#or announced to the whole room that i threw up all the bad whiskey i brought and that i’m going to bed now

[fingertipsmp3]

It does haunt me when people remember things about me that I don’t remember. I’m ngl

[eatyourchancletas]

SUMMARY |  y/n l/n; the trauma surgeon who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and is taken hostage by the terrifying mafia known as ateez. despite their situations, love arises between the doctor and san; but when an enemy comes in between the group, breaking trust and belief between the members, what will san choose to save; his newfound love or his brothers?

PAIRING | choi san x male reader

INFO/CATEGORY | mafia au, fluff, light angst

WARNINGS | violence, weapon usage/mention, foul language, lower case writing

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AUTHOR’S NOTE | we’re back! sorry for the long break, hopefully we can get into the flow of things! monnie’s already started chapter 5 off amazingly too :p written by both of us this time (mainly edited by monnie)! please leave feedback, like, reblog, whatever you can to let us know whether you enjoyed it or not!  (re-edited because dongwoo and changsik were switched up)

WORD COUNT | 2.4k

TAG LIST :; @jonghoshoe​  if you’d like to be added to the list please say so in our inbox/ask box!

y/n was usually called outstanding, hard-working, smart. but in reality, he was an idiot when he was outside the workforce. 

being a workaholic meant showing your skills, growing them, improving them, and practicing them constantly. sometimes it seemed to be all he knew— it’s what all the people around him saw. 

yet again, outside of it he’s quite a gullible man; which brings him to his current situation… 

“looking for something?” 

he looked away from the bandages he was previously examining to come face to face with a man that looked around his age. “not really, just restocking my clinic. or—trying to find things to restock it with.” the man nods, glancing around suspiciously, although y/n didn’t didn’t seem to take notice of this particular action. 

“this pharmacy is pretty small, but it has lots of good supplies… lots of hidden gems. want me to show you where i get my tools?”

“oh,” y/n blinked in surprise, “you’re in the medical field?”

the man made eye contact with him, managing a convincing smile. “yeah, there’s a clinic down the road from here, about fifteen minutes by foot, this is the nearest pharmacy, so we stock up from here most of the time. i work there as an assistant.”

y/n nodded, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “wow, then please! show me what you suggest.”

at the approval, the man nodded, “name’s changsik, by the way. what do you work as? i’m assuming you’re also in the medical field.”

they walked along the aisle of the cough syrups, ointments, and the few other medicines to turn and make their way to the exit door. y/n furrowed his brows, about to ask why they were exiting until changsik made another turn, walking towards the staff room. 

“your assumption is correct, i’m a surgeon…” he replied belatedly, trailing off as he stepped foot inside the room. his eyes trailed on the shelves full of unopened boxes, more prescription pills, and—bingo! the supplies he’d written down on his list. 

for a split second, the memory of san handing it to him flashes across his mind, blinking it away as he turned to changsik. “wait, how are you able to access this?”

“i’m a regular.” he glanced across at him, looking past the window. “and also the perks of having a pharmaceutical license,” a hefty laugh left his mouth, “took some convincing though.” 

“huh,” y/n squatted down, inspecting a box that was on the floor, “i guess that makes sense.”

“just put what you need in a box and take it out. i’ll just say you’re helping me take it back.” changsik smiled, watching y/n nod and do so.

after a few minutes, y/n finished and announced he was ready to check out. changsik’s eyes met one of the cctv cameras before settling on y/n. 

“alright, let’s go check out.” 

as they walked toward the front, they reached the hallway that led to the exit. just as y/n was going to walk past, toward the checkout counter, a hand forcefully grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. he looked behind him, in a startled manner, thinking changsik had just forgotten something. however, a deeper fear struck when changsik’s hand moved to clench at the back of his collar. 

“don’t make a sound.”

the second the cold blade touched the skin of y/n’s neck, the surgeon knew to stay quiet. there was a burning in his throat as he struggled to swallow, scared to trigger any abrupt movement. his frantic mind jumbled about, words of scolding placed toward himself and the situation while trying to get a grip. he thought of using the in-ear to alert jongho, but it would risk exposure of the communication device: in any case… he’d be dead by then.

“what is taking him so long?” jongho grunted, tapping his foot in impatience. it’d already been about 10 minutes since y/n entered the store—it shouldn’t take that long for a surgieron to find equipment that’s of medicinal standard!

tapping his in-ear and calling out the doctor’s name, he got no response. placing his face mask on, he rushed into the store, beckoning the cashier. “have you seen a man, about 6’3” with h/c hair?”

the cashier stared at him with a shocked look, “yes, but he went back toward the restrooms. is he dangerous?”

jongho shook his head before running toward the back of the store. he shoved against the restroom door, shouting out the older’s name as he threw open each stall door. finally admitting the fact that the older had disappeared, he tapped his in-ear once more, calling out for anyone.

“jongho, what’s going on?” hongjoong had intercepted the connection, hearing jongho’s worried voice.

the bodyguard had no time to register the primal fear that would settle itself in his bones once faced with the leader, “it’s y/n, hyung. he ran away.” 

jongho returned to the headquarters after scoping out the area once more and had just entered through the front door when he was met with the sight of the whole group. 

hongjoong was staring at him with his jaw clenched and an almost empty whiskey glass settled in his lax hand. jongho had never seen a look so severe in hongjoong’s eyes—he’d never messed up this bad. and apparently, the leader wasn’t the only one emotionally affected by his mistake, because before hongjoong could even physically express his own anger, san had snatched the glass from his hand and launched it at jongho, missing his head by less than an inch.

everyone was shocked at his silent outburst, san even going as far to ignore the immense pain in his abdomen and on his shoulder, but hongjoong simply sent the younger a look, causing him to cower back in the slightest. jongho, however, was enraged at what had just happened. what gave san, who had no superiority over him, the right to do that?

“what the fuck was that?” he had stormed over to the boy, grabbing his shirt with both fists. san didn’t back down, sticking his jaw out toward the youngest.

“how could you lose y/n?”

“i was told no matter what to avoid cameras, so i stayed outside! i didn’t exactly think the fucker would have the balls to run away!” 

everyone watched the two, eyeing when to step in and pull them apart. but hongjoong let them run their mouths. the longer someone talks, the more something is revealed. what he was looking to be revealed, he didn’t know; but something would come up.

san pushed back against jongho, “y/n hyung wouldn’t run away. he’d never do that!” 

‘oh,’ hongjoong perked in interest.

the younger scoffed, “what makes you so sure?”

san’s next words came as a bit of a shock, leaving the others with silent questions, “he promised he’d come back.”

bingo!

an awkward silence filled the room as they all stared, speechless at how hopelessly fond their brother had become for their hostage. as much as some of them hated to admit it, y/n was only a hostage to them at the end of the day. and for san to fall into a reversal stockholm syndrome of sorts was nothing short of  a disappointment. however, that couldn’t be the main focus, y/n was missing and they didn’t know how strong his resolve would be in the event of torturing.

“run us back on what happened, will you?” hongjoong told jongho, trying to get a clear picture on what went down because the first thing they needed to know was why y/n was taken, much less, who took him. was it by the same person who’d been running their mouths in the streets? 

and right in the middle of his explanation, an alarm went off on yeosang’s phone; it was a message. the others kept talking, figuring yeosang could handle whatever message he’d received. 

it was when he promptly stood up that all attention had been placed on him. 

“it’s him! it’s dongwoo!”

a soft whimper sounded as y/n was thrown to the ground, hands bound and eyes blinded by some piece of cloth.

“boss,” y/n’s kidnapper spoke in a submissive wave, causing y/n to assume the guy had straightened his spine and was saluting him in some way.

a moment later, a gruff voice broke through the eerie silence in the room, “and who is this?” his voice wasn’t angered or bewildered at all, and that’s what scared y/n. he sounded intrigued; like even he wasn’t expecting to be a part of this situation.

“someone with connections to ateez— saw that bodyguard walking around with him.” 

the other man hummed, “the bodyguard didn’t follow you, did he?”

“no, no. i found them by the pharmacy; i know the area pretty well because i do the runs for sowon— i knew the camera blindspots!” his abductor seemed to be a bit on the simpler side when it came to this “boss” of his, y/n concluded. this was a completely different personality than when he was being abducted at the scene…

“good job. and you know what, changsik-ah,” his voice seemed to be getting more intrigued, y/n’s heart beating even faster in response, “since you bought in such a valuable hostage, i’ll let you have the honors of obtaining information from him.”

y/n felt the air beside him shift, changsik bowing a full 90 degrees at his boss’s blessing, “thank you!”

a sickeningly hearty laugh resonated and the creaking of a chair sounded before the boss’s next words seemed to be the final straw for y/n’s pounding heart.

“i want him alive.” 

“he better be alive,” san growled at jongho.

“we might get to him alive if you two would quit bickering. we’re wasting time because of you two, so shut it and sit down!” hongjoong had had enough of the two. he knew it was a sensitive time for san and jongho, different reasons for both, of course, but they would only get nowhere if they weren’t level-headed.

the two boys bowed their heads at their leader, san still sending a side-eyed glare at the younger before sitting down in his chair. 

it’d been two days since y/n was kidnapped and they still hadn’t been able to come up with a plan to get y/n back. 

wooyoung tried to trace where the text message came from within the first minute it was received, but surprise, surprise! it was a burner phone— so back to square one; checking all of the cctv footage in the area and trying to spot a suspect that wasn’t even visible from the first frame. 

the cameras in the pharmacy showed only y/n, the pharmacist, clerk, and four other customers. of those four, only one person never entered through the front door. and within those 48 hours, he’d managed to single out a vehicle that had arrived in the frame of one of the street cams showing the alleyway behind the pharmacy, and left the same way not even 5 minutes later. it was a suspicious vehicle too; white van, no windows in the back, and paper license plates. the paper plates hinted that they were most likely changed recently or are changed frequently.

and so after hours of having to witness his best friend be so uncharacteristically frantic and down, wooyoung, unfortunately, decided to do what he thought was smartest—save y/n himself to make his best friend happy again.

his intentions may have been well, but in stories like these, doesn’t something always go wrong?

“help me set the table guys,” seonghwa cleared his throat, hand on his hip as he stirred the soup on the stove. the steam from the boiling liquid sent another cloud to his tired face, a sheen of sweat and condensation forming.

“i really don’t understand why we are acting like we have the time to set a table and eat home cooked meals when we don’t!” san exasperated, pacing around the dining room. 

mingi gave a sympathetic smile, patting him on the back before going to help seonghwa. 

while mingi was more on the understanding side of san’s worries, jongho disagreed, “how exactly do you expect us to find him if we don’t take care of ourselves?”

“all i’m saying is food and sleep shouldn’t be this consistently on your minds when we’re all in this situation!”

jongho scoffed, finding the utmost absurdities in san’s words, “why are you acting like he’s so important? he doesn’t know anything about us or our weaknesses— for fuck’s sake, it’s not like we can’t just get another doc��”

a fist had flown toward jongho’s cheek, cutting off his words, before san’s thrashing body was being pulled back by mingi and yeosang.

“go to hell choi jongho!” san screamed, trying to force his way through the barrier the two had made with their bodies. the boy could feel his stitches tearing as he fought, but he didn’t care. jongho had been a bitch since the very first moment y/n was around, and for what reason?

“cut it out, san!” yeosang hollered, voice brute as he pushed against the boy.

“no, let me at him. he wants to keep being a little shit, i’ll show him shitty!”

“stop it! you haven’t even noticed, have you?”

san didn’t stop trying to break the barrier, focusing on getting to jongho and the other’s words, “notice what?”

“wooyoung’s missing,” yeosang began, san whipping his head toward him and trying to disagree, but yeosang was having none of it, “and you haven’t done anything but antagonize everyone here for not doing their jobs at your pace!”

“oh, excuse me for trying to be as quick as possible in finding him!”

“yeah, and who ever said quick was the efficient route to go? we’re dealing with people we know nothing about, but they seem to know a little too much about us, no? so stop getting on everyone’s asses and—”

“shut the hell up! please!” seonghwa had slammed his hands down on the table, screaming at the top of his lungs. every person in the room had immediately gone silent, words left on the tips of their tongues in a desperate attempt to fly about.

“you’re all going to shut it, sit down, and eat this meal like the civilized people we are and come up with a plan to get y/n back as safely as possible,” he gave a quick glare at everyone, blowing a puff of air at the lock of hair that had settled over his eyelids.

“am i clear?”

"yes, sir."

[tardisheart134]

(x)

"Let me look at you." Cas said after letting Dean down onto his bed. Castiel went about the work of taking inventory of Dean's wounds. 

"Here Cas - " Sam set down the bunkers first aid kit. Cas opened Dean's sleeve to see a deep gash that had been bleeding through his shirt. 

"That's gonna need stitches." Sam said. "Here, let me."

"No. I'll do it Sam." 

"Are you sure?" Sam had watched Cas heal Dean countless times - but without his grace he figured that he would be the expert here. 

"I said I'll take care of it." Cas bit sharply. "I may not have my grace, but I'm not entirely useless." Cas usually didn't take such a sharp tone, especially not with Sam, but he was mad. He hated not being able to heal Dean with a simple touch. 

Dean gave Sam a look letting him know that he would be okay. He'd been injured far worse in his life and had even on occasion given himself his own stitches. He would be able to walk Cas through this, if needed.  Sam turned to leave the room to retrieve of whiskey for Dean.

"I am sorry." Cas said without meeting Dean's eyes. "I didn't mean to snap at Sam. I just hate being so damn useless." Cas readied the kit before he threaded the needle. 

"Cas-" Dean waited until Cas finally looked at him. "You're not useless.  You are more than just your grace." Cas looked back down at the kit avoiding Dean's gaze and not allowing the words to sink in.  " I need you to hear me." Dean was urgent. "You were never just an angel to me. You know that,  right?" 

"I know." Cas dropped his eyes again and returned to his work, as he meticulously went about prepping the wound and disinfecting the skin around the gash in Dean's forearm. "I just hate seeing you in pain and I hate that I can't fix it." 

"With you here Cas - don't you know - I can't feel any pain?" Dean was trying to ease the tension and flirt a little. Sure Cas had confessed his love and Dean was sure to let him know that he felt the same way after they saved Cas from the Empty - but they hadn't really done this part. 

It had been mostly a few desperate hugs right after the rescue mission. There had been that one chaste kiss when Dean told Cas that he loved him back and they'd held hands once while watching a movie. But Dean's whole body ached for more. More Cas. He just didn't know where to start. There was a part of him that still worried that he and Cas didn't mean 'I love you' the same way. Dean had never doubted that Cas loved him throughout all of their friendship. And he had known for a long time that he loved him back. But what if Dean got it wrong? Dean was only human and he wanted things, physical expressions of that love. He wanted to flirt. He wanted to tell Cas how attractive he was and tell him how much he wanted him and watch the angel blush and smile. He didn't know if Cas felt that way about him too. 

Castiel's eyes briefly darted up to meet Dean's but he didn't return the smile. "Stop distracting me." Cas said flatly as a blush crept up his cheeks. He bit his bottom lip to stop it from quirking up into a grin. Cas tugged Dean's forearm up until it was resting in his lap. Dean let out a staggered breath as Cas started with the first stitch and he immediately felt the pang of the deep breath in his side. He must have a bruised a rib too.  "I'll be quick." 

Dean was impressed with Castiel's precision as he threw stitch after stitch. Their Netflix binges of Dr. Sexy must be paying off. Sam returned from the kitchen with a full tumbler of whisky and a bag of peas. Dean swallowed the whiskey down in several successive gulps before exchanging the glass for the peas. 

"That looks bad." Sam said as Dean opened one side of his shirt to ice the deep purplish bruise on his abdomen. "How's your breathing?" Sam asked with that pinched clinical concern. 

"It hurts when I laugh or breathe too deep, but it's nothing a few days of rest won't fix." 

"There - all set." Cas said as he tied off the last stitch. 

"That's actually really good stitching." Sam tried and failed to hide the surprise in his voice. 

"Thanks." Cas wrapped gauze over the stitches before beginning to apply antiseptic to Dean's other cuts and scrapes. "Can you get him  some Advil and a water? I know that whiskey is quick and probably Dean's pain killer of choice, but it doesn't do anything to help with the swelling and inflammation." 

Dean couldn't help but be slightly turned on by Cas playing doctor right now and watching him boss Sam around was just an added bonus.  He couldn't  hide the humor in his eyes as Sam rolled his and did as he was told. Cas moved closer and made Dean completely shrug out of his flannel shirt that was tattered shreds in some places. Dean had plenty of fantasies of Cas in his bed and taking his shirt off, but in those fantasies, he would have preferred not to have lost so much blood and he would have liked to have had full lung capacity.  

Cas addressed each wound with such urgency and gentleness. He was close to Dean's face as he applied ointment to the cut above Dean's eye. 

"You're getting a black eye." Castiel let himself cradle Dean's head in his hand. His thumb just caressing the outline of the swollen shiner. Their gaze lingered longer than necessary. Dean leaned into the touch hoping for more. Even if it meant he had to be injured to indulge, this touch was all he longed for.  Sam announced his presence by clearing his throat, as he stumbled upon the moment. He suddenly felt like an intruder in the awkward silence - well - awkward for him. 

Cas dropped his hand quickly as if he he'd been scolded. It was Dean's turn to pull a bitch-face. "I think we got it from here." Dean said dismissively. "Thanks Sam."  Sam put down the Advil and  water bottle on the bedside table and promptly exited the room. With all of Dean's injuries they probably wouldn't be getting up to any adult activities that Sam would need earplugs for, but he wanted to have them handy just in case. 

Dean brushed a hand over Cas' arm as if to quiet his frantic first aid work. "Thank you for fixing me all up. I am as good as new." Dean let his hand rest on Cas' arm. It was new and still felt a little forced - but god - he wanted to touch him. 

"You are hardly good as new." Cas' eyes fell again with a look that Dean recognized as shame. "It's my fault that you were injured in the first place and it's my fault I don't have my grace anymore to heal you. I'm just no good for you." 

"hey - hey - don't say that - " Dean's voice was stern - on the verge of anger as he shook at the angel's arm like he was trying to dislodge all the wrongness of his words. "Don't you know - you're the best thing that's ever happened to me?" Their eyes met again briefly and Dean could see the shy smile in Cas' eyes as he fought against his own disbelief. 

"Alright." Cas got to his feet and out of Dean's grasp. "Take two of these." Cas uncapped the bottle of water and handed it to Dean with the Advil. Dean obeyed. "I'll be back in a few hours to wake you up and take two more." 

"Cas - wait." Dean caught Cas' arm as he turned to leave. Dean held on because he knew the moment he let go Cas would be out the door. He could tell Cas was still beating himself up over all of this. Dean had done enough self-loathing to recognize it. "Stay." 

Cas gave him a look and was about to object, but Dean continued. "Look, I know we haven't worked out all this stuff." Dean gestured a hand between them both - insinuating that "this stuff" actually meant us. "I just want you close."  Dean smoothed his thumb over the inside of Cas' wrist silently imploring him for any small gesture of closeness. "Please."

Cas turned his palm over to hold Dean's hand back, his countenance softening as he locked eyes with him.  "I just need a little time to myself Dean, to get my head straight. I'll be back in a few hours." Cas gave a little squeeze before dropping Dean's hand and closing the door behind him. "Promise." 

Dean let him go. He stripped down to his shorts and burrowed under the covers and let himself drift into a state of no longer consciously existing. 

Cas paced in the library and then in the war room before he finally found himself getting a whole pint of ice cream from the fridge and heading to the tv room. All Dean wanted was to have him close, despite all of his failures and he couldn't even give him that. He flipped through the channels mindlessly while he ate ice cream until he was on the verge of a brain freeze. Numbing out with the tv and food seemed to be the coping mechanism of many a human who found themselves frustrated. Cas landed on a re-run of Dr. Sexy. He abandoned his own emotions and let the feelings of the characters on screen fill the void. A mother was trying to calm her terminally sick child. "Let mommy kiss it better....okay." Cas watched as the mother pressed a feather light kiss to her child's forehead. "All better?" the mom asked. Despite the child's illness still persisting, Cas was amazed to watch the child's tears dry up as they put on a brave face. "All better." the child confirmed. 

Cas had never heard that phrase before - 'kiss it better'.  He didn't  have his grace, but this seemed to be something that humans could do. A quick google search confirmed "Comfort a sick or injured person by kissing the sore or injured part of their body as a gesture of removing pain." 

Cas checked the time and realized it was close to the time Dean should have another dosage of pain meds. He clicked off the tv and left the remainder of ice cream on the tv stand to melt. He was going to wake Dean up and kiss it better. Cas turned on the bed side lamp and sat in the open space next to Dean. He didn't want to startle him awake knowing far too well how that could end up. In time, Dean woke up with a slight jolt. 

"Cas?" Dean said with the sleep and searching in his voice. 

"Can you sit up for round 2 of meds?" Cas handed Dean the Advil and water as Dean shifted around on the bed. "How do you feel?" 

"Like I've been tossed around by Bigfoot." 

"Can I try something?" Cas asked not being quite brave enough to meet Dean's eyes. Dean nodded. Cas scooted closer on the bed until he could reach all of Dean comfortably. He cupped Dean's face and bringing him close, he pressed a light kiss to the cut above Dean's eye and then another kiss to the shiner just under it. 

Dean drew in a ragged breath, wincing with the twinge in his abdomen. Moving slow and methodical, Cas brought Dean's forearm up close and pressed another kiss to the skin at the edge of the gauze. Dean's heart began to palpitate as his heart rate climbed. Cas kissed him with such tenderness, but he couldn't help but be a little confused with the sudden influx of affection. "Cas?" Dean licked his dry lips, searching for the right words. "What's - what are you doing?" "It's not working, is it?" Cas couldn't hide the disappointment. "I must not be doing it right." 

"What's not working?" Dean asked, still puzzled. 

"I'm trying to 'kiss it better'. I saw it on tv and the internet confirmed that you can comfort someone by kissing the injured part as a gesture of removing the pain. "Does it not make you feel better? I know it's not as good as my grace - but I just thought-- " 

Dean cut him off finally realizing. "No - No - it's working!" He said emphatically. "I just didn't realize you knew about this very-human remedy." 

"Well you should have told me sooner. I want to help." 

"You are helping, Cas. I told you - just you being here - with me - makes me better." 

Cas allowed the affirmation to wash over him without protest.

"Where else does it hurt?" 

If Dean had been standing up, he would have gone weak in the knees. He couldn't believe his fortune to have the love of such a selfless being. "Here." Dean pointed to a scratch at that top of his bare clavicle. Without hesitation, Cas pressed a kiss there. "...and here." Dean pointed to the bruise on his temple. "...and here..." Dean pointed to his split lip. Cas pressed a lingering, gentle, and off center kiss to Dean's lips. Dean caught him by the back of the neck - holding him close. "What about you, Cas? Where do you hurt?" 

Castiel's brow furrowed in thought. "I didn't get any injuries, Dean. I'm fine." 

"I don't mean physically, Cas." Dean watched as he thought through the meaning. "I know you've been in pain. You've not been feeling like yourself, since you lost the rest of your grace. I know it weighs on your heart." Cas nodded as he began to understand. "I do miss my grace. And I miss my wings. I just hate that I'm not of use to you, like I was before. I don't know who I am without being an angel. I don't know what my purpose is." 

"Can I try to make it better?" 

Cas nodded. 

Dean tugged him closer by his sweater, rubbing the material absentmindedly through his fingers. "Can you take this off for me?" Castiel removed his sweater, rucking up his hair in the process. "You'll always be my angel." Dean said as he ran a hand over Cas' chest. He leaned in kissing along the angel's neck, just under his Adam's apple where he'd seen so many angels lose their grace. Dean wrapped his good arm around Castiel's waist and pulling them flush against each other. "You make me feel so good, Cas." Dean trailed kisses down to Cas' chest right where he imagined the angel's heart to be. "I'm all better." Dean let himself lean into Cas' chest as the angel returned his embrace. "This is all I've wanted for so long." 

"Me too." Cas pressed kisses to the top of Dean's head. " I would like very much to stay right here - with you."  They barely let go of each other as they re-arranged themselves under the covers a few moments later, and comfortably fell asleep.

I hope you enjoyed the fic. I’m always open to feedback. This was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song Cardigan where she says the line “hand under my sweatshirt, baby kiss it better.” Here (x) is a link to the same work on AO3 where you can find some more of my one-shots. 

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

Drown your demons | Draco Malfoy one shot

Request: yes! @daltonacademia (maybe draco with the prompt "are you drunk?"(You don't have to do any of this) but I imagine him drunk on the astronomy tower because his home life is too much and you find him and comfort him maybe???Also ily)

Word count: 2,834 words

Warning: drinking, dark thoughts

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader 

Note: This was a requests from the prompt list. Used prompt: “Are you drunk?” (22.)

Everything has changed since the Ministry announced that He Who Shall Not Be Named returned. Hogwarts, the place that once was home and safety for its students became the main target. Darkness shadowed the place and everyone who was there. It felt like everyone was fighting with their own demons, some of them with even bigger and meaner ones. Students were afraid to walk to class or back to their dorms alone, always going in smaller or bigger groups. The Golden Trio acted even stranger than before, and the Professors kept a closer look on everyone and everything. Everyone had secrets, even those, who looked innocent. Trust became the most fragile and important thing, but they struggled to trust each other. It was impossible to tell who was loyal, and the biggest question was, if they were, who they were to? 

“Hi, guys” Y/N greeted her fellow housemates and sat down next to Pansy Parkinson, who quickly hugged her friend and offered her a cup of pumpkin juice. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott greeted her with a smile, but immediately went back to their conversation about Quiditch. Y/N looked at the students from Slytherin, seeing familiar facies from higher years, some of her friends, but not who she was looking for. She hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy all day, which was odd, because he never missed a class. They weren’t exactly close friends, but they were in the same group of friends, and Y/N acknowledged the young wizard’s strange behaviour. Draco became even more distant with his friends, and skipped their study sessions in the Common Room. He looked paler than ever, and dark circles shadowed his porcelain like skin. He hardly ever joined them for any of the meals, and when he did, he just played with his food and excused himself shortly after sitting down. 

“Where’s Draco?” Y/N asked her friends, but the look on their faces told her everything. They didn’t know where he was and what he was doing, but they were getting worried about him too. His behaviour wasn’t unnoticed, but every time any of them tried to ask him about his struggles and problems, he shove them away and said they should mind their own business. She sighed and shook her head. This whole situation was affecting their friendship, and she hated to see how her friends chose to act like the problem wasn’t even there in the first place. Their friend clearly needed help, or just someone who checked on him from time to time, just to see that he was alright and wasn’t harming himself “I’ll go and find him” she stormed out of the Great Hall, not exactly knowing where to find Draco. She didn’t know him too well, but she knew he was good at sneaking up to places he wasn’t supposed to. She tried the library, knowing that during dinner time, it would be almost completely empty, leaving it a perfect hiding spot for Draco. But Madam Pince told her Draco wasn’t there, and she hadn’t seen him in weeks. Which was odd, because Draco told them several times, that he couldn’t hang out with them because he wanted to study in the library alone. She was wandering around the castle, trying to figure out where he could be. She even asked Peeves, if he had seen Malfoy, but he only looked at her and vanished away without a word. She was getting worried by every minute, and she almost gave up on finding him, when she remembered something. Draco was fascinated by the Astronomy Tower and he sometimes sneaked up there is the middle of the night when he thought everyone was asleep. Students weren’t allowed to go there alone, but this never seemed to concern most. It was a well liked hiding spot for secret lovers to meet up without anyone noticing them. So of course it was perfect for someone, who wanted to be left alone. She made sure nobody was following her, and Filch wasn’t anywhere to be seen before she sneaked up to the Tower, cursing herself for not bringing her robe with herself. It was the end of October, and the weather was terrible all week. It rained non-stop and the cold headwind of November was already running through the corridors of Hogwarts. The higher she got, the more audible the sound of rain get. She was praying to find him there.

“Y/L/N?” Y/N took a deep breathe and looked up when she heard someone calling her name. Draco was sitting on the floor, his back leaned to the wall. A half empty bottle of Firewhiskey was placed by his side and his long fingers were holding a crystal glass “What are you doing here?”

“Are you drunk?” Y/N was more worried than before. She wasn’t a saint, she knew it. They shared their fair amount of parties that ended pretty badly with a terrible hangover the next morning, but seeing Draco sitting on the ground and drinking by himself alarmed something in her. She felt in her bones that something was wrong and maybe his problem was worse than she imagined.

“You didn’t answer my question” he chuckled darkly and lifted the glass to his lips. She watched as he emptied the glass with only one sip and refilled it right after. She didn’t know if she was supposed to stay right where she was, or if she was supposed to sit down next to him. She just stood there and tried to find the right words or figure out what to do. 

“Neither did you” she bit back and took a step closer to reach the bottle on the ground and take it away from Draco, but the boy was faster and grabbed it before she had the chance “Malfoy, what’s going on with you? You’re not the…”

“Same?” Draco laughed and stood up, but he had to lean back to the wall to stay steady “Oh, please. Don’t act like you know me or care about me” he rolled his eyes and turned his back to her. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and sorrow. Everything was getting too much for him, and he knew he couldn’t ask his friends help, because he wasn’t allowed to say anything at all. He was alone in that madness and no-one was there to help him. His thoughts were in a very dark place, and there were days when the only solution he could think of was ending his pain. Hogwarts used to be his safe place, where he couldn’t wait to come back every year to be away from his toxic father. But now, no matter where he was, Voldemort was there. At school, people were whispering about the dark wizard and everyone was waiting for the moment he would show up and kill everyone. At home, Voldemort was walking around their home like it was his own. Draco couldn’t found his place in this world anymore, and the only way he could tolerate that sorry excuse of life was if he was drunk. 

“Stop pushing us away” her tone surprised Draco. He always knew she wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with, because she could turn from literal sunshine to deathly ice in just a second and ruin your whole life is she wanted to, but she never used this cold and demanding tone with him before “You think you’re such a good liar, but the truth is, you’re terrible at it. So please, spare us the unnecessary drama and argument, and tell me what’s wrong with you, so I can help”

Draco watched her. She was standing a few steps away, her hands folded in front of her chest. He watched as her chest rose and shrunk with her deep breathes, the mixture of determination and worry was written all over her pretty face. He always found her the most beautiful girl in the whole school. Something about her made Y/N absolutely irresistible, and he often found himself just watching her basically just existing. She was stronger than she looked like. But she was naive. She wanted to believe everyone was good deep down so she treated everyone the same. And Draco knew this would be the end of her one day. Could he trust in her? Could he just open and tell her how much he hated his sorry excuse of a father for ruining their family? Could he tell her how scared he was that his mother would get hurt or worse, killed? Could he tell her about the burning mark on his  left arm, remembering him about all the bad things he had already done and the bad things that were still waiting for him? Could he ruin her with the truth? Draco scoffed and gulped down the liquor in his glass. He needed the alcohol to numb his pain and silence his thoughts. He loved the floating feeling and how he stopped thinking and feeling for a few hours. But he also knew it wasn’t the solution. Draco was used to pushing people away and not caring if someone wanted to help him, but his mind was so dark, he knew he had to found the light again. Maybe Y/N was the light he was searching for for so long.

“Everything seems to be exhausting me, no matter how much sleep of how much coffee of whiskey I drink, or how long I lie down” he looked at her “Something inside me seems to have give up. My soul is tired” his eyes were fixed on her face, looking for the slightest sign of sorry, but all he could see was calmness. She was actually listening to him. She didn’t try to tell him to get his shit together and stop acting like a whining baby. She looked like she knew exactly what he was going through “Every fucking time I ask myself if this whole thing is my fault, the way I feel” he was raging. His lips were moving without his permission and his words were slipping out. Maybe he was saying too much, but he didn’t care. Not there and then. All he knew was he finally had someone to talk to. He was selfish. He knew this could end up with a tragedy, but he also knew he would never let anything bad happen to her. Just the single thought of Voldemort going any near to any of his friends made his blood boil and without thinking, he threw the glass to the wall with full force. He watched how the crystal fall to tiny pieces, and he ironically found similarity to how he fell apart during summer break, when everything changed in his life “This molten inside me screams at me that of course it is. I am sensitive, stupid. I’m making this worse and worse. Everything is my fucking fault”

“Sometimes the word place you can be is in your head” Draco found her voice rather calming and kind. It was new to him. The last few years, the only kind voice was his mother’s, but after everything that happened, she hardly talked anymore. Draco knew she was trying to stay strong for him, but he heard her crying in her bedroom so many times. He hated that he didn’t know how to talk to her about feelings. He wanted to be there for his mother and protect her. 

“I’m a fucking coward” he punched the wall hard. And again. And again, until his skin was bruised and blood was leaking from the wounds on his knuckles. He felt a soft hand stopping him from another punch. Y/N was holding his nasty fist in her small hands, looking up at Draco with a knowing look. Her eyes were so pure and clear, Draco never wanted to look away from them. He found something in there, that he thought he would never be able to find in his life. He found peace. 

“You wake up every morning to fight the same demon that left you so tired the night before, and that Draco, is bravery” she said in a calm voice. Y/N knew it wasn’t going to help if she starts yelling at him. Draco was in desperate need for a soul, who was there to protect him from his own self. He looked at the bottle in his hand and could imagine how pathetic he would have looked like. Standing there, so drunk he could barely think straight or stand of his own legs. Trying to drown his demons, only to realise, the only demon was at his childhood home, plotting a murder on Harry Potter and everyone who was trying to defeat him. He took one huge gulp from the burning liquor and throw it down from the Tower “Draco”

“I’m a bad person” he turned around to face her again. She was shaking, but it was hard to tell is she was just cold or she was scared. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she was terrified of him. He would have hated to be in the same room as him. 

“You’re not a bad person for the ways you try to kill your sadness” she smiled softly at him. Draco felt a little warmness in his heart. She had a pretty smile, it could lit up the whole Common Room. Such a small gesture, but it was a foreign gesture for him, it almost broke him down is loud sobs. 

“Look at you, so pretty and naive” he said and placed two of his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up so he could take a better look at her. Her beautiful eyes were studying his featured, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind, what he was feeling, what he was fearing, but all she could see was darkness and how lost and lonely he was “I’m not talking about the drinking, darling” 

Y/N caught Draco’s quick glance to his left forearm and it suddenly clicked to her. Everything was crystal clear. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what was going on out there. Everyone knew Voldemort was building his own army, and he needed to followers to join the Death Eaters. She knew about Lucius Malfoy being one of them, but she would have never imagined that he would force his one and only son to be one of them too. Draco was a git. A filthy little, arrogant asshole who enjoyed torturing others with his pathetic insults, and he was brought up in a family who only believed in pureblood, but he was a good person. A good, but lost boy, who was never told how to be good. He did what he thought would make his father happy and proud. Death Eater or not, Draco needed someone. 

“You know” he breathed “In another life, where there is no war, no dark wizards” he shook his head “In another life, I would grab your hand and hop on the first plane to take you away from everything and everyone bad, to marry you” Draco couldn’t believe his own words that were leaving his mouth. They were true though. He found his peace in her, and she was still there. Draco knew he didn’t have to say those words, because she already knew. She couldn’t hide the shock on her face, but she was still there, holding his hand that was still tilting her head up and stroking the side of his palm softly. 

“It doesn’t have to be another life” she sat down on the ground, pulling Draco with her and pushing him down to lay his head on her lap “I’m here now. You’re not alone anymore, Draco” that was it. Draco reached his breaking point and let out a loud sob. He buried his face in her stomach and let out everything. All the pain, all the fair, all the loneliness. He was finally breaking free from his own prison and he was trying to found the answer how he got so lucky to have her by his side in such a dark time. She knew she was getting herself in so much trouble, and getting detention was the less scariest one of them. But she didn’t care. Draco was someone who deserved to be loved, and she was willing to do it. She stayed there with him, leaning her head to the wall of the Astronomy Tower, watching the pouring rain, listening how Draco’s sobs slowly calmed down and turned into soft snores. She held him all night, trying to keep the demons away from him for a few hours. From then, Draco was only scared of one thing. That he was falling in love with someone for the first time in his life - and the last time too.

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

Watch Me

Summary: You try to make your boyfriend Roger jealous because he tried to tell you what to wear but it goes slightly wrong

Pairing: Roger Taylor + female reader

Warnings: Swearing, cheating, drinking, angst, mentions of oral

Note from me: This is part one hence the warnings. The realllly smutty stuff will be in part 2, so please like and reblog to give me the boost I need to write part 2 xx

Your boyfriend, Roger, was being a pain in the arse as usual. Later this evening you were planning on attending one of Freddie’s grand after - show parties, so you had gone shopping with your bestie Christine (who happened to be dating Brian) for a dress to fit the occasion. You had settled on a beautiful black dress which barley reached below your bum and showed more than enough cleavage. You looked hot as fuck in it and coudn’t wait to make all the ladies jealous.

However, an hour or two before the party you ran into an obstacle or rather... into Roger. You had just put on the dress and fixed your hair and makeup when you heard the door to your hotel room open. ‘y/n I’m back!’ you heard Roger’s voice echo through the room as you put on your mascara, leaning in close to the bathroom mirror. ‘John told me to wear a suit but obviously I’m never gonna do that cause s’not my style and...’ his sentence came to a sudden hault as reached the doorway of the bathroom.

You saw his eyes narrow slightly as they looked you up and down, the gears in his brain clearly working very hard. ‘Y/n. What the fuck are you wearing?’ he asked while his icy blue eyes pinned you down. ‘I got the dress with Chrissy for the party. Do you like it?’ you said, giving him a spin so he could see the full veiw. You were very proud of yourself as you looked better than you ever had, and you’ve been waiting all week to show Roger. So when he said what came out of his mouth next, you were shocked.

‘You are not wearing that. Every man will have his hands all over you if they have half an eye. I won’t allow it’ announced Roger. You blinked a few times, speechless. ‘Are you fucking kidding me Taylor. I will wear whatever the fuck I want. No man will have his hands anywhere near me if they know I’m with you. But apparently you don’t fucking trust me enough, so you? So Taylor, guess I’m going to the party for someone else’s enjoyment.’ and with that you grabbed your purse and made your way to the door in a huff. ‘DONT YOU DARE Y/N’ Roger warned after you. ‘IM TAKING MY OWN TAXI SEE YOU THERE BITCH’ you screamed, flipping your beloved boyfriend off and slamming the door.

You arrived as the party was in full swing, knowing Roger would arrive soon after you. You decided to make the most of being alone for a bit. After greeting and congratulating Freddie, you made a swift exit towards the bar. It was only after 4 shots of vodka and strong buzz that you saw Roger walk in with his god awful sunglasses, looking around to find you. You hopped off the bar stool only to stumble. You felt a pair of strong mascular hands catch you by the waist and looked up to see a handsome stranger smirk at you, checking you out very obviosuly.

Meanwhile, Roger had given up trying to find you. He made his way to the sofa where his band mates always sat and pulled out his flask filled with whiskey. He sat down between John and Brian, draining the whole thing in a few minutes.

‘What’s the matter darling?’ Freddie asked as he swooped in, sitting opposite Roger on a vacant couch, nursing a glass of wine. ‘Yeah Rog you kinda look like you got kicked in the nuts’ Brian agreed, receiving a friendly nudge from John as he tried to hold in giggles and look serious. ‘Y/n wanted to wear this dress that basically left nothing to the imagination and obviosuly since she’s the sexiest girl to live I didn’t want men to be trying to hit on my girlfriend so I said she can’t wear it’ Roger sighed. Brian winced. ‘WHAT MAY. WHAT’ Roger raised his voice impatiently. ‘Well Rog you never tell your girl what she can and can’t wear. It sets them off. I bet she’s gonna make you go without sex now for a week. Or even a month.’ Brian went on to do a fake gasp. You could see the look on Roger’s face go from worried to pissed as he seemed to suddenly notice something. John saw his fists ball up and he raised an eyebrow as he followed his eyes to where Roger was looking. John’s jaw dropped when he saw what Roger was looking at. You were dancing with the man who had caught you early, grinding against him and letting him touch you anywhere he wanted. You secretly hoped Roger would see you, teaching him not to boss you around.

Brian turned his head as his eyes widened. ‘Oh fuck Rog’ Brian spluttered out, half laughing half feeling bad. ‘I swear to god I’m going to murder that man’ Roger said, removing his sunglasses, and balling up his fists so hard his knuckles had turned white. And then, the finale. The man kissed you. That was it for Roger. ‘Rog she’s probably just teasing don’t do something you’ll regre... ROGER’ Freddie called after him as he stood up and made his way to you.

You felt a tall presence behind you, but were too drunk to realize that amazing, woody smell was Roger as you kept kissing the stranger. Suddenly, you felt 2 hands pull you if the man and next moment the man was on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose and moaning from pain. Before you could turn around, you were lifting over someone’s shoulder and quickly taken upstairs as you giggled, head spinning.

It wasn’t until Roger threw you on a bed in the first bedroom he had found and locked the door that you realised it was him. ‘you kissed another man?!’ Roger said, weirdly quiet. ‘Maybeee’ you slurred, slowly dragging your hand up your thigh, lifting up the dress. ‘Jealous?’

Roger bit his lip and crawled on top of you, pinning your arms either side of you so you coudn’t move. ‘Now princess, you don’t do that. You can’t go around kissing whoever you like. So I’m going to have to punish you now so you will never do that again’ he whispered into your ear. ‘But I thought this dress was asking for it’ you whispered looking at his hair. He took hold of your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. ‘We will see you is asking for it when I’m done with you’ he said before his lips crashed into yours.

He began to undress you and kiss you everywhere except where you needed it the most. You whined as his legs skimmed your pussy, but he continued to kiss wherever he felt like it, placing your hand on his hard cock and groaning as you stoked him up and down. ‘Please Roger. Make me feel good’ you mumbled, biting down on his shoulder as he kissed your neck, but just below your sweet spot. ‘Oh, so now you want me to make you feel good?’ he asked biting your thighs aggressively, leaving marks. ‘Just like you were making that man feel good?’ He questioned. ‘Well baby, that’s not how it works. You want to make me jealous? Fine. But now you won’t get to cum until I let you, and that may be after I edge you until you are a whining little mess. So shut that pretty mouth on my cock so you can actually do something useful with it’. Your eyes widened in suprise, not expecting him to be this harsh. You were only trying to make him feel bad for trying to tell you what to wear. Well shit...

*If you guys want a part 2 please think about liking and reblogging ❤️*

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 35

💖first time reader click here💖

Reader and Eddie going on their mission. They're all morons, okay? Some canon-typical violence, bad guys being bad guys. You guys can see that I treat the fighting plot points as total crack, right?

Eddie Brock was pissed, at the Avengers mostly - for not telling him of my accident - but also at me, for the fact that I didn't call him sooner. Venom had taken over at some point, eager to participate in my plan - and it I was being honest, my uncle's space boo was the one I had relied on to participate in the mayhem that was to be caused to finally let my family breathe in peace.

The Avengers wore various expressions of guilt when an angry Eddie stormed the tower, berating them for not getting into contact with him when I was in danger. Venom growled at them, too, just the right amount of teeth and drool for Tony to quickly usher me out to 'take a walk, have some fun, build a snowman' with uncle Eddie and Venom. It was almost too easy, too predictable. The guilt that reared it's ugly head was stomped down by me and two glasses of whiskey in Eddie's rented Airbnb as I went into the fine details of my plan.

Both I and Eddie were equally surprised when Venom dropped their sarcastic, angsty teenager attitude and approached the topic with maturity, giving valuable input. The goth space goo was much, much smarter than their first impressions showed. I belatedly remembered their remark about being an apex predator species... Scary.

The plan was pretty simple.

Eddie was a professional investigative reporter and an unregistered mutant, his files being hidden so deeply due to the alien nature of the symbiote that it was unlikely that underground gangs would have any idea as to who he truly was. His involvement with SHIELD was buried under so much red tape, even Coulson himself had very little idea about Eddie's body-mate.

My uncle would sniff around the mutant underworld, just enough to catch a whiff of the mercenary's whereabouts. It should be enough if he was as famous as Natasha claimed him to be. And if it wasn't enough... I'd be bait. I doubt that the merc knew the box has been retrieved and secured; every now and then, I still caught chatter about the SHIELD agents trailing me catching a person sent to monitor me. They weren't even trying to hide that hard.

I had my suspicions SHIELD was indirectly using me as bait, too, and both Eddie and Venom were inclined to agree with the notion. Over beers and ridiculous amount of chocolate cake, a third side of the operation Baby Thief had been formed. SHIELD played their own game, the Avengers and SI threw a ridiculous amount of resources on their own and then there was me and Eddie, two halves of a whole idiot.

For once, the plan didn't go south immediately off the bat. Eddie and Venom got the information - there was a lot of uproar in the mutant community, rumours about an artifact that would let them assume their rightful place in the world, pushing the pesky humans off their pedestal. I definitely supported mutant rights - but the common notion that violence was necessary to achieve the recognition of said rights didn't sit well with me at all. Eddie agreed with me, his own curiousity pushing him to dig deeper into the situation.

My uncle could be a brilliant investigative reporter with the proper motivation and his significant other at the side. I could never tire of Venom's stories: each and every time they saved Eddie from making a clown out of himself was remembered, documented and brought up at the quickest available opportunity. I haven't laughed so hard in months.

The positives of our plan? We got a hot trail and enough information to know about the mercenary's whereabouts. We possessed the manpower needed to off him in record time, Venom eagerly offering his digestive system for our convenience.

The negatives? We'd need to bring me. Apparently there was a hefty bounty on my pretty little head and the merc himself had given up trying to chase me, hiring a bunch of muscle to do the legwork for him instead. The mercenary, a man who went by the nickname Cadre, was an ex-shield agent, who knew enough to successfully avoid the organisation following hot on his heels.

And neither SHIELD, nor Tony nor Eddie knew who had ordered the retrieval of the artifact. The mysterious person had deep pockets: all of the men were supplied with high grade weaponry and the mutants participating in the missions had equipment specifically tailored to their powers.

Perhaps, I wasn't as clever as I wanted myself to be. There was something big and ugly brewing and the bounty on my head was just the tip of the iceberg. But what was done, was done, and Venom was looking forward to a hefty meal and we set the date of Eddie "kidnapping" me in a few days time.

I hoped I'd make it home for Christmas.

The biggest surprise was that nobody suspected anything. Not even Natasha's watchful eye and inherent knowledge of shit about to be stirred - somehow, Nat always just knew those things - had revealed itself and that's how I knew it was absolutely necessary for me to be successful. There was no room for failure. In the day before my planned trip to Cadre's lair, I forced the team into a movie night and took extra time with everybody, seeing as even the most cheerful people - Thor and Wanda - walked around with sullen faces for most of the time. Perhaps, deep down, I knew that chances of my plan going awry were pretty damn high.

It felt like I was leaving for war. And perhaps, I was. The nervous, anxious energy increased as the hour X drew closer and I couldn't hide it anymore. My insomnia wore Tony's face: I could see his disappointment as clear as day, but I figured he'd forgive me for the betrayal eventually. Every single thing I hid from my newfound family made me feel a traitor. Unfortunately, there was simply no other option.

That afternoon, Eddie picked me up from the tower and drove me to one of the hideouts that belonged to Cabre. He'd tied my hands together and blindfolded me, all for show of course, whilst Venom briefly connected with my body to induce a drowsy state of mind. I didn't actually mind to be drugged and was way more wary of the symbiote's effects on my body but the space pudding extended his tentacles so quickly, I barely had the time to even swear at them.

To my (and their) surprise, it wasn't as bad as we thought it would be. In my hazy state, I briefly head Venom growl that I could be a decent short-term host if something would to happen with Eddie; I did not know how that information made me feel but did not disregard it completely. I was out of my depth on this one yet marched on towards the danger with grim determination.

"Here's the girl," Eddie's voice penetrated through the curtain of chemicals that Venom had dosed me with; I was tossed none too gently on what felt like a mattress, the landing haphazard but not painful. Venom must've dulled my pain receptors, too. "Where's our money?"

I was unceremoniously groped, my face examined by a man with ice-cold hands. Whatever he found, he deemed it satisfactory. "I'm impressed," He whistled. "We've been trying to get her for months. Care to share how you achieved this?" The strange man sounded suspicious.

"WE HAVE OUR OWN TRICKS," Venom's deep voice filled out the room like thick smoke and I just knew that the man who had been groping me was twitching in discomfort. "SO?"

"Alright, alright," The man mumbled, voice unsteady. My drowsiness slowly began to recede and I finally could focus my eyes somewhat; Eddie was partially obscured by the writhing, onyx mass of his symbiote and the man was dialing up the phone, speaking in a rapid-fire dialect I did not know. "Cabre will be here in an hour. Care for a beer?" Just like that, the man was obviously attempting to placate Eddie.

"HOT CHOCOLATE," Venom announced flatly and I had to struggle to hold back my laughter at the image of a seven feet tall tentacle monster sipping hot cocoa from a tiny porcelain cup. My nerves had me feeling ten types of way, as usual, and props to Ven making me unable to speak. I would have already killed myself by running my mouth ten times over.

The hour passed by with me floating in my mindsphere, Eddie loudly playing Candy Crush on his phone and Venom consuming ridiculous amounts of hot chocolate. It was absurd and the eerie calm was beginning to make me suspicious; I had expected... More. Threatening thugs with guns, experiments, blood tests and physical violence. Instead, the man who met with Eddie was sitting with a vacant, bored expression as he practiced card tricks in the corner furthest away from Venom.

Finally, a knock on the door forced all of us to pay attention to the newcomer. It was a tall, massively built man in his early forties. His face was covered in scars, narrow red lines that looked like small cuts; one of his eyes was completely black while the other was blue. He looked like the man at the coffee shop but at the same time, nothing like him at all.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," His voice was low and quiet. If not for the heavyweight weapon hanging over his shoulder, I would have considered him to be one of those men who only look threatening but actually are gentle giants. With steps too quiet for a man his size, he approached me, crouching down to look me in the face. "Hello, child. I've been looking for you for a long time. It's a shame we had to meet this way," He removed the strands of hair sticking to my face. For all purposes, his touch could have been considered fatherly. "Richard, bring the money." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the man who was babysitting me and Eddie and he promptly disappeared behind the steel door.

"Hello," Eddie briefly shook his hands with Cabre after the merc left me alone. I noted Venom had disappeared into the reporter's body completely. "We are Venom," Eddie introduced himself (they introduced themselves?).

"Cabre," The Merc watched my honorary uncle with a sharp eye, taking note of Eddie's lack of weapons, his worn clothes and the shaggy hair, the bags under his eyes. "Tell me, Venom, what do you know of this child?"

"Not much," Eddie shrugged, convincingly. "Just that the Avengers picked her up for some reason and locked her up in Stark's tower. We're guessing she didn't like it much 'cuz she kept sneaking out and trying to shake off the tail. Had to go through quite a few SHIELD agents to get to her," Just like we agreed, Eddie spoke with slight disdain towards Tony and SHIELD, making sure to let Cabre believe he was on the mutants' side. "We just need the money, man. Not many people will hire us," To top it up, Eddie spread his arms, showing his skin ripple and move on it's own prominently under his ratty t-shirt. Atta boy!

Cabre appeared to have bought the lie, chuffing sympathetically, before pulling out a tablet and typing on it. "Well, not for long. My superiors have found an artifact that, if unlocked properly, will render most of the technology suppressing mutant powers useless. They won't be able to get rid of us that easily anymore."

Eddie nodded eagerly, for all purposes appearing to be ecstatic about the news. "Yeah, heard some rumors here and there. Well, you and your superiors know where to find me. I could always go with some extra cash," He scratched his head, carefully watching Cabre's fingers dance on the keyboard. "What's the kid got to do with it anyway? Seems like an ordinary spoiled brat to me," Eddie threw me a look, blinking twice. The fatigue and wariness, courtesy of Venom, had begun to recede quite some time ago; with Eddie's signal, I knew the shitshow was about to start very soon.

Eddie was smart, however, finding out the bits of information SHIELD hadn't bothered to disclose to me. The residue that the cursed box had left in me was removed, so I could not understand why SHIELD was still guarding me. There had to have been another reason, a reason that neither of us knew for sure.

Cabre paused his typing. "We've been watching her for years. She's a genius. We were hoping she could help us solve a few problems..." The merc paused to rub the bridge of his nose. "We tried to get her to come willingly but her parents forbade her from it. My superiors suggested to use the artifact but something malfunctioned." For all purposes, Cabre was looking apologetic. "I am not overly fond of kidnapping children but some things just need to be done." With that, the man turned around, landing his eyes on me. "Glad to see you're up and about." Something about his smile was unnatural, forced, malicious.

"Charmed to meet you," I sat up, dazed and confused about the turn of events. The things he was saying, they didn't add up. I hadn't received any requests for my participation in ANY kind of project, illlegal or not. No scholarships, no internship offers. Something was very, very wrong.

As soon as Cabre's back was turned, Venom enveloped Eddie, turning themselves into the seven feet tall outer space monstrosity I had seen on the first day. Their combined form was terrifying - but Cabre's fingers merely twitched at the rapid change of the situation as he took slow steps towards me. "Hmm," His voice still quiet, he once again crouched in front of me. "You fought us off once but we are many. There is nowhere to run, child," Cabre's eyes began to darken, his speech turning flat.

I recognized the speech pattern, recalled the expressionless, vacant face that stared at me. Cabre was infected with the Legion from the cursed box; I hadn't prepared for that, hadn't even regarded that, thinking the little epic speech the demon had given me was a mere intimidation tactic. Fear bloomed within me, opening it's jaws like a hungry Venus flytrap but I refused to succumb to it, clenching my fists against the waves of paralyzing terror.

Venom made a confused growling noise behind me, extending a tentacle to push Cabre away; with a sickeningly wet splat, their whole form collided with the opposite wall, sliding down it like a puddle of misshapen goop. "MORSEL, GET OUT." The symbiote growled, reforming itself back.

"Silence, beast!" Cabre shrieked, unstrapping his weapon and aiming it at Venom. No bullets came out as he pressed the trigger but my ear started ringing, eyes watering as the whole form of the symbiote began to morph and ripple. Pained groans and whines came from them. A sonic gun?

"Screw you, man," I attempted to draw Cabre's attention to myself by kicking out a leg towards the gun, disrupting his arm briefly. Things were going to shit faster than a party full of teenagers and alcohol. "Fuck you, listen, FUCK YOU!" I knew antagonizing people was my best skill and that's what I did, figuring the time needed for Venom to reassemble themself could be acquired if Cabre was pissed off enough at me.

The backhand hurt, not going to lie. I saw stars from that one sloppy hit the possessed merc delivered to my face. The adrenaline rush allowed me to stay somewhat coherent and just like that time when I was trapped in my nightmares, I dove for Cabre, winding myself around him as both of us landed on the floor in a heap of limbs.

Despite my best hopes, Venom remained a puddle of black on the floor. I saw something shiny attach itself to Eddie's chest; apparently that something prevented them from combining into one again. My smaller size proved to be a great advantage; I remembered Venom's words about being a suitable short-term host and with a shriek, I placed my palm into the nearest piece of symbiote I could reach, my vision being obscured by blackness a second later.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 7

Chapter: 7/8

Content warnings: Blood, respiratory distress, mentions of alcohol and use (no depictions)

Add'l Notes: Patton is a sweet, gentle bear, Janus is a scheming, diabolical manlet, I'll die on this hill, etc etc.

This was getting unbearable. Janus buried his face in his handkerchief and coughed and coughed. His blood was warm against his tongue and lips, streaking the blooms dark red. His chest burned constantly now, his throat always irritated and raw.

To top it all off, Patton had disappeared without a word of warning, leaving Janus with no answers. If anything, he had more questions than ever before. The vase of poppies on Patton's dresser could not have been a coincidence, but there was just no way this was Patton's fault.

So Janus was saddled with a mystery, with flowers in his lungs, and with Remus' awkward attempts at support.

"I'm just saying, you can't rule it out until you try it," Remus said, pausing in his pacing to give Janus a doe-eyed pout.

"For the last time, Remus, I'm not going to huff weed killer." Janus threw his head back against the couch cushions and tried his best to sigh. The effect was somewhat muted by the sputtering coughs that followed.

"I can tell you want to scream," Remus said.

He was right, though Janus would never admit it. "Yes, I think that--" Breathe, breathe, breathe-- "that'll fix me." What Janus really wanted, disgusted as he was to admit it to himself, was Patton. Not that Patton would be able to do anything that Remus couldn't do, but Janus missed him. Quite terribly, if he was being honest with himself. Maybe he would feel better if he cried, not that he'd ever allow himself to do that. He'd have to be out of his mind on hypoxia and poppy seeds.

"I just wish there was something I could do," Remus said, dropping hands to his sides. "Other than just sit here and watch."

Janus hadn't told him about the flowers in Patton's room. He kept things close to his chest by nature, determined to solve his problems on his own. He didn't ask for help. Even if he would have dearly liked another perspective on this mystery, he couldn't put that responsibility on Remus. It would only make him feel worse if he failed.

"You can make me ginger tea," Janus said, forcing a smile. It wasn't right seeing Remus fret like this. "With honey."

A teacup appeared on the coffee table alongside a bottle of whiskey. So much for occupying Remus with busywork. "What I should do," Remus said, brandishing his morningstar, "is go maul Roman until he agrees to fix you."

"As entertaining as that would be, I'm not so sure that's the most efficient course of action, per se." Janus shifted, trying to work out how to leave Remus without making him feel abandoned. He just wanted to go check on Patton, but didn't feel at all up to the task of refereeing whatever confrontation would result in Patton and Remus sharing space. He could always just get up and leave with no explanation…. But Remus didn't deserve that.

In the end, he decided to wait until Remus got bored. There was no guarantee he was even going to find Patton. He had been AWOL for the past two days and Janus had had a near run-in with Virgil last night when he'd gone to look for Patton, an experience he was not keen to repeat.

And if Janus expedited the process of ditching Remus by pretending to fall asleep, well, he'd never tell.

Patton had a distinctly hungover look about him, with his glasses missing and his hair sticking up in the back. He blinked at Janus, bleary-eyed, and Janus' heart started to jackhammer in his chest. How utterly cute, how endearing. He wanted to smooth Patton's hair down and kiss him on the forehead, though he'd have to stand on his tiptoes to reach. Damn the subconscious for making him tiny.

"Where have you been?" Janus asked, planting himself in the middle of the hallway. Patton's door disappeared into white ether, a fact which Janus filed away to think about later.

"Sleeping," Patton said, holding up a bottle of NyQuil.

Well, that explained why he didn't smell like alcohol despite the obvious hangover. "And here I thought you were avoiding me," Janus teased. Despite the awful sting all up and down his chest, Patton's mere presence seemed to lighten the burden and ease his fears. He could bear this as long as he had Patton by his side.

"No," Patton mumbled, dragging hands down his face. "Coffee. Then talk."

He swayed a little, steadying himself on the wall. Janus held out his hand. "Come here, let me help."

Patton nodded and let Janus lead him to the kitchen. Not trusting Patton with high chairs at the kitchen island, Janus instead led him to the table and turned a chair out for him so they could face each other. Patton coughed behind closed lips and a spike of fear paralyzed Janus' heart. He was already fighting for breath and this new bolt of adrenaline made him dizzy. He took deep breaths (as well as he could, with his lungs all entangled and bleeding) and forced himself to make coffee step-by-step. It was the one thing he regularly did by hand instead of just imagining it to completion, a ritual and a reward.

"I hope you didn't catch what I have," Janus said. Maintaining the lie.

"Doubt it," Patton mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Janus narrowed his eyes. What did that mean? Was Patton coughing up poppies, too? Suddenly, the drip-drip-drip of coffee into the pot, the rich, reassuring smell of the grounds, seemed unimportant. Janus imagined the coffee done percolating, imagined two mugs on the table. He pushed one toward Patton. "Cheers."

"What time is it?" Patton asked before downing half the contents of the mug in one long swallow.

"Around noon, I think." Feeling his diaphragm seize, Janus turned away, shaking his handkerchief out of his sleeve, and gave in to the fit. It was getting harder and harder to swallow the pain. Inhaling was not just uncomfortable now; it hurt like clenched fists around his lungs. But Janus was a practiced liar and tucked the pain away behind a velvet curtain. "I haven't seen you in two days."

"Sorry," Patton said, looking fractionally more alert now. "I was trying to sleep off this… Cold, I guess."

"Mm," said Janus, taking a sip of coffee to keep from having to answer properly. He couldn't decide how he wanted to pursue this, if he wanted to pursue this. What did it matter if Patton was coughing up poppies or daisies or African violets? It brought Janus no closer to solving the puzzle.

"You sound really bad," Patton said. He finished his coffee and blinked hard. "Oh! I'm sorry, but I don't think it's Roman."

"You're sure?" Janus asked, blood running cold.

But a lot of things seemed to be hitting Patton all at once with the introduction of caffeine to his system; he whipped his head up to look at Janus with something akin to panic. "I wanted to thank you, and-- Oh." He looked at their coffee mugs with obvious dismay. "I did it again."

"Did what?"

"I… I let you take care of me," Patton said in a small voice.

"Oh, Patton," Janus sighed, unable to help himself. The breath that ghosted across his lips tasted like blood and black coffee. He wondered if Patton would mind terribly if Janus kissed him anyway. "I really haven't been." That was true. Janus had been deliberately holding himself back from giving himself over to Patton. How little support did he get from the others, that Janus' minor attempts at friendship felt so significant?

"You have!" Patton insisted. "Right from the start. You've been right by my side through all of this, reminding me to take care of myself, spending time with me. You even helped me with that dog puzzle."

"I don't understand," Janus said. These were normal friendship behaviors. Had he been too obvious? Did Patton suspect? "Wouldn't the others have done the same?"

"They would," Patton said. "If I had asked."

"Oh," said Janus, blinking away a wave of dizziness. Even he couldn't begrudge the others their lack of understanding. It wasn't their fault they couldn't give Patton what he hadn't asked for. But what did it say about him that he had?

"You've been a really good friend to me, Janus. Even though I don't deserve it."

"Don't talk about my friend like that," Janus said, nudging Patton in the ribs. It was a soft, familiar gesture, something he'd done to Remus a hundred times before. It was the first time Janus had touched Patton without announcing it, getting permission.

Patton smiled at him, and then they both ruined the moment by dissolving into twin coughing fits.

Janus' lasted longer; he felt Patton's eyes on him as he repeatedly tried and failed to get himself under control-- Was that an entire flower in his throat? What did that mean? He banished it with difficulty, trying to master the animal impulses screaming it hurts it hurts it hurts as if to drown out his rational thought. He should leave, but he didn't want to. So he straightened up and washed away the taste of blood in his mouth with another swallow of coffee.

"Ohhh," Patton whispered. "You really don't sound good."

"I'm fine," Janus said, reflexively bringing out an old standard. It was the one lie everybody told.

"You didn't believe me when I said I was fine," Patton said. "Why should I believe you?"

"There's not really anything to be done about it," Janus said, hating the shallow breaths he had to take between every few words. If he stayed, he would have to pretend he wasn't in agony. But hadn't he been doing that this whole time? It was agony, being so certain that Patton could never want Janus the way Janus wanted Patton, yet unable to crush that sliver of hope that never died out.

Patton brandished the NyQuil bottle and Janus forced himself to laugh. Patton smiled at him, so soft and gentle and honey-sweet. "Why don't you sit with me?" Janus blinked and they were on the couch with two fresh cups of coffee. Patton had left no space between their bodies. "Is this okay?"

It wasn't, really. Janus burned with the contact, burned all over until he could feel it in his face and had to hide behind a cooler mask, though he was sure this one was still pale and pinched with pain. It wasn't fair at all, this horrible parody of romance. It shouldn't have been a problem. He should have been satisfied with friendship, like he was with Remus. It was nothing to sit in Remus' lap or play with his hair because they were both happy with the arrangement. But this? This made Janus want to put a fist through the wall. So of course, he said "Yes" and took his hat off in case he worked up the courage to rest his head on Patton's shoulder.

"Are we still gonna be friends the next time Thomas needs us for something?" Patton asked.

"So it's just a given that we're going to disagree?"

"Janus."

"Okay, okay." Janus sighed as deeply as his strangled lungs would allow. "I promise."

Patton beamed and didn't even question him. He just took it at face value now, that Janus wasn't lying about this. "Oh, good."

"So what are we doing?" Janus asked. "Going to drink coffee and gossip like a couple of old ladies?"

"Whatever you want, really," Patton said.

"Oh, good," Janus said drily. "I want to take shots and play strip poker." Patton blinked at him. "Kidding."

"Oh!" said Patton, shaking his head. "Sorry. Guess the NyQuil hasn't worn off yet."

"How about we watch something?" Janus asked. It was probably a little too early in the friendship to force Patton sit down and watch Perry Mason with him, but then again… He was a practiced hand at being selfish. The TV flashed to life and Janus sat his mug down on the coffee table before leaning back to watch.

"Ha," said Patton, apparently recognizing the show. "Should have guessed."

"Oh, enlighten me," Janus said, feigning innocence. "What's so funny?"

"I should have guessed you'd be into courtroom dramas," Patton said.

Janus would have ribbed him further, had his lungs not decided to turn themselves inside out. He barely got his handkerchief in front of his mouth in time before blood started spilling over his lips. God, this was miserable. His resolve was cracking, he was starting to doubt he could make it much longer without vocalizing the pain. "Maybe I will take that NyQuil," he said, the words feeling like coarse grit sandpaper as they dragged themselves up his throat. He took it from Patton before Patton could take the cap off-- He still had his pride even if he wouldn't have his voice for much longer. The thought loomed so terrifying in his mind that denial smacked it down to nothing before it could get out of control. Janus poured out half a dose of NyQuil. Everything would be fine. He would be okay. The subconscious would set him straight before the flowers could completely take over his respiratory system.

Beside him, Patton coughed a little too, and Janus sincerely hoped that he wasn't suffering the same ailment. Patton didn't deserve that.

The NyQuil kicked in gently, drawing Janus so subtly toward sleep he only noticed he was drifting off when his head touched Patton's shoulder.

[urimaginespimp]

Michael Gray: Better Man pt 16

All it took was one late phone call to Polly, a purchase of two early morning tickets, and a whole lot of ignoring - mostly on Olivia's part. 

"Are you really not going to talk to me anymore?" Michael asked quietly. She would've preferred it if he wouldn't follow her anywhere she'd went around the boat, but that would require actually speaking to him. And it's hard to admit, but she actually felt safer with him around.

Met with silence, Michael sighed and fiddled with his thumbs. "I hate this, Livy. I feel like a kid being chaperoned back home." Though it felt more like he was talking to himself. 

Deep down she knew that maybe she overreacted a little bit. Maybe she should've listened to what he had to say first.  Shaking her head, she decided that it would be better this way. She got her closure, and now it was time to really start over. Just as soon as she hands him back to his family.

The journey back home felt longer than it should have, and when they finally docked in London, the train ride to Birmingham finally made her feel excitement.

Finally stepping out, she almost felt silly from actually smiling. People would think it's crazy to actually miss such a depressing town like Birmingham. But it's hard not to, when it reminds of happier times in one's life.

A loud whistle from afar caught her attention. "Well isn't it our runaway girl." Arthur loudly declared, arms wide and striding to her direction. 

Behind him, Polly was rolling her eyes playfully at Arthur's goofiness. But delight was also evident on her face. It's been so long. 

It didn't take long for Arthur and his freakishly long legs to reach her, and soon enough, she was scooped in his arms in a hug. 

"Just because I'm hugging you, it doesn't mean I'm not upset about you not calling me." He huffed and finally put her back down. 

"I'm sorry, Arthie. I'll make it up to ya." She promised, beaming at his fake scowling face.

Michael was silently watching her reunite with two of his family. It pained to be reminded that he was the cause of her being apart from them for years. 

When it was his mum's turn to greet and hug Olivia, Arthur turned to him and gave him a pat on the back. "Good to have ya back, cousin." He greeted. "Tommy's expecting ya back home." 

It didn't take long for Polly and Arthur to catch on them both ignoring each other. Polly in particular, was giving them both worried glances. With Michael seated in front, she took the opportunity to talk to Olivia quietly. 

"Is everything between you and my son, okay?" she whispered. Olivia, not having the energy to explain everything to her at the moment, just gave her hand a squeeze and a small shake of her head. 

“Dear, I’ve noted that the belongings you’ve brought are actually smaller than I expected. Are the rest of your things to be shipped?” She asked her, now in her normal tone.

It seemed that she was too much in a hurry to visit, she forgot to tell Pol the one important detail – she wasn’t staying for good.

She let out a nervous laugh. “I-uh I’m only staying over for a few days, Pol.”

Arthur, having heard the conversation, almost lost control of the steering wheel from surprise, making them all harshly sway to the left. Muttering a quick apology, he cleared his throat and tried to concentrate more on driving.

Tommy's huge home on the outside was gloomier than she remembers. But as soon as she was ushered in arm to arm with Polly, she was overwhelmed with the warm welcome that awaited her.

John was the first to tackle her, followed by his kids who thought it would be fun to follow their father. Esme gave her a hug and a quick pinch on the arm, telling her that her departure felt worse than that.

Finn gave her a peck on the cheek and cheekily told her that he was now officially a man, earning a feign disgusted look from her.

Tommy held his usual cool demeanor, nodding at her and telling her that it was good to have her back, only to be cut off when she threw herself at him in a hug, whispering a thank you for helping her all those years.  

Their arrival was celebrated the whole family, the Shelby way but a bit more tamed – alcohol served in nontransparent glasses so the children wouldn’t get any ideas, some food, more booze, and no cigars. It was also refreshing for everyone to see Tommy sporting a grin.

“Dear, I don’t think I have the heart to tell everyone else here that you’ll be leaving us again soon.” Polly said, standing next to her, holding a drink on one hand, cigar on the other.

“I’ll tell Tom later. I don’t want to spoil the mood we’re all in.” She answered, taking a sip from her own drink.

Looking around for Michael to see if he’s also enjoying himself, she got curious when he was nowhere to be found.

“John, have you seen Michael?” She approached him while he was enjoying his drink, and laughing at Esme and some of Tommy’s maids trying to get a hold of the Children, with Charlie now also following his cousin’s naughtiness.

“Ye I think he went out for a smoke in the kitchen.” He answered her. Giving him a pat on the back, she excused herself.

“Remember, liv, we are among children who can now pick locks. Don’t get any ideas.” John called after her as she walked away to the kitchen, shaking her head. Same old John.

Hoping that her footsteps were quiet enough to not give her presence away, sure enough Michael was in the kitchen smoking. Though he was sitting on the counter with his back facing her. Some of the staff were silently working around him.

Feeling bad that he was here instead of being with his family, she finally approached him.

“Michael?” She called him.

“Oh, now she wants to speak to me.” He chuckled sarcastically.

Ignoring the sting from his voice, she continued. “I think you should come back and join your family.”

“And then what? Live in their joy while it lasts?” He snapped at her. She was also getting irritated.

“Look Michael, I don’t know where this rudeness is coming from when it was you who decided to not come clean about Tom’s orders. You didn’t have to go through all that shit about wanting me back.”  She whispered harshly closer to him so not to draw attention from the staff.

The hurt in his eyes was clear. “Do you really think that low of me, Olivia?” He asked her before getting down the counter and left the room.

--------

Night came and most of the family were tucked in the spare rooms in Tommy’s home. But Michael and Polly were in Tommy’s by his request.

They were both seated in front of Thomas’ desk, while he opted to not take a seat and just stay standing by his desk.

“Michael, I called you here to officially welcome you back.” He said, pouring whiskey on glasses and handed them to him and his mother.

“Now tell me…” he took a shot of his drink. “Did Olivia come back here willingly?”

“What kind of question is that, Thomas?” Polly intervened.

“I’ve seen you both avoiding each other the whole night.” That was all he said. Michael understood where his cousin was coming from.

“Yes, Tom. It was even her idea to go back earlier so she could finally get rid of me.” Michael explained, taking both Tommy and his mum aback.

“Son, what happened back in New York?” Polly asked with a gentle voice.

“We were doing fine actually, more than fine. It was fucking great. I didn’t think I could be that happy again.” He answered, taking a break to clear his throat to stop from getting emotional. “But then she found Tom’s note for me and thought I was only doing all those things so I could finally come home.”

“Well, were you?” Tommy asked bluntly, pausing from pacing back and forth behind his desk.

“Of course not!” He defended. “You know how much I lover her. Hell, I even forgot about that fucking note for a moment.” He added quietly.

“Did you talk to her?” Polly asked once more.

“I tried. She won’t listen to me. But it doesn’t matter anymore, she’s going back there anyway.” He said bitterly, though Polly and Tommy both noted that his face showed nothing of it.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” His mother offered.

“And get accused again about dragging you into this scheme this time? I’d rather not.”

“Michael-“ Tommy was cut off by him

“Look, she had every right to be warry of me at first because of what I’ve done in the past. But you don’t know how frustrating it is to have your every move and intention be under suspicion no matter how hard I’ve tried to prove to her otherwise.” He stood up from his seat, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

“At least now I know she’s bound to leave again and this time I’ll be ready. It’s great to be back with my family. But I hope you’ll understand if I ask a little time for myself first." And with that he excused himself out of Tommy’s office.

Tommy and Polly exchanged worried looks. “I think I wanna retire to my room now, Thomas.” She excused herself, eyes glistening with unshed tears for her son and the woman she loves as her own daughter.

But as soon as Polly shut the door behind her, Thomas clicked his tongue and sighed in annoyance at the situation. That’s what you get when you have two stubborn people love each other.

“You can come out now.” Tommy announced, placing his drink down on his desk. 

A small frame got out from under his desk. Only that her eyes showed clearly that she was crying.

“See what you get when you listen?” Tommy asked Olivia. She could only manage a small nod. Hearing about their conversation was enough to bring her to tears. Now what would’ve become of her if she actually saw his state while talking?

“I love him, Tom. I really do.” She told him, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “But I owe him a big, fat apology first.”  

--------

Hey all! I was planning to post last December, but I got too busy with school and had too much enjoyment in the Hollidays. I hope had a great one too, and Happy New Year!

 We're only one chapter away from the Epilogue.

[endless-vall]

It meant everything - Drake x Olivia fanfic

Summary: It doesn’t mean anything. Until it does.

Author’s note: Another Drake x Olivia fanfic. From Olivia’s POV. A lot of time jumps. Pretty much sums up how I see them ending up together.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Olivia pulled herself out of Drake’s embrace, just long enough to spit out these words.

“I know.” He pulled her back in, his lips rough and voice hoarse and so demanding, but Olivia was just as eager so she let him take this one,

and they continued right where they left of. Striping each other of their clothes in a secret passage of the palace, where no one could ever interrupt them.

He pulled her back in with a passionate kiss, almost brutal, but it was just what Olivia needed right now.

The hole in her heart bled, but at least she was able to put these thoughts aside while she was entangled in Drake’s arms and limbs and -- OH

Who knew that Walker could make her feel that good in the pit of her stomach and make those sounds get out of her mouth?

Amber and Liam had just announced their engagement.

Sure, they both knew it was coming. They were both living in some sort of a fantasy that one day they’ll wake up and realize that their heart laid someplace else. She wanted Liam to love her, and Drake wanted Amber.

But life wasn’t always as easy and fun, and sometimes your heart broke into millions of pieces.

And suddenly you find yourself finding comfort in the arms of the last person you could’ve imagined. And this is how their story began.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” This time, she barged into Drake’s room. He was laying on his bed and reading something on his phone, not expecting anything or anyone.

Drake understood immdiately, and put his phone away.

Olivia was half naked by the time she reached his bed, and Drake was already basically in underwear.

He caught her in his arms as soon as she was close enough, and threw her onto the bed with some mix of hunger and need in his eyes.

It made Olivia’s stomach twist with excitment, and she bit down on her lip.

He quickly found himself between her legs, and Olivia’s arms gripped at his sheets.

“Dammit Walker, faster!” She ordered. “AHhh-”

They were standing in opposite sides of the ballroom. In the middle of the Unity tour.

But their eyes crossed and suddenly they knew. Without saying a single word.

They met at the exit of the ballroom, behind closed doors.

“This doesn’t--” She started saying, but got cut off by Drake. “Mean anything. I know, let’s go.” He took her arm in his and lead the way.

Olivia’s breathe caught in her throat at the way he lead her by her arm away, but other than a soundless gasp, she didn’t let him know.

That night, she drifted off to sleep before she could sneak out of his room.

She woke up, the sunlight shining throught the window. “Is it morning... Already...?” She mumbled, forgetting where she was.

Her words stirred him awake, and he slowly opened his eyes and faced her.

They were both lost for words.

“I should- I should go.” Olivia threw her dress back on, not minding how she looked, she just wanted to get the hell out of there, as fast as possible.

Someone might’ve saw her, in her way back to her own room. But even if they did, they wouldn’t know where she was coming from.

Besides, Olivia had the tendancy to look great at all times.

Olivia was going throught a lot. Even after the hole in her heart started melding and it didn’t hurt as bad when she looked at Liam and Amber together, she was still facing the consequinces of her parents betrayel of the crown, and what it meant to her people nowdays.

Her aunt was back, it almost felt as if she came back from the dead. And Olivia, well... She didn’t trust her.

It was a shame, she couldn’t even trust her own blood.

She had no one to talk to about these... Kind of stuff.

So the next time...

She didn’t run that early in the morning.

Instead, she laid in bed until she was completely awake. The birds were chirping outside the window, and she had her back to Drake.

She could feel him behind her, just barely touching her.

She finally turned around, to meet his eyes just as awake as hers were.

“Were you watching me for a long time?” She asked, raising an eyebrow but you could make the hint of a smile on her lips.

“I was wondering when will you sprint out like last time.” He snarked at her.

“Do you want me to?” She asked, voice unwavering.

“It’s not what I said.” He protested.

But other than that, his face was mostly unreadable.

Some nights, especially before they find themselves hot and naked in each other’s arms, she’d see the real Drake. Vulnerable. 

But in the morning, he’d be the same old Drake she knew. Closed off and untalkative.

Did she really want to confide in him, of all people?

Or maybe it was that it was him, of all people, that made her trust no matter what she told him, it wouldn’t change his opinion of her.

Until that other night, she’d always leave before morning came. And that other night, was a slip-up. She felt so secure and warm in his embrace, she fell asleep before her judgment caught up to her. But today? It was a concious choice.

And the thing is... Olivia didn’t start to regret it.

Olivia rested her head on her arm, positioning herself over the pillow. She studied Drake for a long time. He didn’t say a word, either. It’s like he was studying her too.

“What is it?” He asked, eventually.

“You’re not that bad, Walker.” Olivia simply said. It was easier than what was going through her mind.

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Livie.” Drake amused himself with the nickname, a smile spreading over his feature.

“You did not just call me that.” And before he could see it coming, her pillow was already meeting with his face, and the sound of giggles rolled around the room.

They met for a late night drink. It was the day before Lykithos’ turn in the Unity tour.

“Whiskey?” She offered, although she didn’t know why she bothered. It was all he drank anyway.

“A woman after my own heart.” He let out before he could catch himself. They both froze for a second, before Drake bumped into her shoulder and made a joke out of it.

Olivia shook her head in disbelief, as if she was done with him, but a smile played on her lips.

She poured two glasses, before joining him on the couch in her guest room.

Tomorrow everyone will arrive. But today they had all the palace to themselves.

She even sent all the staff home.

“Did you send everyone away so no one will see us?” He asked after a couple of drinks.

“Yes... And no.” Olivia admitted.

Drake raised an eyebrow at her, distracting himself with his glass, but his gaze rested on Olivia questioningly.

“I did ask them to go so no one will spy on us... But no for the reason you’re thinking of.”

“For what reason, then?” He put his drink down, watching Olivia carefully.

It was clear to Olivia, by that point, she’d moved on from Liam. It didn’t hurt anymore when she thought about him. When she saw him with Amber. When she helped pick out stuff for the wedding.

But maybe, just maybe... Someone else started occuping the place in her heart.

It was too early to admit that, and it wasn’t the reason she asked him privately today.

“If I tell you something... Will you promise to keep it a secret. Even from Liam?”

Drake considered for a long second, but eventually he nodded. “You can tell me everything.”

“I... Think my parents had more involvment than just the coup. But I’m too afraid of what I might find out, if I go down that route.” 

She was right. His opinion of her didn’t change. And he didn’t judge her, either.

“When you’ll be ready, you’ll know. And we’ll all be there. But until then, I’ll be here.”

This night felt different.

They took their time.

taking off each garment of fabric of each other. Caressing and worshiping every new exposed skin. Kissing passionately but also tenderly. 

Biting and cursing but also hugging, and kissing everything away.

Sex with Drake was always great. But this was a whole new level.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

A heaviness in Olivia’s chest lifting, ever so slightly.

She woke up facing him. It was almost time to get up and get everything ready at the Duchy.

Soon the servents will arrive and not so long after the other guests.

Drake smiled at her, still half asleep. He moved his hand up to caress her cheek.

“You’re so beautiful...” He mumbled, eyes fighting to stay open.

Olivia hesitated, but she smiled and covered his hand with her own.

That night, she learned more about her parent. But more importantly, she learned it wasn’t over. Her aunt and Anton (”Justin”) had a bigger ploy at play.

She was betrothed? What? And to... That poor excuse to a human being?

Not that it meant anything to her. Not that it’d stop her.

But right now, she had bigger problems.

Annuling the marriage, and standing up with Cordonia.

She will not be going down her parent’s footsteps.

“Olivia, wait” Drake was running after her.

“I don’t have the time right now, Drake.”

He took her hand in his, and put it over his chest. “Let me help.”

It was both the motion of stopping her, but also sharing something deeper.

She sighed, eventually.

“Fine.”

It was the day of Liam and Amber’s wedding, and Anton has been defeated.

Assassins slayed, enemies defeated, and a happy celebration in front of them.

They both watched as Amber went down the aisle.

As Liam and Amber promised to love each other forever.

As they sealed it with a kiss.

“Great party, huh?” Drake stepped in Olivia’s way, two flutes of champange in his hands.

He offered her one.

“I’m impressed.” She took one in her hand.

“Exquisite. Slaying assassin is my second favorite activity. And throwing my aunt along with Anton behind bars has defenitely made my night.” 

They clincked their glasses and drank from them.

“So...” Drake lowered his glass.

“Did it mean anything...?” He finally dared to ask.

“With Anton?! Of course not--” “No.”

“Oh.”

Olivia stopped in her train of thought.

She considered for a moment, a smile spreading on her lips without even trying.

“It meant... Everything.”

[matildashoney]

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Seven

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // PREV/IEW(S) // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou​​, @cock-a-doodely-doo

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

this chapter contains themes of anxiety and depression. please read with caution.

All of it happened so suddenly.

One minute, Amelie was watching a movie with Phoebe, and the next, a flight attendant was announcing over the speaker that the plane had landed in Jakarta, Indonesia. Harry was waiting at her gate, his eyes glossy behind the sunglasses and his hair tied into a bun. His mind was everywhere and anywhere, and there was nothing more that he wanted than to have her in his arms. Harry felt safe there, in Amelie’s arms, like nothing bad could happen to him as long as she was holding him. He needed to feel that. He needed that.

All Amelie took was a makeshift rucksack – threw all of her textbooks and notebooks onto her bed and stuffed a pair of jeans, three shirts, panties, toiletries, and a charger inside – and Harry’s sweatshirt that she wore daily, making her departure barely take three minutes, her feet rushing to the front of the line, surely irritating anyone behind her.

Truthfully, Amelie didn’t really care at the moment. All that was on her mind was getting to Harry.

He was easy to see – her eyes picking him out from a mile away, dishevelled and exhausted, hands tucked into the pocket of his sweatshirt, his body rocking on his heels as he stares at the screen hanging above the information desk.

“Harry,” she murmurs, slinging the bag near his feet and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her cheek resting on his collarbone, “’ve got you, baby.”

“Missed you.” His tears wet her skin, his hands clinging to her for warmth and comfort. “Have to, um, have to talk to you about something.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Harry can feel Amelie tensing around him, his fingertips nudging underneath the sweatshirt and rubbing into her spine softly. “Not that, baby. Don’t think like that, please. Not about us.”

Okay. Okay, okay. Calm down for now.

“Harry,” Niall shouts, his face resembling Harry’s in nature, nodding towards the exit where security guards are waiting to escort everyone into a vehicle and drive to their hotel. “Mate, we got’a go.” His expression tells Amelie that something happened, something not very good.

Harry takes Amelie’s hand, squeezing her, taking her rucksack in his hand and carrying it alongside his own. His cheek rests against her shoulder in the car, her fingertips carding through his hair and gently scratching his scalp, her mind racing through the possibilities of what could have happened in the month that they’ve been apart, especially if it doesn’t have to do with their relationship.

Harry’s silence going to their hotel room worries Amelie. Harry isn’t like her. He isn’t one to hold everything in until he shatters, until one thing is the metaphorical straw to break the camel’s back. Harry shares his emotions, his thoughts, his feelings. He doesn’t stay quiet.

Amelie opens the door, having Harry walk in before her and setting their baggage on a table messily, his body sinking into the mattress with his hands covering his face before she could properly close the door. Her heart cracks fully in her chest, his chest heaving with sobs and his fists knuckling at his eyes. His breathing is uneven and shaky, and she is sure that she’s going to have to get his inhaler from the suitcase.

Unsure of Harry’s reaction, she gently nudges his knees apart, standing between his thighs and coaxing him to lean into her. Her arms wrap around him, her fingers tucked into his hair, her eyes watering as she feels him shake with sobs, his hands clinging in fists around her sweatshirt, gripping her to him. Her lips touch his curls, taking deep breaths, gently drawing lines on his back and embracing him as tightly as she could. Her sweatshirt was damp with his tears, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for Harry to feel okay.

Amelie wants to take his pain away. Whatever it is, she wants it. She can handle it. What’s one more thing on her chest, especially if that would mean Harry would be able to be okay, to be happy. This wasn’t Harry.

Her past relationship never felt this intimate, this close. Her only experience comforting someone would have been with her best friend in their early teens when her boyfriend broke up with her via text, or when her younger sister heard a song that simply hit too close to home.

For Harry, she wanted to be better than that.

Can you be better, though? Can you really?

“Harry,” she whispers, her cheek resting on his head as she attempts to soothe him, “baby, what happened? You barely spoke to Niall in the car.”

“Zayn.” His voice goes silent, his breathing shaky as he attempts to regain his composure. “He quit. He fucking quit.”

Amelie’s chest tightens as profanities fall from his lips, the anger and break in his voice hurting her even more. Her fingers continue drawing on his spine, willing her body not to tense, willing her brain to not resurface the memories.

Jack would scream at Amelie when he got drunk, especially in front of their ‘friends’, almost like he was trying to prove his dominance in the relationship. He would only give affection when whiskey poured through him, seemingly working the nerve to say and do something other than destroy her image.

Harry mumbles under his breath, his fingertips releasing her and digging into his eyes, his mind willing him to stop crying. “Fuck, I should’ve asked you if you could come, first. Now, you’re here, and I didn’t even ask. I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t apologise. It’s okay. I’m here,” Amelie assures him, kissing his head, hugging him as tightly as she can, his arms slightly falling and wrapping around her thighs, his tears melting into her tummy.

“Know you were supposed to have a relaxing night with your sister, and you have an exam next week, but–”

“Harry,” she murmurs, nudging his face in her hands, his green eyes hazy as he stares at her, her bottom lip jutting into a pout as a tear slips down his cheek, “don’t. This is more important.”

“Have to rebuild a whole fucking show. They’re announcing it in two days. On fucking Facebook, no less,” Harry spits, his fingers tightening around her thighs, her legs tensing beneath his touch, her fingers squeezing his shoulders slightly to make him aware. “Fuck, I keep fucking up.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m alright,” Amelie sighs, her eyes welling up as she settles on his thigh, her thumbs brushing the tear stains and silently searching his face for an answer to his hurting, an answer on how to take it away.” Tell me what to do. How can I make it better?”

Heartbreak is annoying. Heartbreak is painful. Heartbreak is simply the one thing that Amelie never wants anyone she loves to ever feel.

“Need you to be here with me. That’s it,” Harry sniffles, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at the root. “Can you, can I tell Phoebe? Don’t want her to find out that way. After all, y’know, helping us and all that.”

“Um, yeah.” Her heart pounds in her chest as Phoebe’s name lights the screen, the video clarifying and her worried expression apparent. “Hey, Phoebe. Harry has to talk to you, okay?”

Harry takes the phone, holding the camera far enough away for Phoebe to see him, his distraught appearance making Amelie’s eyes gloss over. All she wanted was to take away his pain, to hold him and tell him that everything would be alright.

Would everything be alright? Is that something you can promise him?

Harry heaves a breath, his mind heavy as her younger sister stares at him curiously. “Harry, something’s wrong.”

“Um,” he mumbles, scratching his forehead uncomfortably. “Two days from now, the One Direction account is going to announce something.”

“Announce what.”

“Uh, Zayn is leaving.” He takes a minute, waiting for the news to register. “He won’t be on the tour. He might be saying things, not great things. Wanted you to know before everyone finds out.” Harry’s heart drops seeing a tear slip down Phoebe’s cheek. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry.”

“I, uh, I have to go.”

One tear falls down Harry’s cheek as the screen cuts. His bottom lip wobbles, his palms covering his face as his elbows rest on his knees. He has nothing left to say.

“Harry,” Amelie mutters, taking the phone away and tossing it onto the table, carding her fingers through his hair and staring at the broken man leaning against her chest, his thighs clamped around her legs, “baby, I’m so sorry. Tell me how to help. I want to help.”

“Need you.” Harry’s eyes are red-rimmed and glossy, a haze fogging the bright green that Amelie adores so dearly.

Amelie desperately tries to gather her emotions, the anxiety over soothing him and comforting him becoming too much for her brain to make sense of. Harry needs her, her anxiety needs to be under control, for once.

“Have me,” she says quietly, trailing her eyes between his and his lips, his hurried nod making her press her mouth to his. Harry kisses her slowly, soaking in the way she is so delicate with him, the way she kisses him making him feel together, again. Her lips touch his cheeks, murmuring quietly, “you have me, right here.”

“Know that you’re like, my angel, right? Get that you’ve not really dealt with any of this before and it’s a lot to handle,” Harry whispers, staring at Amelie like she is the only thing in the world that could make him better.

I’m certainly not an angel. Unless all angels have a million demons just lurking in their brain, Amelie wants to say, yet her voice is silent.

“Can you just believe me when I say that,” Harry says firmly, his arms tightening around her waist, his chin resting on her tummy. “Make me feel something, angel. Please.”

Amelie nods quietly, cupping his jaw and attaching her lips to his, her knees dipping into the mattress as Harry lays back, allowing her to take full control over him. His tongue drags across her bottom lip, a moan leaving his throat as her hips settle over his, the rhythm of their lips and tasting each other, the way her hips grind making him lost with all of his thoughts on her. His hands ghost up her thighs, her tight leggings too tight to move. Harry couldn’t describe the feeling that overwhelmed him when he kissed Amelie – the only words seeming to make sense that she was perfect, made to be his, made to be kissing him. He doesn’t need more than that, more than the way her mouth moulds into his and there is nothing missing, more than the way he knows her taste, yet can seemingly never get enough.

Harry isn’t idealising sex with her, right now. He is thinking about the way having her in his arms feels right, like there is something missing when she isn’t there. He would be insane to not realise, to not acknowledge this feeling, because it lingers in his chest every time their call ends and her flight leaves, it sits like an elephant on his chest when he is alone in his hotel room, reading a novel and marking the pages and quotes that stand out at something she would say.

Obsessed? Not a word to really describe how you feel towards the girl you’re falling in love with, but maybe that will have to do.

Amelie gasps for air, her lips utterly swollen and a bright shade to accentuate the way Harry was nipping at her bottom lip every so often. Her nose nudges his, sponging tiny kisses along his jaw and cheek as her breathing steadies. Harry doesn’t expect her lips so soon, taking a few seconds to meet her rhythm and immerse his thoughts in her. His hands dipping beneath her sweatshirt and tugging it over her torso, the warmth she radiates making his eyes shut as his mouth kisses along her collarbone.

“Needed you closer.”

Harry and Amelie stay like that for a while – kissing and squeezing and gasping air through parted lips. His palms splayed flat against her back, holding her against his chest, their mouths moving together, her fingers gently parting through his hair.

“Harry–,” Amelie goes to say, sitting on his thighs, her heart sinking when Harry take her hand from his shoulder and slots it through his curls, once again, coaxing her to lay on his chest.

“Can’t you just stay holding me? Makes me feel better,” Harry sighs heavily, closing his eyes and trying to have the comfortable silence stay.

“Hold you all you want,” Amelie promises, pressing light kisses to his cheeks. “Have to shower and get ready to go to sleep, though. There are people that are counting on you. They need you to be well-rested and showered and ready in rehearsals. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for you and the boys.”

“We were counting on him,” Harry puffs, shaking his head against her shoulder. His voice is strained, slightly rasped, and Amelie can hear the profanities begging to slip off his tongue. Amelie could see that Harry was trying to be more careful since he squeezed her thighs too tight, but there were simply no other words to express his emotions. “We were a band. Fuckin’ callin’ us his brothers. You don’t do that to family.”

“Know that, baby, I know.” Amelie takes a deep breath, kissing his temple sweetly, trying to coax Harry into taking a shower and calming, readying for bed and going to sleep would ease his mind for at least a few hours. “Want me to shower with you? I’ll come.”

“Okay.”

Harry loosens his grip on Amelie slowly, his fingertips digging into his eyes to attempt to soothe the burning sensation, his chest heaving as she slowly peels her leggings down her thighs and extends her hand out for him to take. He stands, pulling his shirt from his torso and his sweatpants from his legs, his hand taking hers and interlocking their fingers as they walk into the en-suite. Amelie grabs their toiletries from their bags, knowing how messy the shower would turn out otherwise – water splattered everywhere, a possible slippage. Harry gently unclasps the bra stuck to her chest, offering a shy smile as she leans into the shower to turn the faucet on.

Undergarments scattered on the tile, Harry steps in behind her, gratefully tucking his face into her neck and having the warm water soothe the muscles in his back. Amelie has never sought to comfort anyone the way she would with him, never seeing a way that her presence could make someone, anyone, feel better. Harry hugs her hips – his favourite – kissing her neck sweetly.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry smiles shyly, his eyes squeezing shut as her fingertips gently massage through his scalp, “fo’ takin’ care o’ me.”

Don’t know how to take care of myself, Harry.

“Haven’t done a thing,” Amelie sighs. “Here,” she says, giving him a washcloth and moving away to wash her hair. His head leans against the tiled walls, his arms tucked over his thighs, his lips pursed together as the water washes over her.

Only doing what would make me feel better.

“Ames, what will it take for you to see that you simply being around makes me happy? I,” Harry hesitates, hooking his arm around her midsection and tugging her into his chest, the water sputtering against the floor behind them, his lips ghosting over hers. “Whatever Jack ever said to you was so wrong. Make me happy, you do. Know how to make me feel better, just by being around. Fuck whatever he said to you.”

“Don’t,” she smiles sadly, laying her hand against his chest to gently nudge him away, moving under the faucet and rinsing the soap away and leaving the shower. “Gon’a get into pyjamas, okay?”

“Don’t leave,” he says, his lips jutting into a pout and his eyelashes falling against his cheeks. “Only a few more minutes.”

“Alright.”

Amelie stands against Harry’s back, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek against his shoulder. Harry turns the water off, squeezing her hands, his hands taking a towel and wrapping it around her torso. He tucks a new towel around his waist, taking a deep breath and kissing her hair as they walk towards the marble countertop.

Harry stands against the wall, briefs hanging low on his waist, barely covering his thighs. His toothbrush hangs loosely from his lips as he watches Amelie get ready, loose boxers clinging to her hips, an oversized sweatshirt over her torso, her skin underneath naked and slightly damp. He admires her this way, the simplicity.

“Quit looking at me like that and go to bed.” Amelie kisses Harry’s cheek, walking into the bedroom and peeling the duvet away from the mattress.

Harry takes two seconds to mimic her, closing the bathroom door and moving into the bedroom, climbing beneath the sheet, tucking his arm around her waist as the duvet is pulled over their bodies.

“Night, angel,” Harry mutters, kissing her neck and cuddling into her warmth.

Amelie cards her fingers through his hair – as she always does – and begs her brain to quiet. For once, let me sleep. Please.

Unlikely to have the pleads obliged, hours pass in that position. Harry quietly sleeping against her, her chest heaving with pants as she holds in a shivered cry. Her fingertips stalled in his curls, scratching the nape of his neck, her eyes trained on the television that sounded quietly.

Harry is going to realise that you can’t comfort him how he needs, how he wants. He is going to realise that you’re too fucked up to deal with his issues, that you can’t care for anyone, not even yourself. He is going to break up with you and write a song about how horrible you are. He is going to see everything.

All at once, Amelie is quietly padding to the bathroom, closing the door silently and leaning against the porcelain tub, her face in her hands, tears staining her cheeks. Her skin prickles with goosebumps, her body shaking with the struggled breaths and quieted cries. Amelie didn’t want to wake Harry, to worry him.

Harry panicked immediately. He woke up to an empty bed, unable to see the one that he assumed had fallen asleep with him. He certainly assumed wrong. His heart begins to beat slower at the light shining beneath the ensuite’s door, a heavy breath murmured beneath the sounding ventilation.

“Ames,” Harry whispers, creaking open the door, careful not to frighten her. “Ames, what are you doing awake? Come back to bed.” His chest tightens seeing Amelie crying on the tile. “Angel, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Amelie sniffles, wiping her eyes and forcing a smile. “Go back to bed.”

“Only when you come,” he sighs, stepping inside and kneeling down in front of her. He hasn’t ever seen Amelie have anxiety or an anxiety attack. Only once has he seen something of the sort – with Gemma a few years back. He felt helpless then, and Harry surely felt helpless, now. “Come on.”

“Harry, give me a minute,” she mutters, her voice rasped and etched with pain. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Are you overwhelmed by me? Have I overwhelmed you?” Harry has to ask. He could see how this could be overwhelming for her, a bit too much. He never thought about how she would feel in this situation. He was wrong for that.

“Of course not,” Amelie says, tears welled in her eyes as she stares at him. Harry knows that she’s lying. He can see it written across her face.

Of course, I’ve made you think you’ve done something wrong. Of course, you would think you’re wrong. Of course, you’re too good for me.

“Come to bed with me,” Harry murmurs, gently taking her hand and coaxing her to settle on her feet. He nudges her into the bedroom, the ensuite light turned off and the only light in the hotel suite radiating from the television. “Can talk to me about anything, you know that, don’t you?”

“Know that,” Amelie murmurs, sinking underneath the cosy duvet and allowing Harry to wrap his arms around her. “I’m okay.”

“Alright,” Harry says, squeezing her tighter into his chest and taking a deep breath, listening carefully to her breathing to ensure that she had fallen asleep.

Amelie’s words repeat in Harry’s head, the two words seeming to be the furthest thing from the truth.

~

Harry couldn’t describe the feeling in his stomach – nausea, the nervousness, the uneasiness. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, the acid beating at the weak muscle as he sat with his head in his hands, his fingers tugging at his curls and his foot tapping against the carpet as he paces the outline of the suite. Amelie accidentally slammed the bathroom door behind her nearly twenty minutes ago, the lock clicking when the shower sputtered on and the unsettling quiet loomed over the air.

Harry shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have. He was wrong.

“Gon’a burn a hole in the carpet,” Amelie murmurs, shaking her hair into the towel and pulling the sweatshirt sleeves over her hands, the boxers loose around her thighs, her lips pulled between her teeth as she settles on the edge of the mattress.

“Um, yeah.”

“Don’t like when you yell, Harry,” Amelie whispers, setting the towel on her thigh and turning to face the distraught man biting his nails against the makeshift dresser. “Understand that you’re upset – you and everyone on your team – but, baby, you didn’t need to yell at him.”

“Don’t understand how you can take his side on this,” Harry says, his eyes glossing over with tears and his arms folding in front of his chest, anger mending with sadness in his chest. “He fucking quit. Gave some bullshit excuse. Gon’a probably go and sign a record deal tomorrow.”

“Anxiety isn’t a bullshit excuse, Harry.”

“Tell me how Zayn has been touring with us for four years, and only now, when they’re talking about renewing our contract, there’s an issue! Tell me how that makes sense.”

“Harry.”

“None of us were going to sign it, you know. Niall and I have been talking. Capitol made him an offer. Columbia and Jeff were talking about doing something with a contract with me. Not like we were forcing him. He could’ve just talked to us.”

“Harry.”

“Can’t believe this is happening.”

“Harry Styles, calmer, bébé.” Amelie stands from the mattress, laying the towel on a stray chair and walking towards Harry, taking his cheeks in her hands and bringing his attention to her. Her lips touch his forehead sweetly, coaxing his breathing to slow and hands to steady, the shakiness of his breathing similar to an anxiety attack. “Can you feel that uneasiness in your stomach?”

“Mhm,” Harry gulps, his eyes squeezing shut, his thoughts trying to stray from the warm feeling of her lips on his skin and the comforting touch that her hands bring to his cheeks. “God, it hurts, love.”

“Know it does, baby,” she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair and bringing his face to her neck, his arms wrapping around her hips and holding her tight. “That’s what anxiety feels like. Makes you want to get sick.”

“Mhm.”

“Why would you want your friend to feel this way on stage? How would that make your performance any better than if there were only the four of you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, echoing in his ear, her touch making his heartbeat soothe to an even pace. His fingertips clung to her sweatshirt, afraid that she would walk away if he released her from his grasp. “‘cause, believe me, watching the rehearsal today, you blew me away.”

“Hate takin’ other people’s parts,” Harry confesses into Amelie’s neck, his breathing heavy against her damp skin. “Makes me feel like when we first started, and they put all the pressure on m’ to be the front, and what happens ‘f someone hates that. All of it will fall apart.”

“Not like that now, though,” Amelie reasons, gently scratching his scalp and twirling the curls between her fingertips. “Niall has parts, Liam and Louis. All of you are doing more.”

“I’m worried that everyone will hate One Direction, like this.”

“Can I tell you something?”

Harry nods silently, his thumbs tucked underneath the hem of Amelie’s sweatshirt and squeezing her closer to his chest. He breathes her in, the scent of her shampoo and the strawberry chapstick that lingers on his temple soothing him.

“Took a video of you all singing ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and sent it to Phoebe,” she whispers, tightening her arms around his shoulders and nosing beneath his jaw, planting a kiss on the vein the traces his neck. “Called me a few minutes later and told me that it was the best performance you’ve ever given. All of your voices sound incredible. Of course, it’s different and that’s scary, but all of the tens of the thousands of people that are coming to see you are going to be happy to see you on stage, to see you having a good time.”

“Don’t know if I want to keep doing this,” he murmurs, his eyes welling with tears as he pulls away from her neck, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth to shy away from crying. “Need a break.”

“Only a few more shows, baby, and then you’ll fly home to me, and you’ll have weeks alone.”

“Can I have my weeks alone with you? Don’t want to actually be alone,” Harry corrects, gently brushing the damp hair away from Amelie’s neck, his thumb tracing over her lips longingly. “Having you to myself sounds like enough.”

“Can happily do that.”

“Guess I should shower before the show,” Harry says quietly, his toes itching along the carpet as he presses a yearning kiss to Amelie’s lips, her hands squeezing his hips, his fingertips cupping her jaw as he soaks in the way their lips mould together. “Know your flight is early, but you’re coming, right?”

“Always.”

Harry made his way into the shower, taking all the clothes and toiletries that he would need to get ready before security would be banging on the door and telling them they needed to be on their way to the venue. On the forefront of his mind was the idea that Amelie would be sitting by her suitcase, making sure that every item in her bag was set and ready to go for the flight at nearly four in the morning. Harry would barely have enough time to kiss her before they were taking her to the airport and their goodbyes were being shared.

Harry hated – dreaded – that part of the relationship when touring was involved. Goodbyes were never easy.

Under the sputtering water and patters against the tile, Harry could picture what the following day would look like, the pain burning his chest. He couldn’t describe what it felt like, the burning under his skin or the uneasiness that lingers in his brain. Harry could see himself kissing Amelie goodbye, a strained smile on his lips, one more kiss touched to her hairline before she was walking towards the gate and scanning her ticket, the flight attendant escorting her to her seat. He silently wondered why his chest felt so tight and there was a queasy feeling in his stomach, as though her leaving wasn’t ever what was best.

Harry would wait by his phone for hours, patiently waiting for Amelie to text him on her layover, as the flight landed. He answers immediately, talking to her for as long as she could, as long as he could, even waiting a few minutes until she’d fallen asleep and could no longer respond to him.

Amelie would swear that the very first thing Harry would get when the tour is over – for the time being – is the sweetest hug, the hug that takes your breath away. He would talk about how he would be going back to England in May, that maybe she could think about going with him. Harry thought about the feeling that would stick in his stomach, the nervousness and the excitement if Amelie agreed or even the emotions that would linger in his belly when she says that she would think about it.

Harry silently hoped that her semester would lighten up so that she could go. He wanted her with him, all the time, no matter where he was.

Until Amelie fell asleep on her pillow, with her wire-rimmed glasses on and her hair tied into a bun – which Harry knew she would complain about in the morning because it gives her a headache – Harry would be on the phone. He would listen to her talk about her artwork and the assignments that have to be done throughout the week, the pending excitement with each day counting down until they would be together again. Her conversation would trickle into their plans after tour, meeting each other’s parents, spending more time together. Harry spilt the idea that she could leave a few things in his drawers so they wouldn’t have to spend so much time apart on the days they needed new clothes or laundry and Amelie happily agreed.

All of that sounded so perfect, especially knowing he would be with her.

Knocking on the door brought Harry out of his daydream, the bathroom creaking open with a shy smile and bright eyes, a shirt from tour slung over her torso with a pair of jeans that Harry could only identify as hers. Amelie leans against the counter, finishing getting ready, laughing as Harry tosses his towel at her, his briefs slung low on his hips and a stray shirt clinging to his damp skin.

“Think I want a hug,” Amelie whispers, her words quiet and only heard to Harry standing right beside her.

Harry grins, opening his arms and hugging her tightly, her hands clasped around his shoulders and tucking her face into his neck, their lips pursed together and the bathroom only humming with the air vent and dripping faucet, their quietness soaking in the moment simply the two.

Kissing his cheek, Amelie traces the cut of his jaw, stamping her lips across his skin sweetly. Amelie always did this, a few kisses before Harry finished getting ready, keeping him in her arms for as long as possible. Harry knew that she didn’t think much of it, but it meant something to him, and he has never had anyone do something like that before. He thinks about it often, especially when she’s away, and he always finds himself more excited to see her, to experience the butterflies and the swell in his chest when her lips touch his skin, her arms hugging him tightly to her chest.

Out of all the things that a break in tour had promised, Harry being held in Amelie’s arms sounded the most rewarding.

/ / /

Harry flew into Burbank airport for Amelie to pick him up. He liked the quiet bustle around him, all the businessmen and businesswomen seeming to go about their daily lives and not be bothered by a scraggly, tall man with long hair and sunglasses on his nose. His bag was slotted between his fingertips, ready to be dropped the second his girlfriend was standing in front of him.

Amelie could be spotted from across the terminal, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her hair adorning a light pink colour that she must’ve dyed in the two weeks that they’ve been apart. Harry couldn’t say that he’s surprised – her impulsivity is something that he found endearing, the way her mind works so quickly to make decisions that would relatively seem destructive – not always the best quality – yet deciding on what to eat for dinner could take hours. Her torso is clothed in another vintage shirt, one most likely from her mother because the logo scribbled in French is beginning to wear away. Her thighs are constrained to jeans – he wonders if she’ll ever wear shorts around him – and her tattoos are poking through the denim that’s ripped to the knees.

Her smile is goofy, a wide smile he’s never seen. Could it just be that she’s happy? Happy to see him? Happy to be in his arms, again? Only knowing each other three months, officially dating for two, it’s weird to think that they have this much of an impact on each other.

“Hi,” Amelie smirks, rolling her eyes as airport security tells her to walk to him. Her feet were nearly lifting off the linoleum to run to him, oblivious to the one or two glares that were towards her. Giggling, she leans over her knees, catching her breath with a laugh as Harry rubs her back. “Okay, note to self, I am not running to you anymore.”

Harry’s arms immediately circled around Amelie’s waist as she stands, nosing his face into her neck, breathing her in, squeezing her as physically close as he could get her. Kissing his cheek, his eyes went wide with surprise, a blush creeping on his cheeks and a smile on his lips at the affection. “Hi, there.”

“Can’t kiss in here, I’m assuming.”

“Don’t want anyone trying to pry,” Harry says, his thumb tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a slight sigh of relief leaving his lips as she smiles up at him. “Are you mad? I just, I don’t want anyone to try and ruin this.”

“Harry, don’t worry about it.” Amelie kisses Harry’s cheek to emphasise her point, smiling as his arms wrap around her shoulders and hug her tightly to his chest. “Dyed my hair, yesterday. Thoughts?”

His fingertips twirl around the curl near her shoulder, his dimple indenting his cheek as he admires her. “Love it. Looks proper cute on you.”

Amelie’s hands card through her hair and shake the curls playfully. “Feels very me.” Taking his hand in hers, she attempts to lift the luggage from the floor, her eyes widening with the weight. “What the hell do you have in here, Harry? Bricks?”

He laughs, taking the suitcase and interlocking their hands, smiling widely as she tucks into his side, her cheek resting on his arm as they walk through the airport. “Want to give you a proper kiss,” Harry says into her hair, kissing her forehead as she tucks her keys in her back pocket and they begin walking towards her car in the car park outside. “Thank you for picking me up.”

“Happy you asked me to,” Amelie smiles, nodding towards her car and opening the boot for his luggage and smirking when he opens her door, knowing full well what he is going to do. “You promised me a kiss, Mr Styles.”

“That I did,” he smirks, leaning into the car, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand cupping her cheek, his lips dragging languidly along hers, the rhythm slow and meaningful and full of lust and desire and longing and all the emotions that encompassed how they felt being away from each other. “Missed you.”

Her eyes soften, her lips pursing together at the thought. Amelie hates to admit it, more so because it makes her feel pathetic than anything else, but the only time she has ever heard those words were from her family and her best friend. There’s never been a person, a romantic interest, in her life that’s openly expressed their feelings for her the way Harry does.

Harry squeezes her thigh, smiling at her and taking her attention. “Missed you.” His words linger in the air, swearing themselves into truth, his heart beating heavily in his chest as he waits for her response.

“Missed you, too.”

I’m fucked. I’m so fucked with how much I like you.

Amelie puffs a breath between her lips as Harry carefully shuts her door, walking around and settling into the passenger seat, his green eyes planted on her as she straightens her back and stares out the window to avoid an accident pulling out of the garage. Harry laughs at the way her lips pull between her teeth and her nose scrunches slightly with concentration, her cheeks flushing at the feeling of his eyes so intently on her.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she threatens, squinting at him as she straightens the wheel and begins driving out, the directions on her phone giving her an estimated time to her apartment. “My apartment is a mess, as usual, but I was working on a few canvasses for Mama’s new book.”

“Ooh,” Harry coos, setting his hand on her thigh and smirking at the music playing quietly in the background. “Take it you liked the concert, then.”

“Maybe I just wanted to listen to my boyfriend,” Amelie says, raising her eyebrows suggestively and fluttering her eyelashes against her cheeks, her mind racing with the name – boyfriend is so official. “Or Phoebe was in the car. Guess you’ll never know.”

His fingers against her thigh, the pads of his digits feeling the silk of her shaven skin. He purses his lips together, humming quietly along with the music before taking a breath to speak. “Feel like this could be an inappropriate time for me to say that I’ve learnt how to say angel in French.”

Amelie chokes on her breath, the brakes jerking her car at a stoplight, Harry squeezing her thigh tighter as the reaction. He can’t hide that his eyes light up at the shocked expression on her face, unbelieving of his words. He loves surprising her, having the very experience of feeling her fall in love with him.

“Say it.”

“Tu es mon ange, Amelie,” Harry says softly, delicately kissing her hand and chuckling at the honking that ensues behind the car as her mind is paused beyond the light. “Go, baby.”

“Can’t distract me when ‘m driving.”

His fingers tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear, his eyes taking in the flushed cheeks and aching smile in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes and the way the sun cast on her through the window, the golden hue echoing all of the features that he attributed to her being an angel. He stares at Amelie without remorse, without turning away, turning the volume lower and taking a minute to appreciate the simplicity the embraced them in the compactness of her car.

“Thought we agreed that only serial killers drive with the music off,” Amelie teases, returning the volume to the original level and smiling brightly as her favourite song plays through the speakers. “Know you’re sick of this song but I don’t think I ever will be.”

Harry smiles at the way Amelie’s entire soul ignites with the song, the lyrics pouring through her perfectly rounded lips, her voice echoing through the open windows, her heart beating in her ears, happiness soaring through her. Amelie’s happiness was a light shining through the darkness, a sun on a cloudy day. He couldn’t compare the feeling – the feeling of seeing her happy – to anything else that he’s ever experienced.

“Can you teach me how to speak French?” Harry pipes, a smirk tugging at his lips at Amelie furrows her eyebrows together in confusion and her eyes narrow. “Want to be able to speak to your mum and grandfather and all that, without you having to translate.”

“And.”

“Can’t I just be a wholesome guy?”

“No, Harry Styles, I don’t think you can be,” she smirks, shaking her head and grappling for his prying hands as his fingers slowly inch towards the waistband of her jeans. Amelie parks in her designated spot, Harry immediately unbuckling her seatbelt and taking her cheeks in his, crashing their lips together and absorbing the way her mouth so easily connects with his, their rhythm aligned. “Didn’t think a wholesome guy would fuck me in my car.”

“Didn’t say that was the plan.” His hands persuasively grab her hips, moving the centre console and having her straddle his waist, his fingers tucked into the waistband of her jeans as her lips mould with his. “Could do that, though, if you wanted.”

Harry chuckles against her lips as she tugs on his hair playfully, their tongues dragging across each other, tasting the lips and the mint and the longing that they were missing. His hands squeeze her waist, his thumbs tucking beneath the hem of her shirt and inching towards her chest.

“Don’t have anything on underneath,” Amelie spits hurriedly, leaning her forehead against his, panting against his lips, her hands holding his beneath her shirt. “All of m’neighbours will get a show if you move m’shirt any further.” Harry’s laugh echoes around them, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his nose nudging her cheek to kiss along her jaw. “Allez, amenons tout à l'intérieur. Peut-être même que je t'apprendrai ce que je dis.”

Come on, let’s bring everything inside. Maybe I’ll even teach you what I’m saying.

“Unfair advantage,” he whines, his forehead uncomfortably leaning against her shoulder as she reaches to turn to switch the engine, her hand gently patting his cheek. “Makes me basically useless when you speak French to me.”

“And who’s fault would that be? Certainly not mine.”

“Actually, I think it is,” Harry smirks, teasingly smacking her bum as she manoeuvres out and onto the tarmac, walking around the car and beginning to take out his bags. “Come on, love, I’ve got it.”

“Mom wanted me to call her when we got back,” Amelie says, ensuring that they have all Harry’s bags and belongings to bring inside. “I’ll call her when you get in the shower.”

“Not going to let me say hello. That’s so rude. Not very angelic of you.” His shoulder leans against the door frame as Amelie opens the door, waiting for him to be fully inside with his suitcases, smiling as Harry begins locking the door, nodding for her to make her call to her mother.

“Bonjour, Mama,” Amelie smiles into the speaker, her mother’s voice always loving and sweet. Once a week dinner, once or twice a week calls – that’s how the Beneventini’s kept up with everything happening in everyone’s lives, especially during the busier seasons of the year.

“Bonjour, chéri,” Fay greets, the smile on her lips heard through the phone. “Avez-tu décroché, Harry?”

Have you picked up, Harry?

“Il y a environ trente minutes.”

About thirty minutes ago.

“Reste-t-il chez tu?” her mother wonders, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she waters the garden planted outside the kitchen window.

Is he staying at your house?

“Seulement pour une semaine, puis nous allons chez lui,” she says nervously, her teeth nipping at her cheek nervously, awaiting her mother’s next question.

Only for a week, and then we're going to his house.

Amelie wasn’t oblivious to what her mother was implying. Family Dinner was on Sunday, and considering how far they’ve travelled to see each other, it could only be assumed that their relationship was much more serious than they let on two months ago. Fay would be right to assume so, Amelie wasn’t denying that, but Harry had never met her nor spoke to her parents, and she surely hadn’t asked him to meet her whole family at dinner, yet.

“L'amènerez-tu au dîner de famille?”

Are you bringing him to Family Dinner?

Amelie chokes on her words as Harry walks up behind her. “Bonjour,” Harry says into the speaker, his suitcase and bag set in her bedroom, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and hugging her tight, his lips touching her hair. “Comment allez-vous?”

“Hi, Harry!” Fay excites, her cheer and happiness radiating through her tone. “Are you coming to Family Dinner on Sunday?”

“Of course,” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s cheek and walking towards the drawer that held all the takeout menus. “I’ll be there right alongside Ames.”

Her heart pounds against her ribs, aching to jump out and sit perfectly in his hands. He could take it – her heart – simply by asking.

“Lovely! Luca and I are so excited to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry says, matching her tone and excitement, setting a menu on the counter to get approval. “Have a great night.”

“Passe une bonne nuit. Au revoir, Harry! A dimanche.”

You have a goodnight. Bye, Harry! See you on Sunday.

“Bye, Mama,” Amelie smiles, heaving out a choked breath as the call ends, her forehead falling to her folded arms against the counter. “Harry, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“’Cause I agreed to come to dinner,” Harry smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and walking towards the refrigerator to get water. “Come on, it won’t be that horrible.”

“Know that.”

“Going to be great, angel.” His wet lips meet her mouth comfortingly, a smile tugging as her hands cup his cheeks, holding him to her. “Excited to meet them.”

“One week to learn as much French as possible,” Amelie giggles, kissing his jaw and walking towards the bookshelf sat neatly in the corner, a journal adorning patterns and stickers set in his hand. “Here is m’fourth grade journal with all the easiest phrases to learn.”

“Don’t think so,” Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest as she attempts to swiftly walk away. “Having your girlfriend teach you is the only way to learn.”

Amelie’s laughter makes him swoon, his heart swelling achingly in his chest, wanting to utterly immerse in her, an itch to crawl under her skin and know her. Harry would give anything to know every thought in her head, the reason words fall so easily from her lips and echo in his ears, the why to every painting and drawing and photograph that makes him think, the how, in so many ways, she makes him fall in love with her every day.

“Fine.” Harry’s grip loosens on her waist, an annoyed sigh leaving his lips as Amelie leaves his arms. “Ha! Keep away.”

“Doll,” Harry muses, a smirk tugging at his lips as her hands raised to his chest, desperately trying to spare their distance, “don’t be a child.”

“Don’t like being tickled,” Amelie warns, her voice desperately trying to sound threatening, a giggle tickling at her throat as his hands sit loosely on his hips, a swear echoed around her apartment as she nearly stumbles over a canvas as they inch towards her bedroom. “Harry, you will not be getting laid for an undetermined amount of time if you do this.”

“Feel like you’re lying about that, angel.”

Harry kicks the bedroom door shut with his heel, laughing as her hands meet his chest, her fingertips curling into the shirt adorning his torso, her elbows tucked near her sides to protect her. His thumbs gently trace her cheekbones, his hands trailing delicately across her shoulders, slowly making their way down her spine. His lips touch her neck innocently, a smirk tugging at his mouth as her muscles release under his touch. Gently guiding her to lay on her mattress, Harry kisses her cheek, persuading her to believe his touch.

His fingertips immediately pinch her sides, her laughter echoing sweetly in his ears, the sound making his heart thump so loudly against his ribs that he swears his chest aches. “Amelie Fay, tell me you’ll teach me French.”

“Fine!” Amelie squeaks, laughter etched into her words. “Fine, you win, Harry.”

Harry laughs with his victory, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest, her arms dangling by his sides and her chin propped on his shoulder. “What did I win? Other than knowing that you’re very ticklish.”

“Me, I’ll teach you French.”

Amelie mutters her annoyance at the defeat into his neck, her words panted as heated breaths across the skin, his hands squeezing her hips to assure her that he’s listening. Harry wouldn’t let go, though. He very well could let go, and probably should, after all, there was takeout to be ordered and suitcases to unpack and laundry to do.

“Ames,” Harry whispers, drawing her away from his neck and meeting his stare, her flushed cheeks from laughing tinted beneath the light.

“Hm,” her voice is gentle, soothing, sounding like a lullaby.

“Did you know that you’re pretty like a star? But like, a million times more beautiful.” His words barely hold the hint of a question, more so a fact that he felt inclined to tell her as his eyes flickered between the distant stars outside the window and the glimmering star laying above him.

“Don’t think so, Harry.”

“Can’t paint a physical picture, so this metaphorical one will have to do. You see all those stars out there, Ames,” Harry whispers, pointing out the window, her body shifting slightly in his arms to peer into the sky. One star was shining brighter than the trickled dozen others, the moon hanging low in the slowly dimming sky, blues and purples coating outside, quiet chirps and buzzing with cars sounding through the paper-thin walls.

“I do.” Amelie looks at him and nods, humming, “Which ones are we looking at, though?”

“All of them. All the stars circle around the moon and they fade when the sun comes out. You don’t. You shine all the time. You shine the fucking brightest, too. You’re like, Jupiter and Pluto and Earth aligning and all the stars dancing because they’ve done it. You’re the brightest star there ever was, and you don’t even know it.”

Her irises sparkle beneath the moonlight that shimmies through the curtains. Golden hues and blue specks that dot her eyes, that make him want to fall in love. Glowing cheeks and freckles and perfectly plumped lips that he could get lost in if she let him. His hands travelled down her sides, clasping together right above where her jeans met her shirt. He is so utterly transfixed by her.

He could let go. Harry just didn’t want to.

~

Harry wiped his sweaty palms against his thighs, laying back against his bed and heaving a sigh as Amelie goes through the list of things to tell Harry about for the evening.

Her fringe fell perfectly beneath her eyebrows, the curls waving down her back the way she knew her boyfriend loved. Her cheeks flushed at the thoughts of what he might say, always complimenting her and making her feel beautiful. His favourite jeans were on her hips, the ones that cuff at the ankle and are loose around her thighs. One of his shirts is on her torso – hopefully one her sister doesn’t recognise – and it’s tucked into the front, yanking the cut down only slightly, yet Harry’s eyes are wide and staring as she walks out of the bathroom with her phone shoved in her pocket.

“Quit staring at my chest,” Amelie says, sighing heavily – trying to hide her smirk – as Harry stands up and walks to her, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses a hard kiss to her cheek. “You were staring.”

“Know that I was,” Harry smirks, kissing her temple and leaning back slightly to take in her whole appearance. “Doll, you look amazing.”

“Nothing much,” she says quietly, her cheeks blushing with the compliment. Harry compliments Amelie too much for her to ever be fully used to it. “This is that shirt you bought a few sizes too big.”

“Can see that. Looks better on you than on me.” Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as Amelie grabs his cheeks, chastely kissing his lips, his bottom lip a second time, before beginning to walk out of the bedroom, her keys tucked into her pocket with her phone as cavasses from the hallway are gathered under her arms. “C’mon, I want to make a good first impression. Have to stop and get your mum some flowers on the way.” He takes two canvasses, pecking her cheek and audibly repeating the checklist to ensure that everything was in tow.

“Mama talks in French and English, so you know,” Amelie mentions, tucking the wine between her thighs and locking the front door, a bag with her clothing and toiletries for the week slung over her shoulder, a canvas tucked under her arm.

“Like you,” Harry says, clicking the boot open with his toe and setting the canvasses inside neatly, Amelie’s bags tossed into the backseat to be taken to his house in the evening. His lips pucker for a kiss, smiling as her lips so easily mesh with his, her fingertips dancing across his cheek, his hands flat against the windows of the backseat. “Can never get enough of those.”

“Have ‘em any time you want.” Amelie blushes profusely, gently kissing the dimple indenting his cheek and slipping inside the car. Harry climbs in, buckling his seatbelt and reaching for her hand before the engine could properly turn over. “Mama uses French more loosely,” she says, carrying on their previous conversation and beginning the journey to her parent’s house nearly an hour away. “Dad speaks in French sometimes, but not as much.”

“Brandon is going to be there, too,” Harry confirms, his thumb rubbing her knuckles as they soak in the sun piercing through the open windows, “and Phoebe.”

“Mhm.”

Amelie pulls into a parking space beside the café, the flower shop across the street brightly shining with sunflowers and daisies and tulips and roses. Harry reaches out for her, interlocking their hands and beginning to walk towards the quaint, colourful store, his jaw hardening at the sight of Jack standing annoyingly against the mural that Amelie painted three months earlier, a cigarette lit between his teeth. Harry squeezes Amelie’s hand comfortingly, kissing her temple and squeezing her tighter into his chest.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, his lips pressing into her hair as her arms wrap around his waist, hugging him tightly as they walk on the pavement, “I’ve got you.” His hands rub her back soothingly, his green eyes shining, his smile piercing a hole in her heart. “Anyone else coming that I should know about? Anyone else to get flowers for?”

“Brandon is bringing Autumn. They’ve been dating for, five years, I think.”

“Five years. That’s a long time.” Harry lays his hand on Amelie’s lower back, gently guiding them towards the bouquets set out that day and trying to make a perfect choice. He waves courteously to the elderly woman behind the till.

“Met in college and they’ve been together ever since,” Amelie says, smiling brightly at a bouquet of tulips and daisies in the collection.

Handing the package to Harry, they walk inside and quietly speak to the woman that owns the flower shop with her husband. Her hair was slightly grey, a freckle above her lip making her appearance quite similar to an actress they couldn’t remember the name of. Martha – the woman – complimented Harry and Amelie as a couple, saying that they looked absolutely lovely together, reminding her of herself and her husband in their younger days.

“I think we’re a good couple, too. Have to do a bit more convincing on this one,” Harry grinned at Amelie, kissing her cheek wetly and laughing as she wipes the dampness from her skin. “Thank you. Have a good evening, Martha.”

“Have a great evening, you two,” Martha smiles at them, waving as they walk outside, hands clasped together, fingers squeezing each other as they walk towards the car. Harry opens the door, waiting until Amelie is inside before tucking his face into her neck and planting a kiss on her jaw. His fingers grip her thigh as they begin driving, Pasadena only twenty minutes away from Burbank on a less crowded day.

“Mama is most likely cooking, already,” Amelie says, tilting her head to look at the beautiful boy sitting beside her as the light shifts to red. “Can show you m’room and around the house before supper.”

“Old fashioned supper,” Harry hums, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t give me the thought of shagging you in your childhood bedroom.” His sly remarks always make her blush, making him believe she isn’t used to anyone being so attracted to her, all the time. He would change that, though, because he is – attracted to her – every second of every day.

“Harry!”

“Can’t tell me you thought I wasn’t going to have to get this all out of my system before we got there.” His voice feigns innocence, shaking his head and clicking his tongue at her, the beige siding and baby blue shutters coming into view at the edge of the cul-de-sac.

Harry could see where Amelie found her love of flowers and the sun and being bright – outside every window – quite literally every window – there are colourful florals filling the gardening boxes, at least three flowers in each. He could see the tinge of France mixed with California in the exterior, the bushes lining the walkway decorated in bright pink petals and rosebuds.

Amelie kisses his cheek comfortingly, her stomach swirling with butterflies and anxiety sitting on her chest, the emotions overwhelming. Harry took the bouquet in his arms, holding his hand out for her, smiling as her fingertips interlock with his and give a squeeze of affirmation.

“Phoebe, they’re here! Get your inhaler from the bathroom!” Fay calls through the foyer, her voice travelling upstairs to her youngest daughter, the front door swinging open before Amelie could properly knock or ring the bell. “Mon chéri,” she smiles, kissing her daughter’s cheeks and taking a look at the man beside her. “You must be Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Beneventini,” Harry says sweetly, kissing her cheek courteously and squeezing his girlfriend’s hand.

“Call me Fay,” Fay insists, shaking her head disapprovingly at the name, tiny strands of greying ginger falling around her forehead. “Luca, Amelie and Harry are here!”

“Hi, honeybee,” Luca grins, hugging Amelie tightly and stepping aside, waiting for their hands to release to shake Harry’s hand. “Harry, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Luca.”

“Fay, these are for you,” Harry says, shaking Luca’s hand firmly and giving a smile. Amelie sets the wine in her mother’s hands. “Wasn’t sure what to bring to go with dinner, so I brought wine.”

“Oh, you just had a birthday, didn’t you! Beautiful,” Fay smiles, taking the wine and the flowers and turning towards the kitchen. “Come in, come in.” Her voice is airy and light, her accent much more distinct than Amelie’s, her syllables all met in a wispy hymn. “Finishing up dinner, now.”

“Would you like any help?” Harry wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, stepping further inside the foyer and beginning to follow her mother into the open kitchen, birds beginning to chirp with the fading sunset. “Used to help m’mum cook when I was younger. Used to work in a bakery, too.”

“Call it what you will, you worked at the registers,” Amelie teases, walking towards the kitchen, shortly behind Harry, residing on the barstool painted with a hideous mustard yellow and graciously taking the cuppa her father sets in front of her on the marble counter.

“Have you learnt how to make bread from scratch? No,” Harry answers, clicking his tongue disapprovingly and shaking his head, washing his hands in the sink and drying them on the tea towel on the counter. “Last time I checked, you almost burnt down my kitchen.”

“One time.”

Luca laughs loudly, clapping Harry on the back and moving behind the counter to press a kiss to his wife’s cheek, taking the meat on the counter and bringing it out to grill in the garden. Fay nods excitedly, setting a tray and cutting board in front of Harry on the counter closest to Amelie and moving back towards her station beside the oven, the bouquet sitting neatly in a vase. “Harry, you can chop those vegetables for the salad.” Fay winks at Amelie, shrugging her shoulder towards Harry standing beside her and muttering, “Il est si mignon, ma chérie.”

“Mama,” Amelie says warningly, shaking her head at her mother, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the thought of her boyfriend standing right there, “no.”

“Hm?” Harry mumbles, his eyes barely lifting from the knife that is carefully chopping the vegetables and sliding them into the ceramic bowl in front of him.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Harry,” Fay smirks, wiping her hands on her apron and walking to the cabinet, taking out a glass and pouring herself a glass of wine. “Did Amelie tell you how I flew to North Carolina to see Luca when he was working on a movie, there? Much like what she did for you. Her grandmother – my mother – did something similar for my father, too.”

“Briefly, Ames did,” Harry says, setting the knife down and his jaw dropping with the realisation of her words. “From Paris, you flew to North Carolina.”

“Mhm,” Fay grins, smiling widely at her husband as he steps in from the outside, sweat beading at his forehead, his lips pursed as he reaches for a glass of water being handed to him by his wife. “Mr Beneventini, over there, came to Paris for a film that was being shot. Came around once and that was it. Luca and I saw each other every day for about two months, while they were filming. Gave me the address to the filming location in Carolina and where he was staying and how long he was staying for when he had to leave, and I asked Mum if I could go, and I was on the next flight out.”

“Ever since then, it’s history,” Luca smirks, kissing her hair and hugging her into his chest, his hand gently rubbing her back as she leans into his embrace.

“Only took him another five months to say, ‘I love you’, and yet here we are,” Fay giggles, squeezing his hip and walking towards where Harry was beginning to pour all of the vegetables into the lettuce mixture that was prepared earlier in the day.

“Hey! I’m slow sometimes. It’s part of my charm, Fay,” Luca drawls, clicking a timer on his phone and settling in the barstool next to his daughter, kissing her forehead as she lays her cheek on his shoulder.

“Oh, is it?”

“Feel like that’s something we would do,” Harry says lightly, smiling at the girl across the counter, her eyes wide and staring at him adoringly.

“Ah, ah, maybe you would,” Fay interjects, clicking her tongue and nodding towards her daughter. “Amelie did it first.”

“Fair.” Harry’s smile aches his cheeks, the way her family is so welcoming and sweet making his chest hurt. He wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t nervous. He wanted to be accepted by her family, to be liked by her family.

“They’ll never let you live that one down,” Luca says, nodding his head disappointingly and smacking his hand against his chest. “Take it from me.”

“Fantastic,” Harry groans playfully, handing the handcrafted bowl, a ray of sunshine adorning the outer glass, to her mother, his cheeks blushing as she kisses her cheek excitedly. “Here you go.”

“Dieu merci, celui-ci est utile!” Fay excites, bumbling about the kitchen and beginning to move all of the prepared plates to the table, awaiting on her youngest to set the place settings. “Beau et utile. Matériel du mari, amour.”

Thank God, this one's useful! Beautiful and useful. Husband material, love.

Amelie’s jaw drops, her eyes widening and her face falling into her hands with embarrassment. Luca chuckles, rubbing her back soothingly and mumbling in her ear to calm her. Fay shrugs, disregarding her daughter’s flushed cheeks and continuing to mill about the kitchen to complete dinner.

“Pardon?” Harry says, his lips pursed together in confusion.

Dieu merci – Thank God. Amour – Love. That’s all I know. Why is Ames so embarrassed?

Luca kisses Amelie’s hair, standing on the tile and turning the timer off, his eyes peering out the window to see the smoke polluting the air above the barbecue. “They do this more than you would think.” Luca looks between his wife and his daughter who are mumbling to each other. “Don’t even worry about it.”

“Do you speak French?” Harry wonders, knowing that until he learns the language, this confusion is going to linger on.

“How do you think I got Fay to agree to marry me?” Luca laughs, shoving his phone into his pocket and flicking on the light, darkness beginning to fade over the expanse of the garden. “Amelie will teach you if you ask.”

Harry could make out the planted boxes with dozens of flowers – roses and sunflowers and daisies – and he could picture a young, shy Amelie learning how to care for the florals like they were her friends. He can imagine Amelie going out there to plant new vegetables and flowers on the not-so-good days, laying a blanket out there to stare at the stars that always seemed to fascinate her. He could see all of her, so intimately and knowingly, and he felt grateful to have that vision.

“Thank you for helping,” Fay says, pulling Harry out of his daydream. Her eyes roll as Amelie stalks away from the counter and towards her boyfriend. “It’s very kind of you.” Her smile is warm as she stares at Harry, nodding quietly before walking away and pulling the door open to go into the garden with her husband.

“Good God,” Amelie breathes against Harry’s back, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her cheek pressed against his clothed shoulder. “Won’t be translating anything for you, hope you know that.”

“Hey,” Harry smiles, his hands rubbing her arms soothingly, gently coaxing her to loosen and accept him in her arms, “it’s cute.”

Harry turns around in Amelie’s arms, smiling at her and taking in the way her features accentuate through the fading sunlight. Her nervousness is evident in the crease in her brows, her lips pursing together as Harry’s thumbs gently rub the tension with a kiss on her forehead. “Oh, Harry, trust me, if you knew what she was saying, you would be out the door and never look back.”

“Doubtful,” Harry breathes, kissing her cheek sweetly. His fingertips gently brush her fringe away from her eyes, giving her a moment to breathe before nodding towards her parents beginning to situate everything at the dining table. “Come on.”

“Harry,” Luca says, walking in through the open door and beginning to shut the windows as the darkness begins to pour in through the outside. He smiles at Harry standing hand in hand with his daughter, nodding towards the table where his wife was setting the new bouquet, “you’re in that band, um.”

“One Direction,” Harry smiles, squeezing Amelie’s hand and pointing towards the drawers that would have cutlery, “yeah.”

“Phoebe loves–”

“Dad, I am begging you,” Phoebe interrupts Luca from the doorway, her lips pursed together as she smiles and wipes her hands uncomfortably against her jeans. “Hi.”

“Hey, Pheebs,” Amelie smiles, releasing Harry’s hand and wrapping her sister in a hug, squeezing her tightly.

“Hi,” Phoebe murmurs into Amelie’s shoulder, her hands shaking against her sister’s back. Her favourite artist, her idol, her favourite person in the whole world was standing in her kitchen, casually, waiting to eat dinner because he’s dating her sister. Her life was flashing before her eyes.

Coaxing her further into the kitchen and away from the door, Amelie nods towards Harry. “Phoebe, Harry. Harry, Phoebe.”

“Hey,” Harry grins, stepping forward and immediately hugging her younger sister, chuckling at the nervous squeeze. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Phoebe says nervously, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips puff through a heavy breath, shaking her head as she mutters, “God, this is the weirdest moment ever in my life.”

“Pheebs,” Amelie interrupts, smiling gently at her sister and reaching her hand out, smiling as her younger sister grasps for her and goes to her without hesitation. “Help me get the canvasses outside.”

“Okay.”

Harry smiles comfortingly at Amelie, assuring her that he would be completely alright. He silenced his phone, the vibrations with notifications beginning to get bothersome as he is trying to have a conversation. He really wanted to impress her parents and getting distracted or not paying attention would not be the way to do so. Harry shoved the phone in his pocket with the sound of voices drawing near, her mother and father entering the room with him.

Walking into the kitchen, Fay takes her wine glass and pours another drink, her voice low as she smiles at Harry and waits for her husband to walk closer to have their conversation quiet, their daughters laughing outside the front door. “Harry, you’re on tour, right? Came back from,” she says, her voice trailing with her memory. “Can’t remember which city it was. Amelie told us, but I forgot.”

“Dubai,” Harry says, a smile perched on his lips at the thought. He loved tour. Touring was his favourite part of the job – the singing to thousands, being on stage, being in the place that he feels most comfortable. “Our next leg is in Europe, and then we’ll be in America, and then back to the U.K. for the remainder of the tour.”

“Hopefully we’ll get to see you perform! Have heard nothing but the best about you.”

“About that,” Harry says to Fay and Luca, his voice growing quieter to avoid being heard. “Our second to last show is on Ames’ birthday. Um,” he whispers, his forearms leaning against the counter top near the two and have their conversation muted, “Amelie is flying out to celebrate, and you can’t tell her, but we’re throwing her a party, that night. Know it would mean a lot if you were there, too. Happy to help with flights, too, or whatever you need.” Fay’s smile warms Harry’s heart, and there is something telling him that no one has ever done this for her before, especially not including her family. “Don’t want her to know, though – it’s a surprise.”

“That’s pretty far in advance, Harry,” Luca says knowingly, his words clinging to a tone etched with surprise. “Her birthday is in October.”

“Know that,” Harry smiles at him, nodding assuredly.

“Alright,” Luca says, clapping his hands against the counter and staring at Fay. “Guess we’ll figure some things out, and we’ll be there.”

“Il me fait penser à toi, Luca.”

He reminds me of you, Luca.

Luca kisses Fay’s hair, smiling brightly at Harry, his head nodding towards the opening door and the chatter sounding through the foyer. Brandon walks in first, Autumn following shortly behind, Phoebe and Amelie clinging to canvasses.

Amelie sets the freshly painted canvasses against the wall, walking around and tucking her arms around Harry’s waist once again, smiling as his arm wraps instinctively around her shoulder, kissing her hairline without hesitation. “Hi. How’s it going?”

“Good, I think.” Harry nods towards the taller man standing a few feet away who bore an uncanny resemblance to Amelie and Phoebe. “Is this your brother?”

“Hey, I’m Brandon,” Brandon smiles, releasing his girlfriend’s hand and shaking with Harry. He is more muscular than Harry pictured, mainly because the pictures that are around his girlfriend’s house are years old. Harry has been nagging her to have the newer pictures printed to display in the frames on the bookshelf.

“Harry,” Harry says with a returning smile, his hand falling to Amelie’s hip when Brandon releases it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Have heard a lot about you,” Brandon says, a smile tugging at his lip, trying to sound threatening. Brandon’s voice is similar to his father’s, the California twang rooted in every syllable. Amelie’s is much lighter, airy, Harry couldn’t compare it to anything else. “Hope you live up to the hype.” His voice lowers as Autumn steps beside him, smacking his arm with his empty threat. “Have my eyes on you.”

“B,” Autumn says, her eyes widening and staring with a warning, a smile bright on her lips as she hugs Harry. “Hi, I’m Autumn. Excuse him.”

“Amelie is my younger sister,” Brandon says, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the counter nearest to him. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

“Have an older sister and I’m the same way.” Harry kisses Amelie’s temple, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as Amelie and Brandon share a look. “Truly hope I live up to all that Ames said.”

“Brandon,” Amelie warns, her voice slightly lower and teasingly aggressive. Harry has never experienced this with Amelie, the family and the teasing, and he loved how comfortable she appeared.

“One thing you should know,” Brandon says, laughing loudly and Amelie releases Harry and stands in front of him, her height not allowing her to fully block her brother from speaking to her boyfriend. “Amelie acts like an angel, but she really isn’t.”

“I’m perfect, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Amelie puffs, folding her arms in front of her chest and pursing her lips together, her eyes narrowing towards her older brother with a warning.

“Oh, yeah. Who helped Phoebe dye my hair three weeks before Senior Prom?”

“Ghosts,” Amelie gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, the light glimmering in her eyes telling Harry all that she isn’t saying. Her jaw gapes open, her voice feigning innocence, her hand grabbing Harry’s as she begins to walk towards the dining room. “How could I, your baby sister, help with something that mean?”

“Devil’s work, right there,” Brandon says, taking his girlfriend’s hand and beginning to follow Amelie.

“Come on,” Fay cheers, poking her head into the kitchen and waving her hand towards the open door to the dining room. Luca follows quickly behind her, kissing her cheek before finding his spot at the table, Phoebe seated beside him. “Dinner is ready.”

Harry thoroughly enjoys Family Dinner.

He enjoys the dysfunction and chaos that runs amongst the large dining table that Luca built when Fay insisted that she despised every dining table that they came across at the thrift stores across Los Angeles and Pasadena. Luca tells the story about how Fay insisted that they build a house before the market ruined their opportunity, and to this day, they have never regretted their decisions. Fay talks about moving to California from the tiny town she lived her whole life in, and how she believes Amelie got that impulsive gene from her. Brandon talks about how Amelie used to torment him as a teenager, convincing Phoebe to join alongside the destruction.

Fay and Luca tell Harry that they always believed Amelie wouldn’t marry an American boy. One story, in particular, reminding her of the crush that everyone knew about at the fresh age of twelve. Coming home from a holiday in Brighton to meet a boy at the airport with a thick accent and blue eyes. Phoebe tells Harry about a holiday that Amelie had in Copenhagen where she momentarily fell in love with a boy who told her she was pretty on a bench in the park.

Harry enjoys every moment of it, especially when Amelie smiles encouragingly, telling him silently that he’s doing all that he should be.

“Going to show Harry m’room,” Amelie says, Luca and Fay smiling and nodding towards the swinging door where Phoebe had gone to bring her dishes to the sink. “Come on.”

Harry takes their plates, laughing with Fay as they clean the table, Brandon and Autumn gathering the leftovers to bring to the kitchen, Phoebe seemingly disappearing into her room. Amelie takes his hand, lacing her fingers through his and kissing his knuckles sweetly, the affection making Harry’s heart race in his chest.

“This is my room,” Amelie says, pointing towards the first door approaching the platform of the stairs. Opening the door, Harry walks in first, a smirk on his lips as he takes in the peach-coloured walls and decorative posters that display different destinations across the world. Harry could tell which paintings were Amelie’s by the brush strokes and the colours chosen, and every single one was his favourite. “Don’t tell me you really have some weird fantasy about having sex in your girlfriend’s childhood bedroom.”

“No,” Harry smirks, slinking his arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest, his lips ghosting over hers. “Only in my childhood bedroom.” His laugher echoes around her bedroom as her hand smacks his bicep, her head shaking with his comment. “Ouch!”

“Deserved it,” Amelie says, opening her mouth to argue with him, a smirk tugging at the corners as Harry’s lips attached to hers. Amelie melts into his kiss, smiling at the blissful feeling swirling with the butterflies in her belly.

Happy, this is what it’s like to feel happy.

Harry peppers kisses along her cheeks sweetly, one kiss sticking to her skin as he gently pulls away, going to stare at the frames on her dresser, all the photos similar to ones that are in her apartment. “Have any pictures of you when you were sixteen? Only see the ones from college, here.”

“No, I didn’t keep them.”

Harry looks at Amelie, a regretful smile on his lips as she bites her bottom lip nervously. “Okay,” he says reassuringly, kissing her hairline and hugging her into his chest. “That’s okay.”

Harry knows why Amelie doesn’t have any pictures from when she was sixteen. That’s when it happened.

Grabbing Amelie’s hand, Harry tugs her out into the stairway and begins calling down the stairs. “Fay,” Harry says, smiling as her mother peers over the bannister and up to the two that are beginning to walk down, “do you have any pictures–”

“Tonnes,” Fay interrupts, knowing where Harry is going without having to hear the question. Her hands begin perusing through the photo albums lining the walls in the living room, Harry and Amelie walking hand in hand into the room, a smile on his lips at the albums being set out to go through. “Here are our pictures from Santorini for Amelie’s sixteenth birthday.”

Harry releases Amelie’s hand, taking a seat on the carpet and opening the album. His fingertips carefully handle the delicate pages, his eyes staring at the young version of the woman he’s falling in love with. “Look at you!” Harry excites, pointing to the picture with her clad in a dress and heels. “God, had we met back then, you would have passed me, right by.”

“That’s not true,” Amelie mumbles quietly, taking a seat next to Harry and leaning her head on his shoulder, her fingertip pointing towards her curved figure in the photograph. “Look at me.”

Amelie’s eyes flutter shut as Harry kisses her forehead, shaking his head disapprovingly at her comment. Harry knows exactly what she is referring to, and he doesn’t like it. Hearing Amelie talk so negatively about her body, about her appearance, about her, makes him sick, especially when he adores every ounce of her.

“I am,” Harry says, taking his attention away from the pictures on his thighs and looking to her mother. “Have any pictures of embarrassing phases? Mum is probably going to show you some of mine, eventually. Only fair that I see yours, now.”

“Mon dieu, I have plenty,” Fay smiles, clapping her hands excitedly against her thighs and standing from Luca’s lap. Her hands immediately reach for the album labelled with a new year.

Fay sets the album in Luca’s lap for him to search through, her eyes continuing to scan through the shelves for more. “Oh, this one! Amelie was ten, I think, right, Fay?” Luca smiles, handing the open album to Harry and pointing towards the photograph with a young girl standing with a bright smile with her artwork on the wall. “Well, Amelie decided that she wanted to make a painting on the wall, and who were we to say that she couldn’t use her resources, right?” Luca smiles, standing up and walking toward the archway. “This wall,” he says, gesturing to the wall separating the living room and the kitchen, “was covered head to toe with paint – a sun, clouds, sunflowers – and surely it wasn’t a Picasso.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Amelie interrupts, shaking her head and tutting her tongue with the comment. Harry squeezes her thigh, her lips touching his cheek.

Fay interrupts Luca and Amelie, “But Amelie never looked so happy. That was the best part.”

“Have another one like that,” Luca says with a smile, laughing as Amelie hides her face into Harry’s shoulder. “Going to sell this one to the Louvre.”

“Tu me mets dans l'embarras.”

“Not embarrassing you,” Luca smiles at Amelie, brushing his fingers through his hair and folding his arms in front of his chest as he stares at his daughter. “Bragging is a better word.”

“Harry, would you help me with dessert?” Fay wonders, walking towards the kitchen and pecking her husband’s cheek.

“Of course,” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s hairline and standing to follow Faye into the kitchen. He reaches for the dishes in the waiting cabinet. “Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Faye smiles, turning around and placing the yellow cake on the counter, her voice quieting at her eyes travel between her fingertips tapping against the marble counter and the young man standing adjacent to her. “Harry, I could ask you a question, yeah?”

“Anything.”

“Amelie told you about Jack, right?”

Harry can feel the air knock out of his lungs. God, he fucking hates that guy. “Mhm,” Harry says sadly, nodding and setting the cutlery on the awaiting plates. “Only talked about him a few times.”

“Amelie asked us to not have pictures from that time,” Fay sighs sadly, nervously folding the washcloths and tea towels waiting on the countertop. “As her mother, I couldn’t forget those memories, you know?”

“Of course not,” Harry assures her, his eyes taking in the sudden shyness that her mother was exhibiting. Amelie certainly got the shyness from confrontation from Fay. “Mrs Beneventini, I don’t have ill feelings towards many people, but believe me when I say that I despise Jack for all that he did to her. I wouldn’t ever.”

“I know, Harry, I know,” Fay smiles, patting Harry’s cheek sweetly and staring, her tone etched with sincerity and seriousness. “Continue paying attention to her. Can see that you’re not forcing her into anything, and that makes Luca and I feel very comfortable with knowing she’s with you. Unsure of what you’re doing, but it’s making her very happy. Luca and I haven’t seen her like this in a very long time.”

“I will,” Harry smiles, squeezing her hand reassuringly and taking the dishware into the dining room alongside her. Fay smiles at him, nodding towards the voices that are growing in volume and the swinging door that is accompanied by footsteps. “I promise.”

Amelie holds a picture tightly to her chest, a smile bright on her lips – her goofy smile – a bounce light in her step as she gets closer to him in their designated seats for the evening. “Harry, swear to me you won’t laugh when you see this picture.”

“Won’t make a promise if I can’t keep it, love.”

“Fine,” Amelie whispers, narrowing her eyes at Brandon as his laugh echoes around the room, Harry’s fingertips gently taking the picture.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters, his eyes desperately trying to take in every detail of the picture – his girlfriend, likely fourteen or fifteen, hair dyed dark brown, deep black eyeliner, trainers, patterned shirt tucked into a black skirt. Harry could have never imagined Amelie, his sweet, bright Amelie to ever look like this. “Amelie, what.”

“Going through her emo phase,” Brandon smirks, squeezing his younger sister’s shoulder, reaching around to take a slice and going to sit at the table.

“You, Miss Flowers and Sunshine, had an emo phase.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Amelie gasps at Harry, gesturing her arms around her body. Harry grabs her wrist and nudges her into his chest, kissing her cheek. “There are many layers, here.”

“Harry,” Phoebe says teasingly, a smirk planted on her lips as she walks lightly into the dining room, her hands clutching something behind her back secretively, “you think Amelie didn’t enjoy the One Direction concert, last year.”

“Phoebe, don’t do it.”

Harry’s eyes widen with Phoebe’s giggles, walking around the table and standing next to Harry, ignoring Amelie’s glare and pursed lips.

“Want to show you a little picture,” Phoebe sings, giggling as Harry sets his arm against Amelie’s tummy, creating a guard from her reach to her younger sister.

“Phoebe, I’m warning you.”

“Your threat means nothing to me,” Phoebe squeaks, setting the picture in his hand and rushing to stand behind a chair and guard herself against Amelie. “Here.”

“Ames, look at you! Having the time of your life,” Harry grins, a dimple indenting his cheek as he admires the picture. He kisses her cheek, squeezing her thigh and encouraging her to sit with him. “C’mon and sit with me.”

“I think I’m ready to go.”

“Not so fast,” Harry says, grabbing her hand and coaxing her to sit on his thigh, his arm wrapping around her waist securely. “Phoebe, you have any more of these?”

“Oh, I have plenty.” Amelie groans, begging Harry to not continue, her younger sister laying a collection of photos out on the table.

Harry cards through the photographs, pictures of Amelie in her early teenage years to the recent photos from weeks before they met. Brandon tells stories of when Amelie was a child and delving into her mischievousness, Phoebe right by her side. Fay and Luca tell stories of how Amelie used to get lost in the garden meadows near her grandfather’s house, the sunflowers always being tall enough to hide her as a child. Amelie’s family delves into all of her secrets, the way she would paint her bedroom once every season – Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer – and the workers at the local hardware store knew her by name. Her favourite season was always Spring. Her favourite colour changed every three months. Her favourite song was Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac until her uncovering of a Sonny and the Sunsets vinyl at a thrift store about a year earlier. Her hair gets dyed a new colour every April and is kept until early August. All of the paintings that are included in exhibits are a collection with the exception of one – Amelie always keeps one behind to commemorate it.

Like that, Harry realises that hours pass revealing secrets and laughing and indulging in Fay’s delicious yellow cake with Amelie’s family.

Amelie trading thighs to avoiding making Harry’s leg fall asleep, her cheek resting on his shoulder as his hand gently rubs her back, her eyes fluttering against her cheeks as she drifts in and out of consciousness while Luca and Harry wrap up the ending of their conversation.

“C’mon, angel. Let’s go home.”

His heart feels slightly heavy as Amelie whimpers and tucks tighter into his chest, his lips touching her cheek as he gently coaxes her to stand and walk towards the front door. Harry smiles at Phoebe and Brandon, waving goodbye to the two and clutching Amelie’s hand as they make their way out.

“Nice to meet you,” Luca smiles, hugging Harry and shaking his hand. Opening her arms, Fay brings Harry into a warm hug as Luca continues. “Hope to see you soon.”

“Fourth of July,” Harry grins, his heart warm as Amelie grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers, squeezing him sweetly. “I’ll be here.”

“Great, see you then.” Luca and Fay wave as Harry and Amelie walk through the pathway. “Get home safe.”

Harry kisses Amelie’s cheek as she settles into the passenger seat, waving to her parents as Harry begins driving onto the street and turning on the directions to his home in the Hills. “That was so much. Need like eighteen hours of sleep, now.”

“Bit dramatic of you,” Harry chuckles, his voice dropping as Amelie squeezes her eyes shut and pinches her eyebrows together. His hand squeezes her thigh comfortingly, “Angel, it went great. Think they really like me.”

“Oh, Mama and Dad love you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, then.”

“Harry, it’s not that anything is wrong, per se,” Amelie whispers, a breath puffing between her lips, her thumbs pressing into the points in her temples to alleviate the tension. “Anxiety is this way sometimes. Get tired after being around loads of people.”

“Oh,” Harry sighs, his thumb rubbing her skin lightly and trying to soothe her. He isn’t quite sure what to do. “Take a shower and go right to sleep when we go home.”

“Okay.”

Harry is quiet for the remainder of their drive, Amelie falling asleep against the window. Her breathing is steady and slow, tiny pants leaving her lips as the car passes the empty streets and whirring nightlife that exists in the city. Going into the drive, Harry mutters profanities under his breath for how loud the garage door is. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turning the engine and getting out, quietly opening her door and beginning to lay tiny kisses on her cheeks to wake her.

“Come on, angel,” Harry whispers, a smile on his lips as her eyes meet his. “Good morning, sleepy.”

“Hi,” Amelie smiles sleepily, taking a quiet breath as Harry unbuckles her seatbelt and nudges her into his arms. Holding his hand tightly as they walk inside, she waits at the platform of the staircase for him to finish locking the doors. “Kiss.”

Harry happily obliges, languidly kissing Amelie’s lips and tasting the sweet chapstick that lingers on the flesh. He admires her as she nearly stumbles up the stairs, trying to mask his chuckle with a cough. His gaze rolls over her naked skin as she awkwardly and tiredly fumbles into her panties and bralette, her hands grappling for one of Harry’s sweatshirts before Harry could see her chest bare.

Harry sets all of their laundries in his bin, smiling at the way her laundry has begun collecting with his. He follows her into the bathroom, kissing her neck as he budges her hip over slightly to reach his toothbrush.

“Ugh, hate washing m’face,” Amelie moans, gently massaging the makeup on her skin and begin to wipe away the day with a washcloth – one that she specifically bought to have at his house because she refused to use his nice ones for her makeup, even though he insisted it was fine – and cleanse her skin.

“Would do it for you if it wasn’t so messy,” Harry says thoughtfully, continuing his nightly ritual and soaking in the quietness of the moment.

“How nice of you,” she teases, gently rinsing the warm water over the towel and beginning to wipe her skin. Her eyes are slightly accentuated with the tint to her skin, the wash of colour gone and the freckles adorning her cheeks becoming more apparent under the light. Amelie is aware of Harry’s quiet stare, her fingertips massaging moisturiser into her skin without saying a word to give him a moment.

“Ames,” Harry says quietly, his arms folded over his chest as he leans against the marble counter, his eyes not daring to meet hers. “Do you like staying here, you know, with me?”

“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t,” Amelie says, her lips pursing together, her hand gently reaching to cup his cheek and bring his face to meet hers. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Don’ know,” he mutters, shrugging his shoulders and taking a heavy breath. “Wanted to make sure, you know, with school and all that.”

“Harry,” she smiles, her thumb rubbing his cheek sweetly. “I like being here with you. I wouldn’t stay here if I didn’t.” Her lips peck a kiss to his jaw teasingly. “Great hugs, great food, great sex. All around a great time.”

“Cheeky thing, you are,” Harry says, his hands grabbing her hips and bringing her to stand between his thighs. “Come here.”

“Harry,” Amelie breathes against his neck, Harry’s arms squeezing her middle as he embraces her. “Can’t breathe.”

Harry pulls away, his green eyes meeting hers and a smile perked on his lips. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Have a massive fucking crush on you.”

Amelie kisses Harry, and that’s all she has to say.

~

Harry isn’t entirely sure what happened between now and when he began his run nearly ten minutes ago, but there is a feeling at the pit of his stomach that won’t go away, that won’t stop telling him to go home.

Amelie is at home, working in the makeshift studio that she created for the week – that he would keep for her whenever she came over – on work that will be in the exhibit in July. All that they had for breakfast was coffee and toast. Harry asked Amelie if she wanted to come to Holmes Chapel with him next week, Amelie said yes. Jenny and Dan invited them to dinner for the night. Harry had a meeting with Jeff about his new company tomorrow. Amelie asked if she could paint Harry for a piece for the exhibit.

Harry asked Amelie if she wanted to come to Holmes Chapel.

Harry immediately turns around, his feet carrying him faster than he intended, his house coming into vision in what feels like seconds into his tread home. His trainers are kicked by the garage door, his hand gripping the bannister to ensure that he wouldn’t slip running up the stairs, his heart pounding in his ears seeing the makeshift studio door closed and the bedroom slightly cracked open.

Harry’s heart clenches in his chest as Amelie shudders beneath the duvet, her heavy breathing accompanied by a sniffle and cough to mask the sound. He walks around the wooden bed frame, gently sitting in the open space between her thighs and her chest. His eyes can see the tears staining her cheeks, an empty stare meeting his.

“Angel,” Harry murmurs, his hand gently running over her shoulder, his thumb tracing her cheekbone, coaxing her jaw to turn and face him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Harry, I need a minute,” Amelie whispers, tears pricking her eyes and stinging and she rapidly blinks, her eyelashes wet against her cheeks.

“Talk to me,” Harry says, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as his hand is lightly nudged away by hers, her body turning onto the opposite side, her back facing him. “Amelie.”

“Harry.”

Harry quietly stands, running his hands over his face and pacing out of the bedroom, trying to remember the list that his sister gave him of ways to distract and calm her anxiety. He mulls about the kitchen, swearing under his breath as he nearly burns his thumb on the kettle, waiting impatiently, stalking around the kitchen island as the water boils, making a cuppa and carefully bringing the warm mug upstairs.

Tea. Shower. Breathing. Distraction. Tea. Shower. Breathing. Distraction.

He breathes a sigh of relief to see her upright beneath the duvet when he pushes the bedroom door open with his elbow. “Brought you some tea.” Harry sets the cuppa on the bedside table claimed as hers, kneeling down and setting his hands on her thighs, his chin resting on her knee, his eyes meeting the tears on her cheeks. “Ames, why are you crying? Hate to see you this way.”

“Told you,” Amelie whispers, choking on a sob as her fingertips dig into her eyes and her mind wills the tears to stop, to have her heart slow down and quiet in her ears. “Anxiety is fucking rotten.”

“Told you,” Harry assures her, kissing her knuckles and rubbing his thumb along her skin soothingly. He wants her to hear him, to know that he is there for her. “I’m here. No matter what.”

“Harry, you don’t get it,” Amelie breathes, her voice shaky and tone unsteady with nausea rising in her throat at the thought of speaking. “One day, this is just going to annoy you and you’ll go.”

“Hate that you feel that way,” Harry says, setting his hands on the mattress beside her and slowly settling beside her. “Jenny didn’t leave. Your family didn’t leave. I don’t want to leave. Can you tell me what makes me different? Please.”

“Because.”

Because you’re you and I’m me.

“Because,” Harry says, encouraging Amelie to continue and speak the thoughts in her mind. “Jenny is your best friend, and she never left. Is it because I’m not one of your best friends – you think I’ll leave you?” Harry is scared to know what Amelie will say to that. “Is that why?”

“You are one of my best friends,” Amelie says, shaking her head against his words and aggressively wiping the tears that are spilling down her cheeks and onto her thighs. “One of two.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs, his hand gently rubbing her back and coaxing her to continue, “then tell me what’s going on. Can only help if I know, angel.”

“Meeting people,” she whispers, her voice barely able to be heard and the weariness in her words made his heart break in his chest. “Meeting important people.”

“M’family, you mean,” Harry clarifies. His stomach twists as Amelie nods. “Mum and Gemma and Robin.”

“Harry, they’re everything to you.” Amelie’s face lifts from her chest, her glossy eyes meeting Harry’s, her bottom lip wobbling between her bitten teeth. “Hate to see what will happen when I fuck up.”

“How do you know you’re going to fuck up? After all I’ve said about you.”

“I’m serious. Anxiety is serious.”

“Doll, I have never been more serious in m’life.” Harry says, gently taking her chin in his hands and making her meet his stare. “I need to understand. I want to understand.”

Amelie’s breath staggers, her chest beginning to rise and fall rapidly, panted breaths leaving her lips as tears begin to track her cheeks without warning. Harry wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly in his chest, his heart shattering and falling to the pit of his stomach.

“Come on,” he whispers, gently nudging her closer, brushing his fingertips through her hair and kissing her temple. “Let’s take a shower. Go under the steam, breathe, calm a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Amelie agrees quietly, nodding and allowing Harry to take her sweaty hand in his, leading her into the bathroom and turning on the water. Her hands pry the clothing away from her torso, ignoring Harry’s stare, bumps pricking her with the coolness of the air against her naked skin. Having the water rush over her makes new tears spring to her eyes, and for once she knows that she needs a hug.

Harry’s hug.

“Can I come in? Do you want me to come in with you?” Harry asks quietly, shrugging the sweat-stained shirt and cotton joggers onto the tile. He would wrap himself in a robe if Amelie disagreed, but he really wanted to be with her.

“Yes,” Amelie murmurs. Her eyes well with tears as Harry steps inside the shower, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and holding her close to his chest, his fingertips brushing her wet hair down her spine. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he soothes, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to her hair, his ears barely making the quieted sobs against her palms. “Don’t apologise. Have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

“’m a pain,” she whimpers into him, seemingly unable to catch her breath, all the air in her lungs disappearing each time she gasped for more. “’m such a burden.”

“No, you certainly are not.”

Harry gently coaxes Amelie into having him wash her hair, the soap gently cascading across her skin, the steam filling the bathroom giving oxygen to her deprived lungs. His hands are delicate on her, light kisses on her cheeks to ease the pain in her chest, the overwhelming ache in her head, the way every muscle in her body was tense and begging to be still.

“Amelie Fay Beneventini, you are not a burden,” Harry repeats, his thumb tucked under her chin, bringing her face to meet his, her hazy eyes regretfully staring into his. His heart breaks seeing the pain she’s in and knowing that this is all he can do to take it away.

“Feel like I am,” Amelie mumbles, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to try and muster the courage to speak. “Have a fucked-up brain with depression and anxiety that ruins everything.”

“Hey, I happen to very much like your brain,” Harry says firmly, a guilty pang in his chest at her words, anger swelling inside his stomach knowing that there isn’t a way he can simply ask her to not think that, to not feel such a way, because anxiety isn’t always rational or sensible. “Haven’t booked your flight. Don’t have to come if it’s going to cause you anxiety. Can always meet m’family another time.” His heart sank at the thought of her not coming, but there was nothing more important to him than her wellbeing and being okay. Fay and Luca said that they’d never seen their daughter that happy. Harry wants to continue making Amelie happy. “How you feel is more important to me.”

Harry and Amelie finish their shower in silence. Amelie steps out first, gripping onto Harry’s arm as she nearly slips, Harry murmuring that he has her and that she is alright to loosen her grasp. Her towel wraps tightly around her figure, her mind oblivious to the way Harry’s eyes trail across her naked skin until a robe is tied on her waist. His skin is rinsed from the soap, the sweat and grime from the morning run washed away, yet a layer of guilt sits bothersome on his chest. He follows suit, tucking the robe around him and combing through his hair, giving Amelie the space to get dressed without him around.

Harry walks into the bedroom, Amelie tucked beneath the duvet, once again.

His heart sank to his stomach, unable to ease the queasiness that rooted there. Harry has never cared for anyone so deeply, so passionately. He wants to protect her from all things that would ever harm her, to ensure that no one, absolutely no one never comes to hurt her, again.

Harry would do anything for Amelie, and right now, there is nothing.

Heaving a breath, Harry walks to Amelie, forcing a shy smile as she adjusts her body slightly, giving him a space to sit on the mattress near her. “Amelie,” Harry sighs, his fingertips brushing over her stained cheek, “baby, look at me.” His thumb nudges beneath the cheek resting on the pillow, bringing her glossy eyes to meet his. “Want you to explain all of this to me, the best you can, right now. Don’t hold anything back. Want to know it all. Want to know what makes you sad, what makes your anxiety come, what makes you hide away, like this. Want to know everything, and I’ll be there for you. I’m here for you.”

Amelie’s eyes meet his, yearning and longing to know her, to understand her, and every inch that makes her walls falls apart. Harry takes her in his arms, his nose tucking into her neck, his fingertips gently dragging along her spine as she breathes him in. He doesn’t push her, simply happy to have her in his arms. He squeezes her hands as she gently moves away, wiping her eyes with her fingertips, heaving a choked breath before beginning, sharing everything about her.

Amelie tells Harry everything.

Amelie tells Harry about the depression that has lingered in the forefront of her mind since the young age of twelve when she seemingly couldn’t see happy in the happiest days. Amelie tells Harry how the depression worsened with school, with bullying for her weight and her figure, for the way that her body was more supple in areas that many girls were not. Amelie tells Harry how the anxiety came shortly after, the way that meeting new people made her want to be sick, that everyone was always talking about her – even if they weren’t at all – that everyone was always talking about her and hated her. Amelie tells Harry how rational thoughts are suddenly irrational, in every sense of the word. Amelie tells Harry how Jack ruined all that she fought for through therapy, that art and music were her tiny escape from the intimidating world, and for a moment Jack took that away. Amelie tells Harry that sometimes the nightmares come back, and her body shakes and she can’t stop. Amelie tells Harry that he is the very first person that she has been with, in three years, that she hasn’t felt anxious around.

Amelie tells Harry everything.

Harry takes Amelie’s face in his hands, gently kissing her lips, the way her mouth so easily falls into rhythm with his making him lose his breath. He squeezes his eyes shut as her thumbs wipe away his tears. His chest caves as he breathes, the sight of her taking his breath away. Amelie could never see herself the way Harry does – and that is simply perfect.

“Amelie,” Harry says firmly, his lips pressing into her hairline sweetly, “thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for listening,” Amelie smiles shyly. Her heart sinks as Harry moves away from the mattress, the disappointment quickly disappearing as he stalks to his side and untucks the duvet, clambering beneath the sheets and tucking his arm around her waist, gently tugging her into his chest. “Hey, Harry, you’re my best friend.”

“Hey, Amelie,” Harry grins, kissing her cheek and reaching towards the novel on his bedside table, “you’re mine.”

Harry cracks the novel open and tucks the bookmark into the cover. Amelie clings to his chest, her cheek resting above his heart, one of his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close. Harry’s voice is soothing as the characters she knows so well are read aloud, her mind easing into a streamed consciousness.

Harry knows everything. He knows everything. He’s still here. He’s lying beside you and he’s holding you and he doesn’t want to let you go. Maybe it’s okay to love this time. Maybe it’ll be okay.

Fingers touching her cheek gather her attention. Gently opening her eyes, her sight meets his perfect smile and the dimple she adores. “Earth to Amelie,” Harry chuckles, the cover and printed pages closing around his finger on the designated page. “Welcome back, Ames.”

“Oh,” Amelie sighs, a blush tinting her cheeks as she blinks and redirects her attention to the novel in his hands. “Go over the page, again.”

“As if you haven’t read it three times,” Harry laughs, pinching her hips and smiling brightly at her laugher. He could listen to that sound – her laugh – for the rest of his life. He would consider himself lucky.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want to hear it.”

Harry coughs dramatically to ‘clear his throat’, a smirk on his lips as Amelie shakes her head at him. “You make me love you, and that could be the greatest thing my heart was ever fit to do.”

“That’s my favourite quote from the whole book.”

“Might be mine, too.” His smile makes her heart melt. Amelie swears she would happily spend her life trying to make Harry smile. He kisses her temple, squeezing her tighter into his chest and nodding to the handful of pages left at the end of the novel’s print. “Almost done.”

Harry Styles, I think I love you.

Harry quietly reads the ending pages of the novel they adored, his voice languid and smooth, drawing out each syllable to taste like honey from his lips. He notices Amelie’s closed eyes and even breathing, taking a moment to read aloud the author’s note and a preview to a new novel, simply to have her stay as calm as she was.

For a moment, Amelie’s feels weightless. Completely and utterly calm.

/ / /

Outside of Holmes Chapel, there sat a beautiful newly built home. On the side of the front door, there’s a postbox with Twist written on the side in a prettily painted letter – most likely a project by his mother – two cars parked in the drive. On either side of the walkway, there are alternating rose bushes and stones, the simplicity of the beige siding matching the modernised cottage.

Harry’s hand clutches her thigh, the corduroy dress clinging to her legs, a white long-sleeved blouse on her torso. Her fashion was unique, a mixture attributed to her keen eye to colours and patterns, and simply her persistent nature be outside the realm of normalcy. Harry felt inspired by that.

Amelie’s fingers tap against the windowsill, anxiety pulsing through her veins and twisting her stomach to make her nauseous, her mind overwhelmed with thoughts that couldn’t be quieted. “Oh mon dieu.” Her voice is quiet as she stares at the house, Harry unclipping his seatbelt and turning to face her. “My stomach is in literal knots.”

“Ames,” Harry says, squeezing her thigh and persuading her to meet his stare, “tell me what you’re thinking. Can talk it out with me like we talked about.”

“Know you say your family is going to like me,” Amelie sighs, her palms beginning to sweat and her heart racing in her chest, “but what happens if they don’t like me? Then what, Harry? Are we going to break up? Are you going to never speak to me, again?” Her chest tightens with the thought, her mouth growing dry and her temples beginning to pound. All of the physical manifestations of her anxiety beginning to come to the surface. “Here’s how I see it in my head. Our relationship ends, right,” she breathes out, eyes cast down to his hand on her skin, her fingers toying with the rings adorning his fingers, “then, I’ve told you all of the things that have happened to me, all the things that are wrong with me, all the personal details that I don’t trust anyone with.” Her eyes meet Harry’s and the fear is evident in the crease in her brows and haziness over her irises. “How the hell do I handle that? That you have all this information and I can’t do anything to stop you from sharing it.”

“Amelie Fay,” Harry sighs, his thumb brushing over her cheek soothingly, “breathe, mon ange.” He squeezes her thigh, his voice quiet and gentle as he speaks. “That’s not going to happen. Know it isn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Do you trust me?”

Amelie nods silently, not able to meet his stare without crying.

“Good,” Harry says, nudging his thumb under her chin and coaxing her to meet his eyes. “I need you to believe me when I say that I would never tell anyone the secrets that you’ve confided in me. That’s between you and me, and you and me only.” Harry would never tell anyone the secrets that Amelie has told him. “As for my family, I never stop talking about you. Gemma knows all about you, Mum and Robin. Dad isn’t here, obviously, but I’ve told him about you. All of the people inside know you and think you’re wonderful simply because you make me happy.”

Amelie’s eyes meet Harry’s, a heavy breath leaving her chest. He is so good. He is so good to her. “Me.”

“You,” Harry says, his lips tugging into a shy smile. “Have a few more people inside other than Gemma and Mum and Robin, but if you need a minute away, all you have to do is look at me or squeeze my hand.”

“Don’t want to seem rude,” Amelie murmurs, her heart beginning to pound in her ears at the thought.

“Gemma has anxiety. Trust me, not one person in there is going to think you’re rude.” His heart sinks as a tear slips down her cheek. “Angel, please don’t cry.”

Amelie exhales a shaky breath, taking the mirror down and patting her cheeks, quietly ignoring Harry’s hand squeezing her thigh. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you telling me or telling yourself? Because I know you will be,” Harry says reassuringly, turning the engine off and climbing out of the car. He walks around to her door, taking her hand in his and kissing her hairline as she squeezes his fingers. “C’mon, love.”

He smiles at Robin standing in the window, his lips curved into a smile at the young couple holding each other closely. He kisses her temple, gently releasing her hand and setting his hand on her lower back, encouraging her lightly to walk closer to the door.

“Anne, Harry and Amelie are here!” Robin calls through the foyer, opening the door wide and welcoming them inside the warm home. “Hi, I’m Robin.”

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” Amelie smiles at him, accepting his hug graciously. “Have heard so much about you.”

“Oh my goodness! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Anne cheers, wiping her hands on her patterned apron and embracing her tightly. Harry smiles at his mother, hugging her tightly and his cheeks blushing as her hand cups his cheek. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Mum,” Harry smirks, his palms splayed across Amelie’s spine, the warmth of his touch making her more comfortable. “Amelie, this is m’mum. Mum, Amelie.”

“Mrs Twist, it’s so nice to meet you. Harry has told me so much,” Amelie smiles, her fingers gently pinching his side as they move further into the house.

“Call me Anne, please,” Anne smiles, gently wrapping her arms around Amelie’s shoulders and nodding towards the sunlit kitchen. “Come in, come in. Would you like some coffee, wine, water? Anything you like.”

“Mum,” Harry drawls, nodding towards the way his mother was walking nearly on his girlfriend. Amelie smiles appreciatively, squeezing his hand as he reaches out towards her.

“Oh,” Anne squeaks, gently stepping away and simply linking their arms together, their bodies turned to meet his stare. “Just excited, Harry. You’ve been talking about Amelie so much; Robin, Gem, and I are happy to meet her, ourselves.”

“How was the flight? This isn’t your first time to England, Harry said,” Robin mentions, patting Harry on the back and nodding towards the kitchen to follow the women.

“Um, no, it’s not.” Amelie smiles at her boyfriend, her cheeks burning with the way Harry genuinely talks about her. “Um, my mum–”

“Oh, Mum!” Anne grins, washing her hands quickly and going to cut the vegetables on the wooden board.

“Mom, Mum, Mama, I use all three,” Amelie explains, her heart-warming with how Harry leans over the counter, his forearms against the marble, admiring the interaction between the two carefully.

“My mother is from France, just outside Paris, and my father is from California. All my mother’s family is in France, so I would come and have holidays in England and France every year until I turned sixteen.”

“Oh,” Anne sighs, her eyebrows furrowing together with disappointment.

“Nothing bad,” Amelie correctly quickly. “My dad works on movie sets as a photographer and my mom is an author, and our years got very busy. Every summer I spend in Paris, though.” Her eyes meet Harry’s a smile perched on his lips as his chin reaches his chest. “Except this summer.”

“Oh, that’s lovely! Have you got plans for this su–,” Anne says, immediately understanding their shared stares. “Oh. I see. That’ll be so fun. You’ll see so many places and get to experience so many things.”

“I’m really excited. I’ve never taken the time to explore America the way I have in Europe.”

“How did your parents meet, Amelie?”

“They met in Paris in the eighties when my mum was in college took a workshopping class and m’dad was working on foreign film. Met in the city one night with their friends and have been together ever since. Moved to California in the late eighties, had my brother, got married, had me, my sister. Luca and Fay are very wild,” Amelie laughs, her heart warm at the thought of her parents young and in love, much like she is.

“They sound absolutely lovely,” Anne smirks, pouring the vegetables in the pan.

“Mum, they’re incredible,” Harry gushes, squeezing his girlfriend’s hand and walking away to gather two glasses of water. He sets the water down, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leaning on her head.

“Have murals coming out soon, don’t you? Harry mentioned one you took him to at a café,” Robin says, walking around his wife and beginning to monitor the sauté.

Amelie tilts her head up slightly, smiling at Harry kisses her forehead sweetly, his height hovering over hers. “Have two up currently, a third almost done. Harry and I met because of the mural I painted in this restaurant in Burbank and I went to the opening night. Our first–”

“Date,” Harry interrupts, knowing that Amelie wouldn’t admit that that was a date. “Our first date.”

“That wasn’t a date, Harry,” Amelie says firmly, refusing to agree with him. Her definition of their first date would be the dinner that they made – Harry made – the night after they slept together for the first time. “Took you to work with me, basically.”

“Can you tell that we debate this quite a bit?” Harry laughs, his smile bright as he nods to his mother and stepfather, his hands squeezing her shoulders teasingly. “Continue.”

“Our first date, we went to a mural at a café near my apartment,” Amelie teases, her hand gently patting his cheek playfully. “Harry was quite a good helper.”

“That’s my boy,” Anne muses, smiling at the young couple sitting at the island sweetly.

“Mum,” Harry whines, his ear perking to the sounding bell at the front door. “Great, it’s Gemma, I’ll go get it.”

“Can I help, Anne? Love helping my mom in the kitchen,” Amelie smiles, walking around the island to where Harry’s mother was stirring the pasta in a pot.

“Can cut these fruits, if you’d like,” Anne nods, one hand perched on her hip, a wooden spoon stirring in the heated water. “Thank you, lovely.”

“That’s my favourite word, actually. Use it for special projects – in my art, mainly – and I love it.”

“Lovely?”

Amelie nods, gently pouring the fruits into a bowl and wrapping the saran over it, tucking it neatly into the refrigerator for dessert. “Mhm. It’s from my favourite novel – a quote in it. Lovely is a lovely word that should be used more often.”

“Oh, I love that,” Anne coos, tapping the excess water on the spoon and testing the pasta, ensuring that everything is completely cooked.

“Harry’s reading the book, right now, actually.”

“That makes sense,” Robin hums, standing from the chair and walking towards his wife, kissing her cheek, reaching around and taking his glass of wine.

“What makes sense, Robin?” Amelie questions nervously, wiping her sweaty palms against her skirt, making the anxiety by pretending to adjust the hem of the dress.

“Harry told me the other day that the book he was reading was getting really intense and couldn’t speak,” Robin laughs, shaking his head and waving his hand playfully. “Forgot to call me back, but it makes sense as to why he was so invested, now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Amelie sighs, tucking her hands in her pockets and leaning against the counter, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

“Don’t be sorry,” Robin assures, smiling widely, his eyes bright as he stares at her. “Means that he was enjoying it and that’s all that matters.”

Robin kisses Anne’s temple, mentioning that he would be in the garden, going to water the plants that have been planted in pots along with the siding. Amelie is quiet, taking the plates that have been set out for dinner and lining the settings for the evening, the number beginning to overwhelm her. Her mind is silenced as Anne clears her throat, her head peeking around the corner and smiling as her children speak in the foyer, oblivious to the kitchen.

“Amelie,” Anne says quietly, nodding towards where she was and waiting patiently for Amelie to walk nearer, not wanting to raise her voice and have her son hear their conversation.

“Hm.”

“I,” Anne sighs, gently wrapping her in a hug and soaking in the moment, smiling as Amelie squeezes her. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Amelie asks, her lips pursed together, all her thoughts jumbled and unable to understand.

Why would Anne be thanking you? Over the last three weeks, you have done nothing but have anxiety attacks and worry her son. You should be thanking her for raising such a respectful man, a caring man.

“Harry called Robin and me when everything happened. He told us how you were getting on a flight to go and see him, the next day,” Anne begins, her hands holding her arms gently and staring into her eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” Amelie wouldn’t have thought anyone would thank her, that wasn’t the intention. Harry needed her, and she would do anything to make him happy. “He needed me. That’s what you do.”

“No, it’s not,” Anne says, smiling at the innocence. Harry was right when telling her that Amelie accepting compliments is a rarity. “Not many people would do that for someone they met a month earlier. Doing that takes care and trust and friendship. Knowing that you and Harry have that, as his mother, that’s something that we all want for our children – having someone that genuinely cares.”

Harry’s lips spread into a grin as they walk into the kitchen, Gemma alongside him, Chloe following closely behind. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, love,” Anne says, taking the pot and moving it over on the cooker. “You’re fine.”

“Okay,” Harry hums suspiciously, walking around the counter and taking Amelie’s hand, smiling as she squeezes him. “Gemma, this is Amelie. Amelie, this is Gemma.”

“Hi,” Gemma grins, embracing Amelie tightly and smiling as they sway. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” Amelie smiles, her voice quiet and intimidated. Gemma is someone so important to Harry, giving a good impression is necessary. Heart pounding in her ears, Amelie’s voice shakes slightly as she speaks. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Chloe, and Ella is coming in for you to meet.”

“Great. Hello,” Amelie says, hugging Chloe and taking a step away, graciously accepting Harry’s hug and his kiss on the temple.

“Doing great, angel,” Harry whispers into her hair, hugging her tightly. Harry could see the anxiety beginning to build in her chest, sitting heavily over her lungs, and he wanted to avoid her panicking and feeling guilty.

“Girls, you can go into the living room and I’ll be right there,” Anne says sweetly, nodding towards the open space with tea and wine set on the table.

Harry squeezes her hip encouragingly, smiling as Gemma takes her hand and leads her into the lounge, Chloe and Ella following closely behind, all three taking a glass of wine while Amelie takes tea, her ankles crossed as she makes settles in the lounger closest to the kitchen, Harry standing in her peripheral vision.

“Amelie,” Chloe smiles, taking a light sip and patting her knee sweetly, “tell us everything.”

Amelie begins talking about her mother and father, their quirkiness making her smile. Brandon and Phoebe are introduced, their dynamic making Gemma laugh and talk about how much Harry used to annoy her when they were younger. Chloe talks about how much Harry talks about her, the way he gushes over her artwork and the talent. Amelie’s chest begins to tighten, all the compliments paired with questions beginning to overwhelm her. Harry’s family is so kind and courteous, and her mind sputters with hateful thoughts about how she wished she could be normal, and not feel suffocated in the simplest of situations. Amelie forces a smile and memorised answers, the façade coming to tell a story.

Harry watches her body language closely, worried about her anxiety. He is oblivious to Robin walking inside, Anne leaving the room, Gemma, Ella, and Chloe continuing to talk to Amelie about everything.

Robin taps Harry’s shoulder, smiling at him as Harry spreads into a grin, his fingertips circling the rim of his glass and taking a breath. “Amelie is a really lovely girl, Harry.”

“Isn’t she? Amelie is,” Harry gushes, his cheeks blushing as his heart begins to race thinking about her, “is something else.” Harry looks at Robin, the smile on his lips showing how much he adores her. “Makes me so happy, she does.”

“Mum and I can see that,” Robin says, nodding towards the smiling girl in the next room. “Looks like you make her happy, too. Have you seen her face every time you walk into the room?”

“Hope I make her happy,” Harry confesses quietly, running his fingers through his hair and taking a breath. “That’s genuinely all I care about.”

“How has her anxiety been? Know that your mother was telling me that she was having anxiety about coming.”

“Um, it’s been alright,” Harry says, his chest deflating as he notices Amelie’s palms rubbing against her dress, her fingertips tapping against her knees. “Asked Gemma for some advice. Know what triggers her anxiety, now, so I’m able to be more careful. Try to be there for her, when it’s unexpected. Have her talk through it with me, now.” Harry is trying to sound hopeful, to show that he was grateful that Amelie talks to him, yet the guilt sits at the forefront of his mind. “It’s difficult knowing that I can’t do anything to take it away.”

“Good that you’re there for her, though,” Robins assures him, patting his shoulder supportively. Opening his mouth to say something, he quiets, seeing Harry stand from his chair and a concerned expression etched in his features.

“Don’t mean to cut you there, ‘m sorry,” Harry rushes, his eyes flashing with nervousness. “Give me a minute. Think she needs me, right now.”

“Go on,” Robin smiles sadly, nodding towards the adjoining room where everyone was conversing and smiling.

Gemma smiles as Harry walks into the living room, gently touching Amelie’s shoulder to avoid scaring her. He smiles at her, her eyes brightening with his presence around her. “Have someplace I wanted to show you. Come on a walk with me.”

“Okay,” Amelie smiles, a sigh relieving the tightness in her lungs. Harry makes always makes the anxiety calm, the thoughts slow, the racing heart begins to beat normally. His presence was soothing, his touch delicate on her skin.

“Gon’a take her to the meadow before the sunset,” Harry says to Anne and Robin. “Be back soon.”

Anne nods with a smile, Gemma waving and continuing their conversation as they leave. Harry takes her hand, interlocking their fingers and opening the door, the sweet air outside immediately washing over them. He points towards the meadow near the end of the street, smiling brightly as the wind messes with her fringe.

“Hands are all sweaty,” Amelie murmurs, narrowing her eyes as Harry refuses to release her hand.

“Don’t care,” Harry hums, shaking his head as he tucks his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer as they walk towards the field of flowers. “Get all sweaty through a show and you hug me and kiss me.”

“Harry, that’s different.”

“No, it’s not,” he argues, kissing her temple and rubbing his thumb along her skin. “Don’t argue with me about holding your hand, angel. I’m going to do it either way.”

“Could tell I was having an anxiety attack in there, couldn’t you?” Amelie says quietly, a feeling of guilt sitting on her chest.

Harry nods silently, squeezing her hand comfortingly. “Feelin’ any better, now that you’re outside?”

“Little bit,” she says, her eyelashes against her cheeks as she takes a deep breath. “Fresh air is nice.”

“Doing so great in there, you know,” he whispers against her, kissing her hairline and squeezing her into his chest. “Mum is obsessed with you. Robin thinks you’re lovely. Gemma won’t leave you alone. Told you they were going to love you.”

“They do? Don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.”

“Not lying, I swear,” Harry reassures her, his heart breaking as a tear slips down her cheeks. “Oh, mon ange.”

Amelie tucks her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly, soaking in his scent and listening to his heartbeat to soothe the nerves. “Thought I was going to throw up all over the fruit.”

“Look at you!” His arms squeeze around her shoulders, smiling as she moves away slightly to meet his gaze, his lips spread into a smile. “Not throwing up on anything and making it through!”

Her lips quirk into a smirk, her heart melting as Harry takes her cheeks in his and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. He could always find a way to make her think everything would be okay. Amelie was even beginning to believe him. “Can you tell me where we’re going? Gon’a get dark out, soon.”

“Has Phoebe told you the story of m’first kiss? Have a feeling she has,” Harry asks, interlocking their hands and continuing their walk to the field.

“Don’t quite remember it, but ’m assuming you were as charming as ever,” Amelie teases, squeezing his hand as he squeezes hers, the childish game making her heart swell in her chest.

God, I really do love you.

“Couldn’t bring you there because loads of fans go, now, but,” Harry smiles, gesturing towards the open field of flowers and a large tree with carved letters centred in the middle.

“Don’t make me walk through all the grass,” she pouts, her attention travelling to the light-wash denim clinging to her thighs. One step into the high grass and there would be grass stains all over her. “Gon’a make my skirt all messed up with stains.”

“Get on, then,” he says, tilting his head and squatting to reach her height.

“Harry.”

“Amelie,” Harry mimics, turning around and grabbing her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. “Held you before and I didn’t drop you. You’ll be fine. I’ve got you, remember? Always.”

“Baby,” Amelie whines, blinking innocently and jutting her bottom lip. Her hope would be that Harry would give in, that he would tell his story and there would be a different way into the meadow.

“Ames, the puppy eyes won’t work.” Harry’s voice is stern, his eyes narrowing at he stares at her, wondering how long it’ll take to break. “You have two seconds or I’m picking you up.”

“Fine, fine.” Amelie raises her hands in concession, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders as he turns on his heel, a squeak leaving her lips as his hands reach for her thighs and tighten them around his waist. Her chin rests on his shoulder, her voice quiet as the flowers brush against his calves. “Tell me why you want to bring me here.”

“Want to kiss you against that tree,” Harry smirks, pecking her cheek and gently setting her on the ground as they reach the tree, the sunset piercing through the branches and leaves. His hands lean against the trunk, his lips hovering over hers, the smile on her lips making his heart thump against his ribs. “That’s why.”

“Harry.”

Harry ghosts his lips across hers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as her hands grab his cheeks. Amelie brings him closer, their chests together, his arm circling around her waist and squeezing her hips, his body melting into hers. Kissing her intoxicating, the only moments that Harry wants to end is to gather more air to continue having his mouth rhythmically align with hers. He gently pulls away, his lips peppering kisses across her face, her laughter making the butterflies in his belly swirl and his chest tight.

“Thought we could put our initials in the tree. Other couples were doing it on my last visit,” Harry suggests, pulling out his keys from his pocket. “Our thing, y’a know.”

“As in, you and me,” Amelie smiles softly, her heart warm at the sentiment.

He raises his eyebrows curiously, staring around at the emptiness around and the dimming sunset. “Considering we are the only people here, that would be the ‘we’ I’m referring to.”

“Don’t be an asshole when you’re trying to be sweet. Defeats the purpose.” Harry smiles at the light tap to his chest, the sarcasm in every syllable making him laugh. “Thumb wrestle to find out who carves it.”

“Thumb wrestle. Are you serious, love?”

“I am so serious,” Amelie sterns, quieting her voice as she presses light kisses along his jaw, one kiss near his ear to whisper, “Let me win.”

“Not letting you win,” Harry retorts, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t play anything to let you win.”

“Guess I can’t agree, then.”

Harry grabs her waist, holding her to him, shaking his head as he wraps his fingers around hers. Amelie’s eyes light up as they play the childish game, her laugher making his heart want to burst out of his chest. His thumb tucks her almost immediately, chuckling at the pout on her lips.

He noticed the barest point on the trunk, taking his keys and carefully carving their initials into a circle – as per her request – and wiping the excess away. His smile is aching his cheeks as they take a picture with the carving, her hands holding his cheeks as she kisses him, the sentiment making him so happy.

Amelie makes him happy.

Harry desperately tries to coax her into sneaking away to have sex in his childhood bedroom, on their way back to Anne and Robin’s. He claims that he was only teasing, but Amelie knows the truth. He stares at her adoringly as the sun sets, the golden hues radiating on her perfect skin. He refuses to stop staring, insisting that it’s his duty to admire the beauty of the world around him.

Harry kisses Amelie sweetly, on the front steps, the young love feeling radiating between their lips, taking in the final moment alone before walking inside and being overwhelmed with the questions and conversations once more.

“Amelie! Brought out all the old pictures of Harry for you to look at,” Anne smiles as soon as they walk through the door, her hands holding at least four photo albums filled to the brim with candids and images of Harry as a child.

“How great,” Amelie grins, patting his chest and walking into the living room. “Only fair since you saw m’photos.”

“Hardly fair, love! Our differences at sixteen are going to cause this relationship to go up in flames,” Harry complains, walking in behind her and waiting for her to settle onto the couch before situating himself behind her, staring over her shoulder.

“Oh, who’s being dramatic, now.”

“Still you.”

Anne and Robin laugh at their banter. When Harry and Amelie speak to each other, it’s as though everyone around them disappears, and they are the only two to exist. Anne knows that Harry is in love.

“Beg to differ,” Amelie giggles, opening the photo album and smiling at the pictures of her boyfriend in his earliest years. “Harry, look at you!”

“Harry used to stand at the top of the stairs every morning and sing Elvis and Fleetwood Mac and wake us all up,” Gemma grumbles teasingly, rolling her eyes as Harry stares at her warningly.

“He still does that,” Amelie giggles, patting Harry’s cheek, smirking as he lays a wet kiss to her jaw. “Having a morning person and a night owl staying together is often a mess.”

“Drive her crazy in the mornings.”

“Ooh, I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Chloe says excitedly, pointing towards the inked flowers and constellations on her thighs, peeking through the hem of her dress.

“For right now, I have two. I have one on each thigh,” Amelie explains, setting the album down and clapping her hands against each thigh. “I want, like, three more though.”

“Three more!” Ella says astonishingly. Gemma laughs at her comment, shaking her head quietly.

“My sister, Phoebe, and I have matching ones planned,” Amelie explains, listing the tattoos by memory. “I want a moon, too. Not sure what I want as my third, but I have a spot for it.”

“Harry, before you know it, your girlfriend will have as many tattoos as you,” Chloe says playfully, smirking as Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, Amelie oblivious to his actions.

“Oh no,” Amelie says, shaking her head and firmly disagreeing. “I don’t have the courage or patience to sit through that many tattoos. My thigh tattoos took three hours each – at separate times – and I was too bored.”

“I love the constellation one,” Ella mentions, pointing to the aligned planets on her thigh. “Does it have a meaning?”

“It’s from my favourite book,” Amelie grins, her heart swelling in her chest as Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, his nose tucked in her hair. “There’s a story that’s told about a British philosopher and an April Fool’s joke that he played on live television. The theory behind it is that Jupiter and Pluto would align with Earth and defy gravity. Naturally, because it was television, everyone decided to believe him, and people were saying they were floating.”

“They weren’t,” Chloe says, her mind trying to understand the concept. Gemma stares in confusion, her head quirked to the side.

“Not at all,” Amelie says, shaking her head and squeezing Harry’s hands. “But I love the idea of feeling that weightless. Having it reminds me of those moments that you feel that happy. The Jovian-Plutonian Effect.” Harry smirks against her hair, silently thinking about Valentine’s Day and the way they talked about the effect applying to them. “One of the quotes says, ‘We do not remember days, we remember moments.’ and I try to stick by that.”

“I love that so much,” Gemma gushes, typing the name and laying her phone on the coffee table in front of her. “I’ll have to research that whole thing. It sounds so cool.”

“Harry already has,” Amelie laughs, teasingly poking his cheeks. “He has like, a dozen papers about it on the table at home.”

Anne smiles at Robin, the way Amelie says home making her heart swell in her chest. All that they could want for Harry would be to find someone that makes him feel happy, that makes him feel at home.

With Amelie, Harry finally has.

~

Amelie struts through the aisles teasingly, occasionally ghosting her bum across his crotch as she moves through the shop, smirking when Harry grabs her hip and kisses her shoulder, knowing exactly what she’s doing. Harry hadn’t gone shopping in nearly a week, a reason being the time spent at his mother’s house and the days he took Amelie out to his favourite restaurants and quiet bars, meeting with old friends and having private dates to introduce her to the London scene. Her first time in London with him, and he was determined to incorporate her into every aspect of his life, have her know everything. He suggested that they make dinner, something together, although he knows that he’ll wind up cooking with her sitting on the nearest barstool or with her arms tucked around his waist. He never minded that.

Her indecisive nature presumed her, Harry calculating that they’ve been in the tiny shop near his house for nearly an hour collecting different ingredients. Amelie stared at the options, leaning her bum against his groin, smirking when she feels his hand squeeze her hip.

“Tryin’ to tease me, are you?” Harry mutters in her ear, kissing the nape of her neck and smiling at goosebumps that prickle her skin. Her feigned innocence threatens to make him hard, her lips pecking his cheek as she turns her head.

“Qu'allez-tu faire?”

He scoffs, knowing for certain what Amelie is trying to do – and doing so successfully. “What am I going to do about it? Gon’a find yourself in trouble if y’a keep tha’ up.”

“Trouble, hm? Might just continue doing it if that’s the case,” Amelie giggles, kissing the vein jutting out in his neck and folding her arms in front of her chest, walking into another aisle and rolling her eyes as Harry follows her with the trolley, a smug smirk on his lips as he budges the edge into her backside. “Can you quit it?”

Harry grumbles at the stranger eyeing Amelie, the eyes travelling too far down her body for Harry’s liking. For fuck’s sake, she isn’t naked. “Miss, is he bothering you?”

Amelie giggles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as Harry mumbles something under his breath. “Unfortunately, but it’s okay, he’s mine.” He nods his head towards the stranger, implying that everything was taken care of, that she was taken care of. His lips spread into a grin as she walks towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, leaning onto her toes to whisper in his ear, “Can you tell me why he was looking at me like that? Makes me feel so weird.”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Harry whispers, his arms tucked around her waist, his fingertips brushing hair away from her face. Her fringe parted slightly in the middle, barely enough for him to see the glimmer in her eyes, “and look like this without even trying. Anyone that sees you wants to look.”

“Only want you looking at me like that.”

“Have that skimpy lingerie at home, yeah? Have me staring at you with googly eyes all night if y’a wear that.”

“Fine,” Amelie sighs, the way Harry is staring at her so intently making her cheeks flush. Her lips touch his jaw lightly, conceding to the suggestion and not bothering to engage in the banter that would ensue.

“Only argued with me once today,” he gasps, feigning his shock by pressing his palm to her forehead, pretending to feel her temperature. Her eyes roll as she takes his hand off her skin. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Feeling fine, you pest,” she says, shaking her head as she moves around the trolley and eyes the selection of kinds of pasta and sauces, although he would much rather make his own. “Make spaghetti, tonight? Wine sounds so good,” she mentions, licking her lips at the thought. “Can have wine, spaghetti, ice cream–”

“Great sex,” Harry interrupts teasingly, his forearms leaning on over the handle and meeting her stare, her lips pressed tightly together to avoid smiling. He loves seeing her flustered, especially over words that he certainly could have kept private.

“Can you control yourself? This is a public place, you know.” Her hands grip the edge of the trolley, her jaw tensing as her eyes narrow at him, her chest heaving with her breaths. Harry’s smug smile and the indent of his dimple ruins her façade. He ruins every ounce of her self-control. Not that Amelie cares all that much.

“Doll, you tell me how to control myself when you look like that, like I already said,” Harry waves his hand and his eyes travel the expanse of her body – the body he adores. “Add on the fact that you have a habit of rubbing yourself on me every time you walk by.”

“Must be the worst day of your life,” Amelie pouts, sarcasm dripping on every word rolling off her tongue. “Hate to do that to you.”

“Quit being annoying and get the ingredients, you minx.”

“I am not a chef,” she says, releasing the metal cart and returning to the centre of the aisle, turning on her heel and staring at either side to try and make a decision. “You have to tell me what to get.”

Harry searches for a recipe online, beginning to read out the ingredients one by one and watching as the items fall into the centre of the buggy. He loves the domesticity of it, of shopping with her, of admiring her as she stares at the different kinds of pasta for nearly five minutes before talking about making their own. Harry teased Amelie for her indecisiveness, however, if he was being honest, he quite enjoyed it, because it reminds him that she never questioned being with him. Her indecisiveness never made her question being his lover.

Amelie paces to the selection of wines and liquors, her bottom lip between her teeth, her arms folded in front of her chest, her jeans loose around her ankles and clinging to her thighs, the slight pudge of her stomach and hips hidden beneath an oversized shirt that was packed in her suitcase. Her eyes roll as Harry continues to stare at her, having not taken his eyes off her for the entirety of their shopping, a grin plastered on his lips, his cheeks flushing pink as her lips threaten to smile. Her finger taps against her chin, eyeing three options, unable to decide.

God, I fucking love you.

Harry’s eyes widen at the thought, the sentence echoing in his brain. Harry loves Amelie. He must’ve known that. He certainly knew that, yet somehow, standing there, watching as Amelie weighs the options of the three bottles that are all the same, Harry can feel his heart pounding so loudly that there is no other sound in his ears, no other thoughts in his mind than how much he loves her.

All that repeats are the three words that are begging to fall from his lips.

“Have another minute to decide, or it’s my choice,” Harry says, choking on his own breath, the words threatening to spill.

Not the right place. Not the right time.

Harry wanted to tell Amelie when he felt it was right. He is very well aware that she may not say it back, she may feel it, though she might not say it. He understood why.

“No way, Harry, I am not drinking tequila,” Amelie says firmly, her head turning to meet his gaze, the way he was admiring her making her stomach swirl with butterflies. “Not tonight, anyway.”

“Thirty seconds, angel.”

“Fine! Getting all three.” Carefully, she sets all three bottles in the buggy, making a mental note and checking the ingredients off a list.

Harry laughs, grabbing her hand and tugging her into his chest. He tucks his nose into her hair, kissing her temple as she squeezes him. He couldn’t say the words, now. He would say them when the timing was right, when it was impossible for him to continue another day without her knowing how much he adores her, how he loves her.

Knew I was in love with you at the damn grocery store.

“Quoi?”

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles into her hair, his eyes squeezed shut as her scent waves over him, their moment cut by an older woman coughing uncomfortably to get their attention to sneak behind them to take a bottle. “Have a crush on you, that’s all.”

“Have a crush on you, too,” Amelie smiles softly, kissing his cheek and hugging him tighter, seemingly surprised by the way the words were said so openly, so public. “C’mon,” she says, squeezing his hip and moving to begin walking towards the tills, “we have pasta to make, wine to drink and you are going to see me in that thing you like.”

Harry teasingly rushes through purchasing the groceries, unloading the packages and setting them in the car as Amelie shuffles through their music, the speakers vibrating with the vibrato that echoed through the song. His hand is held tightly in hers as he sings along to Fleetwood Mac and Otis Redding. His thumb brushes over her skin as their connected hands lay in his lap, his eyes occasionally peering over to her, smirking as her gaze meets his. He knew that it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, they were simply driving home, but the idea that her hand was in his, and it felt like that was home, made his heart swell in his chest.

Harry would do anything to live in this feeling forever.

“Let me in. Wine is heavy,” Amelie groans as Harry stands in the doorway of the kitchen. He nearly ran into the house, setting the bags on the counter and crossing his arms in front of his chest and spreading his legs to guard her.

“Have to have the password,” Harry smirks, his arms circling around her shoulders as her arms sneak around his waist.

“Did you know that you’re a child?” Amelie ghosts her lips across his, grinning as his mouth connects with hers, impatient and yearning. “Know that that was the password. Let me in.”

Moving aside, Amelie sets the bags on the island and taking out the wine, taking two glasses from the cabinet and pouring the alcohol. Handing him his, their glasses clink lightly, a smile pursed on his features as her tongue pokes between her lips and soaks in the taste. He reaches around her, turning on their playlist and the volume higher, the love songs piercing through the silent air.

Cooking together always seemed like a great idea until there was splattered sauce and messy faces, stolen kisses between each step, teasing each other with brushed touches and gentle smacks. Amelie loved this about Harry, the way he wasn’t the stereotype, the way he enjoyed the little things with her – the way she couldn’t cook to save her life, but she would try because it was with him, the way she admires the way he can multitask and talk to her about their day whilst continuing to cut vegetables and cook and clean as he mulls about.

Amelie could be with him all the time.

Dinner was filled with laughter and spilt wine and dancing around the kitchen island. Harry insisted on serenading ‘Right Down the Line’ to her and playfully slow dancing to Shuggie Otis. He twirled Amelie beneath him, pulling her tightly into his chest and kissing her cheek. Her eyes met the bright green eyes staring at her, the song continuing to sound around them, yet the only thing that replayed in her head was a quote by Emily Brontë.

I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and altogether.

“Ames,” Harry says, his thumb dragging along her cheekbone and taking her attention, “hi.”

Amelie kisses him, taking his mouth against hers and her eyes squeezing together, simply trying to convey the love she feels without saying the words that are petrifying to say. Harry whimpers into her mouth, taking in the way her tongue glides across his and her fingertips twirl in his hair. His arms reach under her thighs, silently asking to lift her and take her away. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and sucking in a breath as his hands grab her thighs and her legs tuck around his waist.

Harry is the only person to ever carry Amelie.

His bedroom feels warm with their naked bodies pressed against each other, their mouths tied together, tasting each other, absorbing the way they are simply together. Music continues to play through the walls, even with the door closed, their rhythm aligned with the thrumming bass and drum.

Harry groans with lust as Amelie slowly strips from her clothing, his eyes raking along her skin and the freckles that mapped her. He nearly melts at the sight – the lace adorning her making his skin burn with longing. His fingers reach behind her, her body arching to give him access to the clasp. His hands throw her clothing onto the carpet, his fingers ghosting across her, adoring everything.

“No one has ever made me feel like you do,” Amelie whispers against his lips, her eyes glossing over at the thought. Harry is so special to her.

“Make you feel like this for as long as you let me.”

Kissing her once more, his mouth sponges kisses along her skin, moaning into her navel as her fingertips tug on his hair. He marks her hips, sucking a bruise into the skin and gently prying her thigh away from his head. Harry’s thoughts were encompassed by Amelie – her lips, her breasts, the curves of her hips, her thighs, her perfect thighs, her perfume, her kiss – and everything that makes her.

Hiccup.

Gently dragging his lips along her inner thigh, his thumb pinches her hips to focus her attention on his touch. Holding his breath lightly, he wills the interruption to disappear before his movements are forced to break.

Hiccup. Hiccup.

Amelie giggles, her knee gently knocking against his shoulder as his body leans on his heels, his hands on his bare thighs, his briefs sticking to his hips. He attempts to hold his breath, again, only to be interrupted. Harry manoeuvres off the mattress, reaching for the glass of water situated on his bedside table, chugging the liquid to rid himself of the distraction.

Hiccup. Hiccup.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry moans, taking the glass and shaking his head, frustrated at the incessant interruption. Amelie is laying on his bed – naked – waiting for him. “Don’t move.”

And Harry has the fucking hiccups.

“Can’t hold your breath that long,” she giggles, turning onto her side and staring at the flustered man she adores.

“Not with m’face between your thighs,” he says nonchalantly, smirking at the reaction she gives him, her cheeks flushing and her thighs clamping together. He kisses her forehead, taking a breath before pacing towards the bedroom door. “Be right back.”

Amelie waits for Harry to leave, taking the silk robe behind the door and wrapping it around, padding into the kitchen to see his distraught figure leaning over the sink and trying to hold his breath. Walking behind him silently, her arms snake around his waist, a smile on her lips as he jumps slightly at the shock.

“Christ Almighty, you scared me.”

“Good,” she smirks, kissing his shoulder and squeezing her arms around his chest. “Hiccups are gone, now.”

“Would say thank you but I think you did this more for yourself.”

“Maybe I did,” Amelie giggles, interlocking their fingers and nodding towards his bedroom, her hand untying her robe as they walk. “Guess you’ll have to find out, huh?”

“Minx,” Harry smirks, his hands yanking the silk away from her skin and laying it on the ground with his briefs, the playlist beginning to repeat as they make their way to the bed, the duvet drawn over their naked bodies.

“Could call me that.” Her fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear, the way her fingertips ghost delicately across his skin making his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “You’re cute.”

“Going for ruggedly handsome.”

Her head lifts from the pillow and moulds her mouth to his, their kiss taking her breath away and having his chest bare against hers, his hands travelling her skin as his knee leans between her thighs.

“Absolutely.”

Harry pulled away, taking Amelie in, the way her chest heaved and her eyes slightly glossed over, the way her curves fit perfectly in his hands and her lips moulded onto his, the way their hearts beat in the same rhythm and he seemingly was made for her. His thumbs gently stroke her cheek, his eyes nearly welling with tears with emotion.

“Amelie.”

“Hm,” she hums, gently scratching his shoulders and holding him to her, his forearms near her ears and holding his weight above her.

“Do you know how easy it is to fall in love with you? God, it’s so fucking easy.”

“Easy,” she says, barely believing the words lingering over her. “You fell in love with me so easily.”

“Know that you don’t think so, but, fuck, you are so beautiful,” Harry breathes, his lips peppering kisses along her cheeks and jaw, drawing a smile on her lips. “All of you – your smile, your eyes, your art, your words, the way you say my name. All of it, all of you. You make it so easy.”

Amelie isn’t able to say anything, her voice caught in her throat and tears welling in her eyes.

Did Harry say that he loves you? Harry just said it’s easy to fall in love with you. Harry is falling in love with you. Harry may have already fallen in love with you.

All the emotions in Amelie’s mind stall and there is a hitch in her breath. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Harry nudges his nose against her, a gloss hazing over the olive irises that Amelie adores – loves – and a tear threatening to spill. Harry loves her. Amelie loves him. Neither one has uttered a word. Amelie grabs his face and melds her lips to his passionately, silently saying the words repeating in her mind.

He smiles into their kiss, unable to hide his grin. Her giggles echo around the bedroom, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and squeezing him impossibly closer. Harry was well aware that what they were doing was messy, the laughter and the kisses and the way his hips rolled into hers, but there was something so special, so delicate about it. Harry’s heart ached to think about it, to really understand what was happening.

And so, they made love for the very first time, passionate and delicate and overwhelming with emotion in the very best way. Amelie didn’t even know it.

~

Harry’s voice is rough in the mornings – slightly rasped and gravelly, sounding as though they screamed at the top of their lungs on the rooftop in the middle of the night, sounding beautiful. Amelie hears the thick voice from his bedroom, the door creaked open, a sweatshirt strewn across the edge of the bed for her to take. His sweatshirts were two sizes too big for his shoulders and torso, yet he wore the material for days, ensuring that as soon as Amelie put it on, she would be surrounded in him. His sweatshirt was warm, freshly out of the dryer like he knows she loves – because although she insists on keeping the bedroom at frost levels, she is always cold in the morning – and there are a set of boxers hidden beneath the cotton, waiting for her. He knew that her suitcase was packed to the brim with pyjamas and clothing for the two weeks, but there was something about seeing her in his clothes that made his heart flutter.

Amelie in Harry’s clothes reminded him how much he loves her.

Harry can hear Amelie shuffling about upstairs, pulling on the boxers and throwing the sweatshirt over her naked torso, tying her hair into a ponytail and grumbling about how her fringe was growing into her eyes. Amelie asked Harry for help cutting her fringe once and seeing his nervousness with a pair of scissors near her eyes made her second guess the decision and quickly take the tool away.

Amelie saunters into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his midsection, kissing his naked back and smirking at the music playing in the speakers. “Listening to ‘Strange Love’, huh?”

“Know you love ‘Too Young to Burn’ but I like this one more,” Harry replies, continuing to poor their mugs and squeezing her hand. “How’s it looking? Are we inside all day?”

Amelie shakes her head at his comment, waiting to have him turn around against the counter, his eyes moving to the bruises lining her throat beneath the hood of the sweatshirt. “Could you control your mouth, once in a while?”

Harry smirks, taking a sip and shaking his head, coaxing the hood over her head and hovering his lips over her, his fingertips toying with the strings and instantly pulling them tight, cackling at the annoyance on her features as her eyes squeeze shut in reaction. “Neither of us would like that very much, now, would we?”

“Child,” she mutters, stretching the elastic and messing with the hair on her head, her fringe waving near her eyes, “you’re a child. Hand me my coffee.”

“Dance with me.” Harry takes Amelie’s hand, walking into the open space in the kitchen and turning the music louder on his phone. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, staring into his eyes and soaking in the sunlight piercing through the open windows. “Strange girl, with lipstick smudge, ask me if I've ever loved,” Harry sings to her, only releasing his grip around her waist to brush her hair away from her face. “Tells me where she's coming from, sets me down and gives me strange love.”

“Have you ever loved, Mr Styles?” Amelie smiles, giggling as Harry squeezes her into his chest and kisses her cheeks sweetly. “Not love your parents or your sister or your friends. Loved someone, like, romantically.”

Harry grins, happily nodding and pressing his lips to hers. “Have loved someone, do love someone. All the same.” His eyelids flutter as her fingers card through his curls, smiling at their kiss deepens and the unsaid words pass through their tongues. “And you, Ms Beneventini?”

“Thought so, but I certainly haven’t loved someone, before.” Harry meets her gaze, the embarrassment and fear etched into his features. Her head shakes quickly, knowing that he is questioning whether or not she would feel the same. Amelie does; she very well does feel the same. “Love someone, now, though.”

Harry grins, laying his lips on Amelie’s and kissing her deeply, soaking in the way the unspoken love is itching their skin. Had Harry just said he loved her? Had Amelie just said she loved him? How many times would they run around the question and answer it all at once? Harry didn’t mind, as long as Amelie’s lips were on his and her arms were wrapped tightly around him, hugging her tightly into his warmth.

Harry replayed the song, insisting that because Amelie talked that it had to be played, once again. His hands clasp around her hips, her hands in his hair, his eyes staring into hers as they sway quietly around his kitchen.

Feelin' strong and extra tired, like a train of firey dust. Flames of lust from my touch, I go home and give you strange love.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: The Proposal (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: Follow up for Always the Quiet Ones. After a month away, Mr. Reeves is back and he has a proposal for you. Part 1 - Always the Quiet Ones | Part 3 - Dark Paradise| Part 4 - Without You

Author’s Notes: I just got attacked by a plot bunny and this happened. I will continue to visit this universe because I totally love the possibilities here. If you have ideas or suggestions, my ask box are always open. And as always, feedback is appreciated.

Wordcount: 5985

Warnings: Smut (dirt talk; bad language; d/s vibes; unprotected sex)

Your shift had wrapped up a few minutes ago and after hours on your feet, you were taking a few moments to rest before heading home. Trying to avoid rush hour and a packed train, you were hanging out in the breakroom with Sean, one of the bellboys.

The breakroom was the place of rest for all the employees, from the secretaries in the administrative offices, to the front desk girls, the housekeepers and bellboys. It used to be a dark, depressing place when you first started 3 years ago, with concrete walls and poor lighting, but everyone pitched in to turn it into a comfortable room.

Now with painted walls, nice couch, and armchairs; a dining table and even an old expresso machine the restaurant threw out and one of the guys from the laundry room fixed, it felt like your second home. How sad was that?

You moved to town for college with big hopes and dreams to become a lawyer and help out your family, but to make those come true you had to face long work hours at the hotel, fitted between your classes. Whatever free time you had was spent studying and finishing college assignments.

You didn’t even know what a social life looked like at this point, but that was ok. You were almost done with college and if you kept your grades up – which you have been doing – you had great potential to get an internship at Pearson & Hardman and then your life would change, you just knew it.

“Earth to Y/N,” Sean called, making your attention snap back at him. “Did you hear a word I’ve said?”

You hadn’t, lost in your own thoughts. He had been telling you about his quarterback days before he blew his knee and had to give up a career in sports and take this job to help his family. Sean liked to reminiscence his glory days and you didn’t mind listening, but sometimes you didn’t really pay attention.

Not like some of the others. They would hang to every word. Mostly because Sean was handsome and funny, and everyone seemed to have a crush on him. However, according to Maggie, he only had eyes for you.

If you had known about that a month ago, you would be more excited by the prospect. You liked Sean. He was a great guy. Always took the time to walk you to the train station whenever you finished your shift late, like a perfect gentleman. Definitely boyfriend material.

He wasn’t, however, the one that filled your dreams; made you wake up gasping and wet, in desperate need for release. He wasn’t the name you hoped to see crossing your cellphone screen every time your phone rang or the face you searched in the lobby whenever you walked in for work.

“Sorry, I didn’t.” Your smile was sheepish and apologetic.

“That’s ok. I think I’ve told this one before,” he said with a shrug, his blonde hair falling over his eyes. “So, I was thinking, since we’ve both done for the day, maybe we could…”

He trailed off when Maggie walked in, her blue eyes wide and excited as she looked your way, small hands compulsively straightening her receptionist uniform.

“A guest just requested housekeeping in his suite,” she announced, her eyes darting at Sean, before looking back at you as if trying to convey some secret message that went over your head. “He asked for you specifically.”

“So? She clocked out,” Sean was the one to reply. “Send someone else.”

“I can’t.” Maggie’s eyes seemed to plead with you, but you could only stare at her in confusion. “He’s in the presidential suite.”  

“Mags, she’s not going,” Sean insisted, his voice turning annoyed. “Doesn’t matter how VIP this guy is.”

“It’s Mr. Reeves!” Maggie blurted out, panicked and you couldn’t contain your small but sharp intake of breath. She was the only one who knew. No wonder she was so nervous.

“Again…” Sean began. “She’s not…”

“No, I’ll do it,” you cut him off, getting to your feet. “I know he’s very… particular about his bedsheets.”

It was a weak excuse, you knew, but you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to see him again. Even if you didn’t hear from him for a month. Even if you didn’t even know if he wanted to see you too. For all, you knew he really just wanted you to change his sheets.

Heart hammering in your chest, you made your way to the top floor where the presidential suite was. Your feet were heavy like lead; anticipation and dread mixed in your belly as you approached his door, holding the vacuum-sealed package with the new set of bedsheets. You rasped your knuckles on the polished wood, announcing yourself.

It wasn’t Mr. Reeves that opened the door, but a gorgeous redhead, tall and with a model’s body, her makeup and hair perfect and part of you wanted to reach over to check your hair, which had been in a ponytail the entire day.

She stepped aside so you could walk in and at first glance, you saw no sight of Mr. Reeves and wondered if maybe Maggie got it wrong, but when you walked into the bedroom, you could see his broad back fitted in a perfectly tailored grey suit as he spoke on the phone at the balcony.

“Considering how expensive this place is, you’d think they would keep their sheets clean,” the woman spoke, shaking you from your staring and bringing you back to work.

You quickly stripped the bed from the old sheets which were in perfect condition and started the slow task of redressing the bed under the watchful gaze of the woman and you fought the urge to squirm.

Who was she? A girlfriend? Wife? Lover? You had researched extensively about Mr. Reeves and for all accounts, he was single and one of the most eligible bachelors out there. Maybe it was so new the gossip sites didn’t get word of it yet.

You knew the second Mr. Reeves walked back into the room because the scent of his aftershave preceded him, and the piercing gaze of the redhead moved away from you.

“Keanu, darling, should we head for dinner? I heard they have an excellent duck here,” she said, her tone so pretentious it grated on your nerves.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Cheryl, but I’m exhausted. I’ll just gonna order room service and catch some sleep. It was a long flight.”

And how was it possible that just the sound of his voice was enough to send a thrill of arousal through you? Your entire body was suddenly tense with expectation, waiting for the undeniable pleasure his voice promised.

“Of course,” Cheryl said, sounding disappointed. “See you tomorrow then, handsome.”

You glanced over in time to see her lean for a kiss. Mr. Reeves turned his head just in time and her lips landed on his cheek instead. Cheryl looked upset but had no time to protest because he closed the door in her face. You let out a small snort, attracting Mr. Reeves’ attention.

“You didn’t actually have to change the sheets,” he said, walking closer to you, one hand loosening his tie. “It was just an excuse.”

You stood there, holding one of the pillows halfway into the new pillowcase, watching him. You thought he looked like sin in jeans and a t-shirt, but in a suit like this, he was just perfect. It was dark grey, the shirt a shade lighter, the tie black. His hair was combed back, a bit longer than the last time you saw it, and his beard trimmed and neat.

“You like whiskey?” he asked on his way to the bar, shrugging off his blazer and throwing carelessly on the couch.

“Not really,” you replied, leaving the pillow on the bed and walking into the sitting room. He had already measured the amber drink in two glasses, offering one to you.

“You’ll like this one,” Mr. Reeves said with a smile and you took the glass because you didn’t really know what else to do. “Maggie in the reception said you were off duty.”

“I clocked out half-hour ago,” you said, sipping the drink and wincing as it burned down your throat. It tasted like oak flavored cough medicine, so you set the glass aside under his amused gaze.

“Good. You can have dinner with me,” Mr. Reeves announced, taking a seat at one of the armchairs and you fought the urge to glance down his lap, at the prominent bulge you knew it was there.

“Won’t your girlfriend mind?”

“Cheryl? She’s a business partner, nothing more,” he said, sipping his drink.

“Does she know that?” the words slipped from your lips before you could contain yourself and Mr. Reeves snorted, his eyes crinkling with amusement and your heart leaped at the sight.

“Is that jealousy I’m hearing, sweetheart?” he asked, offering you a hand.

Your rational side was telling you to stay away. That he was just using you. The stupid, hopeless side of you took his hand, letting him guide you onto his lap and cup your cheek. His rough thumb traced your lips and you parted them, allowing Mr. Reeves to push it inside. You even swirled your tongue around it, sucking slightly and his gaze darkened, his erection pressing against his zipper and your center.

“I’ve been thinking about this the whole day,” he said, his voice lower, throatier. His hand coming up to your back, finding the zipper of your uniform. That was what gave you pause, made you let go of his thumb and get up from his lap. “Something’s wrong?”

“I’m a housekeeper, Mr. Reeves,” you declared, voice surprisingly strong considering your nerves were wrecked. “Not a…”

“I never said you were,” he interrupted, a confused frown marring his handsome features and you snorted, arms crossed over your chest.

“No, you just fucked me senseless, then disappeared for a month and came back like nothing happened, ready to fuck me again.”

There was a biting tone to your words, you knew, but it was warranted. You had your pride at the very least and no matter how amazing the sex had been and how you hadn’t been able to push him out of your mind, you weren’t just getting back in his bed without knowing what this was.

“You’re right.” His words startled you a little. You were expecting him to argue or even kick you out. You didn’t expect him to agree with you. “I should’ve called. I just get into my head when I’m working a deal and…” Mr. Reeves looked up at you, his brown eyes big and soft, like a chided boy. “I know that’s a crappy excuse, but it’s the only one I have.”

He patted the couch next to his chair and after a moment of hesitation, you took a seat begrudgingly.

“I should’ve made myself clear last time. I apologize for that,” Mr. Reeves said. “The truth is, I’ve been watching you for a while.” You raised your eyebrows at his words, and he grimaced. “That sounded weird, I’m sorry. What I mean is, I’ve noticed you. Before last time.”

“I know.” You noticed him too. Several times since he started staying in the hotel. Whenever you two were in the same room together and you glanced his way, he seemed to be watching you, but it was only last month that you actually talked to him. “Why?”

“You really don’t know?” he asked with an amused smile, eyes traveling over you. “It’s not just a physical thing. I can tell you’re smart, hardworking, kind and attentive… I like you.” Mr. Reeves declared, his gaze piercing. “And when I see something I like, I take it.”

“I’m not a thing,” you pointed out, lips pressed together in displeasure. He had sounded so nice at first.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he amended. “I just want you, but I don’t really have time for relationships, so I hope we can reach an agreement.”

“An agreement?” you repeated in confusion.

Mr. Reeves stood up and moved to the table where a briefcase rested. He took out a manilla folder and hand it to you, giving you an encouraging nod until you opened it. You gasped as your entire life was displayed in front of you on paper.

The fact that your dad left when you were ten, abandoning you, your mom and your younger brother. How your mom had to take a loan so she could pay off your father’s debts, leaving your family and a horrible financial situation. Your own student loans and other financial issues; a copy of your paycheck and a bank statement that showed you only had a hundred dollars in your account. All the complaints you filed with your housing counselor about how loud your roommate was.  

“Wha… ho…?” you couldn’t form words, too shocked to speak.

“I can make all those problems go away,” Mr. Reeves said, taking his seat again. “I can get you a proper apartment, all expenses paid and even an allowance if you want to quit this job to focus on your studies or get an internship in a law firm. I can even get you some referrals, but with your GPA, I don’t think you’ll need them.”

“Why?” It was all you could manage, your mind a turmoil of thoughts.

“I told you,” he started, swallowing his whiskey, one hand resting on your knee. “I take what I want, and I want you. I tried fucking other people to feel the same thing I did with you, but I was right. You might have ruined for others, sweetheart.”

Mr. Reeves cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, but his touch which before seemed so inviting, made you pull back, stand up and pace.

“And what would be expected of me? If I accept this?” You asked, words coming out a lot more bitter than you intended.

“Your company and exclusivity,” he replied easily. “You’ll have the same from me, of course.”

“And when you say my company, you mean…”

“Your company,” Mr. Reeves interrupted, sounding a little impatient. “If I wanted a hooker, I’d pay for one. I just…” he let out a long sigh. “The time I spent with you? It was the first time I had fun in a good while. It wasn’t just the sex, it was everything. I want that on a regular basis. Especially since I’ll be coming over more often with the new brand of Arch about to open here.”

“I had fun too,” you admitted. “You don’t have to… you could just take me out for dinner and date me.”

“I want to take care of you,” Mr. Reeves said, tone soft as he stood up, coming to stand in front of you. Once again cupping your jaw, but this you let him. “Is that so bad?”

“I guess not,” you breathed out shakily as he guided you closer for a kiss.

“So, you’ll do it?” he asked, inches away from your lips. Close enough that you could smell the whiskey in his breath.

“Can I think about it?” you asked, and he nodded, his eyes searching for your consent. You nodded too and Mr. Reeves finally kissed you; chasing away all thoughts of the proposal he just made you.

---

You’ve been staring at your computer for the last twenty minutes. You were supposed to start an essay, but you were thinking about Mr. Reeves and his proposal instead, wondering what to do.

Your first impulse was to say no. Pride and indignation rearing their heads. You were broke, but you had some self-respect. You weren’t interested in selling yourself like that. Be his… kept woman?

Then again, it would be nice if your mom didn’t have to worry about the loan anymore. She could start saving money for your brother. A college fund so Jason won’t have to struggle like you.

It would also be nice not to have your own student loans any longer. To know that once you graduate you won’t have to slave yourself to pay back every cent. And having a place for yourself? Not having to share with a loud, insufferable bitch like your roommate or deal with the hallway parties and neighbors being noisy…

There was this apartment building close to campus, two bedrooms, one bath that you always daydreamed about whenever you walked by. In your mental picture, you’d turn one of the rooms into an office, with ceiling to floor shelves and a window bench, because you’ve always wanted one. A pullout couch so your mom and Jason could come to visit you and a fully equipped kitchen because your mom loved to cook…

Were you really considering this? Committing to a man you knew barely so you could have nice things? You were really that desperate? Well, no, but who didn’t want comfort? Who didn’t deserve to go to bed every night and not worry about money? About the roof over their heads? Over their families’ heads? And if you played your cards right, you could make sure to get everything you wanted and needed out of this arrangement.

Getting to your feet, you grabbed a few reference books and everything else you needed to know to make a viable contract and sat back in front of your computer, ready to work. After three hours, you stepped out of the library, laptop on your backpack and a copy of the contract you drafted inside a manilla envelop as you headed for the hotel.

It was your day off and you weren’t really planning on going anywhere near your place of employment, but if you were going to do this, you wanted to talk to Mr. Reeves as soon as possible.

You made a beeline for the reception desk where Maggie was talking to a guest. Her expression shifted into confusion when she saw you there, but realization quickly drew on it as well as an excited smile. She thought you and Mr. Reeves made a cute couple and said the whole thing sounded like a fairytale. She was so naïve it hurt.

“Is...” you trailed off, giving her a meaningful look, ignoring the curious look the other receptionist gave you.

“Yeah. I’ll make sure they know you’re on your way up.” Maggie winked at you, already grabbing the phone as you moved towards the elevators, your heart once again hammering against your chest, your palms sweaty.

The sound of your name as you waited for the elevator made you jolt, turning around to look at Sean coming over to you with a confused smile.

“I thought it was your day off,” he said.

“It is. I just…” you looked down at your hands, at the envelope and back at him. “Have some business to take care of.”

Right then, the elevator’s door parted, revealing Mr. Reeves in workout clothes, towel hanging from his shoulder, water bottle in one hand. His eyes landed at you, his lips pulling into a smile as he rested his free hand on doors to keep them open.

“Is that for me?” he asked, gaze dropping to the envelope before meeting your eyes again. You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat and nodded. “Well, let’s go then.”

You glanced back at Sean, at the understanding in his eyes, that quickly shifted into disappointment as he gave you a quick nod and walked away, leaving you to follow Mr. Reeves into the elevator.

As the doors slid closed, you could feel your entire body trembling with nervousness; you could barely draw breath like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the cart and you were painfully aware of Mr. Reeves' presence behind you.

He led the way to his suite, holding the door open as you stepped inside first.

“May I have some whiskey?” you asked as soon as the door was closed.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” he pointed out, setting his things aside as he made the way to the bar and poured you the drink.

“I don’t. I just need something to…” you paused, thinking about how to phrase it. Settle your nerves? Give you some courage?

He set the drink aside and walked towards you, helping you to shrug off your backpack and coat, setting it on the table along with the contract, before he turned back to you, his presence strong and strangely reassuring as he looked into your eyes.

“Whatever you decide, I will not judge you,” Mr. Reeves declared, resting his forehead against yours.

“But you won’t have me either?” you asked, hand coming up to his jaw, running over his beard.

“When you’re the owner of a multimillion company, people can try to take advantage of you,” he sighed. “I don’t mean you, just to be clear. This way, I get to take care of you and get what I need out of this, without risking my company.” He kissed your forehead and each eyelid, and you sighed too, your body instinctively relaxing in his embrace. “Tell me your terms.”

“I brought a contract,” you whispered, arching your neck to give him room to work as his lips moved down, kissing first your cheeks, then your chin and finally the hollow of your throat.

“I hate reading contracts,” he mumbled against your skin, his warm breath tickling you. “Just tell me.”

“Ok.” You struggled to focus and think back at the document you spent most of your afternoon working on. “The apartment. I want to pick it and when this is over…”

“If,” Mr. Reeves corrected, one eyebrow arched at you. “I don’t want us to start anything already thinking about the end.”

“If this is over,” you reworded with a nod. “I get to keep it. I want it in my name.” he only hummed in response, his fingers making quick work of the buttons of your shirt, pushing it down your arms. “And to ensure your investment, I’ll stay for at least a year, but after that, I can call it quits whenever I like.”

“No,” Mr. Reeves said, pulling back.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated, looking at you. “I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. You break things off at any moment. No need for that one-year clause.”

“And what makes you so sure I won’t just wait until you give me the apartment and end things?”

“I guess I’ll just have to trust you,” Mr. Reeves declared with a lopsided smirk, before catching one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking lightly through the fabric of your bra, making you gasp and grab his hair. “and in my ability to keep you entertained.”

You nodded, your head suddenly foggy and sluggish, too focused on the bolts of pleasure running through you to actually remember what you were doing.

“Sweetheart?” he called, looking up at you with that same smirk. “Your terms?”

“Right!” you shook your head, trying to clear it as you took a step back from him and he actually pouted in displeasure, but if you let him continue, you weren’t going to remember your name, let along your contract. “I don’t want an allowance. I can work.”

“Whatever you want,” he nodded taking his seat on the same armchair from last night and even though you knew it was probably a bad idea, you sat on his lap at his invitation. “I just thought you might like some more time to study, even find some internship in environmental law. Didn’t you tell me that was what you want to work with? I don’t think there are many paying positions in non-governmental organizations.”

“True,” you conceded as his lips returned to your body, pressing soft kisses all over your neck, his hands kneading your thighs, making wet heat pool between your legs. “Maybe I should be more realistic. Administrative law is pretty interesting as I found out.”

“If you say so.” His fingers skimmed over your cunt, making you roll your hips and groan, desperate to feel him without the barrier of clothing.

“Ok, so maybe a small one until I get a new job in a company I like,” you conceded, getting up long enough to kick your jeans aside, before coming back to his lap, earning a pleased grin from Mr. Reeves.

“Like I said, whatever you want.” He kissed you and you sighed again his lips unable to believe how much you missed this after only having one time before.

“How about your terms?” you asked breathlessly when Mr. Reeves released your lips. “It’s not fair if only I get a say in it.”

He paused for a moment and you took the opportunity to tug at his shirt. He obeyed without a word, letting you take it off him, his eyes had a faraway look as he thought about what you had just asked.

“The apartment. Pick someplace with a gym and a pool,” Mr. Reeves finally said, meeting your gaze. “I’m planning on staying over whenever I’m here.”

“I can do that,” you nodded, trying to think if the building you liked it had those things. “What else?”

“Your studies need to come above everything else. Even me,” he said and once again you nodded. “And I hope you understand that my company will come first too.”

“I understand.” You really didn’t expect any different. “Anything else?”

This time, you were the one to kiss over his neck and jaw as he thought things through, but you didn’t manage to go very far, as Mr. Reeves tilted your face back up, catching your eyes.

“You need to be completely honest with me. If you’re not happy with something I did, with this arrangement, with me, you need to tell me.”

You looked at him stunned; surprised by the care and worry in his tone. How could you think for even a second he just wanted to use you? And it made you wonder if you even need all of these terms and contracts and arrangements in the first place.

“Mr. Re… Keanu,” you amended when he arched an eyebrow at you. “Will you do the same?”

“Yes.” He gave you a short nod, eyes never leaving yours.

“Then yes.”

“That’s all I need,” Keanu smiled at you once again catching your lips and you melted in his embrace.

His hands traveled over your back, touching softly until he found the clasp of your bra and released it, helping you out of the garment, before kissing you once again, hand cupping your breasts, thumb teasing your nipple and making you arch up towards him, your moans muffled against his lips.

You rolled your hips in payback, rubbing yourself against the bulge in his sweatpants, making Keanu’s breath catch in his throat, the hand in your hip squeezing slightly, encouraging you to continue, root against him, seeking your release, but it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. Your body begged for his touch; your center pulsed and throbbed in need of him.

Reaching between your bodies, you tugged on the waistband of his pants and Keanu lifted himself so you could pull them down enough to free his cock. It laid hard and heavy against his lower belly and you licked your lips in anticipation, sliding to the ground on your knees so you could take him in your mouth.

He grunted above you at the first hesitant touch of your tongue against his head. His hands squeezing the arms of the chair, his eyes hooded watching you, lips parted, drawing shaky breaths.

Holding him steady, you let your tongue sneak out again, brush against his slit, collecting the pearly white drops gathering there, tasting him. You were surprised to find you quite enjoyed the salty, slightly bitter taste.

Emboldened by the discovery, you took his head fully in your mouth, eyes never leaving his as you sucked on it, making sure to stroke the rest as you’ve seen it.

“Give me your hand,” he croaked, his voice rougher than before and you obeyed, almost pulling it back when he ran his tongue over your palm. “To smooth things over.”

You only hummed in response, bringing your hand back to his cock and he was right, this time your motions were easier and by the way, Keanu’s lids fluttered, quite more pleasurable.

Slowly, you moved your head down, taking more of him, your tongue licking the underside vein, before swirling around his girth, exploring every ridge, every bump, before you pulled almost all the way back up and started all over again.

Keanu’s breaths were coming in short pants, his head was thrown back, his hands fisting the chair, his moans filling your ears and the sight of him this undone was making your body hot with want, sending a thrill through you. You did this. You made this powerful man succumb to you with just your mouth.

“Faster, sweetheart,” he asked, one hand coming to rest on your nape in encouragement, but not pushing it down.

You followed his request, bobbing your head faster, trying to hollow your cheeks to give him more friction and Keanu cursed above you, his hips moving up just slightly and you wondered how it would feel to let him fuck your mouth.

“Stop, stop,” Keanu said, tugging on your hair and you let him go with a pop, watching him with unsure eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Absolutely not,” he assured, pulling you back to his lap. “I just need to be inside your pretty cunt when I cum tonight.”

His words made you ache for him, your neglected clit throbbing in need and it was almost as if Keanu could read your body better than you, because he brought his hand to your core, thumb rubbing against your clit, fingers teasing your folds through your soaked panties, making you cry out and rock against his hand desperately.

“See? You need it too,” he whispered against your ear and you nodded, your arms around his neck as you rolled your hips. Keanu pushed your panties aside so he could press his fingers into you, rubbing your g-spot.

“Oh sir, please,” you gasped, pressing your forehead against his, one hand coming to stroke him. “Fuck me.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” Keanu assured, his fingers moving in and out of you. “I gotta get you nice and wet and ready for my cock. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

All you managed was a nod as you rode his hand, chasing the sweet pleasure of your climax, feeling your entire body tight and tense and ready.

 “You’re gonna cum, baby?” he asked, lips drawing into a smirk and you nodded, feeling Keanu speed his motions, his thumb pressing a little harder on your clit. “Do it. I wanna feel you soaking my fingers.”

A long moan slipped from your lips, your body arching and quaking above him as your orgasm washed over you, setting all your nerve-ends into haywire. You were so lost in the aftershocks that you barely noticed as Keanu pulled his fingers away, replacing them with his cock.

All you knew was the way it seemed to drag out your pleasure as he filled you up, your walls quivering around him as if trying to draw him deeper into you until you no longer knew where Keanu ended and you began.

“Ready, baby?” he asked in a pant, his hands on your ass and you just nodded, still too dizzy to really follow what he meant. Not until he slapped your ass lightly, bringing you back to the present, meeting his eyes and smirk. “Ride me, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” Using his shoulders as leverage, you raised yourself until he was almost all the way out, before sinking back in, making both of you moan at the sensations.

It took you a while, but with Keanu’s help, you managed to set a good rhythm, bouncing on his cock, while he licked and kissed and nipped your breasts, his own hips rising to meet you, making the armchair shake and squeak beneath both of you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when your entire body seemed to sing with delight. All you could feel was Keanu beneath, around and inside you. His cologne mixed with the heady scent of his sweat filling your nose; the sight of him completely lost in pleasure as he marked your skin, branded you as his. His grunts and curses and moans like music to your ears. The taste of him still in your tongue…

There was nothing else in the world you wanted and the last rational part of you that seemed to have managed to keep going wondered why you were so hesitant in getting into this arrangement in the first place. You would be winning even if all you got of it was him.

“I’m not fucking you well enough if you’re still managing coherent thought,” Keanu whispered, pulling your closer to his body, until you were flushed together and stood up, making you squeal in surprise, arms tightening around him. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna drop you.”

He brought you to the table, spreading you open on the polished chestnut surface, before pushing back inside you, startling a cry out from your lips. Soon enough he was fucking you hard and fast, one of your leg over his shoulder, his thumb once again rubbing your clit and all you could focus was him, needy little moans spilling from your lips.

“That’s better,” Keanu said with a smirk, bending down to nip at your belly.

You threw you head back and held onto the edge of the table, too far gone to do anything else as your second orgasm washed over you, making you almost scream out his name, your senses blacking out for just a moment until your felt Keanu stilling, a loud groan spilling from his lips as he came too.

For a while the only sounds in the room were your ragged breathing as the two of tried to recover, Keanu draped over you, head on your stomach making your leg bent in an awkward angle, but you were too boneless to give a fuck, even if you knew you’d end up with a cramp. You were too blissed out, sated and sleepy to care.

You barely felt Keanu pulling out of you or taking you in his arms and bringing you to bed. It was all just flashes.

Keanu cleaning you up with a warm cloth. The bed dipping with his weight as he pulled you into his arms, cuddling you close. Keanu getting up despite your protesting grumbles. Kissing your forehead and promising to come back in a bit.

You finally woke up, groggy and pleasantly sore, looking around in the dark room to catch your bearings, taking a moment to recognize where you were and why. Another one to realize you were along in bed and Keanu’s side had long grown cold, but there was a note on his pillow. He had a business dinner and would be back late so you should order anything you wanted from room service. You guessed you were gonna need to get used to that sort of thing. There was no point in being disappointed.

Naked, you padded into the sitting room finding the contract you wrote on the coffee table. You picked it up, noticing Keanu had scratched out the one year clause and added the other things you two had talked about, his handwriting neat and elegant, but his signature at the end, a messy chicken scratch.

It was official then. You were his. And Keanu was yours. For as long as this arrangement lasted at least.

xxx

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Who Knows?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Depictions of gore and blood, drunkenness

Summary: When you don't get there in time to save a young couple, the weight of the job starts to take it's toll. Trying to drink to forget that same night in the bunker, you end up drunkenly confessing your big fantasy to Dean.

A/N: Sorry if the formatting is off on this. I posted it on my phone instead of my laptop!

---------------

Blood. There was so much blood. It was on them, on the floor, on the walls, on your clothes. You thought you'd beat the werewolf there and save that young couple but the second you busted through the door of their apartment, it was too late. The werewolf had its teeth sunk into the pregnant young woman, who flailed on the ground screaming. Her fiancee's lifeless, bloody body lied crumpled on the floor a few feet away. You immediately shot the monster in the head and ran towards the woman to see how badly she injured. 

It was bad. The skin over her chest was ripped open far too badly for you to be able to fix and she'd already lost so much blood, you knew she wouldn't last until the ambulance got there. Regardless, you called 911 but by the time they got there, the woman had died in your arms. 

The drive back was silent. Your jeans and long sleeve shirt had become caked in dark crimson blotches from where her body lied on you. You reached down into your bag that was crumpled by your feet and pulled out a flask, making the stupid decision to chug the hard liquor inside while driving and not even feeling it burn 

By the time you got back to the bunker, you'd already chugged the whole flask and had begun feeling quite tipsy. But that wasn't enough. You wanted to forget, needed to forget. 

Wordless, you entered the bunker and made a beeline for the kitchen. Behind, you heard Sam ask, "How'd it go?" 

You didn't say a word, only stomped into the kitchen but neither of the boys missed the blood stains all over your body. They could tell it wasn't yours and by the way you were acting, they were almost certain of what had happened. 

You hadn't heard Dean come into the kitchen where you were reaching for a glass until he requested, "Hey, grab me one too?" 

With a shrug, you grabbed him one too and then swiftly reached for a random bottle off the liquor shelf. Without even glancing at it, you poured yourself a glass of the mystery brown liquid that was about twice as full as a normal serving and threw it back in just two gulps. You handed Dean the glass and the bottle and he poured his own, glancing at you cautiously as you panted, trying to feel again. 

Once he'd, set the bottle down, you grabbed it and took a swig from the bottle itself and jumped up to sit on the counter. Dean leaned against the metal island staring at the floor and the two of you sat in silence for at least five minutes before he tried to comfort you, "You got there as fast as you could."

"But it wasn't fast enough." You hiccuped, "She died in my arms Dean." 

Dean sighed, "I know, Y/N. But we literally found out about the case today. This is one of the fastest cases we've ever worked. You couldn't have gotten to them sooner. 

You couldn't even take your eyes off the ground. They'd glazed over with tears that you tried to hold in. "Maybe you should take a shower. Get changed. We can ta-"

"Y'know she was pregnant? She begged me to save her and then she begged me to save her baby when she knew she wasn't gonna make it. And then she begged me to stay with her so she wouldn't die alone." Angry tears spilled down your cheeks as you took another huge chug of what you'd discovered was cheap whiskey. 

Dean leaned forward and grabbed the bottle from your hand, "Okay, let's slow down on this." In your drunken state, you started to cough, choking momentarily as droplets of the firey liquid found their way into your lungs. 

"NO!" You yelled, trying to snatch it back but failing drunkenly, "I'm so tired of this Dean! We try so hard but people are still dying all around us! People we try to save, people we love! Your parents are dead! My best friend is dead! Hell, even you've died!" Hiccups interrupted every few words, "Maybe all I want is a normal life with a white fucking picket fence and kids and a dog and a husband that won't get fucking murdered like everyone else we love!" 

Dean came up to you and leaned close, trying to calm you down, his hands resting on your arms, "Hey, Y/N, we save people. You save people. You're right, we've lost a lot of people on the way. But you're the reason so many people are still alive today. You're a hero." 

"Maybe I don't wanna be a hero anymore." You cried, huffing away, before clumsily holding is hands, "Dean, let's run away together. Me and you. We can get married and have that little house with the picket fence and kids and dogs and we won't have to have to keep knives under our pillows at night!" 

Dean let you collapse drunkenly against him, the tears finally slowing. There's no way you meant that. He needed to remind himself not to get his hopes up. You were drunk and emotional and you didn't know what you were saying, right?  

Before he knew it,  you were snoring against his shoulder,  all your weight sliding off the counter and into his grip,  "Oh! Okay, kid, let's get you to bed." He lifted you effortlessly off the counter and carried you to the bathroom. 

***

You woke up in your bed the next morning (if 11:00 am counted as morning) with a pounding headache and quite confused. Unfortunately, you remembered the depressing events of last night until about your fifth shot of whiskey. It was all fuzzy after that. 

With a groan, you rolled out of bed and were immediately confused as to why you were now wearing a large oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts as pajama bottoms instead of the clothes you wore last night. Maybe you got changed before you fell asleep? 

You ungracefully padded your way into the briefing room where Sam and Dean sat with several books open. Dean chuckled, "Ah, there she is!" He announced proudly. 

"How you feeling?" Sam asked apologetically as he watched you smooth down your hair that was sticking up everywhere. 

"What happened?" You asked, plopping down next to Sam. 

Dean shrugged, "Hunt went bad and you came back pretty toasted. Don't drink and drive by the way, idiot. Anyways, you drank even more when you got here but we got you to bed." 

You groaned, shielding your eyes from the bright light, "I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?" Frankly, you were afraid of the answer. 

Sam shook his head. "Nothing too bad. You told Dean you guys should get married and run away together." 

Your eyes widened, "Oh my God!" You collapsed, hiding your face in your hands.  You prayed that he just thought it was a joke because if he knew you really secretly felt that way about him, everything would change and you were sure if it would be for the good. 

Dean stiffened at the mention of your fantasy you'd described last night and remembered the dream of it he had that night. It was a dream he'd had many times before, a thought that had definitely occurred to him prior to your drunken confession. But he couldn't tell you that because you just said it cause you were drunk. You would've asked Sam to run away with you if he'd been in Dean's place! Right? 

"We're gonna pretend like that didn't happen." You waved your hands, trying to clear the past of what you'd said, "What else happened?" 

Dean chuckled, "Well you fell asleep on me, almost fell off the counter, and I couldn't let you sleep in those clothes so I tried to get you as clean as I could without, well… yeah. But I got you changed into pajamas and, I swear I kept my eyes closed as much as possible!" He was flustered and Sam laughed, remembering how he and Dean had struggled to clean you up last night without crossing any boundaries and the way Dean blushed like a 13 year old boy who'd just discovered Playboy when they peeled the blood soaked shirt off your unconscious form. 

"You saw me naked?!" You couldn't believe this. You trusted the boys with your life and knew they would never do anything to harm you but, you had to say, being drunkenly passed out was not the way you'd envisioned Dean seeing you naked for the first time. 

Sam put his hands up quickly in reassurance, "No! Just underwear! I swear!" 

You hated when the boys felt like they had to take care of you like that but nonetheless, you thanked them for helping you out last night, "And I'm sorry I got so drunk. It was a rough hunt. But here, lemme get y'all a cup of thank you coffee." You pressed yourself up and poured three cups of coffee and walked them back to the boys. 

They nodded their thanks and everyone took a sip, the coffee not doing much to help your hangover. Suddenly, Sam chuckled beside you. "What's so funny?" Dean asked, looking over his feet that were on the table. 

Sam smiled and shook his head, "Just thinking of you and Y/N getting married." 

Your heart sank. Was the thought of it so preposterous? "What's so funny about that?" Dean questioned defensively. 

"Just that you two are so much alike, I couldn't imagine dealing with you two together." Sam went on. 

You scoffed, "Y'know what? Maybe we'll get married just to spite you!" 

"Yeah! We'll walk down to the court house right now!" Dean's feet left the table top and returned to the floor. 

Sam gestured towards the two of you, who identically were leaning towards him, "See what I mean?! Look what you're doing now! Who knows what you'd do if you were actually together?" 

Yeah, you sighed to yourself, who knows… 

[flowerpowell]

Unexpected (Drake x MC)

PART SEVEN

A/N: A little bit of insight into the “domestic” life of Riley and Drake. Also, I’m proud of myself that I wrote is so quickly lol. Characters belong to Pixelberry!

Rating: G

Word count: 2228

Tagging: @gardeningourmet​ @delightfullypinkglitter​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @akrenich​ @blackcatkita​ @cora-nova @client-327​ @desiree---1986​ @jlpplays1​ @dcbbw​ @kingliam2019​ @the-soot-sprite​ @mskaneko​ @thequeenofcronuts​ @dr-ethanjramsey​ @badchoicesposts​ @mymandrake​ @butindeed​ @burnsoslow​ @annekebbphotography​ @alesana45​ @addictedtodrakefanfic​ @walkerduchess​ @ao719​ @texaskitten30​ @lodberg​ @cordonianroyalty​ @emichelle​ @siriusxxvideos​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ @samihatuli​ @choices-lurker​ @i-miss-trr​ @drxkewalker​ @nikkis1983​ @innerpostmentality​ @msjr0119​ @bascmve01​ @mind-reader1​ @edgiestwinter​ @drakesensworld​ @queenjilian​ @princessleac1​ @saivilo​ @yukinagato2012​ ♥

“Drake... You okay?” Riley asked him as they were driving back to the house. Bartie was asleep in his seat with Riley next to him and she decided to start a conversation after twenty minutes of driving in silence.

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” he said, his eyes focused on the road. Riley sighed.

“I get it but you gotta talk. You can’t just bottle everything up. Talk to me. We didn’t lose.”

“We also didn’t win,” he hissed.

Joint custody.

That was the verdict. Neither him, nor Madeleine and Barthelemy were happy with it. Since Bartie spent the last few weeks with Madeleine and Barthelemy, the judge let Drake have Bartie for at least two weeks. Then, Bartie would spend a week in one house and a week in the other.

“But it’s still better than losing. And we have Bartie now.”

“I will appeal. I will not let these murderers have Barite. Not now that I know what they did to Savannah and Betrand.”

“Maybe they really don’t have anything to do with it? Maybe it really was just a coincidence? Maybe--”

“Listen,” Drake interrupted her as he pulled over. “I understand that you’re trying to be a supportive fake wife now, but you know absolutely nothing about these people. Nothing. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking to me now,” he said and started the car again. Riley swallowed hard as she looked down at Bartie. They didn’t speak again the whole way back.

~~~~

“I already sent a few guards and the police to search Karlington. I didn’t tell anyone about it so no one is expecting them there.”

Drake nodded as he listened to Liam telling him about the progress he made on the investigation.

“Everyone is expecting them ever since Drake announced that Liam had a private investigator and that he thinks Madeleine is responsible for what happened to Savannah and Bertrand,” Riley added and met with Drake’s narrowed eyes.

“No one asked for your two cents.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve thought first about it! Now they know you know, and if they really are involved, they’ll try to hide anything suspicious.”

“And who--”

“Guys!!!” Liam cut in, “stop it. Riley is right. You shouldn’t have told them what we know. But we can still try. They know we have no evidence so maybe they’ll brush it off.”

Drake glared at Riley and she rolled her eyes. Ever since the hearing, he was more annoying than ever.

“Can you show the recording once again?” Drake asked, turning away from Riley. He knew she was right and it annoyed him more than anything.

Liam played the recording once again, the last moments of Savannah and Betrand going to the duchy. They were filmed with the camera that was placed on the gate and Drake saw how his sister and his brother-in-law spoke something to the intercom and went through the gate. The camera from the other side of the gate however, never registered any trace of them, as if they magically disappeared when going through the gate.

Drake took in his sister’s smile, her dress that their mother gave her for Christmas. He wished he could see her again, he wished he had more time with her. He blinked a few times and felt someone wrapping their hands around his shoulders. He didn’t even have to look up. Her lemongrass perfume gave it all away.

~~~~

Parenting and solving a mystery at the same time was not as easy as it would seem. Both Riley and Drake realized that when Bartie wouldn’t stop crying for the second hour.

“Hey, buddy, don’t cry when you’re with me. Bro code, remember?” Drake tried to talk to Bartie but it only make him cry even more.

“I told you he is hungry,” Riley said as she brought a plate with a little bit of mashed boiled carrots. “Open your mouth, honey!” she tried to feed him but Bartie shook his head and pushed Riley’s hand in Drake’s direction, causing her to smash the carrots onto his face.

“Tha--” Drake started but forgot what he was about to say when Bartie started laughing all of the sudden.

“Ohh, you like that, don’t you?” Riley smiled at him as she took a spoonful of carrots and threw it on Drake’s face.

“Bhahaha,” Bartie was laughing as Drake tried to wipe the carrots from his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s what made him--” He tried again but before he could finish, another portion of carrots ended up on his face. “Okay. That’s how you want to play?”

Drake took a plate from her hands and threw a bit of puree on Riley’s face causing Bartie to laugh so much, he almost fell down.

Riley took a bit of carrots from the plate in her hands and smashed it against his face as he was trying to smash some of it on hers. She quickly took the plate back and wiped the rest of the meal in Drake’s face. Now it was Bartie and Riley laughing as Drake tried to think of revenge.

“You see, I’m a gentleman and I will gladly share the food with my beloved wife,” he said and before Riley realized what he was doing, he hugged her tighly, his head snuggling against her neck and shirt, staining everything with carrots.

“Nooo! Stop it, I like this T-shirt!” she yelled through laughter but Drake didn’t care as he pinned her to the floor.

“Weehee!” Bartie was cheering and Riley and Drake both realized what they just did. Drake quickly stood up and and helped Riley up.

“I’m gonna... take a shower,” he said before leaving Riley alone with Bartie. He looked at her curiously and she smiled at him as she got an idea.

“Wanna play a little prank on your uncle?” she asked and Bartie eagerly nodded as if he understood. She took him from the chair and snuck up to the bathroom. She knew Drake never bothered to buy a lock on the door since he lived alone so she quietly opened the door and took all his towels and clothes. She quickly ran to his room and locked it, as it was the only room that actually had the lock (as Riley suspected, so Drake could drink his beloved whiskey in peace), hiding every blanket and piece of clothing she could find.

I’m doing this for Bartie’s entertainment only. I don’t want to see his naked body so I’m suffering just for this kid.

She looked at Bartie’s amused face as if she was trying to convice him it was all for him.

It didn’t take long before he heard Drake’s screaming from the bathroom, “RILEY!!!”

~~~~

Step one, find something to cover myself.

Step two, make Riley pay.

Drake gritted his teeth as he got out of the shower and opened the bathroom door a little. The hall seemed to be clear so he took a few steps and quickly ran to his room. He tried to open the door but it was locked.

“Riley!!! I swear you’re gonna pay for this!”

He looked around but he couldn’t find anything to cover himself. He also couldn’t find his fake wife and his nephew, guessing they were hiding from him.

He went to the living room but all the blankets were gone, even the paper rolls disappeared from the kitchen.

He heard a quiet knock on the door and could swear he also heard some whispers. He rolled his eyes and walked up to open the door, assuming it was Riley with Bartie since they weren’t in the house.

“Yeah, you got me, now give me back my--” he stopped in the middle of the sentence as he realized the person standing in front of him was not Riley but his mother, Bianca.

“Oh... I... I see I interrupted something,” she said while covering her eyes. Drake quickly took a vase from the shelf and covered himself, or at least a part of himself, mentally cursing Riley. He let his mother in and as he did that, Riley appeared with Bartie on her hip. He narrowed her eyes as she tried to suppress the laughter.

“Ah, hello, my dear! You must be my son’s wife, Riley! Nice to meet you,” Bianca extended her hand and Riley shook it.

“Hi! Drake told me so much about you!” It was a lie but Riley tried to be polite.

“What are you doing here, mom?” Drake asked, still holding a vase and sending a death stare to Riley. She walked up to him and put a key to his room into the vase, sending a quick and apologetic look.

“I felt really bad for missing your wedding. I lost one child already and I don’t want to lose another one,” her voice broke slightly.

“I’m sorry, mom. We all miss her and--”

“Perhaps, go and get dressed first and then we’ll talk. I have so many questions! I never thought my little boy would get married! You must be a very special lady to steal my son’s heart!” Bianca smiled at Riley and she looked away. She was embarrassed and felt a bit guilty lying to Drake’s mother. She smiled politely at the older woman and turned her attention to Drake heading to his bedroom. She really didn’t want to look but she couldn’t help it. He looked good. Better than good. He might be an asshole but oh boy, what an ass it was! And as Drake disappeared in his room, she realized Bianca was talking to her this whole time and instead of listening... she was thinking about her son’s butt.

Way to go, Riley.

~~~~

After the dinner and a few fake stories about how much Drake and Riley loved each other, it was already time to go to sleep.

“So, Mom, where are you staying? I’ll drive you,” Drake offerend and Bianca looked at him sheepishly.

“I actually thought I’d stay here with you. I missed you so much and I could also look after Bartie. You two just got married, I’ll take care of my grandson so you two can enjoy each other’s company,” she winked at Riley.

“I would love to have you here but we don’t have a spare room,” Drake said and Bianca frowned.

“Of course you do!” she motioned a room where Riley was staying, “This one right here is where I always stayed when I visited you. You and Riley sleep in the same room with Bartie and this one’s free. I’ll take Bartie for the nights so you two can, ahem, spend the night without any distractions.”

Riley’s eyes widened as she realized that if Bianca was to stay in the cabin, she would have to share a room with Drake. She looked at him and he must have realized the same as his eyes were windened as well.

“Mom, I think you should have better conditions that we can offer you. I’ll take you to the hotel or the palace, I’m sure Liam will be fine with it.”

“Nonsense, my dear, I’ll stay with you. I can cook for you, take care of Bartie so that you two can enjoy yourself,” she smiled at them before going to collect her bags. Drake sighed as he went to the guest room and quickly took all Riley’s things and brought them over to his bedroom. He loved his mother but he didn’t want her to know it was a fake marriage. She wouldn’t understand and he didn’t want to cause her more stress.

When Bianca was already in her new room, and Bartie was there with her, Riley stood in the middle of Drake’s bedroom with disgust on her face.

“Drake,” she hissed when he closed the door, “I’m not gonna sleep with you!”

He raised his eyebrow and chuckled, “I’m not gonna insist.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then?”

“The floor is pretty comfy, I would say,” Drake threw two pillows on the floor and handed her a blanket. “Goodnight!” He said as he climbed on the bed.

“I will be sleeping on the floor? Shouldn’t it be you?”

“Nope. My house, my rules. Besides, you took all my clothes, you deserve to sleep on the floor,” he murmured sleepily.

“In your dreams!” Riley said before throwing all the pillows back on the bed and climbing there as well.

“What are you doing?” Drake asked as he saw Riley laying a blanket between the two of them.

“Dividing the bed. You’re free to sleep on the floor, by the way,” she said before turning away from him and covering herself with the comforter. Drake looked in her direction for a while before turning away from her as well and closing his eyes.

That was slowly getting out of hand and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Hearning Riley’s slow and steady breaths, he smiled to himself as he finally drifted off.

[anxiouslynumbme]

Carmuel Missing Scenes/Moments

Rating: Mature.

Warning: Strong Language, Mild Sexual Situations.

Read on AO3.

3x04

__________________________________________________________

Everyone around her was dancing and laughing. They were actually happy. Or they seemed to be, anyway. Carla liked parties, but all she could think about was the need for it to stop. She couldn't go home, so she was silently praying for anything to magically end the night.

Her head rested on Yeray's shoulder, as she watched Samuel and Rebe, dancing, talking, kissing. The tightness in her chest latched its fist around her heart with a vicious squeeze, and she deserved it. So she kept watching.

Maybe her brain was trying to protect her, but she kept fixating on how he didn't look happy. If he were to move on, she wanted him to be happy. She didn't know Rebe well, but had nothing against the girl, and while Samuel had been oblivious to Rebe's jealous stares and longing looks, when he’d been with her, Carla had noticed them. She'd thought he felt nothing but friendship for Rebe. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

They were kissing again and she couldn't look away.

"All right, everyone," Lu said loudly, grabbing everyone's attention as she stood in the middle of the dance floor, "next up, switching partners!"

People groaned in annoyance, but Lu continued as though she didn't hear. "It'll be fun, stop being boring. Also it's mandatory, I'm afraid. Don't worry, switching's just for dancing." there was a round of laughter around the room.

"Now everyone, look to the couple next to you," she said walking over to Samuel, grabbing his arm, yanking him away from Rebe, and dragging him over to her and Yeray, "just like this, and Yeray, you go with Rebe,"

What the actual fuck, Lu?

When Yeray didn't move, Lu tugged on his arm, till he finally let go of Carla’s waist and slowly made his way over to Rebe. "Exactly! Understood, everyone? Great, have fun!"

She obviously didn't have to demonstrate anything.

Lu did it on purpose, she wanted to make sure Samuel ended up dancing with Carla. Her hunch was proven correct, when Lu leaned in as she was walking away and not so subtly whispered to both of them. "You're welcome."

She glanced at Samuel, who was already looking at her. He managed a weak smile, stepping forward and extending his hand. "We have to follow the rules, right?"

"Right." her skin prickled the second she accepted his hand. He put his palm on her waist, but didn't bring her closer. They were both trying to avoid each other's gaze, but it was inevitable. Like magnets, their eyes caught one another and held. She should've known that after that, their bodies always followed, they both unconsciously moved closer, his hand sliding around her waist, drawing her nearer as she willingly fell into his embrace.

"There's one main rule you didn't follow, though," he said, pointing his head at her dress.

"Suits aren't really my thing." she lied easily.

"They're not?" he asked, skeptical as ever.

"No, they're not."

"Yeray didn't dress up either."

"Well, dresses aren't his thing."

"Isn't that the whole point, though? To wear something that isn't your thing, out of your comfort zone?"

He was doing it again, he was pushing her. "Why do you care so much about the dress code, Samuel?"

"It's just, it seems like, it's something you'd be into. But instead you look like you wanna be anywhere but here."

Once upon a time, she would've enjoyed the party, would’ve even helped planning it.

She didn't bother lying to him. "Let's just finish the dance, Samuel."

He heaved a sigh. "Okay, sorry. You'd look beautiful in anything, anyway."

She felt him stiffen, and knew he didn't mean to say that out loud. They both stopped swaying abruptly, and she didn’t know how long their eyes were sealed in their own little world. A world where she could lean in and kiss him, hug him to her, and tease him about how cheesy he was being,

But they belonged to the world outside their eyes.

"Uh, I think the song is over," she said, reluctantly letting go and taking a step back.

"Thank god for that!" Rebe said, suddenly appearing next to them, "that Yeray is hot, but he needs to loosen up a little, fuck!"

Rebe threw an arm over Samuel's shoulder, and Carla quickly looked away, searching around for Yeray.

"Where is he?" she asked Rebe, trying to ignore Samuel's eyes.

"Getting a drink, I think."

"Okay, well, I need one too," she said, briskly walking away, and feeling Samuel's gaze follow her all the way inside.

___________________________________________________________

Yeray was kissing her. He literally backed her into a corner and kissed her. At first, she kissed him back, pushing down her need to run away. But then he started getting a little too excited with his touches.

"Let's find a room," he whispered in her ear heavily, grinding against her.

"What?" she pushed against his chest.

He pulled back slightly and grinned. "We could find a room and you know. . .it'll be hot."

"Yeray, I'm not fucking you in the middle of this party."

"Of course." he winced, trying to keep his smile, "we don't have to do that. Maybe just a little fun."

He leaned back down to kiss her neck, but she instantly moved away from his reach. "Look, Yeray, I was already forced to wear this dress. I'm not doing anything else against my will tonight."

He gaped, "Against your will? Carla, I'd never- "

"I know," she quickly interjected, sighing, reminding herself that he didn't know about her father, "listen, I just wanna hang out with some friends, okay? I'll find you a little later."

But she wasn't going to hang out with friends. Did she even have friends anymore?

There was no way out. She kept trying to come up with a plan, with anything, to get out of her situation, or at least make it a little bearable. But each path she considered, someone she cared about was bound to get hurt. Her mother or Samuel. Maybe both of them

She was trying to get her breathing under control, and as she passed a table with alcohol on it, she snatched up the first bottle she spotted, and rapidly walked outside.

Once she was inhaling fresh air, she felt herself calm down a bit, she leaned her head back, peering at the dark sky above. She stood there, studying its beauty for a few moments, and wishing she was living among the stars. She looked back down when she felt her chest start to ache, throwing back a big gulp; enjoying the sting she felt as the liquor traveled down her throat.

"Hi."

She should have known he was there. How did she not notice him leaning against the wall behind her? And how long was he there before he announced himself? Was he watching her?

"Hi," she replied curtly.

"What are you doing out here alone with a bottle of whiskey?" Samuel asked with a soft smile.

"Drinking it. Why, you're gonna tell me I've had enough or something?"

"No, but I will tell you it's nice to share."

She couldn't help the smile that curled her lips. She couldn’t stop most of her reactions around him, and she used to hate it. Not so much anymore, now all she did was miss it. Miss him.

"Well, I'm not nice," she said, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, you are not." he chuckled, "but you can be, sometimes."

With you, mostly.

"A lot nicer than you'd like to admit," he continued, walking towards her and holding out his palm for the bottle. She gave him a long look, before finally relenting and handing it over.

He took it with a tempting smirk, raising the bottle to his lips, all the while staring at her. And as she stared right back, she wondered, if she would ever stop wanting to kiss him.

Only when his full lips let go, and his tongue darted out to lick the liquid off, did she look away. He then sauntered lightly, until he reached the hood of a car and sat on it, his eyes quickly found hers, as he angled his head a bit nervously to the spot next to him. "Sit with me, just for a minute."

When she didn't move, he quietly spoke, his tone solemn. "Sorry. You don't have to."

Her legs were steering her to him before she could stop them, she seated herself alongside him, trying to position her body away from his. "You took my alcohol, so I kinda have to."

"How horrible of me." he let out a small laugh, passing over the bottle to her.

They sat together in comfortable silence, taking sips back and forth. While the tension was still there, it was the most peace she's had in a long time.

And he had to go and break it. "So you and Yeray, huh? You are - really together?"

He didn't look at her when he’d asked, and she didn't look at him when she answered. "Yes."

"So you actually like him?" his scrutinizing gaze was back on her.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?" she wasn't even trying, the lies slipped through so smoothly.

His jaw clenched as he bit out. "Yeah, why wouldn't you."

It was clear he didn't like her answer, but unlike him, she wasn't going to question him about it. Seeing him jealous was bad enough, she didn't want to hear the reaffirmation of his pain.

So she focused on her own. "You and Rebe seem great, how long have you been dating?"

Because you said you loved me.

"Not long." he averted his eyes. "it's pretty new."

She had no right to feel the anger that sprang up in her, but she couldn't stop it. It felt like he was taking back his declaration of love. She didn't believe him anyway, but it still hurt. He wasn't in love with her. She was just an infatuation, the goodness inside him trying desperately to prove it also existed in her. 

"Right. I'm sorry about what happened to her mother, by the way."

His body stilled next to her, and she frowned at his reaction. Did she say something wrong?

"Yeah, me too. It's hard for her, being on her own."

"She has you," she blurted out, finding it a little difficult to keep the bitterness out of her voice. The envy that Rebe could have him in her life with no consequences.

The air around them suddenly shifted, his gaze connecting with hers. "She does."

His tone was almost daring her to say something about it. Which was unlike Samuel, she didn't think he was purposely trying to make her jealous. No, he was daring her, because he wanted her to admit it bothered her, admit her feelings the same way he had.

"I didn't know you liked her as more than a friend."

Fuck. Why was she still talking? Maybe she was drunker than she thought.

He sighed, staring back ahead. "I - I don’t think I knew either. But it's nice, we get along well, it's . . .easy. She's great."

She felt a lump lodge in her throat, her heart pinching in its cage. And she couldn't stop the slightest hint of sarcasm that took over her voice. "Well, good for you."

She took a final swig from the whiskey they had been sharing, and jabbed the bottle into his chest as she stood up. She wasn't as balanced as she'd hoped, her legs crumbling under the sudden shift of weight, but before she could even stumble, Samuel caught her by the waist, swiftly steadying her.

"Thanks."

"Sure," he said, not letting go of her. When she glanced up, the eyes that met hers, conveyed so much yearning, she felt her breath catch. She could feel his want all the way to her core.

"You do too." his voice was so quiet, she almost didn't hear him.

"What?"

"You've got me too." he exhaled. "as - whatever it is you want me to be. I told you, you can pretend all you want, Carla. But I see you. I can feel that you're going through something."

He paused for a second before resuming. "You can talk to me, okay? Whatever it is, you can tell me."

She snorted. "Yeah, I don't think I can."

"Of course, you can. Carla, I know there's something going on with your father, and you feel like you can't trust me, but you can."

"Bullshit!" she scoffed, shoving him away so hard, the bottle slipped from his fingers and onto the ground. 

"It's not!" he countered, his voice laced with frustration. "Carla, I already know, okay? You just need to let me in. I'm not scared of your father."

"You should be!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not. And staying away from each other isn't going to solve anything. And it's definitely not making things better. For either one of us."

She was so tired. "Give it up, Samuel. You should just keep your distance - "

"Damn it, Carla!" he snapped. "That's my decision!"

"No, it's - "

He shook his head vehemently, the motion making her pause, he moved a step closer. "I just want to know why. It's done. You lied for him in court, what more does he want from you?"

"Samuel - "

"It's over, Carla. And he’s still controlling - "

"Shut up, Samuel. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me!" he inhaled deeply. "Just tell me. Why are you letting him do this? There's something else going on, isn't there? It's not just about me."

She hated him in that moment. She hated how well he knew her. She hated how caring and intuitive he was. And she loved him all the same. She’d tried denying it for the longest time, telling herself it was sex, chemistry, attraction. But looking at him, right there, as he tore through all her walls and facades, she was reminded just how fucked she was. 

"My life is none of your business, Samuel." 

"Yes it is," he told her firmly, his eyes boring into hers, "you know it is, stop pretending otherwise."

Before she could respond, he carried on with determination. "Carla, no matter what it is, I promise, I won't use it against you."

"Oh, really?"

"Never. Never again, Carla." his gaze was so open, begging her to believe him.

"I find that hard to believe, Samuel. I'm still paying for the last time you used my feelings for you against me."

"What feelings?" he asked harshly, his eyes flaring up with challenge as he strode even closer to her. "I thought you had none. I thought you only knew me for five minutes, and soon I'll be nothing but a distant memory. That's all it was to you, right?"

She could feel her heart hammering, her throat closing up with her need to cry. She wanted to scream at him, scream at herself. The same cycle of emotions she's been experiencing taking a toll on her, exhaustion spread through her, as tears dropped silently before she could control herself.

His response was so immediate, so quick, as he urgently grasped her cheeks, his thumbs wiping her muted tears, his worried eyes searching hers. "Carla, talk to me, please."

Fuck.

"I - " she cleared he throat. "I have nothing to say. I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, bowing his head in disappointment. "Carla."

"What do you want from me, Samuel?"

He huffed angrily. "Why do you keep doing that? Why can't you just be honest with me for once?"

It’d been silly to think that being mean and distant towards him, was going to keep him away. He was too smart for that. She had to try a different approach, if there were any hope, that she could keep him safe, and save her family, if she had any chance of actually making things better, and finding a way out. She had to do something different.

She was going to give them both the breakup they’d never gotten.

"You're right, Samuel," she began, gently putting a hand on his chest, "I have some issues with my family, but they have nothing to do with you, okay? Stop making it about you. I have to deal with them on my own, and you don't seem to understand that."

She took a deep breath, smiling softly at him, trying to sell the next part.

"And I’ll admit, I might've been a bit too harsh, but I really wasn't lying the other night at the club. We're so, so young, Samuel. We had something, we did, and I really liked it. It was messy and intense, but it was also. . .wonderful, and now it's over. It's all just meaningless in the grand scheme of things, you know? It's a little sad but it's true. So yes, I will forget about you, sooner or later."

He blenched at her words, his eyes flashing with pain, as everything she said hung heavily in the silence that followed. For a second, she saw his resolve begin to crack in his eyes, the shock from her statements fading into self doubt. 

"You don't mean that." he tried, voice small.

"I do."

"You’re trying just to push me away. I don't believe you."

She sighed. "Why?"

"Because you don't seem to understand that I was a part of what we had. I know what we had. And I know I'll never forget it, Carla. I'll never forget you."

"Oh, Samuel, but you will. Someday you will."

 "No."

"Stop. You'll be fine, I mean, you already have Rebe," she said, unable to keep the comment to herself.

He visibly flinched, momentarily speechless. "I don't - that's, that's not the same."

Her heart urged her to ask him what he meant by that. But she was getting good at ignoring it. "I don't care what it is, Samuel. Just move on, okay?"

"You're really doing this?"

It was as close to closure as they were both going to get. "Yes."

"I still don't believe you, Carla." he looked away from her, and she immediately missed the intensity of his gaze, his grip on her loosened, his body drawing back in defeat. "But I just need you to know that I'm here. That I know you're not okay, and I just want to help you. Please believe that I’ll never use you again. I'm here for you."

"Why?" the question slipped through her lips unwillingly. Her voice filled with confused wonder at his giving soul and resilient heart.

"Even if you don't want me." he shrugged sadly, his fervent dark eyes capturing hers. "You have me."

For a moment she thought, she could hear her heart shatter in her ears. She couldn't break away from his gaze, she was held captive under his heated stare and she didn't want her release.

And that made her selfish, because indulging in him, in anyway, would only lead to devastation.

"That’s nice of you to say, but I’m all good, Samuel. You're wasting your time." she slowly stepped back from his hold, her body instantly protesting his absence.

"I better go find Yeray. Have a good rest of your night." 

[nelllraiser]

(sh)room for growth | jared & nell

TIMING: before nell was excommunicated from the coven. LOCATION: jared’s farm. PARTIES: @themidnightfarmer​​ and @nelllraiser​. SUMMARY: nell visits jared and finds him a little different than she remembers. CONTENTS: mind alteration via mushrooms

Things in town were hard at the moment, but when weren’t they. It was hard to remember a time when there was simply nothing bad happening. And Jared had lived in white crest his whole life, that said a lot. That being said when he’d stumbled upon a ring for the first time that season he decided not to think about the consequences. He was allowed to have some fun right? That’s how the nymph found himself dancing around a big bonfire he’d built in the clearing between the first barn and the house. The flames were big and Jared delighted in prodding the copper pipe he’d put in the middle of the flames to watch them change colour. Drink in hand, a few bouncing bonedoggles around him, and Jared was having a grand time by himself. He swayed to himself in the music coming from the boom box just inside the cab of his tractor. Who knew mushroom season could be so great?

Nell could see the flames of the bonfire from across the field when she pulled up to the farm, leaving her motorcycle far from the kids as always so as not to startle them. Automatically, a grin spread over her lips, thinking of all the times her and Jared had stayed out here by the warmth of the fire to relax and simply enjoy each other’s company. She couldn’t quite make her friend out yet, but she didn’t hesitate to announce her arrival. “Jared! How dare you decide to start the party withou-” Her words cut off in the next instant, surprise flooding her system as she took in the actual full picture. The rosiness in her cheeks seemed to react instantly, and it seemed that old habits died hard as a small blush colored her. “Jared!” she began again in her surprise. “Are you- I mean- where are your clothes? Why are you naked?”

Hearing Nell’s voice Jared joyfully turned around to greet her. A massive grin plastered on his face he waved her over towards the fire. “I had to start without you!! I needed the fire to LIVE.” he told her, dramatically gesturing with both arms grandly at the huge burning mass. He wandered forward to her and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Clothes were only holding me back.” he waved away her concern idly, leading them over to the fire, his face not for a second shifting out of it’s dazed happiness. “I didn’t know how much better life was without anything holding you back.” He enthused loudly, throwing an arm out to the farmland as a whole. “My kids are so much freer than I am. I want a piece of that you know? Why can’t I be like them? Why can’t you be like them? You belong here!”

“Jared!” Nell called out again in pure surprise as he turned, her blush only darkening further. What would highschool Nell have done to be in this exact situation? No, on second thought— she’d probably be even more surprised. The arm around her shoulders was warm, and Nell tried her best not to look at- well- anywhere southwards, even if she was….curious. Instead she focused on Jared’s other horns. The ones on his head that apparently had come out to play. They really were lovely, with the way they gracefully curled, and their fascinating texture. She still wished he’d let himself out of his glamour more often when it was just the two of them and the farm. It seemed like it’d be uncomfortable to keep it up as often as he did. “It’s great with nothing to hold you back,” she tried to recover. “Are you drunk or something? Did you start drinking without me? That’s not fair! Do you want some pants?” Please, want some pants.

“Drunk? No way. Well I mean I wanted some whiskey for the bonfire but I couldn’t find it in the house, can’t remember where I last had it. Maybe the barn?” He squinted behind them still walking Nell forward and then shrugged. He squeezed her shoulders and stooped to whisper as if they were amongst people who couldn’t know, and not just some rowdy bonedoggle pups. “It’s mushroom season, a ring popped up behind the first barn.” he told her impishly. “Took my chances and I feel great.” he says louder than before. The nymph let her go and turned to walk backwards, taking her hand to hold to pull her closer to the bonfire. “Pants are for humans. Coffins for the legs. Life isn’t supposed to be that way, nothing is far more natural don’t you think. Come on Nell don’t tell me being naked isn’t FREEING.” He yelled out the last word, as if challenging the air to argue with him.

Nell still didn’t know where to look. But as Jared mentions mushrooms, things suddenly became clearer. “Ohhhh,” she let out a breath of air as a few things became clearer. “Like...a fairy ring?” She knew the bare minimum about them after her travels, but didn’t entirely understand them. All Nell knew was that she was not supposed to get into one as a human, though Deridre had shed perhaps a little more light on them. “So they’re like...a celebration, right?” That’s what the banshee had said, wasn’t it? Nell gave a small wince as Jared tugged on her hand, the movement jostling her bad wrist that was still tender and in its brace. “Damn, what I’d give to be as high as you are right now,” she laughed a little through the fading pain. “I mean it is, but— isn’t it a little...I just mean- well- with you...I don’t know? Are you saying I should be naked?” 

“Yeah! Like a fairy ring, the mushroom kind and not those weird british cookies...or are those called party rings…” His focus shifted, his brain working overtime trying to work around the effects of the mushrooms. But alas he couldn’t quite grasp the information and instead waved it off. “IT’S GONNA BE A PARTY!” Jared came back with a response, arguably far too loud for the tone she’d asked the question in. “High on LIFE Nells.” he corrected her and grinned. In a very rare rational moment Jared sobered and looked at her as if he was back to normal. “You think I should wear pants…” but the moment broke mere seconds later when his started to giggle and wiggled his shoulders this way and that. “But pants are for humans Nells, Horns on pants off, those are the new house rules. You don’t HAVE to follow the rules too, but you COULD.”

Nell shook her head ever so slightly, still unable to make sense of exactly what it was Jared was getting it. Instead, she tried her best to roll with it. “A party? Am I invited?” she asked with feigned indignance, as if any answer other that yes would result her in being deeply and personally offended. “I don’t...I mean…” She didn’t want to make Jared wear pants, not if this was the way fae were meant to naturally exist in the revelry of the mushrooms, but she also simply didn’t know what to do with all the...skin. Not when it was Jared. “Okay, well if it’s horns on— I’m gonna need to borrow some,” she tried her best to tease, once again avoiding looking directly at Jared. As she spoke, she rubbed her bad wrist absently, trying to soothe away the ache.

“Of course you’re invited, you’re always invited!” Jared told her earnestly. He bustled over to her and put both hands flat on her head, as he drew them away small little baby versions of two of his horns were there, he giggled and snorted and grinned looking at them before being intensely distracted by her movement to rub her wrist. She’d hurt it, he remembered that, and he’d just pulled it oh this would not do. This wasn’t okay. She needed to be seen to. And like he would do with any of his vicious angels his eyes changed to their natural colour and he started to slowly walk her backwards with a single hand on her shoulder. “Your wrist is sore.” he points out innocently, quietly herding her closer to the barn. Not even really registering what he was doing. 

Nell laughed along with Jared as he mimed the horns, half tempted to glamour some onto herself as part of the game. But she was also distracted as her wrist caught his attention. IT wasn’t unlike Jared to be concerned about her and her injuries, but he seemed...much more intensely focused on it than he usually was. “Oh, it’s not that bad. It’s getting better, anyway. And that’s what the brace is for,” she said as she held up the wrist with a gentle shake, nothing that would hurt it. For a moment, Nell walked mindlessly with Jared, further misled by his eyes changing color. They really were lovely, and he didn’t often let him show. It took her for a second to remember what they’d been doing in her admiration, but then she was reflexively turning back towards the truck and the fire he’d been tending. “Wait, I thought we were gonna have a party or whatever.”

Jared took a small side step in front of her when she turned around, still trying to walk her the other way. “The party will be there later.” he cooed, a big smile finding itself back on his face but his eyes intently watched her wrist moments. Seems even the most vicious of creatures needed a little coaxing to be cared for, so he persisted. Jared wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tried to gently persuade her towards the barn again. What he planned to do when they got there wasn’t yet clear even to himself but his instinct was to move them out of the open air and into somewhere safer. Being injured like that she needed protecting. That was what he was best at! “How’d you hurt it? What actually happened?” He was intensely focused on her wrist now his free hand lifting it so he could see. As if she hadn’t already clearly gotten it seen to.

As Jared stepped in front of her, confusion and indignance flickered over Nell’s face, her neck craning back in a gut reaction. Sure, they often played games of chase fairly often, but this felt different. “Why are you talking like that?” she asked. His tone had changed, hadn’t it? And it wasn’t like the usual tone he used when he was concerned about her. Before she knew it, he was leading her away from the fire yet again. What the hell? What was he doing? “It was at the Ring, like I told you. Remember? I landed on it wrong.” Her frown only went deeper as he continued to fawn, thrown by this change in demeanor. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to take her wrist back. “You’re acting like I’m one of-” And then it dawned on her. The way he kept redirecting her to the barn, the cooing voice he was using. “Holy shit, you think I’m one of your creatures, don’t you?” The absurdity of the situation morphed the trail end of her words into the beginnings of a chuckle. Sure, she could be viscous, but for him to think she was one of his wards?

“Talking like what?” Jared said softly in return not really listening to her. It wasn’t like he ever had to actively listen to any of his charges and process their language before after all. He wasn’t able to do that so he didn’t manage to make the stretch to really process what Nell said in this situation. He frowned very lightly when she pulled her arm out of his reach and he tutted gently. So stubborn. “You’re not a creature.” he once again responds without really thinking about what she was accusing him. He gave up holding onto her and instead decided to try coaxing. He walked backwards and held his hand out to her. “Come on good things in the barn!”

Was he even listening? Nell was just as lost as she’d been in the beginning, having no idea how to combat the mushroom addled brain of Jared. This was a Jared she didn’t know. It was a thought that somewhat unsettled her. Wasn’t she supposed to be one of the people that knew him best? But now she didn’t have any bearings to go off of. “Jared, listen. I’m fine, alright. I don’t need to go to the barn.” What good things was he even talking about in the barn? Hay? Human parts? She wasn’t squeamish, but she had no desire to digest anything that his kids would normally be eating. “No! You think I’m one of them!” she said as she took a step away from the nymph, pointing towards the pasture of bies that were grazing nearby.

Jared squinted at her and then glanced over to the bies and seemed to get lost. The mushroom circle high had yet to fully settle into his mind, so he was knocked off course and his hyperfocus on her wrist injury was diverted to his actual kids. With eyes on his herd of bies he melted when one of them yawned. “Did you see that, so sweet. Why does no one know you’re so cute.” he asked the bies, who looked up at him and then turned its third eye on Nell and then it meandered away. His eyes caught the bonfire again and his direction was shifted once more. The copper pipe he’d placed in it catching and changing the flame colour. He took Nells non-wrapped wrist and pointed bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Look at that holy shit!” He was lost to the mushrooms. He wasn’t likely to make any sort of sense any time soon.

Well, at least the bies had done one thing for Nell today, effectively drawing Jared away from his plans of holing her up in the barn to do who knew what. At least he hadn’t tried to cattle prod her or anything. “They can be very cute,” she affirmed to Jared, hoping it would further placate him. Why did she feel like she was talking to a five year old? As Jared was quickly drawn back to the fire within the span of thirty seconds, Nell’s brow raised. Maybe she was dealing with a five-year-old. “That’s great, Jared.” Normally, she would have loved to go along with any shenanigans including Jared, even if it was just a pretty copper pipe in a fire. But something about this simply set her on edge. If Jared could barely function properly, how was he going to get through the coming days? “Hey, what if we just sit by the fire for a bit? That sounds nice.” Maybe he’d stand still and they could figure this out. “I could even have the hounds sit with us.” Maybe that would be enough to get him to focus.

Her words were starting to sink in finally, the mushroom circle effects starting to settle into something more stable, if still very unusual for Jared’s normal. He beamed at her agreement about his bies and nodded vigorously about sitting by the bonfire. He wanted that, he definitely wanted that. It was all muddled in his brain, but he was at least still aware of wants and needs. It was just the start of the party for Jared. They couldn’t know that yet, but soon enough things would really swing to life as Nell tentatively left him to his own devices.

[drakewalkerisreal]

THE STEAM ROOM

Drake × Riley

Warnings: NSFW, strictly above 18

<One shot>

In this quarantine period, to lighten up your moods I came up with this hot steamy one shot. Here it goes....

It had been a long week for Drake and me. We had been quite busy the whole week and decided it would only be responsible to take ourselves away for some quiet time.

We checked ourselves into a quaint hotel and spa, located a couple of hours out of main city. The first thing Drake wanted to do was get acquainted with the hotel restaurant, but I was adamant that we should check out spa. We compromised on the steam room, to sweat out some old, built-up toxins before indulging in dinner.

We parted for separate changing rooms. I’d brought a cute red bikini with me, which I was excited about using for the first time. When I met Drake in the steam room I noticed we were the only ones in there. His eyes lingered on my body lustily and I felt that surge of lusty feeling too.

I sighed and sat down next to him on one of the benches. I leaned my head back on the bench behind me and let my towel fall away.

“Feel good?” Drake asked.

“So good. I needed this.”

He chuckled “Cute suit.”

I opened one eye and peered at him. “You making fun?”

“Never.”

He leaned over and kissed me. When he sat back I noticed he still had his towel wrapped around his waist.

“You gonna take that off?” I asked, amused.

He laughed. “Ah, I wasn’t sure I should. Coz I am wearing nothing inside it…”

“You came in here naked?” I gasped in disbelief.

“Not naked, I’m wearing a towel!”

I shook my head and laughed. “Well, I mean, if you’re already naked anyway…” I trailed off suggestively and gave Drake a wink – I was a sucker for a naked Drake. He perked up at that and sat up. “Really, in here?”

The words came out of my mouth before I even thought about it. “More fun with a little risk anyway.”

I was going to see if I could lock the door, but then thought against it. The spa was so quiet, and if anyone walked in, at least it would be a funny story to remember in a few years…

Drake took off his towel and I could see that he was getting hard. This man really has the most beautiful cock. I guess it’s true what they say; when you’re in love with a man, you see his cock through rose-tinted glasses.

I pushed his legs apart, got down on my knees, and pushed on his chest so that he was leaning as far back on the bench as he could go. I offered him a smile and went in for a passionate, tongue-filled kiss. His lips were warm and steam-soaked.

While we were kissing he undid the back of my bikini top and let it fall to the ground. I moved downwards and enclosed my mouth on his half hard length.

Hearing him moan and seeing his pleasured expression whenever I looked up, got me more excited. Knowing he was turned on, turned me on. Perhaps it was also his attitude towards the act. He wouldn’t push my head down on him or try to direct me; he was appreciative of whatever I decided to offer, without expecting it.

Maybe that was what made me enjoy deep-throating him ever so.

I massaged his cock with my tongue, gently at first and then gradually with more pressure. I liked to tease him a little bit, moving my throat down as far as it could go, and then quickly back up again. He moaned softly and took hold of my hand, which had been squeezing his right thigh. We entwined fingers as I kept moving up and down, occasionally circling his foreskin lightly with my tongue.

After a few minutes, Drake pulled me off him and put his legs around my waist, bringing me in for another kiss. Before I knew what was happening he stood up, bringing me up with him. He spun me round, still kissing me, and lowered me down onto the bench.

This time it was his turn to push my legs apart. He gently massaged my thighs and slowly moved his hands up towards my vulva. He started off stroking my clit with his thumb, and then let his tongue take over.

His tongue moved up and down and side to side, changing up the tempo and pressure and then easing off to a soft, slow tickle. I held his head in one hand and sighed. Going from getting myself worked up on his cock to this – I knew it wasn’t going to take me long to come.

His tongue moved quicker, in circular motions and I could feel myself getting close. It was as if I was a pot of water that was building up and getting ready to boil over. I grabbed his hair and moaned loudly – far too loud for the public space we were in, but I didn’t care. I felt so good and I was prepared for all the world to know it.

Drake inserted a finger into me and his tongue turned ferocious on my clit, as if he was sustaining himself by consuming me. I couldn’t hold off any longer – in one big, long burst, my water boiled over and I came, panting and moaning loudly.

Drake kissed my inner thighs and pulled me close to him. His hard erection was teasing me. Then he playfully inserted his tip. He poked it in slightly, and then pulled it out. In, and out he teased me with his head. He knew that drove me wild.

I was tired of waiting. I begged him, “ Drakeee, please...”

Drake chuckled for a second, and then plunged deep inside me.

The gush of arousal I felt caused me to wildly swing my right arm back around his head for grip.

We were both focused on how intensely he was pumping behind me. I threw myself back towards him as quickly as he was thrusting himself forward. The friction was warm and wet. My goose bumps were gone, and I could feel a slight sweat building between us.

He reached around with one of his hands and circled my clit with his fingers like he was playing a video game. He knew just how to make me orgasm and we were well on our way.

He grabbed my breast with his another hand and massaged it to the beat of our laps smacking together, taking time to pinch nipple every few rounds.

“I’m almost there.” I announced breathlessly and starting to shake.

“I know. Come for me Baby. I want to you get off so bad.” he panted.

His words sent me over the edge. I threw myself back hard and paused, my vagina clenching down on him, quivering with excitement.

My body pulsed like a ticking clock as I climaxed. Drake held on to me tight until my tremors slowed. He kissed me passionately on the neck, licking the perspiration from my jawline. His pumping never slowed down. Now, it was his turn to experience the pleasure. I had to keep up with him for his fair share of excitement. However, I felt my knees weak. He was still pounding but now erratically.

“Baby, I am coming” he panted.

“Oh Drake, I love you. Do it for me”

Finally, it bursted out like hot magma and filled my pussy completely.

Some of it oozed out and flowed through my legs but I didn’t care. It felt like Drake’s love flowing through my body.

We finally turned to face each other, our cheeks flush from our frenzy.

I kissed him on the lips, feeling completely exhausted, and completely happy.

As I reflected back, I could not believe that we’d done that. Someone very easily could have walked in, particularly with my being so noisy, and the more I thought about it, the more thankful I was that no one else arrived while we did.

Later that night at dinner we clinked our whiskey glasses, toasting a busy week and an even busier first day of our mini-holiday.

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