#it was so delicious i scarfed it down…

[billiebrambles]

yesterday i made witch hat pasta w basiwilt! :^D

[jonny-b-meowborn]

I need something like those bumpy ridged bowls for dogs that prevent them from eating too fast because it's becoming a problem lmao

[chefducks]

Scratch made Pumpkin Bread

It is utterly divine ˚✧₊⁎(๑･̑◡･̑๑)⁎⁺˳✧༚

[lardguz]

A Hero's Buttery Addiction

Just a little short thing this time, featuring a certain Hylian hero discovering the joys of cooking with butter! Inspired by @plumpybread whose art helps me visualize how to write larger sizes WAY better than I used to. I know he's like, a legend in the community already but if you haven't seen his work somehow, please check it out! His art is so good!

A cool breeze blew through the air in Rito Village, blowing south from the Hebra Mountains. Link suppressed a shiver, feeling the brisk chill around the bottom of his tunic. He adjusted the feather-lined garment quickly, pulling it down to cover his abdomen, but it immediately started riding up on him as soon as he continued walking. The Hylian grumbled to himself, opting to try and ignore it while he stocked up on supplies at the general store. Link walked into the cozy open-air hut, nodding at the Rito shopkeeper with a warm smile as he piled all of the goat butter the shop had in stock into his satchel. He handed a pouch of rupees to the Rito as payment before walking out of the store to head back out adventuring Hyrule. 

Link didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the Hylian has packed on some pounds in recent months. Once he had discovered the joys of cooking with goat butter, he never looked back, and the delicious, creamy, fattening substance had clearly affected his waistline. The sliver of pale, soft chub that peeked out from his warm Rito Tunic gave him a slight muffin top, and his thighs ever so slightly brushed together when he walked. Link seemed ignorant to these changes to his body, though; mentally, he attributed his tighter clothing to an ill-advised attempt at making a fan powered raft that fell apart, plunging him into icy cold water while fully clothed. To him, the cold water must have shrunk his clothing somehow! It couldn’t have anything to do with his new culinary obsession, surely! 

The pudgy Hylian sat at a cooking pot, sorting through his available ingredients. Link pulled out a slab of prime meat, a large hearty bass, some Hylian mushrooms, and a stick of goat butter. He paused, thinking for a moment. If just one stick of goat butter improved the flavor of a dish so much… Why not use two? Reaching into his bag, Link grabbed another stick of butter, and tossed it into the pot with the rest of the food, watching it melt and coat the meat and mushrooms, sizzling delightfully. As soon as his meal was done, Link immediately took an eager bite, too hungry to wait any longer. The flavors exploded in his mouth, coating his tongue in a rich, oily sensation. This was amazing! He scarfed down the rest of the pile of meat, seafood, and mushrooms, patting his pudgy stomach in satisfaction. Link knew one thing for sure now: he was going to have to keep trying butter in more recipes if it made them taste this good!

 

Months passed, and Link’s reputation for cooking rich, decadent meals for himself grew. Shops all over Hyrule knew to stock up on extra goat butter, as the eager Hylian hero would travel to each and every settlement just to get his fix. As his desire for egregious amounts of butter grew, so did his waistline. Link had absolutely blown up since discovering that adding more butter to his cooking made it taste even better. The Hylian man was undeniably morbidly obese, and many of the citizens of Hyrule were a little bit worried about how rapidly he had descended into obesity, but none of them felt brave enough to try and broach the subject with the rapidly-fattening hero. 

Link has taken to using his Purah Pad to teleport him directly to each town to minimize the amount of walking he had to do. For some reason he had been getting very tired even from brief walks lately, and his horse had been similarly exhausted just from short rides. Link materialized outside the shrine at Hateno Village, taking time to gather himself before the arduous walk downhill towards the general store. He somehow still didn’t realize the cause of his growing problems was the hundreds of pounds he’d packed onto his body in mere months. Link’s body was bloated with lard, to the point that he was nearing half a ton of fat on his once-lithe frame. His face was framed by a set of cherubic chipmunk cheeks, already flushed and sweaty just from a few slow, wobbling steps away from the shrine. His neck was buried under a ring of flab, graduating him from a double chin to a pronounced triple chin. His once-toned arms were replaced with bloated sacks of blubber the size of pillows, sagging down his sides and forcing his arms out at an angle even when not in use. His elbows were long buried under all of this lard, and even his wrists and hands were beginning to plump up at the joints, making bending his fingers and grabbing food a chore. His pecs had ballooned into flabby breasts that were just starting to droop down either side of his gut. The tunic he currently wore, his blue Champions Tunic that he was given over one hundred years ago, was stretched tightly across his chest, functioning more as a bra than a more decent article of clothing and riddled with rips and tears from stretching across so much flab. His former muffin top had graduated into a stack of fluffy love handles, pooling over the straight waistband of his trousers and , when combined with his flabby chest, were half of the reason his arms stuck out at such an angle now. His bloated thighs touched at every point no matter how far apart his spread his legs to walk, forcing him into a pronounced waddle. He couldn’t even bend his knees anymore; the flab from his thighs had long since enveloped the joints, joining his meaty calves in the downfall of his once-proud stride.  

His biggest asset, however, was his gut. The slab of lard was a monument to his gluttony, forming an apron of flab that sagged down to his buried knees. Every slow, measured step he took, his stomach slapped against his meaty thighs, sending his entire flabby body jiggling and wobbling endlessly. The obese hero was sweaty and exhausted after just a few steps, panting and wheezing from the exertion of shifting just under half a ton of fat with every shuffling step, but his craving for butter-soaked food kept him from giving up on his journey to the store.  

When the sweaty, huffing pile of lard finally made it, he shoved the door open with his titanic gut, dreading what came next. Link knew intimately well that doors and him didn’t mix these days, even if he refused to accept or acknowledge why. The Hylian was an absolute wall of flab and rolls, trying to force himself through a tiny doorway. The shopkeeper could only stare in horror and fascination as the legendary hero attempted to squeeze his enormous bulk into the store, wheezing from the exertion. He grabbed the doorframe with his pudgy fingers, trying to force his double-wide hips through, but his rolls and folds were firmly wedged. Link continued panting and groaning, his bulky body oozing around either side of the door frame, when an ominous cracking noise started to occur. Suddenly, with a loud snap, the wood of the doorway and the surrounding walls splintered, and Link stumbled through into the shop, his entire body wobbling from the sudden forward momentum. Barreling forward at speeds his obese form weren’t meant to handle, the lard-laden Hylian hero overbalanced, landing on his cascading gut with so much force that it shook the entire building. Merchandise clattered to the floor from the display shelves as shockwaves rippled through his body like an ocean, and he lay on the floor gasping for air after all of his weight knocked it out of his poor, overtaxed lungs. The shopkeeper looked at the damaged doorway in horror, knowing that no matter how much butter the legendary hero was here to purchase, it wouldn’t pay for the repair costs, especially with his increased visits. Something had to be done about the gluttonous hero, but what? 

After the disastrous incident at the Hateno General Store, shopkeepers around Hyrule had begun taking Link’s purchases to him as he waited outside their shops, to minimize damage done to their buildings. It was a solution, for sure, but many worried about what would happen when Link grew too large to make the short walks to their stores from the teleport points at the towns’ shrines. Many ideas were proposed: shop stalls set up right at the shrines just for Link, some sort of horse and cart system to carry the growing hero to his destinations, even a conveyor belt to carry him to the store entrances was suggested! However, Link ended up solving the problem himself while cooking one day. He’d begun using his Ultra Hand powers to help him grab ingredients once his arms became basically useless at grabbing things around his enormous bulk. As he sat on a log that his fat ass almost completely devoured, using his prosthetic’s powers to move a fourth stick of butter into the cooking pot for the large hunk of gourmet meat he was sauteeing, Link got an idea. He used his fat sausage fingers to switch the function of his hand to the Copy ability, which usually only worked for building materials. He noticed that the sticks of butter were able to be copied, somehow. Confused, Link decided to try it out, multiplying one stick of goat butter into ten, and moving the pile onto his chest where he could inspect them better. The sticks of butter had a gentle greenish-blue glow to them, but otherwise appeared to be normal sticks of butter.  

Link devoured the butter-soaked gourmet meat as he contemplated the glowing butter sticks nestled between his ample breasts when suddenly he was struck by an idea. Straining against the rolls of his arm fat, he craned his overburdened arm towards his chest, grabbing a stick of greenish butter in his fattened hands. Link brought the strange butter towards his pudgy lips slowly, his bountiful lard making it hard for him to reach his mouth with his pillowy arms. He finally shoved the stick of butter into his mouth, the oily fats coating his tongue. His blue eyes lit up as he swallowed: it was incredible! The duplicated butter tasted even richer and more delicious than normal goat butter, and that was without cooking it! Link shoved his hands under his bloated pecs, shifting their mass upwards and forcing the nine remaining sticks of magical butter directly in range of his greedy maw. The greedy Hylian began slurping down the stack of entire sticks of butter while using his Ultra Hand to create more copies, piling them up on his chest within easy eating distance. Link had no idea of the future he had just very quickly resigned himself to with this discovery, but the shopkeepers of Hyrule wouldn’t have to worry about their entryways being broken anymore. 

The citizens of Hyrule whispered about what had become of their legendary hero. Shopkeepers quickly noticed his increasingly-frequent trips to their stores had stopped abruptly, leaving them with mixed feelings of concern for what could have happened to Link, but also relieved that they wouldn’t have to keep paying for hefty repair bills anymore. Only those who were closest to Link knew where he’d ended up, and why he’d disappeared altogether. When asked by any concerned Hylians, they would simply assure them that Link was fine, comfortable, and happily retired from adventuring. 

Sidon, the newly-crowned king of Zora’s Domain, walked swiftly through the thick underbrush of a secluded forest region tucked away from any towns or roaming travelers. The red scaled Zora knew the way to go intimately, having made the journey many times over the year or so he’d been coming here in secret. Plus, it wasn’t too hard to find what he was looking for—All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud gurgling and slurping. Sidon crested the top of a hill, looking down into what had once been a lush, forested valley. The trees had long since been buried, the valley completely filled by a churning, wobbling mass of pale flab. He knew the mountainous blob below him was his most cherished partner, Link, the hero of Hyrule. 

Sidon hopped down from the forested hill, sliding on his finned feet until he landed on the soft form below. It was harder than ever to tell exactly what part of Link’s swollen body he was standing upon, but Sidon was pretty sure it was his stomach. His gigantic gut was constantly stuffed with the replicated butter that Link was somehow constantly creating more of, causing the cascading waterfall of flab to grow more and more every moment as his body worked overtime to convert the literal gallons of butter he consumed into adipose. Sidon could feel the mountainesque stomach below his feet groaning and churning, causing the blobby body of his boyfriend to always be in some sort of state of movement even after long ago losing his mobility.  

The Zora king began the long hike towards the center of Link’s growing mass, clinging desperately to whatever rolls and folds he could grab whenever a particularly strong tremor shifted the oceanic mass like tides crashing upon a shore. Sidon crested the top of Link’s stomach rolls after twenty minutes of climbing, trying to identify more parts of the blob’s body to use as landmarks. He could pretty easily find Link’s breasts due to his nipples, though they were a lot lower down than Sidon was now. Link’s tits were so huge that they’d lost all shape and form, sagging under their weight to the point that they drooped towards the lowest rolls of his gut. He could also guess where Link’s arms were from the location of his chest, gazing at the swollen pancake stacks of rolls directly above the meaty breasts. Sidon figured that Link’s hands must be buried under literal feet of flab at this point, looking at the divots where they’d long ago vanished. Even if he could unearth his fands from all of that lard, there was no way he’d be able to use them for anything aside from his Ultra Hand’s powers; his digits must be so coated in fat that they’d be barely recognizable as hands anymore.  

Once he’d figured out where Link’s useless arms were, finding his head was easy. Sidon looked at the recessed dip in the blobby mountain between the boulder-sized fat deposits that used to be Link’s biceps and forearms towards where a constant flow of glowing green liquid was manifesting and pouring downward into. Sidon swiftly scrambled over Link’s bloated cleavage, taking care not to slip; he’d once made that mistake and it took him hours to wrench his leg free from the cavernous crevasse. Once he’d crested the twin hills of lard, it was easy going from there, as Link’s chins had multiplied into a nice staircase of neck rolls. As he descended down, Sidon entered what could only be described as a cavern of fat formed by the encroaching mass of Link’s flabby jowls and collapsing back rolls. He followed the green glow of magically-duplicated butter deeper into the humid cave, the sounds of hungry slurping and desperate moans growing louder and louder. Finally, Sidon reached the end of the vast fat cave and approached his boyfriend’s bloated face eagerly.  

Link’s face was no longer recognizable, so covered in flab that no distinguishable features remained. Fat has long ago collapsed over his forehead, covering his eyes completely. His pointed ears were buried between rolls of cheek and back fat, as was his golden hair. All that remained was his mouth, though even that wasn’t enough to recognize him by. His lips had plumpened considerably, and were pinched between his engorged jowls into a permanent pout as he sucked down hundreds of gallons of melted magical butter. Sidon didn’t mind though, he loved Link no matter how fat he got. The Zora hero plopped himself down on one of Link’s cheeks, kissing his partner’s flabby face before settling down to watch him eat for a while. One thing was for sure, Link sure made a comfortable bed no matter where you laid on him now. 

[cactusprisms]

i mean i can down a plate of double hashbrowns, toast, and over-easy eggs from waffle house in like three minutes, so. Consider me squared up.

to HELL with whats in your pants, round these parts we judge manhood by how fast you can scarf down a ten dollar grilled chicken and hashbrown bowl from Waffle House. my personal record is 5 minutes. square up, bitch boy

[bunnis-monsters]

SFW

a/n: here’s another kofi request, featuring Momo the bunny hybrid playing in the snow for the first time ^^

Your bunny hybrid lover, Momo, used to hibernate during the winter. Because he lived in the wild by himself, there was no reason to stay awake when food was scarce and predators were desperate for a meal.

But then he met you, and all of a sudden he couldn’t even fathom being away from you for an entire season. The thought of not getting to enjoy your kisses and soft snuggles or eat your delicious cooking while he spent all winter asleep was… heart wrenching.

“So you’ll stay with me for winter,” you said with a smile, carrying a basket of fresh vegetables and fruit on your hip. “It’s settled. Now help me start canning, winter will creep up on us before we know it.”

And it really did.

Summer and fall were gone in a flash, the air growing colder as trees lost their leaves and the grass became withered and dry. Soon, snow would blanket the earth and it would be time to hunker down for the harsh winter months.

But for now, your bunny hybrid mate was collecting firewood with some other male hybrids in the area.

“You’re really not hibernating this year, Momo?”

Momo’s bunny ears flicked, and he turned to his deer hybrid friend. “Sorry, I’ll be with my mate this year.”

A raccoon hybrid nearby laughed, leaning against a tree. “You’ll miss out on the best sleep of the year, Momo. Is a girl really worth it?”

His foot thumped against the ground rapidly. Momo loved you with his whole heart, so he really disliked when his friends didn't take your relationship seriously. “Yes, it is completely worth it. I love her.”

Momo carried back the firewood with a huff, setting it down by the fireplace. You were at the stove, preparing dinner and humming some love song you heard on the radio. It took him a moment to register that you were speaking to him, he always got distracted by how much he adored every little thing you did.

“Momo? Did you hear anything I just said?”

He blinked before giving you a flustered smile. “Uh.. mmm, what did you say?”

You bit back a laugh, wiping your hands off on your apron before you turned his way.

“I asked if you could watch the stove for a moment, I need to check the news.”

Momo scurried over, taking the wooden spoon from your hand and taking over stirring the soup you were working on. “O-of course, sweetheart. I can handle that.”

You returned to the kitchen a moment later, phone in hand. “Oh wow, we’re in for a couple inches of snow tonight.”

Momo’s ears perked up at your words, clicking slightly. He had never seen snow before due to hibernating every year, and safe to say he was pretty excited. “Really? And snow… is it really as cold as people say?”

“Mhm!”

The two of you ate dinner then curled up in bed together. It was hard for Momo to drift off when he knew that he’d get to see fresh snow in the morning, but your warmth and soft breathing lulled him into sleep.

He woke up to you getting dressed. Momo rubbed his sleepy eyes, sitting up. “Mmph… what are you doing?”

You turned, giving him a smile. “Getting ready to play in the snow, of course.”

Momo never got dressed quicker than he did that morning. You made sure to bundle him up properly before opening the door.

The ground was covered in a thick layer of snow, and it crunched under his feet with each step. He was in awe, bending over to reach out and touch it.

“C-cold!”

You laughed as he drew back and hid behind you, his fluffy tail wagging furiously. “Yes, it’s very cold. C’mon, we can build a snowman first.”

Momo laughed as he ran around the yard, making the third ball for your snowman. Once his head was on, the two of you decorated it with some rocks and a scarf.

As Momo was admiring his work, he yelped when he felt a snowball hit his head. You were standing a small distance behind him, giggling as you prepared another ball.

“H-hey!”

Momo pouted as he began preparing a ball too, but several times he was pelted with snowballs before he could get his first one done.

After tiring yourselves out with a snowball fight, the two of you laid in the snow, your breaths coming out in white puffs as you made snow angels.

“Is it like this every year?” Momo asked, turning to meet your gaze.

You shook your head, smiling as you reached out to brush some snow out of his hair. “Mmm… no. Although it snows every year, I never have this much fun. Usually I just spend winter inside, alone. You... make everything a lot better.”

His cheeks flushed red, and he looked away in embarrassment. “Ah…”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a bit before you sat up. “Brr, it’s cold. Let’s go inside and I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

“With cookies?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you headed inside, hand in hand, warming up just so you could go back to playing in the snow later.

———————

SFW TAGLIST: @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @peachesdabunny @misswonderfrojustice @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @zyettemoon1800 @kassandra-hawthorne @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @hammerhead96 @bubblez-blop @snugglyshoji @wanderlustingcastaway @amberexe2 @an-ever-angry-bi @nenggie @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden @idkccdfnfz @xrenka @arcticat @v3lv3tf0x @ghostiegirl56 @aerangi @kxnnxy @joviaschaoticmind @danielle143 @roxy776699 @katsukis1wife @chaoticevilbakugo

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Farmer Williams

FARM ELLIE HEADCANNONS (Ellie Williams x Fem! reader) Content: Smut, Ellie being a horndog AND farmer, cutesy domestic bliss

•Farmer Ellie who wakes up at some insane hour of the morning to get started on her chores so she knock them out of the way and spend time with you later..

•Farmer Ellie who smiles when she walks through the screened door of the farmhouse to the scent of freshly cooked bacon and eggs. She just loves when you cook for the two of you, even if it’s something simple(and technically 1pm…)

•Farmer Ellie who will wrap her strong arms around your waist while you’re leaned over the stove, planting soft kisses to your nape. If she’s in a really good mood, her tongue will soon follow after those soft, sickly sweet kisses.

•Farmer Ellie whose presence envelops your nose as you flip over a piece of bacon. It’s the heavy scent of her sweat from working all morning, which you love to use as an excuse to shower together after breakfast.

•Farmer Ellie who is a quiet eater, munching away at her toast, bits of homemade strawberry jam plastered on her chapped lips. She’s oblivious to how truly adorable she is, and you have to resist the urge to lean in and press a few chaste kisses on her. She’s a messy eater, scarfing down every last bit of food you provided her, and uttering with a full mouth, “Babe, this is fuckin’ delicious. You trying to be my housewife or somethin’?” She mostly jokes around with you, but there’s a soft smile tugging at her lips that makes you wonder if she’s joking or hinting at her own desires.

•Farmer Ellie who thanks you for the breakfast by leaving her seat to stand behind yours, calloused fingertips drumming on your shoulders as her breath makes it to your ear, “How ‘bout that shower, babe?” You can tell it’s one of those days, because her tone is pathetically low and needy. Ellie isn’t aware, but when she’s horny, she sounds all serious and low, quite different from her usual sweet voice. It’s a turn-on for you, of course.(I imagine Ellie sounding like she did in the couch scene with Dina anytime she’s thinking about fucking you…) When you agree, Ellie intertwines her fingers with yours and leads you into the farmhouse’ bathroom.

•Farmer Ellie who loves to undress you. You need to take your bra off before bed? She’s already tugging at the clasp with her grubby hands. It’s one of those special mornings where she wakes up beside you instead of getting up early to manage the farm? She’ll wake you up with a kiss and a soft, “C’mon, babe. Lemme dress you,” because god forbid you slip on your own clothes. Most of the time, it’s seemingly nonsexual, only helping you and maybe taking a few peeks at your tits when you’re unaware, even though you’ve assured her many times you don’t mind her visual appreciation.

•Farmer Ellie who shuts the bathroom door behind you, immediately unbuttoning your jeans to get you naked. It is in fact, one of those days when she’s undressing you quickly, desperate to see how wet you already are from her. Once your clothes are practically ripped off, you take your cue to hop in the shower and get the water going. You can’t help but glance at Ellie’s own undressing process, watching as her worn sports bra meets the floor, her pretty tits on display for your own wandering eyes. Your impatience only grows when she finally slips her boxer-briefs, she pretty cunt free of any fabric.

•Farmer Ellie who steps into the hot shower behind you, hands trailing up your wet skin, lips latching onto your neck, practically devouring your neck in a way she wanted to do earlier. Ellie’s a horndog, sure, but she loves to take her time with you once she’s got you completely bare and soaking wet both ways.

•Farmer Ellie who spins you around so you’re facing her, immediately leaning in to give you a hot, wet kiss. She’ll try to start slowly and sensually, but after maybe 10 seconds, she’s ravishing your poor mouth with hers. When she’s pussydrunk, she kisses you like she’s eating you out. That only reminds you of how her hot tongue feels inbetween your thighs. She sees that needy look in your eyes, and she’ll pull away from some part of your body she was busy macking on to smile sinfully at you. “Baby, whatcha want? Tell me how you wanna be fucked….” You’ll get shy on her, but eventually, you mutter something about her mouth making you cum, and she won’t continue to torture you any longer.

•Farmer Ellie who eats your pussy like she’s starved. Those little smacking sounds she makes, the way her tongue sloppily fucks its way into your sopping cunt, nose nudging against your clit, it’s so perfect. She’ll hold you firmly against the shower so you don’t fall over, strong hands digging into your hips so hard there will be red marks on them later. She’s practically making out with your pussy, muttering hungry words about how ‘wet she is for me’ and promising to make you cum. She just can’t get enough of your taste. Even after you cum your brains out, her mouth is still latched on you, licking up every last drop of your essence until you’re squirming, begging her for mercy. She’ll pull away with a sheepish grin, though you know she’s not sorry.

•Farmer Ellie who loves to take care of you after sex. She’ll wash you up and after she’s all clean too, you two will spend the day together cuddling and talking about everyday things such as Ellie’s hunting trips, your plans to bake for her later, and complaints about chores. She loves just laying on top of you lazily, pressing all of her weight onto you.

•Farmer Ellie who usually falls asleep right after dinner. Sometimes you swear that girl’s hibernating with the way she snores and rolls all over your bed. Nonetheless, you tuck her in, pecking the top of the head and whispering a soft goodnight. After a while, you’ll join her, attempting to not wake her but fail as she mutters sleepy, petulant complaints about needing her beauty rest. However, she will always wrap an arm around you, pulling you into her arms and whispering some incoherent ‘g’nites’ and a ‘love you’ before you both drift off to sleep<3

NOTE: This is my first real post so be nice to me😞 I wanna do more of farm Ellie soon!

[wisteriaiswriting]

Reader That Can Bake

Words: 1757

Includes: Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford, Wendy, Gideon, Pacifica and Bill

Honestly, he doesn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but being young he still craves them a bit.

Knows the basics about baking in general but only with box sets, so he’ll stay out of your way in the kitchen.

Won't ever decline anything you give him, opting to either eat them right then and there, or hide them for later. (And away, safe from Mabel.)

Normally whenever he heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen, assuming it was Mabel, he would walk the other way immediately. But now that you’re spending more time in there he’ll take the gamble of peeking in, hoping it was you baking and not Mabel ready to drag him in.

This time he was lucky, finding you washing up all your used dishes and putting away the leftover ingredients. Standing in the doorway until you noticed, waving him over. “Dipper, you’re just in time!” Hopping on the spot as you stepped out of the way, revealing a whole bunch of cooled cookies.

“I tried some different flavours this time,” Grabbing one of each to shove into his hands, which he almost dropped. “There's classic chocolate chip, white chocolate, uhh… What else?” As you rambled and thought he took a bite of each, silently ranking them favourite to least favourite, not that he’d ever tell you.

“And oh! Hazelnuts, oreos and s'mores!” “You made s’more cookies?” “Yeah, this one was a small batch, I’ll get more stuff tomorrow.”

While yes, she bakes pretty often, you’ll always be the better chef around! (And she’s not afraid to admit it, sometimes.)

This girl will never shut up about ‘How good these are!’ ‘Even Waddles loves them!’ (It’s true, you have found him scarfing down a whole pile of your baked goods.)

Occasionally (And if you let her) she’ll join you, while she enjoys baking just spending time together is enough for her.

As soon as the door opened Mabel ran off, skidding into the doorframe. Smelling something very familiar and delicious. “ARE YOU BAKING AGAIN!” Your only response was to laugh, of course she would notice, really, you’d be an idiot thinking she wouldn’t.

“Yeah, they’re in the oven right now, so I’m just cleaning up.” “I’LL HELP!” God, she was excited about your baking. “Why don’t you pile up the dirty dishes while I start the sink.” In no time you had finished the dishes, everything was clean, dried and put away.

Reaching for a hanging cabinet, but this one was just out of reach. Stretching to your limit but unable to grasp the handle, about to turn around and ask Mabel for help only to be jolted upwards. Looking down to find Mabel's toothy grin looking right back atcha.

“Whatcha grabbing? More dishes? Decorations? Is it the icing? SPRINKLES!?” Laughing once again as you grabbed, as you could guess (And Mabel.) the icing and sprinkles. Being dropped back down when you had the items. “I think they’re ready for the toppings.”

Stan doesn’t go around flaunting his love for baked goods, but he doesn’t really hide it either.

But he does openly compliment anything you make, even if it’s not his favourite, he’ll make it positive.

He may not like to spend a lot of money on anything really, but he’ll throw you a wad of cash to buy whatever you need. (As long as he gets the first taste test.)

“Where ya going toots?” Arms wrapped around your waist, his head sitting on your head. One of your hands held your car keys, well, they were Stans but he’s given you permission to take the ‘Stanmobile’ out. “Gotta buy some more ingredients.”

His body pulled away from yours, hands digging into his suit pockets before pulling out a decent wad of cash. Grabbing a few notes (Which were 100s btw) and passing them over to you, “Make me my favourite later.” “Oh I will~”

He’ll scarf down plates full of your stuff, he hasn’t eaten anything this good in years! (And no he is not exaggerating, thank you!)

Always takes something with him on every adventure he goes on. (At first he was nervous to ask, but now he’ll try to ‘bribe’ you for anything. (Both of you know he doesn’t need to.))

Part of him is curious about how well supernatural ingredients would go, he would never force you to do it, but that means he would. So at least watch over him. (But by gods, don’t let him eat anything he makes. Who knows what would happen, and you don’t want to know.)

Hearing the front door slam open you peeked out of the living room, only to find Ford stumbling by, into the kitchen with a large box. After gently shutting the door (With this amount of abuse you don’t think it’ll last much longer.) you followed him, watching him pull and lay out plenty of things on the counter.

“Hope you were going to clean up after yourself?” “AH!” Throwing something between his hands for a few seconds before calming down, “Oh! Y/N, I was, don't you worry.” “With everything you brought in here? I will.”

Quietly laughing to himself, “I don’t blame you, but how well would these bake?” “Ford, honey, I just bake, you’re the one who knows about these guys.” Gesturing to the box, “I guess you’re right.”

Very similar to Stan in the sense, she won’t go out of her way to admit her love for sweeter things but will if asked.

If you’re willing to make more she’ll take a bunch for her friends. (They all love them, even if some won’t admit it.)

Brings some to work with her, which makes her shifts actually bearable.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Lifting her hand as a quick wave before turning to leave, “Wendy!” Looking back to find Lee rushing towards her, skidding to stop just before hitting her. Throwing her a now empty container, which surprisingly enough, was still in one piece. “You gotta bring more of those snacks, they were amazing!”

“I’ll let them know.” Now that she was finally able to leave the group, she started her tract home. Pulling out her phone to send you a quick message, nothing much really. (It was a whole paragraph.) Watching you respond, pause then send the message, along with a picture. ‘Already ahead of you!’

Tapping into the image to find you back in the kitchen, flour covered every surface. There were other ingredients on the floor and everything, really. She couldn’t stop her laughter, taking a pause in her steps to catch her breath. ‘I’m on my way, don’t make a bigger mess.’

Luckily she wasn’t that far from home, and it was also a good thing that her family loved you. (They wouldn’t let you live down that image.) Letting her spend the night to help you clean and finish baking.

Absolutely will not go anywhere near the kitchen when you’re in there. (He may love you, but he also loves being clean.)

This doesn’t stop him from rushing in the second everything is cleaned up, impatiently waiting until the food is finished. (You will have to stop him from eating them hot, because he will whine about being burned.)

Will never share them with anyone else, the only exception is at the Tent of Telepathy.

Placing the hot tray onto a cooling rack before shutting the oven door, it’s been hours since you started baking. As Gideon wanted some baked goods to hand out to anyone who comes by the Tent of Telepathy, and that meant you had to bake it all.

Although he made sure to pay you for it, so it wasn’t a complete loss. But that's when you heard a door slam open and footsteps running down the hall, watching as Gideon entered the room. His first stop was the currently cooling tray of cookies, not the others that were cool and in containers.

“Gideon do–” It was too late, his hand touched the tray first. “OW!” Guiding the hand under some running water as he complained, “Why were they hot?” “I just pulled them out from the oven, those ones,” Pointing at multiple containers put to the side, “Are for you.”

Huffing as he removes his hand from the water to dry it off, grabbing the containers before leaving the room.

Honestly, she never thought about baking in general really. (There’s always been butlers or chefs, or whatever to do it for her.)

Doesn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but will eat any of your less sweet items. (It better not be messy, otherwise she’ll (lovingly) wipe it on you.)

Sometimes she’ll sit around and watch you bake, she secretly finds it interesting but it’s highly likely she won’t join you for a while.

“What did you make this time?” Even as her face showed disinterest her tone gave her away, “This one is funfetti!” Handing over the cupcake, watching as she made her way through the wrapper. Trying to avoid the icing, although she wasn’t successful, a small chunk smeared over her fingers.

Clearly unhappy with it, the fact you were waiting next to her and no tissues or anything nearby. Reaching over to ‘subtly’ wipe the icing onto your shirt. “HEY!” “These aren’t that bad.” “Don’t ignore me!” You tried to stand in front of her, except that she kept turning as well.

“Pacifica!” “You should probably check on the other ones.” Oh yeah, you probably should.

Sometimes you forget that he can actually eat as he doesn’t do it much. (That’s until you watch him eat some deer teeth. Which is so disturbing…)

There have been so many times where he comes to bother you for some food, then just leaves with it. (You have no clue what he does with them but you can only assume someone else* is eatting them. (*Ford))

He will try to bake on his own with ‘non-human’ ingredients even if you try to stop him. (They end up inedible, even to other demons. Like fuck, he’s terrible.)

It was fucking comical how Bill entered the room, floating through the window towards the tray of cookies. Staying afloat for a few extra seconds before dropping to sit on the counter, batting his eyelashes at you. “No Bill, they’re still hot.” “WHO CARES?” Grabbing a handful (Which was like 2.) before shoving it into his mouth (Eye? Honestly man, you have no idea anymore.). “Are they good at least?” “HMM, THEY'RE ALRIGHT. COULD DO WITH SOME ꀤꈤꁅꌃꀭꀸꈤꍟꊼ.” “What.”

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : fwb!hamzah x grumpy!reader

summary: short lil fic for these two lol , based on this request thank u for ur patience anon!!!!!

warnings: friends with benefits relationship, mentions of sex, um yk what hell yea

a/n: hamzah is way more high energy here than irl but this is a character based on hamzah (and with his face) so !!!!!

hamzah is freezing his ass off. it's actually unbearable. he's got to the point where he's mumble-lecturing (with a slight uncontrollable chatter to his mouth) himself as he walks down the crowded sidewalk, "shoulda' put another fuckin' layer on" or "no hat? really? it's 26 degrees and i don't even have protection for my poor ears" or a dragged whine under his breath of "i'm sooo cold."

he wastes no time, practically ramming through the cafe's petite glass door with a gentle but welcoming "we're open!" sign. as soon as he’s inside he holds his hands up to his mouth and hoards any heat he can into them as he sifts through the lingering line. hamzah is always grateful for your strict earliness (or more so allowance for his tardiness) that gets him a hot coffee and fresh everything bagel without having to wait in an egregiously long line, though he honestly thinks he wouldn't mind standing and taking in the delicious coffee bean scents and twinkling, colored christmas lights dripping around the walls.

he approaches the table you sit daintly at with ease (he'd recognize your unapproachable and blunt aura in even the most comforting places), "hello m'lady." he slouches into the chair across from you; with your scarf wrapped perfectly around your neck and knit sweater warming you well.

your gaze doesn't leave your book as you reply, "awe, you showed up."

hamzah has both hands wrapped around his mug of coffee in hopes that his fingers recover quickly, "uh huh. and this is why i always say don't ever let an alarm clock rule your life. i hit snooze three times and my coffee's still hot." he raises his mug towards you.

you dismissively breathe a laugh and finally look at him; he's leaning back casually in the somewhat small chair, his legs spread without a care, he's wearing the same wrinkled shirt with his old high school mascot (he must've worn to bed) and nothing but a zip-up hoodie thrown over. though his hair somehow remains curled into its perfect brown swoops which you simply can't spite. you tilt your mug towards his to give them a soft clink together, making hamzah smile. "you look cold," you comment.

"'m fucking freezing. don't know what i was thinking- a fifteen minute walk feels like hell when my toes are frozen in place and the wind is ready to blow me away." he speaks through his bites of his bagel. "mm! did you finally try their coffee?" he points to you as you sip.

you look into his large doe eyes, "you know i hate coffee, hamzah-"

"see, you always say that but the coffee here is like no other!" he taps the table in excitement and you smile slightly.

"i'm glad you like it but i'll stick with my hot chocolate," you take another sip of the rich drink and finally tuck your thick book back into your bag.

༉‧₊˚.

you both agree that friends with benefits simply works best for the two of you. there's a reliability you both get from knowing you'll always have a best friend- a wingman, a supporter, a person to have movie marathons and early morning cafe talks with, the person who knows your deli order by heart. but in that friend you have someone you can makeout with when life is too frustrating to even think and your eyes can't leave their lips, someone who knows your body, someone who can go out to a bar with you and would like nothing more than to fuck you afterwards (if no successful hookups come out of the trip).

it's beautiful. it makes you believe in true friendship, honestly.

you're sat with your legs crossed and nothing but a hoodie that swallows you whole and boy-short underwear on as you squint at the flashcard in front of you with a slim red pen dangling between your lips. you try to remember the exact definition for the drawn out vocab word but your mind can't focus anymore. you've spent the past three hours studying notes, writing out flashcards, and going over endless slideshows. your brain hurts and your mouth is dry and it's all just sort of pissing you off now.

you throw the pen from your mouth and climb out of bed, the sudden movement scattering and mixing the cards that were once separated based on your knowledge into one big mess. it's times like this where you wish you were obnoxious enough with your emotions that you'd just scream and yell to get this feeling over with, but instead you walk into your bathroom to rinse your skin with water and stare at yourself for an extra second in the mirror.

you breathe in deeply when you hear an infamous ringtone coming from your bedroom (hamzah stole your phone once and created a ringtone specifically for himself involving a cover of paparazzi performed by him with adlibs of you laughing in the background). sure enough when you walk back into your room, hamzah's face lights up the screen and you accept the facetime call as you sink down onto the bed.

you're surprised he called, you know he had a badminton game tonight and went out afterwards with the team- you figured he'd be to busy to talk and would just end up texting you "im home" close to midnight like usual.

hamzah's distracted when you answer the phone, his face turned the opposite way as he laughs with wide eyes. you just stare, "hamzah."

he's quick to look down at the phone in his hand, his eyes a little puffy, "oh shit! hey." his grin is huge and you can't help but smile slightly which he notices, "a smile?! my god, you must be happy to see me or somethin'!"

"shhhh," you hush him and lay down on your bed, making yourself comfortable.

he's surrounded by blue lighting and randomly-timed white flashes, which give you a proper look at his features, all coated in the large bass of the overbearing pop music. hamzah gets close to the screen to ask, "did'you get my text?" he pulls back from the phone to quirk his eyebrow curiously.

"no, i'm studying."

"where?!" he laughs at his own joke. you quickly turn your phone in your hand to show him the mess of books, cards, and your laptop scattered next to you on the comforter. hamzah sees it all but smirks a little extra when he gets a glimpse of your soft legs curled up and your pair of light blue underwear peeking from beneath your hoodie. "right, right." he nods, "how about you look at my text now that you're here," he exclaims over the music.

you sigh, "mmmkay."

the text reads: mangomango mango plzzz

mango, being your code word for leaving events- or simply just meeting up, to ultimately have sex.

when you return to the call you have a reluctant smile, "you can come over after you're done."

he smiles and raises a thumb up in agreeance.

"don't come over drunk, please."

he kisses his teeth and rolls his eyes, "alright, girl. i'm gonna go do some karaoke and then i'm headin' your way."

"oh i'm jealous i wish i could be in the crowd."

"i know." he jokes, "byeeee." he flutters a few fingers at you.

"bye, h."

༉‧₊˚.

hamzah shows up two hours later (he got caught up in the extravagant environment; he ended up taking a couple more hits from a teammate’s bong, talking to strangers, and dancing to trashy music you’d probably hate), climbing from the rickety brass ladder onto your tiny patio (he was a mess: laughing to himself and only laughing harder when he thought of how inappropriately loud he was being for one in the morning) and opening the glass door with a key hidden inside your old watering can.

he giggles through his declaration as he throws his large coat off onto your small couch, “i’m home!” he wipes over his cold yet clammy face before calling out your name.

hamzah tucks his lip into his mouth as he walks through your dark hallway, toeing off his sneakers and pulling his shirt over his head before he even reaches your bedroom.

he finds you at your sweetest- despite your grumpy, cold attitude, you’re laying down on top of your comforter with a small smile placed on your lips. he takes a few more seconds watching your figure move with your breaths before closing the door behind him and climbing next to you in your bed.

he whines a quiet, “mmm-sorryyy” into the kiss he places at your temple before leaning away to tug a blanket over the two of you. he knows that in the morning he’ll have to properly apologize for keeping you waiting like that … preferably with his tongue.

[amourquinn]

( short fic ) 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.1k

genre : fluff warnings : small panic attack

summary : as fireworks ignite a wave of fear in you, quinn’s steady presence and comforting embrace remind you that with him, you’re safe

「 author’s note 」 this was a request from an anonymous, i hope you like it <3

the crisp evening air of vancouver carried a sense of calm, the kind that only came after a busy day when the city began to wind down, the streets lit with a soft golden glow. you and quinn had decided to visit a local event downtown, a small gathering of boutiques, street vendors, and artisan stalls. it was the kind of event that made you feel connected to the city—a reminder that beauty could be found in the little things.

the event was held along a quieter street lined with charming boutiques. you had wandered for hours, exploring the various stalls that offered everything from handmade jewelry to delicious-smelling soaps and warm drinks. you and quinn had enjoyed the evening, taking your time to browse, laugh, and chat with the vendors.

at one booth, you had spotted a beautifully knitted scarf, hanging from a wooden rack. it was a deep burgundy color, soft and inviting, with intricate patterns woven through it. your fingers had brushed against the wool, marveling at how warm it looked, and for a moment, you imagined wrapping it around your neck on a chilly winter evening.

“that’s nice, huh?” quinn said, standing beside you. his voice was soft, almost as if he were testing the waters, waiting for your response.

you nodded, smiling at the scarf. “yeah, it’s really pretty. i could use a new one for the winter.”

quinn raised an eyebrow, his gaze drifting to the price tag for a moment before he looked back at you. “you deserve something nice,” he said casually, though there was a hint of something more in his voice—something thoughtful, almost protective.

you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s a little too fancy for me,” you replied, still tracing the pattern on the scarf. “i don’t need something so expensive.”

but quinn didn’t seem to hear you. he was already digging through his wallet, his expression focused and determined. “i think it’s exactly what you need. just let me get it for you.”

before you could protest, he had already paid the vendor, who wrapped the scarf in tissue paper with a smile.

“quinn, you really didn’t have to,” you said, a warm flush creeping up your neck as he handed you the neatly wrapped package.

he shrugged, his grin never fading. “i know, but i wanted to. you deserve it.”

you opened the package slowly, revealing the soft, burgundy scarf. it felt even more luxurious in your hands, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers over the delicate knit. “it’s perfect,” you whispered, glancing up at him. his eyes were soft, watching you with a gentle look that made your heart skip a beat.

“put it on,” he encouraged, his voice warm and playful.

you smiled and draped the scarf around your neck. it felt like a hug—soft, cozy, and comforting against your skin. “it’s really warm,” you said, adjusting it so it fit just right.

quinn reached out, his hands brushing against the ends of the scarf. “it looks great on you,” he said, his eyes scanning your face with a tenderness that made you feel both seen and cared for.

you chuckled softly, your heart swelling with affection. “i guess i’ll have to wear it all the time now, huh?”

“absolutely,” he replied with a smile. “i’ll be disappointed if i don’t see it every time i see you.”

the playful tone in his voice made you laugh, but there was something else behind it—a sincerity that made your chest tighten. quinn’s gestures, whether big or small, always made you feel valued. you could see it in the way he looked at you, how he listened to you, and how he made even the simplest moments feel special.

⋆˙⟡

as the night continued, you and quinn wandered through the boutiques, talking about anything and everything. the scarf kept you warm, a small but constant reminder of his thoughtfulness. when you passed a vendor selling hot chocolate, quinn insisted on buying you both a cup, the warmth of the drink contrasting against the chilly air.

you were standing near the square, admiring the lights strung between the trees, when you heard a low rumble in the distance. the sound made your heart skip a beat, a familiar unease creeping into your chest.

“what’s that?” quinn asked, looking up toward the sky.

before you could answer, the first firework exploded overhead, bursting into a cascade of shimmering gold. the crowd around you gasped in delight, but all you could feel was the sharp pang of fear in your chest.

fireworks. you hated fireworks. the sudden, loud noises, the unexpected flashes of light—they had always unsettled you, stirring up a fear you couldn’t quite explain.

quinn noticed immediately. “hey, are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer to you.

you nodded quickly, though your breath was uneven, your hands clenched into fists. “i just… i don’t like fireworks,” you admitted. “they scare me.”

without hesitation, quinn stepped in front of you, shielding you from the sight of the fireworks. his hands gently rested on your shoulders as he spoke softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “it’s okay. i’ve got you. look at me.”

you tried to focus on him, his familiar face grounding you amidst the chaos. another firework burst overhead, the loud crack echoing through the square, and you flinched. quinn immediately pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

“i’m right here,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear. “you’re safe. just focus on me.”

you buried your face in his chest, his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing helping to calm the storm inside you. he rubbed small circles on your back, his touch soothing, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

“it’s just noise,” he whispered. “it can’t hurt you. i won’t let anything hurt you.”

gradually, the tension in your body began to ease. the fireworks continued, but they felt distant now, their sharpness dulled by the comfort of quinn’s embrace. he stayed with you until the last firework faded, holding you like you were the most important thing in the world.

when the square quieted, you finally looked up at him. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

quinn smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “you don’t have to thank me. i’ll always be here for you.”

and as he led you away from the square, his hand firmly holding yours, it was a reminder of his care, his unwavering presence, and the quiet strength he always gave you when you needed it most.

© amourquinn

[snowvies]

𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜.𝐝

cedric diggory x fem!reader

summary: after being forced to stay home from hogsmeade as your funds fall at 0, you and cedric find other ways to pass the time.

cw: oral (fem receiving)

you puff your cheeks, watching the girls run around the dorm, coin purses in hand. you're draped over your bed, hair hanging as you lay upside down.

"Are you certain you don't want to join us, y/n?" one of your roommates ask and you sigh

"what do you think I get with one sickle?" you ask before pursing your lips in performative thought, the girl laughs before tying her scarf around her neck, your houses color vibrant as she waves goodbye

"I'll keep an eye out for you! bye!" and just like that the door shuts and you're left to stare at your purse that's filled with one sickle because you couldn't stop your spending before Hogsmeade.

you groan before sitting up to plant face first into your sheets, your bare legs shiver from the open window and you pull your skirt farther to try and warm yourself

"Whats going on here?" you jump to see an ever-so-smug cedric leaning on the bedpost in front of you, you squeal and jump up, asking why your boyfriend broke into your room

"Wanted to check on you, heard you're not coming to Hogsmeade. thought you weren't feeling well" he mumbles as he walks toward you

"I'm fine, just poor" he snorts, laying back on your bed as you crawl to him

"can't believe you missed Hogsmeade just to check on me" you hiss, and his chest vibrates at your lack of praise for his good manners

"goodness, y/n" he sighs, running his fingers through his hair and you hang over him, trying read what he wont tell you

"you are very hard to please, aren't you?" he purrs

"not if you're looking in the right places." you whisper, he only fully understands your position when his eyes move down, hands wrap around your hips as his eyes darken

you grin and he flips you over, giggles escape you as he peppers kisses down your neck

his large hands roam your thighs and soon, your panties are being pulled down

he comes up to see you to connect his lips with yours before dragging himself back down and hiding under your skirt

you gasp as his tongue lays flat on your open cunt, slowly dragging up your warmth and he moans into your core

"you're delicious" he whispers before digging in once more, lapping at you, as you squirm above him. tears edge on your lids as your hips get pulled closer by him as he makes out with your pussy

you're losing your mind now, eyes rolling back as his tongue circles your clit before flicking the bud viciously

you cry out to him as you release and he laps at your cream like it is the best thing he's ever had.

once he is done, he kisses all over your core and thighs before unveiling himself from your skirt, chin glistening with the biggest grin you've ever seen on him.

"I'm so glad you're poor"

an: let me know what your guys think <3 love you always

[joelscruff]

poolside (sugar daddy!javi gutierrez x f!reader) 18+

kofi | um i literally wrote this in an hour?????? idk where it even came from but basically han @swiftispunk had to walk home in a blizzard today and i felt she deserved something warm to enjoy while she bundles up. who woulda thought this would be my first fic of 2024? anyway this is loosely based off this drabble by han and.. dare i say... exists in the same universe? in my brain lmao summary: just some fun by the pool with sugar daddy!javi rating: 18+ explicit warnings: blowjobs, deepthroating, brief ball worship, daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, bad google translate spanish, sweat word count: 1.5k

You've been thinking about it all morning, and that's no exaggeration. The second you'd awoken the thought had been there in the back of your mind, although quieted almost immediately by your alarm and the rush to get ready for the day. It had returned in the bathroom as you'd brushed your teeth, again at breakfast when you'd scarfed down a banana, and now, as you sip your ice-cold cocktail underneath the hot Majorcan sun, the thought is there again.

Only this time, you can't hold it back.

"Can I be honest about something?"

The words tumble past your lips much faster than anticipated, garbled by anxiety and the deafening humidity of the warm summer day. For a few seconds you think - god, he's gonna ask me to repeat it - but thankfully, Javi turns to you from the lounge chair on your right side with a kind smile and those sparkling eyes you've already grown so accustomed to. Your nervousness dissipates almost immediately.

"Of course you can," he says, tilting his head back against the soft cushion, "You can tell me anything, mi amor."

You bite your lip, avoiding eye contact as you softly murmur, "Well I know we haven't really established all our rules yet, but, um -" your eyes fall unconsciously to his striped speedo, "I'd really like to give you a blowjob."

The speed at which his eyebrows go up is almost comical, sunglasses drooping off the end of his nose as his cocktail freezes in mid-air on its way to his mouth. He stares at you for a few seconds with fluttering lashes, words bubbling in his throat but never actually passing his lips. You stifle a giggle.

"Would that be okay?" you ask quietly, shyly, though you already know from his reaction that it's more than okay. You just want to hear him say it.

With an almost shaky hand he places his drink on the table between your chairs and sits up a bit, long tan legs stretching out against the length of the chair. He pushes his glasses up, as if trying to hide his clearly excited expression from you - trying to play it cool, as best he can. Adorable.

"Yes," he finally states, voice cracking slightly, "Yes, that would be okay."

In seconds you've lifted from your spot beside him to kneel down alongside his chair, hand immediately reaching for the waistband of his speedo. His shirt rides up as he positions himself accordingly, and you can see sweat dripping from the hair on his tummy down into his pubic hair. You start to salivate.

His cock is only semi-hard, taken by surprise at your sudden request, but you think it's cute. You tug down the speedo as best you can, exposing him entirely, his heavy balls slipping out of their confinement. With no hesitation you lean down and nuzzle your nose against each one, inhaling his delicious musk and smiling when you feel his hand immediately cup the back of your head. Oh, he likes that.

You open your mouth and carefully tug one of his balls into your mouth as best you can, soft and sensitive against your tongue. He lets out a shaky moan and you peer up to see him tilting his head back again; you can't tell if he's looking at you, eyes covered by his sunglasses, but you don't mind. You start to suckle carefully, tongue swirling all along the tender area before releasing it with a pop and enveloping the second one in the same manner. His fingers tighten slightly in your hair and you smirk.

"Do you like getting your balls sucked, daddy?" you ask quietly after freeing your mouth again.

"Y-yes," he says through another moan as you begin to lap at them with your tongue, wet with your saliva and his sweat, "Yes, mi amor. D-daddy likes that."

You pull your face back and feel yourself throb when you see how much his cock has grown, already at full size just from having his balls played with. You nudge the base with your nose, closing your eyes as you let it trail up and down, up and down, and then repeating the same pattern with your tongue. He tastes like saltwater and you salivate even more.

"Oh, fuck," he groans somewhere above you, thumb stroking the spot behind your ear, "Así, corazón."

His Spanish - its meaning still mostly unbeknownst to you - spurs you on, and you reach your hand down to carefully lift his cock from his belly and slip it past your lips. His mushroom head is soft and already leaking, salty-sweet on your tongue as you moan around its width and take it further into your mouth. Already dying to have him in your throat, you push downwards and allow almost his entire length to fill you up, your eyes rolling back at the sensation.

"Oh," he whimpers out, thighs trembling beneath you, "Mi amor..." His nails dig lightly into your scalp and you feel your pussy throb again.

Breathing carefully through your nose, you sink your mouth down until your lips kiss the base of his cock, his pubic hair crowding your face. You inhale deeply and moan again, thighs rubbing together as he pulses in your throat. After a few seconds you pull off, spluttering a bit but wiping your mouth and going back in for more almost immediately. He groans above you, watching as you deepthroat his thick cock with barely any inhibitions whatsoever.

"N-need to be inside you," he murmurs suddenly, fingers brushing through your hair with an urgency that wasn't there before.

"You are inside me," you whisper as you pull off his cock, only to capture it in your mouth a few seconds later and stuff your throat with his length again.

"No, eso no es lo que quiero decir," his words are already mush, and you wouldn't understand even if he'd spoken them in English. When you don't respond, only suckle around the warm appendage in your throat, he finally manages to groan, "Up here, hermosa, please. Daddy needs your pussy."

Fuck.

If he'd asked you any other way, you might not have listened, especially when the rules for your dynamic still have yet to be completely laid out. But just hearing him say that again...

"Okay, daddy," you mumble around the head of his cock, letting it plop from your lips and smack wetly against his belly. You stand up and waste no time in tugging your bikini bottoms down, tossing them to the side and climbing into his lap. Your pussy is warm and sticky against his bare skin, throbbing above his belly button in quick pulses.

"Lift up," he practically hisses through his teeth, reaching down and holding his cock at attention while you do as he says. A moment later you're sheathing his thick length inside your heat, soft whimpers escaping your lips as you sink down. "That's it, mi amor," he groans, "Perfecta."

You already know you're not going to last, and he seems to feel the same. The humidity of the air pushes down on your sweaty bodies, your hands coming down to press firmly against his chest as you start to ride his cock up and down. You finger the buttons of his shirt, pulling them apart to access the skin beneath; in turn, he reaches up and pulls your bikini top down under your breasts with one finger, exposing them to him as you start to bounce.

He's so fucking thick, so deep and hot and wet and perfect. Your brow furrows as you quicken your pace, eyes coming up to meet his sunglasses, and - without asking - you reach forward and take them off. He's looking right at you, eyes still sparkling, watching your every movement - watching you bounce up and down on his cock. It's enough to make you come.

And you do, a high keening sound falling from your mouth as you fall forward against his chest and let your orgasm take over, limbs loose and shaky. His arms wrap around you, hold you firm against his body as he takes your hips and lifts you up and down without any effort, keeping your pace steady on his cock.

"That's it, mi amor," he murmurs to you softly, movements frantic now, fast and desperate, "Hold on to me."

He doesn't need to ask - you're already wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing haggardly against the warmth of his chest as he fucks into you. It only takes a few more lifts of your hips for him to explode inside of you, cum hot and thick against your walls, filling you up. You squeak out another breathless moan and bury your face in his sun-kissed skin.

He keeps you there on his cock for a few moments, both of you catching your breaths as he strokes your bare skin up and down, up and down, listening to the chirps of birds in nearby trees and the faint splash of pool water. It's so peaceful.

"Thank you, daddy," you tell him softly.

"No, hermosa," he pants out, nose brushing the crown of your head as he presses a kiss to your hair, "Thank you."

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

My Boss's Son: Part II

A tale of tea, poetry, and stolen moments, where Y/N and Harry turn chance encounters into a love story full of wit, warmth, and a dash of irresistible charm.

Content Warning: A little smutty towards the ending but it's brief. Mentions of alcohol.

Word Count: 16,483

Part one below!

New Year’s Eve had arrived, and instead of the usual glitz and glamour of parties and countdowns, Harry had suggested something far more low-key. When he texted that morning confirming if I’d still be up for baking cookies together, I couldn’t help but laugh at how committed to the idea he was—and immediately say yes.

By the time he knocked on my door that evening, I’d already set up the kitchen with bowls, ingredients, and a playlist of upbeat songs to match the festive mood. When I opened the door, there he was, standing in a coat and scarf, holding a bag of chocolate chips in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Thought I’d come prepared,” he said, grinning as he held them up. “Cookies and a bit of New Year’s spirit.”

“You’re too good at this,” I teased, stepping aside to let him in. “Come on, the kitchen’s ready.”

Harry shed his coat and scarf, revealing a casual sweater with the sleeves pushed up, tattoos visible on his forearms. He set the wine and chocolate chips on the counter, rolling his sleeves up further with a playful determination. “Right, where do we start?”

I laughed, handing him an apron. “First, you put this on. We don’t need flour all over you.”

“Yes, chef,” he joked, tying it around his waist. He looked delicious.

We fell into an easy rhythm, mixing dough, sneaking bits of batter, and occasionally smearing flour on each other’s faces when the other wasn’t looking. Harry’s laugh filled the room as I tried to dodge his attempts at retaliation, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so carefree.

“You’re dangerous with that spoon,” I said, pointing at him as he made a show of scooping out another bite of dough.

“Dangerously charming, maybe,” he quipped, winking as he popped the spoon into his mouth.

“ And modest, too,” I teased, rolling my eyes as I placed the first tray of cookies in the oven.

As the cookies baked, we settled on the couch with the wine, the soft glow of fairy lights I’d strung up for the holidays casting a cozy light across the room. Harry stretched out beside me, holding his glass loosely as he looked over.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “this is a pretty great way to spend New Year’s.”

I smiled, tucking my legs under me. “It’s definitely different, but I like it. No crowds, no noise—just cookies and wine.���

“And me,” he added, his grin soft but teasing.

“And you,” I agreed, meeting his gaze.

The timer beeped, breaking the moment, and we both laughed as I jumped up to rescue the cookies. Harry followed me to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I pulled the tray from the oven.

“These look perfect,” I said proudly, setting the tray down to cool.

“All you,” he said, watching me with a smile. “I’m just here for moral support and quality control.”

Grabbing a cookie that was still warm enough to be gooey, he took a bite, letting out a low hum of approval. “Okay, these are incredible. You’ve ruined all other cookies for me.”

I laughed, grabbing one for myself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As we ate, the sound of fireworks outside signaled that midnight was near. Harry glanced at me, setting his cookie down. “You know, I think this might be my favorite New Year’s yet.”

“Why’s that?” I asked, my heart racing a little as he stepped closer.

“Because it’s with you,” he said simply, his gaze steady.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing mine softly at first, then deepening into a kiss that felt as warm and sweet as the cookies we’d just baked. When we pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and his smile widened.

As the timer for the cookies faded into the background, I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. I turned to Harry, who was still leaning against the counter, finishing the last of his cookie.

“It’s almost time,” I said softly, nodding toward the balcony. “Do you want to watch the fireworks?”

He smiled, picking up his glass of wine and gesturing for me to lead the way. “Absolutely. Let’s see what this city’s got.”

We stepped out onto the small balcony, the cool night air brushing against our skin as we took in the view. Snowflakes still  lingered on the railings, and the faint sound of music and chatter carried from nearby streets. From here, we could hear the excitement building as people prepared to welcome the new year.

Harry stood close beside me, his arm brushing against mine as he looked out over the city lights. He sipped his wine, the quiet between us feeling natural, like we’d known each other forever.

The countdown started in the distance, voices shouting numbers as they echoed through the crisp night air.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

Harry glanced down at me, his expression soft and thoughtful. “This has been a pretty great night, hasn’t it?”

“Seven… six…”

“It really has,” I said, smiling up at him. “I’m glad you came over.”

“Five… four…”

“So am I,” he murmured, setting his glass down on the railing and stepping closer.

“Three… two…”

Before the final number, Harry slid his arm around my waist, pulling me gently against him. The moment the city erupted with cheers and the sky lit up with fireworks, he leaned down and kissed me.

The world seemed to fade away as his lips met mine, soft yet firm, with a sense of certainty that made my heart race. The warmth of his touch, the faint taste of wine, the distant crackle of fireworks—it all blended into a perfect moment.

When we finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against mine, and his grin was undeniable.

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and full of something deeper than just the words.

“Happy New Year, Harry,” I whispered back, feeling the promise of something new and wonderful as his arms stayed wrapped around me, the fireworks still lighting up the sky.

As the fireworks crackled in the sky and the sound of cheers faded into the background, I found myself still lost in the lingering warmth of Harry’s kiss. My heart was racing, my hands still resting lightly on his chest as he pulled back just enough to look at me.

But I wasn’t ready for the moment to end.

Without overthinking, I reached up and pulled him back to me, pressing my lips to his again. This kiss was deeper, more confident, and filled with all the emotions I hadn’t said aloud. Harry responded instantly, his hands tightening around my waist as he leaned into me, his breath mingling with mine.

When we finally broke apart again, his lips curved into a playful grin. “You really like fireworks, huh?” he teased, his voice low and full of humor.

“Something like that,” I said, laughing softly, still catching my breath.

His grin widened, and before I could say another word, he slid his arms around my legs and back, effortlessly lifting me off the ground. A small gasp escaped me as he carried me across the balcony threshold and back into the warmth of the flat.

“Harry!” I exclaimed, laughing as I looped my arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you to safety,” he said dramatically, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s cold out there. Can’t have you freezing on me.”

I laughed harder, my head resting against his shoulder as he set me gently down near the couch. The cozy glow of the room wrapped around us, the scent of cookies still lingering in the air. He stood close, his hands not leaving my waist, his gaze steady and warm.

As we stood there, the warmth of the moment wrapping around us like a blanket, a thought crept into my mind, one I couldn’t quite shake. I didn’t want to ruin the mood, but curiosity tugged at me.

“Harry,” I said softly, looking up at him, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone gentle, his thumb brushing lightly against my waist. “What’s on your mind?”

I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to dampen the happiness of the evening. “When do you have to leave for America again?”

His smile faltered just slightly, but he didn’t look away. “In a week,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “We’re wrapping up some things for the album. I’ll probably be gone for a while.”

The weight of his answer settled between us, and I felt my chest tighten. A week. Just when it felt like things were beginning to bloom between us, he’d be gone again. I tried to hide the flicker of sadness that crossed my face, but Harry noticed.

“Hey,” he said, his hand moving to cup my cheek, his voice softening. “I’ll be back. This isn’t me disappearing.”

“I know,” I said quickly, managing a small smile. “I just… I wish we had more time before you leave for so long.”

“So do I,” he admitted, his forehead resting against mine. “But we’ve got a week. And I plan on making the most of it—with you.”

His words, full of sincerity, eased the ache in my chest just a little. I nodded, leaning into his touch. “Okay,” I whispered. “A week. Let’s make it count.”

Harry smiled then, his hand slipping back to my waist. “Starting with this,” he said, pulling me closer and kissing me again, as if to remind me that, for now, he was still here—and that was what mattered most.

As we stood close, the warmth of Harry’s presence easing the weight of the conversation, he hesitated for a moment, as if he was debating whether to say something. Finally, he let out a small breath, his thumb still tracing gentle circles against my waist.

“There’s something I didn’t mention,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine. “I mean, yeah, I’ll be heading to America for work, but… I’ve been planning on spending a lot more time here.”

My brows furrowed slightly. “Here? In England?”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah. I actually bought a place not too far from Mum’s. A little house in a quiet suburb, just a few miles down the road.”

Surprise flickered across my face as his words sunk in. “Wait—you bought a house? Here? I thought you loved the city.”

“I do,” he said, his smile softening. “But I needed somewhere a bit quieter. Somewhere that feels more… grounded. And being close to Mum just made sense. It’s not far from here, actually.”

I blinked, trying to process the unexpected news. “So, you’re planning on staying in England more?”

“That’s the idea,” he said, watching me carefully. “The touring and traveling won’t stop completely, but… yeah. I want to be here. For her. And maybe for someone else too.”

My heart fluttered at his words, and I couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto my face. “You really mean it?”

He nodded, his grin widening. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this. Besides,” he added, his tone lightening, “you didn’t think I’d just leave you with the title of Best Cookie Maker in England without trying to claim it back, did you?”

I laughed, the heaviness in my chest lifting. “Good luck with that. You’ve got a long way to go.”

Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss me lightly. “Challenge accepted. But in the meantime, I thought you might like knowing I’m sticking around a bit more.”

“I like it a lot,” I admitted, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the cozy flat or the wine. “More than you know.”

“Good,” he said simply, his arms tightening around me as if to say he wasn’t going anywhere. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly believe it.

The night ended quietly, with Harry deciding to head back to his mum’s house to stay the night. He kissed me goodnight at the door, lingering just a moment longer than usual, his hand brushing my cheek before he finally walked away. I watched him leave, the warmth of the evening still humming in my chest, before closing the door and heading to bed. Tomorrow would be back to reality, with work waiting for me in the morning.

When my alarm buzzed, I groaned softly, pulling myself from the warmth of my bed and dragging myself into the shower. As the water woke me up, my thoughts drifted to Harry, and I smiled, the events of the night before playing on a loop in my mind. But as much as I wanted to bask in the memory, I had to focus. Anne would be expecting me soon.

I slipped into a crisp button-up shirt and a pair of tailored slacks, checking my reflection in the mirror before tying my hair back neatly. Professional, but comfortable. Grabbing my bag and keys, I made my way out the door.

The morning was cold, a light frost covering the ground, but the clear blue sky promised a pleasant day ahead. The drive to Anne’s was peaceful, the roads quiet as I sipped my coffee and listened to the soft hum of the radio. By the time I pulled into her driveway, the world was beginning to stir.

Anne’s charming cottage looked as inviting as ever, the smoke curling from the chimney hinting at a warm fire inside. I grabbed my bag and headed to the door, knocking lightly before stepping inside.

“Good morning, Anne!” I called out, the familiar scent of lavender and freshly brewed tea greeting me.

Anne appeared from the kitchen, her face lighting up as she saw me. “Good morning, love! Right on time, as always.”

I smiled, hanging my coat by the door. “I try. What’s on the agenda today?”

“Oh, the usual chaos,” she said with a wink, gesturing for me to follow her into the kitchen. “But first, let me make you some tea. Can’t have you working without proper sustenance.”

As I settled at the kitchen table, Anne placed a steaming cup of tea in front of me, her warm smile making me feel instantly at ease.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip. “It’s quiet this morning.”

Anne chuckled as she sat across from me. “It is. Harry’s out on a quick run to grab some pastries. Figured we’d need something sweet to go with the tea.”

I smiled, imagining him bundled up against the cold, running around town with his usual effortless charm. “That sounds perfect.”

Anne leaned back in her chair, cradling her own cup of tea. “We don’t have too much to do today, thankfully. Most places are closed for the holiday, so I thought we’d keep it light. Just a few notes to tidy up.”

“That works for me,” I said, grateful for the slower pace.

Anne watched me for a moment, her expression soft but tinged with a hint of mischief. “You know,” she began, her tone casual, “I have to say, my plan seems to be coming along quite nicely.”

I blinked, setting my cup down. “Plan?”

She grinned, clearly enjoying my confusion. “To get you and Harry together, of course.”

I froze, a flush creeping up my cheeks. “Anne!” I exclaimed, laughing nervously. “You didn’t!”

“Oh, I absolutely did,” she said, completely unapologetic. “Do you think it’s a coincidence he just happened to show up at my Christmas party? Or that I let slip how much you love baking?”

I stared at her, equal parts flattered and mortified. “You’ve been plotting this?”

“Plotting is a strong word,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Let’s call it gentle nudging. I saw how he lit up whenever I mentioned you, and, well, it’s no secret how highly I think of you. It seemed worth a little nudge, don’t you think?”

I couldn’t help but smile, her words filling me with a warmth that pushed away my embarrassment. “Anne, you’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” she said with a wink, “but you’re smiling, which means I’m not entirely wrong.”

I shook my head, laughing softly. “You’re lucky I adore you.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, grinning. “And so does Harry, apparently. You two are good for each other, Y/N. That’s all I wanted to see.”

Her words lingered in the air, and I couldn’t deny the truth in them. Before I could respond, the front door opened, and Harry’s voice called out, “Mum, I’m back! And I brought enough pastries to feed an army!”

Anne leaned in conspiratorially, her grin widening. “See? My plan practically runs itself.”

I laughed, shaking my head as Harry stepped into the kitchen, his arms full of boxes and a familiar smile lighting up his face. Anne gave me a knowing look.

As Harry walked into the kitchen, balancing a box of pastries in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, his eyes landed on me. His hair was slightly tousled, his cheeks still faintly pink from the cold, and he had the soft, slightly groggy look of someone who hadn’t fully shaken off sleep.

“Y/N,” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re here earlier than I thought you’d be.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I took him in. Even tired, or maybe because he was still a bit sleepy, he looked effortlessly attractive. His sweater hung just right, and the way he ran a hand through his hair made it impossible to look away.

“Good morning, Harry,” I managed, willing my voice to stay steady. “Anne said we’d be taking it easy today, so I figured I’d come in early and get started.”

He set the box of pastries on the counter, his grin widening as he leaned against the edge. “You’re always so diligent. Mum’s lucky to have you.”

Anne, who was busy organizing the tea cabinet, smirked but didn’t say anything, though I could see the amused glint in her eyes. I ignored it, focusing instead on Harry, who was still watching me with that familiar, disarming gaze.

“And I see you’ve already done the hard work,” I teased, nodding toward the pastries.

He chuckled, his voice still tinged with sleep. “What can I say? I aim to impress. Picked these up from that bakery you mentioned last week.”

My heart fluttered at the thought that he’d remembered something so small, but I forced myself to keep it cool. “Well, you’ve succeeded. Those are my favorite.”

“Good,” he said, his grin softening as his eyes lingered on mine. For a moment, the noise of the kitchen—the clinking cups, Anne humming softly—faded away, leaving just us.

“Harry,” Anne’s voice broke through, light and teasing, “don’t just stand there staring. Grab the plates, would you?”

He laughed, shaking his head but obediently moving to grab plates from the cupboard. As he passed by me, his hand brushed lightly against my arm—a small, fleeting touch that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, before turning back to the counter.

I watched him, my chest tightening and my heart racing, and realized that no matter how calm I tried to appear, Harry had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

Anne and I worked through everything on the agenda at a leisurely pace, the day feeling light and easy. Once we’d finished, she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile.

“Well, that’s everything,” she said, setting her notepad aside. “Not too bad, was it?”

“Not at all,” I replied, sipping the last of my tea. “Thanks for keeping it simple today.”

Anne grinned, her tone warm. “You’ve earned it, love. You know, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. No rush.”

I smiled, grateful for her kindness. “Thanks, Anne. I might stick around for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she said, standing to tidy up the kitchen. “Harry’s here too, so you’ve got good company.”

As if on cue, the front door opened, and Harry stepped in, shaking snow off his coat and hair. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his boots left a trail of melted snow as he made his way to the living room.

“Hey,” he said, spotting me on the couch. “You’re still here.”

I smiled. “Anne said I could stay.”

“Good,” he said, plopping down beside me with a casual ease. “I wanted to show you something.”

“Oh?” I asked, curious.

He nodded, his grin widening as he stood and offered me his hand. “Come on. It’s better if you see it for yourself.”

I glanced at Anne, who waved me off with a knowing smile, then slipped my hand into Harry’s. His fingers were warm against mine as he led me to the back door.

Outside, the snowy garden stretched before us, the white blanket of snow untouched except for a few faint footprints. The air was crisp, and the soft glow of the late afternoon sun made the scene look like something out of a storybook.

Harry guided me down the stone path, his hand never leaving mine. “I noticed this earlier when I was outside,” he said, stopping near the edge of the garden. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

He gestured toward a small clearing where the snow-covered trees framed a frozen pond. The surface reflected the soft light, and the whole scene looked almost magical.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my breath visible in the cold air. “I didn’t know this was back here.”

Harry smiled, his gaze shifting from the scene to me. “Thought it might make your day a little better. Quiet, peaceful—just like you like.”

My chest tightened at his words, and I looked at him, the sincerity in his expression making my heart race. “You’re really good at this, you know,” I said softly.

“Good at what?” he asked, his grin teasing.

“Making me feel like the only person in the world,” I admitted, my cheeks warming despite the cold.

Harry’s smile softened, and he squeezed my hand gently. “That’s easy,” he said. “Because to me, you kind of are.”

For a moment, we stood there in the snowy garden, the world around us silent except for the soft crunch of snow beneath our feet. And as he leaned in, his breath warm against my cold skin, I felt like everything else disappeared.

As we stood in the snowy garden, a chill crept through the air, but before I could even shiver, Harry wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. His warmth was immediate, and I instinctively leaned into him, grateful for the comfort.

“You looked like you were freezing,” he murmured, his voice soft against the quiet of the garden. “Can’t have that.”

I smiled faintly, my gaze drifting to the frozen pond before us. The way the snow-covered branches framed it, the delicate stillness of the ice, and the pale sunlight reflecting off its surface—it all felt like something out of a poem.

“A poem,” I said aloud, almost to myself.

Harry glanced down at me, his curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”

I hesitated, then tilted my head to look at him. “The cold always makes me think of poetry. I read one once that stuck with me.”

He smiled, his arm tightening slightly around my shoulder. “Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”

I turned my eyes back to the pond, letting the memory of the words rise to the surface. Slowly, I began to recite:

"The winter holds its breath tonight, A silver hush beneath pale light. The earth wears frost like fragile lace, A fleeting mask of quiet grace."

My voice softened as I continued, my breath visible in the crisp air.

"Yet in the cold, a warmth remains, A pulse that stirs through frozen veins. For even winter’s biting chill, Can’t silence hearts that whisper still."

I paused, my eyes fixed on the stillness of the pond, the words lingering in the quiet air. When I glanced up at Harry, his expression was soft, his gaze steady as he watched me.

“That was beautiful,” he said after a moment, his voice low and sincere. “Did you write that?”

I shook my head, smiling shyly. “No, it’s just one that stuck with me. I don’t even remember where I read it, but it always felt… comforting.”

“It suits you,” he said, his arm pulling me a little closer. “Soft, thoughtful, and quietly stunning.”

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you like me.”

“Maybe,” he teased, his grin playful. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

I leaned into him, letting his warmth and his words wrap around me. In that moment, with the snow falling softly around us and the garden stretching quietly before us, it felt like the world had paused just for us.

As the last of my words faded into the cold air, I turned to Harry, his arm still wrapped around me, his warmth cutting through the chill. Without a word, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his chest. He didn’t hesitate, pulling me into a tight embrace, his hands resting firmly on my back as if he wanted to hold me there forever.

We stood like that for a moment, the snowy world around us silent, as if it was giving us this moment to ourselves. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, grounding and comforting.

Harry shifted slightly, pulling back just enough so he could look down at me. His green eyes were serious now, his usual playful smile replaced by something deeper, something vulnerable. His hands stayed on my waist, his touch warm and steady.

“Y/N,” he began softly, his voice almost a whisper, “I’ve been meaning to say this for a while. I don’t want there to be any doubt—about how I feel, about what this is between us.”

My heart began to race as I searched his gaze, my breath catching at the sincerity in his expression.

“I like you,” he continued, his voice gaining strength. “Not just in a casual way, not just as someone I want to spend time with when it’s convenient. I really like you. And I want you to be my girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air, warm and certain, as he studied me, waiting for my response.

“You want me to be your girlfriend?” I asked, a soft smile tugging at my lips, though my voice wavered slightly from the rush of emotions his confession brought.

“Yeah,” he said, his grip on my waist tightening slightly as if to emphasize his words. “I don’t want you to have to wonder where we stand, or if my feelings are real. They are. You’re the one I think about, the one I want to be with.”

A wave of warmth flooded through me, and I smiled up at him, my chest tightening in the best way possible. “I’d love to be your girlfriend, Harry.”

The relief and joy on his face were immediate, his grin spreading wide as he let out a soft laugh. He wrapped his arms around me again, hugging me tightly, and I felt his breath against my hair.

As Harry and I stood wrapped in each other's arms, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the gentle hush of falling snow and the warmth between us. Just as I was about to suggest heading back inside, I noticed a playful glint in Harry's eyes.

"What is it?" I asked, following his gaze.

He chuckled softly. "Seems we have an audience."

Turning around, I spotted Anne standing at the kitchen window, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. The soft glow from inside illuminated her amused expression. When she caught our eyes, she didn't look away—instead, she grinned widely and gave us an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

I felt a rush of warmth flood my cheeks. "Oh my gosh," I murmured, half-embarrassed and half-amused. "How long has she been watching?"

Harry laughed, pulling me a little closer. "Knowing Mum, probably the whole time."

I buried my face briefly against his chest, laughing. "She's going to tease us endlessly, isn't she?"

"Most definitely," he said with a grin. "But that's part of her charm."

As Anne disappeared from the window, likely to give us a semblance of privacy—or perhaps to prepare her teasing remarks—Harry looked back at me, his eyes soft.

"Well," he said lightly, "at least we know we have her approval."

I smiled up at him. "Not that I ever doubted it. She's been rooting for us from the start."

He tilted his head, feigning surprise. "You think so?"

I raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, I know so. She practically admitted to orchestrating this whole thing."

He laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that made my heart swell. "Sounds like Mum."

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed my hand. "Come on, let's head back inside before we both turn into snowmen."

As we walked back toward the house, our footsteps crunching softly in the snow, I felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. Harry opened the back door for me, and we stepped into the warm embrace of the kitchen.

Anne was bustling about, pretending to be engrossed in organizing the tea cupboard. She glanced over her shoulder as we entered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Enjoy your walk?" she asked innocently.

Harry smirked. "Caught us, did you?"

She turned, her eyes twinkling. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I shook my head, laughing softly. "Your subtlety is unmatched, Anne."

She grinned unabashedly. "Well, I can't help it if my kitchen window happens to have the best view of the garden."

Harry rolled his eyes affectionately. "Right."

Anne stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "In all seriousness, I'm so happy for you both."

"Thank you," I said, my voice sincere. "And thank you for... well, everything."

She waved a hand dismissively, but her eyes were warm. "Nonsense. I didn't do anything but give a little nudge here and there."

Harry glanced between us, feigning offense. "Wait a minute—are you telling me I've been set up?"

I laughed, nudging him lightly. "Looks like it."

Anne chuckled, patting his cheek. "Oh, hush. You needed the help."

He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Unbelievable."

"Now," Anne declared, moving back toward the kettle, "who's up for another cup of tea? I think this calls for a celebration."

I exchanged a glance with Harry, both of us smiling. "I'd love one," I said.

"Make it three," Harry added, pulling out a chair for me at the kitchen table.

As we settled in, the three of us chatting and laughing, I couldn't help but feel that everything had fallen perfectly into place. The warmth of the tea, the glow of the kitchen lights, and the easy banter made the moment feel cozy and right.

Anne looked over at us, her expression softening. "You know, it's been a long time since I've seen both of you so happy."

Harry reached over to squeeze my hand. "Well, I've got a good reason."

I smiled back at him, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. "Me too."

Anne sighed contentedly. "This is exactly what I was hoping for."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Mum. Your matchmaking is showing."

She laughed. "Well, I can't take all the credit. You two did the hard part."

We spent the next hour sharing stories and making plans, the earlier embarrassment forgotten. As the afternoon light began to fade, Harry stood up.

"Actually, Mum, I was thinking of taking Y/N to see that new exhibit at the gallery tomorrow. If she's interested, of course."

I looked up, pleasantly surprised. "I'd love to."

Anne beamed. "That sounds wonderful. You two go and enjoy yourselves."

Harry offered his hand to help me up. "Great. It's a date, then."

As we prepared to leave, Anne pulled me into a warm hug. "Welcome to the family, dear, officially.."

I hugged her back, my heart full. "Thank you, Anne. For everything."

The week flew by faster than I wanted it to, and before I knew it, the day had come for Harry to leave for America. He texted that morning to say he’d be stopping by on his way to the airport, and while I was grateful for the chance to say goodbye, the thought of him leaving left a dull ache in my chest.

When the knock came, I opened the door to find Harry standing there, dressed casually in a hoodie and jacket, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping inside and setting his bag down near the door.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady as I closed the door behind him. “Ready for the trip?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said with a small laugh, though there was a heaviness to his tone. He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “I wanted to see you before I left.”

I nodded, my chest tightening as I squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you did.”

We moved to the couch, sitting close as he wrapped an arm around me. For a moment, we just sat there in silence, the weight of the impending goodbye hanging in the air. I tried to be strong, but as I glanced at his duffel bag and realized I wouldn’t see him for weeks—maybe longer—the tears started to well up in my eyes.

“Y/N,” Harry said softly, noticing immediately. He turned to face me, his hand brushing against my cheek. “Don’t cry, love. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking as I tried to hold back the tears. “I didn’t want to do this—I promised myself I wouldn’t—but I’m going to miss you so much.”

His face softened, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. “I’m going to miss you too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

I buried my face against his chest, letting a few tears escape as he ran his hand soothingly up and down my back. “I know you have to go,” I said quietly, “but it just… it feels so hard to say goodbye.”

“It’s not goodbye,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt my chin up so I was looking at him. “It’s just ‘see you later.’ I’ll call you every chance I get, and as soon as I’m back, the first thing I’m doing is coming straight to you.”

I nodded, trying to take comfort in his words, though the ache in my chest didn’t ease. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, leaning down to kiss me gently. The kiss was soft and lingering, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word into it.

When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re so important to me, Y/N. Don’t ever forget that.”

I smiled through my tears, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “And you’re important to me.”

The sound of his phone vibrating broke the moment, and he sighed, pulling it from his pocket. “That’s my Uber. I have to go.”

I nodded, standing with him as he grabbed his bag. At the door, he turned back one last time, his eyes locking with mine. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I said softly, forcing a small smile.

He kissed me again, quick but full of warmth, before stepping out into the hallway. I watched him go, my heart heavy but hopeful, and as the door closed, I knew one thing for sure: no matter how far apart we were, Harry and I were in this together.

The weekend dragged on, each hour feeling heavier than the last. After Harry left, the silence in my apartment seemed louder, the once-comforting quiet now feeling hollow. I’d tried to distract myself—tidying up the kitchen, folding laundry, even putting on a movie—but nothing seemed to hold my attention for long.

Instead, I found myself moping around the apartment, replaying our goodbye in my head. His voice, his smile, the way he hugged me so tightly before he left—it all felt so vivid, like he was still here. But then reality would settle in again, and the ache in my chest would return.

I spent most of Saturday curled up on the couch in one of his old sweaters, a half-empty cup of tea cooling on the coffee table. My phone sat beside me, but I resisted the urge to text him, reminding myself he’d barely even landed yet. Instead, I scrolled absentmindedly through photos on my phone, pausing on the ones of us from the past week: Harry grinning at the garden, his arm slung casually around me at Anne’s house, the two of us laughing over cookies in my kitchen.

Sunday wasn’t much better. I tried to make myself productive, but even the simplest tasks felt draining. I stared at my bookshelf, thinking I might lose myself in a story, but every time I reached for a book, my mind wandered back to Harry.

By the evening, I was stretched out on the couch again, my blanket pulled tightly around me. The TV played a movie I wasn’t watching, the dialogue fading into the background as I stared at my phone. I hated feeling this way—so listless, so heavy—but I couldn’t shake it.

Then, just as I was about to turn the TV off and crawl into bed, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it instantly, my heart leaping when I saw his name on the screen.

Harry: Miss you already, love. What are you doing right now?

A smile broke across my face, and for the first time all weekend, the ache in my chest lightened. Maybe the distance was hard, but his message reminded me that I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. He missed me too.

I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around me as I typed back.

Y/N: Moping around, missing you. What about you?

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry: Thinking about you. Do I need to fly back there and cheer you up?

I laughed softly, the sound breaking through the haze of my mood, and typed back quickly.

Y/N: As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll be okay.

Harry: You’re stuck with me now.

A few weeks had passed, and life had slowly settled into a rhythm. Harry and I kept in touch through texts and FaceTime, and while I missed him more than I wanted to admit, hearing his voice and seeing his face, even through a screen, made the distance a little easier to bear.

One afternoon, I came home to find a small envelope waiting in my mailbox. It was addressed in elegant handwriting, and when I opened it, I was greeted by a beautifully designed invitation. My best friend was getting married. The date was just a few weeks away, and the location was back in the States.

Excited and surprised, I grabbed my phone and called her immediately. She picked up on the second ring, her voice light and cheerful.

“Y/N!” she said, already knowing why I was calling. “Did you get it?”

“I just opened it!” I said, grinning. “A wedding? When were you going to tell me? You’ve been holding out on me!”

She laughed. “I wanted it to be a surprise. It’s not going to be a huge thing, just close friends and family, but I’d love it if you could come. You’re one of the most important people in my life—I couldn’t imagine getting married without you there.”

Her words made my chest tighten, a warmth spreading through me. “Of course, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Are you kidding me? It’s your wedding.”

“Good,” she said, a smile in her voice. “I didn’t think you’d say no, but I still had to hear you say yes.”

“When did you start planning this?” I asked, still processing the news. “I had no idea.”

“Quietly,” she admitted. “We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Just something small and meaningful. And now that you’re coming, it’s going to be perfect.”

“I can’t wait,” I said sincerely. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

She laughed softly. “We’ll see about that. Just get yourself here. That’s all that matters.”

After we hung up, I stared at the invitation again, my heart swelling with excitement. It had been too long since I’d seen her, and the thought of being there for such an important moment felt incredible. I couldn’t wait to celebrate her love story—and to feel a little piece of home again.

After I hung up, I stared at the invitation in my hands, excitement bubbling in my chest. But alongside the joy came a small pang of guilt. My best friend was getting married, sharing one of the most important milestones of her life, and I’d been keeping a secret—something I hadn’t planned to keep from her for so long.

I glanced at my phone, hesitating for just a moment before hitting redial. She picked up almost instantly.

“Y/N, what’s up? Forget to ask something?” she said, her tone light and teasing.

I laughed nervously, twirling the edge of the invitation between my fingers. “Kind of. I just… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her tone shifted slightly, curious but still warm. “Okay. Spill. What’s on your mind?”

I took a deep breath, gathering the courage to explain. “So, you know how we were just talking about important people in each other’s lives?”

“Yeah?” she said, drawing out the word, clearly intrigued.

“Well,” I began slowly, “there’s someone in my life I haven’t mentioned yet. And… I feel bad for not telling you sooner.”

“Y/N,” she said, her voice softening. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

I smiled despite my nerves, the warmth of her concern settling me. “It’s nothing bad. Actually, it’s really good. I’ve been… quietly dating someone.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then her voice rose, excitement bubbling through. “Wait, what? Y/N! Who is he? Why haven’t you told me? Spill everything, right now.”

I laughed, though my cheeks burned. “It’s kind of… well, it’s Harry, my boss’s son. Harry Styles.”

Silence followed, but only for a beat before she burst out laughing. “You’re joking. You have to be joking.”

“I’m not joking,” I said, smiling nervously. “It’s real. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now. It’s still new, but… it’s real.”

There was another pause, and then a delighted squeal. “Oh my God, Y/N! You’re serious? You and Harry Styles? This is insane. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” I admitted. “It’s been… a lot to figure out. And I didn’t want to overwhelm you with it. But now that you’re getting married, I just couldn’t keep it from you anymore.”

She let out an exaggerated sigh, though I could hear the smile in her voice. “You’re forgiven. But only because this is the best news I’ve heard in weeks. You have to tell me everything when you get here. Every single detail. Me and you. Hotel bar.”

I laughed, relief washing over me. “I promise. You’ll get the full story.”

“Good,” she said firmly. “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.”

Her words hit me squarely in the chest, and my smile softened. “Thank you. That means so much.”

“Now go start packing,” she said, her voice turning playful again. “I need my maid of honor looking fabulous when she meets my family.”

We laughed together before saying goodbye again, and as I hung up, the guilt I’d felt was replaced by a warm sense of relief. I couldn’t wait to share the details with her in person—and to see where this next chapter of our lives would take us.

That evening, as I settled onto the couch with my phone, Harry’s name lit up the screen. His familiar grin filled my heart with warmth as I picked up.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice soft and full of affection. “How’s your day been?”

“Good,” I replied, smiling. “Actually, I have some news.”

“Oh?” he asked, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“I’m going to be a maid of honor,” I said, excitement bubbling in my voice. “My best friend’s getting married in New York in a few weeks, and she asked me to stand by her.”

Harry’s grin widened. “That’s amazing, Y/N. I bet she couldn’t imagine anyone better for the job.”

“She’s been one of my closest friends for years,” I said fondly. “I’m so excited for her. It’s a small wedding, just close friends and family, but it’s going to be so special.”

Harry’s voice turned playful. “So, what’s the plan for your maid of honor attire? Something chic? Dramatic? Full-on princess vibes?”

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “It’s her wedding, Harry. I’m not stealing the spotlight. She mentioned something about keeping it simple and elegant. I’m sure she’ll pick out a dress for me that fits the vibe.”

“I’m picturing you now,” he teased, his tone light but warm. “You’re going to look stunning, no matter what you wear.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I joked, feeling my cheeks heat.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he shot back, his grin evident in his voice. “Now I’m wishing I could be there to see you walk down the aisle.”

I smiled softly, his words tugging at my heart. “You’ll be there in spirit.”

“Still doesn’t feel like enough,” he said, his tone turning thoughtful. “But I guess I’ll just have to settle for pictures—lots of pictures.”

“You’ll get plenty,” I promised. “And I’ll tell you all about it afterward.”

“Deal,” he said, his voice lighter again. “And if you need someone to practice your maid of honor speech on, you know where to find me.”

I laughed, feeling the warmth of his care wrap around me, even across the distance. The excitement of the wedding had been enough to brighten my day, but sharing it with Harry made it all the more special.

A few weeks later, the day of the wedding trip arrived, and I flew to New York City, excitement buzzing through me. After checking into the hotel where the ceremony would take place, I met up with my best friend, her enthusiasm matching mine. We hugged tightly, laughing and catching up before deciding to head down to the hotel bar for a celebratory drink.

The bar was cozy and bustling, and before long, the laughter between us grew louder, fueled by the cocktails we kept ordering. Somewhere between my second and third drink, she leaned in with a knowing smile.

“So,” she began, drawing out the word, “tell me everything about Harry. What’s he really like?”

I grinned, the warmth of the drinks making me more open than usual. “He’s… incredible,” I said, my voice softening. “He’s kind and thoughtful, always checking in to see how I’m doing. He makes me laugh so much, and he has this way of making me feel like the most important person in the world.”

She rested her chin on her hand, grinning like a schoolgirl. “Okay, I’m obsessed already. He sounds amazing. And ridiculously charming.”

“Oh, he is,” I said with a laugh. “Sometimes it’s almost unfair. But he’s also so genuine. He doesn’t just say sweet things—he backs them up with actions.”

My best friend sighed dramatically, raising her glass. “Here’s to the perfect boyfriend. And to you, for snagging him.”

We clinked glasses, laughing again as the drinks kept flowing. By the time we were both thoroughly drunk, she was looking at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“You know what we need to do?” she said, pulling my phone out of my purse.

I blinked, trying to focus. “What?”

“We need to call him,” she said, already scrolling through my contacts. “He needs to come to the wedding. He can’t miss this.”

“What?” I said, reaching for my phone, but my reflexes were dulled by the alcohol. “No! He’s busy. He’s—”

“Hello? Harry?” she said, cutting me off as the call connected. My eyes widened as I heard his voice on the other end.

“Uh, yeah, this is Harry,” he said, sounding a mix of amused and confused. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Y/N’s best friend,” she said brightly, her words slurring slightly. “Listen, you’re amazing, and she talks about you all the time. You need to get on a plane and come to this wedding. We’re going to party, and you can’t miss it.”

There was a pause, and then Harry laughed, his voice warm. “She’s been drinking, hasn’t she?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Harry, I’m so sorry. She stole my phone.”

“It’s fine, love,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “This is definitely the highlight of my night.”

“Seriously, though,” my friend continued, undeterred. “She’s amazing, and you’re amazing, and you belong here. Come on, Harry. Be the romantic hero.”

Harry chuckled again, clearly entertained. “I’ll see what I can do. But you might want to get her some water before she plans a whole flight for me.”

“She’s fine,” my friend insisted, grinning. “But you’re officially invited. Think about it.”

“I will,” Harry said, his voice softening. “Now, make sure she gets back to her room safely, all right?”

I finally managed to grab the phone, my face burning with embarrassment. “Harry, I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he said, laughing. “It’s good to know I have a fan club.”

I sighed, but his lightheartedness eased some of my embarrassment. “I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m sober. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said warmly. “Goodnight, love.”

As I ended the call, my best friend leaned back in her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.

“You’re welcome,” she said smugly.

I couldn’t help but laugh, despite the mortification. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” she said with a grin, raising her glass for another toast. And despite everything, I couldn’t deny that she was absolutely right.

As the laughter subsided and I tried to process the chaos of my friend calling Harry, she leaned forward again, her eyes sparkling with a new mischievous idea.

“All right, spill,” she said, her tone dripping with curiosity. “How good is he in bed? I mean, come on, it’s Harry Styles.”

My face immediately flushed, the alcohol making my usual filter non-existent. “We, uh… we haven’t done anything like that yet.”

Her jaw dropped, her expression a mix of shock and exaggerated disappointment. “What?! You’re telling me you’ve been dating Harry freaking Styles, and you haven’t gotten lucky yet?”

I laughed nervously, waving a hand as if to brush it off. “It’s not like that. We’ve been so busy—his schedule’s insane, and when we’re together, the moment just… hasn’t felt right.”

She groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “That’s it. If he comes to the wedding, you have to make it happen.”

“Oh my God, stop,” I said, laughing and covering my face. “It’s not something I can just plan!”

“Sure, you can!” she said, slapping the table. “You’re the maid of honor, he’s the ridiculously sexy boyfriend. It’s practically a movie. You two sneak away during the reception, the sparks fly—boom, best night ever!”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh too hard at her drunken theatrics. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” she said, pointing a finger at me, her face serious despite her tipsy sway. “What’s ridiculous is that Harry Styles is in love with you, and you haven’t jumped him yet. If he gets here, you owe it to yourself. And to me, for the record. I need to live vicariously through this.”

I couldn’t stop laughing, my cheeks burning as I buried my face in my hands. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me for it,” she replied with a triumphant grin, raising her glass for another toast. “Here’s to Harry, your wedding date, and your impending fairytale night.”

I clinked my glass against hers, still laughing. “You’re absolutely wild.”

She leaned back in her chair, a smug smile on her face. “You know I’m right, though.”

As much as I tried to brush off her antics, her words lingered in my mind, equal parts embarrassing and amusing. And deep down, I couldn’t help but wonder if she might just be onto something.

Later that night, my phone buzzed on the nightstand of my hotel room as I clumsily changed into pajamas. Still a bit tipsy from the bar, I grabbed it, squinting at the screen. Harry’s name lit up, and a wide, silly grin spread across my face as I answered.

“Helloooo,” I drawled, dragging out the word in an exaggerated sing-song tone.

Harry chuckled on the other end, his voice warm and familiar. “Hi, love. Someone’s had a fun night, I take it?”

“You could say that,” I replied, flopping onto the bed and giggling. “We may have had… one or two drinks. Or three.”

“Sounds like it,” he said, clearly amused. “Well, I’ve got some news. I pulled a few strings, rearranged a couple of things, and… I can be your date to the wedding.”

The excitement hit me instantly, and I let out a loud, dramatic gasp. “You’re kidding! Harry Styles, the one and only, coming to my best friend’s wedding? I can’t believe it!”

He laughed, his tone softening. “Yeah, it’s happening. I didn’t want you going through it without me.”

“You’re the best,” I said, my words slurring slightly as I hugged a pillow. “Seriously. You’re, like, the nicest, sweetest, best boyfriend in the universe.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he teased. “So, what’s the plan for the wedding? Are you ready for your maid of honor duties?”

“Totally ready,” I said, giggling. “Except my friend… oh my God, she’s gonna love you. But she said something so wild tonight.”

Harry hummed, his tone curious. “Oh? What’s that?”

I hesitated for a moment, then burst into laughter. “She said… she said we need to ‘get lucky together’ at the wedding.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry let out a deep, warm laugh. “She said what?”

“Yup!” I replied, laughing so hard tears pricked my eyes. “She was all like, ‘You’re dating Harry Styles, and you haven’t yet? If he comes to the wedding, you have to make it happen.’ Like, she was so serious. It was hilarious.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Sounds like she’s your biggest cheerleader.”

“Oh, she definitely is,” I said, grinning. “She’s wild, but she means well.”

“Well,” Harry said, his voice teasing, “far be it from me to disappoint your friend. If that’s what’s on her wishlist…”

I let out an exaggerated gasp, laughing. “Harry Edward Styles, you are terrible!”

“Terrible? Or just dedicated to fulfilling my duties as your boyfriend?” he quipped, the grin evident in his voice.

I dissolved into giggles, rolling onto my back. “You’re ridiculous. But you’re my ridiculous.”

“Exactly,” he said warmly. “Now, get some sleep, love. We can talk more when you’re not quite so… festive.”

“Festive,” I repeated, laughing softly. “Okay, fine. Goodnight, Harry. And thank you for coming to the wedding.”

“Anything for you,” he said, his voice soft. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

As I hung up, my heart felt lighter, the excitement of seeing him again making everything feel a little brighter—even through the haze of my drunken antics.

The next morning, a sharp knock at my hotel room door jolted me awake. Groaning, I buried my face in the pillow, my head pounding slightly from the night before.

“Y/N!” my best friend’s voice called through the door. “Get up, sleepyhead. We’re going to breakfast, and then we’re shopping. No arguments.”

I forced myself out of bed, dragging a hand through my hair as I shuffled to the door. When I opened it, she was standing there, bright-eyed and holding a cup of coffee, looking far more awake than I felt.

“Morning!” she chirped, thrusting the coffee into my hands. “Drink this. We’ve got plans.”

I took the cup gratefully, my voice groggy. “Plans? What kind of plans?”

“Wedding shopping, duh,” she said, pushing her way into the room. “I need a new set of lingerie for my wedding night, and you, my dear, are coming with me. We’re going to find something fabulous.”

I blinked at her, still half-asleep. “You’re dragging me lingerie shopping before I’ve even had breakfast?”

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “But don’t worry, breakfast is first. Oh, and while we’re shopping, you should pick out something slinky for Harry.”

My face instantly flushed, and I nearly choked on my coffee. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, smirking as she flopped onto the edge of my bed. “If he’s coming to the wedding—and thank you, drunk me, for making that happen—you might as well make it a trip to remember.”

“You’re insane,” I said, laughing despite my embarrassment.

“And you love me for it,” she replied smugly. “Now hurry up and get dressed. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

Shaking my head, I set the coffee down and started pulling clothes from my suitcase. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” she said with a wink. “Now, let’s get moving. We’ve got to find you something that’ll make Harry’s jaw drop.”

Despite the teasing, I couldn’t help but laugh as I got ready, her energy infectious. The thought of shopping for something like that was a little nerve-wracking, but her playful attitude made it hard not to feel excited about the day ahead.

After I got dressed and downed the coffee she brought, we headed down to the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast. The smell of fresh pastries and brewed coffee was heavenly, and as we sat by the window overlooking the bustling streets of New York City, I felt the lingering fog of last night’s drinks start to clear.

“So,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a sly grin, “are you going to take my advice and pick out something jaw-dropping?”

“For you or for me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I took a bite of my croissant.

“For you, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This is your chance to show Harry the full package. You know, give him a reason to never let you out of his sight again.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You act like he needs convincing. He’s coming to your wedding, isn’t he?”

“Yes, because I made the call of the century,” she said proudly, sipping her coffee. “But still, a little extra effort never hurts.”

“And you’re just dying to drag me into some lingerie shop, aren’t you?” I teased, smirking.

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “You’ve always been too modest. It’s time to embrace the fun of it. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be the only one shopping for someone special.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Fine, we’ll see. But don’t expect me to go full-on runway model.”

“Oh, I won’t push too hard,” she said, her grin widening. “But I’ll know the perfect set when I see it. Trust me.”

After breakfast, we ventured out into the city, hopping in and out of boutiques and shops, her energy as high as ever. At every store, she’d pull me toward the lingerie section, holding up items she deemed “Harry-worthy.”

“How about this?” she asked, holding up a sleek black lace set.

I blushed, shaking my head. “A little much, don’t you think?”

“Not for Harry,” she said with a wink. “Okay, how about this one?” She turned to a bold red satin number, the color striking against the delicate fabric.

“You’re relentless,” I said, laughing.

“Of course I am,” she replied, tossing the set into my arms. “Try it. You’ll thank me later.”

Despite my initial hesitation, I let her drag me into a dressing room, her over-the-top encouragement keeping me laughing the whole time. By the end of the trip, she’d found the perfect set for herself, while I begrudgingly admitted that she might have been right about hers for me.

Back at the hotel, we sprawled out on her bed, bags around us as we recapped the day.

“I can’t believe you actually convinced me,” I said, holding up the small shopping bag.

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “You’ll thank me when Harry sees you in that.”

“You’re impossible,” I said, laughing.

“And you’re about to have the best wedding date of your life,” she shot back, tossing a pillow at me.

As I looked at the bag, a mixture of nerves and excitement stirred in me.

Later that evening, nerves and excitement churned in my stomach as I waited for my Uber to arrive. Harry’s flight had landed, and I was heading to the airport to pick him up. My heart raced as I thought about seeing him again—it had felt like an eternity since we’d last been together.

The ride to the airport felt longer than it probably was, the anticipation making every mile stretch. When we finally pulled up, I stepped out into the cool night air, glancing around as I headed inside. The hustle and bustle of the terminal faded into the background as I made my way to the baggage claim, checking my phone for updates on his flight.

Then I saw him.

Harry stood near the carousel, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his curls slightly tousled from the flight. Even in the chaos of the airport, he looked calm and effortlessly put together. When his eyes met mine, his face broke into a wide smile that made my chest tighten.

Without thinking, I ran to him, weaving through the crowd until I reached him. “Harry!” I called, my voice light with excitement.

Before I could say anything else, his arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground as he spun me in a circle. I laughed, holding onto him tightly, the familiar warmth of his embrace flooding through me.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection as he pressed his face into my neck. “And you smell incredible.”

I laughed again, my cheeks flushing. “It’s just my usual perfume.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, setting me down but keeping his arms around me. “It’s you. You always smell amazing.”

I looked up at him, my hands resting on his chest as I took him in. His green eyes sparkled under the harsh airport lights, his grin soft and genuine. “I missed you too,” I said quietly, the words carrying so much more than they seemed.

“Well, I’m here now,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “And I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight.”

After we left the airport, the car ride back to the hotel was filled with easy laughter and light conversation. Harry held my hand the entire time, his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles as we caught up on everything we hadn’t said over texts and calls. Being with him again felt so natural, like no time had passed at all.

When we reached the hotel, I led him up to my room. He dropped his bag by the door and glanced around, taking in the space with a small smile. “Cozy,” he said, his voice warm.

“It does the job,” I replied, grinning as I kicked off my shoes and went to grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. As I handed him one, a thought struck me. “Oh! Do you want to see my dress for the wedding?”

His eyes lit up, and he leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Absolutely. Show me what the maid of honor will be rocking.”

I laughed, walking over to the closet where the dress hung neatly in its garment bag. I unzipped it carefully and pulled it out, holding it up for him to see. The dress was elegant and understated, a soft blush color with delicate lace detailing along the neckline and sleeves. The flowing skirt gave it a romantic, timeless feel.

Harry’s gaze softened as he took it in, his smile widening. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice sincere. “You’re going to look stunning in that.”

“You think so?” I asked, feeling a little self-conscious as I draped it over the back of a chair.

“I know so,” he replied, stepping closer. “But let’s be honest—you’d look stunning in anything.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, though my cheeks warmed at his compliment. “You’re too sweet.”

He reached out, pulling me gently into his arms. “Just telling the truth,” he said softly, his hands resting lightly on my waist. “Can I say something without sounding completely selfish?”

“Of course,” I said, tilting my head to look up at him.

“I’m so glad I’m here to see you in this,” he said, his grin turning a little sheepish. “I didn’t want to miss this moment—or you.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I smiled, resting my hands on his chest. “I’m glad you’re here too. It wouldn’t have felt the same without you.”

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead. “Well, now you’ve got me, and I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

The dress hung behind me as Harry held me close, the promise of the wedding and the days ahead filling the room with a sense of excitement and possibility.

As we stood by the chair where my maid of honor dress hung, Harry’s gaze drifted around the room, taking in the little details. His eyes landed on the small shopping bag sitting on the table near the window, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward it.

My eyes widened as I followed his gaze, and my cheeks flushed instantly. “Nothing!” I said quickly, darting over to the table and grabbing the bag.

“Nothing?” he repeated, the smirk growing. “You got nothing at a lingerie store?”

“It’s not what you think,” I mumbled, fumbling to open my suitcase and stuff the bag inside, my back to him.

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning casually against the desk, his tone full of amusement. “You’re being very subtle about it.”

“Drop it, Harry,” I said, though the laugh bubbling up in my chest made it hard to sound serious.

“Fine, fine,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t waver. “But for the record, I’m very intrigued by this ‘nothing’ you’re hiding.”

I shot him a playful glare, zipping up the suitcase and turning back to face him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he teased, stepping closer and brushing a hand lightly down my arm. “But I’ll behave… for now.”

The warmth in his eyes made my heart flutter, and despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Good. Now, are you done snooping around my hotel room?”

“For now,” he said with a wink, his grin turning softer. “But only because I’m more interested in spending time with you.”

Shaking my head, I let him pull me back into his arms, the earlier moment fading into laughter.

After a quiet evening catching up and unwinding from the long day, Harry and I began getting ready for bed. The excitement of seeing him again and the anticipation of my best friend’s wedding the next morning made my heart feel full. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light as I pulled out a pair of comfy pajamas, glancing over to see Harry stretched out on the bed, scrolling through his phone with a relaxed smile.

“You ready for tomorrow?” he asked, looking up at me as I climbed into bed.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied with a smile, settling in beside him. “It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

“It will be,” he said, leaning over to kiss my forehead. “And you’re going to be amazing.”

The room fell into a peaceful silence as we both drifted off, the hum of the city outside muffled by the thick curtains. I woke early the next morning, the excitement of the day pulling me out of sleep before my alarm even went off. Carefully, I slipped out of bed, glancing back at Harry, who was still sleeping soundly. He looked peaceful, his hair tousled and his expression soft.

I leaned over, gently pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ll see you downstairs,” I whispered, not wanting to wake him fully.

He stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent before settling back into the pillows. Smiling, I grabbed my dress and makeup bag and quietly left the room, heading downstairs to join the bridal party.

The hotel’s ballroom was already a flurry of activity when I arrived. My best friend greeted me with a hug, her face glowing with excitement as she ushered me over to where the hairstylist and makeup artist were setting up.

“You ready for this?” she asked, her grin wide as she handed me a cup of coffee.

“Absolutely,” I said, matching her energy. “Let’s get you married.”

The morning flew by in a whirlwind of preparations—hair, makeup, last-minute adjustments to dresses—and the energy in the room was electric. As I helped my best friend into her wedding gown, I couldn’t help but think about how perfect the day was shaping up to be. And knowing that Harry would be there to share it with me made it feel even more special.

The ceremony was beautiful, every detail reflecting the love my best friend and her fiancé shared. The hotel ballroom was elegantly decorated with soft florals and candles that flickered gently, casting a warm glow over the guests. As I stood beside her, holding her bouquet and witnessing her vows, my heart swelled with happiness for her.

But I wasn’t unaware of Harry. Sitting a few rows back, he watched me with a soft intensity that made my chest tighten. I could feel his gaze, a silent support that steadied me through the emotional ceremony. When I glanced at him briefly, his small, encouraging smile sent a wave of warmth through me.

After the ceremony, the reception buzzed with excitement and laughter. The ballroom had been transformed into a space of celebration, with tables adorned with candles and flowers, and a dance floor waiting for its first guests. Toasts had begun, and as the maid of honor, it was my turn.

When I stood to speak, a hush fell over the room. Harry’s eyes found mine instantly, his expression filled with pride and encouragement. I smiled at my best friend and her new spouse, holding a small piece of paper in my trembling hands.

“I thought about what I could say to you today,” I began, my voice steady but soft. “About how much you mean to me, about the love you’ve found, and about this beautiful journey you’re starting. But nothing I could say felt big enough, important enough, or true enough. So, I wrote you this.”

I glanced down at the poem I had poured my heart into, the words flowing as naturally as the love I felt for her. My voice softened as I read:

"In the quiet of your laughter, And the light within your smile, I’ve seen the kind of love that grows, A flame that warms for miles.

You’ve built a home within each other, A place no storm could break. A bond that holds, through highs and lows, No matter what’s at stake.

So as you walk this path together, A future bold and true, Know my heart is here, forever, Cheering both of you."

As I finished, my voice broke slightly, the emotions catching up to me. Tears glistened in my best friend’s eyes, and as she reached out to take my hand, I realized I wasn’t the only one crying. A quiet sniffle from the crowd told me others had been moved too, including Harry, whose gaze was warm and full of admiration.

“You’re impossible,” my best friend said through her tears, pulling me into a hug. “How am I supposed to top that?”

“You don’t have to,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Just be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

The room broke into applause as we hugged tightly, and I returned to my seat, feeling lighter and fuller all at once. As I sat down beside Harry, he reached over to squeeze my hand, his smile soft and full of pride.

“That,” he whispered, leaning close, “was incredible. You have no idea how amazing you are, do you?”

I looked at him, my heart swelling once again. “I’m starting to get the idea.”

As the music played and the reception buzzed with energy, my best friend walked over, her wedding dress flowing elegantly as she approached Harry and me at our table. Her face lit up with a mix of gratitude and playfulness, and before I could say a word, she pulled me into a tight hug.

“Y/N, you made me cry in front of everyone,” she said with mock indignation, though her voice was thick with emotion. “That poem was beautiful. I’ll never forget it.”

I hugged her back, smiling. “You deserve every word, and then some.”

Pulling back, she turned her attention to Harry, her smile widening. “And you must be the famous Harry Styles I’ve heard so much about.”

Harry stood and extended a hand, his grin charming as ever. “Guilty as charged. You must be the bride who’s been giving Y/N all this grief about me.”

She laughed, shaking his hand before placing her other hand on her hip. “Well, someone had to give her a push. But now that I’ve met you, I think you’re worth it.”

Harry chuckled, glancing at me. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The three of us chatted for a while, the conversation light and full of teasing. My best friend, always the life of the party, had Harry laughing within minutes, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth at how easily they clicked.

Eventually, she sighed dramatically, glancing around the room. “All right, I should go mingle with the rest of these people. It’s my party, after all.”

She leaned in to give me one last hug, her voice dropping to a mischievous whisper in my ear. “You two are ridiculously lucky. And I hope you get really lucky tonight.”

I froze for a moment, my cheeks instantly heating as I pulled back, glaring at her playfully. “Oh my God, stop,” I hissed, but she just laughed, giving me a wink before gliding away into the crowd.

Harry noticed my flustered expression and raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, waving him off.

His smirk deepened as he sat back down. “Whatever it was, it’s clearly not ‘nothing.’”

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my smile. “Let’s just say she’s in full bride-mode mischief and leave it at that.”

Harry laughed, reaching over to take my hand. “Fair enough. But remind me to thank her for all the meddling—seems like it paid off.”

As we sat there, watching the celebration unfold around us, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Between the happiness of the day and the man sitting beside me, everything felt just right. And though I tried to brush off my friend’s teasing, her words lingered, filling me with a mix of nerves and excitement for whatever the night might hold.

Once the energy of the night began to mellow, Harry and I exchanged a knowing look, both feeling the pull of exhaustion. The day had been incredible, but the hours of celebration were catching up to us.

“You ready to head up?” he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to call it a night.”

We said our goodbyes to my best friend, who was still glowing with joy, and made our way to the elevator. The ride up to the room was quiet, a comfortable silence filled with the warmth of the day’s memories. When we stepped into the room, Harry dropped his jacket onto the chair and stretched, running a hand through his curls.

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” I said, grabbing my pajamas—and the little lingerie bag—from my suitcase. Harry, half-distracted by pulling off his tie, waved me off with a smile.

“Take your time,” he said, his voice soft.

In the bathroom, I turned on the hot water, letting it steam up the mirror as I slipped out of my dress. The shower was refreshing, washing away the day’s excitement and leaving me with a fluttering mix of nerves and anticipation. As I dried off, I glanced at the little bag, my friend’s teasing words echoing in my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I slipped the lingerie on, the delicate fabric hugging my skin. It was far more daring than anything I’d normally wear, but tonight felt like the right moment to step outside my comfort zone. Over it, I pulled on a light robe, tying it loosely at the waist.

When I opened the bathroom door, the room was softly lit by the bedside lamp. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as I stepped out, his casual expression freezing the moment his eyes landed on me.

“Y/N…” he said, his voice trailing off as he set his phone down, Harry's eyes fixed on me, his gaze slowly sweeping up and down my body. He rose from the bed, his eyes never leaving mine as he approached. "What do you think?" I whispered, my fingers playing with the edge of my silk robe.

"You're...breathtaking," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His hand reached out to trace the curve of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. His other hand found the tie of my robe, gently tugging it loose before pushing the fabric off my shoulders to reveal my lacy bra and panties beneath.

I smiled coyly, emboldened by his hungry stare. The way he looked at me made me feel powerful and irresistible. As he stepped closer, I reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his toned chest and tattooed abdomen. I ran my fingers over his smooth skin, feeling his muscles tense beneath my touch.

When our lips met in a searing kiss, Harry's hands roamed over me, exploring the swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips. His fingers dipped beneath the lace waistband of my panties, teasingly brushing against me before sliding them down to expose me completely.

"I need you inside me," I whispered into his ear as I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. His rigid length sprang free, pulsing with need. Eagerly, I stroked as I guided him towards my entrance.

He entered me slowly at first, allowing me time to adjust to his size before steadily picking up the pace. Our bodies moved in perfect harmony as we tangled ourselves in each other's heat and passion. Each thrust seemed to take us both higher until we were dancing on the edge of release.

I arched beneath him as he hit a particularly sensitive spot deep within me; my fingernails dug into the muscles of his back as waves of pleasure surged through me. Harry's breath came in increasingly ragged gasps, his green eyes locked on mine, full of unabashed lust.

As our bodies melted together, he buried his face in the crook of my neck, muffling his groans while I cried out in ecstasy. Our climax reverberated through us, leaving us both trembling and sated as we clung to one another.

Later, as we lay side by side in the soft glow of the hotel room, I couldn’t help but turn toward Harry, my heart full and my mind quiet for the first time all day. The sheets were a mess around us, and the faint hum of the city outside provided a soothing backdrop to the intimacy of the moment.

Harry’s face was turned slightly toward me, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady. The subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his curls fell messily across his forehead, and the softness in his expression all struck me in a way that made my chest tighten. Even in sleep—or maybe especially in sleep—he was breathtaking.

His lips, slightly parted, held the faintest curve, like he was caught in a pleasant dream. His lashes were long, fanning out delicately against his cheekbones, and the soft stubble along his jawline added a ruggedness that only seemed to amplify his beauty. The golden light from the bedside lamp highlighted the contours of his face, casting gentle shadows that made him look like something out of a painting.

I traced his features with my eyes, memorizing every detail, every curve and line that made him him. The dimple in his chin, the faint freckles that dusted his skin, and the slight crease in his brow that softened when I gently brushed his curls back from his forehead.

He stirred slightly at the touch, his lips twitching into a small smile even though his eyes remained closed. His hand found mine under the sheets, his fingers intertwining with mine like it was second nature.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but carrying that familiar warmth.

I smiled, leaning closer until my forehead lightly rested against his. “Can you blame me?” I whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

His eyes opened, just a sliver, enough for me to see the flicker of amusement and affection in their green depths. “You’re biased,” he said, his lips curving fully into a smile now.

“Maybe,” I replied softly, my thumb brushing over his hand. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, his voice rumbling in a way that made my heart flutter. “You’ve got it backwards, love. You’re the beautiful one.”

I shook my head slightly, a shy laugh escaping me. “We can argue about it later. Just… let me enjoy this.”

He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes again and tightening his hold on my hand. “Enjoy all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

And as I lay there beside him, the world outside fading into the background, I felt a deep sense of peace. There was no place I’d rather be than here, wrapped in the quiet warmth of Harry and the soft glow of a love that felt like it could light up the entire world.

Harry broke the peaceful silence, his voice low and tinged with something heavy. “I don’t want to leave tomorrow.”

The words hit me softly but deeply, and I turned my head to look at him. His green eyes were open now, gazing at me with an honesty that made my chest tighten. He wasn’t trying to hide the sadness in his voice, and it mirrored the ache that had already begun to form in me.

“I don’t either,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like we just got here.”

His hand, still holding mine under the sheets, tightened slightly. “This whole long-distance thing,” he said with a small, rueful smile, “it’s not exactly my favorite.”

I let out a soft laugh, though it lacked humor. “Mine either. But we’re making it work.”

“Barely,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I just… it’s hard leaving you.”

I shifted closer, resting my forehead against his, our noses just barely touching. “I know,” I whispered. “It’s hard for me too.”

“My flight’s not until the afternoon,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “But yours is early, isn’t it?”

I nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. Morning flight back to London. I’ll probably have to leave the hotel while you’re still sleeping.”

The thought made my chest ache even more. Leaving him here, knowing we’d be apart again, felt unbearable. Harry sighed, his eyes closing as he rested his forehead more firmly against mine.

“I hate the idea of waking up and not seeing you,” he said softly, the vulnerability in his voice breaking down the walls I’d tried to build to stay strong.

“Me too,” I whispered, my hand finding its way to his cheek. I stroked it gently, feeling the roughness of his stubble under my fingertips. “But we’ll get through it. I have hope.”

He opened his eyes again, the depth of his gaze pulling me in. “I know we will,” he said, his voice steady despite the sadness. “I just wish I could keep you here with me. Or come back with you.”

My throat tightened, and I had to fight back tears as I nodded. “I wish that too. Every time.”

Harry let out a soft sigh, pulling me into his arms and holding me close. “Then let’s just make tonight count,” he murmured against my hair. “No thinking about tomorrow. Just you and me.”

I nodded against his chest, wrapping my arms around him. “Just us,” I agreed softly.

And for the rest of the night, we held on to each other like we were trying to make time stop, savoring every touch, every word, every moment as if it were the only thing that mattered—because to us, it was.

The alarm buzzed softly in the dark room, and I reached out to silence it, careful not to disturb Harry. The early morning light barely peeked through the curtains as I sat up, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I’d have to leave him behind.

I turned to look at him, still sound asleep, his curls a mess against the pillow, his breathing steady and soft. He looked so peaceful, and the thought of waking him to say goodbye felt too cruel. Instead, I leaned down, pressing the gentlest kiss to his temple, letting my lips linger for just a moment.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, gathering my things and moving around the room as silently as possible. My suitcase was packed, my heart ached, and as I looked at him one last time, I knew I couldn’t leave without something more.

I found the notepad on the desk by the window, the hotel’s logo printed at the top, and grabbed a pen. Sitting down, I took a deep breath and began to write, the words flowing easily despite the tightness in my chest:

Harry,

I didn’t want to wake you—I know how much you hate goodbyes. But I couldn’t leave without saying how much this trip has meant to me. Being here with you, even for such a short time, reminds me how lucky I am to have you in my life. You make everything brighter, better, and more beautiful.

I’ll miss you more than I can say, but I’ll hold on to the memory of this time until we’re together again. Thank you for being you, for caring about me the way you do, and for coming to this wedding to make it unforgettable.

Call me when you wake up. And don’t forget—this isn’t goodbye. It’s just ‘see you later.’

Love, Y/N

I folded the note neatly and placed it on the bedside table, propping it up against the lamp so he’d see it as soon as he woke up. My chest ached as I looked at him one last time, my heart wishing for just a few more minutes.

But time wasn’t on our side. With a deep breath, I grabbed my suitcase and slipped quietly out of the room, the sound of the door clicking shut behind me feeling far too final.

As I made my way to the airport, the thought of Harry waking up and reading my note brought me a small comfort, even as the distance between us began to grow again.

The flight back to England was everything I dreaded—a cold, uncomfortable reminder of how far I was traveling from Harry. The cabin air was chilly, no matter how tightly I wrapped the airline blanket around myself, and the hum of the engines only made the hours drag on longer. I tried to distract myself by reading or watching the in-flight entertainment, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the warmth of his arms and the soft sound of his laugh.

I stared out the window at the endless expanse of clouds, my reflection faint against the glass. My chest ached with the weight of our goodbye, and though I knew we’d see each other again, the distance felt like a physical barrier that was harder to bear with every passing mile.

When the plane finally touched down in London, the dreary sky mirrored my mood. I made my way through customs and baggage claim on autopilot, my suitcase trailing behind me as I navigated the familiar airport. By the time I stepped outside, the brisk air hit me, making me shiver and pull my coat tighter.

All I could think about was the comfort of my own bed, the one place that felt like home when everything else seemed to shift. The drive back to my flat felt endless, and when I finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence hit me harder than I expected.

I left my suitcase by the door and went straight to my room, kicking off my shoes and collapsing onto the bed without bothering to change out of my travel clothes. The soft sheets enveloped me, and I closed my eyes, letting the familiar scent and warmth of my space soothe the ache in my chest.

I reached for my phone, staring at the screen, hoping for a message from Harry. As if on cue, the device buzzed, and his name lit up the screen.

Harry: You made it back, yeah? Hope you’re curled up in bed—it’s what you deserve after that flight.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I typed back.

Y/N: Just got in. You know me too well—already under the covers. Miss you.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry: Miss you more. Rest up, love. I’ll call you in a bit, okay?

I set the phone down, the comfort of his words settling over me like a second blanket. As much as I hated the distance, knowing he was just a message or call away made it a little easier. For now, I let the exhaustion of the day take over, letting sleep claim me in the quiet warmth of my own bed.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through my curtains, waking me far earlier than I wanted. I stretched lazily, still groggy from the long travel day, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, rubbing my eyes as I unlocked the screen. A text from Mitch lit up the screen, and I smiled immediately.

Mitch: Hey, just checking in. Hope you’re settling back in after that long flight. H sent me some pics of us in the studio yesterday—thought you might like to see what he’s been up to.

Attached were a few photos, and I couldn’t help but grin as I opened them. The first was a candid shot of Harry at the mic, his hair a tousled mess and his eyes closed as he sang. His passion was evident, the intensity on his face a reminder of how much he loved what he did.

The second photo was of Mitch and Harry together, both of them laughing at something, their instruments nearby. Harry was mid-laugh, his dimples on full display, and the sight made my chest ache in the best way.

I quickly typed back a reply:

Y/N: Mitch! Thanks for checking in. I’m doing okay—just getting back into the swing of things here. These pics made my day. He looks so happy.

Almost instantly, Mitch replied.

Mitch: He’s happy, yeah. But trust me, he hasn’t stopped talking about you. Keeps saying how much he misses you already.

I bit my lip, warmth flooding through me. I could practically hear Mitch’s teasing tone in his message.

Y/N: Now you’re just trying to make me cry. Thank you for keeping an eye on him for me.

Mitch: Anytime. You two are good together. Let me know if you need me to pass along any messages—or if you want me to remind him to eat something besides coffee and snacks.

I laughed softly, shaking my head as I typed back.

Y/N: Always looking out for him. Thanks, Mitch. I’ll text him later, but tell him I said hi, just in case.

Mitch: Will do. Take care, Y/N.

The weeks dragged on, each day feeling longer than the last without Harry nearby. But getting back into my routine with Anne brought a sense of normalcy. Being around her again reminded me of the warmth and support that had brought me here in the first place. We fell back into our usual rhythm of work and lighthearted conversation, and moments like those made the distance from Harry feel a little easier to bear.

One afternoon, I was in the kitchen, boiling a pot of tea for us to share. The aroma of Earl Grey filled the air, and I called out to Anne, who was in the study, “Tea’s ready!”

I reached for the mugs, humming softly to myself, when I suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap firmly around my waist. Startled, I froze for a moment before turning my head, half-expecting to see Anne with some kind of playful gesture.

But instead, I found myself face-to-face with Harry, his familiar green eyes sparkling with mischief. My heart skipped a beat, and a slow grin spread across my face as I remembered the very first time we met.

“Well, you’re definitely not your mum,” I said, my voice light and teasing.

Harry laughed, his grin widening as he tightened his hold around me. “Déjà vu, isn’t it?” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

I twisted in his arms to face him fully, my hands resting on his chest as I took in the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice caught between surprise and joy. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said softly, his hands moving to my waist as he leaned closer. “Mum might have tipped me off about your tea-making schedule.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Anne’s always in on the surprises, isn’t she?”

“She’s a mastermind,” he joked, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I missed you too much.”

My chest tightened at his words, and I smiled up at him, my fingers brushing lightly over his sweater. “I missed you too.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. The kettle whistled on the stove, breaking the quiet, and I laughed, gently pulling back.

“Guess we better not let your mum’s tea get cold,” I said, reaching for the mugs.

Harry grinned, grabbing one for himself. “Lead the way, love.”

As we walked toward the study, the warmth of his presence made everything feel right again, like the missing piece of my world had finally fallen back into place.

Harry followed me to the table, the two of us settling into the cozy nook where Anne always liked to sip her tea. As I poured the steaming liquid into the mugs, he leaned back in his chair, his arms casually resting on the table, his familiar grin tugging at his lips.

“Feels good to be back,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he looked at me. “Though I was starting to wonder if you were going to replace me with all the tea-making and poetry-writing. Very English of you, by the way.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I handed him his mug. “I think you’re safe—for now. But Anne’s poetry game is pretty strong.”

He smirked, taking a sip of his tea before setting it down. “Good thing I’ve got my charm to fall back on. Plus, if I remember correctly, you can’t resist my dimples. They’re basically my secret weapon.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress my grin. “Is that so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied, leaning forward conspiratorially. “In fact, I’d say they’re at least 60 percent of the reason you agreed to date me.”

I snorted, nearly spilling my tea. “Sixty percent?”

“Fine,” he said with a mock sigh, his expression thoughtful. “Seventy, but only because I’m being modest.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter as Anne walked in, catching the tail end of the conversation. She looked between us, smiling knowingly as she took her seat.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Harry’s trying to convince me his dimples are his greatest asset,” I said, still grinning.

Anne raised an eyebrow, smirking as she took a sip of her tea. “I’d say they’re top three.”

“See?” Harry said, gesturing toward his mum as if her opinion sealed the deal. “It’s unanimous.”

I rolled my eyes, the warmth of the moment settling over me. “Well, congratulations. You’ve won me over—again.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “That’s good to know. I’d hate to think I traveled all this way just to lose you to better tea or a clever poem.”

His words, light as they were, carried an unmistakable warmth, and as we sat there together, the tea steaming between us and laughter filling the air, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect ending to the day—or the story that had brought us here.

[frogs-crackcorner]

An Angel All My Own

Simon Riley x reader

Cw: tooth rotting fluff

A thunderous sound wakes you in the middle of the night. You blink in the darkness, trying to get your bearings. Slowly, you flip on the light and look around. Everything seems to be in place. The thunder-like sounds come again, startling you. You quickly shuffle out of bed and down to the front door, flipping on lights as you go.

You get to the door as the person knocks a final time. It was such a ridiculously loud knock that you're sure it probably woke the neighbors. You open the door to reveal a worn down looking Ghost. He's still in his gear and has his go bag slung over one shoulder.

"It's four in the morning, Riley," you tell him pointedly, not having enjoyed being woken up.

"Barracks needed renovations, need somewhere else to stay," he grumbles. You sigh and open the door wider so he can squeeze past you. The barracks are fine and accommodations would have been made if they really did need to renovate them. This was merely a lame excuse to stay at your house. He always came with a bad excuse.

You slip into the kitchen to start heating up some leftovers and putting water on to boil. Simon heads to the living room, toeing his boots off and taking a second to relax. He leans back against the couch. Simon always liked your house, ever since you had the team over for a barbecue. That was over a year ago. He liked that you had warm lights, not the florescent white ones he was used to. He liked that you didn't have overhead lights, only cute little lamps and fairy lights. He liked that your house always smelled like milk and honey. He liked that your couch was soft and covered in blankets, not like the couch in the barracks that had holes the stuffing was falling out of. He liked that he felt safe.

This routine started shortly after the barbeque. Simon would show up on your doorstep after a mission, bruised and battered. You always welcomed him in, no matter how late or how early. You would make him tea and something to eat. Even though he has told you several times that it really isn't necessary. He likes that you're so reliable, that you never push him more than he's comfortable with. He's surprised and grateful that you have yet to turn him away.

You come into the living room, setting down a tray of soup and bread. It smells delicious and Simon sits up, his stomach rumbling. Maybe he was hungrier than he thought. You chuckle lightly at him. "What's your pick of poison tonight? I just dried a fresh batch of mint," you ask. Before Simon met you, he would have said earl gray. It's the only tea he drank for years. But after spending the night so often and you happily chatting about the newest herbal tea blend you made, he slowly came around to trying something new. His favorite, and yours, was peppermint. The warm, sweet menthol helped him relax.

"Mint please," he says, barely above a whisper, "with sugar."

You crack a smile and nod. Your disgruntlement at being woken up seems to have dissipated. "Eat up. Tea will be done in a minute," you beam, retreating back into the kitchen. Simon watches you disappear before picking up the tray. He takes a bite of the soup and can't help but sigh. It's warm and savory and it reminds him of a hug. This was his favorite part of staying at your house. Your cooking was always phenomenal to him, even if you said it wasn't your best. He loved everything you made.

One time, you made cookies and tea cakes for the 141. Price had put them in the common room, telling everyone you had made them treats. Johnny was the only one who managed to snatch a cookie before Simon commandeered the rest. Kyle had pouted for days. Not that Simon cared much, he was too busy scarfing down tea cake.

You come back to the living room, sitting down beside Simon. He was nearly finished with the soup by now. You set his tea down in front of him and curl up into the couch cushions. You knew he didn't like to talk much, certainly not if he was coming over after a mission. No matter what excuse he told you, you knew why he was here. You knew you would wake up to his screams tonight. You knew you would have to coax him into your bed. You knew you would spend the night running your fingers through his hair while he silently cried into chest. You always knew. And yet you didn't care. In fact, you started to look forward to getting a late night knock on your door. You hated that he couldn't let go of his demons, you hated to hear the pain in his screams. But you liked that he found comfort in you. You liked that he felt safe with you.

You gently reach over and start carding your fingers through his blond locks. A shiver runs down his spine before he begins leaning into your touch. He sets his tea down and lays down, his head in your lap. The warm light makes your skin seem to glow and you were being so gentle with him. He swears you might be an angel. No mortal woman could see such a scarred monster and still treat him with such kindness. Not after knowing all the blood he's spilled. But as his eyes begin to get heavy and he listens to the soft lullaby you hum, he knows he's willing to spill more if it means he can spend his nights here with you.

(I might make this into a full fic if it gets enough interest. This was inspired by a post from @bookished

Edit: I just posted chapter one)

[nachrosas]

AUTUMN MEMOIRS | s.reid x reader

summary: in which spencer decided to take you to a cozy weekend in the countryside to relax after a difficult case. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: mentions of past case, brief childhood mentions, a little bit of angst, teasing, praising (i think), oral sex (f receiving), dirty talking (one sentence tho), fingering (r receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex (tap it before you do it), +18 MDNI! (i think this is all) word count: 4.4k a/n: hello hello! this is the first one-shot for the “nachrosas season” with the theme being autumn/fall! also this is the first time i wrote a long fic (+ 1.5k) and smut in a very long time (i think it’s almost 10 years), so please let me know if ends up good (still self-conscious posting this tho)! i had fun writing this and i really hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat! till the next one! (also, want to thank @mggslover for encouraging me to write the smut of this fics!!)

For a few weeks now, all the houses in the quiet neighborhood — a very small number, by the way — had been decorated with orange and brown leaves falling from the surrounding trees. The few children and young people walking along the streets took the opportunity to play with the huge piles of leaves made by the residents of those houses — in a failed attempt to keep their yards clean and organized.

Spencer slowed the car as the trees opened up, revealing the cottage in front of them. Small but inviting, it looked like it had been taken out of an autumn painting, with its dark wooden façade framed by dried vines and surrounded by fallen leaves in shades of gold, copper, and red. The engine turned off with a soft roar, and a welcoming silence took over the room, broken only by the sound of the wind blowing lightly, swaying the bare branches of the surrounding trees.

You climbed down from the old but cozy car with a tired gesture and leaned on the door. You closed your eyes and a few memories still danced through your mind in flashes that you tried to forget in the past. Recalling them was never pleasant, especially about things that hurt you in some way and that you had no control over.

You opened your eyes and realized that Spencer had repeated your movements, stopping right next to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “It's prettier than it looks in the photos, don't you think?” he commented with a serene smile lighting up his face, his eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and relief.

“Yes, it's perfect,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper, as if something in that place called for silence, for respect.

In the background, the sound of children's laughter reached both of them. They were a few meters away, but their voices echoed amid the stillness of the field. From a distance, you could see a little girl in a red scarf, who you guessed was no more than six years old, run up to a particularly high pile and dive into it, scattering leaves everywhere, while a little boy tried to catch up with her, laughing.

Spencer hugged your waist a little tighter and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as if to record the smell of the air. “Smells like fall... dry leaves and wet earth... oh, and probably the fire in the cabin. Do you feel it?” he looked at you, with that enthusiasm you loved, a gleam of genuine curiosity that made everything seem more interesting.

“Yes, I do. And it's delicious.” you replied, with a small smile on your face, as you pulled on your jacket to protect yourself from the wind.

He let go of your waist and walked around the car to open the trunk, but not before looking at the cottage again, as if analyzing every detail. “The woodwork on the façade is well preserved. It's probably been restored recently… It's an interesting project, using rustic materials, but…”

“Babe.” you interrupted him with a laugh. “We came here to relax, not to do an architectural study.”

He laughed, a soft, relaxed sound, and closed the trunk, balancing two backpacks in his arms. “Okay, okay, you're right. I bet the inside is even cozier.”

You walked to the door, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot marking every step. The key turned in the lock with ease, and when Spencer pushed the door open, a pleasant warmth enveloped you, accompanied by the faint scent of burning wood and something sweet, which you quickly recognized as cinnamon.

“Welcome to our weekend getaway.” he said, placing the backpacks next to the door and looking at you with a satisfied smile. “Ready to start relaxing?”

You looked at him, at the delicately prepared fireplace in the corner of the room and at the strategically positioned sofa near the window that offered a perfect view of the golden countryside outside.

“Ready.” you replied, already feeling your shoulders relax as you closed the door behind you.

The crackling of the fireplace filled the silence of the cottage, casting dancing shadows on the living room walls, its comforting sound blending with the subtle howl of the wind outside. But you couldn't feel completely warm. You were sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, your back against the sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket, your legs folded under your body. In your hands, she held a mug of tea that Spencer had insisted on making for you. The warmth of the fire and the steam rising in slow spirals seemed to ease the tension that had settled permanently in your shoulders since the last case, but the promised comfort seemed distant.

Spencer was sitting next to you, his legs stretched out on the floor, and one of his hands holding your thigh. He hadn't said much since you arrived, just enough to make sure you knew he was there. And now, in the silence of the cottage, it was impossible not to think about the case.

“I can't stop hearing that poor girl's voice,” you said, finally breaking the silence. Your voice sounded low, almost fragile, but firm enough to show that you were trying to confront your own thoughts.

Spencer turned to look at you but didn't interrupt. He knew you needed to get everything you were feeling out in the open.

“She looked… so scared, Spencer. So lost. And I… I told her everything would be okay. I promised her she'd be safe.”

“You did what anyone would do,” he replied softly. “And you did the best you could. Promises like that are… difficult, but they have a purpose. They give people a reason to fight, a hope to hold on to.

You shook your head, your hand squeezing his. “But she wasn't well! We couldn't get there in time. And the worst thing… was seeing her die like that and seeing how it hit me in a way I hadn't expected. That little girl could have been me. I saw so much of myself in her…” Your voice faltered, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on escaping.

Spencer moved closer to you, lightly squeezing your thigh in an attempt to convey comfort and support. “You're absolutely right. It was personal. And that's why it hurts so much. But it also means that you care. You empathize with her because you have a huge heart, and that's not a weakness.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the security that his close presence conveyed, but the words still came, as if a dam had been opened. “I just… I can't deal with it for long. It's too heavy. And when it's personal like this, it feels like I'm carrying the whole world on my back.”

“Then you're not carrying it alone.” he said, his voice firm now, but full of tenderness. “That's what I'm here for. I always will be, even if you don't realize it. Even if you don't ask. And… you know that, don't you?”

You turned your head, meeting his eyes. There was an unwavering sincerity there, something that almost made your chest ache with how comforting it was. You nodded, finally allowing the tears to fall, because you knew that there, in the safety of that cottage and in Spencer's presence, you could be vulnerable.”

He smiled softly, wiping away a tear that ran down his cheek. “Now, how about we make a deal? The next two days are for you to heal. No pressure, no judgment. We'll go for a walk, cook, look at the stars... and if, in between, you need to talk more about the case, about her, or whatever you want, I'll be here, listening. Always.”

You took a deep breath and leaned against his body, feeling the weight of the moment begin to ease, even if just a little. “Thank you, Spencer.”

“No need to thank me,” he replied, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “You did the same thing for me when I was arrested, I'm just returning the favor.”

A few hours had passed since that conversation, and you couldn't tell if the weather was mild or cold. You knew it was 18°C, but you couldn't decide if it was really cold for you, since Spencer had re-lit the fireplace and the heat from the flames was taking over the room.

You could hear music coming from a few houses down the block. The area had few people and plenty of space. And you mentally thanked the cottage for being so far from the city.

Spencer was in the small kitchen, stirring something in a small pot with his usual precision. The scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon filled the air, bringing a soft nostalgia that warmed as much as the fireplace. He hummed softly, an almost imperceptible sound, but enough to draw a smile from you. 

“It's ready!” he announced, bringing two mugs to the coffee table. He placed one in front of you before sitting down next to you. “I know I've said this before, but let me make it clear again: this is officially a worry-free weekend. No work, no answering messages from Garcia, no worrying about the team, nothing. It's just us, the fire, and maybe some cookies, if you ask nicely.”

You can't help the laugh that escapes. “So you kidnapped me to fill me up with sugar and keep me from thinking too much?” 

“Basically.” he replied with a satisfied smile. “It's a foolproof plan.”

His smile was infectious, and for the first time in days, you felt the weight of the last case finally dissipate completely. You plopped down on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you held the warm mug between your hands. On the opposite side, Spencer was relaxed, with his legs folded under him and his head slightly tilted, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Did you know that in some cultures, autumn is considered a time for reflection and gratitude?” he began, his tone calm but charged with that peculiar enthusiasm that appeared whenever he shared something new. “In ancient China, for example, the Mid-Autumn Festival was a celebration of the harvest, but also a time to gather the family and enjoy the full moon.”

You arched an eyebrow, a smile appearing. “Let me guess, you know why the full moon is important?”

“Of course!” he replied, leaning forward excitedly. “In Chinese mythology, there's a legend about the moon goddess, Chang'e, who drank the elixir of immortality and went to live on the moon. During the Festival, people make offerings to the moon as a way of honoring her and celebrating the connection between heaven and earth.”

“You really know everything, don't you?” you joked, but there was genuine admiration in your voice.

Spencer shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “Not everything, but I like learning about traditions. It's fascinating how different cultures interpret the changing seasons. If you look at Europe, fall was seen as a period of transition, as if it were a moment between life and death. It's because of this that many transitions, such as Halloween, have their roots in rituals to honor the dead.”

You smiled and took a sip of your hot chocolate, letting the warmth soothe your throat before answering. “It's funny how something as simple as falling leaves can have so much meaning. I've never given it much thought, to be honest. I've always seen fall as… a reminder that the year is ending.”

Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully. “That makes sense. It's a period of closure, but also of preparation. Trees lose their leaves to conserve energy during the winter so that they can bloom again in the spring. A necessary cycle, you know?”

You watched him for a moment, admiring the way he saw meaning in everything. “You can turn anything into a life lesson, can't you?”

He laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I think fall is special to me because it reminds me that change can be beautiful. Even when it seems like something is ending, there's always room for a new beginning.”

There was a comfortable silence after that, as you let his words echo through your mind. Then, leaning forward, you asked. “And what's your favorite memory of autumn?”

Spencer smiled, his eyes wandering as if searching through the archives of his mind. “When I was a child, my mother and I used to walk through the park near our house. She loved to quote romantic poets as the leaves fell. One time the wind was so strong that it lifted the leaves everywhere. She told me that it was as if the world was dancing to entertain us. I will never forget that.”

Your chest warmed at its memory, and you reached out for Spencer's hand to hold, giving it a gentle squeeze as soon as you found it. “It's a beautiful memory, Spencer. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He smiled, squeezing your hand back. “And you? Any fall memories you like to recall?”

You paused to think, letting the moment linger. “I think mine is something simpler. I remember playing with leaves as a child, throwing them up in the air, and running through the trees. It wasn't anything big, but there was something magical about it, you know? And it ended up annoying my parents a bit,” you laughed.

Spencer nodded, his eyes fixed on yours. “That's what I like about fall. Little moments, full of meaning, even if they seem simple.”

You stood there, the warmth of the fireplace and each other's company filling the cottage with a rare and welcome tranquility. The comfortable silence continued for a few more minutes, with the sound of the wind outside and the warmth of the fire creating an almost hypnotic atmosphere. You stretched out your legs, letting the blanket slip off slightly as you watched the soft light from the fireplace illuminate the rustic walls of the cottage.

Spencer moved next to him, leaning over to pick up the mug he had left on the table. He took a sip, his distracted gaze lost for a moment in the movement of the flames. When he looked back at you, his eyes were filled with a serene calm, but also with something else - a closeness that went far beyond the words you exchanged.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his tone almost casual, but the slight smile on his lips gave away that the question had more meaning than it conveyed.

“More than comfortable.” you replied, pulling the blanket over your feet again. “I can't remember the last time I felt so at ease.”

He nodded, his smile softening. “That's all I wanted for us. A place where we could just… exist. Without rushing. No worries.”

For a moment, you just stared at each other, and then you pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace. “I think I'll go closer to the fire. It's so cozy in there.”

Spencer smiled, watching as you got up and walked over to the rug, taking the blanket with you. He didn't take long to follow, bringing another cushion to settle down next to you.

As you settled in, the conversation dwindled, but each other's presence seemed to say enough. Spencer propped himself up on one elbow, watching you as the fire reflected in his eyes. You, for your part, remained mesmerized by the flames, allowing the calm of the moment to envelop you completely.

It was as if the world outside had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, the warmth of the fire, and the promise of a night that seemed to have something more in store.

Spencer held out his hand, his fingers gently brushing yours. The touch was so delicate that it almost seemed accidental, but when you looked at him, the look in his eyes said something else. He smiled sideways, a little shy but determined, before entwining your fingers in his.

“Come here.” he murmured, pulling you slightly closer.

You let yourself be guided until you were so close that you could feel the warmth of his body rivaling that of the fireplace. He slipped an arm around your waist, enveloping you in a hug that, although it started innocently enough, soon changed a few seconds later.

His hand gently pulled your waist, making you sit on his lap. You felt his breathing change, slower, deeper, as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart soar.

“You look so beautiful…” he whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Heat rose to your face, but you didn't look away. It was impossible to ignore the way the glow from the fire danced in his eyes, making the moment almost magical. He leaned in slightly, their faces so close now that you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Spencer…” you murmured, but anything else you could have said was forgotten when he finally ended the distance between you.

The kiss began slowly, hesitantly, as if he was savoring every second. But soon, the intensity grew, a fire that seemed to reflect the flames in the fireplace. His hands gripped your waist more firmly, pulling you even closer.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your eyes fixed on his. He smiled, that shy, adorable smile, but there was something else there now — a desire you'd never seen so clear before.

“If at any point you want to stop…” he began, but you quickly interrupted him, smiling as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I don't want to stop, Spencer.”

And with that, you leaned in again, your movements surer now, as if you knew exactly where this would lead. You narrowed the space between the two of you, gluing your lips more fiercely to his. Spencer stood still in shock, since you had never kissed him so fiercely, and you closed your hand in his hair, running your tongue like a demand against his lips. Let me in. When Spencer came back to reality, he murmured something against your lips, his cold hand slipping under your sweater and dragging up your skin, higher and higher. 

Your kiss was interrupted as shortness of breath overtook you both. Spencer's breath Your breathing faltered when his hands stopped at your breasts, above your bra, gently caressing them. A restrained moan escaped your lips, causing Spencer to press his hand harder.

fueled your feelings, the taste of hot chocolate now a ghost between the two of you. You inhaled the scent of Spencer's perfume sharply, his heartbeat vibrating in your ears.

 “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured into your skin and you finally feel his cool hand sliding across your skin.

“Spencer!” you shouted, pulling away from him.

He smiled. “I'm sorry, my love.”

He got up and sat back against the sofa, watching the way you undressed in front of him. Your jeans slid down your smooth legs, stopping calmly at your ankles as you bent down to take them off, and you quickly took off your sweater, revealing the lilac lingerie that Spencer loved so much.

You moved your hands to your bra, intending to take it off, but he stopped you. “Leave it on, you look even more beautiful with it on.”

Pulling you by the waist back towards him, one of his hands ran down and rested on your ass before giving it a spank. You stayed still, looking at him sitting on the floor.

“Have I mentioned that I love it when you wear this lingerie?” he says to you, running his fingers along the lilac lace.

“I know,” you smile.

Spencer pulled you down to lie on the floor again, this time sitting between your legs, one on each side of his body. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. Spencer pulled your pants aside, his gaze fixed on your pussy and, without warning, he slipped two fingers into you. The moan that came out of your mouth was like music to his ear.

His fingers curved upwards, and his back arched with an enormous sensation of pleasure that consumed his entire body. Your hand reaches down to grasp his wrist, but he gently pulls it away, using his free hand to pull your two hands together and rest them on top of your head.

“Behave yourself.” he tells you, adding a third finger.

You unconsciously spread your legs wider, giving him more room to get on top of you. Spencer's cheek touched the inside of your thigh, and he watched as your face contorted with pleasure and he smiled, 

Spencer felt your eyes on him, taking the lilac panties that were still on his body and gently pulling them down his legs, letting them fall to the floor with the rest of his clothes. He wants you to look at him. Your hips jerked when you felt his tongue against your clitoris, and you used your free hand to grab his hair.

He knew you like the back of his hand, so when you closed your thighs around his head, he held them in place while his tongue attacked your clitoris again.

Three fingers inside you and Spencer looked up, watching as you threw your head back, your eyes closed, and his hand, which he had previously held above your head, groping your breasts. Between the magic of his fingers and tongue, your orgasm was close to coming, and he knew it.

Spencer withdrew his fingers carefully and a groan of disapproval left his lips.

“Come here.” He stood up and patted his lap.

With his help, you managed to stand up. Your legs seemed to have turned to jelly as you climbed into his lap. Spencer's hands stopped on your ass, his fingers roaming up and down the curve of it. It was only then that he realized: you had already removed your bra.

Spencer brought his hands down to your stomach and sneaked his fingers up your skin until he reached your breasts again. He hummed, totally focused on your breasts and oblivious to everything that was going on around you. Holding his chin between your fingers, you pulled his face towards you.

“Please fuck me!” you murmured, a hint of desperation hanging in your voice. Spencer smiled, nodding with a look you'd seen on his face many times before.

Your hands went straight to the zipper of his pants and he helped you, pulling them down enough for you to get his cock out of his underwear. One of your hands rested on his shoulders, giving you physical support as you sank down onto him.

You went back to watching Spencer, watching as he spread kisses over your chest, lightly brushing over your breasts until he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, running his tongue over it. Your hand tangled in his hair again and a moan of his name escaped your lips.

His other hand passed over your hip until it reached your other breast, his fingers twisting and rolling your nipple gently between your thumb and forefinger.

“Spence.” you breathed, rocking your hips forward in response to all the stimulation you were receiving.

“Fuck, you're so perfect,” he said, closing his eyes. “Your pussy looks like it was made just for me.” His hand slapped down hard on your ass. Your lips found his neck, leaving a trail of marks and sloppy kisses all over the end of it. “Come on, Baby, come for me.” Spencer pleaded, knowing he wouldn't be able to hold off much longer.

Between the movements he made with his lips and the fact that his cock was hitting all the right spots inside you, he pushed you over the edge. The knot in your stomach loosened and Spencer watched as you came. The mixture of your come and a few more quick, sloppy thrusts, he came right after you.

The dim light from the almost extinguished embers still cast a few soft shadows across the cottage room as you stood entwined in front of the fireplace. The remaining warmth of the fire, combined with the heat emanating from Spencer's body against yours, created a delicious bubble of coziness that seemed to isolate you from everything that was happening outside. You could feel Spencer's calm breathing against your hair, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and this, for you, made the situation even more perfect than it already was.

“I should have made more hot chocolate.” he commented suddenly, his voice slightly husky and a little sleepy, which made it all the more adorable.

You lifted your face to look at him, the corners of your lips curving up in an amused smile. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes.” he continued, his eyes half-closed as he stroked your back in an unpretentious way. “Hot chocolate is practically obligatory on nights like this. The two of us together, fireplace on... it's definitely a classic.”

You laughed, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I think you've just found the only flaw in this weekend.”

Spencer opened his eyes, feigning an expression of indignation as he tried to hold back his laughter. “Flaw? I think we've just made it even more perfect.”

The laugh that escaped your lips was like music to his ears, and he smiled in satisfaction as if it was the reaction he'd been waiting for. Spencer pulled you closer, kissing your forehead and murmuring against your skin. “I promise to make it up to you next time. With marshmallows and everything.”

“Oh, right,” you joked, giving him a smile. “I'll charge you.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes shining with something that seemed like pure affection. “Are you happy?”

It was a simple question, but full of meaning, making your heart squeeze at the way he cared. You nodded, pulling the previously forgotten blanket over you both. “Very much. Thank you for that, Spencer. For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn't know it myself.”

He closed his eyes again, a satisfied smile on his face. “I'll always know. You're my favorite spot in any season, anywhere.”

With those words, the comfortable silence took over again. Little by little, Spencer's breathing became slower, and you realized that he was starting to fall asleep.

You smiled to yourself, snuggling further into his arms, while also letting the weight of tiredness carry you off to dreamland.

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.