#let’s ignore the fact I’ve never drawn him with a watch let’s pretend he just forgot he had one

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

I’m still thinking about his necrodancer fit, why three shirts

Other colour variations I was playing around with under the cut:

[wonda-cat]

Misconceptions About Tommyinnit’s Character That Genuinely INFURIATE Me

Since the recent events following the second L’Manburg Festival and subsequent war, I’ve seen many, many hot takes surrounding the nature of Tommyinnit’s character on the SMP. Some of which annoyed me to the point where I felt compelled to sit down and actually write this. I’m going to only be highlighting the most common complaints or questions I’ve seen, one by one, in hopes of providing a better understanding of Tommy’s character for anyone interested. (I also briefly discuss Techno and Tubbo’s characters as well.)

If you’ve said similar things to what I’m going to be discussing below, please know that it’s perfectly understandable how you’d come to these conclusions. Some of these aspects of Tommy’s character are not always obvious; especially if being watched from another streamer’s POV. This may become quite lengthy, so bear with me for now.

“Tommy’s motives are all over the place. He can’t decide whether he wants the discs back or not.”

Tommy is actually one of the most motivationally consistent characters on the entire Dream SMP. Even Techno, someone completely confident in their ideals, does more motivational flipping than Tommy. From the very start of the story, Tommy has always cared for three things; L’Manburg, Tubbo, and his music discs. However, him caring for something is not itself a motivation. 

Surprisingly enough, his motivation isn’t even just, ‘Get my discs back,’ like many assume it is. Tommy’s one true motivation, since the end of the Independence War, has always been, ‘Keep things the way they are now.’ 

Tommy’s one fatal flaw is that he is resistant to change and refuses to let go of the past. This is seen through all of his actions and words; in all conflicts involving him. This flaw is the drive to all of Tommy’s mistakes. Burning down George’s house, an action which resulted in him getting exiled, was done out of a desire to pull pranks the way he used to before the first war. His friendship with Ranboo started because Tommy said he reminded him of Tubbo, back before he was President. 

Tommy still talks highly of Wilbur because he chooses to remember him as the wise, kind mentor who cared for him. This motive is the reason he defends L’Manburg so fiercely; it’s his memory of a better past. This is why he holds grudges more often than any other character; especially refusing to forgive Techno after he killed Tubbo during the Manburg Massacre.

It’s why Tommy falls under extreme distress whenever Tubbo or Quackity tell him that something will never be the same again. This motivation is entirely formed from an underlying desire for peace and comfort, something Tommy has been denied since being forced into a life wrought with war and death. To accept change, to Tommy, is painful and terrifying. But he will only ever truly be happy when he finally learns to let go.

“Why do the discs matter so much to Tommy? They’re not actually worth anything.”

Tommy’s discs are much more than just any ordinary pair of music discs. They were never important for their material worth, but for what Tommy was willing to sacrifice in order to keep them. Tommy is entirely what gives the discs their value. 

Tommy also commonly operates under the Sunk-Cost Fallacy, wherein he’s invested too much of himself into something to just abandon it, even if it’s causing him problems. This mentality is a huge piece of what keeps him tied to both L’Manburg and to his discs. He’s sacrificed too much at this point to simply let them go. If he admits the discs are worthless, then he’s admitting that he wasted all this time and effort, just to keep them.

The discs also act as a constant source of hope for Tommy because they are directly tied with his motivations as a character. They’re something he’s had since the very beginning. They’re something he used to listen to with Tubbo on their shared bench. 

To Tommy, they symbolize a life before war, filled with comfort and peace. They are a love letter to his country and his late mentor Wilbur. They are a physical representation of Tubbo’s companionship. They are the only thing, besides L’Manburg and his best friend, that gives him the hope that he can one day return things to the way they used to be. 

This ideal, paired with Tommy’s refusal to let go, has left him ruthlessly pursuing the things he’s lost. Not his music discs, but his peace and comfort, his friendship, his country, his mentor Wilbur, and his life before war.

In his desperation to hold onto his prized possession, it has only hurt and pushed away the people that love him. If Tommy continues to ignore this reality, while still refusing to resolve his major flaw entwined with it, he will lose all that the discs had once stood for. He will lose his country, then his friend Tubbo, and then he will lose himself.

“Tommy never grows or learns from his mistakes. This makes him a badly written character.”

Characters do not have to constantly learn from their actions to be well-written. Tommy is one of the best examples of this. The fact that his growth is infrequent is the entire point of his character; it’s completely stemmed from his fatal flaw. 

By addressing himself, he would be accepting change, something that terrifies him; something he stubbornly resists until he is absolutely forced to confront it. Contrary to popular belief, Tommy knows when he makes mistakes, but he pretends to be ignorant as to avoid facing reality. He digs his head in the sand despite knowing better, puppeteering the person he used to be during happier times, now gone.

In spite of his infrequent growth, the idea that Tommy still hasn’t learned anything isn’t quite correct either. Tommy, as of the last three plot streams, has shown incredible character development. By giving up his discs again, he had finally demonstrated that Tubbo is more important to him than his possessions. Speaking as a makeshift leader, he put aside his issues with others to rally them together against a common threat, something which Tommy had never been able to do before. He owned up to all of his mistakes openly, apologizing to everyone he’s ever hurt in one place. 

He apologized to Tubbo after they were reunited and came to terms with the fact that Tubbo was forced to exile him without choice, finally forgiving him. He was kind to Sapnap and learned how to be his friend after months of bitter rivalry. And these are only a few examples. This isn’t to say Tommy has overcome/fixed everything because he clearly hasn’t. There are still major things Tommy needs to work through that remain unaddressed, the biggest being his complicated relationship with Technoblade.

“Tommy only cares about himself. He does everything in his power to be the hero, always putting himself in the center of attention, especially during Doomsday.”

Tommy, since the start of the L’Manburg War for Independence, has never set out to be a hero. Not once. He may fall into the role of the protagonist, but his identity as a hero was pushed onto him by others. Giving up the discs was his only option during the Independence War. 

So when Wilbur called him a hero for it, Tommy said he didn’t feel like he was. During the November 16th War, Tommy again said he didn’t feel like a hero because he had lost what he thought was everything at the time. During exile, Tommy certainly knew he was no hero. And upon reuniting with Tubbo, he admitted to feeling like the farthest thing from it. That he’d hurt everyone and all he wanted to do now was fix it. 

The day before Doomsday, Tommy only took a leadership position because no one else was willing to, filling the role for Tubbo, who was crumbling under pressure. He had no choice but to try to bring everyone together, or fight alone. Most viewers never saw this during Doomsday, but before the battle, almost everyone who had vowed to fight alongside L’Manburg had abandoned them the very next day. They were convinced it was going to be destroyed either way, no matter what they did, so they chose not to see it through to the end; ultimately leaving Tommy and those who remained to fight a losing battle, alone. 

After about a third of the way through the battle, it became clear to everyone that they could do nothing to win. One by one, everyone stopped fighting and stood by to watch their country go up in smoke. Tommy was the only person on the battlefield who refused to stand down and give up. And so he took over the role as leader again, trying his best to keep them alive, to keep Tubbo hopeful; to keep fighting, no matter what. 

However, what most people don’t realize, is that this isn’t Tommy trying to be a hero or force himself into the spotlight. This is Tommy trying to convince himself to keep going. Because whenever things start to look hopeless, Tommy simply chooses to ignore them. He puts on a happy face and soldiers through it because that’s all he knows how to do. Tommy, at his core, is someone who wants peace through stagnation. He doesn’t want to fight, although causing the occasional friendly conflict is how he finds fun. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt others. 

Tommy may come across as self-centered, but this is because he is an extremely extroverted character. He finds energy and joy in the attention of others, both good and bad. It’s why he’s always seeking the approval of others and, oftentimes, will destructively insert himself into another person’s life in order to find it. 

Out of every character in the story, Tommy is the most drawn to praise and positive reinforcement. He is constantly seeking out mentors and friends because Tommy needs someone else to help him feel confident in his own identity and abilities. It’s why Wilbur was such a positive influence on him. His boisterous confidence has always been a front because if anyone were to actually hurt him, he knows it will make his self-esteem crumble instantly. 

This is part of why Dream’s manipulation was so effective against him. By isolating him, he’s left without energy and looking to another person’s guidance. Tommy outwardly may seem independent and rude, but just under the skin, he’s unconfident and lost when he’s by himself. Tommy will only grow from this flaw when he finds his own identity and inner confidence; when he finally learns to be okay with being alone.

“Tommy goes to the festival solely to get his disc back and then tells Tubbo to give it away immediately after. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Before the screaming match between the two friends during the second L’Manburg Festival, Tommy had been in exile, manipulated by Dream for long enough to lose his will to carry on. It is because of him that Tommy’s reality becomes distorted, long after fleeing from his abuser. This mangling of ideals leads Tommy to subconsciously believe that L’Manburg and Tubbo are unsalvageable. 

Therefore, the only thing he has hopes of retrieving are his discs, which are easier to manage than the latter two things. And so Tommy does reprehensible things at the behest of Techno in a vain hope of getting them back, going so far as to kidnap and torture for them. This ultimately culminates in a confrontation between the ex-friends, quickly turning violent. It is in this violence that we see Tommy has sunk to his absolute lowest point in his journey. 

Swinging his axe, he nearly kills his friend as he delivers a string of words that cause the room to silence instantly. He says the discs were always worth more than his friend. Within the quiet of the room, Tommy is forced to reflect on everything he’s done. How he kidnapped and tortured Connor. How he accidentally drowned Fundy. How he traumatized Ranboo. 

And now he’s hurt Tubbo, the one person he has always sought to protect; someone he vowed to never hurt. This realization causes Tommy to break. He’s so ashamed of himself that he can’t look at anyone. Tommy knows now that he is worse than anyone he’s ever hated. 

With pain in his voice, he tries and fails to apologize to Tubbo in the moment. The only way he knows to redeem himself now is to prove to Tubbo, after everything, that he can still put the discs aside. And so he does.

“The fact that Tommy is still trying to get his discs back after L’Manburg was destroyed is unreasonable and ridiculous.”

Tommy deals with grief in an interesting way, doing something very similar to Techno. His grief almost instantly becomes anger and a drive to prove himself. It morphs into a need for vengeance in response to injustice, always. 

After the destruction of L’Manburg, Tommy saying he wants the discs back is a double-sided motivator. The obvious side being: Tommy still needs them to feel comfort. The subtle side beneath it: Tommy is using them as an excuse to find Dream and kill him. To make him pay for helping destroy their home, hurting his friends, and abusing him in exile. 

Upon the loss of his home, I’d also argue the discs have only grown more important to Tommy in the aftermath. Typically, in grief, people hold onto things that survive devastation far more than if the tragic event never occurred. If your eldest child dies, one may hold their surviving children tighter. If your house burns down, one may deeply treasure a box of items that survived the flames. Tommy’s desperation after losing so much is entirely understandable.

On top of this, the discs are still the core to Tommy’s fatal flaw. They are what keeps him from achieving total happiness, so him getting over this intrinsic part of himself so easily would make for an unsatisfying character arc. He still has to work for his happiness in order to change for the better. 

To add, I’ve seen a lot of people complaining that Tommy is still prioritizing the discs over Tubbo, especially in that moment. And while I mostly agree, there are some interactions that stand out to me as being different between the pair that may imply otherwise. Tommy says a few times that despite L’Manburg being destroyed, he still has something left to lose; each time, turning to look at Tubbo. 

This subtly implies that losing Tubbo would be as devastating as losing his home. Tubbo also never voices disagreement over Tommy’s continued pursuit of the item. However, Tubbo frequently does what he thinks will make others happy, so this doesn’t implicitly mean support for Tommy either. Besides these two things, this is still Tommy’s fatal flaw shining through, continuing to hurt others around him. 

I only hope Tubbo can learn to stand up for himself and voice his real thoughts to Tommy now, after everything. It would provide at least some desperately-needed closure for Tubbo’s character.

“How could Tommy betray Techno like that? Techno told him upfront what he was going to do.”

While it’s true that Techno was obvious about his plans, Tommy was also just as upfront with Techno about what he thought of it. In fact, maybe even more so, considering Techno attempted to hide them from Tommy for a good portion of their partnership. Whenever Techno brought up the idea of destroying L’Manburg or hurting Tubbo, Tommy would always remind Techno that he didn’t want to hurt anyone. And that if Techno ever did, Tommy would be there to stand in his way. He never once stopped saying this. 

Tommy’s two major positive character traits have always been his undying loyalty and his strength to never give up, even in the face of death. Two classically heroic qualities, both of which, ironically, reinforce his fatal flaw. His refusal to change makes him stubborn; stubbornness being the only quality that makes unwavering loyalty and extreme persistence feasible. 

Because of these two traits, it was impossible from the start for Dream to completely break Tommy’s spirit and for Techno to get him to agree to anything too extreme. Despite this, Techno already had no hope of keeping Tommy on his side after the events of the day before the Festival. During it, Tommy had asked multiple times for Techno to give his word not to hurt anyone. That they’d only threaten to spawn a wither, get Techno’s remaining weapons in exchange, then leave. That’s it.

Techno avoided directly promising Tommy but still agreed not to regardless. So when Techno chose to spawn the wither anyway, despite Tommy urging them to leave multiple times, whatever trust Tommy had with him went completely out the window. Thus, when the threat was finally real, that Techno would make due on his promise to burn his home country to the ground and slaughter his friends, Tommy intervened. It would be unreasonable to expect Tommy not to stand against him in that moment, especially after his mental breakdown which ensued as a result of him nearly killing his best friend. 

Adding salt to the wound on Tommy’s end, Techno decided to also align himself with Dream, someone Techno knew Tommy was afraid of. This might have been a way to purposely hurt Tommy. More likely, it was because Dream and him shared a common goal in the moment and Techno desperately needed allies.

However, the implication of Techno siding with Tommy’s abuser most certainly hurt him, regardless of its original intentions. This is possibly why Tommy kept insisting through Doomsday that Techno betrayed him, avoiding actually telling anyone the reason as to why. If he couldn’t find the words to describe what Dream did to him, even to Tubbo, he certainly wouldn’t be able to tell Techno either.

“Techno gave Tommy everything, only to be repaid with betrayal.”

This statement regarding Tommy is the one I see most often. (It is also the one I get the most heated about.)

Dream’s character is well known for his manipulation tactics against other characters; pitting them against each other, crushing them under his heel, bending their will to conform to his own. It’s what makes him an interesting villain. It’s something fun to discuss. 

But is it still fun to discuss manipulation tactics if they’re so subtle, almost no one notices them? This is the paradigm Technoblade’s character falls into. While people know Techno for his laid-back personality, dry humor, and complex motivations, many fail to recognize him as a manipulator. The reason why this is so hard to spot is because it is mostly unintentional on behalf of the character. Dream performs his craft with intention, Techno does it without realizing. 

As well as this being unwitting, it is sandwiched between Techno’s actual attempts to connect with Tommy and care for him. Thus, making the manipulation feel less damaging. The only problem is, this still hurts Tommy just as much, regardless of the intentions behind it. Especially after just escaping Dream, Tommy’s reality and sense of identity are horribly distorted. In this vulnerable state, he desperately needs healing and someone to help ground him. This is what makes him even more susceptible to Techno’s influence. 

And because it is much subtler, it is harder to notice, and much harder to break free from. Despite Tommy claiming to hate Techno for what he did on November 16th, he still chose to flee to his house because it was the only place he could think of going, as well as being the safest area possible. After the failed execution, Techno mentioned potentially hurting Tubbo through a vengeance plot. Tommy voiced extreme distress over this, to which Techno threatened to kick him out of his house. 

Tommy then says he’s fine being homeless because he doesn’t want anything to do with someone who would hurt his friend. This is when Techno decides to weaponize Tommy’s own trauma against him. To be fair to Techno again, Tommy never told him the extent of the abuse he suffered in exile. But Techno isn’t stupid. He knows Tommy is extremely afraid of Dream, and for good reason. 

So he tells Tommy that if he were kicked out, he’d be defenseless. That if he were out there all alone, Dream would find him very easily. That Dream would drag him right back to Logstedshire in an instant. He notices the way Tommy reacts to this, how quickly he changes his mind about being kicked out. He continues to use this trauma repeatedly in order to keep Tommy under his roof, no matter how disagreeable he gets about Techno’s plans. He knows he can’t retrieve his weapons alone because he has no leverage. 

Therefore, using Tommy like a wild card was a major side strategy. Techno knows it will hurt Tubbo by doing this and may make the President more willing to compromise. In addition to this, many of the strategies Techno utilizes are Narcissistic manipulation tactics, categorized by their intent to keep the victim in a position below the abuser in terms of worth. This includes Techno using the silent treatment as a punishment, something which hurts Tommy since he craves affection from others. 

He also attempts to isolate Tommy by telling him he doesn’t need anyone else; that everyone abandoned him during exile (something which Dream has also said.) He tells Tommy that he’s only alive because Techno is there to defend him and supply for him, as well as constantly reminding Tommy to not let any compliments he receives get to his head. These are both meant to make Tommy depend more on Techno and doubt his own abilities. Techno also occasionally engages in subtle gaslighting, attempting to sow doubt in Tommy’s mind about his relationships with Tubbo, Quackity, Ranboo, and Fundy. 

It’s also vital to keep in mind what exactly separates Dream and Techno in this regard. The most important thing being that Techno actually does care about Tommy. He trusts him and wants to earnestly help him. He knows Tommy has been traumatized and abused in some way, but he doesn’t know how to help because he’s not that great with people. It also doesn’t help that Tommy is unable to tell anyone what happened. 

In the end, Techno really does want to be a shield for Tommy. Despite debating handing Tommy over to Dream, it’s more likely Techno was using this as bait for Dream to waste his favor on something useless. After all, he could always save Tommy, should he ask for him to. Techno’s warnings about Tubbo and L’Manburg also come from a place of love, as Techno was personally hurt by them and wants to protect Tommy by telling him to leave it behind. However, just because something is done out of love, doesn’t mean it’s automatically helpful or good for someone. 

There’s no better example of this than in Techno’s most damaging and frequently used tactic: ‘Buy Their Love,’ a technique commonly used on children by narcissistic parents. At first glance, nothing seems wrong. Techno gives Tommy most things he asks for; providing him with food, gifts, protection, and a place to sleep. The manipulation within this arises when the act of kindness is counted as a debt against the person who receives it. That by receiving so many good things, they would be ungrateful to go against their abuser. Doesn’t matter if they emotionally or physically hurt you, they gave you gifts, so you should shut your mouth and allow the abuse to continue. 

Whenever Tommy speaks out against Techno’s violent actions or his plans to hurt his friends, Techno would frequently bring up all his ‘good deeds.’ He consistently reminds Tommy that he could’ve just thrown him back to Dream, but he was too kind. That he went out of his way to give him gear, food, and a roof over his head. That he was kind so Tommy should be quiet and let Techno plot to hurt the people he loves. Or else he’s selfish and ungrateful. Or else Techno will take all of his gifts back and leave him with nothing.

Knowing this, it is horrifying seeing people justifying this behavior by mocking Tommy’s character and calling him ungrateful using this very same fallacy. (Especially for those who grew up being controlled by this very tactic.) 

It is through knowing Techno’s use of the ‘Buy Their Love,’ method that makes Tommy’s, ‘I am worthy,’ response, not one of betrayal, but one of triumph. This moment is a major positive character change for Tommy for many reasons. When Tommy decides to stand against Techno, this causes him to fall back on his most reliable tactic. He insults Tommy and then asks for the Axe of Peace back. Instead of caving, Tommy refuses. 

By keeping the Axe of Peace, Techno’s final gift to him, he is not only rejecting the destruction of all he loves, but he is breaking free from Techno’s manipulation. He says, ‘I am worthy,’ because now he knows his own self-worth. He doesn’t need Techno or Dream to decide it for him. This moment is Tommy finally breaking free from not just Techno, but Dream as well. He is finally free.

“Tommy was only using Techno and never thought of him as a friend.”

Tommy and Techno’s relationship is complicated, which is why pretending only one side was in the wrong isn’t entirely accurate. Their friendship, in summary, is tragic when fully examined; being doomed from the start. Techno and Tommy are brought into conflict often because they are simultaneously so similar and so different. Techno and Tommy both deal with grief in the same way. They both long for a life of peace and comfort. They each long for companionship, hold their ideals in kind, and are both naturally resilient in the face of adversity. 

Yet, their personalities and courses of action are polar opposites. What makes this friendship one of tragedy is the fact that not just Techno, not just Tommy, but both of them, actually thought the other was their friend. They had each wanted to be the other’s friend since the day they’d met. Tommy never stopped wanting to impress Techno and get on his good side, even if his methods annoyed the target of his affections. Him calling Techno ‘The Blade’ was never meant to dehumanize him; it was a title of adoration. 

Along the same spectrum, Techno is a character who generally longs for friendship, but pretends not to after a lifetime of hurt. He’s been burned too many times, and so he chooses to stay alone. Techno is generally very reclusive and awkward around others, so when he likes someone or cares for them, it’s noticeable from a mile away. Their friendship has a very brotherly dynamic, and the fact that Techno allowed him to stay in his house, implies Tommy is a step above pretty much everyone else but Phil. Putting up with Tommy’s shenanigans is itself a sign of affection. 

However, when their goals come into conflict and the two start to drift apart, they deal with this in massively different ways. With Tommy devastated and enraged, and with Techno withdrawn and hurt, once more burned by someone he slowly learned to trust. They were once both friends, neither one was pretending. Yet, both of them thought their companionship was unreciprocated. 

On top of this, both Techno and Tommy were using each other. Techno used Tommy to get his weapons back by manipulating and lying to him. Tommy used Techno to protect him from Dream and get his discs back. They each hurt the other and refused to listen, both shouting valid complaints at the other that they refused to hear. 

Their relationship is also deeply affected by the themes of vengeance in the current arc, which is something I haven’t seen many people talk about. Most of the current conflicts this past month have resulted from characters being unable to forgive, resorting to revenge as a way to cope with loss. L’Manburg was the first to initiate this, through the influence of Quackity. The Butcher Army was formed to punish Techno for a war crime he committed. And while this is perfectly reasonable, what isn’t is the way the incident was orchestrated. It was an unchecked abuse of power to execute someone without a fair trial, as well as punishing Phil, who was not involved whatsoever. 

This was also particularly unfair to Techno, as many projected their anger at Wilbur onto him. Even Tommy did this, finding himself unable to blame his late mentor, so Techno was the next best option for him. However, it was Techno’s response to this that was interesting. He chose a path of vengeance, the same way L’Manburg did, after vowing to live his life as a pacifist. By doing this and following through, he hurt everyone, not just the people he claimed needed to pay for their actions. 

Instead of just picking the weed in the garden, he set the entire flower bed on fire. Through L’Manburg’s destruction, he gets what he wants. He destroys their government, but he also scars the earth and shatters the sky. He leaves uninvolved people homeless, deeply hurting Ranboo, Eret, and especially Ghostbur. Philza turns to vengeance as well, taking his anger at the death of his son out on people who do not deserve it. 

Tubbo, a day before the second Festival, was given another chance to seek revenge when Techno had spawned a wither on their land. Instead, all Tubbo could say was, ‘We do nothing … It’s pointless, vengeance. It’s poisonous.’ By doing this, he has managed to be a bigger person than even Techno was, with the strength and maturity to turn the other cheek. And now with Tommy’s plan to kill Dream, the conflict continues to escalate; only ending where forgiveness begins. 

It’s sad to think, if Techno didn’t choose a path of vengeance and Tommy was strong enough to tell Techno how he really felt, the two might have remained friends. Who knows? Maybe they still can.

“Tommy was the one in the wrong. Techno was right to destroy L’Manburg.”

Techno is a lovely character. He’s well-written, engaging, funny. He has many values and quirks that are generally relatable and interesting. His motives are deeply understandable and sympathetic. And yet, he is perfectly capable of being evil, in just the same way that Tommy can be deeply flawed despite being the protagonist. 

I’m sure most people already know that Technoblade is a villain. Or more accurately, a tragic antagonist. Techno (the streamer) knows he is and he’s having fun playing that part. Just because a character is morally in the wrong doesn’t mean their values and ideology don’t have merit. The best character I could compare Techno to is Thanos. 

They have completely valid concerns and points, but it is the way in which they go about achieving their goals that makes them into evil people. And despite this, many will still agree with them, even after they do something reprehensible. Contrary to popular belief, Technoblade’s tendency towards violence isn’t a good thing, no matter how you look at it. Even Techno himself knows this, that’s why he decided to reform and become a pacifist with Phil. He was not a good influence on Tommy, on top of also manipulating him. 

Techno caving to hatred and vengeance makes him no different to the resolve of the Butcher Army that pursued him. It is precisely the fact that he went on to destroy the home of not just Tommy, but also Ranboo and Ghostbur, that puts him in the wrong. He is allowed to despise all government and remove himself from it, but the moment he decided to insert himself into someone else’s country and take their home from them in order to destroy it, he abandoned an integral principle to his own values. 

This principle being: ‘Choice.’ The act of letting others be free to decide what they want for themselves. It is a huge component to the concept of anarchy, the freedom to choose. And yet Techno robbed this from, not just the ruling powers that hurt him, but individuals who were not even involved in the first place. He justifies this by saying it’s for their own good, that he’s helping; while acting in a self-serving manner. 

In his anger, he became the punisher, stooping lower than L’Manburg has ever gone. There is also the issue of Dream weaponizing Techno to destroy the one thing that has been a thorn in his side since the very start, manipulating Techno’s grief to achieve his goals. Tommy’s biggest sin in the Doomsday War was standing up to Techno and getting in the way of him hurting his friends and destroying his home. 

This isn’t to say Tommy is perfect, because he still hurt everyone he ever loved. But the only way he knew to redeem himself was to fight for what he knew was right. And so he chose to fight alongside his best friend, Tubbo. However, just because Techno is in the wrong doesn’t mean others are wrong for wanting to side with him, or by finding joy in his ruthlessness. The biggest appeal of Techno is the fact that he opposes people like Tommy. 

He knows how to put people in their place and it’s satisfying to watch. Some people love rooting for villains and it’s entertaining to see a being with so much power crush everyone else down so effortlessly. Especially because it’s so easy to sympathize with Technoblade. Sympathetic villains are the best kind; where they have understandable motivations, relatable flaws, people they love, and something they can lose. Dream is a villain you love to hate. Technoblade is a villain you hate to love. Simple as. 

Despite the destruction of L’Manburg being either devastating or fantastic depending on who you are, there is one major good it has done. It has pushed Tommy more towards the completion of his character arc. By losing one of the three things he loves, it will be impossible for him to pretend any longer. He will be forced to confront reality very soon. It all depends on whether Tubbo will have to die first for him to finally see it.

[fics-n-stuff]

A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

[stratiotis-nth]

Ever since Cas came back and turned human, it would seem he’s stopped giving a shit about literally everything. When Dean noticed this new aspect of Cas’ colorful personality, he had made himself paranoid that Cas would suddenly start flirting with him on the regular now that his big confession was out in the open.

So while Dean was scared shitless, he was confusingly disappointed when Cas didn’t do that at all.

No. The first thing the ex-angel did after surviving another encounter with death was start a Shotgun war with Sam.

And no, not the bang bang kinda shotgun.

“Shotgun!” Cas practically bellowed down the corridor as the three of them were getting ready to get dinner.

“That’s not fair, Cas! I’m in the bathroom!” Sam complained through the closed door. Cas ignored him completely as he strode past and ducked into the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean, who had been desperately trying to stay out of this war, just gave Cas a sideways smile.

“Y’know, the rules are you can’t call shotgun until you actually see the car, Cas.” He told him, his lips tugging up in amusement and…just happiness that Cas was close.

“Until Sam demands to implement this rule, I will abuse his ignorance.” Cas replied, smiling softly. Once again, every time Cas won the passenger seat, Dean wanted to ask what was with his sudden obsession with it. It wasn’t like Cas hadn’t been stubborn enough to claim it before he became human. He wondered what changed, why Cas suddenly cared about seating arrangements. But, as he had been doing ever since they got Cas back (again), Dean bit his tongue. He didn’t want to overwhelm the newly human with the tsunami of questions he had.

Sam griped the entire way to the diner, grumbling about being squished even though Dean knew there was more than enough space. Cas sat next to Dean, watching the trees amble by with a serene, totally unaffected smile on his face. Pleased as a pickle. Dean was fighting his own internal battle between his burning questions and undying amusement at Sam’s plight.

At the diner, Cas sat next to Dean. That much was hardly anything new. The two just naturally gravitated towards each other, and after Dean caught himself drifting mindlessly towards Cas more times than he could count, he stopped giving him grief about personal space.

Cas’ thigh brushed up against his almost the entire meal. Dean pretended not to notice, but internally, he was melting into a puddle of bi panic.

In the parking lot, Sam was quick to call shotgun when Cas got distracted by their waitress catching up to him and giving him her phone number. Dean was too busy bristling and snapping at Cas to hurry up to even notice Sam was sitting next to him.

Cas sulked the entire ride home, the waitress’ number stuffed into one of his pockets. Dean tried not to think that maybe Cas was saving her number for another time.

On Saturday, it was Dean’s turn to go on a food run. Sam was busy working a ghoul case with Eileen, so when Cas wanted to come along there was no yelling match over the front. He ducked into the passenger seat and just about blinded Dean’s poor weak heart with a smile that crinkled his nose.

They fought over eggs for about twenty minutes in the diary aisle. Dean win by threatening to give Sam exclusive access to shotgun. Cas relented with a glower that could have smote demons if he still had his grace.

Eventually, Sam did implement the rule about only calling shotgun with the car in sight, and as the weeks went by and Dean’s silent journey is self realization unfolded, the war at escalated. Now, neither of them could call shotgun without all three of them being in sights of the car. It had gotten bad enough that Sam and Cas waited impatiently for Dean in the garage, staring expectantly for him to round the corner so they could have their yelling match.

Cas nearly blew Dean’s eardrums out, bellowing “SHOTGUN!” loud enough to drown out Sam. He angrily opened his mouth to argue when his phone started ringing.

“It’s Eileen.” He said, his back snapping straight and immediately answering the video call. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Can you give me a ride?” Dean could hear Eileen’s voice over the tinny speakers. “My car broke down and the nearest shop is two hours away.”

“Where are you?”

“An hour away from you? It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Dean saw Sam’s face soften, the tension of worry falling away. He butted in, sticking his face in view of the camera so Eileen could read his lips.

“Just tow it here. I can patch your ride.” He said. “Sam can take the tow truck.”

“Are you sure?” Eileen asked.

“Course. ‘Sides, those guys won’t give you a fair price anyway.” Dean flapped his hand dismissively.

“Thanks, Dean.” Eileen beamed, and oh, Dean knew that smile. Mischievous and damnit, she had planned this from the start, hadn’t she? Just to get a free repair out of him. Dean squinted suspiciously at her, and Eileen just wiggled her eyebrows.

“Cas and I can pick up the curse box and meet you two back here in a few hours.” Dean said. He saw Cas immediately brighten, having secured the passenger seat.

Cas was looking particularly triumphant as they drove, his knees rocking back and forth in a content, mindless sort of way. Finally, Dean couldn’t hold back the question anymore.

He had done his work accepting the fact that he wasn’t as straight as he thought, that it wasn’t very heterosexual to stare at Cas’ lips or pop an awkward boner seeing him all cleaned up after Purgatory, or completely shutting down every time he died or getting all prickly when waitresses give him her phone number. He was gay for Cas, and he had just gotten around to accepting this. Cas said he loved him, right? so Dean shouldn’t be afraid or rejection or anything. Yeah, no he was terrified.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He turned to him with that soft smile that Dean wanted all to himself.

“I gotta ask, man,” Dean chuckled a little awkwardly and kept his eyes firmly on the road. “Why are you so determined about sitting shotgun? You’ve never been before.”

“Ah.” Cas hummed, turning back to the road too. “I suppose now I have the freedom to pursue the things I want. Chuck is gone and my deal with the Empty is null in void. I have time to…focus my attentions on other things.”

“The things you want? What, you got a better view up here or something?”

“Well yes, the windshield does allow more viewing space.” Cas agreed. “But it’s not my main goal in doing all this.”

“Then…what is?”

“Dean.” Cas said in that ever patient, you’re-being-dumb-about-this voice. “I enjoy being up here because it allows me to be closer to you. You are the view I most admire, Dean. I’m always so helplessly drawn to you.”

Dean’s mouth had gone a little dry and his grip on the wheel was suddenly sweaty. The silence that fell was deafening. Cas didn’t even look concerned. He just sat there waiting the road as if he hadn’t just said something so…so…soft to Dean.

Helplessly drawn. Like Cas couldn’t bear being away from him. Like Dean was this perfect, magnetic thing that Cas was enchanted by, something worth having around.

With a jerk of the wheel, Dean was pulling over on the side of the empty highway in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He threw Baby into park before twisting around and staring at Cas.

He didn’t even look vaguely concerned, the fucker. He just gave Dean a patient look.

Dean opened his mouth, and closed it. Did it again, ready to tell Cas everything. Snapped his jaw shut.

Cas watched in cool amusement. Dean felt his cheeks get hot.

“Screw this.” He grumbled to himself, before lunging across the bench, grabbing Cas’ face with both hands, and kissing him square on the lips.

He felt Cas freeze for a moment, probably in total shock, before he started moving.

Dean nearly choked on a gasp as the chapped, warm lips started pushing and devouring, Cas was suddenly the one taking charge, shoving Dean back against his window as he clambered across the seats to get on top of him.

Twelve years of pent up emotions came crashing out in a sudden burst of unstoppable passion. And as soon as it started, it seemed to have stopped. They both were panting, Dean’s jeans were tight and his entire body screamed to have Cas against him again. But Cas had made to move away, putting space between him as he looked at Dean with wide eyes.

He didn’t get very far. Dean grabbed ahold of his jacket lapels and held on tight with an iron grip, keeping Cas hovering inches above him, basically sharing air.

“Wanna hear a secret?” He whispered between heavy breathes. Cas just blinked at him. “I’ve always rooted for you getting shotgun.”

Cas’ kiss swollen lips split into a dazzling smile, and he rewarded Dean with another intense make out session. When they pulled away, Dean found the words spilling out of his mouth.

“I love you too, Cas. You can have me. God, you have had me, for years you have. Can’t believe it took me so long, I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t have me, I’m sorry it took me so long—“

Cas shut him up with another kiss, and Dean’s ramble faded into a helpless whimper that too was swallowed up by Cas.

“Does this mean I get exclusive shotgun privileges?” Cas asked a few hours later than they finally took the curse box off the poor shopkeeper’s hands. They had arrived nearly an hour late, not that Dean (or his dick for that matter) particularly cared.

“Honestly? Play it up to Sam and he might let you get away with it for a while.” Dean chuckled. Without even thinking too hard about it, his free hand slithered over the bench, grabbing Cas’ and entwining their fingers. Something so small and simple, yet made Dean light up like a sun.

If Cas didn’t manage to convince Sam, Dean sure as hell would.

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

@peterxwade24 @mizzy-pop @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @khneltea @itsmeevie01 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @lolieg @moonlightstar64 @jayjayspixiepop

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Reid My Lips - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - on the twelth and FINAL day of shipmas fortheloveofcriminalminds gave to me…Spencer x Reader Fluff! Hope you guys enjoyed them, I had a lot of fun writing these! Find my Shipmas masterlist here. Find my full masterlist here.

My taglists are open for Spencer x Reader and all works so let me know if you want to be added. Requests are also open.

Requested: Yes l No l Kind of ?

Idea came from @andiebeaword as I was struggling to come up with something that wasn't either angsty or smutty! - "What about one where they're dating, but haven't kissed yet, and every time reader tries, for some bizarre reason, Spencer keeps dodging them. reader thinks he's trying a subtle way to say he doesn't want to kiss when in reality, he just doesn't want reader to think he's a bad kisser" - Set circa s15, some spoilers for the last 2 episodes.

CW: none that I can think of! Just lusting after Spencer's lips. Some talks of Spencer's insecurites and lack of experience.

Plot: In which all the reader wants in the world is to feel Spencer's lips on hers.

WC: 2.4K

—————————————————————

Spencer Reid’s lips were the kind they would have written poetry about.

They were plump, sinfully so, the first time you’d met him several years ago when you joined the team it was the first thing you’d noticed about him. How it didn’t seem fair for him have had lips such as these bestowed upon him. He had the most kissable lips you’d ever seen in your life.

If you were a writer and not a profiler, you may well have tried to write a poem about them. But alas, a wordsmith you were not. So you had to make do with just staring at them every available opportunity you got.

When he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask you on a date after six years of working together you were thrilled to say the least. Finally, after all that time imaging what those lips would feel like, you might actually get to see for yourself.

For your first date Spencer took for you dinner at a fancy restaurant. Despite the fact you had known each other so long, the date was awkward.

Usually, you never struggled to find things to talk to Spencer about. Most of the time while the rest of the team were sleeping on the jet the two of you stayed up chatting aimlessly between you.

But somehow when the word date was used, it made everything uncomfortable between the two of you.

The night started as a long, drawn out silence but thankfully you both eased into it and by the time your main courses came you were able to chat a little more freely.

You’d had dinner together countless times over the years. But that was just as friends. Not as two people who were clearly attracted to one another even though deep down that’s what you’d always been.

Spencer walked you home after dinner. It was a mild night and you didn’t live too far from the restaurant so you thought the walk would be nice.

The first few blocks you fell back into that uncomfortable silence but thankfully you found your voices again.

Despite everything, you’d had a great time and you’d hoped Spencer had too.

As you stood awkwardly on the sidewalk outside your apartment you were desperate for him to kiss you. He wasn’t quite so shy and dorky as he had been when you first met so you’d thought he might make the first move.

He did not.

“Goodnight Y/N. I’ll see you Monday.” He offered you one of his shy waves.

No, this would not do. You’d been dreaming about those lips too long. It was time to do something about it.

You moved in close, your eyes closing as you neared his lips.

But what met your lips wasn’t his own. You felt prickly skin and your eyes shot open to see her had turned his head and your lips had landed on his stubble grazed face.

“Uhm…” you stepped back feeling incredibly uncomfortable. “Goodnight then I guess.”

You chalked it up to shyness. You guessed thirty plus years of insecurities couldn’t be washed away in a three month prison stint.

***

The next time an opportunity presented itself to steal a kiss from Spencer was a few weeks later.

You were out of town on a case and he’d invited you to his room to watch Doctor Who. You’d thought or maybe hoped it was just an excuse to get you alone in his room. You were surprised to say the least when he actually wanted to watch Doctor Who.

You sat side by side on his bed watching the small hotel TV. You dared to shuffle your hand closer until your fingers brushed and eventually you’d taken the plunge and entwined your fingers.

He didn’t seem to mind, he just gave your hand a firm squeeze as he held it.

About half way through the episode you decided to go for the kiss. You were desperate to feel those lips on yours and you hoped whatever awkwardness he felt on your date had since washed away.

You turned to face him, momentarily breathless at how beautiful he was.

“Spence,” you whispered prompting him to turn and face you.

He had a dopey half smile on those lips as he looked at you. You moved quickly, closing the space ready to feel those lips.

But once again you were met with his stubbly cheek.

You tried to tell yourself he was shy. That’s all it was. It’s not that he didn’t want to kiss you. It couldn’t be, right?

***

You’d started to think maybe Spencer had changed his mind about the two of you dating. It had been several weeks since your first date and although you’d been busy with back to back cases there had been time if he’d really wanted to take you out again.

It was nearly a month after your first date he finally asked you on a second. You’d jumped at the opportunity.

Spencer took you to the Smithsonian, you’d walked around hand in hand with Spencer telling you all kinds of facts and statistics the institution didn’t share.

You hung off his every word, mesmerised by the way his lips moved as he talked and wanting to feel them on yours with a white hot passion.

He took you for coffee after and you fell into comfortable conversation. But you couldn’t keep your eyes off those goddamn lips of his.

As you stepped out of the coffee shop hand in hand you made a quick move to place a chaste kiss on his lips as he was in the middle of telling you a story about his mom. You thought if you were fast enough he wouldn’t even see it coming and you could just get this awkward air out of the way.

You leant in fast, and as your lips were about to collide Spencer side stepped, turning to face the window of the coffee shop.

You stumbled, correcting yourself before you fell face first on the sidewalk.

“I didn’t know they had donuts! Now I want a donut.” He chuckled and suddenly he was heading back inside.

“Goddamnit Spencer.” You groaned under your breath.

By now you were starting to think he just didn’t like you. Why else would he keep dodging your attempts at kissing him?

You felt downtrodden. You felt insecure. Why on Earth had he asked you out if he didn’t want to kiss you?

***

Six dates in and all you’d done still was hold hands. You really didn’t get him. He kept asking you out but never seemed interested in doing anything other than hand holding.

You liked Spencer, a lot, but you were not willing to be in a relationship where there was no kind of intimacy.

But that was all pushed to the back of your mind when you and JJ found Spencer passed out in his apartment.

He’d been involved in an explosion thanks to the psychopath Everett Lynch. He was late for work the following day which was really unlike Spencer so you and JJ went to check on him. That’s when you’d found him.

While the rest of the team worked on finding Lynch, you stayed vigil at his bedside.

When he’d finally woken up tears streamed down your face and you’d be up like a shot.

“Oh my god Spence,” you sobbed. “I thought I was going to lose you.” You leant in to kiss his chapped lips.

He rolled his head to the side on the pillow, once again your lips meeting stubbly skin.

“I’m really thirsty.” He croaked, seemingly ignoring your actions.

You swallowed your pride with a sigh.

“I’ll get you some water Spence.” And with your tail between your legs you left the room in search of hydration.

***

After that you’d decided no more. You were fed up feeling a fool every time you tried to make a move on him only to be shot down.

So you decided you wouldn’t bother anymore.

Since he left hospital the two of you still hung out but it was less frequent as usual and the word date was never used again.

One night, it came to a head.

You were in Spencer’s apartment watching some foreign film which you were struggling to comprehend despite the subtitles.

Your mind was whirring, lost down a rabbit hole of thoughts of you and Spencer. You were so preoccupied in your own head you didn’t even notice when Spencer scooted closer to you or put his arm around your shoulders.

“Y/N?” He whispered your name, snapping you out of the abyss.

“Hmm?” You turned to face him.

His tongue glided over his bottom lip and his eyes were trained on your lips.

The next few seconds happened in slow motion. Spencer started edging closer to you, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips pursed.

And you turned your head to face the TV, allowing his lips to hit your cheek the way yours had to him so many times.

He made a strange noise that sounded halfway between a sigh and a groan. You tried to pretend you were focused on the TV. You felt his eyes on the side of your face and you tried to ignore it.

After a few minutes Spencer paused the film, the room falling silent. You swallowed a lump in your throat and slowly turned to face him.

“Why’d you stop the film?” you hoped your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you thought it did.

“I think we need to talk.” Spencer chewed his lip. “I think I need to explain why I’ve been so...weird.”

“Spencer, trust me when I say you being weird is not an unusual thing.” you tried to lighten the mood.

“Weirder than usual then.” he was fidgeting in his seat, wringing his hands together in his lap.

“I hadn’t noticed.” you lied.

“Yes you have.” he told you.

“Look Spence,” you sighed. “If you don’t want to kiss me I get it. But why would you ask me out if that’s not what you wanted?” the words spilled out of your mouth.

He nodded his understanding at your words, running one hand through his messy locks.

“I do want to kiss you Y/N.” his cheeks stained red with embarrassment. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you, since the first time I met you. Jeez, kissing is just the tip of the iceberg of things I want to do with you.” his blush deepened.

Your chest tightened at his words, a twinge passing between your legs.

“You uhm...you have a funny way of showing it.” your voice was breathy. You didn’t mean it to be.

“I know.” he nodded, gnawing his bottom lip. “I freaked myself out. I got in my head and I panicked and I didn’t know how to deal with that. So I dealt with it really, really badly and I’m sorry.”

“What were you freaking out about Spence?”

He sighed heavily, the blush still straining his cheeks.

“It took me six years to finally work up the courage to ask you out.” he laughed shyly. “But when I finally did, I was terrified I wouldn’t be good enough.”

Your face dropped, sadness in your eyes.

“Spencer,” you reached for him and took hold of his hand. It was sweating and shaking.

He shook his head sadly, telling you not to try and convince him otherwise.

“Y/N, I am not...not so great with women in case you’d never picked up on that.” he chuckled again, but again it was a shy sound. “I don’t ha-have...so much ex-experience.” he swallowed hard. “There have only been...a few...women. Not enough to make me an...ex-expert in any sense.” he swallowed again. “I just wanted to be...good...for you.”

“Oh Spencer,” you felt tears in your eyes. You had no idea he’d been going through this mental turmoil. “Spencer I don’t care. I’ve wanted you for six years. Trust me, there is no way in hell you will not be good enough. I am crazy about you Spence, and all I want in the whole right now is to kiss you. I have waited too long to know what those lips would-”

He cut you off when his lips suddenly crashed against yours.

You let out a small whimper as those plump lips of his finally kissed you. They felt better than your wildest imagination.

The whimper allowed Spencer to slide his tongue in your mouth. He held your face in his large hands, exploring your mouth with fervor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

It was without a doubt the single most magical experience of your life. Nothing could have prepared you for how good his kiss would be.

It sent goosebumps flaring across your skin, making your chest tighten with lust.

It made you wet between your legs.

Maybe you should take a writing class because these lips, this kiss, definitely deserved poems written about them.

Your whole body felt as though it were on fire, every nerve ending in your body tingling with desire.

When the kiss ended you both gasped for air, trying to satiate your now empty lungs.

Spencer’s cheeks stained red again as he waited for your reaction shyly.

“I hope that was o-ok.” He stuttered a little.

You couldn’t help the large smile that broke out across your face.

“Spencer Reid, that was more than ok. It was perfect.”

His blush deepened and he looked away from you briefly before finding your eyes once more.

“Good.” He swallowed. “Because there’s a lot more I want to do with you Y/N.”

His words made you shudder.

“Now?” You swallowed, feeling oddly nervous.

“Right now.” He nodded before taking your face in his hands and kissing you again.

He was going to show exactly what his lips could do. And those poems practically wrote themselves between the sheets.

—————————————————————

Taglist -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl

@measure-in-pain

@ptrs-prkrs

[esther-dot]

Do you think that in the hypothetical scenario that Jon does not have an intimate relationship with D her murder by him is not as gross as it was in the show or not? I don't see that affair happening in the book. I believe that Jon will kill her for political reasons (allowing her and Tyrion to live is bad news for the North) and that is imo even worse, because it requires manipulation to get there and as you said Jon is unpredictable and therefore, very dangerous. (I hope I'm clear, lol)

It’s really not something I want to read either way, anon. 😭

But, to me, it isn’t the being sexually involved with her that’s the worst part because I don’t feel bad when a victim kills their abuser. In the 90s they made several movies about women doing that and I’ve watched a few on Prime and it’s fine. The couple were once sexually involved, but their partner was abusive so I wanted them to escape by whatever means necessary. Typically, it’s women who are the victims but in GoT, Dany had the means and the willingness to kill not only individuals, but burn castles and cities, to subjugate kingdoms, so the power imbalance was huge. She threatened Jon’s family, she was a threat to his people…theirs read like an abusive relationship during s8 and I took her “let it be fear” when Jon was unresponsive to her kiss in 8x05 as an attempt to make him feel responsible for what she was about to do. When Tyrion says she’ll kill Jon in 8x06, there’s no argument. Jon thought she might. So, even though I didn’t like watching it, I totally disagreed with the Dany stans who thought Jon was wrong for killing Dany. We can’t ignore the fact that she wasn’t just Dany in the finale, she was a mass murderer who declared her intention to repeat a massacre in other cities. KL had surrendered, but the soldiers kept killing and she kept burning the city, so conquering wasn’t enough, winning wasn’t enough, at that point, she chose to kill for no reason other than to kill. And she had absolutely no remorse about it. Fans shouldn’t minimize what that said about her. By that point, killing Dany wasn’t morally ambiguous, it was emphatically right, and it felt like D&D included the J/D relationship to make Jon an avatar for Dany stans in the finale. They loved her so Jon had to grieve her (after killing her) to reconcile them with her death.

But that choice, making Jon love her and swear himself to her again as if it was sincere even though he’d just killed her was what crossed the line for me. D&D wanted to emphasize that Jon loved Dany while he killed her, and that’s gross because that is something that men who stalk/harass/assault/kill women say. It’s a totally different scenario, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that men claim to love the women they do this to, that’s what made it awful to me. I watched The Last Kingdom and found the season with the hero involved with a sorceress very blah, and when he *spoilers* killed her I wasn’t nearly as bothered because it was clear he had used her, and the show wasn’t pretending it was love. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t have the same visceral reaction to her death scene. *end spoiler*

I guess I never thought of GoT or ASOIAF as wholesome, and Jon is an interesting character to me because while he is good, I think he’s capable of really dark acts, and when I watched the finale I thought, “this would make so much more sense for book Jon—if he did this of his own volition.” If he did it as her enemy, even if he had manipulated her into trusting him first, I’d view it as a dark think to do, but understandable because there is no way to openly defy her armies/dragons and survive, and his love and loyalty to his family/people would demand he protect them by any means necessary. I still wouldn’t like it, but that specific element could be avoided.

Perhaps being more alright with it in the book context is that, I’ve accepted that Martin is simply drawn to, and interested in writing things, that I’d never think of myself because they’re too dark to ever spontaneously occur to me. I’ve said before, I wouldn’t write about a 13yo being raped so often she wanted to die. I wouldn’t write about her getting pregnant and having a miscarriage. I wouldn’t have her profit off of slavery or oversee the death of children. I wouldn’t have her go on to become a villain and die. Most of the things in these books aren’t things I would write. I wouldn’t write a child killing people, multiple men molesting my sweet Sansa, Jon being coerced into a sexual relationship. I wouldn’t write about a man with dwarfism being horribly treated by society and becoming a villain.

I think these books are full of things most of us wouldn’t ever come up with, but that’s why we’re here, captivated by a mind we can’t fully grasp and a work we’re still pondering, trying to understand. That’s art, and even when it might make me uncomfortable, I can appreciate it as such. I guess I give Martin a lot of leeway because he’s trying to talk about ideas, and I appreciate some of them, even if there is a lot of stuff that’s part of his discussion that is distasteful to me. But I don’t respect what D&D ended up delivering even if I can poke at and think, “dang, there are themes if we just push this here and take that out and add in this.” So, I guess personally, I’m not as grossed out by it theoretically because I have confidence that it would be part of a larger thought, so even if I still think that moment is horrific, I’d be pushed to think of the idea that is being discussed.

I kinda like the idea of taking the heroic moment and making it something awful. I kinda like the idea of making a hero do something incredibly unheroic as his defining moment just because in fiction, we tend to like things very clean cut, when in reality, it isn’t. That’s why it’s so interesting to me to follow Dany on her trajectory to becoming a villain. Again, I don’t like all his choices along the way, but sympathizing with her and following her down a dark path, it’s very powerful. We’ve had such an influx of retellings of stories from the villains pov it might make his choice seem less groundbreaking then it once was, but the idea of making us care for characters and put them at odds is a great idea, and the endgame of that being more disturbing than normal…well, that makes sense. I can see the idea of victory only being achieved in something tragic, peace being bought through pain, as a good way to ground the ending. I mean, I do not wish this on Jon, but it’s a really interesting idea to take the moments that are supposed to be about glory, and make it feel like a personal failure. Because whether or not Jon had a sexual relationship with her, Dany is a woman and a relative. In AGOT Ned is horrified by the idea of killing Dany, and it makes sense to me that Martin ends that with her death at the hand of Jon because it puts a lot more grey into what would otherwise be a totally clear, morally right decision. Dany’s assassination then is a series long discussion for the reader which allows it to be weighty. As an author Martin likes to put the characters in difficult situations to force the audience to think about things a touch more thoughtfully than we otherwise might, making them suffer over certain things to help guide us through a certain thought path, and if he wants us to understand the horror of all this, well, he has to make the moment horrible for the character who does the killing. Considering the crap Dany will have done by that point in the story, the options as to how to do that are limited.

Anyway, I’m not sure how the J/D relationship is supposed to happen either unless it’s another noncon situation and the show did give some moments like that, so, possibly. But it seems to me that the kinslaying aspect of it is the kind of horrific that makes more sense in-world, so I don’t see the need for a sexual relationship. Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen and/or someone else takes care of Dany!

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright - Part Eleven

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: soooo um i think this may be a little tension relieving ;;;;)))

Warnings: angst, language, SMUT (18+ ONLY)

MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART ELEVEN

** Two years later, Manhattan, New York **

You scrolled down on your phone, pretending to actually be doing something, while you waited for Natasha. A group of teenagers had come into the cafe, loud, laughing, challenging each other to some stupid fight. You rolled your eyes, chewing on some gum, making sure they kept their distance with you. Who knew what those kids had touched. Ew.

Nat texted you that she was around the corner, and to keep from staying a second longer with the obnoxiously loud teens, you all but ran out the cafe. You marched down the street, spring air brushing through your hair. There was a smell between a wood fire and flowers that drafted from God knows where. The sun was high up, the afternoon in Manhattan hot. Many people walked by wearing shorts or tank tops. Summer was approaching. It brought a smile to your face.

But that smile soon faded as you walked by the newspaper outlet and caught sight of the title. 

TWO YEARS SINCE NEW YORK ATTACK

You gulped, biting on the inside of your cheek. It had already been two years since the last time you’d spoken to him? It seemed like way longer. It seemed as if you’d walked into a parallel universe. No one ever talked about him, least of all your friends and family. Least of all you. 

You shook your head, brushing away the thoughts that brought you back to all those years ago. You shook away an image of a loft, of a coffee table full of leather-bound books, of hands on your body.

“Hey!”

You looked up, Natasha standing before you in a trendy outfit that made her look like a runway model. She had huge sunglasses perched on her nose, pink bubblegum in her mouth. 

“Ready?” she asked. 

“Yeah!” you answered, trying to hide the newspapers with your body, but you saw how her chin dipped when you walked by. She would surely see the titles and tell your brother. Dammit. You’d been doing so well.

Technically, you’d been doing fine. 

Ever since the Avengers had defeated Loki and Thor had brought him back to Asgard, you’d never seen or heard of him. You’d gone to a few rounds of therapy, mostly with psychologists who dealt in soulmates, and after a few months of isolation, Bruce had let you go. It had been a relief to have your phone back, your liberties, your God damn car. 

When you’d gotten the keys to your apartment back, it had felt final. But as the last people invited to your “homecoming” celebration had dwindled out, you’d found yourself in a pit. 

Everything was muted. Yes, you still saw colors, but without the person behind those colors, you just drifted. Yes, you were happy, somewhat, but whenever you saw couples together, something in your chest burned, like a slow leaking flame. You’d never be like them. Even though you’d heard stories about people marrying someone who wasn’t their soulmate, the simple thought of having another man - except Loki - in your life sent shivers down your spine. 

“I heard they got free donuts,” Nat said, bending her head close to yours. You giggled, but there was no heart it in.

She was bringing you to a stupid singles night out. Even though she briefly skirted on the fact that you’d already found your soulmate, she said it was an opportunity “to get out there”.

Hell, maybe it would make you forget Loki, although you highly doubted.

The night went on in a sort of downward spiral. It started off really fast and funny, with music and drinks, and a lot of men fighting to come to talk to you and the hot redhead. But with every passing guy, the more they didn’t look like him, the more they said things that set your teeth on edge, the duller you felt. 

Like being emptied slowly, hand by hand, touch by touch. 

By the time Nat brought you back to your apartment, you could barely manage a smile.

You tried, once again, fixing your stupid leaking tap but decided against it and went straight to bed. Because of that stupid newspaper, you had nightmares, plagued by a dark-haired prince wearing green and gold armor. 

In the morning, you ignored the tap and went to work. When you came back, the tap wasn’t leaking and you thanked your lucky guardian because if you had to hear one more drop, you’d lose it. 

The next night, coming home after drinks with your brother, the windowpane was fixed.

You knew something was wrong when your squeaking front door slid on perfectly oiled hinges. 

Someone had been in your apartment. Multiple times. 

Stepping in your apartment that night, eight nights after the tap was “fixed”, you looked around in the darkness. The shadows seemed denser, more menacing, as if they hadn’t been standing there every night, ever. 

You looked at your tiny kitchen. Nothing seemed amiss. You checked the lock, but it locked on its own with no problem. Even better than before.

You couldn’t actually complain about your little home invader because they had fixed all the problems that were slowly driving you to the brink. But you hadn’t said a word to anybody, not even Bruce, because deep down, you knew who’d be waiting for you one night, eventually. 

The bathroom light had been changed. It used to flicker all the time, giving you the creeps while you took a shower. But now it opened wildly bright and stayed there. 

There. That was the daily change. 

You changed in the bathroom, taking a hot, quick shower, keeping the door firmly locked. You felt watched as you padded across your apartment in your jammy shorts and tank top, your hair a wet rope down your back. 

The cabinet where you kept your mugs had a faulty knob that had cut you on more than one occasion. It was polished now. 

Hands trembling, you pivoted in your kitchen, fingers white-knuckling the countertop. 

“I know it’s you,” you murmured, feeling your heart throbbing in your throat. The shadows seemed to listen. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

You apartment seemed to breathe, swallowing your words, digesting them. But nothing came back to you. You kept expecting the shadows to linger, to move, to break away, but everything remained still, quiet.

Your heart plummeted. 

You went to bed looking out the window, noticing just how clean it was for an apartment in downtown Manhattan. 

You had dreams of him, vivid dreams. You swore you could feel fingers on your cheek the next morning. 

It’s when you walked in to the scent of flowers and found a bouquet of your favorite in the kitchen that you truly lost it. It took everything in you not to pick it up and smash the glass vase against the wall. There was no note, but just the fact that now, he wasn’t being so subtle about him breaking and entering, made your heart bash wildly against your ribs. 

But you knew what he was doing. He was trying to get to you without the others knowing. He’d surely scourged the place for microphones or cameras, just like you’d done two years ago, and found none. He knew the Avengers, or anybody watching, wouldn’t know he’d been here. And just the fact that you’d told no one about the mysterious repairs in your flat meant everything for him.

You turned, flowers at your back. The shadows seemed to be smiling. They knew he was here. 

You were older now, wiser. You knew how to play his little games.

“I’m not afraid,” you said to the dark. The curtains had been drawn in the living room, you noticed, as you made your way there. He’d wanted this to be done in private. 

“I know you’re here,” you continued, inching to the windows, intent on pulling them back to shed some moonlight in your apartment. “You can... you can talk to me,” you whispered, heart heavy and harsh in your ribs. Your hands had begun to shake the closer you got to the curtains. 

When you wrenched them open, exposing the city beneath you, you could barely take your eyes off the horizon.

Because you saw it.

The flicker.

His face there and then not, your heart wrenching in your chest, causing an audible gasp from your lips to echo in the room.

You felt the heat of him at your back. “I thought you were unafraid?” he asked, his voice rumbling, something vicious seizing your insides with a hot grip. 

Something akin to a puzzle piece clicked back into place at the sound of his voice. You could breathe lighter now, see colors more vividly, hear the world around you clearly. All this time, you’d suffocated, been drowning, and now you weren’t.

“I’m not,” you answered, but neither you nor he missed the way your voice trembled.

You felt the warmth of his hand on your hip, saw the reflection of him flicker in the window as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the space beneath your ear. Fire lit everywhere on your flesh as he brought himself flush with you. 

He inhaled. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, the sound of it vibrating in your bones. 

“Where...” you licked your lips and restarted. “Where have you been?”

His other hand braced just under your throat, long fingers seeping warmth through the fabric of your t-shirt. 

“Away,” he mumbled. He slid his hand from your hip to the sliver of skin under the hem of your t-shirt and you hummed involuntarily. His touch was like no other’s. “You’re so soft,” he mumbled. 

You tried not to forget that he’d left you there on the floor two years ago, but the way his body fit against yours made any logical thought seep from your brain.

“I’ve dreamt of you for so long,” he drawled, making it seem as if you’d been separated for an eternity. “I’ve dreamt of your eyes. Your voice. The way your body fits right onto mine.” He shifted slightly, pressing you harshly against him. “I’ve not the heart to take another woman to bed. I want it to be you.”

His words sent a strange heat dripping down into your belly, heavy and wanting. Your mouth parted, and the hand Loki had against your chest slipped up until his thumb pressed against your mouth. “How sweet of you,” you said against his thumb. 

He chuckled lowly. “I can show you sweet,” he said.

“I rather you practice restraint,” you mumbled, even though deep down, you meant none of it.

He chuckled again, shaking his head, lowering his hand back so it lay lightly around your throat. Then his chuckle turned into a groan, his force deepening. “Y/n,” but now his voice was pleading, like a man who’d been deprived of everything. “Please. I’ve thought of you all this time. Don’t push me away. Not you.”

The last part made you frown, but you nonetheless pushed from him, turning to face him. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes, his face ashen as if he hadn’t slept in a millennia. His hair was slightly longer, curling along his jaw, hiding his ears. He wore a white t-shirt and black slacks, but he was cold as you pressed your fingers against his shoulders. 

“Okay,” you whispered. You tried not to maintain eye contact because the haunted look in his green eyes made you sick. 

He bent forward slightly, grasping your face between his huge, warm hands. The first brush of his lips was soft, sending butterflies scuttling across your belly. But then he gripped your face, bringing you to him, and kissed you like he was a starving man and you were his reprieve. 

A strangled moan left his throat, his lips molding to yours, driving you backwards until your spine hit the window. One hand went to the glass to soften your fall, but he didn’t let up his rhythm. You could barely keep up anyway.

He kept kissing you so harshly, delving his tongue between your teeth, angling your head back to kiss you deeply, that every rational thought in you just went to dust. 

You gripped his back, marveling at the strong muscle, bringing him flush against you. One hand went to his hair, knotting in the raven locks, tugging until you swore you’d hurt him. But he kept kissing you, hands venturing to your hips, sliding over your ass, gripping your thighs and hauling you up. 

On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his arousal just where you wanted him, and he spun you away from the window. How he moved with such eloquence as he devoured your mouth befuddled you, but when your ass found the countertop and Loki pressed himself between your legs, your brain fizzled. A whole jar of butterflies now flew in your belly. 

He broke from the kiss momentarily to grasp your breasts, kneading them in his hands, marveling at the sight. 

“Restraint, Loki,” you mumbled breathlessly, lips swollen. 

One of his brows furrowed, but he went right back to kiss you, holding your tits in his hands, then moving to grip your thighs with such strength it should have hurt. 

“I can’t stop,” he breathed between kisses, holding the back of your head. “I want you. I want you so fucking bad.”

You squeezed your eyes shut harshly, ignoring the red alarms in your head. Because it was him. Because it was him, always him, and now that he was here, touching you almost everywhere, his scent invading your senses, you never wanted him to go. 

He pulled your head back and kissed down your neck, over the swell of your breast, taking one nipple lightly between his teeth. A gurgled moan left your throat, Loki holding your head back, exposing everything to him. 

“No bra?” he grumbled against your skin, his tongue soothing the ache on your nipple. 

You just breathed in response, your legs clenching against his arms. 

He chuckled against your body. His left hand, the free one, slid down the length of your chest until he took one finger to lightly circle you through your pants. 

You gasped, jolting in his grasp, his mouth possessively clamping shut on your nipple. 

“Eager,” he hummed. He was so warm, smelled so fucking good, that the second time he applied pressure and circled his fingers, you all but moaned for everyone to hear. He teased you some more, licking and pleasing you all through your clothing.

Then his mouth left your hardened nipple and traveled up to your ear, where the warmth of his breath made you shiver. “If I can do this to you,” he whispered, circling your core through your pants. “Imagine how it’ll feel when I fuck you.”

His words made you want to clench your thighs together, to keep the heat and pressure there, but his body was still between your legs. He chuckled, biting your neck, hard, knowing it would leave a mark. He yanked your head forward until your eyes met his.

“I can feel just how much you want me,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “I can smell it.”

You rocked once against his hand, eliciting a groan from him as your thigh briefly brushed him through his pants. He was hard. Wanting. The hand behind your hand squeezed until it hurt, but when he soothed his tongue against your neck, circling your clit, you lost yourself in him again. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, chanting your name like a prayer. You were almost there and you couldn’t believe it. You rocked against his hand, biting your lip, and when he saw that, he brought your mouth into a breathtaking kiss. “Cum against me,” he said through each kiss. “Cum.” It was a command. 

You squeezed your eyes, grinding against his circling hand, and when he licked your neck, you all but came apart with a moan. Loki quickly kissed you, swallowing your sounds of pleasure as he slowly, leisurely circled you through your pants. Your legs shaking, you trembled against him until his fingers stopped and he brought his forehead to yours. 

“Run away with me,” he whispered. “Let me ravage you every night, y/n, please.”

Lost in the dizzying aftermath of your orgasm, all you could do was breathe, eyes closed. You fisted one hand in his shirt, feeling his heart beating savagely under his breastbone. 

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

“No,” you said.

AAAAHHHH omg i was so shy writing that little smutty part lmaooo BUT YES MORE TO COME OOOOHHHH (you will get a whole smut scene soon, let me get used to writing smut again hihihihi)

tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor @winchescumberholland

[cherienymphe]

xoxo (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, roofie use, Stark!Peter, snobby rich people, Peter’s an ass (I believe @opheliadawnwalker3 coined the term “baby Ransom”)

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: Peter Stark, the adopted son of the playboy philanthropist Tony Stark, has been a pain in your ass for years. Ever the womanizer, you always brushed off his flirtatious behavior as part of his personality, unaware of just how deeply his feelings ran.

You leaned against the bar with a grimace, nursing the strong drink in your hand as the annoying sound of high-pitched laughs and fake compliments drifted up from downstairs, swirling around you. You glanced over your shoulder to look down at the rest of the guests before rolling your eyes at this soiree that was nothing more than a pissing contest for the rich and snooty.

You truly hated being the daughter of a wealthy CEO more often than not. You’d grown up with the kind of lifestyle that more than half the world would never taste, ignorant to not only reality, but the true inner workings of the business that funded your lifestyle. It wasn’t until your junior year of high school when the rug was ripped out from underneath you, exposing the dark truth.

Now, you detested everything about this lifestyle. From the preferential treatment to the fancy parties, you hated everything that came with it. Despite the fact that you were an adult now, your father still had an iron grip on you no matter how much you pretended he didn’t. It was why instead of going on a humanitarian trip with some friends from college for winter break, you were back in the big apple, the upper east side to be exact, surrounded by a bunch of brownnosers.

“Another please,” you murmured, setting your empty glass down onto the bar.

The bartender was quick in giving you a refill, but before the glass met your lips, a finger slid in between to gently push it away. A sigh escaped you before you even turned your head, the familiar smell of his cologne reaching your nose.

“You’re always off by yourself at these little gatherings…”

You turned towards the voice, eyes meeting his dark ones as a playful smirk danced along his pink lips. His brown hair was neatly pushed away from his face, suit fitting him to perfection. He looked so put together and very much like a gentleman. Too bad that you knew better.

“Someone like me might take it as an invitation to approach you.”

You fully turned in your seat, leaning your elbow on the bar to gaze at him, unimpressed, cheek resting on your hand. He too was leaning on the bar, signaling for the bartender to get him a drink, already sliding into the seat in front of you. You could’ve protested, but he wouldn’t listen anyway.

Peter Stark was the bane of your existence. Adopted by the great Tony Stark when he was just a toddler, a big ordeal that made the papers apparently, the dark-haired male grew up in the same environment you did. The same circles. You went to the best schools together, often times having the same batch of friends. He always had the teachers and just about every other adult fooled, but everyone else knew better.

Peter’s charm was notorious. Those soft brown eyes and boyish good looks could have any girl swooning at his feet. He was so good that most girls didn’t even mind being one of the many. As long as they were a number, they didn’t care. Let them tell it, he had a way of making every single one of them feel special. You probably would’ve been one of them had you not seen his behavior firsthand all those years ago. How he’d tell one girl one thing and say something completely different to the next.

Peter’s constant flirtations with you and your absolute refusal to ever even entertain him had made your relationship…interesting. Could you even call yourselves friends? He flirted with you, and you rolled your eyes at his antics. That was the gist of it. His behavior had only gotten worse once you’d denounced this lifestyle the minute you left for college, a non-Ivy League college at that.

You remembered the surprise you felt that Peter had seemed to be genuinely upset with the 180 you’d done with your lifestyle. You had rolled your eyes as he’d called you all sorts of ‘wannabe’ this and ‘wannabe’ that, biting your tongue as he insulted your ‘low rate school’. Even now, after a little over 2 years, he still sneered whenever he brought up your new life.

“Color me shocked you even showed up today. Last I heard you were going to build houses for children,” he said, nursing his drink.

You smirked at him, fighting back a laugh.

“Last you heard? Keeping tabs on me, Stark?”

He returned your smirk, dark eyes trailing over you, gaze lingering on whatever skin your short dress exposed. You weren’t fazed by his conspicuous onceover, more than used to it.

“Of course. I have to make sure my best girl stays out of trouble,” he told you, leaning in.

You scoffed, looking away from him as you downed your drink.

“Your best girl,” you dryly repeated, standing. “Yeah, okay.”

Peter hurried to stand with you, whistling at the bartender as you walked away. It wasn’t long before you felt his arm being thrown over your shoulder as he pulled you against him. He waved an expensive bottle of champagne in your face as he walked down the hall with you.

“You may have switched up and hate me now-.”

“I’ve always hated you,” you deadpanned.

“…but you can’t deny that I know how to throw a party within a party,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “Ned and I are having a little get together in the penthouse suite.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you sighed as you thought about how angry you’d been to be forced back home for the break instead of doing what you wanted to do. You could honestly use the distraction, at least for a little while until you had to be in your father’s presence again. You sighed again, and by the grin on Peter’s lips, you knew that he knew that he had you.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you said with a flourish.

His grin widened, and he pulled you closer as he took you to the elevator. You leaned against the mirrored wall once inside, staring at your reflection with a frown.

“You shouldn’t frown so much,” he said, pressing the button. “It’ll give you premature wrinkles.”

“Why are you so concerned with how I age?”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, approaching you as he swung the bottle of champagne in his hand.

“I want you to age as gracefully as me when we get married,” he teased, pressing his free hand onto the wall beside your head.

You laughed, shaking your head.

“I’d never marry you, and you… Well, you’d never get married,” you said with a shrug, shaking your head.

His grin dimmed a bit as his eyes met yours.

“I’d marry you,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, head leaning back against the wall as he moved closer, pressing his forearm to the wall, face suddenly serious as he eyed you. It was his turn to sigh now, the sound heavy and drawn out.

“When…are you and I finally going to get together?” he slowly asked, voice low in the quiet elevator.

Your eyes widened just a tad, nose brushing his as he leaned in. Peter hadn’t asked you that for some time now. It was a recurring question of his that you always brushed off, and even though this time was no different, something in his voice made you blink. There was a yearning that had never been there before. Something new lingering in his eyes.

You laid your hand on his chest, pushing him away, and he let you.

“Seriously, Peter? You know the answer to that question,” you said.

He huffed, his grin returning as he shook your rejection off.

“You know I always have to ask…just in case you change your mind,” he replied, quickly scanning your frame.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted behind him, the low hum of a small party reaching your ears.

“I’m never going to change my mind.”

Without a second glance, you brushed past him to exit the elevator.

“You need to start getting serious about your future, Y/N.”

You stared out of the tinted window, watching the city fly by as your father’s car weaved in and out of traffic. He was giving you yet another lecture on what he thought you should be doing with your future. After all, it wasn’t like you had already decided on a major and knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life, so you could understand his- oh. Wait… You had!

“Dad,” you sighed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Humanities isn’t a real major,” he argued for the umpteenth time, tone laced with contempt.

You cut in before he could continue.

“First of all, it is. Second of all, it’s my minor-.”

“Oh, of course. How silly of me to forget that- what is it? International relations? That’s the major, right?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ll never understand you kids. So fickle with your goals-.”

“Dad, I’ve had the same plan since before I even went to college. You can’t call it fickle just because at 17 I told you I didn’t want to follow in your footsteps. I’ve known what I wanted since then. Its literally the opposite of fickle,” you huffed.

You heard him sigh.

“I don’t understand what happened here, Y/N. I really don’t. Ever since you were little, you wanted to follow in my footsteps-.”

“…and now I don’t. Things happen,” you told him. “I don’t want anything to do with this lifestyle.”

You’d told him this a hundred times. You were so tired of having the same discussion, and you knew that he was too.

“Why can’t you be more like Peter?”

You frowned, finally looking over at him. This was a new tactic. The older man had his eyes focused on the paper as he continued to speak.

“He’s following behind Tony swimmingly, a real successor in the making,” he praised.

You fought the urge to groan and sink down in your seat like a child. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your father would be comparing you to Peter Stark of all people.

“You’re comparing me to Peter now?” you scoffed.

The paper ruffled as he turned it, humming.

“I’m just noting that the two of you came up together, but you somehow deviated so far off track.”

“Well, since you love Peter so much, just pass the company onto him when the time comes. God knows he’ll appreciate it way more than I will,” you grumbled.

Your father hummed at that.

“I actually have hopes that, in some way, the company will be his one day,” he replied.

Your brows furrowed, confusion filling you as you fought to understand what he meant. Your father’s eyes finally met yours, a serious look on his face.

“Peter’s exactly the kind of man you should be considering when you finally get ready to get married.”

Shock poured over you like a bucket of ice water, his words having been the last thing you expected to hear. Marriage? Peter? You blinked a few times, fighting to clear your head enough to articulate what you were thinking.

“You…you can’t be serious…?”

He fixed you with a stern look.

“As a heart attack. What is there to oppose? Peter is young and handsome and well brought up. He’ll be taking over after Tony one day, and you really can’t do much better than that. Unless you’re aiming to be the next Meghan Markle, but no offense sweetheart, you don’t strike me as the type,” he elaborated.

You pressed your hand to your forehead as your mind spun.

“I’m not telling you to marry him or anything. I’d never go so far to participate in something as archaic as an arranged marriage. I’m just telling you to consider it. He’s a good match for you, and I’d like you to be open to it…”

You couldn’t begin to believe how sharply this morning had turned.

“It’s why you’ll be seeing a lot more of him over the break. Just keep it in mind when we meet with them,” he said.

He must have noted the confusion on your face because he continued.

“We’re meeting them for brunch. Tony wants to run his latest idea by me, and we figured it would give you and Peter more time to catch up,” he explained.

The car had finally stopped just as he finished, and you didn’t have time to process anything before you were being ushered out of the car. The brisk air whipped around you as you followed your father into the fancy restaurant.

Your father wanted you to marry Peter? The idea was so absurd that you actually considered the possibility that your father was playing a joke on you. You felt like you were having an out of body experience as you and your father sat down, you across from Peter. As always, he looked absolutely tickled to see you, while you simply returned his grin with a withering stare.

Brunch was a taxing affair. Tony Stark greeted you as politely as he always did before he and your father got right down to business. That left you and Peter with no one but each other to look at. You did your best to ignore the annoying brunette sitting across from you, barely speaking with him no matter how many times he tried to engage you in conversation.

You supposed that your behavior towards Peter was a bit unfair. After all, it wasn’t his fault that your father wanted you to marry him. Although, as you thought back to your conversation in the elevator the other day, you had to wonder if he knew, or at the very least, had some idea. And that was exactly what you asked him once you were alone.

Your father and Tony had gone back to Tony’s office in a hurry to remedy some oversight that had been missed. You’d been left with your father’s car and driver, and you eyed Peter, waiting for his answer, as you made your way outside.

“Not really, no.”

You slid into the backseat, thanking the driver before scooting as far away from Peter as possible as he joined you.

“Not really or no? Those are two different answers,” you told him.

A smirk danced along his lips as he leaned his head back, turning it ever so slightly to gaze at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I had an idea. The great Mr. Y/L/N never came outright and said it, but little things he’d say here and there started to add up,” he explained with a chuckle.

He apparently found this funny while you did not. You crossed your arms over your chest, anger bubbling within you at the thought of your father playing matchmaker behind your back. Peter reached for your hand, attempting to pull it away from your chest, but you jerked it away as soon as his fingers brushed yours. He sucked his teeth.

“Come on. Would marrying me really be so bad?”

You turned to fully face him, not a hint of humor on your face.

“Yes,” you answered, voice steady with conviction.

He simply rolled his eyes, lips twitching, and you shook your head with a scoff.

“Is your father in on this too? God, I bet Tony Stark is just eating this up,” you complained.

The tone of Peter’s chuckle gave you pause, and you eyed him as he grinned at you.

“Quite the opposite actually…”

You frowned, and God help you, because you found yourself…offended.

“He thinks I’m not good enough for you or something?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

You didn’t want to marry Peter, but you knew that you were more than good enough for a guy like him. The truth was that Peter wasn’t good enough for you. He shook his head, picking at a piece of lint on your shoulder as he hummed.

“No actually. In fact, he’d dare say that you are out of my league, and I’d be forced to agree,” he told you with a shrug. “He thinks you’re too much of a ‘wild card’.”

Now it was your turn to chuckle, nodding as you understood what that meant.

“I see. So he wants you to marry a meek and submissive little thing who will do everything you say and conform to the Stark image. Got it,” you replied with a smirk.

He returned it, finger trailing along your collarbone now as he eyed you.

“He thinks that you march to the beat of your own drum…and you do…,” he said, smirk growing as his gaze met yours. “…but I think I can handle you just fine.”

You slapped his hand away, disgust filling you just as the car stopped.

“We’re at your place. Get out,” you sneered, looking away from him.

“Care to join me? No one’s home…we’ll have the whole place to ourselves…”

You opted for ignoring him and the way his voice lowered, the hidden meaning in his question loud and clear. When some time passed, he finally sighed, and you heard the car door open. When it didn’t close, you turned to see Peter standing outside, one hand pressed onto the top of the car door while the other rested on the hood of the car as he leaned down.

A dark strand fell out of place and brushed along his forehead, dark eyes somehow darker as he trailed them over your tense form. His smirk slowly fell, and you blinked at the less than humorous expression on his face. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d seen Peter so serious.

“You really shouldn’t try so hard to show your dislike for me…”

You frowned at him, and the corner of his mouth curved upwards just a tad.

“…someone might think you’re playing hard to get.”

Before you could process that, he’d closed the door. He didn’t go inside right away, instead opting for standing on the curb to watch your father’s car drive away.

When your father said that you’d be seeing a lot more of Peter over the break, you underestimated just how determined the old man was to get you and the Stark heir together. Every innocent gathering turned into a run-in with Tony and his wife, Pepper, and Peter. Whether it was brunch or dinner or a shopping trip. Hell, even an innocent day at the park had you coming face to face with who you now liked to refer to as ‘the pain in your ass’.

Had you known that this is what your winter break would entail, you would have fought tooth and nail with your father on it. You felt like this was such a waste of time, one big joke that you’d walked into and you were the punchline. You had no idea how much worse it could get.

You were currently in the hallway of the home that belonged to none other than the Starks. You were killing time by fleetingly looking at the artwork that was hung up on the dark walls, a half empty glass of some brown liquor in your hand. You could hear the voices of Tony, Pepper, and your father drifting to you from the lounge, and you rolled your eyes.

When your father had told you that you’d be joining them for dinner, you thought it’d be in their apartment in the city. Some place that you could easily escape if need be. You never would have agreed if you’d known you’d be in upstate New York hours later, conversing with them in one of their many secluded vacation houses. Dinner was long over, and you had no desire to be privy to anymore of their business talk. Peter had scurried off to only God knows where, and you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Perhaps you should have.

Your mood soured even further as you felt an arm slide over your shoulders to curl around your neck, pulling you back into a firm chest. Peter hummed, and you sighed. The story of your lives.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he wondered, gesturing to the painting. “I picked it out. I thought it would brighten the place up a bit.”

You threw his arm off of you, and he chuckled.

“Don’t look so glum, Y/N. The grownups are knee deep into stock market talk, which means they won’t even think about us for another hour at the least…”

You looked to the ceiling as he slipped an arm around your waist, praying for some higher power to strike you down. Or him. You’d be happy either way.

“Surely we can find some way to keep ourselves occupied,” he murmured.

You turned to face him and turned your head again just in time for his lips to brush the skin of your cheek. You pushed yourself away from him with a frown, backing up until your back rested against the opposite wall.

“Whatever happened to MJ?” you suddenly asked him, a faint smile on your lips as you took a sip of your drink.

Peter smirked, leaning against the other wall as he stared you down, raising an eyebrow at you, dark suit hugging him nicely.

“Keeping tabs on me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hardly,” you snorted. “My father likes to bring up you and your personal life every chance he gets. Of course, now I know why. I was shocked to find out that you had a girl in your life who stuck around for more than two months.”

“She was too much like you,” he dismissively said. “She wanted to travel and see the world and make a difference. There’s only room for one girl like that in my life. Anything more, and things would start to get a little…dull.”

You hummed, pushing away from the wall to walk past him. Peter followed, and your mind spun.

“What exactly are you going to do when I finally meet a nice guy to get serious with? Surely, this behavior can’t go on forever, Peter,” you wondered.

He grabbed your elbow and gently pushed you into the wall. His other hand was beside your head, dark eyes narrowed and inquiring. You sharply inhaled, unintentionally breathing in the scent of him, and you blinked.

“What nice guy could you possibly meet at that sad excuse of a school you call-?”

“I don’t know how to break it to you that an Ivy League education isn’t exactly the picture of intelligence you think it is,” you sneered at him.

His own face grew taut as he glared at you, tilting his head to the side.

“Is that why you turned down your acceptance to Princeton? To prove some silly point?”

“For your information, Peter, I turned down my acceptance because I learned that the main reason I got in was because of my father.”

“So what? What is the point of our parents working their asses off for years if not to give us the opportunities they didn’t have growing up? When are you going to drop this holier-than-thou wannabe Mother Teresa act?”

“It’s not an act,” you spat, shoving him away from you. “This world? This way of life and everything that comes with it? I hate it. I despise everything about it. Its sickening that we live like we do while people down the street struggle to keep a roof over their heads. What is it to you, anyway?”

Peter ran his hand through his hair, huffing as he stared you down.

“You and me?” he started, gesturing between the two of you, his other hand on his hip. “We could’ve been unstoppable together. We were supposed to go to Princeton together. We were supposed to leave our mark on that campus together, create a legacy, and make a name for ourselves on our own, and instead I’m doing that by myself while you go off galivanting down south-.”

“Is that what this is about?” you demanded, incredulity filling your voice. “…some fantasy in your mind that we’d be some power couple who’d go on to take over after our fathers and rule the upper east side? Seriously? That’s a new one, even for you.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he glared at you, nostrils flaring as he ran his eyes over you with the nastiest look you’d ever seen on his boyish face.

“You can run all you like…reinvent yourself all you want…”

His voice lowered as he approached you, and you stood your ground, glowering at him.

“…but you will never escape this life,” he threw at you, and you flinched at his harsh tone.

“That may be true…but I can still try,” you whispered.

The corner of his lips lifted into a mocking smirk.

“Try all you want. Hell, jump into a relationship with the next guy you have some anthropology project with for all I care. We both know that the only guy to give you the life you deserve…to give you what you need…”

He reached to fix a stray hair that had come out of place, smirk smug and eyes smugger.

“…is a guy like me.”

You stumbled away from him with a frown, arms folded over your chest.

“Screw you, Peter.”

You turned away from him to go find your father.

Peter had always been an annoying thorn in your side, but his behavior tonight had reached new heights. It amazed you, really, how far he was willing to go just to finally get you into bed. He had never had any problem being an asshole, but there was a shift in him tonight. His tone was harsher, words meaner, eyes just a tad bit icier than normal. In fact, it almost seemed like it wasn’t his usual cruel teasing.

When you finally neared the lounge, you frowned at the words that reached you.

“She’ll probably be a bit bitter about it at first, but I’m sure Y/N will grow to love it. This will be an amazing opportunity for her.”

You recognized your father’s voice, and you slowed just before finally entering, listening in.

“I was surprised to hear that she’s transferring, which is why I had never initially considered her for the internship. I was under the impression that she wouldn’t be here to do it.”

Your frown deepened at Tony Stark’s words, a sinking feeling in your gut, and although you wanted to hear more, something in you prevented you from staying still and doing so. You stepped into the lounge, greeting them all with a smile before resting your gaze on your father.

“I hate to cut the evening short, but I’m feeling a bit ill,” you lied.

Perhaps it wasn’t a complete lie. Peter’s harsh words didn’t exactly leave you feeling the best, but your father believed you anyway. The two of you said your goodbyes to the Starks, even Peter who had slithered his way into the foyer eventually. He’d sent you off with that stupid smirk on his face, and it took everything in you to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The ride home was quiet. Your mind was too stuck on the snippet of conversation that you’d heard. You knew that it was about you, that much you had heard, but the talk about internships and transferring had you confused. Again, there was that sinking feeling in your gut, and it wouldn’t go away. You wanted to bring it up to your father, but he’d spent the entire next day in the office.

Your paranoia got the best of you though, and the next evening, you found yourself in his study, mind going a mile a minute as you poured over the papers you found. Shock coursed through you at every reveal, hands shaking and heart sinking in disbelief. That was how your father found you that night, perched in his desk chair, tearful eyes glaring up at him as he walked through the door. He sighed as soon as his eyes landed on the papers scattered all over his desk.

“Tell me this isn’t true,” you quietly pleaded.

You knew that it had to be, but you needed to hear him say it.

“You’ll be going to Princeton for your senior year. All of the paper work has been done and whatever needs to be transferred has been transferred,” he breathed, stepping into the room.

You shook your head in disbelief, tears spilling over. You were shocked to find yourself…shocked. You knew that your father didn’t approve of your new lifestyle and your plans for your future. You knew that it ran deep, and yet it had never occurred to you that he’d do something about it. You had foolishly thought that he’d let you make your own decisions.

This was the main reason you hated this world you were born into. The things that people could buy, could do, if they had enough money to do so scared you. It shouldn’t be allowed.

“…and the internship?”

You didn’t even care that you had revealed yourself to be eavesdropping last night. Your father stepped further into his study.

“You’ll be interning with Stark Industries immediately after graduation…”

You were out of his chair and stomping out of his office before he could even finish. He didn’t even call for you to come back, and why would he? His word was law. You both knew that this was going to happen, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The night air was cold, and you wished you’d grabbed a thicker coat before stepping outside. After all, the only thing you had on underneath was a flimsy dress. You’d had plans to meet up with some old friends from high school tonight after your talk with your father, but you had never imagined that the talk would reveal this.

A lot of people were out in the city. It was a Friday night, after all. There was some light snow falling, but you could hardly even see it because the tears had finally spilled over. You couldn’t remember a time where you were so angry that you’d cried. You were grateful to be in New York of all places, right now, because a girl crying on the sidewalk was the most normal thing someone would probably see.

You crossed the street to a less crowded sidewalk, still trying to wrap your head around what your father had done, when a sleek black limo slowed beside you. You wouldn’t have thought anything of it had the window not rolled down to reveal none other than Peter.

“Are you drunk?” was the first thing he asked you.

Fed up with this night and having no patience for Peter Stark and all of his glory, you sneered at him.

“No,” you snapped.

You huffed when the limo rolled slowly along the street in time with your steps. Peter called to you, but you ignored him. What was he even doing out, right now? It was a Friday night. Shouldn’t he be at someone’s party participating in at least 2 illegal activities?

You sped up when you heard his door slam shut, but you weren’t quick enough. His firm hands grabbed you and turned you to face him, shaking you just a little as he ran his eyes over you, gaze lingering on your tearful one.

“Hey…”

“Go away, Peter,” you said, fighting to get out of his grip.

His hold tightened, and he stepped closer.

“It’s late. Why are you out here on the street like this? What happened?”

You snatched one arm out of his hold and shoved yourself away from him.

“Did you know?”

His brows furrowed, frowning slightly at your question. His cheeks were red from the cold, giving him a cherubic aura that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. Did you know that my father was getting me transferred to Princeton behind my back? That I’m supposed to be interning with your father as soon as I graduate?”

You registered the shock on his face, and he slowly shook his head, thrown by what you’d told him.

“No,” he softly said.

You crossed your arms over your chest, more tears falling.

“If I had known…I would’ve told you, Y/N.”

“Would you?” you scoffed.

His face hardened at your insinuation, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, I would have. Look, I may hate this 180 that you’ve done with your life just as much as your father, but even I know that you’re going to do what you want anyway. You always have.”

He whispered the last part, and your gaze reluctantly met his. He pursed his lips, running his eyes over you as he reached for you.

“Where are you headed?” he wondered.

It hit you that you hadn’t really had a destination in mind. Your eyes widened, and you were sure that the panic and confusion was written all over your face. You shrugged, a few tears escaping.

“I…I don’t know,” you pathetically answered.

Peter softly sighed, pulling you towards the limo.

“Well, I was on my way to a party-.”

He cut himself off as you started to shake your head. You didn’t know where you wanted to go, but you knew that a party was not it. He pulled on your jacket, and you stumbled towards him in your heels.

“Hey,” he softly said when your eyes started to stray, and you looked at him. “I’ve got a couple of bottles of champagne in the limo, a full tank of gas, and a driver who’s getting paid by the minute. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”

You glanced away, thinking it over. You couldn’t stomach the thought of being near your father right now, and although Peter had shaken you last night, in the end, it was just him being his usual self. Your uneasiness from his words last night you wrote off to sensitivity and overthinking. You suddenly let out a humorless chuckle.

“You promise to get me really, really drunk?” you teased.

You were joking, but you honestly didn’t want to even remember your conversation with your father right now. That familiar smirk of his graced his lips as he threw an arm over your shoulder, guiding you towards the car.

“I promise to get you anything you want,” he purred.

The inside was warm, and you had almost forgotten how roomy limos could be. The L-shaped seating could easily fit 4 more people. True to Peter’s words, there was indeed two bottles of champagne on ice, and he reached for one as soon as the vehicle continued down the dark street.

You leaned your head against the window as he popped it open, getting you a glass. You felt defeated, and you were sure your face showed it as you took the offered drink from him.

“So what are you gonna do?”

You shook your head at Peter’s question.

“What can I do, Peter?” you quietly wondered with a shrug. “I mean… If my father is willing to go this far to get me where he wants me to be…? What’s stopping him from doing so again and again and again?”

Peter leaned back in his seat, eyeing you as you sipped on the bubbly alcohol.

“I’ll never be free of him,” you said, more to yourself than Peter. “God, he really is going to get everything he wants. Looks like I’ll be seeing you in 3 years at our engagement party, after all.”

Peter slid along the seat to get closer to you, rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” he dragged out. “Would marrying me really be so bad?”

You almost choked on your drink, and you incredulously eyed him.

“We’ve been over this before, and the answer is yes. That’s if we can even get you to walk down the aisle.”

Peter sighed, sitting his drink down.

“I would marry you,” he argued, looking at you.

“Come on, Peter. You’re just saying that!”

You took another sip, thankful for the liquid courage.

“It’s all a game to you. It always has been. The minute you finally get with me, it’ll be over. Hell…,” you said, thinking. “…maybe I should sleep with you so you’ll finally leave me alone.”

Peter laughed, resting his arm behind you on the back of the seat.

“If I had you, I’d never leave you alone,” he replied, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you barked a laugh. “Okay…”

“I’m serious,” he said, tone matching his words, and you fought to hold his intense gaze. “When are we finally going to get together?”

You glanced away.

“You’ve asked me this probably a hundred times, and the answer is always the same,” you murmured.

“When are we finally going to stop playing this game?”

Your eyes met his again, brows furrowed.

“I wasn’t aware that we were playing a game-.”

“I want you,” he whispered so quietly that you weren’t sure you heard him right. “You know that, Y/N. I’ve always wanted you.”

There was a frown on his face, and you swallowed.

“You want everyone,” you quietly replied, suddenly feeling very odd.

You scooted away from him just a tad, but he followed.

“When I have you, Y/N, I won’t treat you like those other girls,” he told you.

“Ha! How reassuring,” you sarcastically replied.

His hand rested on your arm, and you squirmed, head feeling a bit light.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, hand trailing upwards to brush along your shoulder before resting on your neck. “You’re my best girl…”

You blinked at him with a frown, and he tilted his head at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why would I treat my best girl like the rest?”

You shook your head, moving away from him some more.

“Maybe…maybe I should just go home after all. I’m not feeling so good, right now,” you told him, alarmed at how slurred your words were.

You watched as Peter reached to take another sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” he calmly said, taking your drink from your trembling fingers and setting it aside. “That would probably be the Rohypnol.”

You slowly blinked at him, trying to clear the fuzz from your head as you processed his words. Did he just say…Rohypnol? As in…?

“Roofie is the common term, also known as the date-rape drug.”

Your mouth felt dry, and you felt like you weren’t sliding away from him fast enough.

“Peter, this…this is a joke, right? You’re kidding…?”

He snorted, and even without his confirmation, you knew that he wasn’t kidding. Your head had been spinning for minutes now.

“Come on, Y/N. When have you ever known me to be a huge comedian?”

You fell against the door as you tried the handle, but it was locked, and that was when you really started to panic.

“Y/N.”

You ignored Peter as he called your name, opting instead for hitting against the partition. You heard Peter heave a sigh from behind you before his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you back. Your movements were sluggish and futile, but you fought against him anyway. He pulled you down onto his lap as he leaned back into the seat.

“Peter…”

Your words died in your throat as his hands clasped around the back of your neck, pulling you down until his lips met yours. The kiss was hungry, Peter a man starved as he moaned into your mouth. He was panting when he pulled away, chest heaving before he kissed you again.

Your hands were pressed against his chest, trying in vain to push yourself away from him. You gasped against his lips, heart stuttering when he flipped you, your frame now between his and the seat. He settled against you easily, fitting perfectly in between your legs as his fingers danced over you.

The buttons of your coat flew as he yanked it open, and you shivered. Peter paid no mind, running his hands over your exposed skin before sliding them under your dress. You felt like you were barely hanging onto consciousness, not even realizing when Peter had started to drag your underwear down your legs until they were already to your ankles.

You feebly kicked against him, but he simply grabbed your legs, spreading them to settle in between them once more. You could feel him hot and hard through his pants, and more tears kissed your eyes. How on earth had you missed this? You cursed yourself for not taking his behavior more seriously. For not listening to yourself last night.

Confident that you could not fight him off, one of his hands worked between your legs while the other worked to release himself. He was right to be confident, because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get your arms to work right. You felt like you were underwater, weighed down by sand.

“Peter,” you quietly pleaded again, and he shushed you.

You squirmed beneath him as he pushed his fingers in and out of you, hating how easy it was because of how wet you were. He pressed his mouth against yours, forcing his tongue past your lips, and you trembled as you felt him line himself up with your entrance.

A high-pitched yelp left you as he filled you with one thrust. The moan that climbed out of his throat was low and long, and he cursed as you clenched around him. Your hand pressed against the back of the seat as he pulled back before snapping his hips into you again.

“You feel so good,” he groaned into your mouth.

One arm locked around your waist as he pulled you both into a sitting position, his throbbing cock still inside of you as he held you onto his lap. You pushed against him, but your arms buckled when he lifted his hips up into you.

You whimpered, falling against him, and both of his hands fell to grip your waist, tightly holding you as he fucked you. Your body couldn’t support itself, and you sagged against him, forehead pressing against his as your eyelashes fluttered. Your jacket was barely hanging onto you, and with one hand, he pulled it all the way off. He gripped the bottom of your sequined dress before bunching it around your hips.

You tried to push yourself up, push yourself off of him, but not only was his hold firm, your body was too under the influence of the drug he’d given you. You pathetically whimpered as you fell against him again, a sob caught in your chest. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck, the strap of your dress falling, and you shuddered.

He pulled you into another kiss, the taste of your salty tears seeping into your mouth. Your head was light, mind spinning with the pleasure being forced onto you. You pressed your hand against the seat, attempting to push yourself away again when Peter spun you both, your back connecting with the seat as he laid you down, his clothed hips slapping against yours. He moaned into your mouth as you fluttered around him, and with a start, you realized that despite your unwillingness, an orgasm was creeping up on you.

Both of his hands rested on your cheeks as he kissed you again and again. His dark hair was falling into his forehead, sweat coating the strands, and your skin fared no better. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt your stomach clenching, shamed and disgust coursing through you.

“Look at me,” Peter quietly demanded.

You shook your head but yelped when one of his hands reached to pinch your nipple through your dress. You peeled your eyes open, tears blurring your vision, but your gaze met his all the same.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured just as you clenched around him with a choked moan.

Your climax triggered his own, and he pushed into you a few more times before falling against you with a groan. You were both sweating and panting, and you felt the flames of sleep licking at the corners of your vision.

There was so much that you wanted to say to Peter, to scream at him, but you couldn’t form the words. You could only lay there as he kissed you again before pulling out of you, leaning back against the seat as he fixed himself. Sleep was just in your grasp, but you were scared to close your eyes. Scared of the man you thought you knew.

He spread his arm over the back of the seat, the other pulling your dress down, that annoying playful smirk dancing along his lips.

“I think a winter wedding would look absolutely beautiful.”

~

tags: @bamposworld @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @buckybarnesplumwhore @harryspet @coconutqueen21 @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @hurricanerin​

[howdoyousleep3]

Need beefy Bucky in a crop top and little Steve being all faux-angry, dragging him towards the bedroom or couch or closest flat surface. "I had shit to do today, Buck. Important shit. And you had to go and pull this on me? Asshole."

💖🥰😘 Tags: Grumpy Morning Steve, Happy Slut Bucky, Affectionate Name Calling, Light Dom/Sub, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Jealously/Possessiveness, Teeny bit of Breathplay

Steve hasn’t even had his coffee yet. He’s standing in the kitchen in nothing but his briefs, pouring it piping hot and steaming into his cup, contemplating adding a pinch of sugar to it, when Bucky walks in from the bedroom in—

Lord have mercy.

Skin, so much skin. Steve’s mouth waters as he openly watches Bucky move around the apartment, from the living room to the kitchen. His black shorts are perfectly decent, sit well above Bucky’s knees, show off his thick thighs gorgeously. It’s his shirt that has Steve filling out his briefs as he leans against the counter.

This shirt is indecent.

It barely covers Bucky’s tits, leaves the majority of his torso open to the eye, and what an eyeful it is. Smooth skin, curving lines of muscle, a yummy and tasteful line of fuzz dipping beneath his shorts at his belly—it has Steve hungry. He wants to sink his teeth and his fingertips into Bucky’s skin and roll around in the breathy noises he knows for a fact would follow.

Steve lets out a low whistle, brings his cup up to his lips, his insides giving an appreciative rumble when he takes note of the rosy tint that graces Bucky’s high cheekbones. He pretends to not hear Steve, moves towards his backpack sitting on the counter.

“Fuckin’ hell, Bear. What’s this?” he asks, voice low given the combination or the early hour and his arousal. His gulp of coffee adds to the warmness in his chest and in his belly.

“What’s what?” Bucky retorts, a smirk playing with his lips that Steve knows Bucky thinks he’s hiding. Transparent tease. When Bucky crosses in front of him, walking to the fridge, Steve grabs for him, a casual yet possessive arm winding around a thick and exposed waist.

“You know what, you slut,” Steve teases softly, pulling Bucky towards where he rests against the counter. Bucky moves like water, easy and fluid, just like he always does for Steve, and when their fronts are pressed together Steve pulls the fabric of his crop top.

“What’s this? This shirt? Who you showin’ off for?”

“No one,” Bucky murmurs, blush spreading prettily across his cheeks, his hands moving to wrap one around the nape of Steve’s neck, one to rest on Steve’s chest. It’s as if he knew Steve was going to grab him in this exact way, so natural of a response. Steve tucks his chin, runs the back of his hand down Bucky’s exposed stomach and watches the way the sensitive skin ripples in response to his touch. The hand on Bucky’s waist can’t help but move down and squeeze at the meat of Bucky’s ass through his shorts.

“No one or everyone? Fuck, bubba. This is how we’re starting our day?”

A few squeezes of Bucky in his hands has him wanting more. The hand on Bucky’s ass refuses to move, remains in its place and kneads at the muscle, but his opposite hand is gliding up and under Bucky’s tiny shirt. He meets Bucky’s eyes, requests that contact with the brush of his nose along Bucky’s chin, tipping it. He rewards Bucky’s obedience with a drawn out pull of Bucky’s pretty pec, his tit, pinches at his nipple as he watches Bucky’s eyelids flutter.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, whines, noise going directly to Steve’s hardening cock pressed to Bucky’s stomach. There’s a light shove at Steve’s chest to go with the, “Steve, I got…c’mon I’ve got somewhere to be, I got plans.”

Steve’s arm goes unintentionally yet possessively tight around Bucky’s waist.

“You got plans? You’re leavin’?”

His tone has Bucky letting out a chuckle, has him running his fingers through Steve’s hair, up and through the back.

“Yeah, ya punk. I’m meeting Nat at the coffee shop for some self care, some writing, journaling, some catching up. I told you this last night. Lemme go.”

His reaction is immediate, the flare of possessiveness, of protectiveness, arousal.

“You’re leavin’ like this?”

“Yes, Steve—I am.” Bucky bites back, always sensitive to criticism about what he can and cannot wear. Steve means anything but criticism, would never dream of telling Bucky how he should dress, but he can’t ignore the need to show Bucky just what his thoughts are on an outfit as sexy as this one. He leans up and sucks on the side of Bucky’s neck, right on that sweet spot that makes Bucky whimper, and pushes him back in the middle of his chest.  

“You know, I had shit to do today too, Buck,” he starts, tone irritated to match Bucky’s own, knows how to push Bucky just so and safely. He reaches for the waistband of Bucky’s shorts, pushes at his belly but then pulls to reel him back in as he makes his way to the closest surface, which is the couch.

“Not just any shit,” he continues as he moves, Bucky’s eyes sparkling. “Important shit. So important. And then this happens, here you are comin’ out here lookin’ like this. And what?”

He turns, shoves Bucky down onto the couch with a grunt, knocks his thighs apart with his own. He settles easily into Bucky’s lap, both hands grabbing at Bucky’s chest over his crop top.

“I’m supposed to just let you walk outta here without gettin’ mine first, before the rest’a the fuckin’ city thirsts after you? You fuckin’ jerk.”

Bucky is tickled, Steve can see it. He huffs as if he’s annoyed but it barely passes for a huff instead of a happy sigh. Steve can also feel it in the way Bucky grabs for him, the way his hands dig hungrily into his hips, that extra bit of energy he has for being praised so heavily. Steve brings a hand up, wraps it around the front of Bucky’s throat, digs his fingers into his jaw. Bucky whines into his grin.

“You do this on purpose?”

“No…” Bucky mumbles after a few silent seconds.

“No? You didn’t think this would make me hard as a fuckin’ rock, wouldn’t have me wantin’ to make you do somethin’ about that? You’re full’a shit.”

Steve rolls his hips, little punches of his body, lets Bucky feel the physical reaction his body has had after just a few minutes of seeing Bucky in this getup. He leans in and nips at Bucky’s chin, kisses the corner of his mouth, allows for Bucky’s moan to seep out between his lips.

“Look at you, Buck. Fuckin’ sexy is what you are. Look how big you are, Bear. All this body, all this muscle, but you soft for me, ain’t you? You can show it all off to the world but it’s mine, ain’t it?”

His voice is a purr, words melting right into Bucky’s cheek, both hands running down his body to squeeze at the skin Bucky has left purposefully uncovered. His grip is tight, makes Bucky mewl, makes him pull on Steve’s hips, needy, grinding their dicks together, seeking friction.

“S’yours,” Bucky answers easily and fuck, that’s sweet, makes Steve’s balls ache. He turns his head, gives Bucky a few chaste kisses, a little wet and a lot of hunger.

“I get mine before you go, bubba,” Steve tells him, pulling back, his hands running up and into Bucky’s hair, ruining his bun with a nice tug. “Use this big ‘ol body to make me come and then you can be on your merry way for your well-deserved self care day, baby. Hmm?”

Bucky’s hand is in Steve’s briefs, fingers curling perfectly around his erection, before Steve can finish his sentence.

“Atta Bear…”

[lukescaboose]

So Into You

Hello everyone and Happy Valentine’s Day! I’m so excited to put this out into the world I’ve been working on it for almost a a year and its my first fic in nearly two years. I really hope you guys love it as much as I do and thanks so much if you choose to read it. love you all xx

Summary: Lauren and Harry are best friends who love each other and they both know it but Lauren is too stubborn to admit it.

What’s in it: Sugar sweet best friends to lovers with a healthy bit of smut. Black ofc.

Word count: 24.8k

Spotify Playlist

She couldn’t stop watching him from across the crowded dinner table. She admired him, his charisma and charm, his ability to dazzle a room without trying. She’d always loved that about him, way before she’d realized that she was in love with him anyway. It was his striking personality that had drawn her to him in the first place. Though they had never been anything more than best friends, Lauren was adamant to always let him know how much she appreciated that about him. And as she watched now she couldn’t help the small grateful smile from spreading across her lips. She was lucky enough to experience him for who he was and not because of the fame he had accumulated. Harry was everything to her. He reminded her that there were good people in the world, willing to give the shirt off their backs if it got someone else ahead.

Harry’s eyes met hers from the other end of the table, he offered her a smile and a silly face. She chuckled and looked away, her fingers coiling around the stem of her wine glass. She didn’t know anyone else besides Harry at this dinner party, but she knew how important it was to him that she’d be there. So she made an effort to make small talk with his colleagues around her but was easily lost when the conversation moved towards Harry’s business as the topic. She never cared for the limelight or wealth, her work dealt with children and the smiles she created were well worth it to her. Harry had felt the same, though his life had led him down a different path. His business created affordable living for lower-income families and he was very successful, though that didn’t matter to him.

Their aspiration for creating a change was how he and Lauren met. A benefit concert that Harry had put together drew Lauren’s attention and she brought some of her mentees. While the girls participated in the activities she wandered about to each vendor and learned about more ways to help within her community. It was when Harry had approached her that she thought her heart would lurch from her throat. He was incredibly handsome, dressed in a cream suit with a baby blue button-up undone at his chest. They talked, connected over their professions, and agreed to meet over dinner. It was no more than a networking opportunity, Lauren knew that a donation from Harry would secure a safe living environment for the girls at her group home. But when they met over dinner the conversation was endless and they talked until the restaurant was about to close. Harry had promised to make a donation to her home in exchange for her number. He was wildly attracted to Lauren, her dedication to her craft made him feel safe. She was ambitious, never righteous, and knew just how important her work was to the kids. He’d donate all of his earnings to her if it meant he got to see her again. 

As much as Lauren was attracted to Harry she’d never mix business with her own personal life, she was very adamant about that. Harry didn’t feel the same way but settled for friends if it meant that she’d be in his life. So they’d meet up for drinks often and discuss the labors of their work life, but the more they’d see each other the easier it was to blur the lines between colleagues and friends. Soon enough they’d begun to go over each other’s places and share the intimate details of their lives. They enjoyed each other’s company, knew how many people in their line of work only cared about money. Harry and Lauren both used their heart in everything they accomplished. With Harry’s personality and refreshing outlook on life, it was easy for Lauren to fall into a friendship with Harry - so much so he became her favorite confidant. It was nice for Harry to find someone who wasn’t interested in piggybacking on the tails of his success. Lauren had shared the same vision he did, the reward was simply making a difference. Though if it were up to Harry, he’d put Laurens name on every deal he’d ever signed, at the end of every speech he’d ever delivered. She was very much just as part of his success as he was and he’d never be able to repay her. He couldn’t imagine where he’d be without her, probably wouldn’t have made it as far as he had. Lauren listened to every idea he’d ever had, adding her input to his three A.M. thoughts. Without her, he’d probably be the same twenty-two-year-old kid with a dream.  

The dinner ended with Harry thanking his team for helping him achieve his vision. He made sure to give special thanks to Lauren, which had her smiling sheepishly at her dinner plate. Though he did that often, it never failed to make her cower under the stare of his colleagues. Harry smiled brightly at her from the head of the table reassuring her that without her none of this would have been possible. The opening of a new recreational center was Lauren's idea and she had pushed Harry way past his comfort zone when she presented it to him. The project was their baby and to see it come to light was something neither of them took for granted. Although Lauren wanted none of the praise or acknowledgment, Harry could never pretend as if this was all his doing. 

Lauren watched as Harry greeted and thanked his colleagues for coming. She stayed back, wanting to be the last to speak with him. They were going out for celebratory drinks, Harry’s idea. As the final group made their way out of the restaurant, Harry engulfed Lauren in a hug. “Feels good huh?” He asked her, placing a small kiss to her temple. She pulled away from their embrace, grabbing his hand in hers with a nod. “Really spectacular, Harry.” She beamed up at him. “All thanks to you, love. Still can’t believe you shot down my idea of putting your name on the building.” He frowned. She shushed him with a laugh, pulling him towards the entrance. 

Harry made sure to order Lauren’s favorite drink as she found a table for them to sit at. He brought the drinks back to her, ignoring the frown etched on her lips because he paid. He slid in next to her in the rounded booth, pushing her drink towards her with a smile. “Cheers to another advancement in the community and for all of your brilliant ideas.” He extended his glass to hers. She rolled her eyes jokingly at him but clanked her glass against his anyway. Harry grabbed her hand that rested on the table, capturing her gaze with his own with a bout of sincerity. “Thank you, Lauren, seriously. I couldn’t have done this without you.”  His calloused thumb rubbed over the smooth skin of her hand and she smiled. “We make a good team.” She grinned. “You give me any more ideas and I’m putting you on the payroll.” He chuckled over the rim of his glass, earning himself another eye roll from Lauren. “M’just supporting your vision.” She reminded him, taking a sip from her beverage. “Our vision.” He corrected her swiftly.  She smiled at him then, his kindness something she never took for granted. It was one of the reasons she found herself so desperately falling for him. He made it so hard for her not to want him in the ways that she did. She moved her hand from his hold and brought it to toy with her hair. She’d worn it natural tonight, the curls retracting when she let the strand free. 

“Like your hair like tha’.” He remarks, eyes following the actions of her fingers. Her gaze follows his, the curl she’d previously been playing with in front of her eyes now.

 “Thank you, took a long time.” She sighs, pushing the curl from her vision. He laughs, finishing the contents of his glass.

 “I know, seen you on wash day plenty of times.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “S’my favorite though.” He finishes with a sigh. A compliment was never far from his lips when he was around Lauren. Most of the time he did it without realizing it, always wanting to share whatever was on his mind with her. Other times he complimented her just because he liked the way her eyes shifted after. He found it funny that she always acted as if she’s heard something that wasn’t meant for her. That only made him reassure her that he was in fact speaking to her. She was gorgeous and he’d always tell her, she deserved to hear it. Lauren’s palms always got sweaty whenever he did that. She had never felt so seen and acknowledged as she did when she was around Harry. He was always bragging about her, even if he was the only one to hear it. He’d always felt that things that were incredible needed to be celebrated - in this case, his “thing” was just a “who”. She smiles appreciatively, the melanin in her skin hiding the inevitable blush. He never failed to make her flush. 

“You’re too kind.” She laughs, finishing the contents of her drink. The remaining ice hits the glass audibly and she sighs, settling back into her seat.

 “Only to you.” Harry winks at her, fanning a fire inside her chest that only he could put out. When he leaves to grab them a refill Lauren lets out an audible breath. She always feels like she’s holding the air inside her lungs whenever she’s around Harry. His compliments and praise suffocate her to the point where she feels dizzy. And if this were the way she was to die she’d be more than okay with that. She had never felt this way in her entire life. Men and relationships came and went, but this one she felt everywhere. It was like he had cast a spell on her, consuming her thoughts with every waking word and she didn’t mind but always felt relieved when she came back to earth. He was just so charming, to the point where it was hard to focus on anything else but him. She knew it wasn’t only her that felt this way, Harry had a way about him that would captivate his company. He drew people in, that’s what he was good at, and for her, he’d never stop until she succumbed to his charm. 

“For you, angel.” He slid the glass towards her, making himself comfy by her side. She smiles and thanks him, expelling the air between her lips after she swallows. “How’re the girls?” He asks, the tension is thick between them but he had grown used to it by this point. It was always like this, tense but comfortable, exciting even. Harry always looked forward to the times where they could be alone and catch up, even if he spent the majority of the time thinking about how beautiful she was. Lauren wipes the condensation from her glass onto a napkin, her eyes gleaming as she thinks about the girls from her job. 

“They’re great.” She responds with a chuckle, “So wickedly smart those girls.” Her mind travels to her mentees and how they always kept her on her toes with their insightful questions. They were always changing Lauren’s perspective on things and sometimes she felt that they were teaching her more than she was teaching them. 

“That’s great. And everything with the home is okay?” He queried and she nods with a smile. 

“What about you, big shot? Any new news that I should know?” She shoves at his shoulder lightly, having read in the paper that he had opened a new development on the west side of town. He laughs lightheartedly, his hand reaching up to wipe over his mouth. 

“I’ve been quite busy.” He shrugs then places his arm over the back of the booth. Lauren finds it difficult not to fall into his side. Even though she desperately wants to and Harry hopes that she does.

 “I’d say.” She chuckles. She places her chin in her hand, turning her body towards Harry’s. He fights the urge to lean into her, always wanting to be closer than what she’d allow. “Proud of you.” She murmurs, brown eyes watching over his face. He smiles a dimpled smile at her and clinks his glass against hers as a thank you. 

It's quiet for a moment, the bar is more upscale with very few patrons and Harry is grateful. Though he knows better than to think anything different, he almost lets himself believe that they’re on a date. Every moment spent with her felt intimate, whether those were her intentions or not, and most times Harry didn’t mind playing pretend. “You know,” He drags out the words, catching Lauren’s attention and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. Whenever he started a sentence that way a new idea followed. 

“Why don’t you take a break for a while, H. Bask in the moment for a bit.” She sighs, gently placing her hand over his. Lauren had come to learn very quickly that Harry wasn’t very fond of rest. Unlike herself, he was always bouncing from one venture to the next. She always felt like she needed a month's rest after one big thing. Though they were polar opposites, they worked together and were always pulling each other out of their comfort zones.

 “I know, love. Which is exactly why I booked us a getaway.” He grinned, that stupid grin that always made Lauren’s insides quiver. She furrowed her eyebrows at him, the confusion setting in after the initial shock. Harry gripped her hand that was already on his, squeezing gently as he beamed at her. “Know you’ve got some time off and I know how hard it is for you to actually distance yourself from your work. So, I figured, why not get away so you can actually take care of yourself for a bit.” He shrugs sheepishly and she continues to stare at him in bewilderment. Finding it hard to believe that he had actually done something like this. Not that this was something he’d never do, getaways were always something he’d bring up. But each time, Lauren would shoot it down with the excuse of work. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go, she didn’t trust herself to go. Now she had no excuse, no safety net to catch her when she was in this kind of predicament. The way he was looking at her with such hopeful eyes was enough for her to contemplate saying yes for a moment. 

“Please, Lau” He pleaded when she was quiet for a moment too long. “You know how much we both could use this and there’s no better time. I’m stepping away for a bit since this project is completed, and I’d love nothing more than to run away for a bit with you.” She couldn’t help but smile softly at his words, even in the midst of her panic. There was no excuse good enough that he would accept, and she had no real reason not to go. Harry knew her boundaries and always respected them, she had no reason to believe that anything would change when they went away.

“How long?” she raised an eyebrow at him and his smile grew, knowing she was cracking. 

“Five nights,” He felt giddy as his body leaned in towards hers. “Santa Monica, beach view, close to the pier.” 

“Hotel?” 

“Airbnb.”

Her smile grew larger as the excitement set in, just as Harry knew it would. She had mentioned one time, a feeble excuse to get out of a vacation, that hotels were just as strict as work. She hated the rigidness and that you could never make a hotel feel like home. She always felt like she was sharing her vacation with a hundred other strangers, the shared amenities alone were enough to make her stay as far away as possible.

 “Fine.” She grinned.

 “You’re gonna love it, I promise.” Harry went on to explain the intricate details of their trip. They would leave that upcoming weekend, all their expenses were paid for. And he was certainly not budging on that. “You wouldn’t even let me compensate you for the brilliant idea of a rec center, Lau. Let me do this for you, Lord knows you deserve it.” He sighed. He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, her stubbornness has always been something he could do without. He admired it at times, adored it others, but when it got in the way of him trying to express his appreciation for her, he hated it. She stuck her tongue out at him teasingly.

 “I’m paying you back whether you like it or not.” She huffed, pulling her hand away from his albeit reluctantly.

 “And I’ll match it and donate it to a foundation of your choosing, princess.” She crossed her arms over her chest like a child which only made Harry chuckle.

 “Thank you, but I hate you right now.” She pouts. 

Harry shrugs and nods his glass towards her, “You can hate me on the beach, darling.” 

***

“All packed, lovie?” His voice echoes through the receiver as her phone lays on her dresser. She huffed, loud enough that she knew he’d hear it, whilst shoving random items into her dusty suitcase. It took her forever just to find the old thing. Mostly reserved for trips back home - which were few and far between - it was shoved in the back of the hall closet. She had made a list loaded with essentials to bring, but she wished she had cuter outfits to bring. It was stupid and she knew it, but despite how many times she told herself she shouldn’t, she wanted to impress Harry. 

“Just about, wish I had some new things to wear. Meant to go shopping this week but got caught up at work every day.” She groaned, pulling a bikini from her bottom drawer. It was barely enough to be considered cute but it would have to do.

 “Can always go shopping when we get there.” His voice sounded further away now, she reckoned he’d put the phone down somewhere as she had.

 “And overpay ridiculously at some tourist shop? No thanks.” She chuckled, now going through her summer basket.

 “I’ll take you to the nearest Target as soon as we land, how’s tha’ sound?” She laughed loudly, wishing she could smack away the smirk that was adorning his features inevitably. 

 “Oh I’ll be holding you to that, can’t possibly bring all my hair products on the plane.” The thought of that made her slightly nauseous. She didn’t want to pay for products that she wouldn’t be able to bring back home, but it was a small price to pay for a free vacation. 

“Thought you had an appointment to get your hair braided today? S’that why I never got those pictures I asked for?” She could practically hear the pout in his voice, and it was moments like these that made it difficult to distinguish what their relationship really was. She was certain he had only meant that he wanted to see her hair because that is what any friend would want, but her mind allowed her to believe that he was genuinely interested. Which he was, but Lauren was too stubborn to see anything for what it truly was. 

“I was getting butterfly locs, doofus, had to cancel last minute though.” She sighed at another added stressor.

 “Can’t go tomorrow? Our flights not til 10:30 at night, love.” He was closer to the phone now, sat on the end of his bed, and thinking of any way to make things right for her. He didn’t want her to worry about her hair or anything else for that matter, which is exactly why when he booked the hair appointment he had also placed a deposit for the next day just in case anything should go wrong. 

“Probably not, she’s definitely booked by now.” Lauren didn’t want to dwell on it much, though she knew how much she wanted that hairstyle. She could never find the time to get it done and thought it was perfect for a vacation of any sort. 

“Give her a call tomorrow morning, bug. Doesn’t hurt to ask.” Harry tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, knew she’d flip her shit if she knew what he’d done. 

“I’ll have to pay extra, it’s not even worth it.”

 He rolled his eyes on his end, “About the same amount you’ll waste on hair products, I reckon. You want your hair done, go get it done.” He huffed, hoping that would do the trick, he had no other moves up his sleeve. She was quiet for a moment and he knew she was contemplating his suggestion. 

“Fine. I’ll call her, but I don’t want to be let down again.” She picked at the lint on her carpet as she bit her lip and Harry tried his best not to chuckle.

 “If it doesn’t work out I promise to help retwist your hair every night before bed, deal?” He smiled at nothing in particular, laying back against his duvet while thinking about just how soft her hair was. He even contemplated canceling the appointment just so he’d have the chance to be close to her. 

“You’re impossible.” She laughed. The thought of not calling at all crossed her mind for a moment before she pushed it away, telling herself she’d revisit his words later. 

They’d hung up the phone a bit later after Lauren promised to share the outcome of tomorrow morning. Harry was excited to revel in just how happy she’d be to look the way she wanted and he was happy he was able to do that for her. He’d do anything just to see her smile, the consequences he was sure to face for it were minuscule. 

***

Just as he knew he would, the next day at around 2 o’clock he received a call from an angry Lauren. He quickly switched the call to video just to see her pretty face and couldn’t keep the grin off his own. She looked more gorgeous than he ever thought imaginable - though he thought that whenever he saw her - it was hard to focus on the irate nature of her tone. Apparently, when Lauren went to pay, the hairdresser spilled the beans that an English gentleman had already footed the bill, and had left a pretty generous tip. Which left Lauren flushing and dodging questions from her regular stylist with empty promises to answer her inquiries later. She rushed from the salon to call Harry immediately, her skin on fire with anger and simultaneously, appreciation.

 “Well aren’t you a vision?” He interrupts her rant as soon as her camera connects which makes her stutter out a thank you in the midst of her rambling. 

“You’re racking up quite a bill here, Styles.” She huffs as she gets into her car, and Harry can’t keep his eyes off his screen. He was sure that this vacation was sure to put the nail in his coffin but he didn’t mind. He had it bad for her and would do it again and again.

 “S’ nothing if I get to see you smile.” He reminds her, rolling over in his covers. He was faintly aware of just how late in the day it was becoming but figured rest was best before a vacation where his thoughts and attention would solely be on her. He ignores the way she rolls her eyes, his eyes watching the golden charms wrapped around her hair. “Seriously though, your hair looks very nice.” He hums and watches as she bites her lip to avoid smiling. 

“How’d you know what hair to buy, anyway? You didn’t even know what they were called.” She pesters.

 “Oh, I have my ways, darling.” Truthfully he had asked for a detailed list from the hairstylist on where to go and what to buy. He insisted that he pay for her time but she told him he had already given her plenty, which didn’t stop him from tipping her slightly more than necessary. 

“You make it so hard to be mad at you.” She scowled. Harry followed with a deep laugh, only wiping the frown from Lauren’s face just as quickly as it had formed.

 “Because I don’t deserve for you to be mad at me!” He grinned widely at his phone, all consumed with her presence.

 “That’s for me to decide, Styles. I’m not talking to you for the whole flight, swear it.” She nodded in agreement with herself, which only made Harry laugh harder.

 “We both know I don’t need your response to talk your ear off, sweetheart.” And he was right, that was one of the things Lauren loved most about him, his rambling. She could be dead asleep and he’d talk just to hear his thoughts aloud and she truly did not mind. She couldn’t count the times she had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice whether it be over the phone or in person. In fact, she preferred succumbing to sleep that way. The slow forming words on rose-colored lips painted her dreams anyhow.

She’d made it the entire ride to the airport, the trek through security, and half of the wait for boarding without talking to him. A task that was easier said than done. He was purposefully bringing up topics he knew she loved to talk about, and reveled in the way her face would twist when she caught herself opening her mouth to respond. She was more than ready to give up the charade but knew his satisfaction was not something she wanted to hear about. So she persisted, busied herself with her emails, and ignored Harry’s remark about taking a break from work. 

“How long y’gonna torture me like this, love?” His hushed tone against her ear had her shifting nervously in the uncomfortable airport chair. “Reckon everyone around thinks I’m just some lonely lad.” A cold shudder ran down her spine at his proximity and the feeling of his breath against the shell of her ear.  She was frozen in her place for a moment, the tempest in her brain willing her to give in. She needed to stay strong, assert any type of willpower at this moment. She figured it was time to change the outcome of how these things usually go. He was pulling all his stops and normally this is where she’d cave. But Lauren wondered what would come next, although against her best interest. So she stuck to her guns. She slid further into her chair, crossing her legs to draw Harry’s attention, and continued to scroll. He huffed, his hair tickling her cheek as he dropped his head dramatically. 

“Fine.” He slouched into his own seat, grumpily looking down at his own phone. His obvious pout was visible from Lauren’s peripheral and she found it difficult not to stare at it. Her thoughts reminded her that she was only punishing herself. So he had done a nice thing, so what? When’s the last time that anyone had been so thoughtful? The man had made two appointments and picked out braiding hair. But that was precisely the problem. Those were the reasons why she was as mad as she was. Harry had once again made it harder for her to distinguish the nature of their relationship. Then she was reminded that the only reason Harry was being kept at arm’s length was because of her in the first place. This then brought up the impenetrable fact that the relationship that they had built was too special to damage with self-indulgences. So the indifferent look on her face remained for just a while longer. Until they were seated next to each other, closer than could possibly be comfortable, she hated airlines for that. Unbeknownst to her, Harry was tempted to buy the first-class seats but knew better not to. No matter how uncomfortable he was in the tiny seats of economy-class. 

“Can’t leave me lonely the whole trip, can you? I’m on my knees here, darling.” He pleaded, trying his best to meet her eye but she wouldn’t let him. 

“You’re sitting actually.” She said pointedly, still making an effort to not return his gaze. He sighed in relief, dropping his head against her shoulder.

 “Geeze, love had me dying.” He mumbled. “Thought I’d have to start singing to ya.” He slumped into his chair, making himself as cozy as possible.

 “Wouldn’t have minded, know how much I love when you sing.” She teased, offering a small smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth. Harry flushed at her compliment, he only ever sang for her and his mum. He drops his head with a sheepish grin, fingers fiddling his rings for a second. Lauren softens deeper when she catches his diffident actions, knowing just how vulnerable he is about that area of his life. 

She had caught him singing on accident the first time, they were making dinner in the kitchen of his place, one of his many playlists going in the background. She remembered chopping onions to ‘Sparks’ by Coldplay when she’d heard him. It was faint at first, barely audible over the music, but this enticed her to listen harder. She turned from her position quickly, walking to his side of the kitchen to grab the kitchen towel. She was happy he hadn’t stopped when she approached him and decided to not comment on it then. He was rather good, a lovely voice she’d noted. It was unlike Harry to not flaunt the areas he was rather good in and Lauren figured it was something he wasn’t keen on sharing.  It wasn’t until he sang twice more that she spoke up. They were in her living room, the TV muted and a playlist of her own droning in the background. That was how they shared songs with each other, shazam’ing secretly in the other’s presence. Mac Ayres’s ‘Slow Down’ was playing softly and Harry began to sing absentmindedly.

 “Y’know this one?” She’d said without considering it, closing her mouth quickly afterward. Harry looked at her guiltily, nodding with a small chuckle. 

“Looked it up last time you played it.” He admitted. Lauren grinned, she always took secret pride in introducing Harry to new things. 

“You’ve got a nice voice, by the way.” She scrolled down her timeline in an effort to not watch for his reaction, knew he’d be a bit embarrassed. Which he was, he’d never thought of the possibility of Lauren actually hearing him. He knew that it wasn’t unlikely that she had, he had become that comfortable with her he supposed. But nevertheless, the compliment had him turning crimson. She never said anything about it after that. She wanted him to be comfortable around her, a safe space like he was for her. 

“Maybe I should sing more often if it means you’ll be mad at me less.” He chuckled, scratching his jaw in recovery.

 “Maybe you’ll be so busy singing, you won’t be able to do the things you do that make me mad.” Lauren smiles a closed-lipped sarcastic smile which only makes Harry grin.

 “Touche.”

 The seatbelt light dings then, signaling their takeoff and their attention is lost from one another. Lauren turns to look out the window, her blanket folded over her legs. She wore shorts in preparation for the warm weather upon their arrival, but it was a terrible idea. Her thighs stuck to every chair she sat in and the peeling of her skin from the fake leather was causing irritation. Harry could see the grimace in her face whenever he extended his hand to help her up, and at first, he thought it was because she was angry with him. It was when she rubbed tenderly at the back of her thigh that he realized. He offered to buy her some sweats from the tourist shop but the scowl she’d made was enough for him to not push it further. That was exactly what had gotten him the silent treatment in the first place. Instead, he placed his courtesy airline blanket over her chair before she sat down. Lauren wanted to be mad that he continued to be unreasonably sweet to her even without paying for anything, but she was too relieved to care. She had also worn short sleeves - which was a rookie mistake - and was deciding if it was her legs or arms that would suffer. Harry had layered up and truthfully didn’t mind. Lauren unfolded the blanket and extended some to him with a small apologetic smile. He returned one of his own, lifting the armrest between them.

 “Here get some rest, you had a long day today.” Lauren rests her head against his shoulder without a word, more than grateful for his offer. Harry rests his cheek on her head, inhaling her scent quietly. 

***

“Wake up, love.” Harry puts the rental in park, reaching over to gently touch her arm. “Food will be here soon.” Lauren lifts her head from the window, groggy and disoriented. She groans, stretching within the small confines of the vehicle.

 “What’d you order?” She grumbles, stifling a yawn with her words as she undoes her seatbelt.

 “Chinese. Got that sushi you like too.” He smiles softly at her though she’s not looking. He had decided that he’d let himself play pretend for a while, figured it couldn't hurt to just let himself be. If that meant living in delusion for the duration of their vacation, then so be it. He’d be there waiting until she wanted to make it a reality anyhow. 

The Airbnb was very quaint and sweet. Harry tried hard to find something that would feel like home for Lauren and still offered a nice view of the beach. He walked behind her through the front door, lugging a suitcase and waiting anxiously for her reaction. The layout of the space was open, not too much focus on the living room but rather on the kitchen that harnessed the view of the pier. Bright blues and grays decorated the home, deep mahogany hardwood adding just the right touch of home. 

“Oh, H.” Lauren breathed, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings.

 “Do you like it?” He asks nervously, placing the suitcase by the door. There were more bags to be grabbed from the car, but he was enjoying the look on Lauren’s face far more.

 “It’s amazing, Harry. Really, I love it.” She turns to him, sporting a smile larger than Harry has ever seen her wear, and he wishes he could make her smile like that every day for the rest of his life. His arms wrap around her figure when she embraces him, placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, I appreciate this.” She says, letting her fingers graze his face in their close proximity. Lauren smiles gently, hoping that her words were enough to express just how appreciative she really is. No one had ever gone as far as to consider the small details that were important to her. She was genuinely grateful to have a friend like Harry.

“Anything to see you smile, you know that.” He speaks softly, the pad of his thumb rubbing small circles at her back. He places a slow kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger for far longer than they should before pulling away. “I’m gonna grab the rest of our stuff.” His tone is just above a whisper, and Lauren is too enchanted with him to say anything before he’s out the door and down the porch steps. 

She was enamored by her surroundings, Harry’s sweet touch, and his words - things that would usually overwhelm her. But given her circumstances, she had never felt more cared for, the grave she had dug for herself had just become several inches deeper. She ran her hands along the cold stone of the large island, gazing into the darkness out the large windows. There was an alcove on the opposite side of the room that overlooked the scenery that was sure to be stunning in the morning, and Lauren was glad she had brought her favorite book along. She wanted to wait for Harry before going on a proper tour of the home, but curious eyes had her wandering down the long hallway. From what she had seen, there seemed to be no upstairs to the home and she was grateful. She hated homes that felt divided into too many parts. She decided to wait for Harry before checking the rooms out and made her way back to the kitchen. On the opposite side, there were large sliding doors that led out to a massive backyard with a pool that was lit up a light purple color. The air warmed her skin as she ventured outside, eyes resting on the patio set that would be perfect for breakfast in the morning. She made a note to wake up early so she could make breakfast for him. She’d already noticed that the cabinets and fridge were stocked full of groceries, surely something Harry had arranged, and she wanted to do something special for him. 

“Gorgeous isn’t it?” His voice startled her, only bringing a smile to his face as he leaned against the doorframe. She turned to face him, a shocked expression on her face and he couldn’t tell if it was the view or his sudden reappearance that had caused it. Lauren shifted on her feet, looking back out towards the view where she could vaguely make out the shape of the sea. “It really is, Har. I can’t thank you enough.” She breathes, fidgeting with her fingers as she speaks. The thought of how much he must’ve spent on such a nice stay made her uneasy but she figured she’d just enjoy it, there was no use in arguing over it.

 “The food’s here if you’re hungry, darling. After we eat we could go on a little tour if you’re not too tired.” He hums, twisting his rings around his fingers. He wasn’t uncomfortable with her around, only slightly surprised that he had even made it this far. He knew it would be a long shot to even get her to agree to come along with him, and it was nice to see that his efforts weren’t in vain. Harry honestly thought he’d take the trip by himself and sulk around the pier for a week. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if she actually came along with him, figured he wouldn’t get his hopes up with wishful thinking. 

“That sounds lovely actually.” She sighs, her stomach growling at the mention of food and Harry offers his hand to her before leading her into the kitchen. Lauren ushers him to sit, telling him the least he can do is let her make his plate. They had similar ways of showing their appreciation for each other, though Harry spent way too much money. Lauren liked to do little things for him, pick up a book he hadn’t gotten around to purchasing, unloading his dishwasher every now and again. They were always subtle actions that she didn’t think Harry realized but he always did. It was the way those little thoughtful acts made him feel that had him showering her with gifts and his constant attention. Those things were priceless to him and everything he did was in an effort to repay her. 

He remembered when he moved to Georgia after finishing college and how he felt like it would never feel like home. He had always figured he’d move back to England after school but there were more opportunities in the states for him. The first year was lonely, so he threw himself into his work and made friends that way, but nothing felt quite right. He always felt like a visitor until he met Lauren, she was his roots. Not the job, or his apartment, but her. As he watched her plate his food for him he couldn’t help but smile fondly at his best friend. She didn’t know it, but she was the reason he had stayed in Atlanta for as long as he had. Sure new opportunities had arisen for him in various places, but he only wanted to be wherever she was. 

“Better than home, huh?” She said over a mouthful of food. They had eaten mostly in silence, tired from a long day of traveling. The silence was nice now that Harry wasn’t being forced into it. He nodded while wiping his mouth, chuckling at Lauren’s terrible table manners. “Only by a little, you know how good the food is back home.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his cleared plate away from him. She nodded in agreement, setting her fork on her own plate and letting out a sigh of content. Harry moved to clear their spots but she stopped him, insisting that she’d do the dishes in just a bit. He frowned at her but she wasn’t budging, grabbing his hand in hers to keep him seated.

 “You can throw away the garbage, but I’ll clean up. Let me, please.” She sighed, knowing that if she let him she’d never lift a finger the whole trip. 

“Deal, but let’s do the tour first then we’ll clean and unpack its getting late.” It was a little after one in the morning and the pair were exhausted. 

Harry kept her hand in his for the entire walk around the house, most excited when he showed her the courtyard, promising her it was more spectacular in the daytime. Lauren was in awe of everything he showed her, thinking that even if they never left this rental home her trip would still be well spent. He watched her choose which room she wanted, chuckling gently when her eyes widened at the size of the master. Complete with an en suite that encompassed a clawfoot tub she almost drooled at, she insisted that Harry take the largest room. Of course, he was prepared for the stubborn conversation that followed and in the end, Lauren’s suitcase was placed at the foot of the bed. She feigned a pout as she unpacked her bags, but Harry could see just how happy she truly was. His room was just across the hall, with an equally spectacular view just sans a patio. Harry didn’t care where he slept as long as she got everything she deserved. 

“Afraid your bed is comfier than mine.” He groaned, pushing his face deeper into the mountain of pillows. 

“Oh don’t start! I told you to take the room.” She stood at the end of the bed with her hands on her hips, a half-folded shirt crumpled in her fist. Harry laughed tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. 

“M’just kidding, love. I swear a cardboard box would be just as fine right now.” He yawns dramatically, reaching his arms above his head.

“Head on to bed then, H. Know you’re tired.” She hums, putting the last of her things into the dresser. She liked putting her things away even when on vacation, it made her feel slightly more comfortable with staying somewhere that wasn’t home. 

“I should, shouldn’t I?” He sits up and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. She hums and makes her way towards the bathroom to wash her face. “Goodnight, love. I’m right across the hall if you need a cuddle.” He says sleepily. 

Lauren smiles at him through the mirror as he stands behind her, placing a small kiss on the back of her head. “Might take you up on that, I can never sleep well the first night of vacation.” She sighs, rubbing her cleanser into her skin gently. 

“Well if that’s the case I’ll just sleep in here with you tonight. Can’t have you tired on our first day.” He hums. She nods, more excited than she dared to admit out loud about sharing a bed with him. Sure they had plenty of times before after a night out or a hang out that lasted a bit too long. But it had been a long time since the last time.

 “I’ll go get ready for bed, be back in a minute.” She nodded again without a word, finishing up her routine by brushing her teeth. She was slightly happy that she had made it around to do some shopping and had picked up a couple of cute pajama sets.  The thought of wearing her oversized t-shirts on vacation wasn’t all that appealing and nice pajamas were always good to have. 

A few moments later as promised, Harry was snug in her bed waiting for her. It was definitely a sight she could get used to but decided not to think about too much. She tossed her old clothes into her travel hamper that she’d neatly set up in the closet before making her way to the dresser. Harry watched her with curious eyes as she applied lotion to her skin, making a note that she always used that brand before bed, he was sure to buy her more when they got home. He watched as she put her hair up into her bonnet, giggling sleepily at how cute she looked.

 “Literally takes you an hour just to get into bed, come on I’m sleepy.” He whines, sinking deeper into the covers. She laughs, assuring him that she’s almost done. She takes off her rings and places them neatly with the rest of her jewelry before climbing into bed and turning off the bedside lamp. Harry extends his arms to her, willing her to come closer and she obliges, settling softly against his chest. She doesn’t mind when he entwines their legs, twisting their bodies together so it’s hard to tell where his begins and hers ends. 

“So happy you’re here.” He murmurs, his breath tickling at her ear. Lauren’s stomach swarms within itself as he pulls her impossibly closer, fingers tracing aimlessly at her back.

 “Happy to be here.”  

Untangling herself from Harry the next morning was one of the hardest things Lauren feels she has ever had to do. He was so warm and the way he groaned when she pulled away from him almost broke her heart wide open. When she was finally free of his grabby hands and pouty face she shuffled to the bathroom, promising that she’d only be gone for a minute. It was the only thing that the sleepy man would acquiesce, although she knew she wasn’t coming back. It was 8:30 in the morning, far too early for Lauren’s liking, but she was excited to cook in the beautiful kitchen down the hall. After sliding on her slippers she quietly made her way towards the door, looking back to see Harry cuddled up with the pillow she had previously occupied. She smiled softly, closing the door behind her. 

Thirty minutes later, the bacon and eggs were cooking and a mountain of assorted pancakes sat prettily on a plate. Lauren sang along softly to Harry’s playlist as she cooked, carefully scrambling cheese into the eggs so they would be perfect. She had cut up some of the fresh fruit and set it up nicely in a glass bowl, everything waiting on the island to be brought outside. Harry wandered groggily down the hall, the smell of food pulling him out of his sleep. He wasn’t all too pleased when he woke up and Lauren wasn’t beside him. He had slept better than he had in a while last night and was looking forward to waking up with her in his arms. Lauren had felt the same, she wasn’t much of a cuddler and usually liked her space when she shared a bed with someone else, but it was different with Harry. With him, she didn’t feel smothered or overwhelmed, but safe and warm. 

“You didn’t come back.” He pouts when he reaches the kitchen, leaning on the counter beside her. 

She chuckles, removing the eggs from the pan and onto a plate. “Made you breakfast.” She smiles and the pout leaves his lips immediately.

 “I know, woke up to the smell of it. Looks good, bug.” She swats his hand when he cheekily pops a diced pineapple into his mouth.

 “S’just about ready, need your help taking everything outside though.” She says as she takes the bacon out of the oven. He nods and begins to fill his arms carefully. Lauren had already brought the plates and silverware out, along with the orange juice and glasses. She followed Harry outside carrying the eggs and bacon, taking a seat when everything was set up nicely. 

“Thank you for this, I appreciate it.” He says once they’re settled and Lauren is done taking a video for her Instagram story. She sighs around a mouth full of pancakes, wiping her mouth when she swallows. 

“The least I could do, really.” She looks out towards the yard, which was even more beautiful in the daytime. They could see the beach from here, the sun glistening on the ocean, and a breeze wafting the scent through the air. 

“What do you want to do today? Didn’t really plan any activities for us so we can relax.” He shovels a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, fighting the urge to moan at how delicious they were. He always loved her cooking and was grateful that she cooked for him often.

 Lauren shrugs indifferently, “Not really in the mood to go anywhere. I do wanna take a bath in that tub though.” She laughs. 

Harry nods along with a chuckle, knowing that would be her answer. “Guess we could hang out by the pool then, sounds good to me.” 

Lauren had stayed in the bath for longer than she had promised, just as Harry knew she would. She could see him go out to the backyard after about twenty minutes of soaking from the window adjacent to the tub. She watched as he applied sunscreen and laid out for a while, and knew it would only be a matter of time before he was knocking on her door because he was lonesome. Just as she predicted, five minutes later he rose from his chair and sulked inside. Lauren couldn’t fight the laugh as she rose from the tub, stepping out carefully. After drying off and putting her robe on she opens the door only to find him standing there, a pout on his rosy lips.

 “I know, I know. I’m coming, sugar.” She breathes, chuckling at his sorry expression. This only makes his frown deepen, moving to the side as she steps into the bedroom. “I saw you out there, looked miserable.” Harry sits on the bed and she opens the dresser to find a suit, pulling out two before tossing the other back into the drawer.

 “Always miserable without you.” He picks aimlessly at the comforter before twisting his rings around his fingers.

 “You’re a whiny little thing, aren’t you?” She chastises him in a feeble attempt to not dwell on his words for too long. She was used to his behavior, knew how vocal he always was about the way he felt. But she was not used to hearing it constantly like she was, and it was becoming more and more difficult to pass it off for just friendly banter. They’d never spent more than 24 hours together, mostly Lauren’s own doing,  and it was becoming easy to think he meant the things he said differently than she thought he had. It was nice to play pretend for a while, but she knew better than that. Nothing good would come out of fantasizing over someone she couldn’t have. 

“Only when you take too long, bug.” Lauren shakes her head at him and goes to the bathroom to change, purposely putting a noticeable pep in her step. Harry laughs behind her, falling back to lay against the covers of the unmade bed. She had reprimanded him for that earlier, but neither of them had made any efforts to fix it. 

When he sits up again his throat goes completely dry at the sight of her in her yellow bikini. He didn’t know much about women’s swimsuits, but he was certain this one was made for her. Unconsciously, he licks his bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth with his teeth as she rubs some sunscreen into her skin. He had seen her in a bathing suit plenty of times before, but that was before he’d fully come to terms with the way he felt about her. She always looked good no matter what she had on and he always was sure to tell her, even before she was the sun, the moon, and the stars to him. 

“S’that new?” He said, shifting to rest with his hand behind him. 

“Yeah, got it before we left. Do you like it?” She does a turn for him and he almost wishes she hadn’t. Her figure was full, hips and an ass to match. Her stomach had some give to it, creating a pudge that she always tried to hide.

 Harry has to manually close his mouth before he responds, shifting in his seat. “You look gorgeous.” He smiles. He lets his eyes rake over her for longer than would be appropriate, but she doesn’t mind. Truthfully, Lauren had bought the suit with him in mind even against her better judgment. She was a bit nervous when she had tried it on because it wasn’t a suit that would hide some of her insecurities. She never liked the way her thighs would jiggle and her behind would shake as she moved, but she knew she didn’t have to worry about those things while around Harry. He always made her feel good about herself and slowly but surely she’d come to agree with him. It was a cruel thing to do to herself, and Harry, but she was enjoying his reaction.

 “Thanks, we match.” She giggles, gesturing to his yellow trunks. He smiles a dimpled smile at her, standing up from the bed and towering over her.

 “I don’t look half as good as you do though.” He compliments her again, unsure if he’s capable of keeping his eyes off of her. 

She’s thankful for the melanin in her skin that hides her blush as she eyes her reflection in the wall mirror. Harry stands behind her, taking in their appearance. He liked that they were matching, however cheesy it was. He pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the camera, grabbing Lauren’s hip to pull her closer. The first few were regular vacation pics. It was when Harry bent down to place his lips to her cheek, that things took a different turn. Lauren was caught off guard, the smile on her face becoming genuine and one of her hands holds his cheek while the other is placed over his at her hip. Harry snaps a few shots, letting his touch linger before pulling away. They review the pictures together and once Lauren has decided on a favorite, Harry sets it as his lock screen. Her smile was wide, her eyes shut as he kissed her cheek. She was a perfect ray of sunshine and now he could be reminded of it every day. 

“Oh, I forgot my sunnies.” She frowns as she digs through her bag again. 

“Got them right here, love. Left them on the dresser.” He sits in the lounger next to her and pulls his own sunglasses over his eyes.

 “You’re an angel.” She thanks him, putting on the frames and chasing the glare of the sun away. She’d made them Piña Coladas and they sipped idly to beat the heat.

 The warmth was welcomed though, Lauren practically lived outside during the nicer months back home. It was nice to feel a warmth only the sun could provide. They laid in silence for the most part, Lauren’s mind adrift and Harry’s as well. She thought about the girls back home and how they were doing, and Harry mostly thought about her. He thought about ways to finally tell her, he thought about what the consequences of those actions may be. He thought about ways to make it so obvious that she couldn’t deny it any longer. Mostly he thought about a scenario in which she loved him back. That one was always the easiest to fall into and hurt way less so he stayed there. In this scenario, she couldn’t rip his heart out with rejection. In this one, she was there at home waiting for him, he was picking her up from work, they shared meals, they slept in the same bed every night. Even though they were sitting a few feet apart, he felt as if she was miles away from him. It was always like this and he wished that things were different. He wished for a life where she would let herself be, where she would let herself be happy. He knew more than anyone just how deserving she was of it, and he wished that she’d let him be that for her. 

“Come swim with me.” He beckons when his thoughts become too much. He tries not to focus too much on the way her skin glows under the sun, her complexion radiant as if she were its favorite.

 She groans as she sits up, and Harry extends his hand to her pulling her from her chair. He doesn’t let her hand go as they move towards the pool step, and Lauren uses him for stability as she tests the water with her foot. It takes her a minute before she adjusts to the water, and Harry follows behind happily once she’s in. He sings along to the music playing from the speaker as Lauren floats around on her back. She wishes there was a float or something so she could still catch some rays, and makes a mental note to stop by a shop tomorrow. The sound of seagulls and Harry’s voice relaxes her to a place where she feels likes she’s floating in a perfect nirvana. The atmosphere he’d created for them just what she desperately needed but would never ask for aloud. Harry swims closer to her when he becomes bored, calling her name softly to not startle her. She hums in response, blinking her eyes open behind her sunglasses, and sits up so she can tread water. 

“What do you think about going out tonight? I’ve got some friends here and they wanna meet up for some drinks.” He pulls her closer to him by her wrist, dragging her to the shallow end and into his arms. She holds onto his forearms as she contemplates his question, mostly thinking of what she brought to wear.

 She nods, “Would love to.” He smiles down at her and places a small kiss on her forehead. 

“Then tomorrow we can head to the beach - the best cure for a hangover.” He smiles softly and she rolls her eyes.

 “Plan on getting me drunk, Styles?” She splashes some water up at him and he chuckles, pulling her closer to his chest to stop her assault. 

“Just a little bit.” 

***

For the first time in forever, Lauren is grateful that she over packed. She had thrown more than a couple of evening outfits into her suitcase just in case they went out to dinner or frequented a bar for the week. She ditched all the blouses and things alike at home and opted to bring more revealing outfits because of the weather. The skirt she picks out is a pretty shade of blue and spandex material with a matching cropped top. She was also grateful she brought her comfy white shoes with the thick heel and open toe. They were her favorite shoes to go out in and were easy to dress up. They made her short legs look longer, and she always felt her best when she put them on. After doing her makeup she dresses, the slit up the side of her skirt adds the perfect amount of sex appeal and she feels she has never looked better. 

She walks into the kitchen to find Harry sitting at the island. He looks away from his phone when he hears the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood, and he swallows harshly when she comes into view. He himself was wearing cream slacks with a t-shirt tucked into them. His hair was pushed away from his face the way Lauren adored, he always looked much younger when he did that. He lets his eyes rake over her as she stands beside him now and her eyes watch him in bemusement. 

“Y’look gorgeous.” He sighs, licking over his bottom lip when his eyes meet hers again and she smiles gently at him, giving him a spin as always. She mutters her appreciation and Harry pulls her closer to him, holding her at arm’s length to truly admire her. Innocent giggles fall from her full lips as he repeatedly tells her just how good she looks. He couldn’t help but notice how the material hugged every curve she had, the slit on the side showcasing her thick thighs that had Harry near drooling. Her ass is damn near perfect and her heels do wonders for her legs, and Harry knows that this might be one of the longest nights of his life.  Lauren falls to his chest, hiding her face in his shirt, and he places a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 

“Car will be here in just a minute, lovie.” 

The bar was more of a club and when the Uber drops the pair off, Harry grabs a hold of Lauren’s hand, bypassing the line towards the bouncer. Lauren wasn’t sure what his plan was but is pleasantly surprised when the bouncer gives Harry a nod and moves to let them through. Lauren can’t help but move along to the music as Harry leads the way through a crowd of people. The scene brings her back to her college days when fun was expected on every weekend and most weekdays. She admittedly missed going out and dancing, and was grateful that Harry brought her here.

 They make their way to a booth where two other men are sitting, and they jump up as soon as they catch sight of Harry. They’re all jeers and hellos as they embrace and Lauren hangs back for a moment. Harry turns quickly, tugging her closer to his side as he introduces her. Harry had known these guys from college and would visit California often to see them. They were just as attractive as Lauren was expecting, all of Harry’s friends were. Micah was tall, a fade cut, and wearing a suit that seemed very expensive. His smile was warm and inviting, he seemed clean and sharp around the edges. His skin was deep and rich, he was fine. Seth was more on the leaner side, towering over both Harry and Micah. His blonde hair was curly and long, stopping at his shoulders. He too had a perfect smile and a deep charming voice that had nearly knocked Lauren off her feet when he greeted her. She thought quickly that these men would be fun to flirt with, but the idea was gone as soon as it came when she noticed the wedding bands on each of their fingers. 

 They sit at the booth for a while and conversation is easy as Harry gushes about Lauren and all that she was doing. Harry stands to order another drink for each of them once their’s expires, leaving with a kiss on her temple and a promise to only be gone for a minute. The two men share a knowing smirk behind their glasses unbeknownst to Lauren.

 “He never shuts up about you, hasn’t in years.” Seth smiles politely and Lauren grins bashfully.

 “He gets a little excited sometimes, yes.” She shifts in her seat, itching to get on the dancefloor. 

The men chuckle and Micah swishes the content of his glass around. It was very clear to them that Harry still hadn’t made any advances and it was also obvious that Lauren felt the same way that he did. Harry returns just as Lauren is finishing up telling the guys about her life growing up in Georgia. He slides in with a grin, placing his arm around Lauren’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side.

 “Hope these two haven’t bored you half to death, love.” He pushes her drink towards her and she swats at him.

 “Better company than you, I think.” She smirks, pulling her drink to her lips. Harry clutches at his chest in fake hurt and his friends laugh.

 “She’s just as brilliant as we expected. Feel like we’re in the company of royalty with the way you go on about her.” Micah and Seth are all grins as Harry tries to fight the blush from creeping up his neck. Of course, his mates knew just how bad he had it for her and he should’ve known that they wouldn’t let this be easy.

 “What can I say?” He exasperates, “She’s just that perfect.” His hand finds Lauren’s thigh as he chuckles beside himself and she leans into him with a soft smile. 

They go on like that for a while and their glasses remain full. Lauren can feel the effects of the alcohol she’s consumed and she listens in quietly as the men talk business. She was beginning to grow impatient with every song that passed, wanting to release her new energy on the dance floor. Her hand finds Harry’s at her thigh and she places it over his. He gives her a gentle squeeze and she hums, toying with his fingers. She fiddles with his rings for a while, and Harry looks down at her when the conversation slows.

 “Y’alright, love?” He hums into her ear and she nods, glassy eyes looking up to find his. 

“Wanna dance.” She harrumphs, taking a slow sip of her drink. Harry lets a small laugh fall from his lips, nudging her head with his nose.

 “In a minute, yeah? Need to be nice and drunk for tha’.” She giggles drunkenly at that, and he squeezes her thigh again. “I’ll order some shots for us.” Harry announces to the table, “ This one wants to dance.” Lauren lets her head roll back onto her shoulders as she laughs. She downs the contents of her glass and dances in her seat when he returns. Harry does the shots fast, making a face when he finishes and Lauren giggles some more as Micah and Seth begin their banter. 

Soon enough, Harry’s vision is cloudy and he feels the warmness in his chest engulfing him and he bids his friends good night when they decline the offer to join them. He’s pulling Lauren to the dance floor when he hears a song he particularly likes and she follows behind with a giggle, shaking her hips as she holds tightly onto his hand. They form a sort of circle as they move to the beat, the alcohol making their moves slightly untimely. Lauren finds herself gravitating towards Harry, and his hands reach for her hips to pull her towards his chest. She closes her eyes as she moves to the music, her head tipped back as she holds on to his shoulder. One of his legs is brought between her two as she rocks her hips, his breathing is heavy as he watches her. Their chests are pushed together as she sings along to the lyrics, allowing herself to let loose for a moment. He rocks his body into hers, matching her slow movements. Her hand finds the side of his neck after a few songs, tugging him closer to be heard over the loud music. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink!” She shouts. Her inebriated mind allows her to let her lips linger for a moment and she doesn’t move away when he pulls back to look at her.

 “I’ll get it, ‘ve got a tab open!” He leaves a lingering kiss behind her ear before they part and she’s left to dance by herself. Lauren didn’t mind dancing alone and lifts an arm over her head as her feet carry her side to side. 

 When warm hands hold her hips again, she doesn’t think twice as she dances. She falls back against his chest, moving her hips against him. They rock from side to side for a while, until he’s gripping at her thighs and whispering into her ear.

 “Let’s go take this elsewhere.” He groans and Lauren jumps away from the unsuspecting partner. 

The man is, in fact, not Harry, rather Harry is moving his way through the crowd towards the pair. He watches the interaction as he comes closer, nudging strangers slightly. The guy is whispering into her ear and Lauren is shaking her head profusely denying his advances. The look on the man’s face is one of frustration as he throws his arms around to argue his case. Lauren takes a step back and gestures to Harry when he’s in her view.

 “Think I’ll take it from here!” He shouts, nodding in the direction of where the man should go and Lauren takes her drink gratefully. The man scoffs, muttering to himself as he leaves. Harry pulls Lauren back against his chest, bending down to speak into her ear. 

“Should’ve known better than t’leave you by yourself! M’sorry, love.” She hums at the sound of his voice, a shiver raking down her spine. 

Harry doesn’t like the feeling of jealousy that resides in his chest. Doesn’t like the idea that another had their hands on her, and he knows that it’s irrational to think this way, but he can’t seem to help it. He grips her hips tighter in his hands as she dances against him after telling him to forget about it. But he can’t seem to forget it, his empty hand runs along her side as he brings his face to the side of her neck. She extends her neck and he breathes her in, his nose dragging along the sticky skin. Her hand tangled in his hair and she slows her movements, dipping their bodies slowly as she continues to move her hips.

 “You’re so gorgeous.” He groans into her ear, drunkenly kissing at the skin on her neck. She breathes in sharply, her eyes fluttering closed as he squeezes at her thigh. 

She rolls her head to the side in search of his eyes, and he leans his forehead against hers. His drunken eyes are hooded and he can’t seem to look away from her parted mouth. She brings her drink up to her mouth as they continue to move, sipping the rest of it through the straw. Her inhibitions were low enough to let whatever should happen, happen and she couldn’t say that she would mind if they had. He turns her around in his arms and brings his leg back between hers. He drops his face near hers, his breath fanning over her lips. She bites her bottom lip and places her forehead on his as she whines to the music. His lips find her ear again and they brush over her skin when his head sways slightly. He pulls her closer to him by the small of her back, and he can just barely feel the heat of her center against his thigh. 

Lauren’s mind is borderline incoherent from the alcohol and the way Harry was lighting a fire within her. Sure she had danced with many guys in her past, but this was intimate. The way he was grasping at her fleshy hips, beckoning her impossibly closer, this felt personal. He just couldn’t seem to get enough of her and didn’t know how much longer he’d have her this close. His fuzzy mind was telling him to go for it, and the option didn’t look that bad at the moment.

 “So fuckin’ pretty.” He says into her ear, and Lauren bites back a whimper. She’s gripping at his shirt desperately and he brings his face back to hers, nudging her nose with his own. She lifts her chin slightly, begging him to go on and his eyes watch her. Hooded eyes, parted lips, she was totally blissed out and he’d be damned if he missed his moment. 

He takes it. Slowly at first, lips grazing over hers hesitantly. She sighs into his mouth when his lips fully encase hers, soft and supple. They pull apart slowly after the first peck, eyes peering at each other partly in disbelief. Their attention is elsewhere than the club they were standing in, moving too slow for the pace of the music. His hand holds the side of her face as she leans up to look at him. Harry chases her lips again, closing over her bottom lip and tugging. Her fingers entangle in his hair to hold him to her and she presses her chest to his. Their kisses remain slow like their thoughts, pulling at the other’s flesh as eyes pry open slightly. Lauren takes the initiative and tugs at his hair gently, sliding her tongue into his mouth when he gasps. He groans into her mouth, his body alight with a fire he could feel burning through his being. She caresses her tongue over his languidly, pulling kiss after kiss from him. Harry pulls away and captures her bottom lip, kissing at it. 

“Let’s go home.” He breathes into her ear and she nods, slipping her hand through his. 

The Uber ride is all stolen glances and soft touches, an unspoken thing lingering in the air around them. As soon as they’re through the door Harry is kissing down her neck from behind. Lauren hums, falling into his chest as her hand still holds onto his.

 “Let’s get ready for bed, yeah?” He mutters against her skin before releasing her and heading down the hall. 

Lauren stands in her spot, astonished at his behavior but follows him anyway. He turns into his room without a word and she goes to her own, collapsing onto the bed. Her mind runs in circles when she closes her eyes, and she can’t bring herself to change her clothes. The heels alone needed to be unbuckled and she didn’t think she had the dexterity for that. Harry comes in after a few moments and chuckles at the sight of her.

 “Supposed to be getting ready for bed, love.” He teases, sitting on the floor and grabbing her ankle. She sits up to watch him, leaning on her elbows as he places the heel of her shoe on his shoulder. He kisses at her soft skin on her ankle as his fingers undo the belt, massaging at the sore skin when the shoe is placed on the ground. Lauren groans audibly at the feeling, letting her head hang back as he continues. When the other shoe is pulled off he places her pajamas on the bathroom counter. Lauren takes her time changing and washing her makeup off, mentally preparing herself for what might happen. She giggles to herself at the thought that this was actually happening. She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not, but her mind had already convinced her that this was what she wanted. She doesn’t focus on the complications of what they’d started, her mind swims with unreasonable thoughts and she can’t seem to identify all the flashing warnings that she’d worked so hard on maintaining. Her rule was to never mix business with pleasure, and if she was being honest, the business aspect of their relationship had dwindled away so long ago. Now Harry was her favorite friend, her favorite soul, and she should take advantage of the opportunity. 

When she comes out of the bathroom, Harry is sat on the end of the bed, fiddling with his rings. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and stands, making his way towards her. He grabs her hand when he’s close enough, and pulls her to him, spinning her so her back is to his chest. A loud giggle falls from her lips as he sways them side to side, planting small kisses to her cheeks.

 “Ready for bed, love?” He hums, raking his fingers up her side. Her satin tank lifts slightly as he goes on and a shiver rolls through her, all she can manage is a nod. She puts her hair into her bonnet before climbing into bed, and his hands are on her again like they never left. Harry’s mind warns him to stop but he can’t seem to and he’s rolling over her and burying his head into her neck. She whimpers as he sucks on the skin, not enough to leave a mark but she’s gripping his hair nonetheless.

 “Completely adore you, bug.” He murmurs against her jaw, pressing soft kisses to her skin. A small whimper leaves her lips and her eyes are hooded. She pulls him closer so their chests are touching, and turns her head to find his eyes. He nudges her nose with his, smiling slightly as she croons. When their lips meet he’s humming contentedly into her mouth. Hands grab at her hips, squeezing in anticipation, and her jaw unhinges enough for him to slide his tongue inside. Lauren rolls them over then, straddling one of his thighs as he lays against the pillows. Their kiss is patient as she hovers over him, her forearms resting beside his head and fingers tangle into his hair. A cheeky hand finds its way to her behind, groping a handful and pulling her up against his thigh. Their lips part when she gasps, her head hanging backward on her neck. Harry smiles to himself at the perfect vision before him, humming when his lips kiss right underneath her chin. She looks down at him through glossy eyes, pressing her hands to his bare chest as she moves over his thigh. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and places his hands around her wrists as she works herself against him.

 “Such a dream.” He says. His words string together slower than usual, and if she weren’t privy to his drunken dialect, she’d have missed it completely. She bends down to place her forehead to his, kissing at his nose softly and his eyes flutter closed.

 “So pretty.” She murmurs and moves to place her head into the crook of his neck, placing small pecks to the skin there. Lauren relaxes as his fingers trace patterns on her back and the world spins when she closes her eyes for too long. “M’so smashed.” She sighs, a giggle follows and Harry can’t help but laugh along with her. He rolls her off of him and leans on his side. His fingers graze at her cheek and she hums, nuzzling into his touch. 

“Kiss me.” She whispers, her eyes peering at him through her lashes. He doesn’t hesitate to move in, placing his lips over hers gently. He can feel her sigh against his mouth, chasing his lips when he moves away. He watches as her face contorts with frustration and he kisses her again, even softer this time. 

“Quite like kissing you.” His voice is below a whisper and she doesn’t think he meant to say it aloud. Her stomach swarms at his confession and she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth to fight a smile.

 “Won’t last long.” She sighs, slotting her lips against his once more. He licks into her mouth, swirling his tongue over hers, and huffs into her. 

“What do you mean, pet?” His brows furrow and she’s chasing after him again, pressing a hand to his chest when he comes back to her. 

“Have to forget about it tomorrow.” She sighs against his mouth, jaw hanging slack when he grabs at her ass again. 

“And why’s that?” His teeth bite at her chin as he pulls her against him, eating up every whimper that falls from her sweet mouth. A particularly loud moan of his name has his eyes rolling back to his head, and his ego inflating. Praise from her was the only thing he ever cared about, it was all he ever thought about, and all his actions were done to please her. He loved her, way more than he thinks she loves him and he’s okay with that. He has no other option but to be. 

“Because we’re just friends.” She breathes behind a moan and Harry doesn’t believe her for a second.

 Friends don’t resist each other the way these two have been. There would be no reason to if they were truly just friends. She wouldn’t be melting into his touch, whimpering his name, tracing his tattoos when she thought he didn’t notice. He always noticed. He noticed the way she’d visibly relax when he hugged her, how her eyes averted his gaze when he complimented her. It was why he allowed her to steal his every breath, and consume his every thought. She was into him, and even though she fought it as hard as she could, she wasn’t fooling him. 

“Best friends.” He ruts his hips into her, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head, and he kisses her cheek gently. Her hazy mind pleads with her to stop things, put a pin in them before they can’t take them back. She was her own worst enemy, sacrificing her own happiness for the sake of stability. There was no reason valid enough for her to deny him, but there she was, pushing against his chest and tugging his heart out in the same motion. 

“We’re drunk.” She deadpans. Harry huffs, pulling her closer to him by her hip.

 “Have been for a while now, sweetheart.” His lips search for hers and she succumbs, slipping her fingers through his hair. 

She groans as his mouth works against hers. He tilts his head and she follows until he’s hovering over her. He liked to be in control, he didn’t like the bullshit that she was spewing at him, and this was certain to shut her up. Lauren had never been kissed like this in her life, and she can’t remember the last time she had spent this long just making out. In a way, she wishes she were sober, coherent enough to reminisce on this correctly in the future. She would be lucky if she could remember at all, and in some ways, she hopes she forgets. 

“Harry,” She whines when their lips part for a second and he licks at the corner of her mouth before pushing his tongue inside once more. His forearm finds the pillow on the other side of her head, and Lauren is wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Keep whinin’ my name like tha’ and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to forget this.” He smirks against her mouth. She whimpers, nails scratching at his scalp. She’s pulling him closer to her, needing the weight of him to remind her of her reality. Though she wasn’t sold that it was a reality she would like to keep, she was certain that she would love him even more tomorrow. 

“Jus’ gonna kiss you to sleep I think.” He hums, slowing their pace down and remaining in control. 

This was the only time he was calling the shots when it came to Lauren, and he was gonna seize the moment in case it never came again. The alcohol in his veins makes his movements sloppy, leaving a trail of himself across her chin. She doesn’t mind, quite liked the desperateness of it all. He’s all teeth as he pulls at her bottom lip, releasing it to watch as it snaps back into place. He admires the way her drooping eyes watch him and he’s sure to put on a show for her. They’re quickly learning what the other liked and Harry silently prays he doesn’t remember this because he's sure the flashbacks would haunt him. He kisses her again, pulling away quickly to watch how her chin chases after him. Her lips are parted as he toys with her, nibbling and suckling as he pleases. Her breathing is slow as their lips move together, relaxation engulfing her. Small whimpers and moans fall from their lips as he continues, wandering hands familiarize themselves. When their kisses begin to slow he rolls them over so her head is tucked into his neck. All she can manage is a quiet hum and he shushes her, fingers tracing over her back. 

***

Harry wakes before her, the sun streaming through the patio doors, bringing him to consciousness. Memories from the previous night flood his mind and he’s pulling Lauren closer to him. He remembers her hesitation, the way she had told him to forget the whole thing. He brings his arm up over his eyes, a headache pounding at his temples, and the mess he had created for himself wasn’t helping by any means. He breathes in her scent as she sleeps, dreading the moment her eyes open and the same realization floods her memory. Harry can’t decide what he would even say to her. Should he confess or act like he didn’t remember as she’d wanted? He wanted to bring it up to figure out why she had pushed him away the way she had. It hadn’t then, but it hurt to think about now. Rejection wasn’t something he experienced often, but it was still his biggest insecurity when it came to her. It was the reason why he had kept his feelings at bay for so long, and now he had gone and ruined everything they’d built. But it wasn’t as if she had rejected him because she hadn’t felt the same, she seemed pretty into it last night. But things always change when inhibitions are back in place, and the sun shines through the light of day. He decides that should she remember he’d tell her and if she doesn’t he’d redo it sober another time. Either way, if she doesn’t bring it up, neither will he. 

The task is easier said than done, he’s nervous all through breakfast and as they pack for the beach he can’t help but stare at her. There was no possible way that she didn’t remember and if she had chosen to put their actions in the past, she was doing too good of a job. Lauren almost wishes she had forgotten, but Harry seemed to be playing it cool so she would too. She figured things would be easier this way, no one would get hurt and their relationship wouldn’t change. Except it had, and Harry was hurting far more than he would care to admit. She continues to pack their cooler and ignore his watchful gaze. It was hard enough to try to misplace the memory of his hands gripping her thighs, or the way he’d said her name. She tried not to dwell on the way her body fit so perfectly against his like they were made for each other. Or the way he kissed her like his life depended on it. But she wasn’t going to speak about it unless he had, just like she asked of him. Now that she thought about it, it was a stupid thing to ask of him, but she knew it would be for the best. 

“Can you grab the sandwiches out the fridge, bub?” She asks, pulling her focus away from her thoughts. Harry turns towards the fridge without a word, tossing the sandwiches onto the counter before walking down the hall. 

She pushes the air out of her lungs and stops her actions once she hears his door slam shut. He remembered, and he was pissed.  He sighs to himself as he changes into his swim trunks. He thought the whole thing was just stupid and childish. He knows that she knows, and the way she could remain so nonchalant about it was bothering him. Was that all he meant to her, was he that easy discardable, had he misread their entire relationship? He knew he had fallen for her and he liked to think that she had too, but had she no feelings for him at all? Maybe she had meant what she said. That they were “just friends”. His stomach is uneasy and he doesn’t think that he can bring himself to face her. He needed a minute to calm the tempest in his mind, but he knew that wouldn’t happen with her in the room right across the hall. 

“Are you upset with me?” Lauren asks after they’ve been sitting on the beach for close to two hours and the conversation is nonexistent. 

They had barely spoken when he emerged from his room, only offering one-word answers to her feeble attempts at conversation. Their walk down to the shore was silent as he carried their bags and she pulled the cooler. She tried to not draw attention to it, to move on in the way that she knew that they should, but he was making it difficult.

 “At you? No. At myself? Yes.” He says. Sunglasses cover his eyes and he doesn’t so much as glance at her. She huffs as she grows agitated with him, flipping onto her stomach to look at him better. 

“We can eat lunch and talk if you’d like?” She offers. It seems that the only way out of this was through it and since Harry wouldn’t let her forget, she’d have to suck it up and have the conversation. 

“You told me to forget about it, so that’s what I’m fucking doing.” He doesn’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they had, and he regrets them as soon as they leave his mouth. It was probably best to talk about what had happened, but she had let him sit for too long, and his thoughts had gone from upset to angry. He doesn’t apologize and fights the urge to look at her when he sees her moving from the corner of his eye. 

“Well, you’re doing a terrible job.” She bites as she sits up on the blanket. He looks at her then, a scowl etching its way onto his lips, and his temper rising. 

 “I’m so sorry I won’t discuss my feelings for you on some crowded public beach, Lauren.” His smile is mean, and she has never hated the way her name sounds coming from his mouth more. He seldomly called her by her name, always opting to use pet names or nicknames instead. She can’t seem to focus on anything else but the way he had said it. He had said it with such distaste, and the stupid smirk on his lips makes her blood boil. 

“So I’m ‘Lauren’ now?” Her voice is just barely audible and even though he can physically feel his heart ripping in half, and can’t seem to stop. He keeps his eyes towards the sky, knowing that if he does look at her, he’ll be putty in her hands. That was exactly what he was trying to put an end to. The way she so effortlessly had played with his feelings, toyed with his heart, and threw it to the side when she didn’t want to play anymore. She had hurt him worse than any woman ever had, and he wanted her to feel miserable along with him. 

“That’s how friends call each other, right? By their names?” He swallows roughly, closing his eyes as his skin heats under the sun. He can’t see her, but she’s shoving her things into her bag, making way for a quick exit. And before he even realizes it, she’s leaving him there and walking back to the house without another word.

 Lauren could count the number of times he had been upset with her on her hands and never had he gone so far as to be purposefully mean. She didn’t know how to deal with him when he was like this, and she was upset that it had even gotten to this point. In her eyes, Harry had no reason to be upset with her, not to the point where he was being mean, anyway. Sure she can admit that asking him to put what they had done behind them was a stupid, drunken mistake. In an effort to protect her own heart she had damaged his and she felt awful. But that was no excuse for Harry’s childish behavior. 

As she treks up the sandy walkway to their home his words bounce against the forefront of her mind. Behind his snarky smile, he had admitted that he did have some sort of feelings for her and she could pretend no longer that she had no clue what they were. She had spent so long convincing herself that she couldn’t be with him and had missed the signs that he was falling for her. All the walls she had set up to protect herself he’d effortlessly pummelled through, and had never given her reason to believe that she couldn’t trust him with her heart. She had been so blind to the way he had changed around her. The way it was so effortless to be with him, and the way that neither of them had any other love interest over the past two years. Lauren had always contributed that to their busy work lives, but it was time for her to be honest. The only other person she ever made time for was Harry and vice versa. The only person she ever dared to consider beyond herself was him. He was the first person she shared any exciting news with and the last person she talked to before she went to sleep at night. And as much as she would like to believe that she had kept it platonic, her actions showed a completely different Lauren. She was having her cake and eating it too, without the consideration of Harry’s feelings. 

She sheds her things by the front door before retiring to her room for a bath. As she strips down she tries to rid her mind of all the times she should’ve made her intentions clear. But at the same time, her intentions were a reflection of what she really wanted from their relationship. She could admit to herself that she was in love with him, but when it came down to owning up to it, she was as lost as a teenager doing this for the first time. And in a way, it was her first time. She had never felt anything as intensely as she did when she was with Harry. She’d never suppressed her feelings this way. She was used to getting what she wanted and not caring about the consequences, but this consequence she felt everywhere. 

Tears sting at her eyes as she soaks in the bubbles. Here she was sitting in a damn Airbnb on a trip that was perfectly planned and tailored to her liking, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. Harry had shown her time and time again just how much he cared about her and she told him to forget her in a moment that should’ve brought them together. It was selfish the game she was playing. Everything was on her terms. And even though she hadn’t meant for things to turn out this way, she supposes this is the way they’d been heading for a long time.  They were both stupid. Stupid in a way that they’d tiptoe around their feelings for each other, taking whatever the other would offer and writing it off as a friendship. 

The water isn’t warm enough to melt away the sinking feeling in her stomach. She knows she’s fucked up bad this time and doesn’t know how she could fix it. She could blame her drunken actions, but that wouldn’t dismiss the way they’d handled each other today. And of course, she knew that she’d bring it up somehow today, she was figuring a way to slip it into their non-existent conversation. She’d never be able to simply forget it and she knew that. She knew that when she’d woken up and his arms weren’t around her and she could still feel the indent of his fingers against her skin. God did she love the way he touched her. She loved how quickly he’d got her to fall deeper into his embrace, succumbing to his hands and turning her brain to mush. She supposes she liked that the most. The way she felt as if all the planets had aligned perfectly when his hands were on her body. Or the fact that said fingers had touched her everywhere except where she had needed him most. She was no stranger to his teasing, was privy to the mischievous glint in his eye when he had something up his sleeve. And she should’ve known better than to think that it wouldn’t follow him into the bedroom. Lauren is almost agitated with herself for not exploring that side of him a little more.

Not to overlook the way he had known exactly what to say, exactly where to touch to have her rendered breathless. Putty in his hands ready to accept the outcome of her fate. She had taken advantage of that when the time was so fleeting. Though she knew their situation was less about fault and more about their lack of communication, it was hard to not feel some sort of guilt. She was upset because she had unintentionally made Harry upset, and she often took pride in the way she knew how to please him. She was always the one to make sure he was having just as good of a time as she was, especially when she drags him along to do something she particularly likes. She knows just how fidgety he can be, and the seemingly mundane tasks that brought her joy would offer Harry anything but. But he always stuck them out, reassuring her that any time spent with her was time well spent. She likes to think that they do that for each other, checking on the other when brought outside of their comfort zone. There was something simple about their relationship. Something that had just come so easy. Lauren supposes that is what had made it so difficult to grasp what it was. 

She can remember the fear that she had felt when her gaze had lingered on his naked chest for a second too long and she felt the butterflies erupt in her belly. At that point Harry had become like family, the initial shock of attraction had dwindled long before. She had figured that it was just lust anyhow and would subside the way those first feelings had. Except these feelings were nothing like the kind when you run into a cute guy at the grocery store. The way she had looked at him now had stemmed from her learning who Harry truly was. And once she had learned to love him because of all the attributes that made him who he is it was game over. She loved the way he rubbed at his nose when he was trying to make his words sound perfect. She liked the way he could be so calculated but so lax at the same time. She adored the way he thought of her opinion and considered her at times she’d liked to believe she would consider him as well. They had gotten along so well and she didn’t want to worry her mind with attachments and emotions. However, in that time she’d spent convincing herself that she couldn’t, she certainly had.  

In some ways, she likes to blame Harry for the way she had dismissed his advances. It wasn’t as if the writing on the wall was so plain, after all. She supposes that if he hadn’t been so damn charming to anyone that had the pleasure of being in his presence for more than fifteen minutes, she’d be able to think more clearly. On one hand sure, the man who plans a detailed vacation has it bad for you. But on the other, that same man could light up the world and empty their pockets with so much as a smile. He was kind and thoughtful, and just good. Too good. The kind of good that makes you believe that your feelings that would undoubtedly bloom have sourced from delusion. And the months that Lauren had spent arguing with herself that he would do these things for anyone who so much as asked were exhausting. In that exhaustion, she had failed to make the rather impressive connection that she hadn’t asked. Harry had considered her and did for her simply because he wanted to. But when your pessimistic mind is so bent on making you believe one thing, the latter is easy to miss. 

She doesn’t move from her spot in the alcove when she hears the front door open then close. The sound of the plastic wheels of their cooler rolling against the hardwood floors isn’t enough to turn her head, but it’s enough for her focus to be lost from her novel. She stares at the pages, the black ink swirling and becoming one haunting picture, wishing she could make herself small. He hasn’t noticed her presence yet and she can’t gauge his mood when his back is turned to her. Still shirtless, she notices the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he puts their uneaten food into the fridge. The extra sighs and huffs of frustration aren’t lost on her either, and for a second she fights herself from getting up and lending a hand. She remains stationary, though, her fingers flicking the dog-eared page. She’d read the novel more times than she could count, the one she holds now is her second copy. It’s the one Harry had surprised her with one Valentine’s Day after her’s had all but disintegrated from the seams. He claimed the holiday was a minor convenience of presenting it to her, but Lauren let the romance of it all cloud her mind in a Harry-filled fog. She took better care of this copy, always kissing her teeth when her old habits of folding the pages would surface. The note he had left in the cover, however, had melted her down to the bone and she swore she’d make this copy last forever. 

For the sweetest girl with the heaviest touch, be gentle. H. 

Admittedly for Harry, the few words he had scribbled into the paperback had far more meaning than what she’d figured. She’d touched his heart and transitioned his life. Her influence was just that. Heavy. Almost so heavy that at times he found himself wondering if he was wasting his “good years” pining after a girl who had no interest. He was savvy that way, leaving hints and tips that his heart burned for her, and almost every time feeling sour when things hadn’t changed. He wanted her to be more gentle with him. He at the time was still new to the way he felt about her, constantly thinking of ways to make it obvious. But obvious for Harry wasn’t obvious for anyone else. At least not to a girl who had convinced herself otherwise. He wasn’t so used to the uneasy feeling that swarmed his stomach when she went out on a date. Wasn’t accustomed to the way his heart would race when her fingers would dance along his shoulders. And he certainly wasn’t privy to the way he seemed to have lost all logical thinking when it came to her. Truth be told he’d give an arm and a leg just to see her smile but now that he could recognize how he felt towards her, that had gone beyond sensibility. He needed her to be gentle with him, to not shatter his heart because he knew he’d never recover. 

Lauren is pulled out of her reverie, fingers still stroking the pages of her book as she reminisces. Her teeth bite at her lip as she waits for him to notice her presence. She was dying to say something, anything, but that couldn’t be done if he wasn’t willing to speak to her. At the same time, she’d be fine with saying nothing at all. She thinks to herself that she should’ve known better. Five days with just the two of them under the same roof should’ve had her running in the opposite direction. She should’ve expected lowered inhibitions and drunken words said without thought. But instead, she’d continued to live in the fantasy world that she’d created for herself. The one where she does as she pleases and expects Harry to move with her. 

She holds her breath when he puts the last of their food away and closes the fridge door. She buries back into her novel, the words not making it past her eyes but she pretends nonetheless. She only looks up when she hears him gasp. He stands behind the island, palms pressed to the cold surface and a look of shock etched into his expression at the realization of her presence. She offers a shy smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes and tries to decipher if he’s still upset with her. He seems calmer if his face is any indicator, and his sunglasses are now pushed atop his head. Under any other circumstance, she’d take a moment to ogle his chest and the way his biceps flex as he pushes himself away from the counter. However she still takes a quick peek, her teeth still gnawing her bottom lip raw. 

When she finally brings her gaze to meet his own she feels her nerves beckoning her to retreat to her room. Everything in her begs her to run away and forget the argument that they’d had. She hated confrontation, would rather forget it and move on than work through it. For most of her life that is exactly what she had done. Nothing was worth exerting that kind of energy into and more times than not, she wasn’t up for it. She liked to lay low, and would rather be someone’s peace than their problem. 

She feels frozen in place as they gaze at each other. Suddenly the room feels much cooler than it had before and she’s unsure if she’s ready to face the can of worms that they’d opened. She wanted to tell him that she was wrong, that she was sorry, but she’d be fine if he’d decided to move on. But that wasn’t the kind of person Harry was. He was the stick to it and fight through it kind of person. He didn’t like mulling over things for a long while and would rather tackle the things that bothered him head-on. There wasn’t a chance that he’d decided to not bring it up and Lauren was bracing for the impact. 

“Didn’t know you were there.” He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans his lower back against the edge of the countertop. She nods stupidly, eyes shifting down to her book in her lap. Uncertainty swims through her like a sailboat caught in a storm, and she’s not ready for the waves to crash over her just yet. She’s sifting through the thoughts in her mind, trying to quickly form sentences that would convey her regretfulness. At the same time, her brain is muddled with thoughts and memories of everything that had led them to this moment. She can’t read him, his face is expressionless and his jaw is relaxed in the way that makes her palms sweat. Her throat is dry and she almost opens her mouth to speak before thinking better of it. The silence between them is deafening, she can feel his gaze from across the room as her fingers trace the title of her novel. 

She looks up when she hears him moving around the kitchen, and he’s moving towards her still without expression. A grimace finds her lip when he sits beside her and she’s drawing her knees to her chest to make room for him. Harry sits down beside her with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest with his gaze out the back windows. He slides his body further into the cushions of the bench and another breath of air expels from his lips. Lauren eyes his profile suspiciously when he makes no efforts to speak, still silently gazing at the horizon of the ocean. It was nearing sunset and the sky had begun to paint itself a pretty shade of orange. Her favorite time of the day, where everything was touched by the sun, changing color to honor her beauty. In those minutes it was hard to think about anything besides the divinity of the sky. A moment of reflection, she’d like to call it. Sunsets always reminded her of just how big the world was but simultaneously she felt intense comfort. Everything just felt better. Everything was beautiful, everyone was kind, and nothing mattered. Something short of a small utopia.

 But the way she felt right now was anything but. She admired the way the sun cast a glow onto Harry’s tanned skin and deepened the color of his hair. If it were any other moment she’d crawl into his chest to watch the sky change with him. Now she sat facing him, the sun turning her eyes golden and warming her skin. She thinks about the time they went to watch Memorial Day fireworks. Sitting atop the largest hill Harry knew to exist in Georgia. They got there early because he knew how much Laren loved to watch the sunset, and how much he loved to watch her. She remembers how his eyes kept shifting between the sky and her profile, and the way she’d looked at him when he had that funny look on his face. He smiled at her, the kind where his lips only parted a tad, and pulled her closer as the air began to chill. Her gaze stayed on his as best she could, a silent indication that she wanted to know what was on his mind. He hums, tangling their fingers as his eyes gaze over her features. 

“Your eyes look like little pots of honey.” He smiled, tilting his head slightly. A smile pushes its way onto her lips as she turns away bashfully. He’s pulling her closer then, letting her hide her face into his shoulder. He can’t help but chuckle and place a gentle kiss to her hair. “So pretty.” He’d said. Lauren can’t forget the way he kept her hand in his the entire evening. She supposes she should’ve known then. 

His fingers wrapping around her ankles pulls her back to focus. He pulls her feet into his lap wordlessly and Lauren relaxes. Even in the silence, she feels more at ease than she had all day. The pads of his fingers rub at her skin seemingly unconsciously as he appears to be deep in thought. Her eyes are fixated on the bridge of his nose and the dip of his lip and for a moment, everything feels okay. 

“Suppose we should talk, yeah?” He murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky to let his cheek fall to his shoulder.  She nods, humming when he squeezes at the sole of her foot. He knows she’s a bit nervous, can tell by the way her fingers haven’t stopped circling over the cover of her novel. He fights the soft smile that threatens to overtake his features when he realizes which book it is. He can barely make out the shadow of his writing beneath the lifted cover. His hands on her skin ground him, and the changing sky makes it difficult to stay mad at her. He regrets the way he spoke to her, more sorry than he could express about being cross with her. He knows that he could’ve handled it better -- should’ve handled it better, and mostly he regrets letting her walk away. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but when his eyes meet hers it falls shut. He’s lost in the way her eyes glow in the sun, the warm brown shining, and for a moment he’s lost everything he was going to say. Once again his heart feels too big for his chest, his brain empties and everything seems insignificant. His body is enchanted by her, love overtakes him and he knows that he can’t let the opportunity pass him by. Before the silence lasts too long he’s running a hand up her leg and closing his eyes for a moment. “M’sorry about what I said earlier.” He starts, the low and steady bass of his voice cutting through the air. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that and I know I made you upset.” He’s fiddling with his rings when he finishes, unable to watch for her reaction. 

“Harry,” Lauren sighs, her chin dropping to her chest as she grapples with the words she needs to say. Harry’s lost in the way his name sounds like a song falling from her mouth, and he’s humming unknowingly. His eyes find her face again and he’s almost mad at her for being so damn pretty. 

“I’m sorry for telling you to forget about last night.” She breathes. Her palms sweat and her fingernails create half-moons on her skin. Her throat feels dry as she tries to maintain his gaze, willing herself to not be distracted by the soft features of his face and his apologetic expression. “It was a stupid thing to say, especially knowing it was the furthest thing from what I wanted to say.” She chuckles beside herself and Harry’s expression turns from sorry to perplexed. She’s twisting her ring around her finger with her thumb and the way her eyes stay fixed on his, he’s not sure if she realizes that she’s doing it. 

He lets a beat pass when he realizes that she’s finished, and suddenly he’s inclined to pry. “What did you want to say?” He asks unassumingly, relaxing his expression slightly. Lauren pushes out a sigh, looking towards the setting sun for an answer. The gentle graze of his fingers on her shins eases her discomfort. She doesn’t look at him when she speaks again, and he can’t help but notice the way her skin gleams under the touch of the sun. “Wanted to tell you,” She breathes in deep, sucking the air to her lungs and hopefully mustering up some courage as well. “--Wanted to tell you that I’m completely enamored by you. And that I’ve never felt more cared for in my entire life and that terrifies me.” Her eyes are back to his on her last word and he takes in the way they’re glossed over, glistening under the rays of the sun. 

For a second it feels as if he’s in a state of comatose. His chest is swelling and bursting and filling him with the warmth of a thousand fires that he thinks he might explode. The orange hue cast on her skin radiates around her and he swears she’s never been more beautiful. His smile threatens to split his face as he fully rests his cheek on his shoulder. He’s humming, pulling her legs closer into his lap and fighting the urge to wrap her up in his arms. Her words bounce around the forefront of his mind and he can’t focus on anything other than what she had said. 

“I’m scared too, but only of letting you get away.” He says gently. Her brown eyes watch him carefully as he brings his finger to flick underneath his nose, and he’s looking at her again with that same bout of sincerity he had on that Memorial Day. She’s silent, the steady drum of her heart reverberates behind her ears and she feels as if the moment would slip away in a second. “I’m sure that I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone. And I’m sure that I’ve never felt this way before, which scared me at first, but now my only fear is losing you.” He breathes.

 He’s unaware of the way her lip quivers slightly, and her hands ball into themselves. She feels as if her chest has been cracked wide open and every fear or worry that she’s ever had dissipates. Harry’s focus is on his hands, small remnants on a smile taint his lips. He loved her. Lauren almost wants to punch herself. What was all of this for? Why had she put up so many walls just to let him worm his way through? Why had it taken so long for her to realize that maybe, just maybe, he loved her too? She thinks she can blame it on her own insecurities, but even those Harry had made feel minuscule. She was worthy of love and worthy of happiness. That was all Harry had been trying to make her realize. She loved him. More than she knew what to do with but she was content that she got to try. 

Without a second thought, she’s removing her legs from his lap and standing to her feet. Harry looks at her with shining green eyes, irises bright from the light of the sun. She moves to straddle his lap and his hands find her uncovered thighs with ease, humming at the feeling of having her close again. The smile on his face is bright, crinkling the corners of his eyes and dimpling his cheeks in the way that Lauren loved. It was the face he made when he was so ridiculously happy and needed a release of emotion. She brings her hands to the side of his face, a grin splitting across her face. The sun was almost beyond the horizon now, an amber hue encompassing their small sliver of earth. The final rays of the day caress the skin of her back, warming her to her bones. “I love you.” She hums and Harry is lost in the glow of her eyes and the crinkle of her nose as she smiles. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, relishing in the way he feels right then. When she’s nudging his nose with her own, he opens them again and hums at the feeling of her skin on his. 

“I love you.” He repeats, the skin of his lips brushing against hers and she sighs. He lets his hands trail up her sides and around her back slowly, up and down until they're under her t-shirt. He leans up to connect their lips softly, humming contentedly. He takes his time this time around, memorizing the way her lips slot over his and how her fingers squeeze behind his ears. He has nothing to prove now, no flashing club lights blurring his vision, no alcohol to numb his thoughts into oblivion. Everything was out in the open, into the universe, and blooming under the sunshine. 

As his lips close over her bottom one he’s smiling softly and dropping his forehead to hers. He kisses his way along her jaw, pressing others to the lifted apples of her cheeks. Soft words of adoration fall from his mouth as he continues, and her jaw falls to her chest when he gets to that spot behind her ear. She’s mewling into his touch, raking her fingers through the long strands of his hair. He hums at the small pleas that fall from her lips and places a gentle kiss at her temple.  “Not gonna run from this, this time?” It’s posed as a question but the look in his eye says otherwise, and he’s pulling his chin away when Lauren goes to slot their lips together. “Asked you a question, love.” The cool metal of his rings bites at the skin of her back and she feels her insides swarm with the change in the tone of his voice. She’s damn near whimpering as she moves into him again only to be met with his retraction. Her breathing is shaky as she strings her words together, maintaining his eye contact. “Not going anywhere.” She assures him, biting at his chin. Harry pulls her closer then, reconnecting their lips and biting at her top one. His hand moves from under her shirt to the side of her face, fingers squeezing behind her ear when he moans on his next breath. 

She adores the way he kisses her with such fervor. Even as she leans over his seated frame, he commands her to follow his lead with every part of his lips and turn of his head. She doesn’t mind letting him work into her mouth and moans when his tongue slides over hers and finds home. He pulls her closer into his lap, a low groan reverberating in his chest when she sits on the becomings of a hard-on. Lauren hums into his mouth once again as she rolls over him and grips his hair a bit tighter. Harry pulls her bottom lip into his mouth, biting on the flesh before pulling a kiss from her. His palm is splayed across her lower back as she grinds against him and he watches her face with parted lips when he pulls away from their kiss. When he’s met with her golden eyes he can’t help but let his jaw hang slack for a moment. He takes in the small pants of air falling from her kiss swollen lips, and he doesn’t let the warm flush of her cheeks slip his notice. He almost whimpers at the sight before him, entranced with the pure unadulterated version of it. He’s vaguely aware of her hands slipping down his shoulders to his chest, fingers creating crescent-like shapes in their wake. His focus is blinded by the way she kisses across his jaw, familiarizing herself with the skin right below his chin. She nips there for a moment, sucking a deep bruise on the stretched skin and his eyes are rolling back into his sockets. 

The selfish need to have her closer racks through him, and he reckons he’d never grow tired of having her this way. Both hands are back under her shirt, desperately tugging the fabric higher up her ribs. His eyes are a gentle plea of consent and she nods, raising her arms over her head silently. He kisses at her smooth brown skin, suckling next to a freckle he’d been eyeing all week. She can feel the short pants of his breath at her ribcage as the shirt is moved up towards her arms. His touch is light as he moves the shirt over her shoulders, green eyes boring into hers in an intense stare she can’t tear her eyes away from. Their eye contact is lost for a moment when the shirt is tugged over her head and Harry’s moaning against her skin before their eyes reconnect. She hadn’t felt it necessary to put on any kind of underwear after her bath. The task itself seemed mundane as she had dwelled on her once dreary thoughts. But now as the cool air hits her skin and her shirt is tossed to the floor, she’s sucking in a breath through her teeth and her nipples are pebbling. Harry doesn’t hesitate to envelope one of the buds between his lips, humming in satisfaction when her fingers tangle through his hair once more. She lets out a wanton moan as he flicks at her nipple with his tongue, rolling her hips against his in anticipation. 

“Fuck.” That is all he can manage to breathe out when his hips rut into her on the next forward roll of her hips, and his bottom lip rests on her skin. Lauren brings her hand to the side of his face, admiring the little furrow between his brows. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He whines and pulls her back to him by her neck. He pushes their lips together in a chaste kiss and pulls away to watch her chase him. Her brow furrows and he offers a soft smile, lips slotting against hers softly.

 “Want you so bad.” Her voice is just above a whisper but he catches it and the words turn his stomach in ways that he’d only dreamt about.  He rests his forehead at the base of her throat in an attempt to bring himself down to earth. This was something that had never left the confines of his conscious, something he reserved for his alone time. “I’m yours. Always have been, pet.” He says into her skin, placing a gentle kiss where she’s swallowing harshly. Fingers cart through his hair softly, and she places a small kiss on his head. He turns his head to the side to catch her gaze, brown eyes shining in the lasting embers of the sun. The drum of her heart pounds beneath his ear and his hands find her hips to pull her closer to him. He watches the way her eyes flutter shut when his erection slides against her soft center. The material of his swim trunks is thin enough for her to feel the slight curve of his member and she can’t help but want to feel him completely. She seldom thought about him this way, the thought of it always got her too worked up to continue. But when she had, she had imagined every detail.

“Need you.” She exasperates, her head falling forward on her neck. He captures her lips between his own then, tracing his tongue along the curve of her, and sighing. He can’t think of a time where she had ever been more vulnerable with him, and as much as he wants to satisfy her every need, he wonders how much she’s willing to share. He hums against her mouth when she tugs at the roots of his hair, a whimper falls from her mouth when he pulls away slightly. 

“Where do you need me, lovie?” His bitten lips brush against hers as he speaks, the low octave of his tone spurring her on. She turns her head, groaning against his cheek and he chuckles deeply. He moves his hand up her side, gliding over her rib cage and gently cupping the swell of her breast. Her breathing is shaky, mind muddled with nerves and desire. His fingers tweak at her nipple, pulling just enough to elicit a moan from her pouty mouth. “Harry-” She whines, her jaw hanging open as she tilts her head up towards the ceiling. “Need me to help you feel good, babe?” He hums and trails his nose against the length of her neck. She nods meekly, turning her head to capture his lips in a swift movement. Her hand finds the side of his neck when she feels him about to pull away, sucking his lip into her mouth before offering him her tongue. He grunts, kissing into her and letting her take control of his mouth for a moment.  She moves her mouth against his quickly, a feeble attempt to distract him and he’s groaning as he submits to her. His other hand moves around her back until he’s gripping her ass, sliding her back into his lap with a sigh.

 “Got to use your words, sunshine.” His grip is tight on her, stilling her movements and making her whimper desperately into his mouth. He was so hard, harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life but he loves her this way. Needy, clinging to his shoulders and whining against his temple. “Make me feel good, H. Please.” She barely recognizes the sound of her own voice. He’s humming against her skin, tonguing his way along her throat. The hand that had played idly at her breast makes its slow descent down her stomach and in between their bodies. He plays coyly around the hem of her shorts, dipping his fingers in slightly to run across the smooth skin of her stomach. “Right in here?” He asks absentmindedly, watching her face as he pushes a single finger into the front of her shorts. They moan together, Harry in the realization that she wasn’t wearing any underwear at all. 

“Fuck, yes.” She whines as the tip of his middle fingers collects her wetness before running up to her clit. She exhales a shaking breath, her hips grinding down on his slow-moving digit. He’s moving so slowly in a way that makes her brain fuzzy, and her eyes dilate under the shifting sun. “Want me here or do you wanna go to bed?” He breathes, soaking his finger in her as he pushes into her. Her back arched into his chest, fingers scratching at his scalp and she’s unsure if she could breathe let alone tell him what she wants. He’s pulling his finger away slightly when she doesn’t answer, green eyes peering at her as her eyebrows furrow. 

“Here, love. Please, feels so good.” Her mouth hangs open as he’s pushing two fingers into her on his next go, groaning at the feeling of her squeezing him. His fingers reach places she could never reach on her own and she pants quick breaths as she rocks against his hand. His hand at her ass guides her with his rhythm, soft pleas fall from her lips when he curls his digits and scratches at the spongy spot within her. 

“Look so fuckin’ pretty riding my fingers like tha’.” He moans, voice gravely with his own arousal just from watching her. His words rang through her ears, spurring her hips to come down on his fingers with every thrust. He had managed to get her so close to the edge rather quickly, and the familiar tingles shot down her spine as she neared her finish. 

“So close, H.” She whines, dropping her forehead to focus on his eyes. What she sees instead has a deep guttural moan ripping through her chest and it takes everything in her not to screw her eyes shut. Harry had a hand down his swim trunks, squeezing and pumping at his length. When his eyes meet hers again, his mouth falls open in bliss his eyes a gentle plea for her to come for him. With his next thrust into her, he pushes his thumb against her clit, rubbing slow steady circles until she’s crying out his name in a way he decides that he loves. 

“Make a mess on my fingers, baby. Wanna feel you.” He groans before pulling her nipple between his teeth and his fingers reach for that spot that he knows will bring her over the edge. Her hands claw at his shoulders as he sucks a deep bruise into the underside of her boob. When her legs begin to shake against his thighs he pulls his hand out of his trunks and cups her jaw to pull her mouth back to his. Their kiss is all brushing lips and deep moans as her orgasm rushes through her, tensing her body and he works her through it. “So fucking good for me.” He says against the corner of her mouth as she comes. His thumb slows its movements at her clit until she’s grabbing at his wrist when it becomes too much. 

She places a soft kiss against his lips when she comes to, slotting her lips against his. His bottom lips rest between her parted mouth as she pulls kiss after kiss from him, eating every moan and whimper that falls from them. He’s pulling his fingers from her then, cupping his hand until he’s out of her shorts. She watches with wide eyes as he brings the digits to his mouth, sucking his middle finger into his mouth and humming at the taste of her. He keeps his eyes open, watching the way brown eyes focus on the way his tongue laps over his finger. When he’s had his share he taps his ring finger against her lips, sliding it through when they part with a groan that has his hips in search of her center. A slow fuck reverberates from his throat as he watches her through a lustful gaze. Her eager mouth sucks him in slowly, putting on a show for him, licking around his digit in a way she had only imagined she’d suck his cock if given the chance. 

“Need t’be inside of you.” It’s a desperate whine, really. An airy plea that falls from rose-colored lips, tickles her insides and fills her with a warmth that blankets her soul. With a nod of her head and a whisper of, please he’s standing to his feet with her in his arms. He puts her down before spinning her in his arms, grabby hands caressing her skin as he nips at her neck. He’s pushing his hips into her as he grabs at hers, pulling her back to his chest. Her head is lulling against his shoulder facing the opposite way as he sucks a deep mark where her neck and shoulder meet. 

“Just can’t get enough of you, bug.” His hands slip up her sides, cupping her breasts in both palms. “Pretty under the sun, like it was made for you.” He murmurs, voicing his thoughts into the open. She whimpers when his hands tug at her shorts, fingers dipping below the waistband.  “Take ’em off.” She breathes above a whisper, placing her hands over his and pushing the tight fabric down her legs. He turns her around in his arms when she steps out of them, hands running aimlessly over her naked body. She’s pushing his swim trunks down his legs, keeping her eyes fixed on his. He watches her with a parted mouth as she drops to her knees before him and steps of out his shorts with a sigh. 

Lauren can hardly keep her hand still as she wraps her fingers around his length, groaning at the feeling of him in her hand. His skin velvet smooth, the weight of him resting in her palm nicely. She kisses around his thighs, whimpering along with him as she spreads the precum around his tip with her thumb. A muffled shit falls from Harry’s lips as he tilts his head back on his neck, blowing a puff of air towards the ceiling. Her heart pounds behind her ears as she takes him into her mouth slowly at first, humming at the taste of him on her tongue. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, savoring the way he felt in her mouth, how heavy he felt laying against her tongue and she can only imagine the way he would fill and stretch her. She holds the base of him as she circles around his tip, familiarizing herself with every curve and indent of his cock. Harry’s hand finds its way to her hair, bunching at the nape of her neck and she lowers her mouth on him with a satisfied sigh. 

“Yes, baby suck me off like tha’.” He moans as his chin rests on his chest, which was beginning to glisten with a sheen of sweat. She places her other palm of his butterfly tattoo, nails creating crescents in his skin as she peers at him through her lashes. Harry knows that this can’t last for very long, not with the way her small hand stokes at his cock and her mouth swallows him deeper. He knows that if he doesn’t want to cream down her throat he should pull off soon, but the way her hand meets her mouth right under his tip when she’s rearing back has him shifting his hips forward towards her pretty mouth. 

She finds a rhythm of stroking her hand and sucking him off, squeezing at the base of him when she got there. Harry can’t contain the sounds that fall effortlessly from his mouth, whimpering her name like a prayer as he watches her take him down her throat. She lets her wrist twist as she pulls upwards, releasing her mouth from him with a pop in an attempt to gain some air. He nearly loses it when she taps his swollen tip against her stuck-out tongue before she traces the vein that runs along the underside of his length. She kisses at his thighs as she wanks him, leaving small marks on his skin as she sucks. Her thumb swipes over his slit periodically as she keeps her rhythm, twisting her wrist and squeezing slightly when she reaches his tip. Harry’s curling his toes against the hardwood flooring, his hand feeling limp in her hair as he succumbs to her touch, chanting her name as she pleases him. He lets her go on for a moment longer before he’s pulling his hips away from her and meeting her eyes with a breathless pant. 

“Got kinda close there, hm?” She asks as she stands to her feet again with a smile. He nods sheepishly, the words lost on his tongue and he presses his forehead to hers and she grasps at the fleshy part of his hips. She presses her mouth to his again, pulling up on his shoulders and he groans at the taste of himself and the stale remnants of her on his tongue. He brings her back with him as he sits on the alcove bench once more and she straddles his thighs, making a point to sit directly over his hardened length. 

“Gonna be a good girl fo’ me and ride my cock?” He murmurs against her jaw, placing soft kisses to her skin. She nods as she lifts her hips, reaching a hand between them to grab his dripping length. She holds him there for a moment, letting him slip against her folds and brush at her clit, eliciting a moan from her lips. Harry groans at the feeling of her wetness coating his cock and anticipation swells in his chest because he knows his fate. He had dreamt of it more times than he could count. Thought of the way her walls would stretch open for him and squeeze against him as he sheathed himself within her. But nothing compares to the way it actually feels when she sits down on him, drinking him in inch by inch and whimpering a soft cry of his name. Her nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses, watching with wide lust-blown eyes as he disappears within her. 

“Fuck, I love you.” He cries, bringing his eyes to find hers once more. Lauren finds his lips again as his chest heaves up and down against her own. “I’m so in love with you.” She whimpers against his lips when he bottoms out, filling her to the brim. God, was he big. Lauren thinks she has never felt so full in her life, never had she taken a dick as big as his and she needs a minute to just feel him. He kisses her slowly as she adjusts to his size, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her cheek as he lazily moves his tongue with hers. The initial roll of her hips has him moaning a filthy sound into her mouth, his other hand taking purchase of her ass. Her jaw unhinges and their kiss is lost as she does it again, lifting up slowly and rolling her hips forward when she comes back down. The hand on her face joins his other hand, his forearms resting underneath her thighs and holding her ass to guide her. The support allows her to rock her hips faster, bouncing along his length and scratching at his scalp. 

“Taking me so well, baby.” He snaps his hips up to meet hers and all the air is lost from her lungs as she cries out. Harry’s lips find her neck, sucking evidence of the way she was making him feel into the clammy skin. She tugs at the roots of his hair as she moves faster against him, feeling the pit in her stomach knotting itself once more. 

“Feel so full, H. Need you to fuck me.” The words sound so sinful falling from her lips, coated with an intense need for him. She knows there was no way she’d ever let go of this now, no matter what it took to keep it. He was hitting all the spots within her that made her legs shake and knees buckle, murmuring words into her skin that were only ever meant for her to hear. 

He flips them over quickly, resting her head against the arm of the bench with his hand underneath to keep her safe. His other hand pulls her leg around his hip as he kneels over her and pushes his chest against hers. A loud cry of fuck expels from her lips as his hips come down against hers, deeper than he was in their last position and her fingers claw down his back, leaving marks in her wake that she was sure to admire later on. One hand tangles in the damp tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck while the other grabs aimlessly at the apex of his ass while he fucks into her, drawing himself out completely before pushing into her again. 

“Need a proper fucking, yeah? Need me t’show you how much you mean t’me?” He pants against her ear, sliding his arm around her waist to hold her closer. His words further intensify to knot in her stomach, sparks tingling in her spine once more. She rolls her hips up into his, finding his rhythm and crying out when his patch of hair brushes against her clit. “Shit, Harry. I’m gonna come.” Her voice raises an octave towards the end and he’s picking up the speed of his hips. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, bug. Hold on f’me.” The kisses he’s pressing on her skin are a stark contrast from the steady roll of their hips, his tongue tracing behind her ear before sucking on her ear lobe. The pulse of her walls around his cock has him twitching within her, the familiar feel of his orgasm building at the bottom of his spine. He’s not quite finished with her yet, wants to be enveloped in her warmth for as long as he can. He knows he’ll be spending the rest of their stay buried inside of her in every room of the house because he just can’t seem to think about a scenario where they aren’t doing this. And he’s mad at himself for not saying anything sooner because this was what he had been missing. He should’ve been making love to her repeatedly way before they even got to this point, but he figures that it made it better. 

“Fuck, love want you to come.” He breathes against her mouth, hovering over her parted lips as his eyes stay locked on hers, supposing he’d be damned if he closed his eyes and missed the way her face turned when she comes undone. The snapping of his hips is relentless as she chants his name, willing her eyes to stay open as she fucks him back, welcoming the warmth that rushes over her. She tugs at the roots of his hair while simultaneously pushing him closer to her, breathing his name in airy sighs as she feels her orgasm peaking. 

“I’m coming. Fuck, baby, I’m -” 

“Come on my cock, love, need you to come.” He groans along with her as her legs shake and her orgasm ripples through her, squeezing the length of him tightly until his hips begin to stutter and he knows he can’t hold out for much longer. He holds her close as he works her through it, whispering sweet words against her cheek. “Tha’s it, love. So good for me.” The furrow between his brows is deep as he feels the start of his own orgasm building and numbing his legs. He grunts against her mouth as she holds him to her, working her hips as best she can as he rocks into her, bottoming out and staying there for a moment. 

“Come on, H. Want you to come inside.” She whimpers, the fluttering of her walls enticing him to do just that. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my come? Gonna take it all?” He rambles behind a wanton moan, his muscles tensing with every word that fell from his lips. She’s crying out his name, begging for his load in a way that makes Harry never want to stop coming. With three more thrusts, his body tenses on top of hers, and she continues to roll her hips as ropes of come paint her insides. Her name falls from his lips as he empties his balls within her, and she watches the way his face contorts, his mouth making an o shape. She kisses his face softly as he comes to, heavy grunts leaving his mouth and his chest heaving against hers frantically. 

It silent for a moment as they catch their breath, the sun has set beyond the horizon and a purple hue covers them. All that can be heard is their labored breath and Lauren carts her fingers through his hair as he softens inside her. She doesn’t want him to move, quite honestly. She has never felt closer to him than she does now, and she fears that if he moves that feeling will go away. Her heart pounds within her chest, her legs beginning to ache and she knows that she should clean the mess between her legs. Before she can move Harry’s slipping from her fold with a moan and grabbing her discarded t-shirt from the floor before bringing it between her legs. Harry laughs at the way Lauren scrunches her face as he uses her shirt to clean her up and he knows it’s only because it’s hers. 

“Didn’t wanna move too far from you just yet.” He laughs and presses a kiss on the side of her mouth. She hums, wrapping her arms around his neck before bringing his mouth back to hers to kiss him slowly. When his tongue enters her mouth she sighs, relaxes into the cushions of the bench and all of her worry dissipates. There was nothing to worry about. Harry loved her and she loved him and time had proven that the only thing that had gotten between that was themselves. She was certain she wouldn’t let that happen again and as their kiss deepened, Harry’s thoughts mirrored hers. 

“Love you, you know tha’?” He hums when they pull apart for a moment and she smiles softly, brushing the fallen hair away from his forehead with a nod. She repeats the sentiment and sits up, stretching her legs with a wince. Harry’s pulling her into his lap, unable to keep his hands off of her for more than a second now that he knows that he can, and Lauren sighs as she rests her head against his shoulder and watches out the window.

“We should take a bath, H. Think you broke my back near the end there.” A loud laugh pulls from his chest and he’s standing up with her in his arms. “M’sorry, love. Let’s go get you all put back together again.” He kisses her forehead tenderly and she can’t fight the smile that splits across her face. “Love you.” She sighs, burying her face into his neck as she crosses her ankles against his ass. 

“Love you, sunshine.”

2.14.21

Masterlist

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.03

10/21/2020

Garden of Delights

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,411

Warnings: angst, jealousy, talks of death, talk of sickness, infant sickness, neglect, fluff

A/N: As I said, writing itself right now. lol I’m not really sure how long this story will be. I have the basic premise set and a small plot, but if I choose to make this around the size of Pseudo Princess, I’ll have to come up with a bigger plot than the simple one I’ve got. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I know I certainly loved writing it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Seriously, Thor doesn’t reblog as easily as Bucky or Steve on tumblr, so I TRULY appreciate it.

Please do not RESPOST any of my works on other sides or blogs.

REBLOGS always welcome!

You’re still laughing gently, hiding your chewing behind your hand.

“Stop.” You plead, looking across the table at Thor.

Both of you seated on opposite heads of the table. To your left is Loki, smirking with no shame at the stories just relayed. To your right is Brunnhilde, sipping her wine…well, guzzling would be more apt.

She’s teetering left and right, elbow on the table as she shakes her head at Loki across from her.

They lock eyes and Loki scoffs, “Don’t pretend as if you didn’t want to stab him too when you first met him.”

“I never said I didn’t!” She argues, plopping her glass down a little too hard and the glass makes a loud clink that draws everyone’s gaze.

“Why did you want to stab him?” You ask her, reaching for your own glass of regular wine. Thor had promised that you didn’t want to try the Asgardian mix.

“You won’t wake for a week. Trust me, Your Highness.” He’d been super proper, and it was a little annoying, but you understand why he’s being so careful. He wants to impress everyone, especially the two who sit beside him.

To his left sits a woman, absolutely drop dead gorgeous with creamy moon skin and raven hair. She’s certainly one to watch out for as Brunnhilde had said.

She hasn’t smiled once since she gave you a small stiff grin as Thor had introduced you.

Even now she watches you, her hand resting on the table, a little too close to Thor’s hand for comfort.

Her fingers seem to be inching their way towards his and you feel the beginning bite of fangs in your mouth at the thought of her hating you because she wants Thor for herself.

This also makes you sad because you don’t meet women who are as unique as she, but Lady Sif has drawn a line and you find yourself on one side with Thor while she watches from the other, despising your very existence for taking the man she covets.

On Thor’s right is a man with his dark hair in dreads. Beautiful amber eyes stand bright against his dark skin, and the luxurious gray armor he wears, sits pretty on his muscular form. To his own right is a sword, placed between him and Loki.

He looks less amused by the story Loki and Thor just told them but when he meets your gaze, his eyes betray an amusement. Heimdall, protector of the Asgardian borders, has a soft spot for his King and his friends.

“To put it short,” Brunnhilde begins, popping her lips as she lifts her wine to her lips again, eyes locked on Thor. “He’s a bit of a doofus.”

Thor’s burst of booming laughter in infectious and you laugh too, just as Loki, Brunnhilde, and even Heimdall chuckles along gently.

Lady Sif is the only one who doesn’t laugh but merely smiles as she look at Thor as he shakes his head overwhelmed with amusement.

You know what she sees, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes are endearing. The sparkle of his one blue eye. The loveliness of his golden bearded face all stretched into a stunning smile.

“I am not a doofus!” He protests, then clears his throat and taps his fingers against the table as he makes his face as serious as he can manage. “What way is that to speak of your King?”

Brunnhilde throws her head back outrageously tickled by his words.

“You may be my King, but that does not make you any less of a doofus than before you earned your crown.” She throws at him and Thor laughs again, shaking his head as you quietly chuckle with them, loving this exchange and the ease at which they seem to be.

“What about that made you want to stab him?” You ask her, everyone’s gaze drawn to you and Lady Sif’s smile vanishing.

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.” Brunnhilde teases. “My condolences. Being married to this buffoon will be a true test of your character.”

Although her words are said as a joke, your heart gives a small lurch as you meet Thor’s gaze again, and this time he holds it, his own face falling a little to only a soft smile as both of you replay the conversation in the hallway once again.

“I’ll just have to try my best.” You tell her, a small shrug of your shoulder. “He seems alright so far. No major red flags. Besides the obvious.”

Thor’s smile is completely gone now, his brow furrowed as he continues to stare at you, his breathing a little deeper. A little more labored.

You’re nervous as you speak, voice shaking a little as your heart pounds and aches.

“What’s that?” Loki asks, also serious suddenly, picking up on the tension between you and Thor.

It might seem like you’re letting it go on too long on purpose, using it to make everyone uncomfortable, but really you just have to find the strength to speak as your nerves begin to get the better of you.

“Well,” You begin, voice still shaking. “I mean, look at him.”

And they all do.

“He’s also been really nice to me.” You admit, because aside from the unanswered question in the hallway, Thor has treated you respectfully, politely, with genuine concern and compassion…so far. “I think the deal was that I’m supposed to marry him and it’s alright if I don’t love him but, how long can I really resist?”

Brunnhilde scoffs, purging the atmosphere for everyone else of what you’re saying allowing them to relax and laugh at your strange way of telling them you find Thor attractive.

“At least your worries about your wife not liking you are assuaged.” Heimdall claps Thor on the shoulder, visibly shaking his body, but Thor’s intense gaze is on you alone.

Swallowing hard, you reach for your wine glass and take a deep drink, so conscious of Thor’s stare.

Dinner goes on just as it began and before long, Thor is back to laughing and chatting while your own attention is given to Loki and Heimdall whenever he remembers something he’s wants to ask.

When all plates are cleaned and glasses sit empty, dinner officially over, Sif turns hard eyes on you.

“So, I hear that you don’t have parents.” The interest is forced. She couldn’t care less about you or your life.

“Yeah,” You nod. “Um, they died a few months after I was born. Plane accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Heimdall laments kindly.

Beside you, Brunnhilde has her head in her hand, elbow on the table, eyes shut and mouth slightly open.

She’d just been talking so this is new.

“Thank you, but I don’t remember them. My only sorrow comes from never having a family.” You admit. “I grew up in a school—well, really it was an orphanage, but it was run much like a private school with uniforms that the government provided along with a minimal education. I attended until I became a legal adult and my lawyer, came to give me my inheritance.”

“Why weren’t you adopted?” Sif asks, her voice full of well-hidden venom that you can hear only because you know to look for it, her hand is inching towards Thor’s again and while he’s not your husband yet, the urge to stake claim over it is strong.

The way she asks also makes you feel as if she’s waiting to see exactly what is wrong with you. What can she use against you?

You smile, a smirk really, knowing what she’s up to.

You’re not unkind, but you bristle when attacked and Sif is making it easy for you to be defensive.

Searching within yourself for the strength to keep yourself calm, you take a deep breath before you answer.

“I wasn’t a healthy baby. I was sick, all the time. There was even a night my fever became so high that the doctors were sure that I would be left with brain damage. So, they watched me grow, expecting defects, but I got sick less and less the older I got.

“My speech and motor functions were top tier, and my learning capabilities were also fine.”

Everyone is silent, watching you with somber expressions. You’re a little on edge with them paying you such close attention, but this was the point of the dinner. To get to know each other.

“Unfortunately, potential parents were warned about the possible challenges I might face as I grew older, which put many of them off. While they wanted an infant, they didn’t want one that was broken.”

“I’m sorry for their ignorance.” Heimdall offers. “Clearly you grew up to be a lovely woman, but even if you had not, I’m saddened by their lack of compassion.”

You can only smile at him, having come to terms with the facts of your childhood long ago.

“Anyway, that’s why no one adopted me. So, a true family is something I’ve never had. I’m…” You blink, wondering how honest you want to be here. “I think it’s one of the things I’m looking forward to most. After tonight, I’m more convinced than before that this is will be a good environment to build a family. You’re all so nice.”

Loki, Brunnhilde—who’s awake again—and Heimdall are smiling. Lady Sif sits stiffly, her hands pulled onto her lap as she keeps her eyes locked on the empty plate in front of her.

Your heart stutters as you meet Thor’s eyes again. Staring deep into the single blue orb still locked on you.

“As conflicted as my past with the people in this room has been, I promise you, that is the right decision.” Loki assures you, a peaceful smile on his face that somehow comforts any misgivings you’ve been having.

At least about the people you’ll be around daily.

Your conversation with Thor in the hallway is a different matter, and one that you really want to finish.

“Well,” Brunnhilde slaps her hands on the table, rising to her feet with a little sway. “I think that’ enough pleasant conversation for me. I am tired-”

“And drunk.” Loki adds.

“-And that.” She agrees. “I need some sleep. So, Y/N, Your Royal Highness this has truly been a pleasure. I will be by in the morning to see you about wedding arrangements. Not too early though, you know—”

She steps out from in front of her chair, already walking towards the door large double doors.

Heimdall rises too, then Loki, Thor, and Lady Sif.

You stand last, fixing your dress as you do, making sure it isn’t stained. Luckily, it isn’t.

“This has indeed been illuminating.” Heimdall agrees, moving over to you to take your hand and press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Your Highness, it has been a true pleasure. I look forward to getting better acquainted with you.”

Loki is smiling, standing by the door but then he turns his eyes on Lady Sif.

“A word, Sif?” She looks at him, freezing beside Thor where she’d already begun to take his arm to pull his attention. “It won’t take long.”

With a sigh, she gives you one look before moving out the door in a huff, Heimdall following. Loki gives Thor a nod, something silent passes between them. With one final nod to you as well, Loki leaves.

“I really am very sorry that Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun could not join us. Unfortunately, the Warrior’s Three are highly sought throughout the galaxies.” Thor says, moving towards you with calm slow steps. “They should be back for the wedding though.”

“I’m excited to meet them. Everyone was so kind.” You observe. “Well, almost.”

Thor looks confused, stopping just at the corner of the table beside you, his fingers nervously tracing the shape of the edge.

“Seriously? You didn’t notice?” You shake your head, somehow finding it funny. “I think Brunnhilde might be right about you being a doofus.”

Thor laughs once, blows a quick raspberry in denial at your conclusion. “Why do you say that?”

“Thor, Lady Sif hates me.” You point out, it’s so obvious to you and was obvious to Loki too at least.

“No.” Thor shakes his head.

“She kept trying to grab your hand! She kept glaring daggers at me.” You sigh. “She’s in love with you.”

“Sif is like a sister.” Thor tells you, as if this negates her feelings as well.

“She’s still in love with you.”

Thor sighs. “I’ll speak with her.”

“Don’t bother. I think Loki’s beating you to it.”

“Walk with me?” He asks, and your heart goes into sudden arrest.

Fingers nice and tingly, you swallow the lump in your throat. “What?”

“I would like it very much if you walked with me for a while. The night is not over yet, and despite the exhaustion of my court, it’s not actually that late yet. The gardens my people have cultivated for the palace are beautiful. I’d love to show them to you.” He offers his hand, waiting patiently for you to take it but you can only gawk at him.

“Isn’t it cold outside?” You ask, on edge.

Thor drops his hand. “Oh, right. Estrid?”

She’s already waiting by the door, auburn hair looking slightly disheveled.

“Ah, Estrid.” Thor smiles, big dopey grin on his face. “Oh, your hair…”

He gestures and she quickly fixes it.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” She gasps.

“No, no. Just looked funny.” He eases her, and she calms instantly, smiling bashfully. “Can you fetch Her Highness a jacket?”

Estrid turns and rushes from the room but returns only seconds later with a long navy cloak. It isn’t a jacket, but it will match your dress nicely.

“That’s not a jacket.” You observe, feeling self-conscious.

Thor takes it from her and holds it open for you. There’s a clasp around the throat that will sit against your collarbone. “It’s a cloak. It’ll keep you just as warm as a jacket.”

You turn for him and he slips it over your shoulders, holding it until you turn to face him then he quickly fastens the clasp.

“Better?” He checks, fixing it around you.

You can’t find your voice to answer. Heart is racing. Damn him. This isn’t going to work if he keeps being sweet.

He offers you his arm and you hesitate, timidly wrapping your hand around the lower part of his large bulky bicep again.

“Wonderful.” He smiles wide. “Estrid, Her Highness will be in later, please prepare her bedroom so that she might go to sleep as soon as we return.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsies quickly then turns and rushes out to get your room ready.

“She doesn’t have to do that.” You tell him, turning to watch her flee. “I can make my own bed and stuff.”

“It’s her job.” Thor tells you. “Will you take it from her?”

You think about it carefully, and despite the fact that  Thor is a warrior and has travelled around the world sleeping in terrible places with no comforts at times, you understand in this moment that having servants is something he’s used to.

“No.” You realize and make a mental note to let these people do their work without putting up too much of a fight.

Thor leads you off down a side door into another dark wooden hallway with beautiful cobbled floors beneath your feet with a long carpet running its length. No one seems to be walking around in this hallway which makes you think it’s more secluded.

“Did David tell you I like flowers?” You check, wondering how much information Thor has about you.

“No? I didn’t know that though. That makes this even better.” He realizes.

You lapse into silence, hand trembling around his bicep as your mind replays the last two hours, picking apart every moment, every word shared, and every lingering look Thor had given you.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” Thor asks, his voice much lower, quieter.

It’s an intimate volume and it startles you, giving you a little bit of a delay in your response.

You meet his eyes and he’s staring right at you, soft smile stretched across his lips. It’s more a peaceful expression, calming.

And yet, it has the opposite effect on you, and you gasp a little as you catch your breath. Your heart is pounding through your ribcage.

“It was good.” You nod, looking towards the large stone archway up ahead. One of the doors stands open, the Norwegian night beyond.

You can see a splash of beautiful green beyond and can already hear the soft tinkling of flowing water from what is probably a fountain.

“And the conversation?” He asks, tilting his head to one side as he gives it better thought. “Aside from Sif.”

“They were all super nice, Thor.” You smile, honestly grateful to Loki, Brunnhilde, and Heimdall for their warm welcome. “I wish Lady Sif had been more open. She’s been fighting at your side for a long time, right?”

“She has.” Thor nods, as the two of you break through the doorway and you’re greeted with an elegant garden larger than even the circular room you’d first met with Thor in.

Your jaw drops and you stop walking, gaping at the collection of flora and fauna each piece delicately pruned and cared for. There are certainly several small fountains, dark gray with small underwater lights to provide the garden with diffused illumination.

Despite the chilly night, the garden makes you feel warm with flowers of every color. Roses in white and red, lilies with stunning white, carnations in pink, wine, cream, yellow, and purple. Throughout the roses are smaller pink flowers you don’t know but they’re adorable and the fragrance in this garden is intoxicating.

“Wow.” You whisper.

“You like it?” Thor asks, smiling a little wider as he waits for you to take your long look.

“It’s beautiful.” You nod.

“Come.” He pulls you along gently, urging you to walk again.

You follow, your hand sturdier around his arm. “Do you like gardens too?”

Thor nods. “My mother used to cherish her garden. When we arrived, it was the first thing I had commissioned. They were finished building it before they even finished the palace.”

“She passed?” You wonder, looking up at the echo of sadness in his eyes.

“A while ago.” Thor nods. “I miss her counsel. She was always the voice of reason and logic in my life.”

“I’m sorry.” You offer, hoping it’s a comfort.

You reach up with your other hand, wrapping it around his arm too.

He looks down at you, eyes searching, confused? But his smile never wavers. “Thank you.”

The two of you lapse into silence again, you busy looking at every flower you pass in admiration, Thor lost in thought.

“I’m going to miss my herb garden.” You lament with a sigh.

“You had an herb garden?” Thor wonders, turning his attention back to you.

“Just a small one. I only had some rosemary and thyme. I wanted to grow some mint, parsley, basil, and dill but I didn’t get the chance.”

Thor stops walking, gently shakes his arm to make your hand slide down along his forearm. As it falls, you takes hold of it.

You’re startled, but you don’t pull away, your mind devouring the information you can gleam from this moment as quickly as it can.

His hand is warm. No…it’s hot. Like he’s had it shut for a long time. The skin is a little rough, calloused, but not uncomfortable. You can just imagine the battles he must have fought. His hand is so big. Fingers wrapped softly around yours. He gives it a squeeze and you feel it in your core that this isn’t going at all how you planned.

You almost want to run to your room and hide under your blankets with the speed at which you can feel yourself dropping your guard to him.

The plan had been to marry him, never love him, and live your life as best you can and probably take a lover at some point. You should be able to love too.

But it isn’t supposed to be Thor. You’re not supposed to fall for him.

You remind yourself of his refusal to be honest with you. You remind yourself that his heart is already given and accepted. Jane loves him too, even if she won’t marry him to prevent him from marrying someone else.

You can understand why she can’t give up her life to take on this one. It’s a lot to ask of anyone.

It helps you grasp onto reality, to remember the conversation before dinner and his inability to commit to honesty when It comes to Jane.

“I have something to show you.” He tells you and pulls you down the length of the garden until you reach a greenhouse.

Thor releases your hand and throws the doors open before holding his hand out for you to take again.

You do, and he pulls you into the narrow but long space. Each side is lined with planter boxes, each box holds a different herb, including all of the ones you mentioned before, and some you have never seen before.

“What is this?” You gasp, reaching for a particularly strange one in a deep blue, almost black color.

“It’s the Asgardian version of lavender.” He tells you, placing his other hand over the one you’re reaching out for it with. “But it stings a little for humans to touch with bare hands. There are garden glove in the box by the door if you want to cut some for your room later. It smells wonderful. My mother used to keep some on her desk.”

“I can take some?” You gasp, turning to look up at him and he’s standing so damn close, you shrink in surprise.

“Of course.” He smiles at you, “This is your home now. Anything in these gardens is yours to have.”

He’s so fucking nice! You hate him.

You’re too stunned by his proximity to speak, hands twitching under his own. He seems to realize what’s got you tongue-tied because he takes a step and one hand back but keeps hold of the other.

“I wanted to talk with you, it’s why I’ve brought you here.” He pulls you along, and you give the herb garden one final look before he shuts the doors and moves back towards the center of the garden.

There you find several white marble benches around a small manmade pond, surrounded by more flowers.

Thor leads you to one of these benches, then extends a hand towards it so that you’ll sit.

You do, nervous suddenly as he sits beside you, taking his hand back for the first time since he began to show you the garden.

“You’re making me nervous.” You admit, your mouth moving before you can stop it. Anxious is not a good state for you.

“No.” He assures you, shaking his head, full of concern. “No, please don’t be nervous. I only wanted to continue our conversation from before dinner.”

“Oh.” You nod, expecting to be denied the honesty you want.

How will you use his refusal to do it as an excuse to not fall for him if he agrees to it?

“You’re right.” He nods, turning in the seat to face you a little better, your body mirroring his.

“I am?”

“Yes.” He takes a long deep breath. “After everything that was said during dinner, after watching my friends meet with you and get to know you, I realize that you’re right in what you say. I am asking a lot from you. More than I care to admit.”

Your mouth is suddenly dry.

“Did you mean what you said?” He whispers, a trace amount of uncertainty in his deep voice.

“What did I say?” You ask, voice not as quiet but still a little breathless.

“About falling for me?”

“Oh.” Your brain goes fuzzy and your heart is probably going to burst through your chest like in that one horror movie you watched as a kid.

“Truth is, I chose you because you were different.” He nods. “Not, different from regular humans. Most of them are very much like you, which is great. I love humans. But compared to the other ladies that came to meet for this purpose, I…if I’d wanted someone who would turn a blind eye while I and Jane continued to see each other, then I should have chosen one of them.

“They knew what was expected, as did you, but I didn’t consider how the difference in you would affect your own responses.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me anymore?” You ask timidly, feeling a rush of emotions all mixing together, turning into confusion.

You’re almost happy that he doesn’t want you anymore. You won’t have to marry him and deal with Jane and a life of standing by watching him be with someone else while the world thinks you’re together.

Another part of you, the part that’s already out of your control—even though you’ll never admit it—can’t help but feel depressed that he’ll be married to someone else.

“No!” Thor rushes to assure you, sliding over closer so that he can take your hand again, his knee touching yours. “No, that’s not at all what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that I understand what you meant. I know why you were upset. I’m sorry that I did not consider this whole thing more carefully from your perspective.”

You feel a wave of relief and know you’re screwed. It’s already too late.

“But I need you to answer my question.” He says.

Your eyes go wide at the audacity of this man as you laugh because it’s so funny of him to need that of you when he couldn’t return the favor before. “You didn’t answer mine!”

He smiles, chuckling. “Answer mine first.”

As you consider him, blue eye staring at you with no restraint for the way his gaze makes you feel, your mood grows somber, all traces of your laugh gone.

“Yes.” You sigh. “I’ve never been in love before.”

You shrug.

“And it’s not like you’re not…I mean…You know damn well what you look like.” You growl.

Thor laughs, throwing his head back.

“And then you come in with that voice and you’re not rude or…I mean, you were a little mean with the whole asking me to put up with being married and having no love in it. Like, I get that it might be normal for royals or whatever, but I’m not really royal. I haven’t lived in a palace with servants and a crown on my head.

“I grew up in an orphanage with no friends. No one has ever loved me. My parents loved me, I think, but they died and no one has cared about me like that since. Even now, the only person on my side is David, and I know he only stuck around because he felt bad for me. He’s also getting paid by my estate, so…there’s that.

“I’m not asking you to love me. I know that you love someone else, but I was only asking for you to be open with me about it. If you want to meet Jane, fine. Meet her. But do it somewhere that I can’t see. Do it but tell me that’s where you’ll be so that even if rumors fly in my ear that Thor is meeting with his mistress, it won’t hurt as much. It won’t make me feel as stupid, because I already know that’s where you are.”

Thor’s hand over yours grows tighter, his face lamenting for who knows what reason, because you’re not in his head but you can see that he feels bad which is stupid and you hate him for it because it means he cares.

You only just met him but with every passing moment in his presence, you fall more and more. It’s not love yet. You know that. It can’t be a crush because you know him too well. You like him. You’ll admit that.

“To answer your question more clearly,” You take a deep breath, exhaling quickly to wipe away the excess of emotion that surged forward suddenly. “Yes. I meant it. I don’t love you now, but I think I could.”

Thor nods, looking down at your hand, turning it over in his own.

The silence feels endless! He won’t speak, but his thumb keeps caressing your hand and you kinda wanna bite him for it.

“If my mother were here, she’d be disappointed in me. She’d tell me that I should let go of Jane. She met her, and while she liked her but…We are clearly moving along different paths and as much as I love her, she is not the one for me. Not anymore. My mother would definitely think so.

“I think she would have really liked you.” He admits, and his words give you comfort. “She would have called me a fool to pass up such a sweet and level-headed woman.”

“I’m not that level-headed.” You confess. “I’ve got anxiety issues sometimes.”

Thor smiles.

“I think she would have been right.”

Wait, is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“I will talk with Jane tomorrow to…to break things off. It won’t be the first time for us to part ways and I think in the long run it will be better for us both.”

“Thor, you don’t have to-”

“But I do.” He nods, meeting your eyes. “I need to let go of my past to embrace my future. And that’s you and New Asgard. It’s my people.”

“I want this marriage to work.” He continues. “I chose you and I meant that choice. Out of all the women I met, your picture of an ideal marriage was the closest to mine. It would make me happy to live that life with you.”

You’re breathless, chest heaving as you struggle to find a coherent thought.

Thor seems to realize that you’re struggling because he places your hand on your lap, tapping it gently before scooting back a little to give you space.

He’s so fucking massive! How is it possible that this is seriously your life? This God will be your husband. You’re going to have his kids?!

Your cheeks burn, neck burns, ears burn, legs suddenly clenched together as the fear from before runs quickly through your mind.

They’d wanted a maiden and they got one. Will he talk about it with you later? You can’t bear to talk about it now. You’re too embarrassed and overwhelmed by what he’s saying.

“So,” He starts, rising to his feet to tower over you. Then he falls, gliding gently onto one knee before reaching into his pants to pull from his pocket a small brown pouch.

He opens it, turns it over, and into his hand tumbles a shining silver ring.

“I chose this before I knew you liked flowers but now that I know, it makes me glad I picked it.” He smiles, “It just made me think of you when I went searching so, I hope you like it.”

He grabs it with two fingers, pinching the thin band delicately to hold it upright so that you can see the stunning design. A round diamond rests in the middle, shining brilliantly at the center of what looks like a lotus flower made of smaller diamonds filling its leaves.

You hate him because you absolutely love this ring. You love the sight of him on his knee in front of you. You love the way he scoots closer so that he can hold your hand easier as he gently straightens it and presses the ring to the tip of your finger.

“Will you marry me, Y/N? Will you be my Queen?” He asks, and you’re so silent, he grows visibly nervous. “Please?”

You laugh at the hitch in his voice, the plea there.

“Yes, stupid.” You laugh again.

He chuckles as he slips the ring on your finger, then after a moment of hesitation, he hooks his hand behind your neck and pulls you down to meet his lips.

Eyes wide, heart stopped, you freeze as hot lips fry your nervous system.

[butgilinsky]

december // mb

warning; heartbreak. that’s it. 

summary; after he’s left alone in an empty apartment with the weight of the world on his shoulders, mat comes to realize that december’s his least favorite month of the year. based on the song december by neck deep.

word count; 3.8k+ 

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

mat doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around the block. all he knows is that it’s hard to see, even harder to walk straight, and he can’t shake the itch he has to call you. he just needs one more time, just one final attempt at hearing your voice, even if it’s just your answering machine. 

“hey, this is y/n! i’ll get back to you-” he hangs up then, decides that he doesn’t have the mental capacity to leave another message. 

it’s only been two weeks, but mat feels like it’s been years since he’s seen you. his heartbreak is just as fresh as it was when you walked away from him, tears in his eyes and mind going through the motions of trying to put itself back together again. two weeks isn’t long enough to heal from the gaping hole you left in his heart. there’s not enough time in the world for mat to heal properly. 

he comes to the realization that he’ll never be the same fairly quickly. he thought you were it for him. he thought that every obstacle would be tackled by the two of you together. he thought you’d be in this shit show called life together, for the long haul. he can’t say it’s not his fault, can’t say he tried as hard as he could. he took you for granted, and he knows that now, but now it’s too late.

he thinks that december is the worst month to be face heartache. he can’t take you home for christmas like he planned, can’t kiss you when the clock strikes midnight on january first. he doesn’t get to see you shudder from the cold despite him telling you to bundle up ten times before leaving the house. the christmas decorations that line the street are a constant reminder of the ones you lined the apartment with, and mat starts to think he’ll never look at christmas decorations the same. 

when he gets back home he sees a pair of your shoes by the door. he sees the christmas card from your best friend sitting on the table in the entry way. he sees little traces of you, almost fooling him into thinking you still live there. he has to remind himself then, your stuff is here but you’re not. you told him you’d pick everything up after he went to vancouver, wanting to limit your amount of contact with mat, but that only made it worse for him. 

you didn’t want to see him anymore. he wants to see you, and you want nothing to do with him anymore. it’s a hard pill to swallow, losing you so quickly after having you for so long. he knows he should understand, knows he should come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t the best he could’ve been. he wasn’t the man he should’ve been, nowhere near the man you deserved. you asked for simple things and mat told you he’d never be able to give them to you. 

he thinks about how hard it’ll be to go home, to open gifts on christmas when he knows that theres a pile of boxes in the back of his closet that’ll never be opened. he knows that he should return them, should take them back to the stores before his grace period expires, but he can’t bring himself to even look at the boxes. he can’t bring himself to return the gifts he bought for you, can’t imagine going over each individual one in the process. 

tito offers to do it for him, says that he has a pair of pants he needs to return anyways, but mat knows better. he knows his friend is just doing what he thinks will help, and while it’s heartwarming, it’s also gut wrenching that his friends think he can’t take care of things himself. 

the first time he sees you after you walked out is at a restaurant, sitting across the table from a guy he’s never seen before. anders asks if he wants to leave, says that there’s another place they can go to right around the corner. mat shakes his head and slides into his seat, says it’s fine even though it’s not. 

he sits with his back to you, figures that’ll make it easier to resist the temptation to look at you. he doesn’t know that you watched him walk in, watched him slide into the seat facing away from you. he doesn’t know that your heart sinks into your stomach when you see him turn his back to you, silently telling you that it’s simply too difficult to look at you now. 

you excuse yourself from your table, the man across from you offering you a worried smile before you walk to the bathroom quicker than normal. you grip the edge of the sink, leaning over it in case your stomach fails you. the world around you spins, makes it harder to catch your breath that’s only getting worse with every passing second. 

you try to ground yourself, try to tell yourself that you did what was right for you, that this is what you wanted. it’s what you needed. you remind yourself that you want things that mat can’t give you. you want things that mat doesn’t want to give you. you need a life that mat can’t provide. 

“what do you want from me, y/n?” it’s the same fight, the one you’ve had too many times to count. you ask for something simple, ask him to do the bare minimum only for him to act as if you asked him to pull the moon out of the sky and shove it in your pocket. 

“i want you to tell me that we’ll get there! i don’t need it now, mat, but-”

“but that’s the thing, y/n. you do need it now. you want me to throw away everything i’ve worked for because you want some stupid house with a red door and shrubs around the lawn. you want to get married on a beach or in a forest. you want to have a large wedding, a reception in a big ballroom where everyone is smiling at you like you’re the only person in the room. 

“you want kids that pull on your hair and draw on the walls. you want to settle down and have a life made for thirty year olds who sit in cubicles from nine to five and then go home and eat dinner at the kitchen table. but i can’t give that to you. you want a life i can’t give you.” 

it hits you at full force, like a tsunami that nobody saw coming just before it wipes out an entire city. you try to ground yourself, try to bring yourself back to the restaurant bathroom that you’re in, rather than your place in the middle of your living room, crying and begging mat to just listen to you. 

you don’t think you’re ready to leave the space just yet, but you’re reminded that you’re not here alone, and the guy at your table is probably worried that you’re crawling out of the bathroom window. 

you run straight into someone on your way out of the bathroom, chests colliding into one another before you’re both rushing out apologies. you’re almost knocked off of your feet by the force, and grip onto the first thing that you can reach, which happens to be the person’s forearm. 

anthony’s hands steady you, making sure you don’t topple over in the heels that are suffocating your feet. he tries to mask his shock with a warm smile, tries to hide the sympathy that’s eating away at him. it doesn’t work, but you can tell he’s trying. 

he noticed the red rimmed eyes you’re sporting, and the way your eyeliner is smudged just the slightest bit. he notices the indents in your bottom lip from where you were just chewing on it to conceal the sounds of your sobs. it’s not the first time he’s seen you in a state similar to this one, and he’s not sure if he hopes it’s the last. 

you see him look back at his table and make the mistake of following suit, feeling every muscle in your body tense when you find the same set of eyes you’d missed for two months. you can’t tear your eyes away from him, can’t even bother to notice that the guy who brought you here is watching the entire exchange. 

mat doesn’t know what to do. he doesn’t know if he should look away and pretend like he never saw you or if he should get up and go talk to you. he doesn’t know where the boundaries are drawn or if he’s invited to overstep them regardless of what they entail. he wants to ask you, wants to stand up from his set and rush to take tito’s spot. he wants to hear your voice and feel your touch, feel his heart intertwine with yours in a bed shared by the two of you. 

anders brings mat back, clapping a hand on his back and trying to integrate him back into the table’s conversation. you look at him for a little longer, only brought out of your thoughts when you hear anthony’s voice. 

“y/n-”

“i have to go.” you leave him before he can say anything else, walking up to your table and rushing out a slew of apologies as you gather your things. 

“i’m sorry, i have to go.” he notices the tears building in your eyes, asks you if you need a ride home or money for a cab, both of which you turn down but thank him for. he’s not sure what just happened but he knows you can’t stay here for much longer without tipping over the edge, so he lets you go. 

you walk by his table then, trying to ignore the fact that you’re so close to him. you ignore the call of your name and cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you inevitably catch the attention of half of the restaurant. 

“barz, don’t-”

“y/n!” he’s out of his seat and running after you before any of his teammates can bring him back down. 

he doesn’t care that the whole restaurant is watching, doesn’t care that he’ll see stories about the exchange in the morning. he just focuses on you running out of the doors the best that you can, focuses on the fact that he’s getting closer to you with every stride. it’s not close enough, but it’s the closest he’s been in a long time and he’ll take anything he can get at this point. 

“y/n!”

“don’t do this, mat.” it’s the first time he’s heard your real voice for month; the first time it’s not your answering machine or his saved voicemails from you. it’s not in a video he can’t seem to stop watching, or a figment of his imagination in the middle of the night. it’s you, and you’re here. for a moment, he thinks he’s dreaming. 

“baby, please.” you move when he reaches for you, trying to hail a cab as quickly as you can so you can get the hell out of this situation. 

“i can’t do this. please, mat, please don’t do this. i’m begging you.” he feels his heart sink at the desperation in your face, somehow coming to terms with the notion that you don’t want to talk to him right now, and you probably don’t want to talk to him ever again. “i can’t do this to me mat, because if i let you tell me what you’re thinking then i’m not going to be able to walk away from you.” 

your words hit him at full force, almost knocking him straight off of his feet. he’s not entirely sure what weight your words held, but he does know the he wishes you’d give him the room to explain why that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

a cab pulls up to the curb and you’re reaching for the handle before he can get another word out, even though he doesn’t have anything else to say. he’s forced you into conversations that you didn’t want to have for months, he can’t bring himself to do that right now despite the questions swimming around in his mind. 

he watches you slip into the backseat, locking eyes with him one more time before shutting the door and begging the cab driver to take you home. he knows he messed up, knows he should’ve stayed in the restaurant, knows that he shouldn’t have let you walk out in december. 

you’re gone before he can process it. he’s left standing on the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes glued to the spot where you once stood. he feels a hand on his back, hears his friends telling him that you just needed time, that it was still all too new for you to face. 

but they don’t know you the way he does. they don’t know that you’re never going to be ready to face this. they don’t know that all you wanted was mat in a big house with a rose colored door, and all he gave you was the opportunity to find him passed out in the bathroom at three in the morning, too drunk to crawl into bed. 

he hears tito say the same thing he always does. the four words he hates to hear, but can’t seem to get his friend to stop muttering when the situation arises. 

“pain is never permanent.”

he bites his tongue, doesn’t want to yell at tito and tell him that he knows that, but tonight it’s killing him. he doesn’t say that december has become his least favorite month, that he wishes time would slow down so he wouldn’t have to reach the end of the year. 

the next time he sees you is a few months later. this time you’re in the park, hand gripping a leash with a dog he’s never seen on the other end of it. he feels his heart threatening to jump out of his chest when he sees you leaning into someone’s side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. he has a leash in his hand as well, a different dog on the end of it. 

he doesn’t know if they’re yours or his, the dogs. he doesn’t know if they’re still puppies or fully grown. he doesn’t know if the guy you’re with is your new boyfriend, or a friend that’s overly affectionate. 

he gets his answer, unwillingly, when you turn to the man and smile brightly, watching as you push yourself onto your toes and press your lips to his. mat feels bile tickle the back of his throat, feels the gut wrenching feeling that comes with a heartbreak that’s never subsided. 

he wonders how he’s forced to see you like this. the city’s so big, and he had to be at the same park as you and him today. his jog picks up pace, his frustration being fueled into his early morning run. 

you see him when he passes you, eyes locking for just a moment before he looks ahead of himself once more. you know he’s mad, know he’s still grieving, but then you’re reminded of the man beside you, his hand squeezing your shoulder just as the dog on your leash gives you a firm tug as a reminder of where you are and who you’re with. 

you smile at him and tell him that yeah, you’re fine. you walk with him, only glancing over your shoulder once. mat’s already gone, no sign of him anywhere in sight. you almost wonder if you’d made up the entire thing in your head. 

-

it’s december again, and when mat reaches up to scratch his neck, he’s reminded of the facial hair he’s sporting. he remembers a time when you ran your fingers over his jaw, scratching gently at the stubble forming. 

“should i shave it?” you hum, almost not hearing his question. he asks again, peeling his eyes away from the tv and looking down at you. 

your head’s on his chest, and your eye are wide with admiration as you look up at him and shake your head. you tell him no, that you like his facial hair and it makes him look about five years older. he smiles, despite the fact that he asks you if that meant you didn’t like the babyface he usually wore. 

you smile then, rolling your eyes and squealing when his fingers dig into your ribs. you try to swat him away, but he rolls the two of you over and effectively traps you between him and the mattress. he only stops when you struggle to catch your breath from laughing, both of you wearing wide, cheesy grins while holding eye contact. 

you lean up and press your lips to his, humming when he pushed back against your lips with added pressure. his fingers dip down to your hips, gripping them slightly before slipping under the material of your shirt. 

mat has to pull himself out of the memory before his mind goes too far. he can’t spend too much time dwelling on the moment, or he’ll back out. he can’t back out, not after getting this far. 

he needs to tell you, needs you to know that he wants the best for you. he wants you to have everything you’ve ever wanted in life, even if he isn’t the one that gets to give it all to you. 

he wants you to know that he loves you, and will until his last breath. the years he spent with you weren’t like anything else he’s ever experienced, and he has a feeling it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

your smile spreads a warmth through his chest. he notices that it doesn’t reach your eyes, but neither does his. he walks into the coffee shop, know that there are so many thoughts bound to be left unspoken by the end of this. neither of you know how to start this conversation, but you take the first plunge. 

“you look good.” he lets a soft laugh slip, not understanding how that can be the first thing you’re saying to him after all of this time. he takes it in stride though, and bites his tongue so he doesn’t return the sentiment. 

there’s not much small talk. it’s practically impossible to sit in front of the other and pretend like the last few years never happened. he can’t act like he doesn’t know how it feels to wake up beside you, or have your lips moving up and down the skin of his neck. you can’t pretend you don’t know how it feels to watch him score a goal, or two, or three, and be the one that gets to go home with him afterwards. 

so he takes a deep breath, and you sense the hesitation coursing through him. he notices your patience, remembers how that came in handy over the course of your relationship. he gives you another small smile, and grips the cup in front of him as a way to keep his hands occupied while he starts to speak.

“i just want you to know that i want you to be happy. i know that you are, and that makes me happy. i hope you get your ball room floor, and your perfect house with rose red doors. i know that it’s been a long time, and i couldn’t tell you that when-” he swallows, and attempt to stop the lump from forming in his throat. it doesn’t work, but it adds a sense of comfort in a weird way. 

“i want you to know that i’m happy for you. i wish it was me, and i’d be lying if i said there’s a point where i won’t feel like that, but i know that you wanted things i couldn’t give you. i hope he's better than I ever could have been.” he doesn’t say that he doesn’t think that’s possible, and he doesn’t say that he’s ready to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you asked him for a year ago. 

he doesn’t say that he’s ready now, that he’s at a place that he didn’t think he’d ever reach. you don’t get the pleasure of knowing that mat’s ready for this, for you. you’re left with the thought that he’ll never be ready, and you’ll never be given the chance to see mat mowing the lawn of a big, two-story house with a red door and a wrap around porch. 

you don’t tell him that you want to hear it, that you need to hear it. you don’t tell him that you’d drop everything you have right now if it meant that you can live that life with mat. he doesn’t get the pleasure of knowing that you’re silently begging him to ask you to leave your new life behind and run away with him. he’s left with the thought that you’re satisfied with what you have going for you, and he’ll never be given the chance to see you in a beautiful white dress, walking towards him with a smile so bright, he thinks it’ll blind him. 

you sit across from each other, biting your tongues and holding back words that would change everything if just one of you would simply spit it out. if one of you could build the courage to just say what you were both thinking, your lives would change once again. your lives would finally end up being everything you wanted them to be. 

but you don’t say anything, because you don’t think there’s a place for you to say it. mat doesn’t say anything, and he thinks he’s doing the right thing by holding back. he thinks he’s come to terms with how his life is meant to play out, and you think he’s still incapable of reaching the point that you need him to be at. 

you leave the coffee shop with a weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there when you arrived. your stomach feels uneasy, maybe from the coffee but definitely from the realization that you’d never be able to move on from mathew barzal. 

mat stays in his seat after you leave, not being able to hug you goodbye or watch you walk back to your car. he can’t find it in him to move from his spot, trying to give himself the time to come to the realization of what just happened. he knows that he still loves you, knows that he’ll always love you. he feels his chest ache and maybe it’s the weight of the situation, but it’s definitely from the realization that he’d never be able to move on from you. 

it’s going to be another long, lonely december.

-

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[gwyns]

I'm surprised I haven't seen anyone draw parallels between Feyre leaving Tamlin for her Mate to Elain leaving Azriel for her Mate. (Ignoring the fact I hate Rhysand, the books obviously want me to think he's the best person ever so I'll just pretend). Because that's what I see happening.

Elain and Azriel are so clearly rebounds for one another. Elain's still grieving her human love and life, and Azriel is still hung up on Mor. They're both quiet and available, so they jump to each other. That's it. The Azriel POV was purely about what he wants. How he wants to fuck her and taste her. He's just sex to her.

Even if E/riels had a more convincing case, it's not like SJM hasn't pulled a SIKE on us before. If she goes anywhere with E/riel, she'll undoubtedly pull it back. SJM doesn't take Mating bonds lightly, and she's stated that she loves Lucien. And if anyone deserves the happiness of a bond, it's him.

Feyre and Rhys, and Cassian and Nesta, all had relationships/lovers before Mating. Elain "liking" Az now, (which we're not even clear on), doesn't really mean much.

I'd like to hear your thoughts! You're so good at this, and you always explain my thoughts so perfectly. Love and light 💕💕💕

honestly there are quite a few feysand/elucien parallels that people either don't see or choose to ignore.

rhysand was first presented as a villain to feyre, the same could be applied to lucien just bc of his envolvement with tamlin (that he wrongfully gets blamed for btw idk why e/riels love blaming tamlin's mistakes on lucien). feyre was engaged before she went to rhys, elain was engaged before she met lucien. both were/are? still hung up on their former fiances. feysand as a couple represents the night, elucien would represent (at least in part) day. it's literally night and day with them. they're similar but also wholly their own pairing, it's fascinating to me.

anyway i think i will use this ask to spill some of my e/riel opinions sorry about that! alright let's start off with this controversial statement: i don't think e/riel was ever meant to be endgame.

i've seen it said a few times over the years that sarah changed her mind about elucien and while that's possible bc she also previously changed her mind on lucien and nesta one has to ask themselves..... if she wanted to write a mate bond rejection why didn't she stick with her original plan of lucien and nesta being mates? she's said herself that they wouldn't work but she chose to change lucien's mate to someone who compliments him better, and it's to feyre's other sister no less. that tells me lucien is important and powerful, he's mated to one of the sisters, one of the key players of the entire series.

another point is we can assume (and we could be wrong, let me put this here before someone yells at me or vague blogs about it) that sjm had an elucien endgame in mind when writing acowar, right? and when she was touring for that book hadn't she already started work on acofas? and we know that she's never on social media, so if she had an elucien endgame in mind when she wrote all of the supposed e/riel "evidence" where does that leave us?

drama. tension. conflict. angst.

i think that's what it all comes down to. people will say that elucien was a front while e/riel is the true endgame but... it all seems a bit easy, doesn't it? e/riel is right in your face while elucien is silently brewing in the background. what if the bait and switch isn't elucien, but e/riel?

sarah has shown us before that she likes to use her characters as ways for her other characters to end up with their endgame matches. for example, without tamlin, feyre wouldn't have met rhys. and moving over to throne of glass for a second, if not for chaol, aelin wouldn't have met rowan. and in turn, if aelin hadn't given yrene the money she needed in tab, chaol wouldn't have met her.

are the e/riel scenes romantically coded? yes, probably. i'm not saying they aren't, some people picked up on it but i personally didn't get that vibe myself, especially in acowar, but acofas kinda blurred the lines a bit. but even then, i didn't think they'd work out and i still don't understand the arguments that are supposed to be in their favor from that book. elain says she doesn't want a male so that excludes lucien but not azriel somehow? that line means she doesn't want any fae, she wants a human man, she wants graysen. then we have lucien saying he can't even stand to be in the same room as elain which i never read as a "oh i hate this person" kinda way. no, it's bc the whole situation between them is awkward and it obviously makes both of them uncomfortable. it doesn't help when literally all of the inner circle is constantly around them, and being in the night court in general doesn't give them the privacy to get to know each other.

some people like to ask why build e/riel up at all if they're not going to be together? one thing i've always loved about sjm's books is how she can write relationships. now, let's say you meet someone irl and you like them, eventually maybe fall in love with them, and fail to notice how they're not good for you. maybe everyone around you can see it, but you don't. you want a relationship and you're in a decent one, it should work out. like they're not a bad person, this relationship just isn't right for you in the long run. why waste your time? it's life. sometimes things are good for you at a certain point in time but not later on. sometimes you just end up in a relationship that was never good for you. sometimes you fall out of love with someone. you're constantly learning and adapting to things and that's my stance on e/riel. i think they're both looking for companionship and they're the "safest" and most available option.

taking it back to acofas, azriel was relived to not have to get elain a gift and was still gazing longingly at mor. now in acosf he's avoiding talking about her while wanting to fuck elain and getting defensive when helion mentions mor. he's not over her. he's not going to just completely forget 500 years of pining bc elain showed up, especially when they haven't even helped one another to move on. if they had, we would have seen the proof of that. not just "oh she's hot we both want sex", that doesn't make a healthy relationship.

as for elain, she's been taught she has to act a certain way her entire life. she has to downplay her trauma and emotions to appease others so they don't worry about her. maybe she's even had visions involving lucien that upset/scare her somehow and she's reaching out for something else. i think they're both lonely and desperate (at least on az's end) for someone that they ultimately are drawn to the wrong people.

as for the lack of elucien development... this is how i see it. if they're endgame, why would sarah have all of their big moments happen off screen or as a throwaway line in acosf? elain is getting a book, we know this, and with how much of the story is tied to lucien and how much is left unresolved with him, we can also assume he'd get a pov at some point. so imo it makes sense for the fact we got little to no development for them in acosf. no, she wants a huge wedge between them so we can watch them come together. the payoff will be that much sweeter. kinda similar to how she put a wedge between nessian before acosf, sure they had more development in acowar than elucien but i think that's bc sarah knew they'd get the first spinoff. she had to give them that development whereas elucien can wait, a bit longer. it's frustrating yes but i do think we'll get something in acotar 5.

maybe i'm an optimistic fool, maybe sarah did at one point have an endgame in mind for them, but i find it hard to believe she wouldn't see how wrong they are for each other in the long run. she's very good at showing us how well characters fit together with just a few lines.

[lubdubsworld]

Make you mine.

One Shot.

!8 +

Hoseok x OC

Angst , fluff 

OC is a popular solo idol  in love with street dancer Jung Hoseok. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“One date. Come on...let me take you out for coffee. Once, just once?” I sounded like a broken record at this point , hands gripping his arm as he leaned against the table, writing out something about positions on his notebook. 

Jung Hoseok, impatient as always, gave me a shove, causing me to trip and land on my butt.

“Ow.” I muttered glaring at him. He stared down at me, unimpressed. 

“I told you not to come in here when I’m working. No. I won’t get coffee with you. Now go climb into that million dollar car of yours and get the fuck away from me.” He said sharply and i flinched at the coldness in his tone. 

I swallowed. Grinning wide, i ignored the sharp sting of his rejection. i could process the hurt later. For now, i had to change tactics. Lifting myself up, I rubbed my tailbone , moving closer and trying to peer into his notebook. 

“Okay...no coffee..” I smiled, touching his arm gently and pulling back again when he glared pointedly at me., “ That’s fine . What’s your plan when this ends? I don’t have anything on my schedule for the next two hours. We could just hang out? Talk about stuff? Your sister told me you’ve been working on a mixtape recently? I’d love to listen ....”

Hoseok groaned.

“Leah, go get your fucking hair done or buy out the latest Gucci collection or whatever it is that you rich snobby bitches do in your free time. Stop hounding me... we have  nothing  in common? Why on earth would i want to hang out with you?” He snapped. 

I shrugged.

“Because of my rocking hot bod and angelic voice? Because I happen to be the nation’s sweetheart? Because i got voted, “most likely to offer you her umbrella in a thunderstorm “ last week? I’m kind and beautiful and sexy. I can cook you your favorite dishes  and  suck your dick under the table while you’re eating it? “ 

One of his students, who just happened to be drinking water a couple of feet away from us, spat it all back out, wheezing as he gave me a look of horror. 

I gave him a sweet smile and a wave. He blushed red and smiled wide at that and my smile faltered. \

 I was sick of the adoration, sick of the applause, the praise , the compliments and the flattery. Sick of the stage itself and I couldn’t wait for my contract to end this year. I wanted to get back to songwriting and singing in my studio. Releasing vocal tracks only. No more make up or pastel dresses or bunny years. No more aegyo in fansigns , no more pretending to get scared by fucking confetti on the stage. No more giggling when a guy looks at me. No more shying away from anything even remotely adult because i was delicate. 

I was drawn out of my thoughts by Hoseok clearing his throat. 

“So you’re not leaving?” He tilted his head in question.

“I love you.” I said simply. 

Hoseok sighed, reaching out and gripping my elbow hard. He yanked me close, till I was right in front of him and I licked my lips, shamelessly staring at the plump redness of his lips. He gripped me harder at that, fingers digging into the tender flesh of my arm and I gasped.

My entire body sang at the contact and it was impossible to explain how it made me feel. Hoseok looked angry. He was angry. But I didn’t particularly care. Not when he was touching me like this.

I stared at his face, his beautiful fucking face with the sharp angular features, his dreamy body ,broad shoulders and lean waist,  those mile long legs and those thick thighs. 

I wanted something raw and real and heady and strong and there was nothing more breathtaking than the man in front of me. A  real  man. The kind of man you wouldn’t mind getting on your knees for, even in public. the kind of man who makes your breath catch in your lung. Makes your lips part and your thighs wet.

 He smiled. 

“You don’t know what the fuck love is, you little--- ” He shook his head , swallowing the insult and I bit my lips, making to move closer but his grip tightened holding me away from his body. Pain began shooting up y arm but I ignored it. 

“Then show me...I want you.  “ I said softly.

“I’m not a sextoy you can buy because you saw me in a catalogue. if you’re horny go fuck one of your cotton candy haired oppas. ” his free hand shot up, gripping my jaw . 

I wanted to scream . 

“That’s not what this is.” I choked a little when his thumb slipped down to my neck and squeezed . I kept my eyes trained on him, refusing to back away. I’d done a lot of that in the early months. But after nine months, this crush or whatever sure wasn’t going away. and i wasn’t even going to try denying how badly I wanted him. 

“What is it then? Because right now all I’m seeing is a desperate little slut, so eager for attention she’s willing to beg for my di-”

“Hob-ah...let her go.” Min Yoongi’s calm voice rang out from behind us and hoseok smirked. He stepped away and I knew he’d bruised my chin and my arm. But I resisted the urge to rub against the skin. 

“One date.” I whispered. “Please.”

He smiled , his face softening .

“Never in a million years. Get the fuck out of here before I call security.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi watched Hoseok go through the routine one more time, flat on his back, head cradled in his arms . 

“Why do you keep refusing that girl?” He called out . 

Hoseok didn’t stop dancing.

“Cos I don’t like her.” he grunted, hips rolling in tune to the music, sweat dripping down his neck. 

Yoongi scoffed.

“You do know I’ve seen your search history right? For someone who doesn’t like her you sure spend way too many of your waking hours watching her fancams. ‘ 

That made Hoseok pause.

“Whatever hyung, she’s just joking around. “ 

“For nine whole months? i think she means business.”

“What business? Fuck me once and leave... not into that.” 

“ Or maybe she wants to get to know you...”

“What’ there to know hyung... nothing that would interest someone like her, for sure. She probably spends more many a day than i make in a month. I’m nowhere near her level.”

Yoongi sighed. 

Hoseok’s mind seemed to be made up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When i first heard that they wanted me to debut Solo, I’d been so flattered. Debuting solo meant I would have no one else to please or get along with. i could do my own thing and just the fact that they trusted me enough for that made me feel on top of the world. 

But as time went by , I realized that all it meant was I would be saddled with bone-crushing loneliness.

Alone in the waiting rooms.

Alone on the stage. 

Alone while the other female artists crowded together. 

It was lonely on the top and I had to smile and laugh through it all. 

But the loneliness was most pronounced when I was stuck without a friend. A girl i could confide in and trust . 

When everything is silent and quiet,  that is when the loneliness inside you screamed the loudest. 

I sat with my knees drawn up , leaning against the wall  and staring out of the bay windows, watching the rain pound the glass.

And in the vast emptiness of my apartment, it was always silent and quiet. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright , that’s it!!!” Hoseok grabbed my arm, hauling me straight off the small stool i was sitting on and I yelped, surprised.

“Hoseok-”

“Get the fuck out of here. I know for a fact that you’re only looking for someone to play around with and I’m not going to be the poor pathetic sod who get caught on camera with you only to get hated on and cancelled and whatever the fuck else your cult does..... I want you out of my life.!!” He shouted and I dug my heels into the ground, yanking my arm away from him.

“I don’t fucking care about any of that. My contract ends in two months ...I’m not going to sign back on with my damned company!! They can’t control who i see and neither can my fans!!” 

“You’re going to quit your company...? the biggest label in the country? You expect me to believe that?!” He scoffed.

“It’s true! I’ve had enough of being on the stage. I don’t enjoy it anymore ! All its done is “  left me sad and alone and without a single friend. 

‘”Paid for all your ridiculously expensive lifestyle?” He sneered.

I sighed.

“You’re obsessed with my money Hoseok. I’ve never flaunted it in front of you. I’d be happy eating dukkbeokkie from a street stall with you. I don’t care about money or my company.” 

“Really? you don’t care about your company?” he shook his head in disbelief . 

“I don’t.” i insisted. 

“then how about this. I’ll be done with the day at nine o clock tonight. Meet me at the dance studio at ten. Come alone. just you. And not in that flashy car of yours. Take a fucking cab. Don’t bring your fucking bodyguard or your manager. Don’t even tell them where you’re going. If you can do that, I’ll believe you.” He said softly. 

I swallowed. 

“I...that’s... that’s dangerous.”

He scoffed.

“Thought so. Your money and your label is a part of you. And they’re things i can’t stand. So just stop-”

“Okay!” I blurted out, heart pounding. 

Hoseok stopped talking, staring at me with a frown. 

“What?” 

“Okay.. i’ll... I’ll take a cab from my apartment.... I’ll come meet you at the studio. “ I whispered. 

“Don’t be a fucking idiot.” He said harshly.

I felt my anger rise. 

“You asked me whether I can put aside my money and label.... I can! I fucking can!” 

“Just leave Leah! ” He turned on his heel.

“I’m going to be there!! At ten , tonight. And if I show up and you don’t, let’s just admit that you’re a fucking coward, Jung Hoseok!!!” I screamed at him.

He didn’t even look back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The studio is deserted. 

Of course it is. 

Feeling a little bit like a fool, I wrap my arms around myself, sinking into the shadows as I walk up and down the hallways. Its still just a little past ten. I could wait a while. Just in case he changed his mind. 

Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. 

I swallowed, the darkness seeming to close in on me. 

Footsteps made my ears perk up but then anxiety spiked when i heard unfamiliar voices.

“....she fucking pants after him like a bitch in heat and the bastard is too much of a pussy to take her up on the offer.” One of them says .

“I know. Holier than thou Hoseok. Fucking prick. Like if you don’t want that a grade cunt, why not just pass it on to one of us huh?”

“....fuck ...just wanna run into her in some dark alley. I’ll stuff my fingers in her whore mouth and give it to her nice and hard , like she obviously wants. “ 

Nausea rising, I stumbled to my feet and made to move away but they had already turned the corner, both of them stopping at the sight of me. 

I felt my heart leap up into throat... stark terror blooming inside me. I opened my mouth to scream but my voice wouldn’t come , I was too petrified to even breath. 

I turned on my heel, adrenaline making me run really hard.

I’d barely moved a few inches when i crashed into a very familiar chest.

Strong arms wrapped around me, drawing me into his warmth and i heard Hoseok’s voice growl from above me. 

“You’re fired. “ His voice trembled with rage. “ You have five minutes to get the fuck out of here.” 

Both of them stood frozen.

“Hyungnim...we’re...”

“If you leave right now you’ll be walking out. If not you’re gonna be needing a fucking ambulance , Jaehyun.” 

The sound of them scarpering away made me relax, exhaling in sweet blessed relief as I sagged into his arms. The cry that I couldn’t vocalize earlier came back with a vengeance and i choked, pushing away from him. 

“I... I’m... i need to go.” I sobbed out, my nerves completely frayed as I stumbled a little. Hoseok’s hands reached out gripping my waist when i lost my balance and I flinched trying to pull away.

“Leah...wait. Leah...” He said , sounding upset and i felt like a stupid, pathetic fool. 

“They were right. You’re.... you don’t want me. That’s not your fault...I’m such a... “ The tears threatened but i refused to cry in front of him. That’s what my big, expensive apartment was for.

“Leah...no. Its not fucking true...Fucking look at me, Damn it” He grabbed my shoulders shaking me and i was forced to stare at his face. 

“I like you.” He gritted out. “ Fuck I may even be a little bit in love with you and I feel like the worst kind of bastard, making you come here tonight..alone but i swear I didn’t think you would turn up... It was so fucking reckless baby.... You could’ve gotten hurt, why would you come here....”

“you like me?” I whispered, stunned. 

He stopped , sighing.

“Yes... I do.. Always have. i just... I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea what with who you are and....You deserve someone who can spoil you and I’m far from being made of gold....” 

I cut him off with a kiss, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my lips against his. 

He laughed and kissed me back, lips soft and gentle against mine. 

“It’s a good idea. “ I whispered, nodding my head. 

He hummed, rubbing his nose against mine, gripping my thighs and hauling me up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, clinging to him. 

“We have a lot to talk about.” He said softly. 

“We do.” i agreed.

His lips pressed against mine again. 

“But than can wait?” He asked softly.

“Yes it can.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

author’s note : just a snipper for that prompt i wrote earlier :D I’ll probably make one more part of this later :D 

[constilationn]

Ready To Run 🌬

A/N: So I got this request at the beginning of the week and I've been working on it since then. I’m really not sure about this one guys, it’s a bit of a different style and it’s 6000 words because it took on a life of its own. (Sorry not Sorry) Anway, I’d love some feedback - please - but enjoy guys!

Rating: M

Warnings: Naughty words, sensitive subject - abuisve relationship 

Summary: This was the request I had: Reader is abused by parents or boyfriend and runs straight into the arms of Poe Dameron. 

@jacquelineprins this one’s for you 💓

You’re lost as you walk, turning the corner from the hanger and starting back towards the quarters in a quiet sort of daze because your arm’s throbbing underneath your jacket and you’re sure there’s blood by now, there must be. You want to look, you do, you want to see exactly what’s he done this time, what you’ll have to cover up from everyone else but you can’t bring yourself to lift the cuff of your jacket beyond the upper part of your wrist. You don’t want to make it real again because there’s a part of you that pretends it’s a dream whenever it happens, you can deal with it that way. You’re strong, of course you are, but there’s something about this that you just can’t handle. Either way, you have to pull up your sleeve and look. You have to.

You shouldn’t be surprised when you lift your sleeve, but you blanch anyway because your arm is red and sticky and the cuts go deep, almost like lashes of a whip. Your mind turns and turns and you’re wondering how you let this happen, because you were never the type of person to let someone else walk all over you, so what went wrong?

It’s your name on his lips that pulls you back, soft as he catches up to you in the hall, and you yank the sleeve of your jacket back down over your arm because he can’t see this, not now.

Poe Dameron catches your arm, pulls you closer to him and you try not to wince, letting a hiss of pain out between your teeth disguised by a smile as he grins back at you. He doesn’t know there’s anything wrong, he won’t know. No one will. It’s one of the policies, one of the stipulations of this relationship you’ve found yourself trapped in. No one finds out, not even Poe.

“Hey.” You make the first move, have to, so you don’t seem suspiciously quiet or upset or whatever it is you’re feeling right now because as it stands, you don’t even know. But you never do when it comes to this.

“Hey sweetheart,” sweetheart, that’ll come up later, you’re sure of it. It has before and for no good reason. Poe Dameron is a flirt, it’s a universally known fact and even if he felt anything towards you, the entire base knows your taken. It’s not an option anymore either because it’s like your property now. You live with him, with Charlie, share your quarters, share missions, share lives. Although it’s not really sharing, is it? Not when he acts like he owns you, parades you around like a prize and hurts you when you misbehave. It’s like you’re a dog, that’s probably the best way to describe it, rewarded when your good and punished when your bad. It’s hysterical, in another life you’d laugh and in another life still you’d punch the living daylights out of Charlie and tell him to never treat you like that again. But it’s not an option, not this time, and you’ve been beaten down so many times that you don’t stand a chance. Not anymore.

Poe clears his throat, polite just like always as he interrupts your stream of thoughts. “Can you do me a favor?”

Anything, you want to scream, I’ll do anything for you if you can get me out of here, away from this life. But you square your shoulders instead and ignore the wildness of your thoughts, muster another smile and paint into onto your face so it stays there even when he leaves. “Sure.”

You’re expecting him to say something about engineering, about fixing his ship just like always. You’re not expecting him to ask you to accompany him on a mission and you’re definitely not expecting him to tell you that you leave tonight. You know you’re staring at him like he’s got ten heads and you know you need to stop but you can’t because he’s just offered you an escape, he’s offered you an out and maybe, just maybe, this can be your salvation. This can be how you survive.

You can’t stop the grin that breaks across you face, but then again you don’t really try to. You resist the urge to jump into his arms because this is it, he’s given you a perfect chance to escape and, god, Poe Dameron has never looked so beautiful. “Please. Yes. I’d love to.” The words tumble from your lips and your grinning like an idiot but you don’t care, not anymore. You hug him then, you can’t help it, and the warmth you feel in his arms has nothing on Charlie who only ever lays a hand on you to hurt you.

“It’s nothing exciting, sweetheart,” Poe chuckles but he looks so fucking happy that you can’t bring yourself to care about the repeat of the nickname and you don’t let go of him, you can’t, not yet. “We’ll just be doing some surveillance, maybe blowing some stuff up.”

You nod, practically vibrating on the spot with this newfound energy. Your brain is going and going and going with endless possibilities and chances and opportunities. You want to kiss him, and not for the first time, but none of that matters at the moment. Nothing matters except you and Poe. Maybe you can tell him, maybe you can make a confession and beg him for help. He’s a good guy, he’s you’re friend so what’s stopping you? What’s fucking stopping you?

“Hey,” Fuck, does that voice make you freeze. It’s not a malicious one but accusation drips from Charlie’s tone and you feel your entire body just stop. Poe bristles next to you, crossing his arms because he doesn’t like the man, no one does and a lot of them question what a nice girl like you is doing with an arse like that. You couldn’t tell them even if you wanted to. You know what the punishment is for that.

“Charlie.” Your voice is weak, a pathetic attempt to seem excited and Poe quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. “Hey.”

You swear your heart stops when he walks towards you and it’s like this long, horrible drawn out thing until he reaches your side and Poe dutifully steps a little to the left so Charlie can throw an arm around your shoulder. It’s only been a few hours since you’ve seen him, since you landed back at the hangar after he’d decided to take his anger out on your arm. It’s only been a few hours of peace, of bliss, and you thought that maybe it could be enough. You’re wrong.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” You try not to wince as Poe gave Charlie a nod and turns away. You let your eyes close as Charlie waits for Poe’s footsteps to fade completely. You know it’s coming so it shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does when Charlie rounds on you in the middle of the hall and lands a heavy slap on your cheek.

“Sweetheart?” It’s the way he says it, the way he relishes the word on his tongue and the look in his eye when you shrink away from him because he knows he’s got you and you can’t get away from him or his accusations because he was right there when Poe said it. “Sweetheart.” He pauses, considers and then nods with a definitive air, watching you with sharp eyes. You have no idea what move you’re supposed to make now, you don’t know what the right answer is.

You do know that when he takes hold of your arm, shakes it and drags you down the hallway to the quarters, you’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Charlie shoves the door open, let’s your arm go and pushes you into the room so roughly that you stumble and have to catch yourself against the metal foot of the bed. There are tears on your cheeks, falling to your lips and there’s salt and blood and you’re losing your bearings just a little. “Fuck.” It’s a weak word, falls from your lips as your arm hits the bed. Charlie smirks, like he’s pleased with his handiwork but you can’t fight him, can’t say a word. You know that. And so does he.

“Charlie.” You start but it’s not enough to get rid of that glare in his eye. Your attempt is weak anyway, it never would’ve worked but you had to try. You always have to try. Maybe that’s how you ended up here.

“Shut up.” His words are like fire, spitting all over you and you cower, you can’t help it. He looks absolutely murderousand you’ll know what’ll happen next. It’s nothing new, of course it isn’t, but the way you feel never goes away. This nervous flip of your stomach never goes away.

It wasn’t always like this. That’s what you tell yourself, that you’d made the right decision once upon a time and it’s not your fault that this is happening. Five years ago you were just a bright eyed pilot, looking to crush the First Order. Charlie was a technician, insisted he’d work on your ship and you fell for it. You fell for his good looks and his charm and the smile that you never see anymore. People had warned you, of course, but you didn’t listen to them. Hell, you didn’t listen to anyone back then. God you wished you had. Maybe none of this would’ve happened.

It’s been two years since the first time he hit you. You’d been laughing about something stupid, probably with Poe because back then you were happy. You’d felt his fingers dig into your thigh first and when you’d gotten back to your quarters, he’d hit you until your face burnt. You didn’t tell anyone, thought you could survive it because you’d never let anyone walk over you before and why should Charlie be any different? You were strong back then too, a fighter, and you were so sure you were strong enough to face it. You were so goddamn sure. But when he told you to never say a word, threatened you because it was your word against his and who would believe a stupid little girl, your world fucking crumbled. So you explained the injuries away and hid them but you didn’t say a word. Not once.  

And now you were trapped in your own personal hell.

Charlie gives you a smirk, a sick, twisted smile and stalks towards you from where you’re still learning heavily against the foot of the bed. “Let me see you arm.”

“No...no, I—“

“Let me see you arm.” His voice is deadly, words ripping through the room as he tilts his head and meets your eyes. “Sweetheart.”

It’s that word that makes your legs give out and your one the floor in a heap watching him when he crouches down but not doing a single fucking thing to stop him because what can you do? His fingers close around your wrist and you flinch, don’t try to hide it, as he pulls the jacket from your shoulder with his other hand and deposits it on the floor next to you. The cuff of your shirt reaches your wrist and Charlie’s gentle when he pulls it up, rolling it to your elbow and taking a sharp breath when he sees the mess of your arm. It’s worse than an hour ago, turned an ugly purple and red, darker blood dried across the top of the deep lashes that paint your arm. Charlie nods, eyes flicking from your eyes to your arm and all you can do is sit and watch as his fingertips run up and down your arm. “Jesus.” It’s his voice, a breath, and you snatch your arm away.

“Stop.” But he won’t, he takes your arm back with cold fingers and admires, fucking admires, the mess of your arm. You can’t remember the specific reason for this particular beating but you’re willing to bet it had something to do with Poe and the two of you on your mission. Charlie’s usually there, lurking in the back to keep an eye on you because god forbid you actually get rid of him for good. Maybe you were too comfortable with Poe, maybe you got cocky or maybe you said something stupid and Charlie didn’t like it. Whatever you’d done, he’d taken you aside on the mission and lashed your arm with his belt before giving you an affectionate little pat and telling you to run along. It was an almost comical exchange when you think about it. That doesn’t change the pain though. Nothing changes that.

“You want me to kiss it better?”

“No.” You whisper, trying to move your arm. “No.”

“Aw, c’mon.” His lips touch the deepest cut on your arm and you hiss, biting your lip so you don’t say anything, so you don’t make it worse. “Let me make you feel good.”

“No!” You shove him off, reaching for the bed to pull yourself up because your entire body is shaking and you’re not sure you can pull yourself up.

You back away from Charlie who’s sitting on the floor just staring at you and your back hits the wall as he stands up. “What the fuck,” and he’s back, stalking across the room, “was that?”

“I don’t...” your voice trembles, “I don’t want this anymore.” You can’t believe those word have just left your mouth, you can’t believe that you’re standing across from Charlie telling him that you don’t want him anymore.

When Charlie laughs, a chill runs through every single cell in your body. It’s like your blood freezes and you feel like you could just die on the spot. “What makes you think you get to make that decision.”

This, this is where you trip up because you haven’t rehearsed a speech, you’re not confident in your ability or hit him with the facts and logic. The truth is, you’re terrified, you are absolutely fucking terrified because you’re starting to realize there is no way out. It doesn’t matter how many missions you go on with Poe, how many escapes you think you’ve made. He will never let you go. You can’t believe it’s taken you this long to figure it out.

“Charlie,” he knows your about to beg, he can see it in your face. “Charlie, please. I can’t do this anymore.”

Charlie shakes his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Go on your little surveillance mission. We’ll talk about this later, sweetheart.” That’s all you need to hear. You snatch your jacket from the floor, throwing the door open and fleeing down the corridor. You hate how scared you are. You hate how you feel so small and weak and powerless every time you’re near him. Most of all, you hate him.

It’s quiet as you head back to the hangar, passing the canteen that’s bursting with people. That’s where Charlie will go, when he’s calmed down and hashed out a plan for later. He won’t let you go. He won’t take this little show of resistance at all. He’ll use it to break you, crush you even more until your nothing but a shell of what you used to be.

The hangars dark when you get there and you don’t see Poe standing there at first, too focused on the future, too focused on what Charlie will do to you. “Hey sweetheart.” Sweetheart, that name on his lips sounds so much sweeter than on Charlie’s but it makes your stomach flip. You look up to Poe, plastering a smile onto your face and Poe grins, pats the side of the ship and offers you his hand. “You ready?”

Yes! You want to scream, yes more than anything because you are ready, you’re ready to blow this place to shit and never, ever look back. But you can’t say that, you can’t say any of that so you shrug, “Sure,” and take his hand. It surprises you, how warm and soft his skin is, how light his touch is. You can’t help yourself when you compare Poe to Charlie. Even Poe’s hair, warm rich curls seem a thousand times better than Charlie’s stupid blond man-bun. But it’s the eyes, you think, that do it for you. Poe’s eyes are beautiful, so beautiful and you could get lost in them for days. You mother used to say that you can always tell a monster by his eyes and, oh, how right she’d been.

You slide into the seat next to Poe, careful, like you’re holding your breath as the dull hum of the engine starts beneath you. You feel Poe glance over, feel his eyes trace patterns across your cheek. “You can talk, you know.”

“I know.” God, how can your voice sound so small? Where have you gone; how have you lost yourself so spectacularly? You feel like a bomb, just ticking and ticking until one day it’ll all be too much and you’ll just explode and take out everything around you. Including yourself.

The ship breaks through the vines, soars up and you watch as Poe steers easily, marvel at the routine movements of his hands. It’ll just be surveillance tonight, making sure no one breaches the perimeter of the base. But you don’t mind. It gets you out, gets you away from Charlie and you have a suspicion that Poe knows that too.

“What happened to you?” You’re not expecting that. Of all the things Poe could’ve asked you, that would not have even been a guess.

“What do you mean?” He rolls his eyes, turning to face you and you raise an eyebrow, reply in a quiet voice. “Eyes on the sky, flyboy.”

He shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his lips. “You ever heard of command pilot?”

“Oh, clever.” You grin. “Dangerous though, isn’t it?”

“Stop changing the subject.”

You learn forward and quirk an eyebrow. “What subject would that be, exactly?” You want to hear him say it, you have to, because he must know what’s going on by now. He must.

“You know what I’m talking about.”  

It’s like you’re not even on the ship anymore. It’s just you and Poe and you’re starting to think that maybe you can trust him. He knows anyway, doesn’t he? Isn’t that what this has all boiled down to, the fact that he wants some sort of confession from you? There are tears in your eyes as you shift in your seat, watching the moons rise above the base. Poe doesn’t do anything, just waits. Finally you turn back to him and when you speak your voice is thick with tears. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Charlie.” And Poe’s voice is like ice. “Tell me about Charlie.”

“I...”

Poe reaches out, takes your hand and all you want to do is melt into him. “You can trust me.”

“I can’t.“

“Yes you can.” he gives your hand a squeeze, running his thumb along your skin and there are tears falling from your eyes too quickly to stop them. Poe coaxes it out of you, eventually, because it takes you a minute to trust him and realize that you’re safe with him; takes you a minute to realize you’re safe with someone.

You’re sniffing as you shrug your jacket off but Poe’s there, catching your tears on his thumb like they’re falling stars. He takes your jacket from you gently and you look up to him as he smiles, warm brown eyes locking on yours because he needs you to know that your safe. He needs you to know that he cares about you.

Your fingers shake when you touch your sleeve, you can see the material move as you drag it up over your arm and bunch it at the elbow. Poe stiffens beside you and he takes a sharp breath. Your arm looks like a slab of meat as you stare at it this time around; the skin angry. Tears fall fast and hot but Poe still doesn’t move until you try to roll your sleeve down and he catches your wrist with the lightest touch possibly because he won’t be the one to hurt you. He refuses.

He clears his throat and forces out one word. “When?”

It shouldn’t be so hard to tell him. You should be jumping at the opportunity because Poe figured it out by himself, you didn’t say a word so this isn’t your fault. You’ll doubt Charlie will see it that way but it’s too late now. He’s seen your arm, he’s seen your tears and he got the confession from you. “A few hours ago. On the mission.”

“What did he use?” Poe’s suspiciously calm but he hasn’t let go of you yet, linked your fingers together because you’re not alone in this anymore.

There’s no hesitation anymore. “His belt.”

“Sweetheart,” Poe dips his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shake your head, cracking the smallest smile. “You really think that would work out for me?”

Poe shakes his head, anger rippling across his face as his jaw flexes. “I’ll kill him.”

“No!” Your voice is shrill, bordering on hysteria as panic explodes in the pit of your stomach and Poe cocks an eyebrow in confusion. “No, you can’t. You can’t. Charlie won’t...he won’t like it.”

“I don’t give a shit what he’ll like.” Poe pulls you from your seat into his so that you’re on his lap. “We’re in this together now, me and you. You’re not gonna do this alone anymore.”

It’s then you let yourself fall into Poe, let yourself sob into the crook of his neck because this means the world to you and he must know that. Poe keeps his hand in yours, uses his free hand to run his fingers through your hair and down your spine until you’ve pulled it together enough to sit up and wipe your eyes. “Poe, I...”

He nods, you don’t have to say anything else but the smile he gives you seems to light up the entire ship.

And then he kisses you.

You kiss him back almost instantly because you haven’t felt this way in so long. You haven’t been touched like this, lovedlike this in so long and Poe is like this beautiful breath of fresh air that’s swept into your life and now you’re a seeing clearly for the first time in what seems like forever.

You pull away after a few second, tears dry on your face but that doesn’t matter because Poe’s looking at you like you created the entire galaxy. You want to take Poe’s hand and walk back into the base and never think about Charlie again but it’s not that easy. It’ll never be that easy.

“You okay?” Poe’s voice has your knees weak in the best kind of way and you give a little chuckle.

“I’m better than okay.” You can feel yourself coming back to life, can feel that fire and that light that’s been buried depo beneath the surface this entire time. You hesitate, “I need your help.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll do anything you ask me.” He smiles but his eyes are dull, don’t shine like they usually do.

“What’s wrong?”

You’ve never seen Poe hesitate like this, his mind turning like he’s fighting with himself over what to say to you. “I’ve been...” he stops, clears his throat and corrects himself. “I am in love with you.” You think the world stops, just freezes, and you give a little shake of your head in disbelief. You open your mouth to reply but Poe cuts you off. “I’ve been in love with you since that mission in Naboo when you shot that Stormtrooper in the face and then took a bullet for me. I’ve been in love with you since you started to learn how to fly and you got so excited about it that you smacked  Lana in the face by accident and gave her a black eye.” He chuckles, mostly to himself, and you grin along with him. His smile fades a little then and he continues. “I saw it happen, y’know, with Charlie. Watching that fire in your eyes go out was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I...” you keep shaking you head because that’s the only thing you can do that makes sense. It’s confusing, it’s unexpected but it’s fucking wonderful because you love Poe too. It’s taken you a while to see, blinded by Charlie and all the pain he brought you but now you know. You think you’ve known since the time in the canteen when he threw a bunch of blueberries at you for calling him flyboy. You think you’ve known for a long time.

Poe gives a nervous chuckle, “You got anything to add, sweetheart?”  

The smile breaks across your face like the fucking sun and you pull him closer, kissing him again and again and again. “I love you too.”

“Thank God, could you imagine if you’d say something else, so—“ you cut him off with a kiss, laughing against his lips as he runs a thumb over your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs against your skin.

“You’re so cliché.” You reply but you’re laughing like you haven’t in months. “What are we gonna do?” You sigh, tugging on the ends of Poe’s curls as he swats your hand playfully. “I’ve gotta tell Charlie.”

“You don’t owe him anything.” Poe mumbles as he kisses your neck. “Fuck him.”

“Well—“

“Not literally.” Poe scoffs but his eyes are bright again, just like yours. “C’mon, we’ve gotta go.”

You haven’t even noticed that the base is coming back into view until the ship dips back below the vines and Poe lands the ship smoothly back in the hangar. You feel like your limbs are seizing up as Poe offers you his hand again and leads you from the cockpit. He’ll be waiting because you’ve been out on patrol too long and god forbid something happens to you that’s out of his control. Fear blooms through your chest and your heart hammers and you’re wondering how you got yourself here and why you couldn’t just stick it out for a little longer.

“What’s going on?” Poe murmurs as you turn the corner

“I can just tough it out.” you blurt, catching Poe’s wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I can tough it out, we both know that. There’s no reason to start anything. I don’t...I don’t need you to do this.”

“Sweetheart,” Poe sighs, “look what he’s done to you. You don’t need to stay with him, you don’t need to lie down and take this anymore.” He runs a hand through his hair as you wish for the ground to swallow you up. “But you’re not in this alone anymore. Everyone’s going to be on your side, I promise you that.”

It takes another minute of Poe convincing you for you to finally force one foot in front of the other, but when you do you feel as if nothing will stop your again. Poe’s right, he’s brainwashed you to make you think that being in this stupidly abusive relationship is okay. But he’s wrong, Charlie is so fucking wrong if he believes he can break you. You know who you are, now more than ever, you’ve ignited that fire that’s been desperate to burn for so long and your back, ripping through the restraints Charlie forced you into.

“I’m ready.” You nod, taking a breath because you’re not ready but it’s now or never. Poe nods, takes your hand and leads you down the hallway back to the quarters. As expected, Charlie stands in the hallway with his arms crossed and a bored, irritated expression that  sits easily on his face. You feel Poe’s thumb tracing small circles across your skin and notice as Charlie’s eyes lock on your hands. You learn over to Poe, a small smile lifting your lips. “Let’s not cause a scene.” You whisper.

Poe gives a mocking nod of his head. “No, let’s.” But you know he won’t. He’ll step back and he’ll let you say what you need to. He won’t take this moment away from you, not when he knows what it means.

“Back late, aren’t you?” You almost bail right there and then because Charlie’s eyes hold the murderous glare you’re so familiar with and he hasn’t stopped looking at your fingers, so delicately intertwined with Poe’s. You take a sharp breath, feel Poe’s grip tighten ever so slightly and take a step forward, eyes level with Charlie’s. He raises an eyebrow in amusement, like he can’t believe you’re going to say a word to him.

“We’re done.” It’s not exactly the way you pictured the delivery but the look of shock on Charlie’s face is as good as any and victory bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You take another step forward, breaking away from Poe’s hand and stepping up to Charlie. “This,” you motion between the two of you. “This is over.”

Charlie scoffs, “What makes you think you can do that?”

“What makes you think I can’t?” And, god, it feels so fucking god to stand up to him, to show him the warrior that you’ve been all along. “What makes you think I give a shit about you at all?” You’re words are ripping through the air now, deadly, stalking towards Charlie before they tear him to shreds. His jaw is slack, mouth open like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but you keep going. You can’t stop yourself because you deserve this and you’ll be damned if you let him walk away before you tear him apart. “You broke me.” You hiss, “you wanted me, you took me and then you fucking broke me. I haven’t been happy in two years,  do you know that? Fuck, I haven’t been myself in two years.”

You chance it, take another step forward and draw yourself up to full height so that you’re looking straight into his eyes. “W-wait.” God it feels good to hear him stammer, for him to be unsure in his own skin just like you’ve been for months and months.

“You don��t get to talk now.” Your voice cracks but it doesn’t matter, it won’t affect you. “You don’t get to say anything to me ever again. You understand that?”

“I—“

“Do you understand that?” Every single word that leaves your mouth is coated with malice.

Charlie nods once and his voice is so small. “Yes.”

“Get the fuck out of my sight.”

You watch him turn tail and hurry down the hall until he’s out of sight and you can finally breath again. Your stuck there for a little bit, just staring at the spot where Charlie had been standing and not fully believing a word that’s just come out of your mouth.

“Sweetheart,” Poe breaks you out of your daze and you stumble back into his arms, letting him whisper in your ear, and run his fingers through your hair. “You did it.” He murmurs. “Sweetheart, you fucking did it.”

And again, it’s your name on his lips that pulls you back and you lift your head from Poe’s chest, grinning when he kisses you. Because it’ll always be Poe that brings you back and reminds you who you are. It’ll always be Poe.

Every single time.