#jus listened to It was hot we stayed in the water

[c-kiddo]

hiya!! do you have any mount eerie songs in particular you'd like to recommend?? ive listened to lost wisdom and i hold nothing and fell in love with em!!

love your art and your writing also!! they both give a sense of cosiness that i can't explain so so nice xx

oh man i always get mixed up anyway about where a bunch of songs are from since he rerecords things and uses parts of songs between things , also i dont remember if ive listened to all of No Flashlight or not. (also just found more comments on mount eerie songs that i left 5 years ago and then i guess entirely forgot about. lol). but anyway thats a ramble but, for sure check out: Solar system (live in copenhagen), Wooly mammoth’s mighty absence, voice in headphones, what?, who?, Cold mountain, Blue light on the floor, Through the trees pt.2. With my hands out. im definitely forgetting stuff for sure.. honestly listening to it all in order is worth it because he calls back to lyrics and strumming patterns and things.and theyre all v good. (except i don't think i've listened to all of Ocean roar yet.) and i want to recommend songs like Soria Moria and Tintin in tibet and Two paintings by Nikolai Astrup and Crow and Earth and Distortion and Ravens, but you kind of have to listen to them as part of their albums (which ik is so hard because man those albums are devastating but , yknow. its weird extracted from them, theyre part of their stories)

(i have a playlist on my phone thats my personal 'best of elverum' thats his stuff from mount eerie and the microphones , so maybe i should put that on spotify or something)

also thankyou sm :'-) glad u like it

[verstappen-cult]

#. . . Five times Max refuses to acknowledge he’s sick + one time he does.

request made by @lucien-calore. . . “hi, you asked for a max request and i shall deliver! can i please have a sickfic where max refuses to acknowledge he's sick (a flu or something, nothing too serious) but when he does, he acts like a drama queen?”

#1

You’re making dinner when you hear Max coughing from his streaming room, then the laughs of his friends making fun of him. 

You don’t think too much about it. That is until he can’t stop coughing while you’re eating, and when you’re getting ready for bed, and at all during the night. 

It’s only in the morning, as you’re making breakfast and he’s feeding the cats, when you decide to say something. 

“Baby?” You say, trying to look nonchalant while making the eggs. 

“Yes?” He puts the cat food away and makes his way to you. Max hugs your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “What happens?”

“I’m gonna go to the pharmacy after pilates, do you need anything?” 

Max hums, like actually thinking about it before saying, “No, love. Got everything I need.”

“You sure? Nothing for that cough you have?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kisses your cheek and pulls away, grabbing an apple. “I’m gonna be streaming, make sure to say goodbye before you leave, okay?”

#2

“Are you okay?” It’s the fourth time in less than an hour that Max enters the kitchen to fill his bottle of water.

“Yeah, it’s just that all the singing and screaming at the concert last night left me with a sore throat.”

You try not to laugh but it’s impossible. It’s been three days since he started with that horrible cough, which hasn’t stopped, but he still doesn’t understand that he’s probably sick. 

“Max, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that.” You close the book and get up from the couch, he looks confused as you get closer and place your hand on his forehead. “Jesus, Max, you’re burning up!” 

“I’m hot, don’t you think?” 

“Max, I’m serious, you got a fever.” 

“It’s probably nothing,” He reassures you by placing a kiss on your cheek before turning around. “I fell asleep on the terrace. I’m gonna take a shower, okay?” 

“Max, I swear to God—”

“You look hot when you’re angry.” That’s the last thing he says, walking away. 

“Max!” 

#3

It's impossible. You’ve tried everything to make Max understand that he’s sick and needs to rest, but he won’t admit it.

This morning you practically begged him to stay in bed to rest and recover, but he did not listen to you, saying that it was nothing — as he’s been saying all week — and actually dragged you to the Padel court because ‘I’m gonna win this time’. 

Dani’s visiting, so, everyone got together to spend Sunday morning at their favorite place, promising to go to brunch after. But it’s been three hours and they have just finished the second game. Who’s fault is that? Max’s. 

It’s no secret that Max is not very good at Padel, but now that he’s sick it’s been torture. Every couple of minutes they have to stop the game for him to cough, so it’s been impossible to actually play and he doesn’t want to give up. 

And it’s worse because Charles is his partner. Only a look at the Monégasque and you know he wants to murder him. 

“Max,” You call his name, leaving your book aside and walking closer to the wall that’s separating both of you. “you’re sick, why don’t we go home?”

“But, baby, I really think I can win this one.”

“No you won’t!” Lando shouts from across the court as he’s stretching. 

“Oh shut u—”

“Max, I’m serious.” You don’t know what else to do at this point. He’s always been so stubborn, but this has reached new levels. 

“I’m gonna win this for you, baby.” He winks and turns around to join the rest of the group. 

#4

“Max? Why are you still in bed?” You enter the room, gaze immediately going to the watch on the nightstand. It’s two in the afternoon. He never stays in bed past ten, not even during winter or summer break. 

“Jus’ tired.” He mumbles, face hidden in the pillows. 

“I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay?” You sit next to him, stroking his hair. 

“Don’t want a cup of tea,” He opens his eyes, looking up at you and pouting. It makes you giggle. “I want you.”

“I won’t kiss you until you admit you’re sick.”

“That’s so unfair!” He pouts again, this time grabbing your arm and trying to make you lie next to him. “I’m not sick. I’m like super healthy.” You snort, shaking your head and standing up. 

“Then, no kisses for you.”

Max groans, hiding his face under the blankets. “I can survive without your kisses, you know.” 

That makes you laugh because you know Max, and you know how much he likes to kiss you at every opportunity. The chances of Max keeping that promise… Impossible.

“Whatever gets you through the night, Maxie.”

#5

“Hey, baby.” Max places a kiss on your cheek as you leave the grocery bags on the kitchen table. “You got everything for tonight?”

“Yes. I already talked with your mom and they’ll be here at around nine.” Max helps you put the groceries away, frowning when he sees some medicine and a special broth he knows perfectly well among the things you will need for dinner tonight.

“What's this?”

You try to hide a smile, pretending to be busy with anything just to keep you from looking at him. “Your mom said you used to love it as a kid.”

“Yeah,” He says, still confused. “when I was sick.”

“You are sick, Max. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this.”

“I am not!” He huffs, rolling his eyes. You can see from the irritated expression on his face that he's tired of you repeating the same thing over and over again. “I’m gonna go play for a little bit.”

You grab his hand before he can walk away, pulling him closer to you. “Hey,” Max raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to talk. But you cup his cheeks instead, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m worried, I don’t want you to get worse.”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

You can only watch as he leaves the room, Jimmy following closely behind. 

“Well, I tried.” You mumble, looking at Sassy perched on the counter. She meows and you’re glad at least someone understands you.

+1

“Schatje?” You hear Max’s hoarse voice say. 

“Mmh?” It’s your answer, busy peeling some vegetables. “What happens?”

He hesitates for a second, you see from the corner of your eyes how he avoids looking at you, which makes you stop and turn your attention to your boyfriend. 

“I’m sick.” He whispers, surprising you. But he deserves a little teasing. 

“What? I didn’t hear you.” You play dumb, and Max sees right through you. 

“You were right, okay? I was being an idiot.”

“Yes, you were.” He pouts, making you feel warm all over. You walk to him, placing your hand on his forehead. “You have a fever. Why don’t you go lie down on the couch, uh? I’ll heat up the broth.” 

“I’m sorry for being an idiot.” He breathes into the air, blushing all the way from his cheeks to his neck. You know that admitting when he’s wrong is not something easy for him.

“I know, baby. But,” You reach up and boop Max on the nose with your index finger. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But I wanted to help you, everyone’s about to arrive.” 

“Worry about what your mom will say once I tell her how stubborn you have been.” He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “If you’re a good boy and take the medicine, I’ll think about giving you a… reward.”

If Max takes the medicine and finishes all the broth is only because he wants to get better. It has nothing to do with the reward you’re going to give him tonight.

[foreingersgod]

kate martin x girly reader and readers pet name for kate is “bear” because she’s so big and cuddly and reader calls kate “bear” in front of her teammates after kates game and they all tease her for it

Bear . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: your little nickname for kate has quite the impression on the team

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you don’t really know when it started, but it just stuck. the idea to call kate “bear” conjured in your mind one evening, when you were laid atop kate’s chest with her strong arms wrapped around you. she towered over you in height by quite a lot and was the biggest, cuddliest, clingiest girlfriend to ever exist so what better pet name than “bear”?

“love you, bear” you had mumbled one night, yawning and drowsy. you offered her a toothy grin while your eyes fought to stay open.

you and kate had just gotten home from a night out, only leaving as early as you did because you were absolutely exhausted and about to fall asleep in the booth. your girlfriend had so graciously helped you back to your shared apartment where she dressed you into your pajamas and tucked you into bed.

“bear?” she questioned, climbing into bed next to you, letting your head fall onto her shoulder.

“mmm yea” you giggled, definitely almost sleep by now “you’re like my big strong cuddly bear, i jus’ love you s’much”

she chuckled to herself, finally hearing your gentle snores. kate thought it was sweet how you had come up with the pet name, loved that you were thinking of her. so she encouraged it, obsessed with the way it had sounded coming from your lips.

the buzzer had sounded, declaring the end of a wonderful game for iowa. the girls had won by a landslide against the other team. you had watched from the sidelines, like you always did, cheering the entire night as your girlfriend kicked ass.

when the teams post-game celebrations died down, family and friends crowded the arena floor. you followed suit as you pushed past groups of people to try and find kate. she was across the floor, glowing with excitement and talking to the team.

you bolted over towards her, calling out her name to grab her attention. she turned with the biggest smile on her face to see you approaching her. seeing you after a big win was one of her favorite feelings.

she let out a soft ‘hmph’ as you jumped into her, arms wrapping around her neck, kate’s large hands finding the small of your back. her nose nudged against your neck as she hugged you deeply.

“you did so good, bear!” you praised, pulling away from the hug to kiss her cheek “i’m so proud of you!”

“thanks baby” she said, holding your waist to keep you at her side.

“bear, huh?” caitlin teased “is that what we’re calling you now?”

the team laughed, making harmless jokes about the nickname you had for kate.

“shut up” kate chuckled back “that name is reserved for YN and YN only”

you felt a faint heat form on your cheeks, turning them a shade of scarlet. the jokes didn’t bother you at all, but you really did enjoy how she was quick to take full possession of the name.

“what about teddy? teddy bear? can we call you that?” gabbie chimed in “our big ol’ teddy bear!”

“whatever, you wish!” kate responded, shoving her playfully.

after a bit more teasing she finally started saying her farewells for the night “hey, i think we’re gonna head out, but i’ll see you guys tomorrow”

they all nodded, hugging her before she dragged you off the arena floor. you congratulated her again as you made your way to the car to drive home, making sure she knew how proud you are of her.

the apartment was quiet when you arrived home. kate dropped her things at the door before hopping into a hot shower before bed. you, even though she practically pleaded for you to join her, opted for getting cozy in bed. you listened to the flow of the water stop, listened to her follow her nightly routine to a “t” as you scrolled on your phone. when she finally emerged from the bathroom, hot steam trailing behind her, you were still awake.

“still up?” kate asked, already under the covers.

“can’t fall asleep without you, bear” you smiled. she looked down at you, biting her lip when she heard it. she would listen to you calling her bear on repeat if she could.

“i love you so much, y’know that?”

“always,” you replied “i love you so much more”

[dixons-sunshine]

Pull Through | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While you were injured with no way of knowing if you'd make it or not, Daryl let the group in on his feelings. He shares some of his memories with you, as well as some of his worries.

Genre: Angst.

Era: Prison, post season three, pre season four.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU, but can be read as a standalone. However, some call backs are made to previous parts in this.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/n: I've had this idea in my mind for another part to the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU for a while now, but I just don't know how to put it into a proper fic. This is more of a filler than an actual fic, but anyways. Hope you like this!

“Ya know, Shane wasn't the first person to tell me tha' I dun' deserve her.”

Rick looked up from his daughter to look at the archer, Daryl holding his own five month old baby girl in his arms. Rick's heart broke at the sight of his found brother's clear distress evident on his face. He was staring off at nothing in particular, thankfully lucid enough to keep Hazel in place on his lap. It was clear that your recent injury had taken its toll on Daryl, and Rick knew that if you didn't wake up from your little coma, Daryl would be a mess; he would be a bigger mess than Rick was when he lost Lori.

“My whole life, even 'fore I grew the balls to confess to her, people were tellin' me tha' I dun' deserve her, tha' I ain't good 'nough fer her, tha' she'll see it herself and leave me.” Daryl stopped for a moment, his attention temporarily being diverted to his daughter who was starting to fuss a little. He whispered sweet nothings to her in the hopes of calming her down, slightly bouncing his leg and successfully coaxing a giggle from her. “But she never left. Even when things weren't all sunshines and rainbows, she stayed. She loved me regardless of all of my flaws, and god knows I have a shit ton of 'em. She ain't ever even thought 'bout walkin' outta the door, even when she could'a, and I wouldn't have blamed her.”

By now, a few people in the group has stopped to listen to the usually quiet archer. Beth, Maggie, Glenn, Sasha, Tyreese, Hershel, Michonne, Carl and Carol stopped to listen to him. It was extremely rare to hear Daryl talk about anything outside of the usual “formal” work talk—who would go on runs, who'd work on the fence, etc.—so everyone was intrigued to hear the brooding huntsman speak his mind.

“She deserved so much better than me, and I know tha', but she didn't think so. She stuck with me through everythin'. Through most'a my childhood, through highschool, through Merle and his bullshit, everythin'.” Daryl inhaled sharply and let out a shaky exhale, trying to keep his emotions under control. “She always managed to make the most outta everythin'. When I saw a glass tha' was half empty, she saw a glass tha' was half full. Ya know, our first apartment we lived in after movin' outta her mom's trailer was so shitty.”

“Yeah?” Rick replied, just letting Daryl know that he was listening.

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed with a broken chuckle, nodding his head and allowing Hazel to play with his fingers. “Hot water didn't work most'a the time, the oven only worked when it wanted to, the pipes made this weird screeching sound whenever it was cold, and the window to our bedroom was jammed shut. It never opened, so it was hella hot in the summer.” He sighed again and shook his head. “We lived in tha' crappy place fer years 'fore either of us had 'nough money to move into a better place. But she never complained, never threatened to leave me if I didn't find a better apartment, never once blamed me when she had to take a cold shower in the winter. Hell, she even planned on proposin' to me 'cause I was takin' too long.” For added emphasis, he lifted his left hand to show off the silver band he proudly wore every day of his life since that day in your apartment. “I beat her to it, though. She's jus' so amazin'. I love her. I can't lose her. I'll die without her.” And with that last sentence, a sob finally broke out of the archer's chest.

Within seconds, Rick had gently grabbed Hazel from Daryl's arms and passed her over to Carol—who had been on her way to offer her own support to the huntsman—before wrapping his arms around his unofficial brother. Judith had been passed over to Beth during Daryl's speech to be put down for the night, so it made it easier for the former sheriff to jump up and hug Daryl. The archer never once displayed any forms of sadness in front of the group that had to do with crying. His sadness was usually handled through anger, but this wasn't a usual situation. You—the love of his life and the mother of his baby girl—were clinging on for dear life in your weakened state. The attackers that ambushed the group of people who went on the run the previous day made you suffer the worst of the attack. Hershel did his best with the supplies he had, but there was no telling if you'd recover until you woke up, if you ever woke up. And that scared Daryl beyond belief.

Rick didn't hold Daryl long, maybe two minutes at most, until he pulled away. Daryl furiously wiped at the tears in his eyes, mad at himself for displaying such weakness in front of everybody. However, nobody made any sort of comment towards him, their own understanding and worry towards you preventing them from doing so.

“If there's one thing I know,” Rick began, standing up and allowing Daryl to have some space. “It's that you Dixons are fucking stubborn. She'll pull through, I know it.”

Daryl sniffed and nodded, wiping his eyes one more time before getting up and gently taking his daughter from Carol. “She needs to be put to bed soon. She, uh, needs to see her mama 'fore it, though, jus' in case...”

Just in case you didn't make it.

Rick nodded sympathetically, and with that, Daryl walked away from everyone's empathetic gazes. He walked up the stairs and made his way to the makeshift medical cell, expecting to see you asleep, like you had been for over twenty-four hours at that point. However, he was instead met with the sight of you sat up and crouched over to the side, heaving and clutching at your chest, awake and alert, and he didn't hesitate to call for help.

“Hershel!”

Within seconds, the old man had hobbled himself over to the cell and was by your side in an instant. He was helping you put an oxygen mask over your mouth to help you breath, and once you weren't struggling to breathe anymore, he sent a frightened looking Daryl a reassuring smile. He beckoned him closer, and with Hazel still in his arms, he walked over to you and sat down on the bed, hugging you gently and quickly before pulling back—there would be time to crush you to him and never let you go when you weren't sat with a recently shot stomach and a few broken ribs. Hershel patted his back reassuringly, and he sent a very awake, lucid you a warm smile.

“Welcome back.” He turned to Daryl and nodded. “She pulled through.”

“S'a good sign, righ'?”

For the first time in twenty four hours, Hershel gave the archer good news. “It's a damn good sign.”

You were grunting and reaching out to Daryl, and your husband instantly knew what you were requesting. With a nod from Hershel, Daryl slowly transfered Hazel into your arms, and your little one instantly recognized her mama's touch. Her mood instantly brightened, right alongside her father's.

You were okay. However, the same definitely wouldn't be said for the son of a bitch held prisoner as soon as Daryl was done with him later—he was going to pay for hurting you, and Daryl wasn't going to go easy on him, either.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[m-tribs]

task oo1. the reaping

Mercuria kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to wake up. But her father was once again having a coughing fit, so it wasn't like she was going to be able to fall back asleep anyway. With a small sigh of resignation, she threw her feet over the side of her cot and stood to greet the gray day.

"It's okay, Pa," she murmured, using a dying lighter to reignite the stove from yesterday evening's charcoal. Once it took, she ladled a small serving of water into the kettle before setting it on top of the small fire. "Don't worry, it's comin'." The morning chores were easy enough, the same as they ever were. While the water boiled, she took a derelict broom, which desperately needed restrawing, and scraped track marks into the dust near the entrance. The "sweeping" done, she moved on to making her bed - putting the thin blanket on top of her cot so that it didn't pick up any dust from the floor.

The next hour flew by in routine monotony. Pour hot water for Pa, coach him on how to choke it down without coughing it back up. Use the water to rehydrate the stew from last night, eat a few spoonfuls before giving the rest to Pa. It wasn't until she saw out the small window the crowds of people that she realized: today was the Reaping.

A gasp caught in her throat. It was a miracle she had forgotten, of course, but it happened so irregularly that she couldn't possibly fault herself. She hurried to the back of their home, slipping easily into the one piece of clothing she had that could be considered "nice:" a hand-woven skirt her father had made. Her father noticed from across the room. "No, Mercuria - no..."

She rushed to his side and cupped his face in her hands. "It's just a few hours, Pa. Then I'll be back. We're jus' lucky I don't hafta travel for it."

She exited before she could hear any more of his stuttered protestations. The ceremony was a blur of monotony until something different happened: a Tribute was announced. Not pulled, not Reaped... announced. Some might even say presented. And as he was revealed, Mercuria's breath caught in her throat.

Slate Flint - years of work flashed past Mercuria's eyes in an instant. From the first time she heard him speak, cramped in a back room of a bar, through the pamphlets she saw passed around Twelve, to the chatter over the radios that only a select few people knew how to find. The work of a generation, the work of the future. All up there, waiting to be sent to die. No.

No.

No.

She couldn't allow it. Not after he had given her so much. So much hope, so much inspiration. So many promises that they would prevail and that they would come out on top. Slate needed to see it through. Someone had to stop this. Someone had to help.

"I volunteer!" The words were out of her mouth a split second before she registered the idea. But as soon as they were out, she knew. She was set. This was the moment. Since she had met Slate, she hadn't been able to help the cause. She wasn't able to move contraband, she wasn't a public speaker, she wasn't even that much of a fighter. So mostly she had sat back, listening in awe, as the revolution formed around her. She had always been in the background.

Now was her time to step in and make a difference.

The Escort looked out at the crowd. "Oh, how lovely. We have our second Tribute. Thank you all for attending."

Peacekeepers grabbed her by the elbows, and others started immediately shepherding the crowd away. What? No - she was taking his place. The Tributes would be her and another, drawn. They hadn't even asked her name. She struggled the slightest bit, and one of the Peacekeepers threw a fist into the back of her head. She stumbled forward, but they effortlessly swept her up by the arms, paying no attention as her feet bounced painfully against the stairs.

Everyone was being moved into the Capitol building. There were no bowls of names, there was no ending video. The Escort hadn't even bothered to stay out on stage long enough to greet her. She threw one last look backwards, over her shoulder, to see the crowd dispersing.

Hopefully someone would tell her father.

[divinefireangel]

Make out Sessions with SF9 - Hard Ver.

As per multiple requests 👀. Hope y'all like it!

Warnings: Suggestive. Smut. Female anatomy. Sloppy kissing. Just go with it 😂. Choking. Youngbin's is highly inspired by Hannah 🤭. Extremely inaccurate description of wine? Cause I've never consumed any lmao. Sensual touching? Humping? Size kink for Ju? Strength kink for Seokwoo? Tbh idk what I'm doing lol

Everything under the cut!

Youngbin

You're both in the balcony, sipping on wine after a long tiring day, awaiting the weekend

Maybe it's the wine or the fact that you both are absolutely free for a whole day tomorrow, but something is just pulling you closer to him

And just like that, you straddle his thick thighs in the chair he's seated on 👀

Gulping you bite your lip, before leaning in to taste his

Of course due to the wine, his lips and tongue and saliva all taste like alcohol and his own flavour

He will pull you closer till your legs are bent at your knees and are resting against his sides comfortably and your heat is touching his crotch

He's also gonna be really loud, moaning into each kiss, breaking only to kiss your neck or jaw with closed eyes

His hands are sensually touching your back and breasts, just feeling you up and making your whine for more

Easily carries you to the bedroom for a night full of expected unexpected events

Inseong

Baby boy is so shocked when you kiss him with a lot of fervour

Takes a few seconds to realize what's happening lmao

But when he does, he will flush his chest against yours

Hands start to wander along the length of your back

And everytime he reaches the end of your back, he goes lower till he's able to cup your butt

Now you're shocked 😝

All this, while still kissing you senseless

His lips moulding with yours

Moans coming out from the both of you

Teeth pulling at your lips

Teeth clinking together

His tongue asking for permission to enter your mouth

When you give him the green light, gosh he will be ready to fuck you on the floor 🤭

Jaeyoon

Oh this one definitely tries to convert every innocent little kiss to a make out whenever you both are alone

And he knows you will give into his charm because he's cocky and we love to see it

It's instances when he's sitting on a chair in the kitchen while you cook or study and every time you get something right he gives you a congratulatory kiss

But after that last bit of preparation, when he does kiss you, his hands are on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin lightly as his lips move against yours

Pulls away when you're breathless and smirks that sexy smirk FUCK ME

Now of course, his hands move to cup your butt and pull you closer

Well he makes you sit on his lap while he's still in the chair

Holds your face in one palm before looking into your eyes and just dives in to your mouth

It as so messy but it's also so hot like????? How even does he do that lol

His tongue is more in your mouth than his, purposely drawing out moans and small surprised squeals from you and your sounds are sending electricity to his cock

Which then leads to your both dry humping each other till he just feels like he's had enough of this teasing and dramatically pushes your things off the table to fuck you on it 😉🤭

Dawon

Oh this fucker knows what he's doing but he'll act all cute so you can't even blame him 😣

And it's always things that shouldn't even affect you like feeling his hot breaths against your neck while his chest heaves on your back or his hands that slowly pull your pants a little lower IT'S NOT EVEN NOTICEABLE

But fuck he knows what he wants and he also knows he's convincing you

He's so happy when you huff in annoyance and just push him onto the bed after dragging him to the room

His smile disappears when you straddle his lap and pull him closer by his shirt

And he starts to lose his shit when you bite your lip and trace his facial features, looking at him with your bedroom eyes, lowering yourself till you feel his half hard cock

When you start to rub your clothed core against his, fuck he's even more desperate

Hands go to your hips to guide your movement

But before he can kiss you, you tilt your head back moaning so loud, making him whine to feel your lips

You give in easily lmao 💀

Grinding down harder and kissing him even harder only breaking to remove your clothes 🤤

Zuho

He's been cooped up in the studio for too long so it is fair if you go and make sure he isn't as stressed 😉

And so you do

You walk in to his studio wearing the cutest skirt you own

But he's so engrossed in work he doesn't notice :(

That's okay cause you remove your shoes and pull his chair out, abruptly sitting on his lap, your back to his chest

That's when he notices the skirt, and his fingers trace the hem slowly raising it up 👀

Groans looking at your cute panties and turns your face to his to give you a sweet kiss

Makes you stand to lean on the table facing him

So when he stands he can tower you and make you feel small

His fingers comb through your scalp till he can pull your head back suddenly and slowly kisses up from your neck to your lips as you breathe hard through your mouth

His lips meet yours with a lot of force, whimpers and moans flying out from you when he starts to move you up on the table

"Naughty kitten" and imagine that with his deep ass voice WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF 😭

Rowoon

It all starts with a boring movie, you in his lap, breathing into each other's mouth while kissing

Your hands pulling at his hair

His hands roaming your body, squeezing you ass or choking you or cupping your boobs over your his shirt

And you're just grinding your core against his, dizzying the both of you

Desperately attempting to feel some sort of relief

He will surely laugh cutely at your struggle

Then of course he uses his strength to pin you down and kiss you again

But this time he moves his kisses down from your lips to your core 😉

Being the playfully unfair lover he is, he moves back up to capture your lips

His fingers have other plans tho 👀

He feels you get wetter as he traces your folds over your shorts

While swallowing your moans and cries for more

Or if he's feeling generous he will kiss your neck, listening to your cute begs for more while fingering you

Yoo Taeyang

Okay he knows that you are loving his biceps so he will purposely flex them especially after his home workout

And I mean this sweaty well defined biceps like those in his cycling pics

Smirking he just tells you that he's gonna shower before you both can spend time knowing full well that you will not stay put in your place

When you enter the bathroom, the scene in front of you is heavenly

Water cascading down from his wet hair through his abs and down his legs 👀

"Took you long enough"

Chuckling in disbelief you shake your head while undressing cause you'd be a fool to miss out

Climbing into the shower you push him onto the wall, pressing your chest to his and scratching his back while getting on your toes

Cupping your face he kisses you, pulling you both under the water coming from the shower

Your kiss is a mix of his and your salivas and the shower water, it's messy and desperate but you can't care when you feel his dick come to life against your stomach

Without further teasing he picks you up and fucks you in the shower as you clutch onto him harder every time his cock brushes your g-spot

Hwiyoung

Poor thing all he wanted was a relaxing bath till you entered

Stripping yourself, you enter the tub, sitting on his lap facing him and his shocked expression

He becomes a little less shocked when he, well his dick feels how wet you are lmao

Bringing one dripping hand out of the warm water he freely moves it from your cheek, down to your thigh but making sure to wet your neck and tweak your nipple in the process

Clenching your thighs hesitantly at the cold air you felt wherever he touched you, you moan with your eyes closed

Gulping he moves both his hands to your neck to pull you flush against him as he connects your lips together

His hands feel up your back

His kisses needy, muffling both of your moans while you wait for his cock to charge up 🤭

Chani

He didn't have the intention of making you weak in the knees

But fuck how can you not go weak when your boyfriend is so hot

Legit all he did was pulling his shirt off with one hand, skillfully

And that made you pull him into bed with you

Your legs trapping his left leg, grinding your needy core against his thigh

Chest pressed flush on his

Hands slightly scraping the skin on his back

Lips attached to his moist ones

His hands slowly hiking up your shirt to touch your soft skin

Tbh he can't take this for too long

So he flips you onto your back and climbs between your legs, a teasing smirk plastered on his face

And his even more teasing fingers tracing your skin up from your knee, over your thighs, stomach, chest till it reaches your throat, tilting your head up so he can pepper small lovebites on you

Places a bruising kiss on your lips till your eyes are rolling back from the foreplay itself

SF9 Masterlist

[purple-babygirl]

Bestie bestie, thoughts- daddy! Bucky and little reader cooking together is making my heart melt fr💖 ugh! Like imagine her getting him like a chef hat 🥺 one of those white floppy ones 😭😭 or like they both get matching aprons. Ugh.

Pairing: Chubby!Pâtissier!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 1,404

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, it's all fluff.

A/N: I don't know what you did but i was looking up matching aprons after i saw your ask and boom 💥 pastry chef Bucky thots 💥 attacked me and for that I thank you:"💜💜💜 So here we are. I'm sorry if I took too long and made you feel like I was ignoring your ask, I definitely wasn't💜💜💜 It was just really cute it got my mind going so thank you so very much🥺💜💜 Please enjoy xx.

Pie credit.

heavenly sweet

“Daddy.” She turned around, giving Bucky her back, and he could only smile bigger when he saw the way she was bouncing on her ankles in excitement.

Bucky bow-tied her apron for her, lightly patting her back, “there you go, lil chef,” before pawing at her sides until she giggled.

“Thank you, daddy.” She beamed, letting Bucky help her up on the kitchen counter.

It was a special day for her today. She and Daddy were wearing their matching aprons for the first time, and Bucky was showing her how to make one of her favourites, blueberry pie.

Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell her yet, but the matching aprons gesture had him even crazier in love with her. The way she closely watched his reaction as he'd opened his gift and the way she was over the moon when he’d showed his content with it would forever be engraved in his mind next to all of the other precious memories starring her beautiful eyes.

“Okay, so we have our flour over there,” Bucky pointed to the half-full bag, “eggs and butter too,” he checked, walking closer to her, “and my sugar right here.” Bucky planted his hands on the counter, trapping her between them as he dropped his head to kiss, kitten-lick, and nibble on her jaw.

“Dada!” She squeal-giggled, her hands on Bucky’s round belly as he stood over her.

“Look at you, bonbon! You look like a real chef already! You doing the baking today? Hmm?” Bucky joked, peppering kisses on her face, his hands holding her waist.

“No, jus’ helping daddy,” she giggled more, hiding her face in Bucky’s chest, making him chuckle.

“The best help daddy could get, bonbon.” He kissed the top of her head with a satisfied smile.

~

There was nothing she loved more than watching Daddy work. With his hair pulled back into a small bun, his apron around his full torso, different smudges covering it, and his forearms having the littlest smear of flour on them, Bucky looked like art to her. The way he went about everything he was doing to make her feel included and the way he stole kiss after kiss from her when she was focused. Not to forget how sweet his kisses always were. It was all so perfect. She cherished every moment she got to spend with him, each one better than the last as Daddy made her the best treats that ever existed.

“Now, what do we do, bonbon?” Bucky quizzed playfully, wiping a hand down his apron so he could put the hair that escaped the bun back behind his ear.

“We put in our blueberries!” She replied, her hands eagerly reaching for the bowl of macerated fruit.

“Oh my god,” Bucky looked at her, faking shock and shaking his head.

“Did I say something wrong, daddy?” her voice went small so fast, immediately searching her mind, trying to remember if something went in before the berries.

“I might wanna slow down with teaching you or else next thing I know you’ll be taking over daddy’s bakery, bonbon!” Bucky chuckled, teasingly pecking her cheek.

She laughed with him when he tapped her nose, internally sighing in relief.

He was such a charmer and she was head over heels for him, “’m so proud of you, bonbon.” Bucky kissed her forehead.

“Daddy, can I put them in?” she patted her eyelashes, her hands in place on Bucky’s tummy and he couldn’t help but peck her lips.

“You sure can, lil chef," he said and she grinned at the name he'd started to use, wanting to earn it.

“Here, lemme help you, baby.” Bucky smiled, taking the bowl and holding it for her while she used a spatula to scoop the contents out and into their pie pan.

She was so happy they were doing this together. She was always at her most peaceful state of mind when Bucky would take her to the kitchen with him. Watching him work so passionately was her little self’s own version of bliss. Bucky had the softest aura about him. He was the kindest, most beautiful and most loving Daddy she could’ve ever dreamed of having, and her little heart vowed to appreciate every second with him, every second of him.

“Wait, dada, leave some. Wanna taste.” She stopped Bucky’s hand from slopping the bowl further so the rest of the fruits would fall out.

Bucky, of course, listened to her at once, giving her the bowl to hold on her apron-covered lap as he grabbed her a spoon.

She loved having a taste of the leftovers. Sometimes Bucky would catch her licking cake dough off the bowl in the bakery kitchen and no matter how many times he’d tell her it wasn’t healthy, because the eggs in the batter were raw, she’d still be licking that dough the second he’d turn his back. Bucky loved her too much to be stern with her, so he’d just make sure he was always there, moving the bowl to the sink after being done with it and laughing at her cute pout when she’d see it fill with water as Daddy rinsed it.

Bucky shook the pan to evenly distribute the berries on the surface, adoringly grinning at her attempts to catch a berry that wouldn’t roll and slide off the spoon. She eventually managed to scoop some, moaning when she slid the spoon in her mouth. Bucky’s food always tasted so good she was in love.

“Good, baby?” Bucky licked his lips, wiping his palms on his apron again.

“So good, dada.” She nodded, indulging herself with another spoon of pie filling.

“Give daddy a taste, bonbon,” he asked lowly and she held her spoon up for him, trying not to spill.

Bucky smiled gently, taking the spoon and bowl from her and setting them aside.

She didn’t have time to be confused before he was kissing her, his tongue sliding in to taste hers. Her eyes closed as a surprised moan got out only to be swallowed by Bucky.

She tasted like her with a hint of blueberries, so sweet; so delicious. Bucky’s hands cradled her face as he deepened the kiss, not able to get enough of her flavor, her soft lips or the tiny sounds leaving them. Her smaller hands settled on his chubby tummy, before sliding to his sides to hold him close, slightly clutching his apron.

Their mouths parted, the need for oxygen kind of forcing Bucky away though he still gave her lips a couple of short kisses as he tried to take his breath, his forehead resting on hers.

“So good indeed,” Bucky chuckled breathlessly and her face felt hot, her nose shyly nuzzling Daddy’s cheek to hide.

“Hey, look at me,” Bucky’s voice was so velvety and soft as his fingers brought her face back to his, “I love you, bonbon,” Bucky said, his blue eyes enchanting hers and she could only see, hear, smell and feel him.

Bucky was gorgeous. His tall frame towering over hers, making her feel safe. His pink lips wearing a tender smile that was only designed for her. His cologne surrounding her and filling her chest with warmth. His belly soft and full under her palms. His hair a little out of place as a few strands had slipped out of the bun and refused to stay behind his ear. He was flawless and he was her Daddy.

“I love you, daddy,” she returned with a timid smile.

Her hand went up to slide Bucky’s soft hair back behind his ear, stealing his heart all over again when she cupped his cheek and pressed a tiny kiss to his lips.

With her hand still holding the side of his face and her face tilted upwards, she then started telling Daddy what they had to do next, talking about covering the filling using the remaining pie dough and such, wanting Bucky to be proud of her. And he was, though he wasn’t hearing a word she was saying, he was the proudest.

As he watched her lips move and her hands gesture, Bucky could only think he’d gone to heaven because that must’ve been the only correct name for what he was experiencing in her angelic presence.

Of all the sweet things he's ever tasted, she was his one, true addiction and Bucky was gladly hooked.

~~

Tags: @harrysthiccthighss, @tinystudentfirepurse, @lavendercitizen

[nationalharryleague]

One Day

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Drunk!Harry Fluff!

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi all! This is some drunk boyfriend harry fluff that I just love sm. It’s based off of “One Day” by Catie Turner (I highly recommend listening to it!!) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what you think in my ask! Thank you so much for reading! 

***

Harry was the life of the party when he wanted to be. He knew how to let loose, with a tequila on the rocks in one hand and a beer in the other, ready to party until he (literally) dropped. He always ended up on some sort of elevated surface like a teenage girl, usually a kitchen island or an absurdly expensive coffee table, singing along to whatever music was playing, magically knowing every word to whatever came over the speakers. Sometimes he would get lost in the winding corridors of the massive mansions his friends lived in, taking a wrong turn in his enhibrated state and ending up somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be. There was also one time he jumped off a (thankfully low) roof into the swimming pool below.

But usually, he was calm, cool, and collected; gently sipping on a single drink he would nurse for most of the night. The two of you liked to sit and watch during these parties, his hand settling securely on your waist, keeping you close to him and away from the chaos that unfolded before you. You would curl up on a couch somewhere and just watch it all play out like it was an observational study, often giving commentary and ranking people and their drunk dancing out of 10.

“I feel like we're the mean girls in the corner of the cafeteria who just sit and silently judge everyone around them,” you would giggle, nuzzling yourself further into his side.

“That’s because we are the mean girls in the corner judging everyone around them, sweetheart” he would reply, in a slightly buzzed drawl.

But tonight was not one of those nights. And Harry had ended up standing on top of the dining room table scream-singing ABBA at the top of his lungs.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic and messy performance. His limbs flailed freely as he wiggled his hips along to the beat of Dancing Queen, singing into a small statue of a naked woman he had picked up off an end table that you assumed to be very, very expensive, like it was a microphone. He wore a pair of high rise denim flares that swayed along with his movements to the music and his white “Women are Smarter'' shirt was now stuck to his body with sweat, just see through enough for his butterfly to make an appearance.

He only came down after a green malaise began to settle over his features, skin slightly clammy and a bit pale. You extended a hand, helping his loopy body down off the table and letting him settle into your side for support once he was on solid ground again. “Let’s head to the bathroom, H,” you said gently, trying to settle the panic that was beginning to crawl into his eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Once he got to the beautifully large and extravagant bathroom, he crawled into a small, or as small as the large man could make himself, ball and rested his hot clammy cheeks against the cool marble of the floor. “May have overdone it,” he grumbled from his spot on the floor, holding on for dear life as you were sure the room was spinning for him.

“Ya think?” you teased, immediately feeling a pang of guilt when you were met with a pathetically needy face from him in return. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” You carefully dug through the cabinets, knowing there had to be washcloths somewhere in the lavish room, and once you found one you dampened it with cold water. Settling down on the tile next to him, you pulled him and his sweaty curls on to your lap, wiping the layer of sweat delicately from his skin and then resting the cold cloth on his forehead.

You two stayed in this position for a while, carefully rubbing his back in an effort to sooth the large man and trying to ignore the loud music that was still shaking the house around you. He looked small like this, no longer your giant protector, but like a younger version of himself who just needed someone to take care of him. You were happy to be that person, as he always was for you.

This was the first time you had ever seen him like this. He always managed to know his limits, but tonight he just went off the deep end. He had been working like a dog, constantly in and out of the studio, frustrated that none of the songs he was writing were up to his astronomically high standards for himself. It wasn’t too shocking that he was trying to escape that stress.

Gradually, as he laid on the floor and you held him close, the color came back into his cheeks and he stopped holding onto your legs like the room was about to take flight. When you sat him up against the wall, he was still a bit wobbly, but no longer looked like he was about to unload his stomach contents all over the room.

“How are you feeling now, H?” you asked softly, scanning his face for discomfort or distress as you dabbed the washcloth over his skin.

“’m okay,” he hiccuped back, “jus’ needed a cuddle.” He got exceptionally British when he got this drunk, his accent coming out in a barely distinguishable garble of tall vowels and dropped consonants, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

His eyes fluttered open and closed without rhythm as he looked at you, his light green eyes glazed over with a glassy shine, and his mouth hung open slightly, like he didn’t have the coordination to close it. His pink cheeks were flushed and his skin had a sweaty sheen. His head had rolled off too one side and rested on his shoulder, like his neck had given up on holding his head up, and his arms fell heavy at his sides.

You should have been at least slightly annoyed with him for acting like a college kid, drinking until he made himself sick. His behavior and subsequent need for you to take care of him should have gotten under your skin and caused a bit of anger to bubble up into your chest. But it didn’t. You were just taking care of your man.

“Do you still feel nauseous?”

“‘m a-ok, babay” he said, making himself giggle with his rhyme. His lips lazily curled up into a smile and he dragged a lazy arm up to give the “OK” symbol with his uncoordinated fingers, before the heavy limb dropped back down to the tile beneath him.

“Okay, funny man,” you began sarcastically, planning on instructing to drink the glass of water you had retrieved on your way up to the bathroom, when he cut you off.

“I am pretty funny, aren’t I?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the loud belly laugh that fell past your lips. He took the glass from you and began to sip, a proud smirk never leaving his lips as he looked at you.

“You were a comedian in a past life.”

“I agree.”

You two were quiet for a bit, Harry drinking something other than tequila for the first time the entire night, and you just admiring him in silence. You let your hand crawl into his, interlocking your fingers together before bringing it up to your lips and pressing small kisses to each of his knuckles. It wasn’t long before his glass of water was finished and he crawled back into your arms, his back pressing to your chest with your arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. Your fingers ran through his still damp curls, initially just to push them up and away from his forehead and eyes, but continued when you heard the little happy mewls coming from him.

“Ya take such good care of me,” he said sloppily with a gentle tone, breaking through the bubble of silence you two had created together.

“I always will.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his salty forehead and settled back onto the hard wall behind you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hadn’t been together for long, with saying the “L” word still being pretty new, and still slightly foreign, to both of you. But you meant it when you said it, you loved him, and your body always filled with a blushing warmth when he said he loved you too.

You had met through work when you interviewed him for the magazine you worked at. From the moment you saw those dimples in real life, you were weak in the knees and enamored with him. You hadn’t been trying to flirt, it just happened. And before he left the office, you had a date planned for that Friday. That was 6 months ago now and they had been some of the happiest of your life.

“Will you marry me?”

The question left his lips in his absurdly difficult to understand drawl and it took you a moment to process what he said, but when you did your heart stopped.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him, because you did, but not now.

It was too soon. There was still too much for you to do together, too much still to learn about him, and too much for him to learn about you. You hadn’t even had a serious fight yet; you didn’t know how he dealt with conflict or how you would react to it. You didn’t live together; you didn’t know how your living habits would match up or if they would drive each other insane. You didn’t know how you would deal with him touring being away for so long.

There was just too much you didn't know.

“I will someday.” You spoke gently, trying hard not to hurt his currently fragile feelings. You were now holding his face tenderly, like if you held him steady and close, you could lessen the blow.

“So, no?” he looked up at you with his big puppy dog eyes, feeling guilt punch you in the gut.

“For now. Everything is just going so well right now, we don’t have to mess with it.”

“Jus’ wanna be with you forever,” he said softly and your heart began to melt. He was such a soft person, who felt everything so deeply and with so much emotion. He was a sap, and you loved him for it. You pulled him closer to your chest, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

“And you will be,” you breathed. “Forever will still be there down the line.”

“Why not now?” His lips held an adorable pout and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing a kiss to them. He tasted awful, like tequila and sweat, but the kiss was loving and sweet as you tried to pour all your love for him into it.

“Because we still have to grow,” you watched the end of his mouth tick up, sure to make some sort of smartass comment about you both being grown already. “We have to grow together,” you finished.

“I guess so,” he mused softly.

“I promise that I will say ‘yes’ when we are ready someday.”

“Someday,” he repeated softly, feeling the words on his own lips. “I’m going to keep asking, ya know?” he smirked up at you, his smile and joking tone signalling that you hadn’t broken his heart, just bruised his ego a bit.

“That’s perfectly okay,” you sighed, a contagious smile finding its way to your own lips. “I’m going to keep saying ‘no’ until we’re ready, ya know?” you teased, using his own words against him.

“One day, I’ll make an honest woman outta ya when you let me.”

“One day.”

Thank you reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!! 

[suckmybigtoeoikawa]

Heyy bestie🦦 may I have some Haikyuu or MHA boys listening/watching you simp over other anime men👀??

remember to drink water and eat daily🥰

HAIIII MUTUAL OFC

i’m sorry this is so late my sleeping schedule has been off and i haven’t been sleeping the best :(

**

Shigaraki

you finally got him to sit down and watch demon slayer. he either needs to watch short shows that progress quickly or long shows that can keep him captivated, he can’t stay for the slow shit. he’s so pampered omg

so demon slayer was a great choice, it was a short short the progressed quickly. it took you so long to convince him though, either he was to busy or he was doing something else until one day he gave in.

“i’m so happy your watching this with me you won’t regret it”

“yeah yeah just play it” he act like tgat but he’s happy inside too

you play the first episode and he’s already intrigued. a few episodes past and those few episodes turn out to be the whole show.

you look over at shigaraki, he’s leaned into the tv and his eyes are still glued to the screen.

“well what are you waiting for, play the next episode”

“..babe.. that was the last episode”

there was visible awkward silence

“there was only 25 episodes”

he groans “next time we should watch one piece like you said”

“we can start it next but how did you like the show.. and” you say this part with a smirk “who did you think was hot 😏” hoping to see more reaction from your boyfriend he just shrugs and says “mm no one really” you stare at him waiting for him to ask the question back. he huffs “and y/n who did you find attractive..” clearly he was still mad about the show ending. “welll i thought that inosuke was pretty hot”

fuck you jus say 😐

“…” he just stares at you, and walks off “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!??” your chasing him now. “i’m gonna come back when you have some sense, inosuke isn’t shit” “awww are you angry” he glares at you “no i’m not..”

the face ur making

“you jealous” you tease. “no one is jealous, y/n” “okay so if i keep saying inosuke is hot-” he cute you off “INOSUKE IS NOT HOT”

you keep teasing him saying that he’s jealous over and over again. “mm don’t worry though he’s only fake” now your trying to comfort shigaraki he’s laying on your chest while you rubs circles on his back. “i’d never leave you for him” you say. “i wouldnt let you get the chance, i’d kill him” he mumbles with his face in your chest.

***

Iida

you and iida decided to watch Haikyuu. He really enjoyed the show he loved how determined the characters were and how hard they work.

you would need to stop him from talking because he would go on rants about how hard work and is good and blah blah blah, nonetheless he would give some good information, anything that comes out of iida’s mouth is always good

you guys just got introduced to Date Tech and the players of Date Tech.

“omg he’s so cute” you say, iida’s head flips right to you

“who??” he said it so quick and urgent

“That one right there” you point at the computer screen and your finger lands on Aone

“HIM??” he’s shocked

“yes him, his little blush is so cute!!”

“ohh.. okay” you guys continued the show, you not thinking much of what you said what Iida couldn’t stop thinking about it. you guys finished watching around 12 am.

“sooo, about this Aone character”

you completely forgot about it “ohh yeah what about it” you put your phone done and listen into what he has to say

“ do you really find him attractive?” “yes, i do” you start to sit up because it’s so amusing how your boyfriend is getting jealous

“oh okay” he goes back to staring at the wall

“iida… he’s a fictional character”

“i know, i know”

he was just sitting there

he knew it wasn’t right of him to be getting jealous of a animated character but damn what made him so attractive???? you had to remind him that you were dating him and that he was more attractive, and once again that aone wasn’t real

“i know i’m sorry”

“you don’t need to apologize, i understand” you rubs his cheek as you stare at his features, the subtle lights from the city set a nice ambiance in your room, it was soothing and in this moment you and iida connected together.

*****

Tendou

you and Tendou both decided to watch HunterXHunter, you both liked the feel of the show and it was easy and interesting to follow. you guys would stay up till 2 am watching the show and ranting about the characters.

“CHROLLO!!” you scream, “HE IS SO HOT BRO”

as soon as Tendou heard that he shut the TV off so quick

“Hey, why did you do that” poor baby was pouting

“cause i don’t want you looking at Chrollo” he pouted

“but he’s only fictional” “i don’t care” he crosses his arms dramatically and turned his face in the opposite direction. you quickly go to hug him and comfort him. and here you are still 1 hour later hugging him and comforting him.

“we should drop the show” he says “mmmm how abt we just skip the scenes with chrollo” he squeezes you tighter “i’m okay with that” he smiles

if you wanna continue the show just make sure not to watch it when he’s around 😅

******

tendou’s was short, but i hope you enjoyed :)

MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed it 🤍 Please Like, comment what you think and follow 🤍 have a great day 🤍

[delimeful]

(dont) take this the wrong way (6)

warnings: misunderstandings, trauma responses, illness

-

Patton and Roman went in circles for a moment on who should carry Logan, eventually settling on Patton, since Roman was the quicker between the two of them and they were alarmingly unsure of what the small mer was planning— or how negatively that plan would affect the little guy.

Roman couldn’t help but be a little jealous anyways at the sight of the human pressing his tiny face against the palm of Patton’s hand, still mostly unconscious despite the jostling. It was unfairly adorable, and he never got to hang out with humans that weren’t terrified or fled at the sight of him.

Logan had started off scared too, sure, but after they’d cleared that little misunderstanding up, the human had shooed him away with an itty bitty stern look.

He’d listened, of course, he certainly owed these two that much, but internally he was gleeful at how bold Logan was when hanging out with them. Maybe he’d even come back and they’d learn more of his language and he could needle the nerd into telling him more about surface life—!

But of course, that required that he get better first.

It seemed obvious now, with the feverflush to his skin and the subtle tremor even as he slept, but the signs were so tiny on him, they might not have noticed for ages yet. He was inordinately grateful that the little mer had brought it to their attention, even if it also meant learning just how lowly the little guy thought of them.

When they returned from the air room, the tiny mer hadn’t twitched from his spot, though he looked as though he wanted to vibrate right out of his skin.

Agonizingly, he only seemed to get more stressed at the sight of Patton’s cupped hands, gaze darting between them for a moment before he flitted forwards and pressed an earfin to the makeshift airseal, staying in place only long enough to catch the sound of Logan’s little raspy breaths.

Roman opened his mouth, arms sliding up to gesture, and the tiny mer shot all the way back across the room like quicksilver. He had a moment to realize that with that speed, they’d never have ‘caught’ him in the first place if he hadn’t been trapped by that net, and then he felt immensely guilty for clearly spooking the little guy.

“How about you lead the way?” he asked, trying to distract their flighty little friend before he started tearing hair out. “The exit is one cave down, we’ll follow to wherever you think is the best place.”

He was shaking his head before Roman even finished. “No, I’ll follow, you— whoever stole him, you have to take him back to that beach. You remember... right?”

Roman turned to glance at Patton, who nodded firmly. “I’ll get us started then, kiddo.”

He cradled his cupped hands to his chest and swam deeper, easily twisting through the exit tunnel into the open ocean. Roman nodded at the little mer and followed, hoping that the little guy wouldn’t just vanish.

Only a moment later, he flitted out after them, and Roman caught the desperate longing that crossed his expression for a moment at the sight of wide open terrain. It vanished after a single glance at Patton’s cargo, replaced by a grim scowl.

If it weren’t for the human, Roman had the feeling that the mer would have turned and vanished, too quick and small for them to ever see again.

Instead, he hovered carefully out of lunging reach as they traveled, watching their every move with narrowed eyes. Every unconscious twitch of Patton’s hands seemed to make him flinch in response, as though he was expecting something horrible would happen to the human at any moment.

Normally, Roman would have been quite offended about this implied slight against Patton’s character, since his friend was just about the gentlest guy he knew. With circumstances what they were, however, he remained silent. He knew that this wasn’t really a reflection on Patton, but rather someone else entirely, a phantom presence that was still haunting the small mer.

Roman let out a breath of relief when they finally resurfaced, a human beach visible nearby. Patton unfolded his hands as soon as they were above water, and they both peered nervously down at the human.

“He doesn’t look like he’s gotten any worse,” Patton murmured, angling his hands so their small tagalong could see as well. “This is fairly close to the beach I found him at!”

“It seems the early hour has served us well,” Roman added, making sure not to gesture as he usually would. “There doesn’t appear to be anyone else around. Should we set him on the beach?”

The tiny mer jolted when he realized that they were both looking to him, flitting back and forth in nervous motions. “Uh, yeah— Yes. But be careful. And make sure you put him high enough that the tide can’t drag him back.” He continued in an undertone, “With his luck, it’ll be ages before another human appears.”

“I’ll do it!” Patton announced, already pushing forwards to shallower waters. “Roman’s likely to beach himself if he goes too far inland, and that’s shore to make things difficult!”

Roman groaned, flicking his fingertips at the siren. “That was one time! One-time incidents don’t qualify for pun-based bullying!”

Patton’s muffled laughter got quieter as he shifted to lay vertically, scooting forwards until his chest was scraping the sand and his arm could extend to set Logan gently against the beach incline. Logan’s head lolled to the side, but he seemed unlikely to go anywhere, and was in plain sight of anyone passing by.

Roman glanced down at the tiny mer, who was staring over the waves at the human, finally looking a little less stiff and stressed.

Patton wiggled back until he could tread water upright again, sharing a little cheer with Roman at a successful quest. Their guest’s tension returned immediately, that little shadowed gaze snapping back onto them.

Roman and Patton exchanged a glance, uncertain of how to proceed, but before anyone could speak, they heard a small, hacking cough.

Logan was awake, just a little too late for him or Patton to say goodbye. He probably wouldn’t have understood, but it would have been nice anyhow. Roman watched as he rolled to something resembling upright, his limbs trembling weakly. He was looking back and forth, not just noticing the new decor, but searching.

Roman glanced down to the small mer, who had set his shoulders and continued looking firmly away from the beach. He sunk a little lower in the water, trying to make eye contact. “Would you like to go and say goodbye before he leaves? Or, tell him what’s going on, perhaps?”

He shook his head once, sharply, and Roman felt a little pang of sympathy at the way his ear fins kept angling back at every noise the human made.

Logan was calling out now, the same word repeated at increasing levels of urgency. “Virgil?”

The mer still refused to glance back. “I’m not breaking the deal. You upheld your half, and you’re going to keep upholding it, and I’ll uphold mine. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’d drifted closer to Roman as he spoke, but it didn’t feel like any sort of progress. He’d tucked all those extra flares and frills away, smoothing himself down as though he was calm— or resigned.

Roman glanced up at the beach, where Logan still called. As he listened, that little voice cracked midword, desperation slowly turning to despair. He moved to cup his hand underneath the little mer, his heartstrings pulling at the way he let out a slow, shaky breath and closed his eyes, even as Roman lifted him up from the ocean entirely.

Patton opened his mouth as if to speak, but Roman met his eyes and shook his head, promising with his gaze alone that he knew what he was doing. His friend glanced down at the little guy worriedly, but held his tongue.

With one strong push, Roman slid up to the beach’s edge, grimacing slightly as the water became shallower and shallower. His arms were longer than Patton’s, though, and so he had little trouble reaching over and depositing his handful of seawater & tiny mermaid directly next to Logan.

“Virgil!” the human said, relieved, and he reached out to latch onto the mer, confirming Roman’s name suspicions.

‘Virgil’ had yelped like a baby seal upon being upended onto the beach, and he was now blinking between Roman and Logan with an air of extreme bewilderment.

“Virgil,” Logan said again, now in a very different tone. He wore a tiny, furious expression as he launched into what sounded like a somewhat-feverish lecture. He also reached over and pulled the mer into a hug, confirming Roman’s ‘he had no idea Virgil was going to pull this’ suspicions.

Roman was so right about so many things today. Everyone should listen to him all the time!

He wriggled back a little, intending to give them some privacy to talk, and made absolutely no progress. Uh oh. He glanced down at the others.

“I am just a little bit, slightly, somewhat, completely beached again,” he told them, his face growing hot. “I hope you two appreciate that I did this even though Patton is absolutely never going to let me live this down.”

“Need me to reel you back in, kiddo?” Patton called, right on cue. Roman sighed, planting his face in the crook of his elbow for a moment.

“Just a moment,” he called, and then met Virgil’s wide eyes from over Logan’s shoulder. “It seems like there’s still much for you both to discuss, my undersized acquaintances. We shouldn’t stay so close to land for long, but I imagine you’ll feel better if you keep him company until someone comes for him, right?”

Logan’s brief spark of energy seemed to be flagging, but every time Virgil attempted to disengage from the hug, he clung on tighter. After a brief moment of hesitation, Virgil conceded to the clinginess and simply nodded at Roman, still half-braced for something awful.

Roman gave him his most reassuring smile. “Then that’s what you’ll do. You know where to find me or Patton, if you need us!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, hands fisting in the back of Logan’s shirt. “You’ll let me-- you’ll leave us alone? Just like that?”

Roman nodded, lips twisted in sympathy. “Just like that.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, fins flattened against the sides of his head-- and then he took a deep breath, loosened his grip just slightly, and nodded back.

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

[geminisholland]

heyy hunny, how are you?? If you’re still taking requests, maybe like reader, tom and paddy bonding time? like them taking paddy out for hot chocolate/coffee, and just strolling around the city ... maybe the two of them helping paddy with girl problems and all. just fluff and bantery in general hehe :)) thanks!

a/n: ugh nothing hits better than some good ol’ fluff.. thank you for your patience <3 you are so appreciated!!

warnings: fluff 

word count: 1521

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Staying with Tom’s family was always an adventure, the amount of testosterone in the house was a testament to that. You loved going to London to be with his family, though. They were all truly amazing people that you loved being around, and they loved you as well. They put your comfort as their highest priority, making sure you knew that this was your home as well.

“So, what’s on the schedule today?” You asked while walking towards Tom. The two of you stood in front of his bed, your eyes locking with one another. You moved your hands to his chest, leaning against him as you kissed him.

“Mmm,” He hummed during the kiss. You pulled away to look at him again, a smile creeping on his face. “I was thinking we could just walk around the city, maybe be tourists for the day?”

“Tourists?” You questioned. “You would do that for me?”

You smiled as he pulled you closer to him, his hands on your waist. You interlocked your hands around the back of his neck, the two of you interlaced together.

“I would do anything for you, darling,” Tom responded, eliciting a smile from you. He kissed you once more, then broke away to start getting ready.

The gloomy weather in London tends to bring down the mood of others, as they do desperately craved the sunshine. You, on the other hand, were drawn to the gloomy days. You loved everything about them, the way they made you feel. How the weather brought people together, more specifically how the weather brought Tom closer to you. He loved to snuggle, the two of you would be walking down the street, and he’d open his jacket and wrap it around you. He made sure you were always warm, but most importantly, warm from him.

When the two of you made your way downstairs, you were welcomed by every member of Tom’s family, and you flashed all of them a smile. One thing about the Holland’s, was that they were always there. You didn’t mind, really, but this meant no alone time with Tom. Today, you were getting that alone time- just the two of you, being tourists in London.

You were discussing your plans with everyone, barely noticing that Paddy had snuck away from the conversation, going upstairs to talk to Tom. You were deep in conversation with Harry about how to properly pronounce words when Tom tried to pull you aside.

“Y/N,” Tom whispered in your ear, making you turn around to face him. “I need to talk to you, let’s go in the hallway.”

You nodded, your face was filled with concern as he took your hand into his own, pulling you away. Paddy stood in the hallway, looking back between both you and Tom.

“What’s going on?” You asked, looking between the two of them.

“Tom promised me hot chocolate,” Paddy stated.

You raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“Okay, a little back story, Paddy,” Tom shot back. You were looking at them with an extremely confused expression. Paddy and Tom kept looking at each other, giving you no explanation.

You started to laugh, “What is going on?”

“Paddy is coming with us, we’re getting hot chocolate, and listening to his problems,” Tom explained. You started to laugh, you could tell that Tom and Paddy had been bickering before they came to this conclusion, and it was quite amusing.

“Okay,” You responded. “I’m excited! Who’s excited?”

You looked between Tom and Paddy, then chuckled to yourself. You shook your head at them, then walked away.

“I’ll be waiting in the car!” You called out.

Tom drove into the city, talking about a new project he has coming up. You and Paddy talked about the best places to get hot chocolate, and never missed an opportunity to make fun of Tom.

“My agent thinks this movie is going to be really big,” Tom explained, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Anything you’re in is big,” You responded, flashing a smile to him.

“That’s what she said,” Paddy whispered.

You shook your head, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

“That’s not how that saying works, Paddy,” Tom responded, shaking his head. Paddy couldn’t see it, but a smile formed on Tom’s face.

The three of you eventually made it to the cafe with the best hot chocolate, according to Paddy. After you ordered your drinks, the three of you started walking the streets of London.

“So,” You started, turning to look at Paddy. “Can I ask why Tom promised you hot chocolate?”

“It’s nothing,” He dismissed. You looked up at Tom, and he just shook his head.

“Girl problems,” Tom admitted.

You placed your hand over your heart, as you gave a soft chuckle.

“Aw, Paddy,” You began.

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Paddy responded. He huffed out, then took a sip of his drink.

Tom placed his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You also wrapped your hand around his waist, the two of you walking together.

“Well, I’m a girl,�� You joked. “I might be able to help!”

“I don’t know,” Paddy started. “I’m embarrassed.”

“What?” You stared at him. “Why?”

“Don’t be embarrassed, mate,” Tom responded. “We’re here to help you.”

“You have to promise you won’t make fun of me,” Paddy said.

You and Tom looked at each other before looking back at him.

“Of course we won’t!” You said.

“I was more talking to Tom,” Paddy joked, a smile forming as he looked up at Tom.

“Piss off,” Tom said. “I would never make fun of you,” he paused. “For that.”

“Tom!” You exclaimed, playfully hitting his chest with your hand. He flashed you a smile, then placed a kiss on your forehead.

“It’s just that,” Paddy started. “Well, there’s this one girl that I really like, and I want to ask her out, but I don’t know how she feels about me.”

“Do the two of you even talk?” Tom asked, half-kidding.

“We talk every day! After school, she facetimes me!”

You looked at Paddy, your mouth wide open. “What are you waiting for, it’s obvious she likes you!”

Paddy shook his head, “What makes you say that?”

“Umm, mate, if she calls you every day it’s pretty obvious,” Tom explained. “Y/N used to text me every day, and that’s how I knew she liked me.”

“Yeah,” You started, looking up at Tom. “And you called me every time you saw my text. We would talk for hours.”

You leaned onto his shoulder as the three of you kept walking, giving Paddy endless advice. The drive back to the house consisted of you and Tom hyping Paddy up, creating a game plan on how he was going to ask the girl out. He was incredibly grateful for the advice, and was extremely excited about his plan. In fact, when you got back to the house, he immediately ran out of the car to start planning. You and Tom looked at each other, and started laughing.

“Oh to be young again,” You whispered. You sat in the car, your body facing Tom’s.

“You talk as if we’re old,” He responded. He placed his hand on your cheek, moving a stray hair away.

“It sure feels that way,” You joked, laughing into his hand.

“Paddy has that effect on people,” Tom chuckled. The two of you sat in the car, not ready to face the entirety of Tom’s family right now.

The grey clouds that hung above you turned angry, water hitting the windshield of the car as you and Tom talked. You smiled, you loved this weather.

“Should we make out in the car?” Tom asked. Your eyes grew big, you couldn’t hold back your laughter.

“What?” He cried out. “Don’t you want to feel like a teenager again?”

“Oh,” You whispered. “I absolutely do.”

With that, you climbed into the backseat of the car with Tom, laying down in the leather seats. The rain splattered outside, the warmth of your bodies causing the windows to fog up. Tom placed his lips on yours, your hands tangled in his hair as he towered over you. He moved his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth along your body.

“I love you,” You breathed out. Tom stopped kissing you to look at you. He was breathing heavy, the curls of his hair covered his forehead.

“You what?” He whispered. His cheeks were growing red.

“I love you, Tom,” You said. His silence was making you anxious, your breaths started to become heavy.

Then, he let out a sigh of relief.

“I have always loved you, y/n, the minute we met I knew,” He started. “I was waiting for the right time to tell you, but I was nervous that it would be too soon, and I jus-“

You brought your lips onto his, interrupting his rambling. You pulled away for a second, looking at his face as you held it in your hands.

“For the record,” You breathed out. “I felt the same way.”

hiiii!!! if you see this, how would you feel about me including the last fic i read in my own posts, so like a recommendation kinda? i think it would be a unique way to promote amazing writers, let me know what you think! send me either yes or no, my inbox is open!! thank you!!

taglist:

@white-wolf1940 @holyfrickfracks @stylessugarhigh @lilhoodhippie @lowkey-holland @lmaotshollandd @thehumanistsdiary @tomshufflepuff @zspideyy @lovely-blackinnon @hollandfanficlove @minejungwoo @th45 @stylessugarhigh @holyfrickfracks

[mummybear]

Help You Out

Words: 3483

Warnings: Massage, Swearing, Smut, Major Dirty Talk (Really Guys What’s New?), Girl On Top, Topping From Bottom, Oral (Female Receiving), Biting, Slightly Possessive Dean, Multiple Orgasms. Think that’s it.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s back hurts after so many nights in different motels, so when he and Y/N are forced to share a bed she offers him a hand to get rid of the ache, will he agree to her help when he’s been so distant with her lately?

A/N: @spndeanbingo Square filled - Motel Room. And a big thank you as always to my amazing beta @negans-lucille-tblr

Dean grumbles something under his breath, shifting awkwardly in his seat as he drives, mere minutes away from the motel. You couldn’t wait to get inside the room and take a shower, you were still feeling a little grimy from the previous motel, but luckily Sam actually seemed fairly impressed with the ones at this motel, and Sam Winchester was very rarely wrong when it came to showers.

“This bed better not be as bad as the last one, my back still hurts, damn lumps, I miss my-” Before he can finish his grumbling complaints, you cut him off already knowing what he’s going to say, safe to say this was far from the first time you’d heard it even in the past ten minutes.

“You miss your memory foam mattress back at the bunker, yes I know, and yes I also know that it remembers you.” You sigh loudly, before continuing with a lighter tone to your voice. “Look Dean, we’re here now, we can sleep for a bit then hit the road in the morning, okay?” You try and reason, doing your best to keep the annoyance from your voice.

Dean wasn’t much fun to be around when he was cranky and tired, nor when he was hungry for that matter. They were two of Dean’s biggest weaknesses. He kept insisting he was fine, but Sam and you had known better.

The two of you climbed out of the Impala and headed over to the main office, where a grumpy looking old man was thumbing through the paper.

“Good evening, could we get a double room please,” you ask as nicely as possible, the guy looks up and barely grunts, so you try a different tact, “two beds. One room.” You tell him, trying to keep the edge out of your voice.

“Only one double bed, one room.” The man tells you barely above a mutter, “take it or leave it.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Dean mutters quietly, turning to walk away from the counter. You frown in confusion looking back at Dean, with the key already in hand as you shake your head at the elder Winchester’s behaviour.

“We’ll take it.” You tell the man begrudgingly, not missing the slight hint of panic that flashes across Dean’s face when he looks back at you. You watch Dean with confusion as he turns and leaves you behind. You can’t put your finger on what the hell is wrong with him, and the last few days it has only gotten worse, but you follow him out of the office regardless.

-

You both grab your duffle bags from the Impala’s trunk, an uncomfortable silence surrounding the two of you, which was something you weren’t used to when it came to Dean, no matter how grumpy he was the two of you never really seemed to be affected, but the last few days you noticed there had been something that changed between the two of you.

When you stepped inside the room it already looked at least a little better than the last one you’d had to stay in. From what you can see the bathroom is cleaner and the bed looks a lot more comfortable and sanitary, though you were sure not all things would be coming up roses.

“You take the bed, I’ll take the sofa or something,” Dean offers, tossing his bag onto the small sofa, which was most definitely not going to work for a Winchester, not in a million years.

“Don’t be silly, Dean, we can share. We’re both adults. Or you can take the bed and I’ll take the sofa, because you couldn’t fit on that even if someone cut your legs off at the knees,” you half laugh, making your way into the bathroom with your own bag. Dean follows you to the doorway and leans against it. “Dean, it doesn’t make sense for us to stay here if you can’t even sleep. And I guarantee you, there is no way that you’re getting any sleep on that couch,” you reason, as you adjust the temperature of the shower and pull the curtain closed.

Dean scratches at the back of his neck and shifts awkwardly on the spot, “I uh, move a lot in my sleep, especially when I’m tired. Wouldn’t wanna hurt you or somethin’. I can just go sleep in the car.”

“Don’t make me throw you on that bed, we both know I can do it,” you warn him playfully, a little confused when you see a blush on his cheeks. You pull off your flannel and drop it to the floor.

“Now go get your butt in bed, please, we can share. But I draw the limit at you watching me get undressed.” You see him shift on the spot again. “I promise, if you get too aggressive at any point then I can sleep on the couch,” you assure him, finally earning yourself a slight nod.

“O-Okay, if you’re sure,” Dean stutters his half answer before stumbling out of the door and closing it behind him.

“So adorable sometimes,” you laugh to yourself, now fully undressed you climb into the shower, letting the hot water take you away for a little while.

-

By the time you come out from your shower Dean has collapsed on one side of the bed, fast asleep on his stomach, his jeans still clinging to his ankle as he groans something into the pillow his face is squished into.

You can’t help but admire the way he looks, even with his face pressed into the pillow he’s still one of the most handsome men you’d ever met. Those strong legs and the curve of his firm ass in those boxers, or the strong lines of muscle which are more visible in his back from this position, then of course, there’s dimples at the base of his spine that you’d never noticed before. His arms are under the pillow beneath his head, but you can see the defined muscles in them. You’d always had a thing for Dean’s arms, even though you’d tried not to let yourself look for too long, for fear he or Sam would catch you.

You shake yourself from your slight daze and throw your duffle down alongside Dean’s. Carefully tugging his jeans from his ankle and leaving them with the rest of his clothes, before pulling the covers over his body.

You freeze as he shifts in bed, worried that you’ve woken him up, but instead he curls slightly into the covers and onto his side, one arm beneath his pillow as he gets comfortable again. You breathe properly again when he settles, and you climb into your own side, pulling the covers up.

Dean’s body warmth and his light snores eventually lull you into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

-

You practically jump awake from your peaceful sleep, it takes you a minute to remember where you are, then you hear that noise again, Dean’s angrily grumbling something beside you as he tosses and turns in bed.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” You ask quietly, voice still heavy and thick with sleep as you turn to look in his direction.

“Jus’ my fuckin’ back, sweetheart, sorry, go back to sleep,” Dean growls in sleepy irritation, throwing himself onto his back again.

You sigh and sit up, turning on the bedside lamp, “turn over, lay on your stomach. I can give you a massage. I’ve had to do it before, Dean, when I was on a hunt with a friend of mine who fucked up her shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine. Just go back to sleep. Besides, massages never work on me,” Dean argues, only annoying you that much more.

“Dean, stop arguing, just let me try and help for fuck's sake.”

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he grunts shifting onto his front.

You feel him stiffen beneath you as you straddle his ass, “just shut up grumpy ass. Listen to me, close your eyes and take a deep breath, relax,” you tell him as quietly as you can, trying to keep your voice soft, your ass hovering above his as you lean forwards and firmly grip his shoulders. He’s so tense and as you move your thumbs over his knotted muscles, you can tell you might be here a little while. Dean lets out a groan as you press and rotate your thumbs at the base of his neck, slowly making your way down his spine, digging into the knotted muscles as you move.

Well fuck, that may have been the sexiest noise that you’d ever heard. You try and ignore the way his groan shoots arousal straight between your legs, but you have to bite your own lip when you watch the way his hands fist at the sheets beneath him.

“How’s that feel?” you ask him, just above a whisper as your thumbs press into the muscles around his shoulder blades. Dean turns his head to the side and moans as you press against a particularly stubborn knot. You have to fight with yourself not to roll your hips against his ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve really got somethin’- Oh God,” he groans deeply and you swear your heart is pounding when he continues to talk in that same deep voice. “Your hands are like fuckin’ magic, I’m gonna have to listen to you more often.” He moans again as you move lower, sliding down so you're sitting on the backs of his thighs, your thumbs pressing into the bottom of his spine and the top of that firm ass of his.

You hate how shaky your voice is when you reply and how uncomfortable your panties have become. “Yeah, I guess you will. Glad you’re finally seeing sense.”

“You could charge for this, damn,” Dean rasps, as you lift yourself off of his thighs, terrified he’ll be able to feel how damp your panties are against his skin. You gently pull down the top of his boxers, digging your thumbs into the firm muscles feeling him relax under you. Then your hands move down further, gently pressing your thumbs under the curve of his ass and down his strong thighs.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, Y/N,” he all but growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have not to moan his name, practically biting into your tongue.

You take a deep breath and tap Dean’s shoulder gently before you lose your nerve, feeling the lump pressing at the base of your throat.

“You wanna turn over? So that I can do the front,” you explain just above a whisper, feeling him stiffen beneath you.

“That might not be such a good idea, Y/N,” he warns you, his voice taking on a deeper and rougher tone than before.

“Please Dean, thought we agreed you should listen to me more often,” you joke shakily; even you’re not sure if this is a good idea anymore. You think that you might know the reason he doesn’t want to turn over, but the thought alone only makes you want him to do it more.

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he rasps, as you sit up a little higher, allowing him to turn onto his back beneath you. As soon as they’re able to, his big green eyes lock on yours, looking a little panicked, and you quickly notice that his face is flushed.

You gasp as you lower yourself into his lap, feeling the impressive bulge that’s currently pressing between your thighs. You do your best to ignore it as you press your thumbs into the front of his shoulders and down his collarbone and over his pecks, before looking into his eyes again. Safe to say that was a big mistake.

His big hands grip your thighs when you involuntarily roll your hips against him, feeling his thickness press against you clit. Your nails sink into his pecs and he moans your name, “feel better, Dean?” you ask barely above a whisper as his hands drag roughly up your thighs and grip your ass tightly, finally pulling a whimper from your parted lips.

“Oh yeah, so much better, sweetheart,” Dean all but growls, nails sinking into your ass as his grip tightens.

You slump forward, letting your hands rest either side of his head as you look into one another’s eyes. “Is this why you’ve been weird around me lately? Because your back hurts? Or does it have more to do with the raging hard on between your legs?” you question him, unable to stop the smirk from curling at your lips when his cheeks blush bright red.

“I uh… I guess the last one,” he tells you quietly, swallowing hard and squeezing your ass harder. You cock your eyebrow in confusion as you look down at him, “look, don’t laugh, but I’ve kinda had this… thing for you lately,” he tells you quietly, a look on his face that tells you he’s worried about what you might say.

“Show me then,” you tell him, biting into your grin.

You squeal in surprise when he practically throws you onto your back and is hovering over you seconds later, a smirk stretching over his plump lips.

“Oh, I’ll show you alright,” Dean all but growls, the nervous side of him has seemingly disappeared as he kisses his way down your neck. You whimper as he sucks a mark into the skin, and drags his teeth over your collarbone, continuing to leave his marks across your body.

Dean settles between your legs and tugs them over his shoulders. You sit up, unable to stop yourself from watching. His eyes remain on yours as his thick tongue moves through your slick, the heat in his gaze makes your stomach roll, and you can’t help but moan his name desperately when his tongue circles around your clit slowly.

Your fingers thread through his hair and your breath catches in your throat when he finally sinks two thick fingers into your wet heat. It’s been ages since you’ve been with a guy, and even longer since you’d been with someone who knew what he was doing - safe to say Dean was a guy who knew what he was doing. With that perfect mouth of his, he's alternating between kitten licks and nibbling and sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves, and your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Dean, get up here, please, I need you inside me,” you whimper as he starts curling his fingers inside you, stroking against that spot which makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and Dean’s groan vibrates through your pussy, causing a shiver to edge its way up your spine.

He finally relents, easing his fingers from inside you and sucking them between his lips, throwing you a wink as he pulls them free with an audible pop.

“Want my cock that bad, do ya sweetheart?” Dean chuckles, kissing and sucking at your skin as he crawls back over your body.

“Yes I do, you dork. Now get up here and fuck me.”

You giggle when he practically pounces on you, his lips immediately finding yours in a frenzied kiss. Dean shifts between your legs and you hook them over his hips as the tip of his cock nudges at your dripping entrance. Your hands grip at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as he pulls away from your lips letting you both gasp for much needed breath.

Dean sits up on his knees, spreading them with his big hands and pulling you closer until your legs are pressed against his chest and your ass is resting on his thighs.

“Fuck, look at you sweetheart, so perfect, can’t wait to feel your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock.” Dean groans as he pushes forward slightly, and you feel your pussy stretch around the wide head of his perfectly thick cock.

You cup your tits, feeling your nails biting at your skin as Dean pushes forward a little further, until he’s fully seated inside you. Dean grips the tops of your thighs as he starts to move, slow and calculated, his grip tightens on you when you try to rock against him.

“Fuck, Dean, more please,” you whine loudly, feeling him hitting that spot repeatedly.

“Don’t worry baby girl, you’re gonna fuckin’ come all over my cock real soon,” he rasps, turning his head to nip at your calf as his thrusts speed up, one of his hands splaying over your stomach, and you swear you can feel his cock bulging under your skin. You look up at Dean in awe, feeling that familiar feeling rising fast, your pussy fluttering and your stomach tightening.

“I can feel my cock against my hand sweetheart, so fuckin’ deep inside your sweet little cunt. You gonna come for me? Wanna watch you bounce on that cock, you gonna do that for me, baby?” Dean rasps as his thumb starts to rub at your clit.

“Oh… oh God! Dean! Fuck anything you want… I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off with a silent scream, feeling your entire body go rigid as you gasp for the breath you don’t even know if you need.

You’ve not even had time to come down from your orgasm when Dean rolls you both over, so you’re on top and he’s on his back, a cocky smirk on those perfect lips of his. You slump forward slightly with your hands on his chest, still panting hard.

“So sexy when you come for me,” Dean purrs as you start moving your hips over him, rocking back and forth.

“Love your big cock, Dean, fills me so good,” you whimper, already feeling another orgasm burning just out of sight.

Dean brings his legs up higher on the bed, so his legs are spread slightly behind you. Your nails bite at his skin when you start to rise and fall over him, feeling his thickness fill you and leave you repeatedly, quickly picking up speed. Dean cups one of your breasts and pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The slap of your skin against his mixes with your moans and whimpers and Dean’s grunts and groans.

“Gonna make me come, sweetheart, so fuckin’ close. Can’t wait to fuck you full baby girl, you’d like that wouldn’t you, huh? Wanna feel my come dripping from this tight little cunt? Wanna remember who made you scream like a little slut while we’re drivin’ home, don’t ya?” Dean all but growls, snapping his hips to meet yours with the end of every question. His fucking mouth and his perfect cock have you close to losing your damn mind.

“Yes Dean, please. I want it, wanna feel your cock for days. Give it to me, Dean. I need it, please, only a little slut for you,” you whimper feeling your arms shake as he pulls you flat against his chest.

His grip is unyielding as he grabs your ass tightly in those big hands of his, “gonna fuckin’ ruin you princess, ain’t nobody gonna fuck you like me.” He grunts possessively as his hips begin to slam up into you at an inhuman rate. You’re sure your heart is about to thud out of your chest, all you can hear is Dean and the blood that’s rushing through your ears.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you out of nowhere, squeezing tight around Dean’s throbbing cock. White light explodes behind your eyelids, but Dean doesn’t stop moving until you’re practically shaking on top of him, feeling his come trickling down between you.

“Fuck.” You gasp against his sweat slick chest, feeling his fingers running through your hair as he shushes you.

You’re surrounded by him in the best way, and you can feel your body beginning to calm down.

“One word for it,” he chuckles breathlessly, before finally opening his eyes and looking at you.“You okay?” he asks, voice still deep and thick with something so sexy you involuntarily shiver again as Dean rolls you both onto your sides.

“Best I’ve ever had,” you tell him honestly, watching the grin that spreads across his lips. “So, are you finally gonna quit acting weird around me?” you ask with a teasing smile.

“Probably not, sweetheart. You drive me crazy, in every way possible. Anyway, can’t be that bad if it got us here,” Dean grins, pressing a chaste kiss your lips.

“Well, I guess you got me there. You ever want another massage you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I will definitely be taking you up on that.” Dean smirks pulling you against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Now sleep, we’ve got an early start. I wanna see if we can make my memory foam remember you too.”

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[cuddlepilefics]

Sick at Work

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Changbin

Caregivers: 2basco

Prompt @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Changbin had caught a small cold a few days ago. It wasn't really that much of a bother to him, mostly just a slightly runny nose along with a faint scratchiness in his throat. He had made sure to take hot showers every day and to stay hydrated. However, as days passed, the rapper couldn't help but feel progressively worse. When he woke up this morning, his head felt heavy with congestion and his hearing was starting to sound muffled. His head was aching from the pressure but he forced himself out of bed to join his group for their schedule. As he was slowly becoming more awake, he noticed the irritated itch in his nose that became harder to ignore by the minute. Feeling a bit chilled, Changbin decided to put on one of his thickest hoodies. Right when he pulled it over his head, the tickle in his nose became unbearable. Unable to see with clothing covering his face, he pitched forwards, sneezing. Bumping his had on the door of his closet in the process, Changbin barely managed to suppress a curse before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Getting ready, Changbin's morning routine was frequently interrupted by his urge to sneeze. He had barely been awake for half an hour, yet he had already sneezed more than he had done in the past few days. Simply running his sleeve under his nose was enough to set him off again and the rapper was starting to dread going to work today. He didn't feel sick enough to stay at the dorm but he was so annoyingly sneezy, which would be really bothering, considering that 3racha wanted to work on some stuff in the studio and recording was certainly not going to go smoothly with him sneezing every few seconds. When Changbin was ready to head out, he met Chan in the kitchen, making coffee. Changbin got himself a cup too, hoping it would clear the fog in his head a bit. "How are you feeling today?", Chan asked, taking in his dongsaeng's tired face. Changbin shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee before replying: "Let's just put it this way, you're gonna get tired of saying 'bless you' reeeaal fast." – "That bad?", the leader frowned, eyebrows knitting together in concern. The younger shook his head with a sniffle, turning aside to sneeze immediately after. "Ndo, jus' really sneezy", the rapper forced out, scrubbing at his reddening nose with the cuff of his sleeve, only triggering another sneeze. Raising his eyebrow at Changbin, Chan questioned: "Are you sure you can work through this? You know, it's always fine to take a breather when you're sick." – "I'm sure. Don't even really feel sick. My nose is just so sensitive, it's annoying", the younger pouted, so his hyung decided to drop the topic.

Not much later, Jisung joined the two and they headed to the studio together. Changbin shivered lightly on the way there as the weather had gotten colder recently and the wind was picking up. His poor nose was already raw from him constantly scrubbing at it but it seemed like the only way to satisfy the annoying tickle. By the time they made it to the studio, he had already gone through an entire travel pack of tissues and had to go to the restroom to stuff his pockets with toilet paper. "You alright? You've taken a while", Chan asked worriedly when Changbin finally joined them. The truth was, Changbin had had a bad sneezing fit while at the restroom. Since he didn't want his friends to witness that, he stayed there to wait it out, blowing his nose a few times in hopes of getting rid of the congested feeling in his sinuses before washing his hands and joining them. Changbin nodded, already bringing his sleeve up to his face again, sniffling: "I-I'm fine, jus – jus' needed to h-hESSH! Huh - hEGSHU! Just needed to sneeze and blow by ndose." The other two blessed him and nodded in understanding before starting to work on some lyrics.

While Chan and Jisung seemed to be having a good time, really getting some lyrics down, Changbin was struggling. He couldn't focus on anything really. To him it seemed like his head was filled with cotton, making it impossible to grasp a solid thought. It also didn't help that he kept turning away to sneeze, which resulted in him being distracted from what he was doing again. The only thing that he remained aware of the entire time was his itchy nose and how painfully raw the skin around it had become. Chan had offered him a few more times to go home and rest but Changbin kept resisting. He wasn't that sick, right? Soon they had enough lyrics to start recording and the leader started to set up the microphone, while Changbin was beyond frustrated with himself. Neither had he been able to come up with any useful lyrics, nor would he be able to really record anything because his voice sounded so pathetically stuffy. Jisung would probably be the one recording the lines, while Chan went straight to editing them. Changbin was left to give the younger advice but other than that, all he could do was beat himself up for not really contributing anything to their work. That didn't mean he'd go home though.

Jisung was just about to start recording the first line, when Changbin held up his hand, signaling for him to wait. The younger looked at him curiously, watching his hyung's eyes flutter shut, mouth hanging slightly agape. "I-I nh-heed to sneeze", Changbin panted, breath hitching uncontrollably. "Yeah, I think the whole world knows that by now", Jisung teased. Eyes watering, the older twisted to the side roughly: "hESH! KGSH! N'gsCH! *sniff* sorry." – "Bless you", Chan sighed, studying his dongsaeng's face to figure out if it was safe for Jisung to start recording now. They went ahead with their recording but it was a slow process, frequently interrupted by Changbin's sneezes. Though it was disturbing their work, Chan and Jisung were mainly just worried for their friend. He couldn't possibly feel alright while sneezing that much. His nose was bright pink by now and his face looked blank and tired, almost as though he was asleep in his chair but his eyes were open, indicating that the rapper was indeed awake. Though his eyes were open, they looked distant, holding a sickly gloss. Changbin didn't look well at all but he had refused to go home earlier.

Changbin himself was mainly frustrated. Sure, he felt miserable but overall, he was frustrated with himself. He wasn't contributing anything to their work as a group, instead holding his friends back with his frequent sniffles. Going home didn't seem like an option though. He wasn't that sick and certainly wouldn't milk a cold just to get out of work. "Bin, seriously, just go home. You can't tell me you feel well because your sneezing is contradicting that", Chan sighed, turning away from his laptop. Jisung agreed: "You look awful and tired. Please get some rest." Changbin bit his lip, feeling guilty for holding his friends back. He was convinced they were annoyed at him at this point and he couldn't blame them but it still hurt him that they were trying to get rid of him. "Yah! Stop bossing me around!", he snapped, his eyes going unfocused immediately after before he turned to the side to sneeze. The other two were taken aback at their friend's sudden outburst. His face showed clear anger, the watery look in his eyes the only thing that kept him from being intimidating. He had been rather harsh when telling them off earlier too. Whenever they'd tell him to take a break, his demeanor would suddenly turn cold.

"Alright, I won't be telling you what to do anymore. You're an adult, decide for yourself. Make yourself miserable, I don't care", Chan stated coldly. He and Jisung then continued working, barely paying attention to Changbin. "Aish, we've been working for a while already. We should really eat something, shouldn't we?", the leader contemplated. He and Jisung then started a longer discussion about food, Changbin however was barely listening to them. He was trying to hold back his tears, his hyung's words having stung more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't even tell why his emotions were so all over the place today. The next thing he knew was Jisung leaving the studio. "Where's he going?", he muttered confused, squinting after the younger with watering eyes. Keeping his face clear of any emotion, Chan turned to him and replied: "If you had listened, you'd know that Sungie's getting us snacks." Mainly, Chan wanted to be alone with his dongsaneg for a moment, hoping the boy would crack and admit what was going on. He also had a plan in case that didn't work. Going on his phone, he texted Jisung instructions for when he returned. He wanted the younger to sneak up to Changbin from behind and feel his forehead. Him running a fever would be the only logical explanation for his temper Chan could give.

Heading out, Jisung went to the closest convenient store and raided the snack aisle. He felt his phone buzz and read Chan's message, nodding to himself as he had already had a similar suspicion. Changbin wasn't usually that easy to anger, so it would only make sense. Remembering his hyung's irritated pink nose, Jisung also decided to pick up some tissues. He hoped they'd be a bit gentler on Changbin's raw skin than the toilet paper he had been using over the past few hours. Jisung was quick to check out but tried to take his time walking back. Maybe Chan was talking Changbin into going home and he didn't want to interrupt and have their friend pull his guards back up. What he didn't know was that Chan was very far from talking Changbin into anything. He had given his dongsaeng the chance to tell him what was wrong multiple times already and now waited for Changbin to take the opportunity and speak up. That didn't happen though, so the Aussie really relied on Jisung and the back-up to his plan to work out. He heard the door open quietly but Changbin was too out of it to really pay attention to anything. To top that off, his hearing had become even more muffled from the congestion in his head, so he didn't hear Jisung slowly walking up behind him. Then there was suddenly a light, cool touch on his forehead and Changbin couldn't help but sigh in relief as it soothed the headache he had had all day. "Your skin's as hot as your temper", Jisung commented before removing his hand and plopping into his seat. Changbin didn't react to that at all, not even able to process what his dongsaeng had said.

When there was no reaction, Chan turned his chair to him and gave the younger a soft look, frowning: "You heard Jisung? You're running a fever." – "Oh", was all Changbin had to say to that. "Come on, mate. I can understand that you're frustrated but we're not bossing you around to be mean. We're genuinely worried 'bout you and your temperature is only more reason for us to take you home", the leader said with a comforting smile. That was what finally cracked Changbin. Soon the first tear rolled, then the next. Sniffling quietly, he pulled his sleeve over his hand to dry them but brushed against his nose in the process. "KGSH! h-hGSHHU! *sniff*" Trying to clean himself up, he pulled out some more crumpled toilet paper but Jisung was quick to hand him a tissue. "You're really not feeling yourself today, huh? Is that why you were so worked up?", Chan asked calmly, resting his hand on Changbin's shoulder. The younger nodded, rasping: "I'b sorry. It was so frustrati'g because I couldn't focus a'd was just so useless. Didn't thigk it was that bad." – "It's alright, but why don't you try talking to us next time?", Jisung smiled, brushing the older's hair back and holding his water bottle up to Changbin's forehead, since he had obviously enjoyed the cool touch earlier. While Changbin closed his eyes and relaxed, Chan was already shutting his laptop off and packing their things up. When everything was ready for them to leave, the leader patted Changbin's arm, humming: "Let's get you home. I bet a hot shower and an early bedtime sound nice right now." – "Really dice", the younger agreed, allowing Chan and Jisung to pull him up and take him home. 

[harrywritingsbyme]

For your firsts series. I wonder if Harry is into period sex. I think he is. My idea is reader is the one nervous about it

That Time

A/N: This will be the 3rd “installment” of A Series of Firsts. This concept has been in my head for a REALLY long time so shout out to this anon for dropping this in my inbox and forcing me to write it😂. Enjoy🙃

Being horny and on your period at the same time was the absolute worst feeling in the world. You were dying for Harry to touch you, but at the same time you felt absolutely gross. You also were worried about the possibility of you guys’ bedroom looking like a murder scene if you did decide to jus throw in the towel and let Harry touch you. Just the thought of it could make you squirm. You thought that Harry would be grossed out by the idea of it all too but he was far from it. Harry couldn’t have been more down with the idea. If anything, Harry was the trying to convince you to go along with it. 

“Please.” Harry begs, crawling over to where you were laying on the bed.

“Do you really want me to bleed all over the sheets?” You ask sarcastically.  

“Y’know theres a lot of health benefits to having sex when you’re on your period.” He says, completely dodging your last question.

“Oh my goodness Harry.” You burst into laughter at how adamant he was in convincing you.

“M’serious Y/n!” He replies amusedly. “Want me to read them to you?”


“Go ahead Harry, tell me how good period sex is for me.” You concede, lifting yourself up to sit against the headboard so you could listen to him. Harry quickly digs in his pocket for his phone and he pulls up the “credible” source he found online.

“Okay, so the first and most important benefit is that it can help relieve some of your cramps.” He begins to read off the so called “benefits” of having sex right now. “The second is that we can have shower sex, and I know how much you love shower sex.” He continues, making sure to look up at you from his phone to see your reaction. 

“Keep going.” You beckon for him to continue. 

“The third thing would be that it helps increase your sex drive, even though you’re already covered in that area.” You couldn’t help but laugh at this one. Simply due to the fact that he wasn’t at all wrong about your sex drive. “And the last thing would be that theres a natural lubricant involved. Even though we both know that lube is the least of our concerns when it comes to sex either.” Harry says suggestively, alluding to the fact that you were always nice and wet for him.

“That sounds great and all but I’m still a little bit on the fence.” You admit. Before replying to you, Harry gets up and pulls you down by your legs so that you were lying on your back against the bed before climbing on top of you.

“Just wanna make yeh feel good.” He whispers down to you, trapping your body beneath his. “Wanna feel good right?“  He asks, pushing his hips down into yours. The pressure you were feeling down there from not only from it being that time of the month, but also from being extremely turned at Harry’s persistence was starting to really get to you. Add onto that the fact that you had all of this built up sexual frustration from the past two weeks of no sex, and that Harry was right on top of you, and you were just about gone. Without any hesitation, you hook your arm around the back of Harry’s neck and you pull his face down to yours, smearing your lips against his. When you do this, Harry gladly reciprocates, pushing himself further against you. You could feel Harry rocking his hips back and forth against you, pushing his bulge directly into your center. Feeling him against you only makes you spread your legs wider for him before fully wrapping your legs around him, keeping him tight against you. 

You then turn your head away from him, detaching your lips from his.

“We can have sex. Only if it’s in the shower.” You agree. 

“Let’s do it then.” He smiles back. He leans down once more to smack his lips against yours. As much as you wanted to keep going, you wanted Harry even more. You quickly push back against Harry, causing him to fall back against the bed with you on top of him. You pull yourself off of him and you make your way to the bathroom, with Harry trailing right behind you. When you get to the bathroom door you quickly stop him in his tracks.  

“You stay in here until I yell for you. Okay?” You instruct him. 

“Fine.” Harry grumbles back. 

“Good boy.” You praise him, making sure to give his cheek a light tap in the process. You quickly shut the door so that you could get yourself situated. Back in the bedroom though, Harry is already stripped down, laying completely naked in the bed. So to pass the time he knew you were going to need, he wraps his hand around his hard cock and begins to lazily tug. Not having sex for the past two weeks was killing him just as much as it was killing you, and he finally reached his breaking point. He also knew that your hormones go through the roof when it’s that time of the month. When he did the math in his head, your hormones plus the built up sexual frustration on both ends all added up to amazingly explosive sex. 

While you’re alone in the bathroom you quickly strip down completely, pushing your clothes into a little pile in the corner. You turn the water on and you make sure that it’s nice and hot. You step into the shower and you stand directly under the hot water. You were trying to get some of the “ick” you were still feeling off of your body, and you were also trying to get a little more relaxed before Harry came inside with you. Once you’ve completely calm and ready you call out to Harry for him to come in, making sure to raise your voice so that he could hear you over the running water.

When Harry hears you call him, he practically leaps up from the bed and sprints right to the bathroom. Once he opens the door, he’s instantly met with a large cloud of steam. He closes the door behind him and he makes a b-line to the shower. He opens the foggy glass door and steps in behind you. 

Without hesitation, Harry steps up right behind you, standing right under the water with you with his body pressed up against you. His arms instantly go around your waist and his face goes to your neck. He begins to leave open mouthed kisses on your neck, every once in a while sucking hard on the delicate skin. As he does this, you can feel his cock gliding between your legs and against your folds. Neither of you could stop the moans from leaving your mouths. The both of you were dying to have even an ounce of physical contact, so to be pressed up against each other like this was a lot for the both of you. 

“Y’want me to make you feel good baby?” He mumbles into your ear, continuing to keep a tight grip on you while pushing his cock between your legs.

“Please.” You beg, feeling the knot in the pit of your stomach tightening and tightening as the seconds went by.

“Wanna feel me in y’pretty little tummy baby?” He continues, pressing his hand into your lower stomach. 

“Just do something already.” You plead with him, pushing yourself back against him. Instead of replying, he sucks one final hickey onto your skin before pulling away from you. He turns you around and he pushes down against your back, signaling for you to bend over in front of him. You plant both hands firmly on the tiled wall in front of you and you bend over for him. He moves in closer to you, and he wraps one hand around your hip, and the other around his cock. He slowly guides himself into you and he’s finally getting what he’s missed so much.

“Fuck” he groans loudly behind you. Somehow, your walls managed to feel wetter, warmer, and tighter all at the same time. He couldn’t believe how he managed to go two weeks without being buried deep inside of you.

“Y’so deep.” You slur, hanging your head down low, taking in the feeling of his cock pushing into you. You could feel your walls stretching to accommodate his size and you could also feel him going so deep that you could feel the thick head of him nudging at the knot in the pit of your stomach.

Once he’s fully inside of you, he wraps both hands around your hips tightly, and he begins to thrust into you. At first his thrusts weren’t hard, allowing you to adjust to him. But after each thrust, he began to pick up speed. Hearing the sounds of your moans and the wet sound of your wet skin slapping against yours echoing throughout the bathroom was intoxicating to Harry. 

Not only was he thrusting into you, but he was also pulling you back and forth on his cock. In that moment, Harry was making you feel so good that you couldn’t even focus on keeping yourself up against the wall. So you just decided to let go of the wall completely, bending all the way over so that your hands were fully bent over, taking in every last thrust he gave you. You then hear a small chuckle come from Harry, and he begins to slam his cock as hard as he could inside of you. He was slamming into you so hard that he could see the water droplets splashing up from where you two were connected. 

“Like this baby?” He pants, continuing to pound into you as hard as he could. 

“Oh my god yes.” You whimper, lifting your hand back up against the wall to pull yourself back up.

Harry could sense that you weren’t going to be able to hold yourself up any longer. So he pulls out of you, and he turns you around, wrapping you in his arms before pulling you up and into his arms. He presses you against one of the cool glass walls. You wrap your arms around Harry’s neck, burying your face in his neck as he pushes back into you.

He keeps his hands tightly wrapped around the undersides of your thighs and he begins to move you up and down on his cock, along with thrusting up into you. He can hear your whines echoing against his skin and he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. 

“Look a’me baby, let me see that pretty face.” Harry pants, continuing to fuck into you. You  pull your face from the cook of his neck and your head falls back against the wall. Your mouth is wide open and your eyes are snapped shut. “Open those pretty eyes f’me.” He growls, thrusting up harder into you. Your eyes slowly open to look at him and his eyes immediately lock in on you. “Need yeh t’cum with me sweet girl.” He mumbles, continuing to slam into you. “Can yeh be a good girl and cum with me?” He slurs, feeling himself nearing the edge. 

“Yes.” You cry out to him, keeping your eyes locked in on his. 

“C’mon baby, cum with me.” He grumbles, slowing his hips down and instead giving you a few more shallow, yet deep thrusts. 

“Oh my god!” You cry out to him feeling your release crashing down onto you. When you feel this, so does Harry. He can feel himself instantly unravel that instant.

“Fuck!” Harry groans loudly, feeling his cum pour out of him, and flood into you. Both your breaths get heavier as you two ride out your orgasms. 

Once you both are done, Harry sponges a kiss to your temple and tightens his grip on you. 

“Hold onto me baby.” He instructs softly, lifting you up higher against him. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and you wrap your arms around his neck, dropping your head back into his neck. He wraps his arms around your back before moving to turn the water off. He walks you both out of the shower and he unwraps an arm from you, picking up two towels from the rack before taking you both back to the bedroom to get you both ready for bed. “M’gonna get yeh all cleaned up baby.” He whispers to you, even though he knew that you were still in a complete haze.

By the end of it all, you were very happy that you went along with Harry’s idea.

 Masterlist

[author-morgan]

Title: Sweet Caroline

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: One day a man in black comes to take you away and it just happens he’s the best man you’ve ever met. Tagging the crew: @dynamicorbit @kvitravn @wolfxkissed​

Header image by @kvitravn​

BE WARY OF a man in black. In retrospect, you should have heeded your mother’s wisdom and warning —would have saved you a lot of pain and headaches to learn from her mistakes instead of making the same ones. Arthur Morgan had been a man in black when he rode into town at the head of a band of nefarious outlaws one crisp autumn morning. 

The Van der Linde gang left the small town with a dozen bags heavy with gold and silver, a trail of corpses of those who stood in their way lining the streets. That’d been years ago, about seven by your reckoning. You’ve made too many mistakes to count since then but asking Arthur Morgan to take you away from a small-town hell wasn’t one of them. 

Pearson howls like a wolf at the full moon when you dig into the bloody hole on his calf, pulling the slug free. The silver round clinks when you drop it into the washbasin, leaning back with a sigh as John takes your spot, dressing the gunshot wound with a thick salve and torn piece of calico fabric. A quick buck off a set of loaded dice in an alleyway hadn’t turned out in Pearson’s favor —luck saved him from a bullet in the head, just like luck saved him from the loan sharks a few months back. 

Rising, you pat the Fat Man’s cheek, leaving behind a bloody handprint fore wandering off to the edge of camp for a breath of air away from the fire and those gathered around it. Arthur follows after you, not ready to let you out of his sight after he almost lost you in the shootout with the law and those wronged following Pearson’s foolish gamble. There was a reason the camp’s cook was supposed to stay behind on missions and errands —his days as a soldier in the navy were long past. 

You dip your hands into the wash barrel, scrubbing away from blood from beneath your fingertips. Too often, you find yourself with the blood of those you care about on your hands and clothes. Should’ve listened to mother, you think, bitter. Bracing your arms across the barrel, you look down at your reflection —increasingly unhappy with the woman looking back at you. 

“He gone be okay?” Arthur asks, stopping next to you with his arms crossed. He worries about the gang, even if he tries not to show it, but seeing through his hardened exterior is something he almost hates you for. When Arthur Morgan rode out of some rinky-dink town in the middle of nowhere with you on the back of his horse, he would have never guessed it would turn into this. You worked off your debt a hundred times over and still stayed. 

Straightening, you dry your hands with the apron on the front of your shirtwaist and skirt —the finely made ensemble less than a month old and already ruined. “Cooking’ll still be shit,” you laugh, the crooked smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes, “but he’ll live.” 

Broken chords from Javier’s flamenco guitar fill the air as the night’s revelries startup with a song and dance. Arthur reaches for you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling you toward him. You lean your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the day settle in as the sun sets. “I can’t keep this up, Art,” you breathe, hand twisting into his blue-cotton shirt. First, it had been him, then Sean and John, and now Pearson. “One day, I ain’t gone be able to patch you boys up.” 

This work is dangerous, and it’s just a matter of time before someone makes a dire mistake or the law catches up —losing people is inevitable. You know it, everyone knows it. Arthur props his chin on the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “Don’t think ‘bout that day then.” Looking at the heart of the camp, he thinks the two of you won’t be missed too much for just the night. He leads you to his black Arabian steed —a handsome mount affectionately named Topthorn— and helps you up into the saddle before mounting behind you and taking the reins. 

Away from camp, the path steepens and grows rockier. Off in the distance, you can hear the burbling of a stream growing closer. “Where we goin’?” You ask, looking over your shoulder.

His arm tightens around your waist, drawing you back flush against his chest. “Ain’t far,” he says at your ear, “promise.” It’s a place he stumbled across north of camp tracking the poor deer who became supper a few nights back. A quiet spot at the base of the mountains —perfect for a swim, a bath, or even contemplating life. The trees part off the rugged trail, and Arthur pulls back on Topthorn’s reins when the small waterfall comes into view —the water almost glowing in the silver light of a full moon. He slides out of the saddle, hands quickly finding your waist to help you down.

“Been a while since it was jus’ you and me,” Arthur notes, hand splayed across your lower back. 

“That it has,” you agree, turning to drape your arms over his shoulders —fingers locking together at the nape of his neck as you look up at him. Kiss me, you think, and it is as though you’ve said the words aloud. Arthur reaches for you, pulling you closer to him by the hips so he can kiss you breathless. You sigh into his kiss, hands sliding down the broad planes of his chest as you tilt your head so your noses don’t bump together. It’s a lazy kind of kiss—slow, unhurried, but with heat, you’re never quite able to describe when talking to the girls about some of your little escapades with him. 

He pulls back too soon for your liking, laughing softly when you make a sound of protest as you chase his mouth with yours. “What’d I do to deserve you?” He asks, lips curving into a lopsided smile as he takes your face in his hands, thumbs softly stroking your cheeks. You run your thumb over the scars on his chin and reach up on your toes, lips brushing against his. It’s all the answer he needs —I love you.  

Stepping back, you work the mother-of-pearl buttons on your shirtwaist free and then the belt of your walking shirt, shrugging both pieces off and into a small heap next to you. “What’re you doin’?” Arthur asks, scratching the back of his neck as he turns his gaze. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you in this state of undress, but ever the gentleman, he still looks away —even if the curve of his lips says he’ll steal a glimpse or two. 

“You can’t bring a lady to a waterfall–” you pluck out the pin holding the twist in your hair in place “–and not expect her to want to freshen up, Mr. Morgan.” Mr. Morgan, he smirks, shaking his head —it’s the way you say his name like a sweet song that does him in every time. “Now–” you push aside your hair, revealing the laces of your corset “–help me?” Arthur steps behind you, hands working the ties of the undergarment. You turn back to him as he drops the corset atop your discarded clothes, his eyes flitting over curves barely hidden under a threadbare chemise. 

Wordlessly, he sinks to his knees and pushes the hem of the chemise up around your waist. Your fingers brush his as you take hold of your skirt —holding it out of the way. Arthur lifts one of your legs from the ground, sliding off your boot as he drags the stubble on his jaw across the inside of your ankle and calf, stopping just at the bend of your knee with a soft kiss. He places your foot back down and repeats the same teasing motions, but this time, his kiss does not stop at the knee. Scooting closer, he lifts your leg over his shoulder —hot breath fanning across your inner thighs. 

Setting his hat aside, he starts with a slow line of open-mouth kisses and listening to how your breathing hitches and body tenses in anticipation. He drags the flat of his tongue over you, stopping to flick the tip against your clit —sweet torture. “Arthur,” you gasp, hand twisting into his honey-colored locks. He repeats the motion, again-and-again until his fingers brush the inside of your thigh, and he shifts. Your honey-sweet taste and moans harden his cock. First, it’s one finger, then two thrusting and curling inside you as his mouth tends to your clit, laving, and suckling. 

His blue eyes flash upwards and meet your desperate gaze, and he grins, sucking your clit into his mouth. That’s all it takes. You tremble, knees wobbling as you breathe Arthur’s name in a broken voice as he holds you up, still lapping at the sweet release like a he’s a man lost in the desert, and you’re an oasis. His lips and stubble on his chin glisten with your essence as he sits back on his haunches, easing your leg from his shoulder.

When he rises, he trails his fingers along the neckline of your chemise, pushing it off your shoulders, leaving your bare in the cool night air as you step out of the puddle of stained cotton and toward him. You can taste yourself on his lips when they finally meet, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip before kissing you slowly. The kiss is languid and soft, your hands grasping at Arthur’s back to pull his chest to your own. Your hands wander down to his hips, unbuckling his belt and undoing the button and zipper of his pants as he undoes the buttons on his shirt —adding it to the growing pile of clothes.

Arthur curses and groans when your hand slides into his undone pants, fingers wrapping around his hard cock —stroking him slowly as you pepper kisses along his jaw and down his neck, across his chest. “Darlin’,” he chokes, voice wrecked and breathing heavy. It’s a heady feeling, knowing he’s like this because of you. As much as he doesn’t want to, Arthur pushes your hand away and hastily kicks off his boots, stepping out of his pants so he’s just as bare as you. 

You take a moment to admire him. Strong arms and legs, a broad chest covered with a dusting of hair, a real man right down to his hard cock, throbbing and dripping with need —built for riding, fighting, and fucking, you’d told him one night drunk on shine when you crawled into his tent. Arthur pulls you down onto the blanket of moss and grass at the water’s edge. His hands leave your waist and slide up to your breasts, cupping them gently. You moan, feeling his smile against the side of your throat. He trails kisses down to the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down slightly. He kisses down your throat to your chest, stopping when he reaches a rosy nipple. 

His eyes look back up at you, and his grin is devilish before his tongue drags across the sensitive flesh, making you gasp, hips grinding into him. “Arthur, please,” you whisper, back arching as he takes your nipple into his mouth, softly sucking at your flesh. He pulls away after a moment, looking up at you with lust burning bright in his eyes. Settling between your thighs, Arthur braces his weight on one of his forearms —staring down at you as cock presses into your warmth. Your walls flutter around him, and you spread your thighs wider, helping guide him as deep as he can go. 

He groans, rolling his hips into yours as he kisses you again, slow and thorough, mapping out your mouth with his tongue. You moan into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he breaks the kiss, eyes looking into yours once again, the lust quelled by something sweeter. Arthur grips your thighs tight, releasing one of them in favor of stroking over your lips and cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. Between the little noises you make, and how your body starts to tense and spasm around him, Arthur knows he won’t last long —not after it’s been so long since he had you proper.

You draw your legs up his sides and push your hands into his hair, clinging to him as his thrusts become faster, harder, more erratic. He slides a hand between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb. “Arthur,” you cry, feeling the budding heat rise in your belly again and control slipping away. “Babe,” you gasp, tugging on his hair. Eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, he ruts into you, even as the wave of fire floods your veins and your walls squeeze his cock. It’s enough to break him as he chases his end.  

He pulls away, hips stuttering, nearing his peak, and buries his face in the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. Biting down hard, and you feel the warmth of his release spreading in your core as he thrusts weakly a few more times before stilling. Arthur rests his head on your breast as he strokes your side, listening to the frantic beat of your heart as it slows with your breathing. You whine at the empty feeling when slides his softening cock from your cunt, rolling off to the side. He grabs his drawers and shirt —you both can worry with bathing and dressing in the morning. For now, Arthur only wants to keep you at his side. 

Arthur brushes off his hat and sets it on your head. The black hat is a little big, the brim dropping down over your eyes, you tilt it back into place. “Looks good on you,” he muses with a crooked grin. His shirt looks good on you too —the old blue shirt half unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder. A sight he wouldn’t mind waking up to every morning. 

“Think so?” You ask with a smile. He nods and, it's like you can see the cogs turning in his mind. What’re you even doin’ with an ugly old man like me? You can hear him saying. Sighing, you sit up and swing over into his lap, placing his hat back atop his head. “Well, I think it looks better on you,” you tell him. He won’t argue, not when your lips are brushing against his.

He folds his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky, and smiles to himself when you rest your head on the crook of his arm. Glancing between Arthur and the clear night sky, you start humming the old song your father used to sing about his sweet Caroline. The tune sounds familiar, and after a moment, he knows the words, it’s one he’s heard before in saloons and whispered at babes’ ears like a lullaby. Arthur draws in a slow breath, picking up at the next verse in a low rasp “…the grave and the garden won’t be satisfied till your name is next to mine.” 

You shift, half sitting up. His eyes fixed on you —gaze softer than a bed of summer wildflowers— with a smile tugging at his lips. In these rare moments, Arthur Morgan is at peace. He reaches out for you, calloused hand cupping your cheek as he tries to memorize the lines and curves of your face and how you sigh and lean into his touch, settling back down against him. 

It’s nights like these you long for the most, and every time you wish they could last just a little longer. Just laying under the night sky forever with Arthur Morgan, the man you loved. No more killing. No more stealing. No more running. Just the two of you and the cosmos overhead. You rest your head on his chest, running your fingers along the trail of dark hair down his stomach as he traces lazy shapes on your back, still softly humming the same sweet song. 

Be wary of a man in black, your mother used to say, holding your hand as you both watched from the front porch as your father rode off into the sunset, he’ll steal your heart. She’d been right, of course.