brand. I still don’t quite know how she did it, for some reason she didn’t want to talk about it.” She trailed off, a pink tinge creeping onto her cheeks as she had come to a rather astonishing conclusion. The corner of Lando’s mouth lifted at her innocence. “Anyway.” She moved on quickly. “As it turns out I am also here to meet my new boss.” 

“It’s almost like it was meant to be.” Lando quirked. “Who are you working for now?” 

“I’m the new photographer for the McLaren formula one team.” She explained, pride laced in her tone. Lando’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open in disbelief before he caught himself. Composed his expressions and stated very plainly...

“I’m Lando Norris. I drive for the McLaren formula one team. As it turns out you and I are about to attend the same meeting.” 

Taglist: (please message me or leave a comment if you would like to be added :))

@mjuikoli​ @httplayer​ @phatyak​

[muffindaddystyles]

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺?

Summary: Where you're pregnant but clueless and Harry's going feral at your mood swings.

Warning: Fluff. Smut. Angst. Long. dad!Harry.

Pairing: Harry x (fem!reader)

One the dining table surrounded by Jeff and his family were Y/n and Harry. His slender soft hands were gesticulating, heart shaped lips bubbling onto British accent and he cackled loudly but his beautiful laugh didn't caught y/n attention. She rolled the peas in her plate, twiddling with her fork. She never had a liking for peas. But, at the moment in her plate they're disgusting her to pit making her go paler. She just wants a big appetizing spicy meal is it too much to ask?

As, they did business talk she sighed shakily relaxing into her plush chair and when Harry's concentration diverted to her he placed his calloused hand atop her thigh giving it a squeeze.

"What d'ya say, y/n?" He carried a tinge of lust and mischievousness both in his jade eyes and his smirk as he stroked her flesh from under the table.

Believe me y/n is in no mood to be teased at. She glared him with hooded peepers and smacked his hand away, blowing away his irises. Thankful enough everyone was too occupied in their own bubble to hear the stinging 𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘤𝘬! sound of slap Harry just got because of his antics.

"Heeeeeyyyyyyy." He complained with a twitch of his lips narrowing his eyes to crinkles. Y/n just shrugged giving attention to Jeff's baby sitting beside her.

Harry scoffed quifing his hickorey curls back when he saw how her entire demeanor changed into his usual cheerful lovie the moment she turned to the little girl beside her, his heart swooned into unconditional love as she helped the baby to collect her peas into a large spoon.

Once they were done with this little business dinner where Harry decided whether he should opt for his new movie or not they left for home, because y/n was getting quite antsy.

At the threshold of their home Harry cradled her face kissing her with tongue and wet full mouth. He moaned shamelessly as she palmed his bulging cock slowly. Harry was sliding the straps of her dress down when she shook her head slipping from her heels with the support of his shoulders.

"Not tonight, H." She didn't gave him further explanation instead a painful soft hiss escaped her lungs when the balls of her feet met the wooden floor. Her back and feet are on fire. She's a pro at wearing heels and never feeling achy, this new change's making her want to grunt frustrated with all of her previous 'm-not-feeling-well mood.

Harry's jaw fell to ground at her dismissal. She didn't even glanced back leaving him hard and wrecked into his trousers. He thought for a second maybe she's mad at him for something he has done in past but when he pushed his every funny brain cell to work he couldn't find anything.

She was out like a night bulb till the time Harry brushed his teeth and changed into sweats. His lips quirking up at the slightest of plush-y pout at his lovie's face and he sneaks his forearms underneath her lousy body pulling her closer to his naked chest kissing her pout and smoothing the littlest of frown on her forehead.

Harry groaned in the hot of night wandering hands finding for her in the middle of sheets but he could grasp on nothing but her scent.

Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and with an adorable loud yawn he slinged his legs to the foot of bed, going on an adventure to find for his misses.

Every floor-board creaking the weep of sudden alarm, yellow mellow luminosity falling at his feet from the kitchen and he pipped his head from the door frame to have a look of what's happenin' inside.

He shakes his head, the knuckle of his index under the plump of his bottom lip as he took in the beautiful sight of his baby on the floor sitting her butt infront of the wide open refrigerator.

His button up shirt doing nothing to hide her collarbones exposing the rosy flesh of her tits and the nude panties flashing from the bent valley of her knees.

She's gobbling spoonfuls of chocolate ice-cream straight from the tub, an erotica novel perched upon her knee and she looks innocently sexy wearing her baby-pink reading glasses.

Harry clamps his mouth shut from laughing out loud when she tried to drink the melted icecream from the tub and it all splashed onto her face down her chest.

At first she groaned licking it clean still reading the erotica which's causing a pool of arousal in her panties but then a certain dirty page and she threw her head back moaning making Harry gasp a "fuck." in surprise.

He blinked several times, lines pinching at his forehead when the book fell from her hold carelessly and she leaned back a little tracing her sweet coated fingers down her hip-bones.

She didn't wanted to be touched hours ago and look at her now Harry thought smugly as she nibbled her bottom lip inside her pretty mouth putting pressure onto the wet patch of her soaked panties making her whimper intensely.

With a huff she got rid of any barrier between her pussy and fingers lying back on the core floor and Harry took the inside of his cheek in between his morals when her smooth pussy folds drenched into her juices glistened exposed full infront of him.

He don't wants to disturb her by any means so standing there he just enjoyed the pleasuring sight of her playing with herself.

She hisses toying her swollen clit back and forth. Her fingers covering in her wetness and Harry wants to suck them as her wedding band completely shined with her arousal.

"Oh. Yes..." She breathily moaned eyelids fluttering when after circling her hole with many lewd strokes she finally inserted her middle and index inside herself.

Harry's legs clenched tightly and he cupped his boner when she arched her spine into air while caressing her spongy sweet spot, "fuck. baby." Harry whispered mouth getting dry, he wants to fuck her right and there but he wouldn't. He's getting too much ecastasy seeing her get off.

"Oh my god. Harry..." The dams of every affection inside Harry broke down floating his heart in the flood of so much love for his lover and he smiled proudly as she fucked herself with her fingers but yelled his name, for all she could imagine's him.

Pinning her down. Shoving his cock inside her. She thinks of how he'd manhandle her then after fucking her raw he'd make love to her, with languid strokes of his cock against her walls and how he'd whisper all the dirty sweet things she loves to hear.

"Fuck. 'M-—gonna.." Her pupils dilating as she sped her motion rocking her hips, her nails scratching the inside of her wide spread thigh and Harry could see the rim of her hole palpilating around her moving digits, knowing she's close to tipple into bliss.

"C'mon sweet girl. cum fo' me." He whispered sweat breaking at his back and she bolted her eyes shut, palm slapping against her pelvis and she gritted her teeth, bucking her hips for more causing her tits to bounce at how his shirt has ridden low down her ribs and Harry litreally lost it.

"Oh fuck daddy.." She gave a sultry shameless moan when the waves of pleasure hit her causing the knot in her belly to burn into ashes finally. Heat crawled at the Harry's cheeks and throat when she didn't stopped blabbering "fuck, fuck daddy." pushing her fingers in and out vigorously until her thighs cramp together.

She tastes her own cum with a hint of icecream and she giggled loudly delicate fingers still inside mouth shaking her head at what she did, hiding her eyes under her arm.

Harry puts his fist atop his heart. The sight too much to handle. Not to startle her he soundlessly makes his way back to their bedroom.

Showering quickly she pads into bed straddling from over his chest and a whiff of her after orgasm hit his nostrils making him weak in his act that he's deep in slumber.

She smauches a loud fat kiss to his cheek and Harry almost—almost gave out a warm smile which went unnoticed by her as she snuggled under his armpit slinging her leg over his hip to feel the closeness.

Seven in the morning and she felt empty, a burning inside her for again wanting to be touched. She was admiring his features, the freckles sheltered beside his nose, twin moles at his little cute chin and she grazed her hands all over his taught tanned shoulders getting her leverage with them and straddling his torso with a sudden shift.

She swiped a long fat stroke of her tongue from his sternum to his adam apple, grazing her pearl teeth against his jugular vein. He's undeniably beautiful when he's asleep. She thinks he looks extra fuckable in the morning. So, sensitive and raspy under her.

She pecks his lips, then his glossy eyelids and then a kiss to very skin that's visible to her. Hormones going wild inside her and she feels herself warm. She slides down a little softly massaging her pelvis against his, while sucking his nipple inside her mouth.

Harry stirs in his sleep brows furrowing and she lulls her head at her shoulders eyes at ceiling as she humped his morning hard rock cock.

"Lovie'?" He grogged out only hissing at end when she grinded with a sluggish push, his hardness prodding between her covered pussy lips.

"Want you, baby.." She whined. Breaths ragged hair sticked to her hairline from the eagerness and Harry smirked gliding his damp palms up her thick thighs, "c'mon baby take me." She ushered urgently snapping her hips in dying lust.

"Thought ye' didn't wanted me las' night?" He playfully rasped out pawing at her hips and her cheeks flushed with crimson. She abruptly rolled to side from over him fiddling with her shirt, something in her emotions isn't right at the moment she noticed. Why the hell she wants to cry when she herself dismissed him but when he's teasing her it's getting on her nerves.

"Hey. hey...m'sweet cherry look at me." He hastily cupped her cheeks concern in his eyes as he sat on his knees tilting her chin to make her look at him. "Was kiddin' didn't mean it." He leaned to kiss her oh so softly and her stomach knotted just from his lips.

"Gonna take care of yer', shh." He caressed her nipples from under his shirt leaving love bites at the hilt of her jaw shushing her with a gentle coo when she whimpered grinding her pussy against his bulge.

From the last night experience he's aware she doesn't. want. to. be. teased in any case so he yanked his sweats down and his cock hit her lower abdomen making her giggle which soon fueled down when the pink head of his erection brushed against the spongy wall of her exposed cunt.

He kissed her shoulder tugging his cock giving it few lazy pumps and his precome dropped in between her pussy folds, making her gasp and grope his arse for more.

She coiled her arms around the nape of his neck as he swirled her earlobe with his tongue humming when he crushed her under his weight after burying himself deep into her sloppy sweet cunt. Her tight walls milked and nursed his cock that he could cum inside her without any movement from how sensitive he's.

"Mhm. Feels good." He murmured trailing kisses from the dip where her delicate collarbones meet the curve of her neck and she groaned lewdly when he kneaded her nipples which are way plumper than before.

"Harry..." She locked her ankle above his spine, scratching her nails down his lustrous back knowing it makes him crazy and when she whined under him it sent his brows rocketing to his forehead.

"Fuck me hard, baby. Bang me." He pushed himself back from the crook of her neck with the support of his elbows on either side of her temple. Eyes wide, brows kinked into amusement and lips parted staring her with ever surprise.

"Bu' ye' like it slow in the mor—" Poor Harry retorted to his wife like a kiddo of two. Confused in the abrupt change of their routine. Their morning sex's always sensual and passionate, she enjoys the warmth of his weight all over her and how he embraces her like a blanket while grinding their pelvises slowly.

He grunted with a squeal of high pitch when she flipped him to side crawling up at his thighs, "I know lover. But right now I want to be fucked, so bad." She muttered distractedly wrapping her cold hand around his eternity and guiding it inside of her as Harry watched her rather proud at her swankness, his non-existent double chin forming when he tried to see properly.

"Ah-ah." Her moans strangling in her throat. Harry gripped her thighs with a harsh softness just how she likes it as she took pleasure of atlast being filled. Her ass cheeks pressed again his loaded balls.

Her nails digging into his taught chest as she planted her hand behind herself atop his thigh now Harry could practically see his veiny erect cock disappearing inside her.

He grunted hoarsely collecting his and her arousal bringing it to her chest and twisting her nipples mildly not to hurt her but it still did since she's pregnant. Pregnancy means sensitivity every fucking where!

"Ow." She slapped his wrist and Harry immediately pulled his hands away in a frenzy of worry, "did I hurt ye'?" He blabbered pushing her closer to his chest with his palms pressed at her back.

"No...maybe mornin'. S'okay." She frowned at herself at what's happening with her but soon it all melted away when his cock hit her g-spot into pleasurable massaging patterns.

Harry moaned into her ear when she squeezed around him, "hmm. lovie' keep doin' that and I wouldn't last long." He thrusted his cock hard for the first time and she whimpered a plead of "harder."

"Spank me daddy." She hummed eroticaly eyes closed as she rid his big cock deeper and deeper that she felt him in her tummy. "Dirty girl. Fuckin' insatiable. mhm? fucked herself last night still wants to get railed by daddy."

His large bare hand came smacking her ass with a stinging but pleasuring pain causing her ass to jiggle and he kneaded her asscheek to soothe the red sting only to spank her again that sent her into a blabbering mess of, "please daddy." not knowing what her pleads are for.

Swiveling her hips, she shoved her face into the crook of his neck sniffling his sweet vanilla smell as Harry did all the work to make them cum.

"Close." She whispered daintyly and Harry nodded kissing her head giving few more intense thrusts. His cock twitching coated into her arousal and buried into her walls.

"Fuck. hell darlin'—" He shouted groggily fucking into her feeling that desireful burn collecting at the bottom of his spine same goes for y/n and her mouth agaped into silent scream when her pussy cramped around his dick due to her waiting for him to cum with her.

Harry grabbed her jaw smashing his lips over hers into a wet smauchy kiss, tongues stroking lazily and lips caressing like ocean waves. They both moaned into eachother's mouth when that bone crushing and toe curling pleasure drowned them.

"Blood-eh hell." Harry chuckled breathily. His hand wounding around her hair on the neck as he didn't even wanted a thread like barrier in between of her.

"Fucks me so well." She yawned trailing her nose up and down at the back of his earlobe. Her breaths rough and in sync with his. "Shower?" He pecked the corner of her lips and the closed lid of her eyes.

"Can we sleep fo' some more?" She murmured with a lisp and he smiled widely bobbing his head tucking away her wild loose hair, squeezing her waist and taking an hour nap with his cock still inside her warm snug cunt.

.

In the shower she couldn't resist from groping and teasing him, and he didn't tried to pry away from her. Her wildness and libido is everywhere like a gooey mess and he's loving it. Harry had to hold her with slippery soppy hands as she gave him lazy mindblowing head under the cold shower despite her knees went stiff from tiles and her back burned like it never did before.

She adored her husband's back with her chin resting atop her fist, his shoulders shifting, damp curls bouncing as he prepared the better for pancakes. The aroma of banana batter making her tummy go funny and her chest tightening.

When Harry spinned to meet her eyes. Her honey pooled eyes bedazzling and features silken under the golden sunshine. Sparrows carried Harry's heart into a meadow where there's just love and affection.

"What got into ye' bunny?" She didn't diverted her gaze from his as he whisked the batter leaning at her level, raising his brows in a questioning.

"Dunno." She shrugged and he pecked her lips but she scrunched her nose at the whiff of amber moist mintish wooden coming from Harry's collar. The baby didn't liked Harry's new scent at all!

She's feeling sick to her stomach. The morning sickness hitting her. Bringing her hand to cover her nose she spoke muffled with a gag, "what are you wearin'?" He frowned pulling back sniffing his own armpits.

"Wha'? Ye' didn't liked it?" Her choices matters most. And no even if she would have the baby didn't at the moment. She shook her head in denial and Harry didn't even muttered another word when she rushed to washroom.

Her knees colliding with the hardcore tiles and fingers griping the rim of toilet as she puked any of the contents she had in her stomach with a burn in her throat and bloodshot eyes.

In an instant he was by her side. Hands meandering into her loose tresses massaging her scalp soothingly as he cooed sweet nothings to her knowing how much she hates to vomit, the only reason she doesn't drink.

With a loud groan she smashed her cheek against her forearm, her hairline sticky and goosebumps appearing at her bare legs.

"You okay, darlin'?" He asked her kneading the dimple at her spine and she nodded slouching into his arms, "see it's all icecream." He pointed to the toilet bowl full of that icky thing.

"Yuck." She blew him off and he chuckled helping her to stand up, "maybe ate too much icecream last night." She giggled with foamy mouth while brushing her teeth.

"S'kay sweet girl. gonna flip some pancakes, join me in the kitchen." She rolled her eyes. He smooched a kiss to her cheek winking and waddled outside.

They fought over the last pancake only that Harry decided they should share but when he looked how she gave him puppy eyes his heart melted into caramel honey and he ended up feeding it himself to her.

.

There's nothing too much to do atleast for Harry during the quarantine. He writes and plays some melodies. Then he goes on his mission to annoy y/n while she's doing her nine to five job, he cracks her toe-fingers, tickles her soles, trails kisses at her ankles and pushes her buttons so much knowing when she gets all riled up she traps him under her and fucks the shit out of him so bad he couldn't sit on his arse next two days.

"Harry! unlike you I've an actual job." Today at last she snaps her frustration at him because her spine feels like it would break into two despite of whole pillow kingdom under her.

"Heyyyyyy." He complains sucking her big toe into his mouth and she throws her head back with a slightest of relief.

"Maybe. 'M bout to get my periods. Too cranky." Only if she knew. She pouted placing the laptop over the nightstand crawling to his laid body, "c'mon baby lemme loosen up ya' a bit and fuck you hard." Harry's words immediately pooling her panties with warmth and she nodded eagerly kissing him with open mouth.

He fulfilled his promise. Gave her a proper massage with coconut oil and when he separated her asscheeks to have a look at her glistening cunt, she was dripping and Harry couldn't resist to take her on the stomach.

.

She's two months pregnant and her cravings are kicking her hard. The whole night she stared at ceiling of bedroom thinking about the roasted chicken, spaghetti, anything mouth watering and appetizing she could imagine off.

At the moment as Harry snored cuddled up inside her while she laid straight on her back. Chocolates were all where in her mind. She swiped her tongue between her lips, sneaking her arm from under Harry and strolling to kitchen. She rummaged through cabinets and refrigerator for her favourite box of her dark chocolates.

She loves them. When in university she couldn't afford them she would save her extra coins to buy them and when they started dating Harry picked upon her certain likeness. He would bring her those chocolates loving to see how blush used to creep up at her cheeks, how she would looka at floor and scrunch her bunny nose from avoiding to give her excitement.

At the moment all she want is to taste that rich and bursting feeling seeping into her taste buds. She huffed stomping her feet when she couldn't find the purple of box of chocolates.

Tears brimming in her eyes and anger boiling inside her at the fact why she's crying, for fuck's sake!

She strided grumpily to their bedroom. Jumping on the bouncy mattress so furiously that Harry was about to fall down but he didn't woke up. He's high in his dreams.

"Psst. Bambi. Harryyyyyy." She whispered yelled poking his dimples and pinching his nose to clog his breathing, rocking his body drawling out a tired, "harryyy wakey. wakey." The sight's so funny to see. She's all teary. Pink nose. Shining eyes. Fat tears at her collarbones but still she's trying to be humble on him.

"Huh-uh, bubby?" He rasped out squinting his eyes to see what's happening around him. She sucked her bottom lip inside to stop from hiccuping and worrying him more. She hates to make him anxious for herself.

"D-do you know where my chocolates are?" He sighed guilt tripping from his breath.

"Ate 'em. Swear the only bar was left." She wants to do something to him. To scowl at him and make him bring the chocolates right fucking now to her but she pushed her own yearn for them down. Wiping her nose she just muttered a little "okie." getting comfortable into his sprawled arm.

Even in the sleepiness Harry sensed her fumbleness and restlessness. She shook her head kissing his head when he yawned a "sorry." then tangled their legs together snuggling into her cosily.

The first thing in the morning Harry did was bought her those chocolates and a cold mocha when he went for a jog. She was still sleeping. He was bout to wake her up since it was past nine, but the exhausted lankiness of her made him do the opposite. He didn't disturbed her until it was past noon.

"You specially went to buy these for me!?" She chirped with enthusiasm. Tip-toeing to meet his lips and Harry shied away at her lovin'. He hummed at the bitter-sweet taste of chocolate on her wine lips.

"I always do. Don't I?" He chuckled confusingly. She sang a melody in agreement strolling in the kitchen giving a smack to his bum and a pinch to his hip. He just thinks the work really tired his poor wifey past days, now she got a proper sleep she's back to her bubbly self.

The storm is yet to come. An unexpected wave of ocean's yet to crash onto their relationship.

.

Their routine's like this. She wakes up late. He drags his ass in the empty house with a bored expression and puppy eyes. Then they eat breakfast in their bed, mostly made by Harry. Then Harry takes her, on the back, on her stomach, on all fours, against the kitchen counter, on the plushiest couch while they watch one movie as usual go, most of time distracting her from work and putting his mouth on her cunt, giving her his long slender fingers on her demand, sometimes fucking her in the pool because she looked too gorgeous in her sunflower bikni. He loves how plump and soft like a pudding she has got.

It's sex. Anytime and everytime.

Then they share a glass of milk and cookies before going bed, doing an innocent act before doing the really filthy ones.

It's five in the morning and Harry's leaving for L.A for some contracts. Her chin wobbled and bottom lip jutted as she hugged him for dear life refusing to let him go.

"Y/n. Hey, sweet baby listen t' me yeah?" He coaxed her petting her hair. She shook her head and he giggled showering her in his many sweet sloppy wet kisses.

"Travelling in a damn pandemic? Seems like a bad idea to me." She gruffly spoke. Eyes stinging as she tried to hold her tears. The baby in her belly's gonna miss their daddy.

"I have to." He sighed lingering his lips over her temple, giving her tender forehead kisses many times but it didn't soothe the burn in her.

"Jus' take care, okay? Please." She gave in atlast instructing the love of her life and cupping his cheeks to look in his eyes. He laced their fingers together kissing her engagement ring and her softest palms.

"I'll. don't worry darlin'. Ye' take care of yer'self too check the locks before sleeping, yeah?" She sniffled in between of giggles when he lulled her face in between his palms side to side like a smol kid.

"Now go...before I change my mind and lock you up inside." Honestly he doesn't want to go too. But it's important and that's the only issue. With a heavy heart he waved her from their porch, blowing her a kiss which she caught and pretended to shove into her shirt in the middle of her tits making his laugh echoe in the neighbourhood.

.

Harry don't forgets to check upon her even with the time zones. He talks to her until she falls asleep. He helps her get-off from his dirty talking through phone and warns her not to cum till he gives permission. She obeys like an atta good girl she's.

She's been having carvings. Having wild libido to soothe down her desire. She throws tantrums with no-one around and has been not doing her work properly. She cries from the frustration and achy tendions of hers and that Harry's not her to heal them better.

Most of all she misses Harry more than she should.

She's watching telly after facetiming Harry before he went to sleep. She crunched on her pringles, it's like her soul got relief from how bad she wanted to eat them.

She awed at the babies on the telly. Some in their diapers and onesies, some with cute chubby cheeks, with piggy tails and blabbering mess. Her baby fever on it's peak.

Then it crashed on her. The epiphany. She didn't got her periods did she? She was blaming it on her periods but in reality she never got them.

She gasped in astonishment and anxiousness not knowing what to do but waddled to the ensuite washroom. She pulled the hem of her panties first when she found it spotless her nerves crippled more.

She carelessly took the tattered t-shirt of Harry from over her head and threw it to hamper. Her breath hitching looking at her breasts, it looks swelled and full, she brushed the pad of her fingers around the areola and pinched her eyes when she felt them a tiny bit of moist from the nipples.

But, it could be from something else right? So. She raked her sight down her tummy and unfortunately she found it a tiniest bit of showing, she fake assured herself when in reality it was really visible the barely roundness atop her pelvis. But, it could be from the way she was home for three months and did nothing except of gobbling food upon food right?

In a hurry she went to nearest grocery store. The cashier lady gave her an assuring smile closing her eyes to calm y/n nerves down and y/n hastily said a "thank you." Indicating how her gesture made y/n warm.

Siting on the toilet seat she waited impatiently head in her one hand and other holding the pregnancy test. Her tears on bayline. Wishing Harry was with her at this time. He missed it.

When the test came out of positive she sobbed out. Doing another one with shaky fingers. And heasteric sobs.

The anxiety making her sick to core. Her head pounding and she ended up throwing. She just wants him by her side. For him to tell her it's okay. That he's so fuckin' happy he could cry and she should too. But he's not and she doesn't even know he wants this baby. His baby. Their baby.

Ofcourse. They've talked about having a family and having little Harrys messing around everywhere in their house but they never tried for it. It was too early. They're married from just two years. Yeah. You got married in the last year of uni and have your surname as Styles which Harry's quite proud and smug of that he have his initials in his girl's degree.

She just started a proper job an year ago. With tear stained face she slowly went to bed, bringing her knees closer to her chest and sandwiching her hands in between them as she cried to sleep.

She doesn't know how to act. Not when there's nobody beside her to cajole her emotions to trepidation. No-one to rub her back and tell her that she's gonna be a lovely mommy. Not when she doesn't know if he wants all of this but she has decided that she wants it even if she looses her job or him.

When she startled from her sleep not very long after she reached for her phone dialling Harry's number. He was exhausted like a dead bee and one of his friend had to shake him. He went all alarmed at her name and snatched the phone putting it to his ear.

"You were asleep." She asked with a rough voice and he hummed trying to open his eyes. Few sniffles that were swallowed back in her throat and she managed to speak her voice wavering.

"Umm...we need to talk. It's urgent." At her words Harry shot up from his sleepy position his own voice shaky now, "what d'ya mean?" She wants to tell him that Harry Styles you're gonna be a daddy. But, she didn't. She couldn't.

"Can you take the flight back home?" He was already on his feet looking for his things, "yeah. Comin' back home." She closed her eyes just trying to relaxe herself.

"Will it affect our marriage?" He asked anxiously. She shrugged muttering and looking down at her barely visible bump. For the first time she felt so lonely, "depends on you."

"You're scarin' me darlin'." He rushed out without an explanation to his friends taking the first flight back to London. He was already exhausted and jittery. Now emotional too assuming worst scenarios of what happened in the sudden change of her mood.

.

It was early morning when he reached home. His heart dropped when he found the kitchen empty, threshold barren despite of knowing she's mostly asleep at this hour of morning but still he was afraid.

He found his love in the living room. Her back to him and when she turned to him his chest tightened. She's a sight for sore eyes. But she's looking sore and like a cherrie pie at the moment.

"Bunny? Everything's alright?" She shook her head left and right that caused him to walk towards her hurriedly with wobbly legs.

Tears welling her eyes again. "You've to sit, first." She said in between her breaths and his own strucked inside him as to what the news is that would send him falling. He could pray only at the moment.

He crouched to his knees infront of her and she brushed his lousy curls back as he ran his hands up her thighs, smiling at him through tears but it soon vanished and Harry felt like he could give out a one sob or perhaps two.

His brows knighting together in confusion when she curled her fingers around the hem of her baggy shirt. She bolted her eyes shut. Harry stared the littlest of bun of her tummy gradually dots connecting in his mind.

"I'm pregnant, Harry." She said in a one breath. Dunno if she heard it too. Harry kept on staring at the womb that holds his baby, his fingers stopped moving and when it took too long for him to give a reaction she jumped to conclusions rambling.

"It's okay if you don't want it. We'll figure it out, but I want this baby. I don't care if you d—" She was cut off with the first gentle touch of Harry's to her belly as he stroked it with his thumb that sent electricity sensations to his heart, "shut up. I'd risk my life for it."

At this she sobbed out and he did too. She did right to make him sit else he'd have fainted in the middle of their room at her happy news.

"I thought-" Her cries got muffled as she continuously kissed the insides of his calloused palms and his knuckles, "why?" He wasn't stern or offensive he's just curious and seriously worried that what of his actions made her think that he wouldn't keep this baby. His own baby.

"Dunno. We were never prepared for this, you know..." He chuckled at her kissing the top of her nose. Peppering kisses all over her face. The mother of his baby.

"Why wouldn't I want a sweet human we created together? I'd want as many as we could. next time we would be on a whole mission." She giggled jabbing his shoulder and he gave out a hearty laugh slipping his mop of curls under her shirt smauching wet loud pecks and kisses to her tummy his words slobbery, "two bunnies!" His voice squeaky and comic with excitement.

He took her in his lap. Saturating any distance between and kissed her lovingly with more love and tenderness now she's carrying his baby.

"The mother of meh' baby." He murmured into her mouth stroking the corner of her lips as he deepened the kiss, "s' proud of you." He appreciates her for bearing all the sickness, achiness and icky-ness.

"Thank you for bearing my fussy ass." He's more giggly feeling not even a bit of jet-lag and shook his head smirking at her, "I know you're gonna be way more fussy than this, bu' I love you too much that I'll handle your tantrums."

She ruffled his hair kissing his forehead.

"Now...I got to know why ye' always craved for chocolates all the time, our baby loves chocolates jus' like ye'." He gave a squeeze to the soft flesh of her ass and went all serious in another minute, "gonna feed ye' favourite chocolates because no way she's getting this amount of sweetness when she's born, don't want rotten teeth." He has already glued to his chosen gender.

Y/n laughed loudly at his silliness. Apologising she pecked his lips cinching her fingers through his baby curls, "seriously Harry? We don't know the gender yet."

"'S gonna be my sweet sweet girl, with pretty little mouth of yours and my eyes." Y/n is fuckin' sentimental and again tears of undeniable love brimmed in her eyeliner for the loving man, father of her unborn child.

He trailed kisses from her throat to her cheeks cradling it in his two fingers, "now tell me bunny. How do you want me." He was hovering over her lips and when she wet them they striped against his.

"Make love t' me then fuck me rough." His hips bucked at her boldness and she pinned down with an arch of her brow, kissing him passionately so he murmured a "heyyyyyy." In her mouth squirming under her giving her Bambi eyes.

.

A/N: My fingers (R.I.P). Please, reblog and give your feedbacks all the love and kisses!!

Moji.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part V

[ previous ]  Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x Reader, Zeke Jaeger x Reader wc: ~ 8.8k Warnings: pining, testosterone, Zeke being a dick (who woulda thought), subtle manipulation (both on Zeke’s part that goes unchecked and accidentally on Mike’s part) A/N: Well, we’re gettin’ there. We’re truckin’ along. I’m sorry for the last chapter. And, I’m sorry for this one. But, I do still hope you enjoy it. I think we’re at the halfway mark here. 

Mike gets a text from you at nine PM three days before he’s supposed to go back to campus. It’s just a few words, a question that makes his heart drop to his stomach because you’ve never asked it before.

 Can we talk for a sec?

 He waits for a few minutes, tries to get rid of the panicked feeling rising in his chest, but he can’t get it to go away entirely, so he just bites the bullet and calls you. 

 “Heyyy,” you greet. Mike can already tell a difference in your tone. Something is definitely going on.

 “Hey, what’s up?”

 “I just, uh…” He hears you suck on your front teeth, a nervous habit he’s well versed in now, then you tell him, “I just wanted to give you a heads up before you get back here.”

 Mike swallows. “Heads up about what?” 

 Are you leaving? Did you fail your summer classes despite all his help? Did you get into some kind of accident?

 You let out a long breath that Mike wishes he could feel on his skin. He wishes he could see your expression, wishes he could hold your face in his hands and tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. Seems like he’s always wishing for things.

 “Um, I—uh… I’m kind of seeing someone.”

 The floor falls out from beneath him, and Mike drops with it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, trying to breathe normally—in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is about the last thing he expected you to confess.

 It’s apparently taking too long for him to gather himself, because you say his name, “Miche?” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

 “I’m here. It’s, uh, fine,” he lies. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it?” You sound worried, as you should because while Mike isn’t mad, he’s extremely disappointed, probably the most he’s ever been. 

 Taking a page out of your book, he tries to play it cool, act like he doesn’t care. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “Well, you—...” Met your mom? Learned your secrets? Tried to tell you that he loved you? All valid responses, but you just dismiss it with a quiet, “Nevermind.”

 Mike hums, lets the line go silent for a while, then musters the courage to question, “Do I know him?”

 “Yeah, I think so.”

 “What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

 “I mean he’s mentioned you, so I figure you’ve had at least a few conversations.” You’re getting that sassy tone, the one that signals you want to drop the subject, but you can’t this time. You’ve already warned Mike that you’re off the god damn market. You might as well tell him who exactly he’s gonna see you holding hands and sucking face with. It’s the merciful thing to do. 

 “It’s not one of the Pike guys, is it?”

 “No, no,” you laugh and it makes Mike want to scream because he doesn’t find this amusing at all, and it only gets worse when you finally answer, “It’s Zeke Jaeger.”

 Mike nearly hangs up then and there, but he somehow fights the urge. He does hold his phone away from his ear, though, stares up at his ceiling for a few seconds and stretches his arm out, then brings the device back. “Cool. He’s a… Talented dude.”

 “Yeah, but I mean, I’m not exactly starstruck or anything. Not after hangin’ out with you all of last year.”

 Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his skull. “You don’t have to make this about me, ba—...” He catches himself before finishing the pet name. He can’t do that anymore. He can’t call you what he wants to. He can’t flirt or smooth hair out of your face. He can’t pick you up and hold you against the walls of the house. He can’t show you how much he cares for you. 

 “I know. I just feel kinda bad,” you mumble. 

 “You shouldn’t. It’s cool.” His flat tone is anything but cool, and you can probably tell, but there’s not much Mike can do about that.

 You’re pouting when you question, “You’ll still be my friend?” Mike can see the expression without actually seeing it, the doe eyed look you’d be giving him if he were in front of you right now. He can also imagine looping his arms around you and smiling crookedly and kissing your forehead, and fuck, he feels broken. 

 “Yeah,” he sighs. “Shouldn’t even be a question.”

 “Good.”

 You lapse into another silence, just breathing and waiting for the other to break. It’s you who does. You clear your throat and state one more time, “I just wanted you to know.”

 “Thanks.”

 “See you in a few days.”

 “Yeah,” Mike is barely listening at this point, just looks at the poster on the wall and lets it fall out of focus. “See ya’.”

 You don’t hang up immediately, like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but Mike saves you the trouble and presses the ‘end’ button on his phone then tosses it on his pillow and falls back onto the mattress. 

 He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand any of it. You’ve gone an entire year denying him, keeping yourself closed off and never once bringing up the possibility of actually being together. After all the time spent together, after all the date parties, all the sex, staying at each others’ houses. He feels like he knows you better than anyone else probably does. You let him in. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. You acted like you trusted him.

 So, why isn’t he your first choice? As soon as you realized you were ready to make a fucking commitment to someone, why wasn’t it him?

 Mike doubts he’ll ever get the closure. He’ll just have to cope with seeing you around campus with Zeke god damn Jaeger, have to pretend like everything is fine, like you haven’t ripped his heart out of his fucking chest. 

 Unbearable. It’s going to be absolutely unbearable. 

 *

 Moving somewhere new always blows. It takes so much energy that Mike doesn’t have, yet here he is, hauling bags and boxes up to his new apartment unit. Honestly, he would almost prefer to stay in the frat house instead of having to make all the trips up and down these god damn concrete stairs, but at least now he’ll finally be away from all the parties. That will definitely come in handy this year considering he’s not gonna want to go to a single fucking one of them. 

 Once all of his belongings are stacked in his fairly small living room, Mike glances around his new haven, already thinking about how empty it feels without all the guys milling about and dicking around. He doubts he’ll miss the constant noise, but it’s still something that will take some getting used to.

 What he will miss is seeing you all the time, waking up in his old room to see you still fast asleep on his pillows, sitting in the main room with the others, heckling them as they play various games. He’s been focusing on the small things for the last couple of days, the things he never took the time to really enjoy. It feels like he didn’t stare long enough or laugh hard enough when he had the chance, and now he doesn’t know when his next opportunity to do either of those with you will be.

 Mike scrubs a hand down his face, scratches the hair he’s let grow out a little too much, then slowly begins to unpack his things. He’s being melodramatic, he knows, but he can’t help it. He can either let himself feel sad, or he can let the unbridled fucking rage take over, and out of the two, he prefers the former. 

 Mike’s class schedule gets pinned to the wall in his bedroom. His laptop gets set up. Textbooks are tossed into a corner. He really doesn’t care to do much more than that, but he figures he should make the place at least a little presentable. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find someone to entertain.

 The thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, but it’s a sensation he’s slowly getting used to as more time passes.

 Mike knows he needs to pull himself together, needs to put on a brave face. Pretty soon all the frats will be dealing with the dirty rushers, all the kids who weren’t able or didn’t think to suck up to the brothers during the spring. Then there’s inductions and hazing… Fuck, fall semesters are so tedious even without living in the house. He’s never been a huge fan of it all, but he’s had this image to uphold since he became a pledge.

 Now, Mike isn’t so sure he can keep that image in place.

 He stays locked away for as long as he possibly can, but eventually there’s a knock on his front door—Erwin who shoots Mike a broad grin and wriggles his ridiculous eyebrows. “You ready, bro? Got a place all your own with no one to bother you—”

 “You’re bothering me.”

 “Can do whatever you want,” Erwin powers on, completely unfazed. “Bring back whoever you want, no pesky frat boys to get in your way ‘cause fuck those guys, right?” He goes to grab Mike’s shoulders while laughing at his own joke, but Mike swats him away. 

 It makes Erwin scoff, and then he’s pushing past Mike to get into his new home, looking around for just a second and breathing out a little, “Eesh,” before turning back and giving Mike a look of condescension. “Don’t tell me this bad mood is because of your little toy finding someone else.”

 “Okay, firstly, fuck off,” Mike squints at him. “And, secondly, how do you already know about that?”

 Erwin examines his manicured nails, buffs them on his shirt and tells Mike, “Saw her and Jaeger walking out of the bookstore earlier. They looked pretty cozy. Pretty giddy, too, all smiles and—”

 “Shut. The fuck up.”

 The other man snorts. “Calm down, dude. I’m sure you can get her back or whatever you’re trying to do. Zeke’s an assole. Won’t take her long to figure it out.”

 “We’ll see.”

 This time Mike lets Erwin clap a hand on his shoulder before he walks out but not without suggesting, “You really should brighten things up a little in here. Hang some fairy lights or something. Girls love fairy lights.”

 Mike rolls his eyes, not bothering to remind his friend that he only started unpacking half an hour ago, then physically shoves Erwin out of his apartment.

 So, you’re already walking around campus flaunting your new little fling, he thinks. Perfect. He’s really looking forward to seeing that everywhere. 

 Mike eventually has to go by the PKA house for a meeting. Some of the members are already discussing plans for rush week and parties. Should they have lists or just keep them open and direct everyone to the yard? Are they gonna stick to their regular forms of hazing or should they change things up this year? Did anyone stick out from spring? Mike doesn’t pay much attention, just scrolls through his phone skimming through the same three social media apps over and over. He reads through the text thread he shares with you, the one he’s never deleted, and thumbs all the way up to a few months ago just to see if anything had been different back then, if he had said or done something wrong. 

 But, he’s gone through it a dozen times already, and he never finds anything. Maybe you just grew while he was away, experienced some kind of self-actualization that prepared you for an actual relationship. 

 Or, maybe Zeke just has something that Mike doesn’t. 

 *

 Mike runs into you on the second day of classes. Thankfully, you’re alone, and as soon as you catch sight of him, you grin widely and launch yourself at him. It comes as a surprise, your full weight hitting him square in the chest when you jump, and he has to catch you like you’re an excited child.

 It’s too close. You’re too close. Body against his as you slide down to your actual height and rest your head on his chest.

 “I missed you, Zacharias.”

 He wants to lift you up again, lock your thighs around his waist and kiss you like he used to. Instead, Mike pats the top of your head and gently untangles you from himself. He makes sure to smile when you look up at him, and he’s glad you aren’t pouting or frowning, your expression soft when he tells you, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

 He asks how your summer classes went. You ask what his course load is like this semester. It’s just small talk, and Mike hates it. 

 “How’re your parents?” You question like you’re interested, but he can’t imagine you actually are.

 “They’re good,” he shrugs. “Dad got a promotion at work a few weeks ago. Mom is doing the same shit she always does.” Like, making his favorite meals to heal his poor little broken heart. Mike hadn’t even told her about the conversation he’d had with you, and yet, as soon as he came out of his room the following morning, she just knew. 

 “Glad to hear it,” you nod. “Hey, do you wanna grab lunch or something? My next class isn’t til two, so I’m tryin’ to kill some time.”

 “Actually, I told Erwin I’d meet him,” Mike lies through his teeth. He’ll be using excuses like that for as long as he can. “Sorry.”

 “No, it’s cool,” you wave him off. “I’ll just grab Hitch or—”

 “There you are.” Mike stiffens at the vaguely familiar voice ringing out from behind him, hand flexing by his side as the school’s golden boy walks right past him and to you. “I was looking all over for you.”

 “Well, here I am,” you laugh, but Mike notes how forced it sounds. It’s a laugh that stems from nerves, he thinks. But why? Is it because Mike is here? Are you afraid of how he’ll act? Or, is it that you’re still in the phase of this “relationship” with Zeke  that you’re still anxious around him?

 The other man doesn’t even acknowledge Mike for a full twenty seconds. He heavily considers just walking away without a word, but the blond does eventually turn around to look at him and shows a smile that Mike would describe as slimy but you would probably call charming.

 “Zacharias,” Zeke greets and holds out a hand. “It’s been a minute.”

 Mike doesn’t like the way he says his last name. He only likes the way his friends say it. How you say it. Even if it started off as a way to keep your distance, he grew fond of it. Not as fond as his given name, of course, but hearing those four syllables from your mouth, always laced with attitude, never fails to make him smile.

 “Yeah, it has,” Mike agrees, clasping hands with him.

 He immediately feels Zeke stick his index finger out over his wrist, an attempt of taking control of the shake. Mike has seen it too many times to count, the petty attempt to flip hands so that one man’s is on top of the other. It’s a terrible way to flaunt one’s masculinity or power, and it’s never worked on Mike. 

 His hand is quite a bit larger than most people’s, after all. It’s definitely larger than Zeke’s, so when he tries to turn it, Mike doesn’t have a problem keeping his wrist straight. 

 The blond has to look up at him, actually tilt his head back because Mike has a good five inches on him, and after a couple more seconds, Zeke gives up on the pathetic display of dominance. That doesn’t stop Mike from squeezing his palm just a little too hard, though, just enough to see the muscles in Zeke’s jaw twitch. 

 When he lets go he chances a glance at you, finding you rubbing your temples. You mumble something Mike can’t hear, probably about men being stupid because there’s no way that little show escaped your notice. 

 Zeke steps over to you once again and asks the same question you had asked Mike—”You wanna get lunch, babe?” 

 Hearing him calling you that causes Mike’s blood to bubble in his veins, blistering from the inside out. It’s time for him to leave.

 “Yeah, sure,” you nod. Eyes flicking back to Mike, you force another smile and tell him, “See you around.”

 The two of you walk off, and Mike watches for just a little too long as Zeke laces his fingers with yours. Once you’re both a safe distance away, the fucker looks back at Mike from over his shoulder and smirks at him.

 Mike has long legs. He could easily catch up to you and punch Zeke square in the jaw, make his head snap to the side so that he drops to the ground. 

 But, what would you think of that? There’s no way you’d be happy with him, and if there’s one thing that would  be worse than Mike having to see you parade around with someone who isn’t him, it would be you ignoring him completely.

 *

 The first couple of weeks are honestly a blur. Too much is happening for Mike to focus on. The only thing that seems real to him is the ache in his chest. It distracts him day in and day out, through the late rushers and all the sucking up, through the first couple of parties, bid day and the first rounds of hazing. It’s just always there. 

 He is notably quieter when in the house, and it seems like everyone knows why. While Erwin pokes fun at him for his moodiness, Nile takes a more adult approach and simply asks how he’s doing, if he needs anything, going as far as offering, “You need me to punch that dude in the throat? Plant drugs in his bag? I’m pretty sure Gelgar has coke on his person at all times.” 

 He’s a good guy. Mike is glad he got voted in as PKA President this year despite Erwin giving him a run for his money. Nile is just personable enough to bring members in and have a good time at events, and just controlling enough to make sure things in the house are taken care of. Plus, Erwin doesn’t seem too broken up about getting Vice instead.

 It’s a relief when lacrosse starts back up, finally gives him a way to get some of his frustration out. The other teams have never been luckier to be wearing helmets otherwise Mike would have broken several noses within the first game alone. 

 The season has some overlap with baseball, games scheduled on the same day, sometimes at the same time. Mike keeps himself from looking into the stands to try to find you, scared that you’ll be there or scared that you won’t be, he isn’t sure.

 And, of course, Zeke’s face is plastered everywhere after he pitches a perfect fucking game. Mike wants to be angry, wants to spit on the flyers and punch every computer that’s displaying the college’s home screen, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it were anyone else, Mike would be impressed. Pitching a perfect game is pretty fucking cool, and the school is lucky to have a player as talented as Zeke, but god, what Mike wouldn’t do to just curbstomp him.

 Your name still lights up on his phone fairly often to ask how games went or how his classes are going. You’ve asked for help with homework on one occasion and lunch on another, but after Mike lies about only being able to walk you through the material over the phone and shoots you down for lunch, you seem to get the picture. 

 He doesn’t want it to be awkward between you, but he doesn’t know how to act now. His entire relationship with you started off as a drunken fuck, and it’s been mostly physical since then. How is he supposed to be able to spend time with you without touching you? Even the semester you refused to hook up with him, there were still times when you were both actively fighting the temptation. Mike can remember seeing it in your eyes all the time, probably just as often as you’d see it in his. You’d sit with a leg pressed against his, fall asleep on his arm every once in a while, and he wants that back now, but there’s no way the two of you can do that anymore. He doesn’t possess the same self-control.

 Over the weekend, you end up cracking and trying again, asking for help with studying for a quiz, and Mike has to contemplate it for at least fifteen minutes before he gives in.

 Coffee shop on 7th? you text him, and Mike chuckles to himself. The only places you’ve ever studied together is at the library or in his room, and while he could only get as far as a hand between your legs in the school building, he would usually end up in bed with you whenever going over something behind closed doors. 

 It makes sense that you want to go to a busier place, more eyes to watch you. It’s irritating, but he understands.

 Mike grabs one of his own textbooks from the previous year, the one he actually bought so that he could highlight and take notes in the margins, then makes his way to the little cafe.

 He’s been to this particular shop many times before, with you as well as the girls who came before—the ones that never mattered. Mike easily spots you at a little table by the window, your own book and several papers spread out around you. When you see him, you grin then hurry to clear a space for him, organizing what Mike recognizes as reading guides. 

 “Hey, stranger," you greet.

 Mike nods, eyes landing on the green hoodie you’re wearing, the one that covers too much of you, that spills over the tops of your legging clad thighs and hides your little hands. It’s his, but it’s always looked better on you. The fact that you still wear it makes Mike’s heart swell a tiny bit as he takes his seat. The sun is hitting you just right and making your face glow, making your eyes twinkle, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

 “So, what d’you need help with?” He prompts before he can make up his mind to turn right back around. 

 You slide one of the guides over to him and point out several circled questions. The blanks are filled in, but you ask him, “Why?” dramatically. “None of that makes sense to me.”

 Mike laughs through his nose and glances at the page your textbook is flipped to so he can open his own.

 “Why’d you keep your book from last year?”

 He glances up before turning it to show the highlighted lines, the starred passages, the little annotations for better understanding. 

 “One, because I worked hard on making it better, and two,” he feels his mouth curl up, the teasing coming naturally when he tells you, “I figured you’d probably benefit from it.”

 You squint at him, scrunching your nose up, and Mike takes a mental snapshot to tuck away. 

 “Rude,” you utter.

 He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I think ‘thank you’ is the term you’re looking for.”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just explain this to me if you’re so smart.”

 “You know I’m smart.”

 Mike doesn’t understand where the casual back-and-forth is coming from. Is it easy because he's done it so many times before? Words tumble from his mouth before they actually cross his mind, and he’s both grateful (it’s better than the awkward small talk he thought he’d have to make) and worried. If he’s speaking without actually thinking things through, what else might he do before his brain catches up? Will he smooth hair out of your eyes? Will he brush his hand over yours? Will he stare at your lips for too long? All of those are habits he hasn’t managed to break yet, but he will break if he accidentally offends you by crossing any of these lines.

 He sits with his hands tucked between his legs, only moving to flip a page or point something out with his pinky finger. He's reading upside down, and you're leaning over the tabe, staring at the book then staring at him. Mike tries to look through you instead of at you, but it's hard as you let out a little oh! when something clicks or pouting when it doesn't. 

 "I still don't get it."

 So, Mike finds different ways of explaining things because he knows this information very well now. It's still pretty fresh in his brain, and he may or may not have reviewed some of it when he saw how many of your classes matched up with his. 

 "Okay, I feel a lot better," you sigh once Mike has gone through every page. 

 Mike is more or less sitting on his hands at this point, gritting his teeth behind the grin plastered on his face because this is the part where he asks if you wanna go back to the house. This is the part where you wind down together, watching dumb TV shows or pawing at each other, rolling in his bed and laughing and moaning. That's what's supposed to happen. 

 "Alright, well, if that's it, I should get going," Mike tries, stretching his arms out and nearly smacking the person sitting behind him right in the head. 

 You snort, cover your mouth, and look away. It's what you always do. You can't look at him when you start laughing or you'll just laugh harder and harder, and while Mike adores it, the general public usually does not. 

 But, then Mike is snickering because he can feel the stranger trying to burn holes in the back of his skull, has to bite his fist to keep himself quiet, and when you chance a glance and see, you slam your head down on the table, whole body shaking with giggles. 

 It's always the little things that get you. On one of the walks with Scout over Spring Break, Mike had tripped over a stick on the trail. He managed to catch himself, but Jesus Christ, you didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. 

 "God fucking—" he's starting to lose it too as he stands and gathers your supplies from the table, tucking them all under one arm then using his other to pull you out of your seat. "We have to leave before they make us." 

 You hide your face in your hands, trusting Mike to guide you by the shoulders, and once you're both outside, you belly laugh until you wave your arms and gasp, "I can't—I can't breathe—I can't breathe!" Your voice is all high pitched and hysterical, and all Mike can do is bring you to his chest so that you can let your giggles die off in the privacy of his t-shirt. 

 He can feel your breath through the material as you calm down, eventually looking up and wiping tears from your eyes as you continue to grin. 

 Mike tilts his face down to stare at you, aware that all of his affections are shining right through his eyes, but he doesn't care because you don't seem to. 

 “You’re a fucking dork,” he hums, has a fully conscious thought of touching your face—no accident, no impulse, a complete, coherent, thought, so he does it. He just does it. Palm over your cheek, thumb gently tracing to wipe away another tear from your little fit. 

 You let out a long exhale, close your eyes and hum, then reach up to cover Mike's hand with yours. 

 Your fingers lock into the spaces between his, and you hold on for a few seconds before letting your hand fall, taking his with it. And, just like that, all the good feelings that had grown inside of him over the course of the study session disappear.

 "Miche," you sigh, still holding onto two of his fingers. 

 He smiles in a way that makes you frown, then mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

 After handing your supplies back, Mike kisses you on the top of the head before you can stop him, then turns and starts walking toward the street his apartment is on. 

 *

"Why are you always wearing that hoodie?" 

 You look up from your laptop just as Zeke steps out of his room freshly showered and shirtless. It's a sight that should probably make your mouth water, but instead it's gone dry at his question. 

 "Oh, uh, I don't really know," you bullshit. "It's just big and comfortable, I guess."

 Zeke uses the towel around his neck to dry his hair a little better, questions, "Well, whose is it?" while his face is slightly obscured. 

 If you pause, he'll probably be suspicious. If you answer, he will also be suspicious. And, you can't really blame him. People know you on campus as Mike Zacharias' friend or girlfriend or plaything or whatever. You assume Zeke having to walk around with that hanging over his head is pretty annoying.  

 "Oh, wait," he starts before you can answer. Squinting without his glasses, he grumbles, "That's one of the lacrosse hoodies, isn't it?" 

 You look down at the cracked logo and try not to smile at it. "Yeah. It's one of Mike's old ones."

 "Right." He pads over to you and takes your laptop from your legs despite your protests of being in the middle of an online assignment, setting it on the coffee table behind him. Then, using one arm to brace himself on the back of the couch, Zeke holds himself above you and takes your chin between two fingers so that he can tilt your face and kiss you. 

 It makes you melt. It always does. Your heart beats like a drum in your chest for about two seconds before it relaxes into a subtle thrumming, a white noise that drowns out everything else. 

 You straighten your back in an attempt to get closer, but Zeke pulls away ever so slightly, makes you chase after his lips and you do. You do because you want more, want him. 

 It's been weeks now and the farthest you've gotten with him, the farthest he's let you get with him, was the series of harsh kisses he'd ladened you with up against his front door a few days ago. He'd pushed your shirt up and shoved a knee between your legs, giving you something to grind against, but it never progressed to anything more. 

 You don't understand. It's not like he's never had sex. You've heard girls talk about him on campus, how he'd been seeing so-and-so for a couple months in freshman year, fucked some other chick at a party, etc., etc. 

 Then you'd met his actual ex the other day, one he dated officially for a semester last year before breaking things off. Her name is Rhi. She's very pretty. And, she had pulled Zeke into a full blown conversation without looking at you once. The way she batted her eyes and smiled at him, twisting her hair and shoving at him playfully—Oh yeah. She's definitely seen him naked. 

 You didn't say anything about it for a while, just stewed in silence until Zeke finally sighed and asked, "What would you like to know?" 

 He'd given you the vague outline—met her in class, studied together, decided to date, left her to focus on baseball. That excuse hit a little too close to home, but you'd let it roll off your shoulders. 

 The point is Zeke has fucked other girls, but he won't fuck you, and you need to know why because you're starting to get desperate. It's not a good look. It's one you never wanted to wear, but the way he stares at you and the way he talks to you, always pointing out your strengths, encouraging you, complimenting you is intoxicating.

 When Zeke's eyes are on you, it’s like you're the most important person in the room. He has some ability to make you feel that way, to make everyone feel that way you realized one night after a game. People flock to him. They want to listen to what he has to say. They want to agree with him where he can see. 

 It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't met him, but the best way you can describe it (a way only a few people will understand) is that he has a twenty for charisma. He's talented and smart and engaging, can convince anyone of anything the same way he's convinced you that he wants you. 

 Hand slipping behind your arching back, Zeke presses you against him for just a moment, then drops onto the couch next to you only to tug you on top of him. 

 You're already breathing too heavily, clutching his face in both your hands as you grind your hips against his. He squeezes your ass, smirking against your mouth when you whimper, then moves his hands to push both the hoodie and your shirt off. 

 You lift your arms, letting Zeke strip you as your mind grows hazy. He mutters more to himself than to you, a low, "Get this shit off," then carelessly tosses your clothes over the armrest. 

 Fingers climb up your ribs, almost tickling, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel that he's getting hard, thank god. This just might be the night, please fucking let it be. 

 You've never been a big fan of terms like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘blue-bean’, never even thought it existed, and it really doesn't; it's just a form of manipulation, of guilting your partner into sex, and you know this because you've had an entire rant about it prepared since high school, but right now, in this particular moment, you're aching. Your insides ache. Your clit aches. You just want—

 Zeke pinches one of your nipples hard enough to clear your head for a second, causes you to cry out and pull back. He lets go, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you and flicks over the sore bud with a fingertip. 

 "Zeke," you breathe, body trembling. 

 "What is it, baby?" He coos. 

 "I—"

 He snakes a hand between the two of you, ridding you of any and all thoughts as he rubs over your covered pussy. You're almost positive that if he keeps doing it, you'll start to leak through your leggings, right into his hand. 

 Panting, an old track plays in the back of your head, a deep voice, breathy and promising, gonna fuck you dry tonight.

 You lean forward to kiss Zeke again, letting him suck and bite hard enough to make the frown on your face look natural, like he put it there. 

 Flames are licking up and down your legs, then your arms, but even though it's Zeke's lap you're sitting in and Zeke's tongue in your mouth and Zeke's fingers massaging your pussy, it's suddenly Mike you're thinking about, and well… That can't be good. 

 You tangle your hands in Zeke's hair, the different texture bringing you back to reality. His thick beard is scratching against your face. His bare torso is wiry with muscle and pressed to yours. He moves his hand and raises his hips to meet yours, a groan catching in his throat. It looks like he's finally losing his composure, cheeks flushed, eyes are foggy. When you break away, he licks away the string of spit holding you together, tongue running over his lip seductively.

 "Can we—" you start, but Zeke speaks at the same time. 

 "It's getting late."

 Blinking at him, you find yourself experiencing too many emotions to actually identify a single one. You feel your eyebrows knit together, but it’s more from your confusion than it is your frustration. 

 But, you don’t want to be frustrated. You don’t want to be or look upset about not getting sex. That would make you a terrible person, and you’re not about to make him feel bad for not being ready to take that step with you. You’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it doesn’t feel good.

 The amount of times you’ve had to masturbate in the last few weeks is a little fucking ridiculous, though. 

 Nodding mostly to yourself to get your thoughts back in line, you slide off of Zeke to stand up. Your hand is trembling when you reach for your clothes, heat still coursing through you, but you manage to gently grab them from the couch rather than snatch them. 

 Shirt and hoodie back in place, you gather your things, feeling Zeke’s gaze on you the entire time. You don’t say anything, just nibble on your bottom lip as you run over all the events that took place over the night, what you possibly did wrong, what turned him off or just failed to turn him on in the first place. 

 After slipping everything back into your bag, Zeke finally gets to his feet and takes it from you, walking with you outside to your car. 

 “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he tells you, the picture of calm and collected while your body remains buzzing.

 “Okay, yeah.” 

 He puts your stuff in the front passenger seat, shuts the door, and gives you a sweet little peck that you wish lasted longer.

 Zeke says good night, begins walking back to the building, but stops and calls to you right before you shrink into the car. 

 Even from this distance, you can tell he’s looking you dead in the eye, face suddenly very serious when he tells you, “You can go ahead and stop wearing that hoodie.”

* For the first time since the semester started, lacrosse and baseball games do not overlap one another, and you're able to spend the warm afternoon in the stands, cheering on the friends you made over the last year. 

 The home team is dominating, Mike and Erwin are too fucking quick for their opponents to get in the way of. The way the ball just flies back and forth between them, like a game of keep-away, shows just how on-the-same-page they are. The other guys are good too, doing a spectacular job of staying one leg ahead, defending their star players and assisting in the offensive effort. 

 The last goal is made by Mike who launches the ball from the center of the field right into the goal, and both the crowd and the teams lose their fucking minds. 

 You're up on your feet screaming and clapping, voice breaking as your shrill cry tears your throat. You know you're being drowned out by everyone around you, but as Mike gets lauded for being the god he is—putting up with backslaps and hugs and a headlock from Erwin—he still manages to find you in the second row, grinning in that crooked way you love so much. 

 You don't know exactly when that started happening, probably sometime after Spring break. Or, maybe it was there since the beginning, just laying dormant at the back of your head so that you could focus on denying him. 

 It doesn't really matter now since you're actually with someone. That someone isn't around right now, but he's in your thoughts as your chest fills with affection and pride for your friend. 

 Erwin is shouting about another open party, and your mind is made up to not attend because Zeke wouldn't appreciate it, but then Mike is suddenly lifting himself onto the raised, concrete stands and pointing at you, and before you know it, you're hopping down the next bleacher without a care for the fans who have to lean out of the way. 

 He's incredibly sweaty as you wrap your arms around his neck, but you don't mind. You were so convinced he would be mad at you or try to avoid you. 

 You're very aware that you had hurt him by getting with Zeke, and while he had been pretty guarded for the first few weeks, he's opened up some since that day in the coffee shop, when you'd nearly giggled yourself to death. You hadn't expected that to be what cracked his walls, especially considering how that visit had ended, but you're glad that it did. 

 "Haven't seen you cheering for me in a while," Mike laughs next to your ear. 

 He's dizzy with adrenaline, swaying back and forth as he squeezes you, and you tell him, "If you make us fall, I will beat you up, I swear." 

 "Okay," he says in a stupid voice of obvious disbelief, "Whatever you say." 

 You've been texting more, going over homework together, though you haven't needed his help in-person since he had switched books with you that day. It had been so smooth and subtle, you didn't realize until you opened it to study the following day, immediately noticing all the notes and highlights. 

 It had made you cry like a little bitch in the middle of your dorm, and you called Mike to thank him without bothering to hide your tears and hiccups. 

 "Come to the party tonight," he demands, but it's so soft, like he's still giving you a chance to say no. 

 The crowd is still yelling, so you have to keep speaking into each other's ears, and you ask, "Why? All the Pike parties are sticky and gross."

 "'Cause we haven't gotten drunk together in a while," Mike states in the form of a whine. 

 You snort, feeling his hair dripping onto your shoulder. You should probably be disgusted, but it's not the first time you've gotten sweaty with him, and it's definitely not the worst bodily fluid he's made a mess on you with. 

 "You know what happens when we get drunk together," you remind him with a smile he can't see. "Can't do that anymore."

 "I promise I'll behave."

 That's not the problem. You don't know if you can behave. You've been wound up for over a month now, and it is driving you insane. No matter how many times you get off alone in your room at night, you still ache as if you're being edged. 

 So, getting fucked up with someone you know for a fact can fuck you stupid… probably not the best idea. 

 "Miche," you protest, drawing his name out. 

 "Just think about it."

 He leaves you with that, hopping down and walking away with his arms in the air as everyone surrounding you cheers for him until he disappears. You just stand there amidst the noise, shirt now wet as you contemplate the pros and cons of going to another PKA party. 

 As always, Zeke asks what your plans are for the night, but for the first time since you met him, you lie. * King's Cup and Rage Cage and Beer Pong galore. Party-goers are pooling onto the lawn, and you're just waiting for campus police to show because of the chaos, but you're not necessarily scared of it. So you go to jail for a couple days. Worse things could happen. 

 Currently, you and Mike are sitting on the sidewalk nursing beers and giggling at the new pledges who keep running around the house in less and less clothes. 

 "Honestly, this isn't that bad," Mike tells you. "Erwin suggested we make them all watch snuff together."

 You give him an incredulous look as you raise the glass bottle to your mouth. "Erwin is a god damn psychopath, what the fuck."

 "We had to do it and didn't turn out too bad."

 "And, just like that, I'm scared of you."

 Mike laughs before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling as a brawny blond speeds past in nothing but boxers—Reiner, you think his name is. 

 There are only a few new guys who stick out to you—that one, a long-faced kid named Jean, freckle boy Marco, and, naturally, Zeke's younger brother, Eren. He sorta skeeves you out, so you've been doing your best to stay out of his sight despite never formally meeting him before. 

 "Kid's kind of a prick, a little too cocky. Always talking about how he's related to Zeke, or should I say your lo-ver," Mike chuckles, sounding amused, but he still downs the rest of his beer afterward. 

 You let out a little growl, just drunk enough to be too honest, and grumble, "Not my lover. Also, I would never use that term. So cringey."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I mean it's weird and dramat—"

 "No," Mike cuts you off, "What do you mean about him not being that?"

 You fall back on the concrete, bumping the back of your head a little too hard and scrunching your face up. 

 "We haven't had sex. The dude just will not fuck me for some reason."

 "Are you serious?" 

 You glance at Mike and find his eyes wide in alarm. 

 "As a heart attack. I have never been so frustrated in my entire life." 

 You probably shouldn't be talking about this with him, one, because you assume it's like twisting a knife right in Mike's gut and two, because the more you drink, the less self-control you have. 

 He grunts then tosses his bottle into the yard for some poor pledge to slip on. 

 "His loss."

 "Whatever. I'm sure he'll come around eventually," you sigh then sit back up. "And, until then, I guess I'm practicing celibacy or some shit."

 Mike laughs hard at that, and it makes you smack him on the arm. "Yeah, good luck with that."

 "Shut up."

 "I'm just saying," he raises his hands. "You're, like, the neediest person I know."

 "Excuse the fuck outta me?" 

 "In the bedroom, dummy. Obviously not all the time."

 This is not at all where you wanted this conversation to go. The more you think about it, the more you feel that ache, the more you want to quell it. 

 "We should change the subject."

 Mike looks at you, flipping hair out of his eyes and smiling like the cocky frat boy he pretends to be. 

 "Why? Gettin' all worked up."

 "You are literally the worst."

 You stand and finish your drink, throwing it a few feet away from Mike's as you tell him, "I need to get a little more fucked up if I'm gonna deal with your ass all night."

 "Uh huh."

 He follows you back inside, but while you make your way into the kitchen, Mike stops to talk with Erwin about one thing or another. It means he has to entertain the masses, talk about the game, and you post up against a wall to watch him. 

 You should leave. Mike is looking a little too attractive in his stupid fucking pastel polo, and you're supposed to meet Zeke for lunch tomorrow anyway. Zeke, your boyfriend. 

 Or, well, he hasn't said it explicitly, but you hold hands in public and ignore other people, just make it obvious that both of you aren't interested in anyone else. 

 Except when Mike sidles up to you with foggy eyes and a smirk he hasn't worn around you in a long time, you groan at the thought that you are interested in someone else. Even if it's just one night, god, you need it so bad. And, you know Mike can give it to you. Exactly the way you want it. 

 It's Zeke's fault, really. You know he knows how desperate you're getting. If he'd just explain why he doesn't want to have sex, you could deal with it much better than you are now, but he continues to leave you in the dark. It makes you think you're doing something wrong. 

 Then, there's the problem of feeling like the shittiest person alive every time you get frustrated. You've spent nights trying to rationalize it, but it's hard to think straight when you're so, undeniably horny. 

 "Don't look at me like that," you tell Mike with a scoff. 

 "Why not?" 

 "'Cause you said you'd behave tonight."

 He cocks his head to the side and makes a face. "Did I? That doesn't sound like something I'd say to you."

 "Oh my god, you're impossible. And, drunk."

 "I'm not really that drunk," he waves you off. "It takes more than a few beers to get me fucked up, remember? Downfall of being this large."

 Jesus, he really is rubbing it in your face now. Wide with muscle and so fucking tall. Not to mention his—

 "I really cannot do this, Miche," you try again, gritting your teeth when his pupils dilate. "Zeke would be so pissed."

 "So? Come on, just one more time. I didn't know the last time would be the last time."

 You hadn't either. You don't know what you would have done differently had you known—maybe just taken the time to appreciate his incredible body more—but it doesn't matter now. 

 You try to sound firm and irritated when you snap, "You know you're being kinda manipulative, right?" 

 Mike tilts his head back as if you just shoved it, blinks a couple times, then swears out loud. "Oh, fuck." He takes a step away, eyes clear for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

 "It's fine," you wave. "I just wanted you to know. I'm drunk and you're hot, and I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke."

 "Yeah, I get it. Fuck. If you, like, wanna leave, I won't stop you. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t a joke and—That was a shit thing to do."

 "Little bit, but you get a pass this time," you laugh through your nose. "Just don't go pulling that bullshit on some unsuspecting freshman or anything." 

 He runs a hand through his hair, red with embarrassment, and you think to yourself, Mike is a good guy. One of the best. You don't know of many who would take that kind of criticism to heart—how many would feel genuinely guilty. It is college, and every girl knows the trend of fratty sports players getting off scot-free after being charged with sexual assault. Given his status at the school, Mike could definitely do something like that and get away with it.

 But, he would never. 

 You push him gently to show you aren't mad, tell him, "I still wanna hang out with you. We don't get to as much as we used to."

 Mike's small smile looks relieved as he takes a deep breath. "This isn't exactly the best place to just chill, but—"

 "I haven't seen your new apartment yet." 

 You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, your little tune changing ridiculously quickly, but you can't deny that you're curious. He's still your best friend, and you want to know what he's done with his new place. Is it bland like his old room in the house, or did he let his real personality show through? 

 "You sure?" He questions. 

 "Yeah. We can just, like, play video games or something."

 "Are you sure?" 

 He must feel terrible. You can relate.

 "If you don't want me over, just say so," you snort. 

 "No, no, of course I do. I just don't want you to feel weird about being alone or anything."

 "Nah, like you said, you're not really drunk. I'll sober up with water. We'll be fine."

 You don't know if you're trying to convince him or yourself. Without the presence of alcohol, you should be able to keep it together, and the distraction of Zelda or Mario will surely help. 

 "Okay, yeah," Mike nods. "Let's go then."

You don't even bother finishing your drink, just set it on a countertop and follow him out to his Wrangler. It's been a while since you've ridden in it. It's been a while since you've ridden him, your brain helpfully supplies, and as you pull up to the unfamiliar apartment complex, you once again begin to think that this was a bad idea.

[ next ]

[nev3rfound]

just in time : s.r

returning the stones isn’t steve’s only mission whilst he’s gone; he has one final mission of his own - to find his long lost lover, you, before it’s too late (2.5k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

Panting heavily, you bend down, resting your hands on your thighs as you feel a burn course through them whilst Bucky laughs at you.

"Did you seriously run here?" Bucky asks, Steve now facing you too, surprised to see you.

Holding a finger up, you take one final deep breath before composing yourself. "Of course," You breathe out. "I didn't wanna miss the start of it, had to get here on time." You smile, practically beam to Steve who shyly smiles back.

"I mean you're fifteen minutes late, doll." Bucky comments, ignoring Steve's weak punch to his arm. "Sorry."

"You haven't missed a thing, Y/n." Steve assures you as he steps forward, holding his arm out as his jacket swarms his upper body.

Despite the mud coating the hem of your skirt that hides various bruises and a sheen of sweat lining your forehead, Steve still adores you completely, no matter how often you're late for things.

"I'd be honoured." You giggle, looping your arm with Steve's as the three of you make your way into the dance hall. 

Standing on the podium, Steve can feel his grip tightening on the case as Bruce, Sam and Bucky watch him closely.

"Ready Cap?" Bruce calls out as Steve's suit changes to white and red, contrasting the previous dark tones. "Alright, we'll meet you back here." He adds, and Steve nods.

It's the moment he's anticipated for too long, ever since he woke up from the ice.

Bucky knew from the moment Steve said goodbye to him. Steve was going to be gone longer than a few seconds, he'd be gone an entire lifetime.

"You bet." Steve responds as the helmet forms over his head as his heart hammers against his chest at the thought of returning to a time he never dreamed of reliving.

Looking to his oldest friend, a small smile forms across Steve's face as Bucky remains stoic, internally proud that his friend will finally live the life he deserves.

"Going quantum in three, two, one." Bruce states, clicking at the last few buttons before the beams surrounding Steve illuminate and he disappears.

"I'm coming, I promise!" You yell from your window as Steve nervously shuffles on the pavement below, trying his best to hide the flowers he purchased (stole, with Bucky's aid) at the store earlier that morning.

Running down your stairs, you wave to your Dad before exiting the house. "Hey," Steve smiles as you slowly descend down the steps as you exhale deeply, he knows he's about to have another one of your infamous stories.

"My Ma didn't change the clock after it went and died, so here I was thinking I had all the time in the world," You shake your head in disbelief as you stand in front of Steve, oblivious to the flowers being brought forward from behind his back. "and then I woke up to my Dad screaming that you were outside!" A laugh escapes your lips as you finally notice the yellow flowers in Steve's grip, concealing the nervous look across his face.

"Do you like them?" Steve hesitantly questions, feeling your fingers brush across his as you take the flowers from his hands.

Bringing them to your face, you sniff them happily. "Steve," You can't help but step closer and kiss his cheek, watching a blush cross where your lips had just been. "I love them, thank you."

"I, well," Steve stumbles over his words, always losing any sense whenever you're around him. This would be the point where Bucky would interfere or as he likes to put it, 'help out.' "A girl like you deserves pretty flowers." He manages to say, watching as your eyes soften.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere, okay?" You tell him with a quick wink before running back up the front steps to your house, the door remaining ajar.

From where Steve stands, he can hear you conversing with your parents.

"He got you flowers, huh, honey?" Your Dad asks, a level of disconcert in his tone.

"He did, and I love them." You snap back. "It doesn't matter, Dad, don't give me that look."

"Your Father means well, dear. Why did you have to fall for him instead of Barnes?" Your Mother chimes into the conversation and Steve's head falls lower into himself, his previous excitement diminishing.

He knows they're right, you would be much better off with Bucky than a guy like himself, someone who’ll never amount to much before dying at a young age. Hell, he can’t even fight for his country, what right does he have being with you?

“Because I love him, okay?” You almost yell at the pair of them, hating the way they talk about Steve, one of your friends whom you grew up alongside, who you’ve slowly but surely fell in love with. “And I don’t care that he’s not like Bucky, Bucky for a fact is an arrogant womaniser, not that either of you have noticed. Just let me enjoy this, please! You owe me that much at this point.” You huff as you place the flowers in a glass that you filled with water. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back by seven.”

Without another word being uttered, you walk out of your house to see Steve slightly stunned at the bottom of your steps.

“You heard all that, didn’t you?” You ask, pausing on the bottom step.

Nodding in response, you lift your hands to your eyes and collapse down onto your step.

“Hey,” Steve mutters, reaching out to take your hands in his cold ones, no matter how warm it can get in Brooklyn, he always remains cold, not that you mind in the slightest as his smile simply warms your heart.

Now revealing your glossy eyes to Steve, you watch carefully as his blue eyes move closer towards you.

“If it helps at all, Y/n,” Steve whispers as he rests one hand on your cheek. “I love you too.” 

“And returning in five, four,” Bruce announces as he flicks several switches, the beams illuminating once more.

Yet, Bucky steps away much to Sam’s surprise.

“-three, two one.”

Sam watches closely as the lights flicker, but nothing happens. The podium remains empty, and Bucky chuckles beneath his breath.

“It’s not working,” Bruce exclaims as he stares at the monitor.

“Why not? Bring him back.” Sam states, frustration rising in his tone as he glances over to Bucky who faces the lake, hands buried in his pockets. “What do you know, Barnes?”

“That he’s not coming back.” Bucky speaks up, keeping his eyes locked on the ripples of the lake, the echo of laughter playing in his mind of the good ol’ days.

“I don’t understand,” Sam starts, but Bucky turns to face him with a solemn smile.

“You will.”

Sitting in the bar with Steve, Bucky laughs as they discuss his sudden rise to stardom. “But you were smaller,” Bucky chuckles in disbelief as his once frail friend sits broadly beside him. “don’t get me wrong, you look good, pal.”

Steve sighs to himself before taking a sip as dames walk past, whispering about the infamous Captain America. “I hope she doesn’t hate me.” Steve mutters, his eyes locked on the half-empty glass in his grasp. “I don’t know what to say, or, or,”

Before Steve can finish his sentence, the doors to the bar burst open and silence falls. All of the soldiers' attention turns to the dame in the entranceway, her lips lined red as she slowly walks in.

The sound of heels clicking against the floor increases until Steve hears his name being muttered delicately.

"Steve?" Turning around, Steve looks you in the eyes as tears fall down your cheeks. “Is that really you?” You quietly ask, lifting your hand up and rest it on his chest, slowly raising it to his cheek.

Smiling softly, Steve lifts his hand up, resting it on top of yours. For the first time ever, it’s warm, and you breathe out a laugh. “It’s me, Y/n.” Steve tells you confidently.

“Bonnie said I missed your grand entrance, why is it I can never keep track of time?” You laugh lightly and witness Steve smile shyly. “Steve? Is something wrong?”

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Steve notices you step closer. “You, you’ll still have me?” The question escapes his lips as his eyes dart across your expression, watching as your brows furrow and your previous smile disappears.

“You thought I’d leave you, just because you, you’ve changed?” The hurt in your voice is evident as Bucky seethes beside you both, quickly motioning to everyone else to carry on with their conversations so yours is drowned out from their ears.

“No, I,” Steve pauses before rising to his feet, now towering over you. “follow me.” He takes your hand in his, enveloping it firmly as he guides you outside for some needed privacy.

Now outside, you can hear faint conversations from inside the bar, the talks of Captain America and all he has done for the country. Yet in front of you stands Steve Rogers, your Steve.

“Listen, Steve, I don’t care what you look like, if you’re now suddenly six feet tall and have more muscle than my Uncle Jerry,” You explain, not missing the faint laugh from Steve. “you’re still Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, the man I fell in love with, okay?”

“So, this doesn’t bother you?” His nerves remain forefront as he glances down at himself before seeing you quirk a brow.

“Not in the slightest,” You reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “if anything, there’s more of you to love, Captain.” You giggle and Steve can’t ignore the butterflies in his stomach before kissing you softly, missing the way your lips melt into his.

“Wait, guys?” Bruce suddenly announces as the energy field on the podium vibrates, and Steve reappears empty-handed.

“There’s no way,” Bucky mutters to himself, remaining still whilst Sam rushes forward, laughing happily.

“I knew you’d come back, you son of a bitch.” Sam jokes as Steve steps down from the podium, removing the white suit and reveals himself dressed in a black suit. “So, how was it?”

Steve remains quiet, his eyes fixating on the ground as his thoughts remain tied to the past.

“Let’s give him some space, Sam.” Bucky interrupts, looking over to Bruce who nods in response.

“Come on.” Bruce mutters, walking alongside Sam as they head back to the cabin, leaving Bucky alone to talk to his oldest friend who he anticipated being a lot older.

Stepping forward, Bucky tries not to stare at Steve whose cheeks remain red, marked with previous tears.

“What happened, Steve?” Bucky asks. “I thought, I thought you’d be with her, I-”

“She moved on, Buck.” Steve cuts Bucky off coldly. “Y/n carried on living without me, without us around she had no choice but to carry on.”

Bucky doesn’t miss the gentle sniff escaping Steve as he averts his gaze, turning his head to the left remaining out of sight as fresh tears fall.

“Was she happy?” Bucky can see Steve’s shoulders tense at the question, almost feel the heartache Steve is feeling as he shifts on his feet, now fully facing Bucky.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “she really was.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” Bucky states sadly.

“Me too, pal.” Steve comments, but Bucky can tell there’s something he’s not admitting, his eyes say more than his words could. “Me too.”

Walking alongside one another, the old friends walk back toward the cabin, knowing now they can only carry on, there’s no going back.

Steve was running, he’d been running for far too long in a world he didn’t understand. All he craved was a return to his own time, a world he felt comfortable and understood in. A world where you lived and breathed.

His feet guide him directly to the cobbled street he walked numerous times, either by your side holding hands or bantering with Bucky. Nothing had changed, it remained just as he remembered. There weren’t any alien threats, no destruction, the war was over.

Slowly, Steve walks up the steps to your house. He forms a fist as he knocks, having discarded the case the stones were once in mere hours before and returned Thor’s hammer to its rightful place in Asgard.

He can feel his breathing hitch in his throat as silence falls upon him before knocking on the door. Looking over his shoulder, Steve decides it’s best to step down in case you open your window like old times.

Yet, a few minutes pass by and there’s no response. Steve knocks once more, then twice and thrice more times.

“They aren’t there, sweetie!” Someone calls out, and Steve glances over his shoulder to see a neighbour perching from their door, a child on her hip.

“Do you know when they’ll be back?” Steve asks, noticing the woman's smile drop immediately like his heart.

“They don’t live there anymore I’m ‘fraid.” The woman states, but Steve isn’t listening as he crosses the road, now standing in front of her door. “The couple couldn’t bear to stay there, up’t and left about two months ago now.” She explains, but Steve cannot fathom it.

Your family adored that house, though it was small, it was perfect for you and your parents. The three of you sung and danced from room to room, Steve and Bucky often in tow.

“How come they moved away?” Steve forces the question from his thoughts to his mouth, afraid to hear the answer.

The child on the woman's hip begins to cry loudly, and she quickly hushes it. “I’ll be one moment,” She mutters, moving away from the door and returns a few minutes later, arms folded across her chest. “They erm, they lost their daughter, precious thing she was.”

Steve falters backwards, he watches as the woman's lips continue to move, but silence consumes him.

“-she kept coughing up blood after all those nights sat in the cold waiting for her soldier to come home. Apparently, she had some underlying condition, incurable. Tragic really.” The woman sighs sadly, now glancing up to see Steve silently distraught. “I’m sorry, hon, did you know her?” She asks, but Steve steps away and turns around, forcing his feet as he runs down the street, ignoring her shouts.

He had no idea where he was going, but all he could feel were tears streaming down his cheeks, the cool breeze burning against them as he forcefully wiped them away. 

For once, Steve was the one who was too late, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“You sure you’re okay, pal?” Bucky reiterates his previous question, seeing Steve longingly watch as Morgan plays with Pepper, giggling away.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “I’ll be fine, Buck.” He lies, knowing if he were to tell the truth, he’d simply fall apart.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up- sorry!)

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[watchmegetobsessed]

Serendipity - Part III. (Harry Styles)

a/n: hey guys!! thank you so much for those who read the last part and took the time to like/reblog/leave feedback! i want to stress how important it is that you guys do any of these things bc these are the only things that writers can use to see how their works are doing so PLEASE!! take that 30 sec to like/reblog and if you enjoyed, PLEASE leave a few words!! with this being said, here is part 3, hope you guys will enjoy it!

pairing: Harry x OC (Annalise Lloyd)

word count: 10k

warning: it gets a little steamy? not too much tho

SERIES MASTERPOST  ⚫️ my masterlist  ⚫️  come and talk to me about Serendipity!  

Serendipity (n.) Finding something good without looking for it.

The kitchen was utter disaster before Harry has finally gotten around to clean up after cooking. Wiping all surfaces clean and washing every dish he used in the process he quickly sets his dining table for three people before diving into one of his wardrobes, mining after the board games he keeps around. There’s an impressive pile of them, all kinds and he really hopes they’ll be able to find something Benji likes. Checking the time he sees that he has only about twenty minutes left before his guests arrive, so he locks himself up in the bathroom. Washing away all the smells from the kitchen, he walks out with a clean towel wrapped around his waist, thinking about a suitable fit for the occasion.

Lis has texted him earlier to ask about the required dress code and he set it as casual/comfortable so now he has to dress according to that as well.

Pulling on a pair of light-washed jeans he pairs it with a simple white t-shirt and a grey cardigan. It’s a simple outfit, but he feels like it’s just perfect for the occasion. Checking the time once again he notes that he has only a few minutes left, when the doorbell rings. He steps to the intercom and sees through the security camera that it’s her.

“Hey, just park behind the Rover,” he instructs talking into the intercom and opening up the gate for her.

Quickly, he checks himself out one last time in the mirror next to the front door before opening it up, watching her car pull up behind his, the engine shutting before the door of the driver seat opens. Annalise appears in his sight with a warm smile, wearing jeans and a black, baggy jumper, her hair up in a loose ponytail.

“Hey!” she calls out before stepping to one of the back seats, opening up the door to help Benji out. Harry can’t push down the smile when he sees the little boy hop out of his seat holding a little blue envelope. He is wearing a white and blue checkered button-up with black jeans, looking like a little gentleman, Harry notes. He doesn’t seem shy or startled to be at a new place meeting someone he has only seen once before. Annalise takes his hand and the two of them walk up to Harry who is holding the door open for them.

“Hello!” Benji greets him with a sweet smile as they walk up the few stairs to the front door.

“Hi Benji. Nice to see you again,” Harry nods with a smile before looking up at Lis. “You too,” he adds.

“Thanks for having up,” she smiles, leading Benji inside as Harry closes the door. “Shoes,” she tells Benji, who takes off his sneakers without a fuss. Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell them they could have kept their shoes on, it doesn’t matter to him. Instead, he reaches into the small wardrobe in the hallway, fishing out slippers for them. Luckily, he has a few child ones as well, since some of his friends bring their kids around so he got a few just in case. Now it comes handy.

“Thank you,” Annalise smiles before instructing the little boy to put on his pair.

“This is for you,” Benji holds out the envelope for Harry, who looks down at it in surprise.

“Oh, thank you!” he answers, feeling startled and curious about what’s inside. He fidgets it open and pulls out the drawing that was hidden inside.

It’s a car, that he is sure about. A quite cool looking car if he is being honest. The coloring is a little off the lines and the portions are not quite right, but it’s a nice drawing, he thinks to himself. In the right corner of the page he sees the name BENJI spelt out, the letters looking a little wobbly and crooked, but it’s crystal clear.

“You drew this?” Harry questions raising his eyebrows at the little boy. Benji nods with a proud smile. “Wow, it’s amazing. Where should I put it?” he muses holding the drawing up as Benji looks around.

“Mommy always puts my drawings on the fridge,” he then answers and Harry nods.

“That’s a nice place. I think it’ll look good on my fridge. Come on, help me put it up.”

The boy follows him without a word, walking into the spacious kitchen, right to his fridge. He takes a magnet and hangs it in the middle as they all look at the new decoration

“Thank you, I think it looks great here,” Harry concludes and Benji nods in agreement.

“Benji, why don’t you wash your hand quickly before we eat?” Annalise tells him before looking at Harry. “Where’s a bathroom?”

“See that door on the left? That’s the one,” Harry explains to Benji and he nods again, running off to do his duty.

“He insisted bringing the drawing when I told him we’d be coming here today,” Annalise shares with Harry and he smiles at her, feeling touched.

“Very thoughtful.”

“Is there anything you need help with around here?” she asks, her eyes roaming around the kitchen and Harry is thankful he cleaned up after he was done with the cooking.

“No, everything is set and done. You just enjoy your time here,” he smirks and she smiles at him thankfully before Benji returns from the bathroom. “You like chicken strips, Benji?” he asks the boy upon his arrival. His eyes glisten at the mention of food, nodding eagerly as Annalise chuckles.

“That’s all he orders when we go to KFC,” she lets Harry in who grins down at Benji.

“Then this is your lucky day.”

Annalise helps Harry bring the food to the table and they all take their seats, Benji eyeing everything on the table with hungry eyes. They dig into it and Harry is relieved to see that his guests are enjoying the meal.

Harry was never afraid he wouldn’t get along well with the little boy, he is amazing around kids, easy to create a bond with them under any circumstances. It doesn’t take him long to get him to talk about school, his friends and what he likes doing in his freetime, making sure he pays enough attention to Lis as well. His home often feels empty during the days, he only has company over mostly in the evenings, but that doesn’t happen often either. So having them around brings a warm feeling to his chest as their chatter fills the room.

“So then we won and Eddy’s mum took us out to have pizza so it was great,” Benji finishes another story, his plate has emptied out not so long ago. As Harry peeks over at Lis, he sees how lovingly she is looking down at the little boy sitting across her. It’s clearer than daylight that Benji is her whole wide world and he has no problem being second after the boy. He thinks that’s just how it should be anyway and the thought that some men ever thought otherwise… it irks his buttons for sure.

“Benji, why don’t you go ahead and choose a game from the pile while we clean up the table?” Annalise tells him once everyone is done eating. He cheers in excitement and runs straight to the hoard of games waiting for him in the living room.

Harry and Lis clean the table and bring all the dirty dishes to the sink, she starts washing them without a word.

“You don’t have to,” Harry tells her, but she shakes her head.

“You cooked, I’m cleaning. Just put the leftover away,” she says smiling at him.

Harry packs away what was left from the lunch and then leans against the counter next to Lis. His eyes wander over her form, just the sight of her in the comfort of his home bubbles something deep inside him he’s been looking for for some time now. This warmth in his chest, the domesticity of such a simple thing of having her washing the dishes makes the house feel more of a home than ever.

“Do you cook often?” she asks, glancing at him shortly.

“Not as often as I probably should,” he admits. “I don’t find the time for it that often. When I’m home I tend to feel a little restless, like I should be doing something else, working on something, so I end up in my studio room down in the basement, recording something I won’t even use later.”

“Sounds like you overwork yourself.”

“Don’t have anything else to put my energy into just yet,” he shrugs his shoulders simply. “Well, at least that’s how it used to be,” he adds, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes meet her gaze. A soft blush tints her cheeks before she turns back to the sink, finishing up the washing.

Annalise just chuckles when Benji chooses to play with UNO out of all the games Harry has to offer, but neither of them questions his choice. The three of them make themselves comfortable in the living room, Lis and Benji sit on the couch while Harry takes one of his armchairs while Benji mixes the cards. They seem to be a little too big for his hands, but he manages to finish the task just fine. They play round after round and Harry lets Benji win as much as possible, always pretending to be bummed that he lost the game. Only twice does Lis win, but Benji doesn’t mind that he has to share the victory with his mum, he has great manners, Harry notes once again.

Lis finds herself watching Harry with a fluttering heart. Every time he interacts with Benji something inside her chest feels to be growing. The way he treats the little boy, how he doesn’t seem to mind having him in the spotlight and the way he looks genuinely interested in anything Benji tells him about makes her completely forget about the doubts she was heaving before arriving. Even though she decided to be open to whatever fate has for her about Harry, she couldn’t just magically overcome all her fears from her previous experiences. She did think about canceling today, feeling reluctant if it would be a good idea or not, but now she couldn’t be happier with her choice.

Benji announces that he needs to use the toilet for something big, as he phrases, making Harry smile before he runs off to do his business.

“Sorry, he can be quite blunt sometimes,” Lis explains leaning back while Harry shuffles the cards once again.

“S’fine. He is great,” he grins, eyes meeting hers and the lock for a little longer than they intended, but they both find it hard to look away.

“Thanks for today. He is having a great time.”

“He is?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry he would let you know if he didn’t,” she chuckles making him laugh. “As I said, he can be pretty blunt.”

“I think it’s great. That he is not afraid to say what’s on his mind. I’m sure he doesn’t have trouble making friends.”

“He does not. He has this group of friends, it’s the five of them, all boys, they are like a little gang and I feel like Benji is some kind of leader. But not like a bossy one. They were all over at ours for his birthday and I was afraid he would act like a little king, but he always made sure to include everyone.” “That’s amazing. You taught him so well, Lis. Really, you should be very proud of yourself.” Not knowing how long Benji will take, he dares to take his seat next to Lis, he turns to face her, pulling a leg up, his knee brushing against the side of her thigh. The urge to just lean in and kiss her is growing, but he tells him he needs to keep himself at bay, not sure how far he is allowed to go.

She feels his hesitation, she sees the way he glances down at her lips longingly and she wants to give in. She almost does, because her attraction towards Harry grows with each passing moment, but just when she is about to give in, she hears Benji flush the toilet, kind of breaking the moment. Licking her lips she takes a deep breath to get her into the right mindset before Benji arrives back.

“Can we build a card castle?” Benji asks excited as he runs back into the living room, not even noticing that Harry has taken his spot on the couch. He kneels down next to the coffee table, taking the cards and starting anyway.

Harry pays one last lingering look to Lis before turning his attention back at the boy, lending him a helping hand in the building process.

It’s way past five by the time Annalise and Benji are getting ready to leave. Benji managed to convince them to watch a movie once he got bored with the cards, so they ended up in Harry’s movie room, which completely blew his mind away and they watched Zootopia.

Now Benji is rambling about his football game coming up next weekend and how he’ll score the most goals for sure.

“Will you come to see me, Harry?” he asks with bright eyes, the question catches him by surprise, but Lis as well. Harry glances up at her immediately, not sure what to say.

“Oh, Benji, Harry might have work that day—“

“I would love to,” he blurts out and it’s the truth. “I-If it’s fine by you as well,” he adds, still looking at her.

“Are you sure you’re not busy?”

“Lis, I wouldn’t say it if I was busy. I think I can make it work, but I’ll check back with you later this week, alright?”

“Yeah. Sure,” she nods, clearly surprised how quickly Benji grew a liking to him.

“Yay! See you later then, Harry!” Benji cheers, waving goodbye to Harry who feels touched by this little gesture. He runs down the stairs and jolts right towards the car, Lis following him behind.

Harry watches her help him into the car, shutting the door once he is all buckled up and instead of getting into the car as well, she walks back up to Harry who is still standing at the door. When she walks up the stairs she pushes him a little back into the house so they fall out of Benji’s sight, Harry is a little puzzled, but he quickly forgets about his racing thoughts once Annalise’s lips meet his in a sweet kiss.

Pushing his surprise aside he is quick to recover, arms circling around her waist while hers cup his cheeks gently. It’s not a long kiss, neither a passionate one, but it’s exactly what they both needed. Their lips move in sync and he hesitantly, but licks her bottom lip before their tongues meet in the middle.

“Lunch sometime this week?” she asks, quite out of breath, the smallest smile tugging on her plump lips.

“Yeah, I-I’ll text you?” he breathes out, lips still tingling from the kiss he has been dreaming about for quite a while now.

“Okay,” she chuckles, placing a soft peck to his lips before turning around and going back to her car.

Harry stands at the door, stunned and completely blown away as he watches them leave, Benji waves in his way one last time before they disappear, out the gate, out of his sight.

“You are oddly quiet, but like, in a good way” Chloé states, eyes examining her best friend as they are sitting comfortably on a bench at the nearby park they often take Benji out. It has a nice and popular playground right in the middle and Benji loves playing with the kids from around the neighborhood here.

Annalise just smirks innocently, shrugging her shoulder, fingers digging into the apple slices in the box she packed as a snack.

“You also haven’t told me about a certain singer lately, but from the glow on your face, I assume things are going great?” she nudges her, happy to see Lis so happy and careless.

“I guess,” she shortly nods, still avoiding to look at her best friend.

“Elaborate. You know I’m too nosy not to know every little detail,” Chloé teases her, making her laugh.

“Oh, I know how nosy you are, don’t worry.”

“So? How is our favorite singer?”

“He is… fine. We’ve been getting close.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means that we’ve been meeting up constantly.”

“For fuck’s sake, Lis, would you just give me the whole thing? Why do I have to pull it out of you word by word?”

“What do you want to know?” Annalise chuckles at her impatient friend.

“How big?” she bluntly asks, making Lis gasp at the question.

“That I don’t know and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“How mean! I deserve to know it! Though I’m disappointed you haven’t jumped his bones yet.”

“What were you expecting? We’ve been seeing each other for a little over a month only. In mother time, that’s like… two days,” she jokes.

“Stop with this bullshit. You might be a mother, but you’re still a 25 year-old hot bitch.”

“Hearing you call me a mother and a bitch in the same sentence is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously on-point,” Chloé scoffs. “Alright, so tell me, what’s stopping you from sleeping with him? You know you can always bring Benji over for a sleepover so you can shag Mr. One Direction.”

“And now you are mentioning Benji and shagging in the same sentence, would you stop?” Annalise chuckles, stuffing another slice of apple into her mouth.

“I’m just trying to get you laid!”

“Well, I don’t need help, okay?” she retorts, but her fast response gets Chloé to think.

“Wait, you have something planned already, right?” Annalise doesn’t answer, her eyes dart over to Benji at the swings playing with two other little boys, but the blush on her cheeks gives her away. “Oh shit! You have something planned! Tell me!”

“Why would I tell you when you’ll just make fun of me?” she sighs, finally turning to face her.

“I would never make fun of you shagging the hottest singer in Britain. No, in the whole world, probably.”

Huffing to herself, Lis looks around, making sure no one hears what they are talking about, before turning back to Chloé.

“Benji has a sleepover birthday party next weekend. I thought I would… ask Harry if he wants to come over. I’d cook something, get some wine… you know. A kind of cozy date night.”

“That’s literally the sweetest shit ever,” Chloé sighs. “Now I feel horribly single.”

“Stop it!” Lis chuckles. “You have at least five men waiting for your call.”

“Yeah, whatever. So, does this late night involve the dirty deed?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind,” she admits shyly. It’s been so long since she was intimate with anyone, she sometimes feels like a silly teenage girl, especially when it comes to Harry. He makes her feel things she thought she would never experience.

“Go girl! Get that D!” Chloé cheers, making Lis gasp at her bluntness once again.

“Chlo! There are kids around!”

“If a kid knows what the D means, their childhood is already ruined, so don’t come for me.”

“Chloé! Come see what I can do!” Benji emerges from the group of kids, dragging Chloé with himself, leaving Annalise alone on the bench.

Now that she said her plans with Harry out loud, she can’t help but feel nervous. What if it’s too soon? Or what if Harry is not even free that evening? Scared that her dream date might go down the drain, she grabs her phone from her bag and dials his number.

“Hey!” he greets her cheerfully, always so happy to hear from her.

“Hi, am I bothering you?”

“No, I’m just in the car. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to ask if… you had any plans next Saturday.”

“I have a studio session until six, but I’m free after that. What do you have in mind?” Harry asks, a little surprised she asked him out, but it’s clearly making his chest warm up, knowing that she is thinking about him too.

“Benji was invited to a birthday party and it’s a sleepover… So I’ll have the house for myself. I thought I could cook something, we could have some wine, you know.” She nervously scratches the bench next to her thigh, nervous to hear his reaction to the idea.

“Oh, that sounds perfect! But if you’re cooking, let me take care of the wine. What kind do you like?”

“Um, I’m not an expert. Bring whatever you like, I’m sure I’ll be fine with that too.”

“Okay, but I won’t be the one to drink it,” he chuckles.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t drink and drive, Love.”

“Why—“ she cuts herself off realizing what Harry meant. He didn’t think it would involve him staying the night, so now she has to bring that up as well. Just great. “Harry, you wouldn’t have to drive,” she says, hoping her tone gives away the real meaning behind her words.

“Oh,” Harry breathes out, clearly surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I am. So, bring whatever you like.”

“Alright. Great,” he says and she just knows he is grinning ear to ear. “Saturday it is then. Does lunch on Wednesday still stand?”

“Of course,” you chuckle. “See you later then.”

Annalise’s hand slides down her sides, smoothing the fabric softly on her frame, her eyes cautiously examining the outfit. She’s changed about three times now, feeling so nervous that she finds something in everything he puts on. She knows she is running out of time, but she still can’t put her critiques aside. She wants to look perfect for Harry.

At last, she forces herself to stay in the white satin dress that hugs her curves just perfectly. She doesn’t like it that her arms are on display, but since the oven has been on for hours now, the whole place feels so hot and she doesn’t want to sweat out of her clothes for sure. She quickly brushes her hair and fixes some smudged mascara off from under her eyes before shuffling into the kitchen to check the chicken in the oven. It’s coming together perfectly, the top is already starting to look nice and crisp, she’ll just give it a few more minutes before turning the heat off.

She puts on some soft music quietly to fill the silence, and quickly fixes the pillows on the couch just when the doorbell rings, making her jump a little. Taking a deep breath she rushes over and swings it open, revealing Harry standing on the doormat, wearing black and white checkered pants with a black button down shirt, the first few buttons left undone to give her a teasing look of his tattooed chest. He is holding two bottles of champagnes in his left hand as he smirks down at her.

“Hey, come in!” she breathes out in excitement.

“Hi,” he smiles and as he steps inside, he leans down, kissing her lips softly. “You look beautiful,” he compliments her, making her blush in a heartbeat.

“Thank you. You look nice too.” He nods smiling as she locks the door and turns to her holding the bottles up.

“Couldn’t really decide, so I brought a white and a red one.”

Her eyes fall on the bottles and though she is not an expert, she can tell those wines cannot be bought in a Tesco, they must cost a fortune.

“Harry you shouldn’t have—“ “None of that,” he cuts her off. “Just want you to have a nice evening, okay?”

Breathing out, her features softens as she steps closer and places a soft peck to his lips.

“Food is almost done. Would you mind helping me set the table?”

“Sure, lead the way.”

While Annalise takes the chicken out and finishes up the last touches, Harry sets the table carefully and opens one of the wines, filling two glasses. He helps her carry the food to the dining table and can’t help but notice how nervous she seems.

“Hey,” he softly says putting a hand to her knee gently as they sit at the table. “Stop worrying, okay? No pressure.” “I’m sorry, it’s just… been so long that I’ve been in this position,” she breathes out nervously.

“I just want you to have a good time, alright? I’m happy with just being around you, honestly.” “I hate how understanding you always are,” she chuckles and he raises his eyebrows at him.

“What do you mean?” he asks in amusement.

“It’s just… this voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me to keep my guards up, but you literally give me no reason to do that, being such a gentleman and all. So I’m having this… nonsense conflict with myself,” she admits chuckling. “Sorry, it doesn’t make sense.”

“No, I get it. Totally. I’m sorry that you feel that way and… I just want you to know that we have time. Whenever you finally let go of your doubts, I’ll be happy about it, but I’ll stay here in the meanwhile as well.”

For a moment, she feels like she is about to start crying. No one has ever made her feel this safe, especially not a man she was dating, but Harry managed to bring her this sense of comfort from the very first moment. Even when she was planning to never see him again, her heart was aching to leave such a wonderful man.

“Thank you,” she breathes out and leaning closer, she kisses him. It’s a longer one, but not too hard, more of a lingering touch of their lips. Harry’s hand reaches up to cup her face and as his thumb runs along her cheekbone a shiver runs down her spine.

Pulling back she takes a deep breath to settle herself in reality.

“Alright. Um… let’s eat, I’m starving.”

As the wine diminishes gradually, the more loose they both become, keeping up the conversation without any breaks. Nothing is off-topic, they can talk about anything and everything. Harry insists taking up on the washing duty, so while he is elbows deep in the sink, Lis stands next to her with a kitchen towel to dry the dishes. They both feel a little giddy, but thanks to the food, neither of them drunk just yet. It’s the perfect amount of tipsy, her cheeks are flushed and his fingertips are buzzing. The fear she felt earlier about where the night would head has slowly turned into pure desire. She wants this, she wants him, more than she has wanted anyone in her life.

“Thank you for the amazing food,” he murmurs once everything is spotless and clean. His hands find her waist, pulling her against his chest, her fingertips dance across his chest until they find the soft curls at the back of his neck.

“Mm, thanks for the amazing wine,” she comments cheekily, making him chuckle before he dips his head down and captures her lips in a sweet kiss.

It starts innocently, so light and delicate, but soon enough they both grow hungrier, needing more and more. His fingers dig into the small of her back, wrinkling the soft fabric of her dress as he turns them until she is trapped between him and the counter behind her. She buries her fingers into his hair, grabbing a handful in each hand, making him moan from the gentle tugging. He is quick to hoist her up, making her sit on the countertop and her knees part on their own, letting him stand close to her.

His lips travel down to her jawline, down her neck and delicate collarbone, leaving lustful kisses everywhere he can, making her get wetter with each touch he leaves on her soft skin.

“Harry,” she breathes out when his ring clad fingers dig into her thighs, pulling her forward so her center meets his hips and it’s clear just how excited he is about the situation.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he breathes out against her neck before his lips return to hers, kissing her harder than ever.

“Don’t fucking stop. Just… take this to the bedroom, yea?” she pants and he nods, pushing himself away a little so she can hop off the counter.

She leads the way up to the bedroom and though Harry would love to look around in this very intimate space of hers, he is a little too occupied at the moment. Before she could reach the bed he grabs the end of her dress and pulls it off swiftly, leaving her in her matching bra and thong, something she bought especially for this occasion.

“Lis, fuck,” he whines, so whipped by how amazing she looks.

“Let’s get rid of this as well,” she whispers, biting into her bottom lip as her fingers work fast on his buttons, the shirt soon joining her dress somewhere on the floor. She can’t stop herself from running her palms up and down his chest, feeling the heat of his body under her skin, making her lose her breath.

He grabs a hold of her thighs easily, earning a small squeak from her as he walks the rest of the way to the bed and throws her to it, getting on top of her without hesitation. His lips are quick to meet the soft skin on her neck once again, nipping it gently, making her back arch from sensation. The kisses wander down her collarbone, the swell of her breasts and he just can’t get enough of her. He is taking his time with the exposed skin, a hand sliding between her back and the mattress, working on the clasp.

“Is this okay?” he pants the question and she nods immediately. The clasp comes undone and she wiggles her shoulders until the straps slide down her arms. He is the one to grab the bra and throw it away. “Fuck, you are so beautiful,” he breathes out at the sight of her exposed chest, making her tremble from his words. She has never been so praised and appreciated before, Harry makes her feel like she really is the only woman to exist.

A hand comes up to cup her left breast while kissing her right one until his lips wrap around her pebbled nipple, sucking on it gently.

“Fuck! Yes!” she moans, her fingers lacing through his hair. She is completely lost in him, all she sees, hears and feels is Harry and at that moment she is convinced that it’s what has to happen. She wouldn’t be anywhere else with anyone else than him right now.

Grabbing onto his shoulders, she pulls him up so their lips meet again in a hungry, demanding kiss as her hands slide down to his pants, eager to get it undone as fast as possible. Once it’s done, he is quick to push them down his long legs, leaving him in only his boxer briefs, a moan escaping his pink, swollen lips when his erection meets her heated core once he is right above her.

That’s it. That’s the moment from where there’s no turning back, not that any of them want to, they are both so desperate to get closer, they wouldn’t want it to end for anything.

Her hands move down his chest until her fingers reach the elastic band of his underwear. She hooks her pointing fingers into it on both sides and just as she is about to pull them down, her phone starts ringing.

“Fuck,” she pulls away, her chest heaving wildly and he is just as big of a mess as she is. Reaching for the device on the nightstand, her eyes go wide seeing the caller. “Fuck, oh my God, I need to take this. It’s Sylvia, she is the mom where Benji is sleeping over,” she jabbers, grabbing the covers to pull over her chest out of instinct.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Harry nods, trying his best to catch his breath.

“Sylvia! Hi! Everything alright?” she starts answering the call.

“Hey, sorry to call you so late, but Benji is not feeling too good.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He says his tummy hurts, tried to give him some tea, but I didn’t know what kind of medicine you use, so I didn’t give him anything. He says he wants to go home.”

“Oh, shit. Okay, uh, I can’t drive, I’ve had some wine already,” she breathes out in frustration, feeling her panic taking over.

“Oh, it’s alright, Pete can take him home if it’s alright by you.”

“Yes, thank you so much! Thank you for calling!”

“It’s alright. I’ll get him ready and I think they’ll be home in about fifteen.”

“Thank you and sorry for the inconvenience,” she apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it. I hope he’ll feel better!”

The call ends, leaving Lis in a frantic state and Harry knows something is wrong.

“What happened?” he asks sitting up on the bed.

“I, uhh—Benji, he is not feeling well so the birthday kid’s dad is bringing him home,” she answers, already getting out of the bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and shorts from a pile of clothes near her wardrobe. “Shit,” she curses when she struggles to put on the sweatshirt, her arm getting stuck in it.

“Hey, slow down, it’s all fine. Go get whatever medicine he needs, can I help with anything?” Harry stands up, grabbing his clothes from the floor and he gets dressed as well.

“Um, there is a blue blanket he likes to sleep with when he is sick. Can you find that for me? It’s in there somewhere,” she gestures towards her wardrobe and Harry nods, starting his search right away. “Harry I’m so sorry, this—“

“Don’t worry about it. Just do what you need to do,” he shushes her and she sends him a thankful look before running out to get everything ready by the time Benji arrives.

Annalise is already outside when the car arrives, greeting Pete with soft thank you’s as she helps Benji out of the car. He looks tired and a frown tugs on his sweet features now, he clearly doesn’t feel well.

“Oh baby, come on,” she coos at him softly. “Thank you Pete!”

“No problem. Get well, Champ!” the man waves before them off before getting in the car and driving away.

“What hurts, Sweety?” she asks Benji as they walk inside.

“My tummy!” he whispers frowning.

“Alright, I’ll get you some medicine and then you can sleep, alright?”

“Harry?” he asks, looking a little surprised, finding the man standing in the kitchen, the blue blanket in his hands.

“Hi Benji. Not feeling good?” he asks softly, looking down at the little boy with nothing but patience and sympathy. Benji shakes his head pouting.

“Here,” Harry softly says and hands the boy the blanket, who mumbles a soft thank you.

“Mummy, can I sleep with you?” he pleads looking up at Lis.

“Yeah, of course, come on. Let’s get you settled.” She gives him his medication, gets him changed and makes him comfortable in her bed, tucked in his blue blanket.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” she whispers softly, kissing his forehead. He nods into the pillow, already drifting off to sleep. Walking out she closes the door quietly, heading back down where Harry is sitting at the kitchen island. He hears her footsteps and he stands up from the stool, feeling a little lost after everything that just happened.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting it,” she apologizes right away, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry. How is he?”

“We’ll see in the morning. Maybe he just ate something that upset his stomach.”

“That’s good,” he nods, brushing his palms down his thighs. “I’ll, um, call a taxi and leave—“

“Don’t!” she finds herself replying right away, surprising the both of them. “I-I… I don’t want you to leave, I just…”

“I could… stay on the couch,” he offers, eyes softening on her. “If it’s alright for me to still spend the night.”

“Of course. I want you here. I’m sorry our night got ruined.”

“Don’t even say that.” He takes her hands and pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her hunched frame.

“I just… I’m sorry, this is… This is my life, and—“

“I know,” he cuts her off. “And honestly, I’m fine with it, okay? Don’t worry about me. Benji needed you, we’ll have another time to ourselves, alright? I loved tonight nevertheless, don’t try to convince yourself otherwise.”

She nods quietly, his lips meet her forehead before she tilts her head back and kisses him.

“It’s a pullout. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” she tells him. While she gathers the necessities, he moves the small coffee table aside and pulls the couch out. Annalise brings him everything he needs and makes sure he is at least comfortable now that he was forced to spend the night in the living room.

“Thank you for being so understanding,” she whispers, kissing him one last time.

“Always,” he murmurs, his nose nudging against hers playfully. “Good night.”

“Good night, Harry.”

With one last peck she leaves. Benji is all curled up in her bed and as she lies beside him, her thoughts relentlessly go out to the man sleeping on the couch right now. Even with the unpleasant turn of events, tonight has been everything she could dream of. If only they had more time alone…

Benji is still asleep, spread out on the bed when Annalise wakes up. Rubbing her eyes she sees that it’s only barely past eight, so Benji will be asleep a little longer for sure. She carefully gets out of the bed and ties her hair up, trying her best to tame her messy locks. When she walks out of the room she hears glasses clinking downstairs and arriving to the kitchen she is surprised to see Harry there, deep in focus as he is trying to figure out how to make the coffee machine work.

“Morning!” she smiles walking inside. He turns in the direction of her voice, a smile playing on his pink lips. He is wearing the same clothes as last night, but his hair is now messy, eyes a little puffy from his sleep.

“Hey! Sorry for barging into the kitchen alone, just wanted to make some coffee.”

“It’s alright,” she smiles back and stepping closer she steals a quick kiss. “Let me help.”

The two of them move around each other, Harry finishes up the coffees after Lis has showed him how to make the machine work, and in the meanwhile she makes some toasties quickly. Then they sit at the kitchen island, eating silently and appreciating this moment they have to themselves in the morning.

“Lis, I wanted to talk about something.”

“Yeah?” she turns to him, sipping on her coffee.

“I’m… flying to LA in two days.”

She stops chewing as his words sink in. All this time she almost completely forgot that Harry’s life is not always based in London. They were just lucky enough to have some time to themselves with him staying in the same place for a longer time.

“Oh. Okay.”

“It’s gonna be two weeks. I have some important meetings and stuff to take care of.”

“Sure, understandable.”

He puts his mug down and turns to her fully. She does the same, their eyes meeting and they both seem anxious and fragile in the moment. Reaching out he takes her hands between his warm palms, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“I want you to know that while I’ll be away, I will… I won’t be…” He doesn’t seem to find the right words and she finds it cute, a smile tugging on her lips. “Fuck, what I’m trying to say is that I think of us as… that we are exclusive. This is what I’m trying to say, that I won’t be… looking for someone else?”

“You are so cute when you are nervous,” she chuckles.

“Sorry, it always feels so weird to talk about this kind of stuff,” he admits breathing out shakily. “But anyway, this was my way of saying that I see us as a… couple.”

“That’s cool, because I see us the same way,” she smiles. “And I’m glad you won’t be looking for someone else in LA,” she adds chuckling, making him laugh as well.

“I’m sorry I need to leave though,” he breathes out, his hands finding her knees. His fingers start drawing little circles to her exposed skin.

“It’s fine, I understand,” she smiles gently. It’s not that she likes the idea of him being so far away, but just like she has her own baggage, he comes with his own as well and she is more than ready to accept him just as he is.

Leaning in he kisses her lips softly and just as he is about to drag it out a little, footsteps are heard from the stairs and he leans back just in time before Benji appears.

“Hey baby. Feeling better?”

“Yes. I’m hungry!” he states, climbing to the third stool at the kitchen island. “Hi Harry,” he nods in his way, not even caring about why he is here in the morning.

“Mornin’ Benji,” he smirks at the boy as Lis goes to make some more toasties for him.

Following breakfast Benji is off to clean up his room a little, so Harry and Lis have some alone time. Annalise walks Harry out to his car and they stop before he would get inside, turning to Lis for a kiss.

“Stay safe, okay? Need you back in one piece,” she tells him, feeling shy, but warm at the same time from being able to say that to him.

“Oh you do?” he smirks down at her teasingly, kissing her softly as his hands find her waist, pulling her close to him.

“I do,” she smiles. “So, see you in two weeks?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you though. Thanks for the breakfast.”

He presses one last kiss to her lips, forcing himself not to drag it any longer because if he did, he knows he won’t be able to leave anytime soon. She steps away from the car as he gets in, smiling at each other through the window before he starts the car. She watches him drive away with a heavy heart, thinking about how hard it will be to not see him for two weeks. But there’s nothing she can do about it.

Harry has always felt like he had different lives in different cities. He is like another man in London, in New York and in LA, the three cities where he mostly spends his time. It’s not exactly a change in him whenever he is in another place, more like the people that surround him and he hasn’t had any hustle switching whenever he was traveling.

However, for the first time in years, he finds himself being an outsider in LA, his heart lusting to go back to London, to Annalise.

One meeting follows the other, he has a few fittings and an interview as well, joined with a photoshoot. He finds himself rather lucky to be so busy, otherwise he would surely feel the homesick kicking in harder than ever. He hasn’t had any problem with it since he was nineteen, he has gotten used to living all over the place. It took him quite some time to accept that he has to be away with his mum and sister, but now he has to go over the same thing with Annalise, knowing that she won’t be able to travel with him, but still, he is planning on the long run with her, so he has no other choice than get used to it.

The bar is packed, after all it’s a Friday night. That’s exactly why Harry didn’t want to come out, but he was kind of forced. Sitting in the corner of the booth he is trying to let loose and enjoy his time with his friends, nursing a beer that’s been sitting on the table in front of him for a while now.

When Jeff returns from the call he had to make quickly outside, he eyes Harry suspiciously. It’s not like him to be so closed off and distant, he is usually the first one to ask for a round of shots, but not tonight.

“Everything alright, mate?” he asks grabbing Harry’s attention.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” “So why the long face then?”

“Just… not in the mood, I guess,” he shrugs it off, but he can’t fool someone who has known him as long as Jeff.

“Okay, does this have anything to do with the songs you’ve been writing?”

“Who told you?” he smirks in disbelief as Jeff takes a sip from his beer.

“Mitch might be quiet, but he surely likes to gossip,” he chuckles lightly. “So, who is the girl?”

“Met her on New Year’s Eve. Thought I would never see her again, but then we ran into each other and… I haven’t stopped thinking about her since then,” he truthfully admits. “She is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, Jeff. So not like anyone else I’ve ever known.”

“Woah, she really got you.”

“Yeah,” he nods chuckling. “I’m just so afraid of messing it up.”

“Why would you? It sounds like it’s heading in the right direction.”

“She… She has a kid so it’s a little complicated. I just really don’t want to mess anything up, because it would be twice as bad. I would hate to know I disappointed Benji.”

“Wait, so you met the kid too?”

“I did, he is a fun little guy,” he chuckles thinking back at the time he has spent with Benji. From the time they played UNO at his house, through the football game Harry went to just as he promised, all the way to when he took Benji and Lis to their favorite pizza place one afternoon when Lis told Harry through the phone that he’s had a shitty day. Harry didn’t hesitate to end his meeting a little early just so he could pick them up and take them to their favorite place for a slice. He will never forget the shine in both Benji’s and Annalise’s eyes that day. Right then he knew he would do anything for the both of them without a second thought. The fact that he was falling for Lis faster and deeper than ever kind of scares him, but he is ready to give the feeling everything he has.

“Man, you are whipped!” Jeff chuckles leaning back in his seat. “Should I be planning your hiatus?” he asks half-jokingly, though they both know if Harry were to decide to take some time off, Jeff would support him no matter what’s the reason behind it.

“No, not yet. We are still just trying to make it work,” Harry smiles at him, just the thought of being an official couple with Lis makes his heart beat ten times faster.

“Look, just make sure you communicate. You know you sometimes suck in that, but I think that’s what she needs the most.” “Yeah, I know.”

“She is responsible for a kid too, she needs to know exactly what you think, she probably doesn’t have any time or energy to play games.”

“I don’t want to play games with her.”

“Great. Then use your head, think and then talk. It can’t turn out too bad if you follow these easy steps.”

Harry nods, taking a mental note, hoping he won’t forget about the advice when he needs it the most.

The conversation around them carries on and Jeff soon abandons their discussion, leaving Harry with his own thoughts. He has been thinking about Annalise continuously ever since he left her house that morning and his time apart from her just made him realize how deeply he feels for her truly. Every second, every minute, he just wants to know what she’s doing and if she’s alright. Their little FaceTime calls have been his favorite parts of his days and in all honesty, he can’t wait to get back to London and hold her in his arms.

Excusing himself from his group of friends, he walks out of the bar to the street, finding himself a secluded spot on the corner. He does some quick math in his head coming to the conclusion that she is probably already up, getting ready for work, so he decides to just call her without texting first. Luckily, Annalise has been up for a while when the call arrives, a wide smile tugging on her lips as she answers it right away.

“Hey!” she greets him, her voice alone warms his chest.

“Hi, I didn’t wake you, right?”

“No, I just finished my morning coffee. Where are you?”

“Just out with a few friends.”

“So then why are you calling me?” she chuckles softly.

“Because… I missed your voice, so I called you,” he admits a little shyly, a blush warming his cheeks that she can’t see now, unfortunately. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too, Harry. But you’ll be back soon, right?”

“Yes. I can’t wait to see you again and kiss you again.”

“Why are you being so cheesy all of a sudden?” she laughs, but secretly, she loves knowing he feels the same way as she does.

“Sometimes I’m cheesy. You don’t like it?” he smirks, hearing her laugh through the line.

“I like it, don’t worry.”

“How was your day yesterday?” he asks and then he just listens to her talking.

With a crowded bar behind him, a group of people waiting for his return, he still stays outside listening to Annalise tell him about the smallest things that happened to her lately. And he loves every second of it. If only she didn’t have to leave to work, he would willingly and happily stay there and talk to her for hours.

“Alright, I need to help Benji get ready. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, tell Benji I said hi.”

“Will do. Take care!”

“You too. Bye.”

As the call ends, he stays put for a little longer, opening up his camera roll, scrolling down a little until he finds the photo he took of Lis at one of their lunch dates. She is laughing wholeheartedly, wearing her scrubs and an oversized zip-up hoodie, cheeks slightly blushed from something he said. He hasn’t been the kind to set up personal photos as his lockscreen, but looking at this picture the urge is stronger than ever, though he knows he can’t. Fans are always so eagle-eyed when it comes to paparazzi photos, he doesn’t want them to start speculating if they accidentally get a glimpse of his screen. Instead, he opens up his text thread with Lis and types her a quick message.

Harry: Miss you. Have a great day Xx.

Just a few moments later comes her reply.

Lis: Miss you too, can’t wait to see you again :)

Lis: Harry, forgot I had a parents’ meeting in Benji’s school tomorrow. Can’t make it to the airport :(

Harry: Don’t worry about it. When will you be off?

Lis: God knows… these stuff last forever ugh

Harry: Just text me whenever it ended and I can come over or something

Lis: Will do and I’m so sorry!

Harry: It’s all good :)

 Harry can’t help but sigh as he rereads the texts he exchanged just before his plane took off. He was really looking forward to meet Lis as soon as she got off work, but her parental duties come first as always and though he knows she can’t do anything about it, the situation still upsets him. He had a dinner reservation for the two of them since she said Benji would stay over at Chloé’s for the night, giving the whole evening and night to them, but it all just went down the drain when her text found him while he was packing to leave.

When the plane touches down and Harry makes his way through the terminal, he still finds himself looking around, hoping to see Annalise’s bright eyes, though he sees nothing but strangers around him.

Arriving home he breezes through the packing quite fast since he has been doing it a lot in the past decade. He makes a quick trip to the nearby Tesco to fill up his fridge and he buys some snacks in hopes Lis will call soon and he can be over so they can watch a movie and hopefully stay unbothered for the rest of the night.

Around seven, he shoots her a quick what’s up? text that stays unanswered, but also unread. He figures she is still stuck at the meeting so he tries to make himself busy with sorting out some emails he has been delaying to answer to in the past two days. Hour passes after hour and Harry’s hope to see Lis slowly starts to vanish. When the clock strikes nine he figures she won’t be calling anytime soon since it’s a weekday and he knows she doesn’t like staying up late when she has work the next day.

He is just about to give up on the waiting and take a shower, get ready to bed when his phone finally chimes. He basically throws himself at it, opening it faster than light.

Lis: let me in? :)

He stares down at the screen a tad bit longer, his breath caught in his throat as he realizes that he should do something. Dropping the phone to the couch he rushes to the front door, seeing her standing at the gate through the security cameras, so he quickly opens it for her, throwing the door open.

Lis walks up to the house with rushed steps, both of them smiling widely and Harry still can’t believe she just showed up.

“What happened to texting me when you’re done?” he asks in disbelief.

“Thought I would surprise you,” she giggles just as they meet halfway and Harry doesn’t hesitate to envelope her in his arms, lips pressing to hers so hard she bends backwards, right into his hands that press into her waist.

“I’m proper surprised, baby,” he smirks against her lips, making her chuckle.

“Yeah? Do you want to be even more surprised?” Harry’s eyebrows rise.

“Always.”

“I’m wearing a corset and tights under this,” she whispers in excitement and his eyes light up like it’s Christmas day.

Without a word he picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder to bring her inside, she laughs loudly, feeling like a rag doll, but she doesn’t mind it a bit. Not tonight.

When the front door closes behind them and her feet meet the floor again, he stares down at her with pure lust and hunger in his eyes. She is wearing a little black dress with a thin trench coat on top, paired with nude heels, her hair is pinned up with a hairclip and she is wearing only a thin layer of makeup, barely anything. Harry looks down at her and thinks to himself: he will never find another woman like her. Not that he wants to.

“Before we do anything, let me set an alarm, because I won’t be thinking about it once I get started with you. When do you need to leave in the morning to pick Benji up before work?” he asks, quickly shuffling into the living room to grab his phone from the coffee table.

“We don’t need an alarm,” she softly says, making him arch his eyebrows. “Benji is staying at Chloé’s and she is taking him to school as well and I have the day off tomorrow.”

“Really?” he asks, stunned that they have a whole day to themselves.

“Yeah. I just need to pick Benji up from school in the afternoon.”

“What months is this?” he then suddenly asks, earning a puzzled look from Annalise.

“Um, what?”

“Just asking because I’m pretty sure it must be the 1st of February and my fucking birthday to have you all to myself for this long,” he states and she can’t help but laugh at him. Walking over to him, she grabs the phone from his hands and tosses it to the couch beside them before curling her arms around his neck, pressing her body up against his hard chest.

“Consider this a late birthday gift, if you’d like. We weren’t too close back then, so I wasn’t able to give you anything.”

“You mean you were trying to keep yourself away from me back then, right?” he teases her, but she just rolls her eyes at his comment.

“You want me to keep myself away from you now, Styles?” she cheekily challenges and he shakes his head immediately, hands latching onto her waist to keep her close in case she wants to move away.

“Not at all. In fact, let’s just get rid of this quickly,” he mumbles, hands working fast to slip the coat off her shoulders and then he simply grabs the hem of her dress and pulls it up with a swift movement, leaving her in said corset with a matching set of lingerie. His lips part and he almost gasp at how amazing she looks, even though she feels a little shy in this revealing outfit.

“Thank God for whoever invented corsets,” he mumbles under his breath, eyes glued to her body as she chuckles lightly.

“You gotta help me get out of it though, it needs more than two hands,” she admits stepping closer to kiss his lips shortly.

“Wait, then who helped you put it on?” he asks, feeling his possessive side kick in immediately.

“It was just Chloé. She also didn’t hold back the teasing about me finally getting railed tonight,” she adds with an awkward chuckle. She is not used to talking about sex this openly, especially since she hasn’t done it in ages. Following their failed attempt last time, she’s been stressing even more about her first time with Harry. He has been nothing but the best to her in every sense, she just wants to show him how much it means to her, make him feel good and treat him like he deserves to be treated.  

The way she just openly said that she is about to get railed by him does some unholy things to him, though he can’t not notice the hint of anxiousness in her eyes. Cupping her cheeks in his hands he lifts her head up so she is forced to look into his eyes.

“You alright? Are you sure about this?” he asks softly, wanting nothing else than to make her feel safe around him.

“I am. It’s just been a while since I was with someone. I don’t want to… disappoint you.” Her voice dies into a whisper and she licks her dry lips, her nerves taking over her. Harry smiles down at her softly.

“You can never disappoint. Just be honest and open with me, yeah? I want you to enjoy it as much as I will. Tell me what you like and want and I’ll do all that. I’ll do the same, deal?”

A sense of relief washes over her, knowing that she has found the man she’s been looking for so long and he is right there in front of her, ready to please her. Nodding her head shortly she takes a deep breath.

“Harry?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I want… you to take me up to your bedroom,” she tells him and he doesn’t need more. His hands move down to the back of her thigh as he urges her to jump. Her legs wrap around his waist as her lips crash down against his in a passionate, meaningful kiss while he walks up to his bedroom, shutting the world out and giving all of him to the woman he is falling hard for.

NEXT PART (coming on 6th of february)

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***

The Catalyst

December 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?” He echoes.

“Why The Call of the Wild?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course! Count me in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does just that.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?” Nora asks cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, Harry—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s quite sad,” Nora says softly.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, curious.

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

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

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

“What feeling?” Nora asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze is focused solely on Nora—on the messy fringe falling against her forehead, the gentle slope of her nose, the plushness of her pink lips, the angular curve of her jawline. The way she looks buried in his sweatshirt with the sleeves falling past her fingertips causes his heart to beat loudly inside his chest, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her has never been more prominent before in his life.

“I think I’ve always thought about it,” Harry admits quietly, his eyes never falling from her own. Because if they did move, he would have missed the way her mouth parted slightly, a small inhale slipping down her throat. He would have missed the way her eyes widened almost comically, the blueness reminding him of the sky on a pleasing, clear day. And when he takes all of that into consideration, he comes to the conclusion that Nora Priestley is undoubtedly beautiful, and probably always has been. He’s always just been too stupid to realize it.

“You never said anything,” Nora whispers back, staring at Harry with the same ferocity. “You never say anything.”

Harry nods, “I know.” And when he inches his body closer to hers and notices that she doesn’t back away from him, he adds, “I’m saying it now. Am I too late?”

Nora watches the way Harry leans towards her, his body being held up by his hands that are anchored to the mattress in front of her knees. Even though the movie is still playing from the television behind her, she can’t hear anything except for the accelerated beating of her heart racking against her ribs and pounding against her chest.

He’s so close to her now, the tip of his nose brushing against her own so tactfully that Nora’s not even sure if it’s actually happening. At this proximity, Nora can see inside his eyes and she finds that they’re not as green as she once thought. Instead, they’re almost a turquoise color, with golden hues circling his pupil and when she looks closely, she can see her own face in the reflection. And suddenly, that’s the only answer she needs before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and crashing her lips against his own.

Even though Harry Styles is Nora’s third first kiss, it’s the best one she’s had yet. It’s slow at first, just the gentle pressure of two sets of lips pressing against the other’s. It’s hesitant, timid, nervous, until Harry wraps his arm around Nora’s back, pulling her closer towards him so that their fronts are completely flushed. After that, it’s intense, passionate, frenzied.

His teeth nip at her lower lip until she opens her mouth ever so slightly, allowing his tongue to slip through. Once Nora gets the message, she opens her mouth wider, angling her head to the side so that she can slip her own inside of his mouth, the two fleshy organs tangling together causing a reverberating hum to break from the back of Harry’s throat.

The sounds cause Nora to still, and when she breaks away and notices the dark hue in Harry’s eyes, the exasperated breaths causing his chest to rise and fall sporadically, the bright pinkness of his lips—it’s all Nora needs to push Harry back into his seated position against her headboard, crawling over on her knees until her legs are straddling his hips. She slinks both hands through his wild hair until they connect at the back of his head, and their lips connect for a second time.

This time, Nora’s not shy to let her teeth clink against Harry’s in a mad rush to gain dominance over their kiss. This time, Harry’s not reticent to let his hands roam the expanse of her back, slipping them underneath the bottom of his baggy sweatshirt so that his fingers can dance against her flushed skin without a barrier in between.

Nora’s hands fall from Harry’s hair to his neck, to the chain that rests against the middle of his chest that’s exposed through the unbuttoned part of his henley, all the way down his stomach until her fingers play with the hem of his shirt. When her nails lightly scratch against Harry’s lower stomach where Nora knows the tips of two tattooed ferns lie, he gets the hint and unlocks their lips, reaching his hands over her own and pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Nora sits back on Harry’s thighs, watching how Harry throws his crumpled shirt somewhere on the floor of her dorm room without care. His hair is mussed from a combination of Nora’s fingers and the quick way he removed his henley, and when Nora’s eyes ogle at the two identical swallows underneath his collarbones, the small definition of his chest, the butterfly permanently drawn in the middle of his stomach, to the small trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his track pants—she’s hot all over.

Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and find that he’s suddenly nervous. He’s blinking up at her with an indecipherable expression on his face, and when the hands that rest against her hips start to fall ever so softly, Nora grips the bottom of Harry’s sweatshirt and lifts it over her head, throwing it against the floor.

She’s sitting there, against his hips wearing a simple nude bra, and Harry feels his breath constricting in his throat at the sight of her. Her lips are swollen and her fringe is frizzy and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her cheeks begin to flush, Harry’s hands reach behind her neck to bring her down to his face. And just before their lips meet for the third time, he whispers, “You’re beautiful,” against her mouth, sealing it with his own so that she never forgets it.

Nora’s never done this before, but when Harry’s mouth falls to her neck and she accidentally grinds her hips into his own below in surprise, the groan that emits from his throat is practically feral. So, she does it again, her throat hitching when his teeth sink into the fleshy juncture of her shoulder and neck. One of his hands is tangled in her hair, and the other is resting on her hip. But when she grinds into him for the third time, he brings that hand up to the clasp of her bra, removing his lips from her neck and breathing against her mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice sounding more strained than ever before. Nora finds that it’s unquestionably the hottest thing she’s ever heard, and when she brings her hands to rest on his searing chest, her nails scraping against his skin, the whine that falls from his lips might just be hotter.

“Yes,” Nora whispers back, holding her breath when his fingers easily undo the clasp, the straps sliding down her shoulders as the cups covering her breasts begin to fall. When she lowers her arms so that her elbows are no longer bent, the garment falls easily from her body and onto the mattress below.

Cautiously, she looks at Harry and finds that he’s looking into her eyes to make sure that she feels safe with him. The thought alone makes her nerves completely subside, and when she nods ever so slightly, Harry finally lets his eyes fall towards her chest. She watches him as he sits up, bringing his lips to the base of her throat as he places gentle kisses along the expanse of her neck, down to her sternum, until his lips are centimeters away from her breasts. When her fingers tangle into his curly hair, Harry peeks up at her briefly before placing his mouth around her right nipple, his hand softly massaging her left.

Nora’s head falls back and a moan tears through her throat, and it’s the first time that’s ever happened in her life. Harry stills, his lips moving slightly so that he can watch her, and it’s enough to make the bulge in his pants grow until it’s practically unbearable. His tongue continues to move down her body, kissing along the lines on her stomach until his hand moves to rub the fleshy part of Nora’s hips, hesitantly moving towards the front of her body. And when his right hand cups her legging-clad core, Nora’s hands halt in Harry’s hair, and he removes his lips from her body and looks at her.

“I don’t think I’m—” Nora pauses, her confident streak breaking. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you,” Harry says softly, bringing his hand up to take a piece of her blonde hair that’s fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We can do something else if you’d like. But the second you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?” He’s never been this patient with somebody before in his life, and somehow Nora can sense that. She’s incredibly grateful for Harry then, and once her breathing has regulated and she’s no longer anxious, she nods, pecking him softly on the lips.

Harry pecks her back once, twice, thrice until cupping his hand back against her front. He rubs her slowly then, and when Nora feels the stickiness from inside her underwear permeate through the thin material, she shudders against his body. His fingers curl into the waistband of her leggings, and after asking her for permission, she lifts her hips and her knees so that he can pull the black material halfway down her legs, leaving Nora in just her simple baby blue underwear.

Harry resumes his ministrations, causing Nora to wrap her arms around his neck, her elbows resting against his shoulders as her body quivers again. And when his fingertips sneak underneath the material, a long finger gently stroking her slit, Nora’s hands use Harry’s hair as an anchor as her forehead rests against his own as she emits a blissful sigh. Just before his finger slides in, he brings his lips against hers so that he can feel her moans hit the back of his throat.

It’s uncomfortable and awkward at first, and when her breath hitches in her throat and her lips break away from Harry’s, he pauses, looking at her with concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

Nora looks at him, her hand ruffling his hair tenderly as she shakes her head. Grinning, Harry brings his lips back to hers, resuming pumping his finger inside of her.

After a few strokes, Nora starts to feel her rigid body unraveling, and suddenly she’s matching Harry’s rhythm as she grinds down onto his finger. When his wet thumb starts to circle her swollen mound, another moan rips from her throat, causing their kisses to halt.

“I love that,” Harry whispers against her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his own and beginning to move his hand faster.

The stickiness is accruing inside her underwear and Nora can feel sweat brimming at the nape of her neck. She feels hot to the touch, and when Harry changes his thumb strokes from clockwise to counter-clockwise, a fluttering like no other vibrates through her lower stomach as she whines into his mouth.

“I think you’re close,” Harry says, bringing his hand that isn’t inside of her around her lower back to keep her steady. And when his finger curls and presses against a spongy spot inside of her, Nora feels the fluttering turn into a full-blown explosion, and suddenly her eyes close shut at the ferocity of it all.

Nora stills on top of him, feeling the stickiness begin to coat her inner thighs as a loud moan rips from her throat. Her hands move from Harry’s hair to his shoulder blades, and when she opens her eyes and realizes that her fingernails have carved crescent moons into the flesh, she immediately removes them.

The warmth has gone, and in its place, a numbing sort of calmness. Harry removes his hand from inside her underwear and when he looks up at her and sees her irises blown out and her cheeks pinkened and her lower lip indented by her front teeth, he grins smugly and kisses her softly.

“Alright?” he asks once her eyes have opened fully and she no longer is panting against his cheek.

Nora nods, a bit shy considering she just had her first orgasm and she’s not quite sure what to do next. She looks down and notices the bulge in Harry’s pants, and smiles at him unsurely. “If you tell me what to do, I can, er, help you out?”

Harry smirks, running a gentle hand through her hair and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Just, uh, give me a mo’. I’ll be right back,” he says softly, placing two hands on her hips and lifting her slowly so that she’s no longer straddling his waist.

When she pulls her leggings back on, the stickiness is far too uncomfortable between her thighs. Harry notices her wiggle on the mattress and chuckles to himself, finding it all too adorable. When he gets up from her bed, shifting his pants so that his erection is less painful, he turns towards Nora before crossing the hall into the communal bathrooms.

“Where do you keep your linens?” Harry asks from his position by her door. Confusedly, Nora points towards the wardrobe near her desk and he opens it slowly, grabbing a folded hand towel and passing it to her. She smiles softly, thanking him before watching him retreat into the hallway.

After Nora’s changed her underwear and put on a pair of sleep shorts, sliding Harry’s sweatshirt back over her body once her skin has cooled down, she gets back under the covers and turns her attention towards Notting Hill. Harry comes in a few minutes later, the front of his pants lacking a distinct bulge. He looks over and notices her lying comfortably in her bed, and when she moves her eyes from the screen to his figure standing in the doorway, a cute grin covers the lower half of her face.

“You coming to bed?” Nora asks, patting the spot on the mattress beside her. With a quick smile, Harry walks towards her, lifting his body over her own so that he can resume his position by the wall. And just as his arms are on either side of her body, his shirt still somewhere on her floor and his pants low on his hips, he sneaks a kiss from her lips before plopping down next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders tightly.

“Think we can start this movie over?” Harry asks, playing with the ends of Nora’s hair that falls inside the hood of his sweatshirt.

Nora hits rewind, wondering if it’ll hurt falling asleep with a grin permanently stuck on her face.

The next morning, Nora wakes up feeling far too warm. Her backside is flushed completely with Harry’s front, and he’s spooning her tightly. His arms are wrapped securely around Nora’s stomach and she can feel his breath against the side of her neck in hot spurts, his nose brushing the spot underneath her ear. His curly hair is tickling the sides of her face and his legs are slotted between her own and Nora’s never been so tangled up with somebody else before.

And while it’s comforting, there’s no denying that Harry’s body heat is pervading through her skin, and when she wiggles to try and figure out a way to lower the duvet from underneath her chin, it causes Harry to wake up.

As his eyes flutter open, he subconsciously brings Nora’s body closer to his own, and when he finally does open his eyes fully, he notices how close they’ve gotten in the middle of the night. Harry’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow being wrapped up with Nora Priestley has caused him to have the best night’s sleep of his entire life.

“Morning,” she whispers, her chin resting on her left shoulder as she peeks at him behind her. Her blue eyes are foggy in the morning and her lips are beautifully swollen, and even though her hair is knotted and her cheeks have red jagged lines from her pillowcase all over them, he can’t help but grin back at her, finding her perfect.

“Hi,” he says back, his voice cracking from lack of use. They both roll over so that their backs are flat on the mattress. And just when Harry’s about to swing his arm over Nora’s shoulder to bring her closer to his body so that they can fall back asleep, his Blackberry rings loudly from the nightstand.

Before he can let it go to voicemail, he reaches around Nora’s body to grab it, gulping when he sees Alyssa’s name across the screen. Apprehensively, he brings the phone to his ear, ignoring the heat of Nora’s gaze against his cheek.

“Hello?” he mumbles halfheartedly.

“Baby! Wake up, sleepyhead! We’ll all be back on campus in, like, two hours. Our flight just landed. When will you get in?” Nails scraping down a chalkboard would be a better sound than the one he just heard through the speaker of his mobile. Because suddenly, his Nora Priestley bubble has popped. Their ten-day vacation has come to an abrupt end, and Harry can feel the panic begin to spread throughout his body.

“Harry? You there?” Alyssa asks, and it’s only then when Harry realizes he’s been deadly silent.

He coughs into his fist uncomfortably, before saying, “Hey, sorry. Uh, sounds good. My flight got in a few hours ago. I’m actually, er, pulling into campus now,” Harry lies. The familiar feeling of shame washes over him, and when he feels Nora slide out of bed beside him, a puzzled look falling across her face, he’s never felt worse in his life.

“Perfect! Can’t wait to see you, baby!” Alyssa squeals, and before Harry can respond, he hangs up the phone, tossing it purposelessly against the end of her bed.

It’s silent between the two, and not the sort of comfortable silence that they’ve grown accustomed to with each other. Instead, it’s heavy, weighing them both down until they feel fatigued under the burden of it all.

Nora knows deep down that this is it. The Harry she’s grown to adore the past ten days is no longer there. In its place is the cold, disheartening, lifeless Harry that she’s hated ever since he casted her out during the First Year Mixer almost four years ago. Just like with Connor, her romance with Harry is fleeting. It has an expiration date. And sadly, they’ve reached their end.

He doesn’t say much, and she doesn’t expect him to. He’s clearly tormented by all of this, getting out of her bed ploddingly as he scans the floor for his clothing from the night before. He’s distracted as he puts on his wrinkled Henley, slides on his boots without tying them, slips his arms inside his trench coat, and places everything else he can try to remember inside the pockets. And just before he leaves her room, he stops and turns, looking at her with those dull, green eyes from before.

This is it, Nora thinks, watching the way his eyes fall from her face towards his big sweatshirt on her body to her long legs hidden underneath her tiny sleep shorts. He’s going to apologize. He’s going to come back to bed. He’s going to—

“Can I have my jumper back?” Nora feels as if she’s just been kicked in the chest, air ripping from her lungs and falling into the space between her and Harry. She’s never felt so small in her life. And when his eyes are still dull and his foot begins to tap impatiently and he looks as if he’s about to burst, Nora knows this is truly it. The Harry she knows is officially gone.

Or maybe this is who Harry really is. And the version she got was just a figment of her imagination, an imposter Harry, a Harry that only existed within the ten days of Holiday break inside an empty Townbridge Academy.

With shaking hands, Nora rips the sweatshirt off her body, ignoring the fact that she’s only wearing a sports bra below. She flings the material at Harry’s chest, and she hopes that it diverts his attention from her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes.

He sees everything, though. And without another word, he pivots on his foot, his back towards Nora as he enters the hallway and closes her door tightly, trying his hardest to ignore the sound of her crying through the heavy oak.

Nora should have expected it, in hindsight. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

This time around, it’s not like Carter Donnelly. Instead of spreading rumors to their classmates, Harry says nothing—not even a lie to his friends, not even a subtle brag about how he was the first person to ever see Nora Priestley come undone—nothing. He keeps quiet, barely looks at her, and goes about his life the way he always has—as Townbridge’s Golden Boy, the prodigal son, who always gets whatever he wants.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Harry has enough pressure in his life—pressure from his father, pressure from his friends, pressure from fucking everybody who looks his way. It’s enough to break somebody in half, so succumbing to both is easier than fighting them.

So when his friends come back to campus and resume their lives the way they always have, Harry can’t help but follow suit. Because telling them that he spent the past ten days with Nora Priestley is simply not an option, even if they were the best ten days he’s ever had. And it’s a heartbreaking realization, because even though Harry doesn’t really care for his friends that much, he still doesn’t want to disappoint them.

Whenever he passes by Nora in the hallway, he doesn’t bother looking in her direction. When he can feel her gaze on his back in AP English, he doesn’t turn around. And when he sees her sitting at the table in the dining hall that they deemed their own for ten days, he doesn’t say anything. He just feels his heart freezing over until it’s an icy block inside of his chest.

And when he’s taking pictures with Alyssa at prom and notices Nora’s pretty blue dress that makes her eyes shine, he almost feels the ice crack. But then she looks at him, for only the briefest of moments, and in that minuscule period of time, he can see the disappointment and anger in her eyes, and it’s enough to make the ice harden.

Harry tries to convince himself that when he’s standing on stage with Alyssa with a plastic crown on his head, he doesn’t notice a flurry of blue exit through the front door. Because when he looks out in the crowd and sees an empty spot near Lydia and Margot that Nora once filled, he knows for sure that the flurry of blue was her. And halfway through his dance with Alyssa, when he’s looking at her strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes and makeup-filled face and expensive purple dress, Harry feels empty inside. Because he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want to be around her or his shitty friends anymore.

So he leaves.

But it’s too late—of course it’s too late. Because second chances don’t come to people like Harry, and it’s in Nora’s best interest for him to leave her alone. He’s caused enough hurt in her life, he’s done enough irreparable damage to last a lifetime.

During graduation, Harry tries his best to not look two rows ahead of him and stare at Nora in her red cap and gown. And when her name is called, he tries to ignore the singular cheer from the back of the Great Hall, the cacophonous finger whistle echoing off the walls following shortly after. He wonders if he’s the only person who can see the glimmer of pride in Nora’s eyes when she locates her mother in the back of the room. And when Alyssa scoffs under her breath from the row behind him, muttering a, “How fucking embarrassing,” to her friends, Harry turns around and tells her to fuck off.

As he’s stoically taking pictures with his mother and father in the quad after the ceremony, he sees Nora and her mother in his periphery. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than when she’s smiling with her mom, clinging to her so that they can share this moment together. And when he notices her mother’s matching blue eyes filled with pride, he looks at his own set of parents and wonders if they’ve ever looked at him like that before.

It’s almost enough to make the ice melt. But then his father is taking a business call and his mother is whisked away to talk about society functions with Alyssa’s mom, and Harry’s left standing there completely and utterly alone.

“That boy’s looking at you, Nora,” her mother says, eyes falling on somebody over Nora’s shoulder. “Do you know him?”

When Nora turns around and sees Harry standing there, green eyes full of hope and yearning and wonder, she doesn’t spare him a second look. Her head whips around just as quickly, looking at her mother with a small shake of her head.

“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Nora says, meaning every word.

And when she drives away from Townbridge for the final time, she’s suddenly brimming with happiness at the fact that she’ll never have to see those people again. And more importantly, she’ll never have to see Harry Styles for as long as she lives.

*** A/N: When I started writing Fade, it sort of ended up playing out in three acts. So with that, this is officially the end of Act One (and officially my favorite chapter of the entire high school years.) Let me know your thoughts and predictions, my inbox is always open for those who want to scream at me. It’s probably going to happen a lot with this story. 

To make room for editing and ensuring I have enough written ahead of time for Act Two to keep with the weekly update schedule, (and because I sort of like the idea of separating things into acts because I’m annoying like that) I’ll be taking a week to sort everything out. Therefore, the next chapter and start of Act Two will be posted on Friday, March 12th. Until then, stay safe and be kind! x

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[sokkas-honour]

Let’s say #10 of the Spotify wrapped writing for Korra :)

ANON HOW DID YOU KNOW

girls - korra x reader

pairing: korra x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k with lyrics

warning/notes: i can’t think of anything, but if there is fee free to message me!

taglist (message me/fill out form): @draqondance @biqherosix

i've been hiding for so long, these feelings, they're not gone, can i tell anyone?

you stared at her from across the room, god she was beautiful. the way she laughed and joked around with your brother made you heart soar, the sheer sound of her joy making your day.

you snapped out of your staring when your older brother came by, a stack of empty boxes in his arms as he dropped them on the ground, the thump getting your attention.

“oh thank god you found the boxes mako.” you sighed in relief at the fear of not finding the boxes to put back all the decorations used for varrick and zhu li’s wedding.

“they were in ikki’s room for some reason.” makos discovery caused a laugh to come out, your brother following your lead.

“how in the world did they end up there?” you wondered as you grabbed some of the decorations off the tables and placed them delicately into one of the boxes.

“no idea.” he answered, taking the decorations off of the other tables and copying you.

“you two need some help?” you felt your cheeks heat up and heart pick up as you heard the voice of the woman you loved dearly. you met her eyes and smiled.

“i wouldn’t say no to it.” you joked, smile growing bigger as you watched her laugh.

mako called bolin over for help as korra worked on the same tables as you did. working in unison, your hands accidentally landed on top of each other’s as you grabbed the same center piece, a blush erupting on both of your cheeks.

once you were done and your brothers went to bring the majority of the boxes to where varrick wanted them to, you were left alone with your girlfriend.

“i saw you staring before, you’re not very discreet.” korra teased once the both of you were alone which just made heat rush to your cheeks which just made her laugh at your flustered expression.

“yeah well youre insanely cute when you laugh.” you answered, arms wrapping around her waist and head being placed on her chest as you breathed in her comforting scent.

“i’m always cute.” she joked, earning a small chuckle from you as you looked up to her, loving smile adorning her face.

when you thought you heard someone coming, you quickly unwrapped yourself and jumped back, afraid of them seeing you two hug. you looked around frantically only to find that you were still alone. with a sigh of relief, you returned your attention to the avatar whos expression had changed to one of slight disappointment.

“y/n, we can’t keep sneaking around like this. one day or another, we should tell the others. you especially should come out to your brothers.” she sighed. you two had gotten together right after defeating kuvira but she had come out a while before leaving for the south pole after zaheer.

it hurt korra to see you living some sort of double life, lying to your brothers who tried to get you to bring someone to th wedding about you seeing someone, your brothers still fully thinking that you were only interested in men which would be the opposite of the truth.

“i know, i’ll tell them one day but i just, don’t know when.” you shrugged off your concerns and told a white lie to the girl in front of you.

afraid of what they'll say, so i push them away, i’m acting so strange

“y/n, you’re not telling the truth. i’m your girlfriend, we may have only been together for a little over two weeks but we’ve been friends for years, i can tell when you’re lying.” she informed, placing her hand over yours that was limp next to your hip. you grabbed onto it and sighed, you knew you were going to caught and have to voice your fears eventually but some part of you had hoped that your girlfriend wasn’t as smart as she said she was, she unfortunately wasn’t.

“sometimes i forgot how much of a genius you are.” you smiled half heartedly as she looked at you concerned, wanting to know the reason why you were still in the closet after supposed years of knowing your sexuality.

“babe come on, you can tell me.” she insisted, giving your hand a little squeeze from encouragement.

you took a deep breath in and let it out it, coming yourself in order to tell your girlfriend the reason why you hadn’t come out yet.

“i just. i don’t know how mako and bolin will react.” you finally admitted, feeling as though a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders when suddenly, the girl in front of you starting laughing. you quirked an eyebrow, wondering why the hell was she laughing.

“y/n! you saw how they reacted when i came out! they were completely and utterly fine with it! hell they were super supportive of me!” she reasoned once her laughter died down.

“i know but i’m their sister, it’s different.”

“no y/n it isn’t. why would it be any different.” she asked, confused at your stupid reasoning:

“i mean for one, they’re going to be mad i never told them anything, especially since i’ve already dated a girl or two. two, they might find it a tad bit weird when we tell them we’re dating.”

“well your first reason could’ve been avoided if you’d told them in the first place.” she pointed out, earning a small blush from you. “and second, they won’t, trust me. mako might be a bit stunned but he’ll be 100% supportive, don’t even get me started on bolin.”

“you’re right, i should probably tell them.” you sighed in defeat, head turning slightly to stare at the building on air temple island where your brothers probably were.

“if you want ill be there.” she proposed, her free hand placing itself on your cheek to which you gladly leaned into.

“yeah, i’d like that.”

they're so pretty, it hurts, im not talking 'bout boys, I'm talking 'bout girls, they're so pretty with their button-up shirts.

after dinner, mako, bolin, and you were on kitchen duty to clean the dishes, giving you the perfect opportunity to finally come out to your brothers and stop hiding.

as you finished drying a plate, you decided that it was time. especially since bolin was bringing up the idea of setting you up with someone.

“okay so y/n, i found this great guy that you’ll love. super sweet, super nice, super good looking, bolin approved guy.” your younger brother told you, scrubbing the food off one of the dishes.

“that’s nice bo but i’ve got something to tell you both.” in an almost perfect synchronised moment, both of them stopped what they were doing and turned to you. with both of their eyes on you, you froze a bit.

“sure y/n, what’s up?” mako encouraged, seeing your slightly stunned state and helping you snap out of it.

“i’m gay.” you blurted out. mentally smacking yourself for saying it so bluntly and straight to the point.

“knew it.” mako smirked as bolin let out a big ‘ohhhhh’.

“okay then, i think i know this one really nice, sweet, bolin approved girl that i believe also likes girls.” the earthbender quickly responded, correcting his previous date proposition to adjust it to the news.

“thanks bo but that’s not necessary.” you smiled gratefully at the youngest of you three before turning your attention to the eldest.

“what makes you say that mako?” you inquired, curious as to why your brother wasn’t very surprised at the news.

“well um, i.” mako stumbled over his words, slightly unsure of how to go about it but he recomposed himself. “i think you forget that as your older brother, i was able to see things that you didn’t.”

“go on, i’m intrigued.” it was now your turn to smirk.

“at first it was probably the constantly stealing mom’s kyoshi book, only to stare at the pictures of kyoshi warriors.” he joked.

“hey i still know a lot about kyoshi warriors!” you protested, half joking about the reason why you were addicted to the book.

“yeah but i literally walked into your room when you were about five only to see you open at the same page for a solid ten minutes. also, you couldn’t read!”

“i’m surprised mako caught any of it because it’s news to me. good news though!” bolin inserted himself back into the conversation, a cheery grin on his face.

“i think the longing stares between you and that waterbender from the red sands rabaroos could’ve also been an indication. and the constant cheering for them.” mako teased, resuming his dunking of plates in the water.

“yeah, umi and i didn’t last too long but it was fun while it lasted.” you reminisced over your first girlfriend, and followed your brothers lead to return to drying plates, leaving a dumbfounded brother to connect the dots.

“wait, you dated someone in an enemy team? y/n!” bolin gasped, accusing you in a joking manor.

“guilty as charged.” you smirked.

“okay well, let me set you up with someone! i’m sure i know another lesbian or bisexual!” bolin persisted with his idea so you thought that you might as well come out about korra and you.

“well bo, mako, i’m kinda seeing someone right now.” you started but were interrupted by someone barging in, the exact person you were about to mention.

“are you idiots done yet? we figured we’d all go see a probending match tonight but if you slowpokes aren’t done we might miss it!” korra informed the three of them. the two boys quickly returned to work but your gaze lingered on the avatar.

“so are you going to tell us or?” mako asked as korra left.

“i think you’ll figure it out.” your eyes stayed a little too long in the direction that your girlfriend left, a smirk on your lips at the idea of making your brothers wait.

when you all made your way to the probending arena, you caught up with korra and asami in the front, making sure to interlock your fingers with the watertribe girl.

“im guessing you told them?” asami asked, a knowing smile on her face at the romantic gesture.

“not exactly.” you guiltily admitted as you heard two gasps behind you. one was almost dramatically loud while the other was a bit more subtle.

“y/n!” you heard from the two boys behind you, and korra gave you a knowing smile, your idiot brothers had figured it out.