#so far he doesn’t seem PARTICULARLY interested in reciprocating but i can play the long game

[scared-cr0ws]

Einar being romanceable is actually what sold me into playing Palia because look at him. i BETTER be able to give him kisses on the forehead!!

[imagine-darksiders]

I am on my hands and knees begging for any sort of headcanons of Samael being just, in love, feet over horns, fluttering heart, romanced to the bone, with this weird little human who's obsessed with stuff that doesn't even benefit them and has the bloody stars in their eyes

Samael x human!Reader headcanons:

You're... different from the usual company he keeps. You speak with him, not at him, and certainly not while trying your damndest to appeal to his every whim.

It’s refreshing to be spoken to kindly but without any semblance of an ulterior motive. In his experience, those who are ‘good’ to him, are always after a favour.

You don't know how to engage with him as a demon, having grown up on Earth among humans, so that's how you treat him, as if he were a fellow human. And it's far from the insult he thought it would be.

It’s so, damn, frustratingly charming that his every attempt to court you is met with confusion and reciprocation. He gives you the largest ruby he has in his collection, you give him a leather bound book of poetry you’ve thumbed through for years, adding notes in the margins for him to read.

No. No; you’re not… you’re not supposed to do that. He’s the one in a position of power and elevated status - he’s the one who’s supposed to court you. Now he’s falling in love even harder. Of all the paramours he’s taken, you’re the first and only one who has returned with gifts in kind. And not only that, you put thought into said gifts. You give him things you think he’ll like whereas he merely tries to drape you in beautiful things because he thinks you’re beautiful…. Perhaps he needs to revisit his approach…

Just like that, Samael starts to pay close attention to the things you’re interested in.

It's taken him a long, long time to convince you that you can trust him - you know what he is, after all. Now however, rather than locking yourself in your bathroom and refusing to emerge when he turns up outside your bedroom window, you’re only slightly miffed, poking your head through the open window and ushering him around the back of your home where there are less prying eyes.

It seems you still haven’t figured out why he turns up so frequently. You seem to think it’s because he wants to garner favour with the Horsemen by treating their favourite human cordially.

How sweet.

He doesn’t mind playing the game until you figure it out….

He can - and always will - spend hours in your company, content to bask in your presence as you regale him about your latest ventures and interests. He has to wonder why his heart thumps with longing when he hears about your adventures with the Horsemen. If he had been travelling with you, you’d never have had to lift a finger to protect yourself. He’d have crushed anything that so much as looked in your direction.

And yes, sometimes he watches you from the shadows to ensure that nobody else is trying to encroach upon his claim. He wishes other humans could smell him on you. He only needs to ‘accidentally’ brush his tail against your legs for a fellow demon to catch his scent and get the message that you’re off limits. But humans don’t have the same heightened senses. Even the burning grooves he carved into your front door - much to your chagrin - aren’t enough to deter those would-be suitors who stink of desperation and lust that turn up at your home.

Being the human who helped save your own species has made you particularly… sought-after….

[4stars-uswnt]

My Muse, My Valentine [Christen Press x Reader]

requested by anon: Not sure if you’re accepting any request but can you write a cp x photographer gf where her gf surprised her at man u, like her gf secretly transfer there to be with cp. Thanks

A/N: please ignore some of the inconsistencies this story has with reality :) but anyways... hope you enjoy and have a happy Valentine’s Day (tomorrow) and remember it’s a day about LOVE, whether that be romantic, platonic, familial, or self ❤️

“I’m gonna miss you,” you whine, as you watch your girlfriend pack her suitcase.

“I know, babe. I’m gonna miss you too, so much.” Christen leans down to quickly peck your lips, before continuing to fold her clothes.

You and Christen had been dating for almost three years now, having met after you’d photographed one of the USWNT’s matches. You instantly felt an attraction to the curly-haired forward, your camera always drifting towards her wherever she was on the pitch.

After you’d posted a couple of your photos on your Instagram, which Christen made a point to like and repost, you gathered up the courage to approach her after a game, and thus began your relationship.

With yours and Christen’s busy schedules, it was sometimes hard to find time for each other, but you made it work, sharing an apartment in Portland during the offseason and flying out for matches when you could. But being a sports photographer did have its benefits, as your work often led you to spending more time with your girlfriend and admiring her speed down the field and score goals.

But now, with the pandemic, as the NWSL was struggling to field games,  you found yourself with little work. Christen herself was not quite satisfied with the league’s plan for the season, so when Tobin proposed the idea of going to the WSL, she desperately wanted to, yearning to get back on the pitch.

At first, when Christen approached you with the subject, you immediately opposed, not wanting to be so far from your girlfriend for such a long amount of time. Additionally, with COVID, it would be nearly, if not completely, impossible for you to visit. But after a blowout fight and discussing it further, you realized that this is what would be best for Christen and her career.

“Do you have to go?” You pout, sitting up and moving to the end of the bed.

“You know I do, (Y/N/N).” Christen playfully rolls her eyes.

“Humph.”

“Babe, come on, don’t make me feel worse about leaving you.”

“Then don’t,” you quip, grabbing your girlfriend by the waist, pulling her down on the bed with you.

“Babe!” Christen squeals, as you blow raspberries into her skin.

You lift your head from the crook of her neck, your eyes locking with hers. “I know that you have to go,” you admit seriously. “Doesn’t mean I like it, but I know that this is what’s best for your career.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” she says earnestly, giving you a small smile. “We’ll text and FaceTime everyday.”

“I’m holding you to that.” You cup her face and bring her in for a kiss, savoring the feeling of her soft lips on yours. “I also know that you’re gonna kill it over there in Manchester. The WSL isn’t gonna know what hit them.”

Christen ducks her bashfully, a small blush arising on her cheeks. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course, Chris. I love you, too.”

“Good.” She gives you a quick peck, as she gets up from the bed. “Now, either quit bothering me or help me. My flight is early tomorrow morning, and I haven’t even finished packing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

—————

It had been a little over five months since you’d dropped Christen off at the airport and she left for Manchester. Despite the constant texting and the nightly FaceTime calls, you couldn’t help but ache for your girlfriend. Without her, the apartment was lonelier and the bed felt bigger.

It had helped that your work had started back up, first with some freelance work and then with the NWSL fall series starting, which gave you something to do and kept you fairly busy.

Currently, you were sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping on a cup of coffee, as you edited some photos for the Thorns. Just as you were saving your work and closing Lightroom, about to shut your computer, a ping alerts a new email in your inbox.

Switching tabs, you notice the message is from an unfamiliar address, so you presume it’s a new client. You click and open it, your eyes widening, as you scan the email:

Ms. (Y/L/N),

I noticed your professional portfolio through many referrals, particularly your work form the World Cup. I am writing on behalf of the BBC News Media Centre, and we’re looking for an excellent sports photographer to join the team, specifically to cover the FA Women’s Super League and the Premier League.

Your experience is outstanding, adn your work speaks for itself. I think you’d be a great fit for this role, and I’d love to tell you more about it and hear more from you.

Would you like to set up a phone or Zoom call soon? If so, let me know when you’re available.

Best,

Charles Smith

Director of Media Relations at BBC Sport

You quickly reread the email, and then reread it again, just to make sure you’re not dreaming. This was too good to be true. But you shake yourself out of your stupor and quickly type out a response to set up a phone call as soon as possible.

After hitting send, you shut your computer with excitement and throw your hands up in the air.

“Yes!” You exclaim into the empty apartment, as you throw your fist in the air and jump off the barstool.

Knowing you needed to distract yourself, otherwise you’d just be staring at your computer, eagerly awaiting the response, you decided to go on a run.

Jogging through the city, you think of your girlfriend and your potential reunion if this job offer worked out. You decided that if you did in fact take this position, you’d surprise Christen at one of her matches, hopefully one that you’d be able to photograph.

As soon as you arrive back in your apartment, you make a beeline for your laptop. You anxiously open your inbox and beam when you see Charles had replied to set up a Zoom call at 9:30 tomorrow morning. You excitedly type out pleasantries, telling him you’re looking forward to it.

For the rest of the afternoon, you were in an increasingly good mood. So later that evening, when Christen called you for your routine FaceTime, she could tell something was up.

“Why do you keep smiling like that?”

“Can I not be happy to talk to my girlfriend?” You tease, a huge grin plastered onto your face.

“You can,” Christen trails off, not quite believing you. “But you have the weird giddy look you get when something’s up?”

“Nothing’s up. Just had a good day,” you shrug nonchalantly.

“Okay,” the forward accepts, still eyeing you suspiciously. “Anyways, you know She Believes is in a couple weeks, are you working the tournament?”

“Yup,” you nod and make a mental note to mention that to Charles tomorrow.

The two of you continue updating each other, chatting about topics ranging from what you had for breakfast that day to re-inc’s upcoming drop.

“Alright,” Christen yawns. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

You check your phone and see it’s 5:37 pm, meaning it’s almost midnight in Manchester.

“Okay,” your eyes softening at the sight of your sleepy girlfriend. “Good night, Chris. I love you.”

“Love you, too, babe. G’night.”

After ending the call and shutting your laptop, you head into the kitchen to make some dinner for yourself, getting on with your evening.

—————

The next morning, you anxiously await for Charles to begin the Zoom call, nervously bouncing your knee and biting your lip.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Charles greets, his face appearing on your screen.

“Good morning. Or rather good afternoon?” You correct with a light chuckle, to which he reciprocates.

“Well, as you know from my email, we are looking for a photographer to join our team, and from many referrals, you seem to be a very good candidate,

“So, I was thinking maybe we could look at your portfolio really quickly and then hash out the logistics to see if this is something that could work out.”

“Sounds good,” you agree, as you pull up some of your best pictures and share your screen.

The two of you look through your photos, many from the 2019 World Cup, some of the Olympics, and a few from random NWSL games.

“Well, (Y/N), your work is quite impressive. If you’re ready, and you’re seriously interested in this position, we can talk specifics, scheduling, all that good stuff,” Charles offers.

“I’m definitely interested, but can I just preface by saying that my girlfriend is a major part of this decision, so depending on what she wants to do at the end of the season will impact my contract.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows, clearly not expecting your candor. “Your girlfriend plays in the WSL?”

“Yeah, well, technically only for this season. Her contract is up in May,” you explain.  

“(Y/N), to be completely frank, we’re looking to hire because a couple of our photographers had some personal issues due to COVID and had to leave mid-season,” Charles reveals. “So if it turns out that your girlfriend wants to go back to the NWSL, then we can work that out. And if she wants to stay, and you end up liking it here and you fit in well, we can also work that out. We’re pretty flexible.”

You sigh in relief, giving him a small smile. “Wow, thank you so much. So what would my contract look like?”

“Well, we can sign you to three month contract with the option for extension,” he offers, as you nod along enthusiastically.

“That sounds great,” you exclaim, beaming. “And just to let you know, I’ve already signed on to work the She Believes tournament from the 18th to the 21st.”

“That actually aligns with the WSL’s international break, and there are a couple Premier League matches that weekend, but I think we can manage, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“You guys are too kind and so flexible. I really appreciate it so much,” you say earnestly.

“It’s really just us being desperate for a good photographer,” Charles jokes.

“Either way, I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

“We’re excited for you to join our team,” he reciprocates. “So, in terms of when you’ll begin, I honestly would like you to come over as soon as possible so that you can get settled and get acclimated.”

“I am honestly ready to start whenever you’ll have me.”

“How about next week? The Manchester Derby is on Friday, and honestly, given your portfolio, I’d love you to photograph that match,” the British man admits.

“That’s perfect!” You were in complete awe of how perfectly everything was working out. Photographing a Man United match as your first job meant you could surprise Christen, maybe as an early Valentine’s gift.

“Great,” Charles smiles.

The two of you discuss and finalize your contract and the logistics of you starting the job. Once everything’s settled and you each have the information you need, you wrap up the call.

“Well, thank you so much, Charles, for this offer, and I can’t wait to see you next Tuesday.”

“I can’t wait to work with you and meet you. See you next week. Cheers.”

After ending the Zoom call, you begin to make a COVID test appointment, book your flight, and arrange your hotel room for the few days that Christen doesn’t know you’re there, preparing yourself for moving across the world.

—————

After landing in London, getting settled into your hotel, and meeting with the BBC team and the other photographers, you were now on your way to the Manchester Derby.

In the back of the black cab, you pull out your phone to text a good luck text to Christen.

It was difficult to keep your surprise a secret, especially when you were actually in England, because it was much more difficult to FaceTime without her noticing your change in setting. You had to make up the excuse that you were swarmed with editing and preparing for the upcoming Thorns trainings.

As you pull up to the Academy Stadium, you hear your phone ding.

Chris ❤️

Thanks babe. Miss and love you 😘

You quickly type out a response, before heading into the building.

(Y/N/N) 💗

Love you too. I miss u too but go kick butt.

The match was exhilarating. Not only were you a sports photographer, but you were also a huge fan of the game, enjoying a good game when you see one.

You watched in awe, the level and style of play significantly different from than NWSL. While snapping hundreds of photos of both teams, your camera would always somehow land back on your girlfriend.

Your heart ached for the curly-haired forward, as you missed her dearly. Until you saw her back on the pitch, you hadn’t really realized that you missed watching her play the game that she’d mastered, her movements around the pitch and on the ball effortless and elegant.

As the ref blew the whistle, signaling the end of the half, you scroll through some of the photos you’d taken, deleting some of the blurry and unfocussed ones.

A smile immediately forms on your face when you see a picture of Christen during warmups with a huge grin on her face. You spend all of halftime editing said photo and putting together an Instagram post for your girlfriend.

About fifteen minutes later, the teams take the pitch and you go back to doing your job. Throughout the second half, you could tell that Christen was getting increasingly frustrated, her team getting down 3-0 with only about five minutes left.

You watch as the players high five and hug each other, and you want nothing more than to run onto the field to be with your girlfriend, but you had a plan to stick to.

As the team goes back into the locker room, you pull out your phone to post a photo on Instagram and then you shoot a quick text to Tobin:

(Y/N)🤓:

toby go check out my ig post :))

Back in the Man United locker room, after Casey went through her post match speech, Tobin checks her phone and sees a text from you. The injured forward playfully rolls her eyes at your message but follows your directions.

Upon opening the social media app, Tobin raises her eyebrows, her eyes widening. She glances across the room to see if her best friend had seen your post, but Christen was minding her own business, changing into sweats after her shower.

“Chris!” The older forward calls over to the other woman. “Have you seen your girlfriend’s Instagram post?”

Christen furrows her brows in confusion. “What? No, what is it?”

Tobin waves her friend over and shows her the post:

Liked by mrapinoe, ashlynharris24, and 638,231 others

yourusername: My muse, my valentine.

“As I sat and looked at her

and the rolling hills she sat upon

I thought,

what amazing luck I have

that the world had created

such beautiful things

and given me the eyes to see them.”

- atticus

tagged: christenpress

- - - - -

mrapinoe: Stunning pictures, (Y/N). Love you guys 💖

alikrieger: These photos are 🔥🔥🔥🔥

alexmorgan13: love this 😍😍

cdunn19: Beautiful!

glennondoyle: Love love love love this!!

ashlynharris24: Holy shit! Are you in Manchester????

↳lavellerose: Was this today??

↳sammymewyy: Oh my gosh it was!

↳kellyohara: Valentine’s Day surprise for Pressy?? 👀

Christen zooms in on the photo in the center, her eyes widening when she realizes that it is from today’s match.

“How did she get that picture?”

Tobin mentally slaps her forehead at her friend’s denseness. “Knowing (Y/N), she probably took it.”

“But that’s impossible. She’s in the States,” Christen states and shakes her head, dumbfounded.

“Actually,” you speak up, stepping into the locker room, deciding to make your presence known. “I’m right here.”

“(Y/N)?” Your girlfriend looks up at you, her mind in a state of shock.

“Hey, love,” you greet shyly.

Once her mind caught up with reality, Christen runs and jumps into your body, kissing you passionately but briefly and wrapping you into a bone crushing hug.

“I can’t believe your here,” she whispers into your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, babe, so much.”

Unwrapping herself from the hug, Christen stares at you in awe. “What… how are you here?”

“We can talk about that later,” you give her another quick kiss. “But right now, I just wanna spend time with you. Maybe we can grab some dinner? You can show me around Manchester, considering I’m gonna be spending a lot of time here.”

Your girlfriend looks at you puzzled, but you just give her a wink with a small smirk on your face.

“Well, c’mon lets get out of here.”

—————

Back at Christen’s apartment, the two of you sit down for a nice and casual, but romantic, dinner you’d prepared along with a bottle of red wine.

After catching up, the forward finally decides to address the elephant in the room. “So how are you here? What’s going on, (Y/N/N)? You said earlier that you’d be spending a lot of time in Manchester, what does that mean? I’m so confused. Not that I’m grateful that you’re here right now and that I get to see you, but I thought you were working She Believes, and—“

“Chris,” you cut off your girlfriend’s endearing rambling. “Babe, you’re rambling.”

“Sorry,” she blushes, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“I got a job with BBC Sport till the end of the season,” you answer her parade of questions.

“Does that mean what I think it does?”

You nod, while taking a sip of your water. “It means I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

Not having the adequate words to express her joy and excitement, Christen gets up from her chair, walks over to sit in your lap, and connects you lips for a searing kiss.

“I can’t believe you,” she breathes, rubbing her nose against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you quickly peck her lips while rubbing circles on her hip. “But as much as I love you and all this romance, we gotta get going soon.”

Your girlfriend tilts her head in confusion.

“Do the words ‘She Believes’ ring a bell?” You tease. “If I remember correctly, our flight leaves in a couple hours.”

“You’re coming with me?” Christen asks, her brain trying to wrap around the fact that her girlfriend, who she hadn’t seen in almost five months, would now be living with her in England and flying back to the States with her for the next week.

“Of course, Chris,” you give her a cheeky smile, along with a kiss to her nose, as you quote a book Becky had convinced the whole team to read. “You should know by now that I’d follow you anywhere. You’re the only good thing left in this world.”

[pluviophile-imagines]

3 for bakugo or todoroki

I decided to do Bakugo for this, & then I got this ask after I closed the prompts for this event so I decided to go ahead and do it because it’s actually one of only two Halloween-related ones and I was planning to make this Werewolf!Bakugo anyway lol. This is a fun little AU that just kinda swaps quirks for supernatural creatures, loosely based off of a bunch of campy halloween stuff like Halloweentown and Sabrina The Teenage Witch. Also, the werewolves have destined mates like those dumb Wattpad novels, because sometimes tropes are fun and cute. Also this is THREE TIMES AS LONG AS I MEANT TO MAKE ALL OF THESE but ive also gotten like five??? individual asks for it 😭😭😭so y’all better not let it flop.

3: kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

Though you’ve known Bakugo pretty much your whole life, there’s a lot about werewolves that you don’t know.

If he were a different person, he probably wouldn’t be telling you at 5:47 on his 21st birthday that he’s apparently supposed to figure out who his soulmate is going to be tonight. If he weren’t so closed off, even to his best friend of over a decade and a half, then perhaps you wouldn’t be having this conversation, and perhaps it wouldn’t feel quite like pulling teeth.

“You have a soulmate?” is really all you can say, because most of your mental capacity is going towards keeping the sob in the back of your throat from being audible.

“Yeah,” he grunts. He’s not even looking at you, because he’s holding his phone in one hand and he’s scrolling through it, and though the two of you are sitting on opposite sides of the couch he has your feet in his lap, free arm wrapped all the way around them like he doesn’t want you to leave. “It’s… I dunno. Kinda cool, I guess.”

“All of you have soulmates?”

“Well, yeah. You witches don’t?”

You wrinkle your nose, trying your hardest to ignore the burning at the backs of your eyes. “No. We don’t.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see him purse his lips, as if troubled by the revelation. “Huh. How d’you know who’s the one, then?”

“We just. Figure it out? I guess. Is this why you’ve never dated anyone?”

“Yeah. Not really interested in anyone but my destined.”

He says it so easily, but you know him well enough to understand. He likes the idea of a soulmate; he’s looking forward to figuring out who they are tonight. Who would have guessed that he was a romantic?

It’s awful. It makes your chest burn. You’d only come to terms with your crush on the guy two months ago. Now he’s gonna be taken from you by some random person he’s never met?

No, you suppose, he’s always belonged to them. That’s how it works, right?

“D’you know who it’ll be?”

“Hah? No, dumbass, if I did that would defeat the purpose.” Bakugo pauses, glancing over at you with just his eyes, then darting them away just as fast. It’s probably just a trick of the light, but you could swear he blushes a little as he mumbles, “I know who I want it to be, though.”

Your eyes widen and you lean up, pulling your legs back (ignoring the way his hands tense before letting them go as if he wants to hold on) so that you can kneel on them right next to him. “Who?”

“Not happening.”

“Bakugo,” you whine, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“I’m not telling you, brat.”

You lean forward, prodding at his cheek. “Is it Mina?”

“No.”

“Jirou?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Kirishima?”

Bakugo growls out your name, a warning, but you don’t pull away, getting even closer until you’re practically draped over him.

“Todoroki?”

He grabs you, whipping towards you as his arms fly up to wrap around your waist and yank you off him, tossing you back to your side of the couch as you shriek in laughter. He’d never hurt you, you know, and roughhousing like this is hardly new in your friendship; plus, well, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping to feel his big, warm hands like this. Despite all his surprises tonight, he’s still all too predictable, and you’d seen this coming a mile away.

What you don’t see coming is him pausing, braced with one arm against the couch all too close to you, holding his torso over you with his head right above yours. And he stares, those crimson eyes unreadable with an expression you’ve never seen before, locked entirely on you.

You can feel his chest rising and falling steadily against yours, and your own eyes are drawn to where his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. You’re frozen, unable to move though you’d hardly want to anyway, and it hits you like a brick what he’s really been saying the whole night.

You open your mouth to speak, but then the hazy tension is shattered by the shrill sound of his phone.

Bakugo lunges away, pulls back with inhuman werewolf speed, grabbing his phone as he leaps to his feet. “‘S my mom, sundown’s soon, I have to go.”

“Wait, Bakugo—”

“See ya tomorrow, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, already half out the door.

“Katsuki,” you try, desperate, and it makes him freeze.

The door is open, his knuckles are pale with how tight he’s gripping the knob, but as much as you’ve tried it’s not enough. He’s gone without another word.

You don’t get to sleep that night.

It’s dumb; he’ll lecture you in the morning as he tells you all about his perfect amazing werewolf destined—that was what he’d called it, right? You prefer soulmate. Mate is a wolf thing anyway—who he’s spending all night with, running around in the forest howling at the moon and making out or whatever.

You stay out in the den, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped around you, ice cream in your lap, and an old movie playing that you’re not really listening to because you’ve been too wrapped up in your own head.

For an instant, you’d been so sure. A mere moment of absolute certainty that he was just as in love with you as you are him, that your oblivious pining for years was actually reciprocated. In the hours since he’d pinned you to the couch, you’d convinced yourself otherwise.

Imagine your surprise when there’s a frantic knocking at your door.

It startles you, making you jump about ten feet up in the air, and you freeze on the couch with wide eyes and a gaping mouth staring directly at the solid wood that seems to be shaking in its hinges. You’re halfway to casting a protection charm when a familiar gruff voice shouts your name from outside.

“I know you’re awake, I can hear you in there! Open the damn door!”

You glance at the time to find that it’s just under fifteen minutes to midnight. Awfully soon for him to be done, but you rise from your spot on the couch with the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders and move to let Bakugo in.

“Coming,” you say, not bothering to be loud because you know he can hear even the shifting of your clothes beneath the blanket.

He looks downright feral when you open the door, panting slightly, hair mussed up, eyes wild. But when he sees you, they light up, happy and excited like a damn puppy.

“Are you drunk?”

“Uh… kinda?”

“...Magical bullshit?”

He nods, a rough toss of his head to affirm. “Ancient rituals. Tipsy’s more accurate, if anything. Figured out who my destined is.”

“And you came to me? Shouldn’t you be with your soulmate, then?”

Bakugo blinks, clearly stunned, barking out a burst of laughter before shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ dumbass.”

You go to respond, more than a little insulted because he’s been acting so fucking weird all day and he has the nerve to say you’re being dumb, but any retort is flung from your mind as he steps forward and puts his hands on your arms.

Leaning in until your noses are practically touching, he speaks. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“H—huh?” you stutter out, heart stopping and mind reeling with his words.

“I wanted it to be you. And it’s you.” His hands slide down your arms to meet yours. “You’re my destined.”

There’s so much more to say, so much to ask him, everything ranging from but I’m a witch, how is that possible to so we could have been fucking dating this whole time but he doesn’t let you speak, clearly too overjoyed and inebriated, and you’re not entirely opposed when he yanks you in with exactly the level of roughness you’d imagine from him and kisses you.

And finally, finally, after a decade and a half of wanting to (longer than you even knew what kissing was), you can melt into him.

You believe him then, not that you particularly doubted. It’s like his lips are the missing piece to a puzzle, one you’ve been looking for your whole life. He holds you up with ease, werewolf strength coming in handy, as one hand laces with your own and the other darts to the small of your back. He’d be holding you closer, but you’re literally as close as you could be, body curving against him as his taller form hunches over you.

He kisses you far more sweetly than you’d have expected; no teeth or tongue but still all passion, heavy palm and fingers splayed across your back as the other hand pulls you and grounds you. It’s heated and it makes you forget that you’re both standing in the middle of the open front door at midnight.

You’re both reluctant to break away, you can tell because you both linger a little, bodies frozen as the kiss is followed by one, two, three more just as feverish but decreasing in length. Then the two of you pull away for real (not by much, no, he’s holding you far too intensely for you to get far) and you stumble backwards pulling him by his shirt into your home. He gets the hint, following and shutting the door behind you but not letting either of you make it very far beyond.

“All right,” you say finally, breathless both from the kiss and from giddy laughter bubbling up within you, “all right, you’re my soulmate.”

Bakugo kisses you again.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

now on ao3

In all the years they've travelled together, the only person they've ever come across on the road is Yennefer, much to Jaskier's immense displeasure. And then proceeded to run into her suspiciously often. Geralt puts it down to a wish or some such nonsense, but Jaskier doesn't care why so long as he doesn't have to spend any more time with her than he has to.

So when he hears Geralt talking to someone as he makes his way back to camp, his heart sinks immediately, expecting it to be Yennefer. But when Geralt makes it up to the campfire, there are two people with him, neither of whom are Yen. There are a taller blond man and a slim woman with bright eyes, neither of whom Jaskier recognizes.

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts, "we have company."

Thank you, Jaskier thinks, I can see that. He doesn't roll his eyes, but only because he doesn't want to make a bad impression on their guests.

"How wonderful!" he says, turning and crossing the camp to greet them.

The woman - Gwendolyn - introduces them, explaining that her partner Dominic once fought alongside Geralt to rid their village of a swarm of kikimores. Jaskier raises his eyes at the Witcher, but Geralt ignores him. There's a golden story in there somewhere and Jaskier makes it his job to learn it in full - if not from Geralt, maybe from Gwen.

Gwen is also a bard and Jaskier instantly adores her. She seems less interested in the fighting and adventures that Dominic goes on than Jaskier is with Geralt, but they find common ground in their music. And it's nice to have someone who really appreciates what is one of the most important things in Jaskier's life.

Geralt invites them to travel with them, much to Jaskier's surprise and Gwen and Dominic set their tent up next to Geralt's. Jaskier is looking forward to having company, even just for a few days. It's not often he has anyone to talk to other than Geralt and if he's learned anything in their time together, it's that Witchers don't make particularly good conversational companions. So he's glad to have the company, but as the night wears on, Jaskier's happiness dwindles.

Gwen and Dominic are so happy together, constantly touching and laughing and sharing their joint stories of life on the road. They're happy together and very much in love and Jaskier's heart aches wondering if he'll ever share that feeling with someone. He glances over at Geralt where he's prodding at the fire and smiles sadly. Even after all their years together, he can't be with the one he truly loves and seeing friends of Geralt's so happy together hurts in a way he didn't expect.

He's never wanted that one special person in his life; he likes being with different people each night, but he also can't imagine not coming back to Geralt at the end of the day. Geralt is his constant in an unpredictable world, but Jaskier still finds himself wanting more. Even if he shouldn't. Geralt has never made any indication that he'd even be interested in something more and yet Jaskier aches for it.

He curls in on himself when they sleep that night, keeping his distance from Geralt in the small tent and tries to forcibly ignore the empty feeling in his chest. When they wake in the morning, the four of them set out again, travelling at a steady pace.

Gwen joins Jaskier at the back, chatting away happily about the ballad she's working on and Jaskier's spirits rise again. They talk throughout the day as they walk and she asks about Geralt and their time together. Jaskier tells her a little, but leaves out certain details, not willing to face those feelings in the bright light of day.

When they stop for the evening, Jaskier pulls out his lute and plays for them while Geralt gets the tent set up. Dominic and Gwen join him and after a while, Geralt comes and sits next to him, much to Jaskier's surprise. He shares his wine and Jaskier drinks more than he should, overcompensating for the persistent ache in his chest.

Jaskier plays his best songs and Gwen sings along with more of them than Jaskier would expect her to know. He's pleased to know his words reach so far across the continent and it encourages him to sing louder, more enthusiastically. Geralt gives him a look, quirking an eyebrow at him, but Jaskier just winks in response and continues. Geralt may not appreciate him, but their new friends do.

It's not until the fire burns low that the ache returns. Gwen is sprawled in her lover's lap, grinning up at him and Jaskier has never seen someone look so in love. He's pleasantly drunk, toeing the line between a light buzz and too much. When Gwen and Dominic turn in for the night, scurrying away to their tent hand-in-hand, Jaskier excuses himself and slips away into the darkness. He’s not quite ready for bed, but he’s not up to sitting alone with Geralt right now, either.

The moon is full and bright, lighting the field adjacent to their camp and Jaskier strolls through the long grass. He wants what Gwen and Dominic have. He wants to feel that overwhelming adoration and have it reciprocated - even just for a little while. Love comes and goes, but he wants to know how it feels to have someone love him so completely. His romances have been fleeting or have taken place over years with their encounters few and far between; the only person he's been with for longer than a few weeks is Geralt. But Geralt is far from his true love - if there even is one true love for him.

But Geralt is different and Jaskier knows he will always hold a special place in his heart above the rest. Even if their relationship never becomes anything more than it is, Geralt will always be different. But the thought of continuing as they are sits heavy on Jaskier's heart. For the first time since he can remember, he feels alone, unwanted. And he knows it's not Geralt's fault for not wanting him, but he can't help being miserable anyway.

Footsteps approach from behind and he turns to find the Witcher coming up behind him. His hair shines in the moonlight and Jaskier lowers his eyes, smiling sadly.

"Come to bed, Jaskier. We have an early start tomorrow."

"Alright."

Jaskier offers up a smile and follows after him as usual, forcing down the desire to reach out and press up against him.

In the morning, Geralt is missing, but both Gwen and Dominic are sitting outside when Jaskier crawls out of his tent. He keeps his spirits up as well as he can, eating breakfast with their companions and passing his low mood off as sleepiness. When Geralt returns, he seems quieter than usual, but Jaskier suspects it's because this is the third day with travelling companions and Geralt is used to it just being the two of them.

They make it to town that day and Geralt takes on a contract for a ghoul that's been terrorizing the town at night. It means they'll be in town overnight at least and Jaskier books them a room at the inn and settles in while Geralt discusses his terms with the mayor.

Geralt leaves in the late afternoon and takes Dominic with him. Jaskier and Gwen stay behind at the inn, neither one less confused than the other. Jaskier doesn't say anything about it, but he finds himself worrying about what could possibly have spurred Geralt to take a companion to fulfil a contract. He rarely even lets Jaskier go when he promises to sit to one side and not get involved. Jaskier orders them a round of drinks and pushes the thoughts from his mind.

"So tell me about Geralt," Gwen beams, leaning across the table. She stretches her hands out, looking up at him expectantly. He knows what she wants to know, but Jaskier has nothing to offer.

Jaskier tells her everything he can. He recounts their travels together and sings Geralt's praises, talking of his achievements and all the lovely songs Jaskier's written because of him. Gwen just looks at him and he knows none of this is what she wants to hear.

"I've heard your songs," she says, "I want to know about him."

"I think you've got the wrong idea."

"I don't think I do," Gwen says softly. "I see the way you look at him when you don't think anyone is watching. The way you look like you could be happy to spend the rest of your life following blindly after him."

Jaskier opens his mouth to interrupt, but he's silenced with a single look. "Okay," he breathes.

"I also see the way he looks at you," she says, "like he's afraid you're going to walk out of his life one day and he'll never see you again."

"It's not like that. Geralt is my best friend and my muse and I don't know what I would do without him, but it's certainly not mutual. I'm giving him a better name, that's all. It's why he keeps me around." The words keep coming, but Jaskier's heart thuds heavily against his ribcage and he doesn't think he'll be able to stop speaking if Gwen doesn't interrupt him.

"Geralt is..." he falters, trying to come up with something to say and Gwen looks at him with such earnestness that he can't lie to her. "He's beautiful," he admits, "and he's so much kinder than anyone knows and if he wanted to settle down, he'd make a wonderful husband, but-"

"It's not like that?" she asks and Jaskier just offers her a sad smile.

When Geralt and Dominic return, both parties go their separate ways. Dominic and Gwen are moving on, but Jaskier has already rented a room and Geralt is tired and worn out by the time he returns. They say their goodbyes at the door to the inn and Jaskier watches as they saunter away hand-in-hand.

When they turn in, Geralt falls asleep nearly instantly. Fighting really takes a lot out of him and Jaskier pulls a blanket over him, smiling down as Geralt grumbles and rolls over in his sleep. Jaskier sits on the floor, leaning against the bed. He doesn't want to climb into bed with him because Geralt wakes easily and he needs his sleep. And Jaskier doesn't expect to sleep much tonight anyway.

He can't stop thinking about what Gwen said to him. Surely Geralt doesn't really look at him when he's not paying attention. And if he does, it's only to wish him silent.

They head out in the morning, but they don't get far before a storm breaks out. Roach spooks easily at the thunderclaps and Geralt herds them all under the shelter of the trees. They find a stone overhang that's just tall enough for them to crouch under and Geralt ties Roach to a tree a few feet from the entrance and sits with her until she calms.

Jaskier watches from his spot undercover, a small smile creeping onto his face. Geralt really is so soft and gentle and no one ever sees it. No one but him. He pushes himself up to keep from staring and collects as much dry wood as he can find for the fire, stacking it into a neat pile. He's no good at lighting them, but he can get it ready for Geralt to come back.

When he does, Jaskier smiles up at him from his spot against the wall. Geralt takes a seat next to him, quickly forming the sign to light the fire and Jaskier swallows back the spark of arousal that always accompanies Geralt using magic.

"It was nice to have company," he says simply and Geralt hums.

"I think I prefer when it's just the two of us."

Jaskier's heart leaps but he tries not to think too much about it. He smiles up at Geralt and slumps against the wall. Maybe it would be nice to be showered with affection all the time, but when he looks at Geralt, he can't imagine trading him for anything. He watches as Geralt pokes at the fire and realizes no amount of love and affection makes up for what he has now. They might not be together and Jaskier never expects things to change between them, but he loves Geralt for the emotionally unavailable idiot that he is.

They lay their bedrolls out and Geralt stops Jaskier as he moves further toward the back of the shelter. "It's a cold night," he says, "you should move closer."

"To the fire?"

"Hmm."

Jaskier looks up and Geralt is staring down at the ground. The thought that Geralt might want to keep him close bounces around Jaskier's head and he lays his bedroll between Geralt's and the fire. When he lies down, he still feels cold, but Geralt slips up behind him and Jaskier can feel the heat of his body against him. It makes his breath catch in his throat and he shuts his eyes, pressing back into him. He doesn't open his eyes because he can't bear to.

"If you want to leave, I won't ask you to stay," Geralt says quietly and Jaskier freezes.

"What?"

"The way you looked at Gwen and Dominic... you're a lover Jaskier, you can't spend your life chasing after an old Witcher."

"And if I want to?" he asks. His heart thuds loudly and he can barely think over it. Geralt stirs next to him and when Jaskier opens his eyes, Geralt is above him, looking down.

Jaskier reaches up, sliding a hand over Geralt's cheek. He can barely breathe with the fear of saying the wrong thing and when he opens his mouth, he almost forgets what he wanted to say.

"My darling Witcher," he breathes, "where else could I possibly want to be?"

"But you want more," Geralt says and if Jaskier didn't know better, he'd say he looks sad.

"Not if it means leaving you," Jaskier breathes. And he means it. He wouldn't give up Geralt for anything.

Geralt doesn't say anything and Jaskier doesn't know how long he can last hanging in this silence where he doesn't know what to say and Geralt looks like he wants to kiss him. He can't think, he can barely breathe in the silence, but he reaches up, sliding his arms around the back of Geralt's neck and sliding his fingers into his hair. He waits for a moment, giving Geralt the chance to pull away. He doesn't and Jaskier draws him closer.

"Don't do this just for me," he whispers and Geralt barely gives him a chance to finish before closing the space between them. His lips are soft but hesitant and Jaskier brings him closer, shows him he has nothing to be nervous about. When Geralt draws back, he looks almost sheepish.

"I'm not. I know I'm not good at things like this," he mumbles and Jaskier lets his hands slide to Geralt's face. He shakes his head and draws him close again.

"You're perfect."

[pinencurls]

“I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

Hiii so this is my entry to @stellarboystyles‘s three year anniversary fic challenge! I’ve been busy with getting ready for classes starting and balancing other stuff so I wrote it on and off for a week and a bit but I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is so so encouraged and appreciated <3 

Here’s my masterlist of some other stuff I’ve written x 

Enemies (more like friends but oops) to lovers, prompt 9 “I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

14k+ :) Not read through sorry! pls let me know of any mistakes and I’ll correct them <3 (also i k n o w the title's bad but i couldn’t think of anything, pls feel free to leave any recs.)

- - - - 

It isn’t that I hate Harry. He just makes me feel...insecure. He’s never said or done anything directly but it’s hard to feel good about yourself when all your closest confidants seem to compare you to somebody else, somebody they so clearly hold higher above you. There wasn’t a single day I could meet a mutual friend of mine and Harry’s and not have them sing his praises, and apparently everyone was a mutual friend. I’ve known Julia and Theo for years, we all met in uni when they first started going out but it wasn’t until a year ago that I somehow ended up finding myself a regular within the friendship group they’d formed when they both went into the music and fashion industries. They had ties everywhere and after a pure coincidence of running into them and their circle at a pub, almost all my weekends were spent in various art galleries or new restaurants owned by somebody’s cousin or the guy they met last night at a Fleetwood Mac concert. 

I’d met Harry about five months into hanging out with the group. He’d known them a lot longer than I had, weaving his way into the little pockets of interesting people for years since the x factor. I was busy with work the first few times he was in town but after a while, Nick, the persistent party planner of the group who always managed to wrangle us together, insisted that I just had to meet him.                  . . . . . 

Eleanor’s house is huge and buzzing with hundreds of strangers. I cling to Julia and Theo’s side, Nick and Eleanor are nowhere in sight - most likely playing host or drinking too much chardonnay in another corner of the house. These four are the only people I can say I really know here, sure there are a few familiar faces on the dance floor, either from having met them at any of Eleanor's past elaborate parties or just because of they’re not so subtle fame. That’s another thing, all the people sipping wine and dancing around me are fairly...well known. Either just within the industry or to the general public too, they’d all gain fairly high status. It was a fluke really that I got on so well with Julia when we first met on a fashion course in uni. 

Julia had big goals, all of which she was on track to fulfil, that conflicted slightly with mine. Her goals consisted of runway show models clad in designer brands she might one day contribute to whereas mine were more...anti, that whole world. It took a few years to find a steady footing but eventually, I was proud of where I’d ended up: a comfortable little cubby in the fashion and sustainability columns of a handful of independent magazines. After a few nights out with Julia, I was pleasantly surprised to find her shared interests and solidarity in my work and ambitions of her own within the same ideology. But whilst that’s all well and good, I’m still very much the small indie journalist that slips through the cracks when it comes to small talk at these kinds of events. It became apparent pretty quickly that my latest articles on how fast fashion had begun its destruction of a liveable environment in developing countries weren’t as relevant or interesting to the people promoting Prada and Calvin Klein as the next met gala theme. 

“Do you want another drink?” Theo asks from beside me, pulling my focus from my scan of the room. 

“No thanks..I’m good.” I murmur, debating how long I have to stay before I can slip out and feel a little less awkward around all the people I have no clue how to talk to. “Think I’m gonna head off actually..”

“Look I know you hate networking, but this is just a chill get-together yeah?” Theo chuckles, squeezing my shoulder before taking another sip from his gin and tonic. “We’re in the same boat about these snooty things but tonight’s not like that, relax a bit will ya.” 

Theo works mostly with small-time music artists, producing debut albums and such so we share the same deep discomfort for the many events we often find ourselves at. It’s how we got close really, week after week we’d trail behind Julia as she strikes up conversations with Hollywood elite...and he always makes getting piss drunk in someone’s pool house exceptionally fun. 

Before I can further any excuses about getting home to start on the legitimate and ever-growing pile of work deadlines on my desk, a tall man in far too much Gucci to belong anywhere but in a room full of models and artists makes a beeline straight from the bar to our awkward party. 

“Harry!” Theo shouts, embracing the slightly tipsy man in a hug he reciprocates. 

“It’s been too long mate, how ‘ave you been?” Harry cheers, leaning back from the hug and grinning down at his friend. 

“I’ve been good - busy, enjoying the free bar as always.” Theo jokes, motioning between his and my matching G and T’s. Harry’s eyes wander up from the drink, realisation dawning on his face as he smiles again.

“Ah and you must be the famous Olivia,” He reaches his hand out to mine and shakes it lightly. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself, ‘m Harry, it’s good to finally meet you, love.”  

“Likewise.” I smile, trying to suppress the blush his words of endearment tease. I can’t deny the natural charm and charisma everyone always talks about now that it’s hitting me straight on. There’s something about the way he doesn’t hesitate to hold eye contact just that little bit longer that makes the room go still for just a second. He’d got it down to a T.

“Aww I see you two have finally met!” Nick interrupts. My hand falls from Harry’s grip as he’s welcomed into another hug. “About fucking time as well, been trying get this one to take a night off for weeks!”

“I literally came out with you last Thursday!” I counter, not missing the smirk setting on Harry’s face as he watches Nick and I’s back and forth. “And the Saturday before, come to think of it I’m always out with you Nicky.” 

“Not when Harry’s in town though n’ that’s a different kinda night.” Nick laughs, his beer sloshing slightly in his free hand as his other remains draped over Harry’s shoulders. 

That was maybe the first sign of my slight resentment for Harry. All night I wandered around with Theo hearing little bits of conversations, all surrounding the star of the party. I understood this wasn’t his doing, his humility was clear in every one of his bashful attempts to turn the conversation away from his growing achievements and onto literally anything else. He was, however, a self-proclaimed narcissist. Every time somebody would swoon over him and insist he stay the topic of conversation, a smirk tugged at his lips and stayed there as he consumed the endless and animated praise from almost all the party guests. 

I’d expected some of his qualities to be untrue, learning from the past never to believe blindly of someone’s pure character when you didn’t truly know them. Especially when they frequented the gossip columns. But it wasn’t him so much, he was true to his motto of kindness and courteous even as people fawned over him, it was more the attention that surrounded him. As the night went on it became clear what Nick meant even if he didn’t know it himself. A night out with Harry was different because everyone made sure to capitalize off how different he made them feel.

. . . . .

“Can I get you anything else M’am?” The young waitress asks as she clears up my empty mug and saucer. My eyes falter a little as they adjust from the blue light of my laptop I’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes. 

“Um- oh please could I just get a refill?” I ask. 

“Sure thing - mint tea right?” She smiles, adjusting the mug in her hands to make a quick note. 

 “Yeah..s’perfect - thank you.” She’s gone before she hears my delayed gratitudes, definitely used to the throngs of bemused writers tapping away at their laptops for hours. 

I turn back to my open google doc. So far it’s written in two parts I have no idea how to connect and my senseless rereading hasn’t resulted in any legitimate progress in almost an hour. I’d accept the rut I’m stuck in and work on something else for the day if I didn’t only have the day. Last night had been filled with plans of settling in early and finishing the last two thousand words on an upcoming sustainable clothing brand. That all went out the window of course as my phone buzzed off the kitchen counter with Nick’s insistence of yet another night out to celebrate ending the work week - his was quite different to mine. It was easy to ignore the persistent beeping of my phone as new texts and call notifications popped up every three minutes, but less so when the rhythmic bursts of noise were replaced by knocks on my front door. 

Within 40 minutes of opening it to Nick in a silk shirt and jeans too skinny for someone pushing thirty, I was two drinks in and dancing to Blue DeTiger with a pair of hands on my waist that I didn’t entirely recognise. It was just the six of us: Me, Nick, Ellie, Theo, Julia and Harry.

He was hard to ignore, not that I was trying particularly hard. On the drive over, the limited backseat space in Nick’s car and close proximity had practically forced me into his lap. Even with thighs pressed tightly against each other, we hardly talked, a few polite hellos here and there and then silence as we listened to Eleanor recall her latest night with whichever blonde bassist was her ‘soulmate’ that week. The whole ride over, Harry kept his hands on the thigh closest to the door and leant his shoulders the same way as to touch me as little as possible - which was still quite a lot considering the packed five seater pushing seven passengers. It was fairly common knowledge we weren’t close and I got the feeling he wasn’t too keen on me, but he could at least not act like touching me would be the worst thing ever. 

As the night went on he clung to Theo, ever the cuddly drunk, and I stayed more to the pleasant stranger I’d found on the dance floor.

No meanest was ever intended between us but I couldn’t help but watch the kindergarten like bitterness grow as everyone just loved him. We couldn’t go anywhere without a crying fan or two approaching the sweet and smiling man who always answered their questions affectionately and hugged them goodbye. The times he was out of town were always filled with comments about his absence, as if none of us were good enough without his added presence. I couldn’t help but wonder why they even bothered to bring me into their little group. The lack of closeness between Harry and I felt almost like a lack of closeness to the group as a whole, despite how much my individual friendships with everyone advanced. 

Just as I thank the waitress - Alice, her name tag read, and take the first sip of my third tea (I had to switch after a particularly strong starter coffee) I notice a familiar man out the corner of my eye looking just as rough as me. Of course he’s wearing it better than I am. 

Harry collects a drink from the counter and bows his head slightly in thanks, turning and catching my eye just as he’s on his way out. He waves with his free hand and shoots me a candid smile before making a quick change in direction towards my small table. 

“Long time no see,” He pulls the chair opposite me out a little as he chuckles at his own joke. He perches lightly, temporarily. “How’ve you been?”

“A little hungover, I won’t lie..” I laugh, surprised by the whole encounter. “You?” 

“Same, I might have had a shot or two too many,” I nod knowingly and shut my laptop softly. He sips what smells like coffee before going on. “Are ya workin? Sorry to interrupt.” 

“Oh no- I mean I am but it doesn’t matter really, ‘ve kinda hit a dead end.” His eyes hover, waiting for me to go on. “I was gonna get it done last night but Nick had other plans..” 

“Yeah Nick’ll do that to you,” He laughs, “What’re you writing ‘bout?” 

He leans slightly forwards, holding eye contact and shuffling comfortably into his chair. 

“Oh just this promotional piece on a new company, they’re hiring young women and training them to make these handmade clothes. They’re paying them above minimum wage and focusing on sustainability so this editor I’ve written for before offered me it.” I’m not really sure how sincere he is in his curiosity, he always seems to have time to listen when Julia has a new design plan or Theo’s found a new artist but that’s different really. I stop before I start to ramble, just in case. 

“That’s so cool, what kinda stuff are they making?” He prompts, resting his chin on his fist, imitating the posture of an eager little kid. 

“They've started stocking stuff by other independent artists but mostly dungarees and these cool cord trousers, they’d suit you actually, even got some 70s style ones.” Now that the two worlds are colliding in my head, I can’t help but imagine Harry in a pair of their forest green cords, the wide legs would almost bury his vans but a part of me is pretty sure he’d love them. 

“Thanks, if they come at your recommendation I might have to get my hands on a pair,” He smiles, his tone’s a lot different to the usual polite cheer, it’s difficult to place where it’s landed before he’s talking again. “Reminds me of that show you took us to with the upcycled clothes, all those dungarees made of old quilts - remember?” 

It’d been a small exhibit just outside of London I’d mentioned offhandedly and somehow ended up showing everyone around. It was nice to have them all in my world for an evening. Marcus, a friend of mine from college, had put it together and created a lot of the pieces. He and the others I’d met through my work were fairly shocked to say the least when Harry Styles came traipsing through the doors behind me. All night he quietly asked Nick questions, to which Nick only responded by motioning towards me and wandering off to the bar. 

“I do - I’m surprised you do to be honest.” It slips before I can decide if it sounds passive aggressive or not. To be fair, it had been a surprise to me, meeting everyone at the train station and watching Harry and Nick scramble out a taxi and run towards us. He’d been dressed in proper gallery attire and seemed genuinely thrilled to be joining in on the rare night I actually played host. 

“Course I do, it was a good night...I’d choose it over Nick’s tequila Tuesdays anyday.” His phone buzzes on the table, a text popping up in green. “Oh I- my manager’s waiting sorry.” 

A sheepish smile is accompanied by a loose arm movement towards the door where, out on the street, I see Jeff. He’s shaking his head and motioning for Harry to hurry up. Had Harry sat down to talk to me whilst his manager had been waiting this whole time? 

“It was good running into you, good luck with it all,” He stands. “See you friday yeah?” 

I’d totally forgotten about his “Whenever I’m in town Friday film night.” until he mentioned it. I’d been twice in the past and stayed quietly to my corner of the sofa, only watching as everyone else laughed at whatever romcom had been chosen that night. 

“I-maybe.” He shakes his head as I smile, not quite ready to commit a whole evening to watching Nick raid Harry’s wine cellar. 

“You better, I’m gonna need to hear more ‘bout those cords.” He points his hand in a kind of joking reprimand/wave before he’s gone back down the aisle of tables to the door where Jeff ruffles a hand through his hair and laughs when his hands fly to fix the now birdnest of brown curls. 

I open my laptop back up, skimming over the last few lines I wrote to get myself back on track. I take a sip and my tea’s gone cold. 

. . . . .

“Are you coming to Harry’s tonight?” Eleanor asks down the phone, her voice chipper as she no doubt raids her closet. 

“Maybe, I don’t know..I’ve got this deadline Monday morning that I’m nowhere near meeting.” 

“Come on Liv, we haven’t seen you all properly together since last month, and last week doesn’t count it was too loud to actually talk!” She chimes in, the sound of clothes being tossed to the floor clear in the distant background. “Have you got a problem with Harry or something?” 

“No Elle, of course I don’t-” 

“Then why do you guys never talk? You hardly come with us when he’s around and when you do you barely even say hello.” Eleanor complains, she’s mentioned it in the past but it’s been easy to blow off with excuses of how busy he usually was making his way around the room to greet everyone or how we just hadn’t known each other that long and weren't particularly close yet. 

“I just...I don’t know, I don’t think he likes me very much.” I pause. I still haven't decided what last Saturday was in the cafe. “We’re not really close and I’d prefer not to spend another night listening to people tell him - and everyone else - how great he is.” 

“You’re saying that like he’s some arrogant twit, if you came out with us more you’d see what he’s really like around his friends. Or you know, you could actually talk to him when we’re together and see that he’s not a dick?” 

It was a fair point. I haven’t made much of an effort over the past year to spend any time with him outside of larger gatherings or to have genuine conversations with him that went past the weather or a new jacket one of us had on. Maybe he really is a good guy away from all the pretentious crowds and watchful eyes he usually called to our group. He’d certainly seemed different in the quiet Saturday surroundings of Blondies Coffee Roasters in between sips of coffee. 

“Okay, okay yeah I’ll see you there.” We hang up a couple of minutes later and I’m left alone in my kitchen again.

. . . . . 

“Hey!” Harry cheers as the door swings open to reveal him in yet another pair of flared pants that hung comfortably around his waist. “Come in, come in.” 

We all pile in through the doorway as he steps aside. Arms weaving through each other as we hang coats and jackets and Julia passes Harry the fruit platter she’d made (and scolded us all for picking at on the drive over.) 

“Oh very appropriate,” Harry laughs as he uncovers the tray to reveal an array of sliced watermelon, strawberries and grapes, He sets the fruit down on the table in the lounge for us all to eat and shakes his head lightly. I look up at Julia for an explanation but she’s too busy claiming the comfiest loveseat for the night. “I’m never telling you anything again, Jules.” 

Julia and Harry tease each other for a moment more until Theo catches my confused stares and laughs to himself. 

“Harry wrote a song ‘bout fruit- another one actually,” Theo starts, tucking himself beside Julia and letting her take over before he can finish. “S’not just about fruit though is it H?” 

Harry blushes slightly and settles his glare on Julia as he carries six wine glasses through to the table. 

“‘S about watermelon, it just has some..” He clears his throat as he fumbles for his next sentence. “Other themes to it too.” 

“As if mate,” Theo’s laughter booms, “ Basically Liv, he wrote this new song the other day all about how much he loves to-” 

“Watermelon!” Harry yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Theo. “S’all about how much I love watermelons...I’m a fruit guy.” 

“Oh are we talking about the pussy song?” 

All heads snap round to see Nick, obviously having let himself in and now chuckling softly to himself as he leans against the archway into the room. 

“Oh sorry H, were you tryna give an interview answer?” 

Harry just slaps his palm over his eyes and lets his shoulders shake for a minute before he bounces back to host mode. 

“Okay!” I can’t help but notice how flushed the tips of his ears are as he claps his hands together, desperately trying to move on from the conversation. “Who wants wine?” 

Fifteen minutes later everyone is settled onto the sofas with an array of throws between us and a layout of fruits, crisps and other mid rom com snacks that make me feel bad I left my flat in too much of a hurry to remember anything but hummus. 

“Okay - Sixteen Candles, When Harry Met Sally or Mamma Mia?” Nick calls out, waving the tv remote above his head to get everyone's attention. An outpour of votes follows - you’d think between only six of us we’d be able to sort out a process by now but still we fall into momentary anarchy as the room divides. 

“Mamma Mia is a classic!” Eleanor protests as Nick’s shaking his head. 

“And Billy Crystal isn’t?” He yells back, eyes wide and genuinely offended. 

“Colin Firth is arguably more iconic, Nick really, come on.” Theo sighs. He accepts the high fives Ellie and I reach out to him and saluts us both. 

“We’ve all seen Mamma Mia before though, we’ve never watched When Harry Met Sally all together,” Julia points out, winning a smirk and nod of approval from Nick. 

There’s a beat of silence while Nick weighs up the votes in his head. He tilts to the side slightly and eyes Harry up, our gazes following. 

“Harry?” 

“Ellie?” 

“Come on, you’ve got the last vote here, and I know how much you like Meryl.” Nick gasps a little, the mention of Meryl Streep as a wager to win Harry over to his opposing team was definitely foul play in his eyes. 

“Yeah but he loves When Harry Met Sally...and he is a narcissist..” Julia offers into the debate, a few snickers follow her comment before we all turn to look at Harry. We’re all already half a glass in but I could swear for just a moment his eyes lingered over me, fluttering down to my smile before turning back to announce his decision to Nick. 

“I’m afraid I am in the mood for a bit of Abba,” Cheers and not so subtle murmurs of frustration fill the lounge as Nick scrolls through the Romance bar on Netflix before clicking on the film of just over half of our choosing. 

Everyone goes quiet as the film starts, breaking out into bursts of song only as the cast does. From the conversation in the car, it’s pretty clear everyone has just been through a pretty tiring week. We all tended to pile our workload a little heavy so it was always nice to escape for a few hours at the weekend and relax together.

Just as Voulez-vous plays through the room, a slightly tipsy Nick leans into Harry to serenade the singer with his own rendition. The duo sway slightly, both narrowly avoiding Nick’s wild limbs before there’s a crash and Harry’s cursing. 

“Oh- H, Sorry!” 

Nick’s wine glass that’d been balanced on the coffee table in front of him moments before now lays on its side. The, luckily white, wine trickles down onto the rug but most noticeably splashes into Harry’s lap. I’m not entirely sure how he managed it, it must have flown forwards when it was knocked but Harry quickly stands to access the damage. 

“I’m so sorry Harry I-” 

“Don’t worry mate, I’m just gonna go change and toss these in the wash..could you wipe that up for me?” Nick nods, looking a little less cheerful and a lot more guilty now as Harry makes it way out the room. He calls behind him: “Keep watching I’ll only be a second!” 

Nick finishes wiping down the table and rug just as Harry jogs back into the room. I don’t mean to and I’m never one to check people out..unless very subtly, but I can’t help but let my eyes linger a little. 

He’s still in his plain tee but instead of his fancy pants he’s found some soft wash denim jeans. The whole look paired with his thick rimmed glasses and how his hair's gotten tousled about by Nick throughout the night just made him look so...ordinary. Not in any bad way, anyone who met Harry knew he could never be ordinary, no matter how casual he dressed, but something about seeing him abandon the more dressed up looks and go for the comfortable option just made him seem different. 

In a second his green eyes are complimenting the look too as he gazes down at me. 

“Hi,” He mouths, nobody’s taken much notice of his return, yet another musical number taking everyone’s attention. It’s my turn to blush a little now. I avert my eyes quickly, anywhere really, before sneaking a quick look up at him to smile back. 

Ellie had helped Nick in the “For fucksake save Harry’s rug it probably costs more than your car” mission and had stolen the seat beside him after they were done. It slipped my mind until Harry set the new bottle of wine on the table and sunk down into the space beside me, He curls one leg underneath him and slips me one more smile before turning back to the screen just as Donna and Sam start singing SOS.

. . . . . 

“Ah shit, I think I left my book!” I curse just as we make it down the road to Julia’s car. Parking was shit so by the time we found a spot we’d ended up a good 15 minutes away from Harry’s house. “You guys go on, I’m only round the corner anyway.” 

Theo and Julia were familiar with my stubbornness so let me go, yelling their goodbyes after a few hugs as they drove away, Ellie and Nick do the same as they clamber into a taxi. I turn quickly in the chilly air and make my way back down the street to Harry’s drive, punching in the familiar code at his gate before running up to the door hastily. 

It was open - as always, so I let myself in. He was probably still cleaning the lounge up after we all got a little too tipsy. 

“Hey it’s me...just left my book sorry!” I call down the hallway. It’s quiet despite the light Paul Simon playing in the distance so I make my way quickly to the sofas I’d spent most of the night on, praying to avoid an awkward run-in with Harry. 

Although we’d actually shared some light conversation throughout the night and a handful of smiles, I’m not sure we’re quite at the stage in our friendship that me more or less breaking into his house wouldn’t be awkward to run into. 

The lounge is empty when I get there. The side tables are still littered with wine glasses and tacky red rings on coasters but no Harry in sight. Or book for that matter. 

I start pulling back the cushions carefully - god knows how much they cost. Despite scouring the one spot I’d pretty much clung to the whole night -  incidentally beside Harry -  I have no luck. Nick tossed the book back to me at some point in the night after reading it by my recommendation but knowing him it could have ended up anyway. I follow the breadcrumbs of our night down another hallway as I vaguely remember Nick talking about a certain plot twist as we searched Harry’s kitchen cupboards for the wine he’d sent us off to restock. 

As I come around the white archway into his kitchen I catch a glimpse of him from around the kitchen island. He has his back turned to me but he’s leant forwards against a counter with ring covered fingers clutching the edge, a glass of amber liquid set slightly away from him. 

“Oh, sorry I was just-” He jumps a little at my voice, turning quickly to face me with his now free hands coming up to hold his chest. When his eyes finally meet mine they’re red and it takes a second for him to register the tears still streaming from them before he replies. 

“Shit, fu- what are you..are you alright?” His hands bat between tangling into his hair and wiping the tears from his cheeks, anything to avoid actually looking up at me again. 

“Yeah, I just..um..left my book,” I mumble, taking a step closer to him when I notice how his hands shake as they move timidly around his face. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Uuuh um.” He wanders for a moment before slapping a palm lightly atop the counter and pulling out his infamous grin. “Nothing much, how bout you - find your book?” 

“-Harry..” I take another step close, “I know we’re not, ya know..close. But you can talk to me.” 

There’s a beat of silence when he keeps up the act, I’d almost believe it if it wasn’t for his bloodshot eyes and anxious fingers drumming against the tile. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, assessing whether or not to tell me whatever’s weighing so heavy on his shoulders. But the dam bursts. 

“Fuckin’ everything Love” He laughs, rubbing his palms over his face. I try to focus on the matter at hand: Harry weeping in his kitchen. But that name’s only ever left his mouth directed at me a handful of times and it’s never made my stomach flutter quite as it did just now. “Just..Fuck I’m so lonely Olivia.” 

I don’t really know any of the details but between conversation - mostly overheard, and the media frenzy, it was hard not to be aware of Harry’s break up two months ago. I can’t claim we were close enough to discuss it, having hardly ever talked beyond trivial issues, but I knew that despite them only being together two or so months, he’d been incredibly distant for the weeks that followed the break up. 

“I hear about you and Aubre..I’m really sorry it didn’t work out for you guys-” Harry laughs almost, a pained sort of chuckle that told me I was way off with this one. 

“It’s not..that isn’t why I..” He takes a deep breath before lifting his head up slightly to focus on where his fingers still tapped out a nervous beat on the counter. “I was lonely before her...and with her. I just, I can’t seem to get it right ever...feels like nobody wants to be with me for the right reasons.” 

“Hey no..what about tonight? Your house was full of so many people who love you yeah? Maybe your bougie wine collection had something to do with it but still,” He laughs at that, peeking up from behind his fringe for just a moment. “They- we love you ‘k?” 

“I know but, ‘clock hits the am and everyone leaves, it just gets...it gets so fucking lonely to see everyone in perfect pairs ya know?” 

I don’t really know what I’m doing but I’m doing it - my arms wrap over his shoulders and lock with a hand at the nape of his neck. We’ve never hugged before beyond a general greeting but anyone watching wouldn’t know it, his face burrows quickly into my shoulder and his arms cocoon over my waist, holding me tightly and slipping under the thick layers of my jacket. 

“I know exactly what you mean, H.” 

The hug lasts longer than I imagined it might. He smells of vanilla and the coffee he brought back in bulk from Jamaica. He lets out a shaky breath and melts further into me, nuzzling my neck softly with the tip of his nose. His curls are soft between my fingers and I find myself shhing him, lulling us both into a tired kind of calm. 

Another moment passes in the silence of his kitchen before Harry lets out an awkward cough and straightens up, pulling out of our hold and immediately covering his face with his palms again. 

“I..sorry Jules and Theo must be waiting for you..” Harry murmured, wiping the last of his tears away and letting his hands fall and fidget by his sides. 

“Oh no don’t worry they..um they already went I was actually just gonna walk.” I tell him, making his head perk up a bit. 

“Wha-It’s past twelve Liv it’s not safe, how far do you even live?” He clears his throat and his voice is clearer now, it feels like a whole different world to the one we were in just a minute ago. 

“It’s fine honestly, only take like thirty minutes walking - I’ve done it before-” I ramble, eager to put this situation behind me before I embarrass myself anymore. 

“No - let me drive you yeah?” Harry shakes his head, adamant. 

“Harry..we’ve been drinking all night, I think that’s more dangerous than me jus’ walking.” I laugh, holding his gaze for a second longer than I usually would - fuck, how do we usually act around each other?

Before I come to a conclusion, his eyes rest heavy on mine and I can see the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to work his way out of this one. Ever the people pleaser. 

“Then stay.” 

“Harry-”

“You said you know how it feels.” He cuts in, unwavering now as he doesn’t let my eyes fall from his. “So stay …’s safer anyway.” 

. . . . . 

“I can take the sofa, really Harry I don’t mind,” I reassure as he tosses me an old t-shirt and joggers to sleep in. “It’s comfier than my bed anyway. 

His guest bedrooms had just been painted and were still pretty fume filled so the sofa or his bed were the only options. For twenty minutes now he’s tried to convince me to take his bed and leave him on the sofa, despite the fact we both know he’s a little too tall to sleep without his feet hanging off the end. 

“But you’re my guest!” He protests again, coming up from his wardrobe to stand in front of me, hand on hips and an expression of concern on his face. 

“And you’re almost six foot!” 

“Hey, I am six foot.” He takes a deep breathe, exhaling through his nose in defeat before speaking again. “Okay, you can sleep on the sofa but if anyone asks I was the perfect host and you bullied me into this.” 

I laugh softly, this whole new side of Harry had never been directed solely at me before and it was honestly refreshing. Usually Nick or another friend was the target of his jokes and playful demeanor and I only noticed it from afar but now he was right in front of me, hauling pillows off his bed and sticking his tongue out when he caught me staring. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asks for the third time since I agreed to stay the night. We’ve just finished setting up the sofa to sleep on and despite the duvet and many quilts far more lush than my own actual bed, he seemed unconvinced it was enough. 

“I’m sure” I sit back into the pile of blankets and pillows, tucking my feet underneath me and looking back up at Harry. “If you’re really not, just come watch a film with me and see how cozy it is.” 

The quick change in dynamic was a lot smoother than I’d imagined. Within an hour of being alone together we’d already talked more than in all our past interactions, not to mention how close we’ve gotten. He only nods his head quickly and he’s settling under a quilt beside me, rummaging around for a controller to pull up netflix again. 

“Mamma Mia two?” He asks. 

I chuckle a bit and nod. At the beginning of the evening I hadn’t quite seen it ending in a Mamma Mia marathon with just me and Harry. 

He presses play and as the opening display begins we both lean back into the sofa and pull the blankets up over us. It’s only in the quiet of the first few scenes that I notice we’re matching. We’re both dressed fully in his clothes, grey joggers and t-shirt - his rolling stones, mine fleetwood mac. And it all smells of him. I pull the blanket a little higher over my chest and the faint, but now familiar, scent of vanilla and coffee fills my lungs and for a second all I can focus on is how desperately I want to be in his arms again. 

. . . . .

“-ow” A groggy voice mumbles from above me and I feel myself being pulled forwards slightly against something hard - and warm. 

I’m a few seconds from falling straight back asleep before I feel the painful ache in the side of my neck. I reach a hand up to gauge my current situation and feel my fingers plunging into soft hair - soft hair that ends too soon to be mine. 

“Hi..” I recoil my hand quickly back to my side and push myself up so I’m sitting slightly. I look down and see Harry, half asleep still and hand still resting on my side. 

“Oh-hey sorry,” What do you say when you wake up beside the guy you barely knew but simultaneously had been incredibly vulnerable with just the night before? 

Harry seems to be waking up now and certainly more aware of our predicament as he pulls his hand away from where it was holding firmly onto the material of my - his - t-shirt and pushes himself up to sit against the arm of the sofa. 

“We must have fallen asleep..sorry I didn’t mean too, ya know…” His eyes flutter between where I sit opposite him and the “Are you still watching?” Netflix screen. 

“It’s fine, accidents happen an’ everything.” I smile, slipping out from the warm cocoon of blankets to stand. “I’m just gonna wash up quickly and I’ll be out of you hair.” 

Before I can rush off to tame my hair and hopefully find some toothpaste to rid me of my morning breath, Harry clasps his hand gently around my wrist and tugs slightly to get my attention. 

“Not in a rush Love, I’ll make us some breakfast.” He says it effortlessly, like it was a regular occurrence for us to fall asleep cuddling on his sofa. He stands, groaning as his knees pop appreciatively and lets my hand go before he’s disappearing into the kitchen.

“Okay…” I murmur to myself. “....okay.” 

. . . . .  

Alice is back at my table with my second refill before 11am. I thank her and take a gulp of the fiery ginger tea before reading over the last three paragraphs I just wrote. The spice licks my tongue as I tip the cup up for a second sip; it’s autumn after all. 

In the last two weeks September had slipped into October and all the trees in London had received the memo. I’d been busy, hoaled up in the quietest corner of Blondies the whole time with coffee filling all my senses. I haven’t seen everyone together since that night at Harry’s. I grabbed lunch with Eleanor the Monday afterwards and told her nothing, preferring to avoid the texts my phone amassed over the fortnight. I've turned down all proposed group activities and focused on work instead. To be fair, I do have a lot to get done. There were always seasonal pieces in my to do list and with the weather getting colder it was time I got to them before it was Christmas already. 

I haven’t talked to Harry either. He made us pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup in the morning and we haven’t even texted since; I’m not sure that we even have a private text between us. Eleanor and Julia have told me how much fun they’ve all had the times I’ve politely but persistently declined, I can only assume Harry’s in the mix with them all. He’s in town for awhile if I’m remembering our breakfast chatter correctly, it makes sense that they’re all hanging out together really when they don’t often get time together. Ellie’s phone calls keep me from sliding into thoughts of how easily I could fall right out of the group and not be missed, at least. I was just taking space for work. The fact that most of my afternoons at the cafe disappeared into me analysing anything I might ever have felt or said to Harry means nothing at all. 

Neither does the heightened pace of my heartbeat when he walks through the stiff wooden  doors of Blondies. 

He orders what I assume is his regular black coffee, scans the room for a second and lands directly on me. He hesitates a little to hold my gaze, turning his head to look outside before looking back at me and smiling. He thanks the server and takes a few quick steps towards me, weaving in between the packed tables to my little spot hidden away in the corner. 

“Hi,” He smiles again, although his toneos overshadowed by a slight anxious hilt. “Can I sit?” 

Nodding, I close my laptop and pull my tea closer to me to make a space for him. 

“Hi.” He repeats, smiling a little sheepishly. 

“Hi,” I wait a second, nervous to start when I’m so unsure of how this conversation has already gone in his head. But he doesn’t say anything so I push through and bite the bullet against my better judgement. “Look, about that Friday I-”

“Can I just-” He cuts me off, leaning forwards and opening his hands out as he mulls over his next few words. “I’m sorry if it was awkward at all, I didn’t mean for anything to happen and I thought we were fine an’ everything but then I haven’t seen you in two weeks and Ellie keeps saying you’re not comin’ out. Did I do something wrong?” 

“Oh god no,” I hurry, “You didn’t do anything it was just - I didn’t expect to wake up..like that...and it was just a really quick change because we’ve never really been close and suddenly it was just, us, like that.” 

He nods, pushing a loose curl back a second later that broke free in the motion. He seems understanding as he looks down before leaning his elbows against the table so only the two of us can hear what he’s about to say. 

“I know, I didn’t expect it either but, can I just tell you I’m glad that it happened?” He leaves a three second pause for me to flounder in confusion before continuing. “What I told you, ‘bout feeling lonely, it messes with my sleep all the time. I just get stuck in my own thoughts but the night you stayed over I slept fine - perfect even.”

Not sure what else to do with this new information, I nod for him to continue.

“I know we’ve never been close, but hanging out with you just really calmed me down.” He smiles, gaining confidence now in his vulnerability tucked away in our little hiding place. “Thank you for staying.” 

“I get what you mean.” I mumble, slightly anxious any of the busy customers with prying eyes could overhear my confession. “I never really know when to stop working and I think I got the best night sleep on your sofa I’ve had in awhile, which really speaks volumes about how crappy my mattress is.”  

He chuckles. Relief seems to settle in as he lets his shoulders relax and face soften. 

“I was thinking - especially now that I know it was good for you as well, maybe it could become more of a regular thing?” He asks, his forefinger and thumb pinch together and twist one of his rings a little - a nervous habit, I’m sure. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Like..when we all go out, maybe we go home together, you know - so we can sleep better.” He moves down to focus on the metal rose he’s still fumbling at. “If..if you don’t want to or you think it’d be weird it’s fi-” 

“I’d like that.” I reach forwards to comfort him, absentmindedly cupping my fingers around his. “I think it’d be nice, to get a good night's sleep I mean.” 

“I’m glad.” He beams.

“..That and you make a mean blueberry pancake.” I tease, earning a light chuckle from Harry. 

Just like our last cafe encounter, the ping of a his phone beats me to my new few words. He checks it quickly, shaking his head and glancing down the large room to the shop front where, once again, Jeff waits. He seems a little more agitated this time, waving vigorously whilst trying not to attract the attention of passersby, all  rather unsuccessfully. 

“Bollocks okay - I’ve gotta go,” Harry swears, collecting his coffee from the table and pushing his chair back quickly. “I’ll just - we can text before we go out next yeah?” 

“Cool, yeah - wait a sec, let me just give you my number.” I reach up for him to hand me his phone but he doesn’t make any effort to move, instead he blushes slightly and stares at the floor. “..What?” 

“I um, I already have it.” He fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck before talking again. It’s hard not to remember how it felt when it was my fingers carding through his brown curls. “I got it from Theo awhile back when we were going to this thing, felt weird not having it. I hope that..okay and everythin’” 

I nod, smiling up at him. The idea of him having a part of me for this past year without me even knowing is oddly precious. The fact that he felt odd about not having my number and going to the effort of getting it from Theo was unbelievably endearing. 

“That’s fine, helpful actually.” I smile still, “Text me before we meet everyone and we’ll make a plan or somethin’” 

“Okay,” He smirks, his slight cocky nature reemerging. “Will do, Liv. See you soon?” 

“See you soon.” 

Jeff flies a hand up to his hair like before but this time is met with a grinning Harry who doesn’t seem to mind so much. 

. . . . . 

Unknown Number 

‘Hey! Is tonight good? We can slip off after drinks at the gallery. H x’ 

I look down at my phone. Caught off guard by the sudden text, I’d almost forgotten out arrangement. Julia invited us all to a gallery opening of one of her friend's new exhibits. Even as I flicked through my wardrobe for the right jacket, I hadn’t put two and two together and realised I’d be seeing Harry again for the first time since our chat at Blondies four days ago. 

I save his number and I think quickly, not wanting to leave him on read when he knew I’d be leaving to see them all any second and most likely spend the whole tube journey on my phone. 

‘Hi :) That’d work for me yh, just let me know when you want to leave and I’ll make an excuse. Liv x’ 

With another thought rushing through my head, I send a quick follow up. 

Me

‘Can we keep this between us right now? Might be a bit tricky to explain to the others.” 

Harry

‘Read my mind love.’

‘See you in a bit :)’ 

I’m still not the hugest fan of the airy feeling that rushed through my stomach as I read over the pet name. He was just from Manchester, it was normal up there to call everything by casually affectionate little names. It didn’t mean anything at all. 

. . . . . 

“Livia!” Nick calls out when he sees me scanning over the faces at the entrance to the gallery. I smile instantly and make my way over, quickly falling into his arms as he rocks us for a second. “Haven’t seen you in an age!” 

“‘Ve been working, we can’t all piss about Monday to Friday.” I giggle, smiling wide as he murmurs something under his breath and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “Is everyone here?” 

I try not to look suspicious when I peak over around us, trying to pick a certain brunette from the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re just over there with Julia’s friend.” Nick points and I see him immediately. He’s dressed just as I expected - half gucci half grandpa sweaters. “I’m gonna get us drinks, meet you there?” 

“Mhmmm” I hum, breaking out of his hold and slipping through the crowds to our small group of friends. 

“Hi!” Julia smiles brightly. She hugs me quickly before stepping aside to give Eleanor and Theo their turns. They all whisper quiet ‘Missed yous’ in my ear as if I’ve been gone for years. 

“Hey,” Harry appears by my side as everyone else turns their attention to the front of the crowd where it looks like the artist is setting up to introduce the night. “How’ve you been?” 

“In the last four days?” I chuckle, “Good. Not been sleeping great, but I’ve got a lot of work done so that’s been great.” 

He nods approvingly. A smile tugs at his lips at the mention of sleep, almost like some secret inside joke we’ve managed to form between just the two of us. 

“Me neither. Jeff’s been buggin’ me what feels like every hour with deadlines.” I find myself squeezing his hand a little under his long coat sleeves so nobody can see. “Looking forward to just collapsing tonight, if I’m honest.” 

“Me too.” I smile tiredly, tonight had been a big ask come to think of it. I've had work piled up twice my height all week and even having worked day in and day out I’ve still only made a crack in the mountain of final edits and emails to respond to.

Harry squeezes my fingers back and our hands linger in each other's hold until Nick emerges beside us and the artist begins her speech. 

. . . . .

 The comfortable chatter surrounding the booth we’d taken up a few hours ago died down as the clock ticked later and later. We’d left the gallery a while ago now in favour of the after party at a pub down the road but by now the heavy scent of beers and various gin based concoctions were giving us all headaches. 

“I think I’m gonna call it a night guys,” Harry announces, a slew of groans following from the group. “Sorry, sorry! It’s been great but it’s getting late.” 

Julia and Theo move out the way to let him out the booth. He slides across the red cushion to stand, pulling his coat over himself as he sneaks a quick look at me. 

“I think I’m gonna head off too,” I smile, waiting for Eleanour to stand and let me out as another wave of complaints flooded me. “Sorry! I’ve got work and the tube’ll be hell any later.” 

“Well if Harry’s going too couldn’t he take you home?” Julia suggests, looking between the two of us as we now stand slightly away from each other. “You drove right?” 

“Yeah, I did.” Harry turns to smile at me, amused clearly by how our plan was being unknowingly encouraged by our friends. “C’mon, I’ll drive yeh.” 

I nod, biting back a smirk. We say our goodbyes and wave as we slip out the heavy pub doors out onto the road outside. It’s started to drizzle slightly and I resent choosing the jacket without a hood. 

“I’m just over here,” Harry points a little ways off. “Hurry, think it’s about to pour.” 

We walk quickly down the street and through a metal gate into a car park when there’s a loud rumble of thunder and immediately the rain thickens. 

“Fuck!” Harry laughs as he scrambles for his keys, we match each other's paces until we’re practically sprinting to his car in the far corner of the lot. The click of the locks sounds out and his lights flash red a second before we’re both pulling the doors open and throwing ourselves inside onto warm seats. 

We catch our breath, chests rising and falling with uneven pants before our laughter settles and Harry slots the keys into the ignition. 

. . . . . 

“Do you want anything to eat?” Harry asks as he closes his front door behind us and we kick out shoes off in his hall. “I think I have some takeout menus somewhere..” 

“I’m not really hungry, thanks though,” I cut off his search as he walks through to his kitchen and starts opening draws. “Kinda just wanna go to bed now.” 

He nods and rubs a hand under his eye in silent agreement of my exhaustion.

“I’ll make us a tea, meet you up there yeah?” He calls over his shoulder, having turned quickly to retrieve various packets from his cupboards. “Chamomile okay?” 

“Yeah chamomiles good,” I hover for a second in the archway leading into the kitchen, suddenly awkward to be alone in his house again. “Where um..where is it?” 

He looks over his shoulder at me, slightly confused. His eye brows unfurrow when I motion behind me. 

“Oh- just up the stairs and third room down the hall..on the left.” He smiles, turning back to the cupboard to look through his extensive mug collection. 

I nod to myself, spinning on my heel and making my way up his stairs. I’ve never gone beyond the downstairs of his house before and even then I stuck to the kitchen, dining room and lounge. It felt odd to suddenly have access to something as intimate as his bedroom, I try not to overthink things as I push open the third door I see.

The first thing I see is his large bed, there’s probably enough room for three people on it and there’s definitely enough pillows to go around. The room as a whole is tidy, whether it’s always like that or only organised so precisely for my visit, I don’t know, but the thought makes my stomach flutter. 

I walk up to the side of the bed with no charger on it’s table and set my bag down. We hadn’t talked about the logistics of our...arrangement, but I’d brought the basics to last me through the night. I plug my charger into the wall and take out my wash bag and a set of clothes to sleep in before sliding my bag under the table. I look around for a second. Somehow I hadn’t really thought through the fact that by the end of the night, I’d be in Harry’s bed. With Harry. In a completely platonic way with the only function to soothe our mutually crappy sleeping habits. 

I hear Harry walking up the stairs just as I slip into the un suit to wash up and get changed. He’s humming a song under his breath. The clink of mugs being set down is followed by wardrobe doors opening and closing and a light thud of clothes being thrown on the bed. 

I wait a few minutes to make sure I don’t walk in on him changing. Opening the door tentatively, I step out into the room in a large sweater and pajama shorts. Harry turns to look at me, he’s in the same t-shirt he wore last time and a pair of boxer shorts and the whole situation suddenly seems so amusing. After just one night of falling asleep on the sofa together, not having ever talked before, here we are standing at our most vulnerable about to cuddle in his bed together.

“Hi.” 

“Hey,” He nods, looking down at himself. “Hope this is okay...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or-” 

“It’s fine,” I reassure him, “I didn’t really know what to wear either.” 

His eyes flicker down my body and he smiles back up at me. He motions to the bed and we both nod a little awkwardly before making our way over to our sides. I climb in and instantly let a small groan out as my body sinks into the mattress, the pillows and duvet feel almost like a cloud as I burrow under and pull my tea up to my lips. 

Harry chuckles from beside me, I peak over the mug to seem him grinning down from where he sits slightly taller in the bed.

“Sorry, you look comfy.” He laughs a little, 

“I am, your bed’s insane.” I set my mug down and turn to him, bouncing slightly to emphasise the quality of his mattress that probably cost more than a year of my rent. “I really should start earning millions, feel like it’d suit me.” 

He returns his tea to the bedside table and copies me, turning to face me with his legs crossed. 

“It definitely would.” He smiles, bouncing a little before I let out a yawn. “Tired?” 

“Exhausted.” I mumble, hand still covering half my face. Harry reaches behind him to turn to switch the lights above his headboard off before pulling the duvet back for us to slip under.

“C’mere,” Without hesitating, I shuffle back slightly until I can feel his chest behind me and an arm come up to rest around my hip. “‘This okay?” 

“Mhmmm,” I hum, “What about our teeth?”

“We’ll brush ‘em in the morning,” I nod, groaning again as all the aches in my body subside as I sink into his arms and the foam mattress. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” I mumble, embarrassed to have let myself go so easily around him. “Your mattress is just unbelievable. Might have to make this a regular thing.” 

I speak before I think, mind clouded with sleep and my eyes already fighting to stay open. 

“That’s the plan, love.” 

. . . . . 

When I wake up, Harry’s arms are tight around my middle and his body’s like a furnace behind me. I vaguely recall pulling my sweater off in the night to cool down as I lay now only in a vest and shorts. I slept better than I have in months though, despite the warm breaths on my neck turning my cheeks flushed. 

The mix of Harry’s company and his safe haven of a mattress made for the perfect night sleep. I push back slightly into his chest and feel his arms tighten around me and a low murmur of his voice in my ear. The clock on my bedside table reads 6:30. It’s a Saturday and I can quite easily imagine spending the rest of my day - weekend even, exactly like this. 

I slip back to sleep for a little awhile before I’m woken up to a low groan behind me. Harry shifts slightly, burying his face in the base of my neck and squeezing around my waist again. He must still be half asleep to be this comfortable with me. 

I’m proven right when it takes another fifteen minutes for him to poke his head up over my shoulder and mumble: 

“Breakfast?” 

. . . . . 

Our routine works smoothly for weeks. After sleeping so well the first few times, it became a given that we’d pile into Harry’s car after every night out with our friends and go back to his. Sometimes we’d get takeout or watch a film, but it wasn’t so rare that we’d just stumble out of his car, or a taxi - depending what the night had entailed, and walk with eyes almost closed straight to bed. 

I stopped bringing things every night about two weeks in when a new toothbrush appeared next to Harrys and an oversized t-shirt of Harrys found its way onto my side of the bed. We also ditched the awkward pleasantries. Spending two or three nights a week in his house, I’d become pretty familiar with it all. I sometimes brought us breakfast if it was a weekend, or left a coffee beside the bed for him if I left for work first, We had very easily slipped into an oddly familiar sense of domesticity. It was strange to never mention any of it to our friends, it made it special though. We helped each other, and it was all just between the two of us. Nobody else knew Harry taught me how to make coffee just the way he likes it, or that we share his lavender shampoo sometimes. 

“Ols?” Harry calls up the stairs to me. We’re running late to Julia and Theos anniversary dinner. 

“Coming!” I yell back, reaching into his wardrobe to snatch a jacket before running down the stares. 

“Oi! Slow down love, you’re gonna fall,” He complains, holding his hands out at the bottom of the stairs to catch me as I skid a little on the wooden floors of his hallway. “Hey! This’s mine!” 

He tugs playfully on the opening of his jacket. I pull the fabric from his grasp and smile up at him. 

“Not anymore…” He scrunches his nose up and pulls me towards him. The sudden movement pushed the air from my lungs suddenly. “-Fine! Just for tonight...nobody’ll notice anyway, you only just got his one.” 

He shakes his head, bringing his fingers up to tickles across my stomach quickly before letting me go and clapping his hands. 

“Shoes now!” He points down at my sock clad feet, “Come on we’re late already.” 

I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip my boots on before trailing after him to the front door. He’s pulled his large green coat off the hangar before he’s looking back down at me, brows pulled together in confusion. 

“What’ve got yeh bag for?” 

“Ah see Harry, I tend not to leave my stuff places I don’t actually live.” I laugh.

“You’re not coming back tonight?” The confusion’s not joined by a hint of sadness as his hands fall from the door knob and he turns to face front on. 

“Oh I..hadn’t thought ‘bout that. I’ve gotta water my plants.” I haven't been home in two days, I spent the whole day at Blondies yesterday then headed to Harry's after a few drinks with him and Nick. We’ve hung out around his house all day, sleeping in and finishing our last few bits of work for the week. “I can let them go a little dry I guess-” 

“Can I come to yours?” Harry cuts me off to ask. “It’s just, I haven’t ever seen it..and that way your plant’ll be fine.” 

I stay quiet for a second. Our world of sleepovers and movie marathons and home made curries for dinner existed within his house. My flat was small in comparisons to the homes of our friends, who were all, delicately put, pretty well off. Not that I wasn’t, I’d just gone into a lower paying area of my industry. I lived alone anyway so there wasn’t much point paying thousands in rent when I didn’t need much space. 

“It’s fine it you want a night to yourself I can just-” 

“It’s not that, H, I just didn't really think about how we only ever come here.” I mumble the last part, “Come back to mine, I don’t feel like going back on my own anyways.” 

I smile a little, unsure of where we stand on the whole admitting we’d grown pretty dependent on each other’s presence, front. He smiles back, twisting the door open and holding it for me as I slip under his arm. 

The car clicks unlocked and I settle into my seat. I reach over to push my seat belt in as Harry pulls his door shut and the car rumbles to a start. 

“Can’t believe Jules and T have been together so long.” He sighs as we pull out onto the main road. 

“Tell me about it,” I gaze out the window as rain dribbles lightly. “Feels like the year just went straight by.”

“They seem so happy still, like they’re still honeymooning,” Harry hums. 

“I remember when they just started going out in Uni, even then it was obvious they’d end up together.” 

“I like those kinds of people. The ones who make each other just completely themselves, ya know?” He glances over at me before turning back to the road. 

“Yeah...they’re proper soulmates aren’t they.” 

. . . . . 

“Okay but seriously, what the fuck is up with you and Harry?” Eleanor bursts out as soon as we reach the bar. We’ve been sent off to get the third round whilst the others stayed at our favourite booth of the pub we frequented. 

“Wait what?” I yell over the loud chatter of the pub, “What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean!” She’s still waving her hand out for the bartender when she glances down at me again. “You’re tryna say you’re suddenly so close and nothing’s happened between you?” 

“We’re not that close.” I quip, “We’ve just talked a bit more lately, I guess.”

“And nothing’s happened?”  She raised a brow at me suspiciously. “You guys have left together every night for the past few weeks, just admit you have feelings for each other.” 

“No, nothing’s happened.” I sigh, unsure if I sound convincing or not. “We just live close and it’s too cold now to get the tube back so late, he’s just being nice. You know Harry...he’s like that with everyone.” 

Eleanor laughs a little, shaking her head. She places our order with the bartender when he makes his way to our side of the bar before turning back to me with her arms crossed. 

“He’s nice to everyone, but he’s not just being nice to you.” She smirks, “And he usually doesn't give just anybody his clothes.” 

She reaches out and rubs the fabric of my - Harrys - jacket between her thumb and forefinger. She looks up and quirks her brows up a little again. Before I can splutter out an explanation our drinks are being laid out on the counter beside us and Eleanor is pointing to the ones for me to carry and turning back to our booth. 

A surge of anxiety washes over me as I follow Eleanor back to the group. My breaths feel unsteady and I can’t help but dart my eyes to get a quick glance at Harry to see if he’s experiencing the same kind of interrogation. He seems fine though, laughing at something Nicks said. 

Soon we’re at the booth, slipping back into our seats and setting the drinks out in front of everyone. Harry’s eyes hover on me for a few seconds, brows raised a little in question. I smile and shake my head - everything’s fine. 

I don’t miss how Eleanor glances between us throughout the whole night. Especially not when a different two get up for the next round and Harry and I are pushed next to each other when they climb back into the available seats. Harry seems a little suspicious too. He clearly hasn’t noticed Eleanor’s strange behaviour - or doesn’t care - because he’s kept gazing down at me every now and then since we came back with drinks hours ago. When I stop looking up at him, nervous Eleanor might question me about his constant and slightly nervous glances when we’re alone, he reaches his hand under the tables and pulls mine into his lap. He squeezes our hands every now and then. He’s always a touchy, cuddly drunk. Normally it’s a bit more obvious; he’ll wrap his arms around one of us on the dance floor or lap his head on a shoulder, nothing too intimate. Just friendly. But now he’s stroking his thumb over my knuckles and tapping out the beat of the current song playing with his foot, his knee bumping mine. 

Julia and Theo are the first to go. Relief settles in me at the idea of not being the first two to leave for once. There’s no way Eleanor wouldn't’ve have noticed me and Harry sneaking the other a glance like we usually do to signal we’re ready to go, without some kind of distraction. 

“It was so lovely guys, feels like we haven’t just sat down and talked in so long!” Julia smiles, leaning into Theos side tiredly as they say their goodbyes. 

“I think I’m gonna head off too, it’s getting pretty late,” I smile, waiting for Harry to speak when Theo pipes up before him. 

“Livs, you want a lift?” Theo looks down at me. 

“Oh Olivia, that’s a good idea, you were just saying how it’s too cold for the tube.” Eleanor beams, smiling cheekily as she knows I’m the only one who’ll understand her subtle teasing. 

“Oh I-” I stutter before Harry’s squeezing my hand again and looks up at Theo. 

“I was actually gonna take her home, we’re only 10 minutes apart so it’s just easier.” He smiles politely, if I couldn’t feel his foot hooking over mine I’d believe he was just being nice and helping out a friend. 

“Yeah but you’re gonna stay a little while aren’t you?” Julia countered, “We’re pretty close, it’s fine really.” 

I nod, motioning to slide out of the booth. Harry lets me by, dropping my hand before anyone else could see. Julia, Theo and I say goodbye quickly and head out to the car park. As soon as we’re all strapped into their car, I pull out my phone and click Harry’s contact. 

Me 

Meet me at mine x

Harry 

Okay - what was that about? 

Me 

I’ll explain when u get here, just something w Eleanor

U might have been right about the jacket :/ 

Theo pulls up outside my flat and I jump out the car, thanking them quickly and waving them off. I climb the stairs of my building and click the keys in my door, pushing it open and kicking my shoes off the second I get in. After a fifteen minute frantic clean, the place is looking slightly better. There’s no time to perfect it as I hear my phone buzzing on the counter, a dorky photo of Harry in one of his infamous sweaters all sprawled out on the sofa and sticking his tongue out at me flashes the screen. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, I’m just outside,” He talks softly, “What number are you?” 

“24, wait a sec and I’ll buzz you up.” 

I tread quickly to the button by my front door and let him up, hearing a quiet thanks over the phone and a “See you in a sec”  before the line goes dead. 

A minute later there’s a quiet knock at my door. I open it and see Harry, he looks a little more tired than when I left him forty minutes ago, he rubs his knuckles under his eyes and sighs softly. 

“Hey, come in.” I pull the door a little wider, stepping aside to let him inside. He walks past me, eyes watching the floor whilst I lock the up behind us and turn to face him. There's an awkward tension in the air that I haven’t experienced with Harry before, maybe a little that first night when I walked in on him in his kitchen, but nothing like this since we’ve gotten closer.  

“What happened?” He asks quietly, lifting his head with an uncertain look on his face.”You barely even looked at me. 

“I..” I stumble over what to say, I’ve been thinking I could just explain what Eleanor had said and have it done with but now I know we’re not going to be able to just leave this. If somebody’s going to find out about our arrangement then something would have to change. “Ellie thinks there’s something going on with us and she kept staring all night. I just, I couldn’t give her anything to be suspicious about.” 

“S’that what you mean about the jacket?” I nod, “What did she say?” 

“Just that we seemed closer, talk more I guess.” I sigh, “She didn’t believe anything I said.” 

“What did you say?” He presses. His tone is unclear, he seems less hurt now and more focussed on getting answers from me. 

“I just, I told her nothing’s happened.” I mumble, “She asked about us leaving together and I told her it was just because we lived close and it’s easier than the tube.” 

Harry bobs his head a little, taking in what I’ve just told him before laughing a little. He shakes his head and brings his palms up to his face, cursing under his breath. We stand in the quiet of my hallway before he speaks up again.

“Can we still do this?” That catches me off guard. Of course I knew we’d have to stop sometime when one of us started dating or a friend found out, I just hadn’t thought seriously about it happening anytime soon. “If she does find out, would that be the worst thing in the world?”

I shake my head, taking a step towards him to close the gap between us that’d been building my nerves throughout this whole exchange. 

“I don’t wanna stop hanging out.” I confess. Harry quirks his lips up a little, obviously relieved as he pulls me to his chest. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and rests his chin on my head as we breathe together for a moment. All the while we’ve been spending nights at his, there’s been no serious moments like this. We’ve opened up about vulnerable subjects and confessed more than we probably should have to each other, but never anything like this. There’d never been a  time I thought I could lose him. 

“What if something did happen.” He whispers into my hair. 

“Like what?” I murmur, voice a little muffled by his jacket. 

“Like..” He trails off a little and I’m pretty sure I hear him inhale a little and smell my hair. “Like what if I kissed you..or something.” 

“Or something?” My chest tightens, stomach fluttering suddenly. 

“Mmhhhmm,” He hums, “What would happen then?” 

“Eleanor would have a field day.” 

Harry laughs, shoulders shaking a little as he giggles above me. He loosens his grip on my and pushes away to create a little space to see me again. 

“Oh yeah?” He teases. 

“Uh huh,” I smile, “She’d never let us forget it if she knew she was right.” 

“And what would she be right about?” Harry lifts his hand to cup my face, tilting it slightly to make sure I’m staring right up at him. 

“..Something..happening.” I whisper, “Having feelings for eachother.” 

Harry grins, cheeks a soft rosy between the outside cold and the new blush. He strokes the pad of his thumb against my cheek and beams down at me. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Uh huh…” 

“Really..she’d be right about that?” 

“I’m pretty sure-” 

Before I can tease anymore, Harry’s leaning down to press his lips against mine. I inhale sharply, closing my eyes and looping my arms around the back of his neck to hold us in place. His hand still holds my face firmly, thumb fluttering over my cheek a couple times before he pulls away and we both breathe in deep. 

“She’s definitely right.” He smiles, tone turning serious for a moment. “I really like you Olivia.” 

Butterflies surge through my stomach for the millionth time since he walked through my door. Blushing and happy, I tighten my arms and push my face back into his shoulder. 

“I like you too H….just a little bit.” 

“We don’t have to tell anyone, just want this to be ours for a little while.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he leans back down to whisper into my ear. 

“I want this to be ours forever.” I hum, words quiet and part of me hoping he doesn't hear my honest confession. 

A comforting quiet settles over us. I remember how tired I really am as I melt further into Harry’s body, breathing in the sweet cinnamon and vanilla scent. His breathing lulls me half to sleep as I let my eyes flutter shut and bury my head further into his neck. I feel him lifting me up as my body relaxes against his and I catch his last few words before I he’s shifting me into his arms and walking us up the stairs. 

“I could hold you ‘n listen to your voice all night long, love.” 

. . . . .    

“Oh my god!” Julia yells out, unravelling a long shawl from pristine white tissue paper. “Okay whoever got me, thank you so much!” 

She continues to squeal a little as he wraps it over her shoulders and presses the end to her nose, inhaling the lavender scent of her favourite designer brand. 

I’d only spent one Christmas with the whole group before but it was clear secret Santa was a bit of a tradition. Between the six of us we all had other friends, family and mostly, relationships. Organising a secret santa within our group just relieved some of the stress of present buying - and it was fun. 

We’re all sitting around Harry’s living room, it felt the homiest  to us after all. The kiddy advent calendar I bought for him hung by the fireplace reading December 21st. We’ve all finished our egg nogs, meaning it was officially present time. Over the next few days we’ll all be driving up and down the country to visit family, meaning today’s the last day most of us will be seeing each other. Harry had whined about me leaving, begging me to stay another day with him or better yet - spend christmas with his family up north. 

It was when I told him my own parents were spending the holidays visiting my sister and her kids in New York that his campaign started. We kissed almost three months ago now and have been on a slew of dates since. Between all the secret dinners out, brunches and farmers market trips, we haven’t found time for the talk. We had no official title. I’ve heard Harry refer to me as “m’girl” a couple times when I’ve wandered into the kitchen and overheard him on the phone to mitch, but nothing he’s told me himself. Despite this, he still insists I have to come and spend christmas with him and his close family. The idea of me hanging out with my young cousins and distant relatives apparently doesn’t satisfy him. 

“Are you serious!” Eleanor gasps as she unwraps her own present. Everyone had picked the perfect gifts for each other this year. In a pure coincidence, I ended up with Harry’s name after Nick made me trade because he’d already bought Julia’s present for her. I’ve been nervous about it all evening, I was sure he’d like it, a little too sure. That was the problem. One night, wrapped up in Harry’s bed, he’d recalled his latest tragedy to me: He’d taken shroom with Mitch on his last trip to LA and subsequently decided to skinny dip in the sea, losing his favourite mustard cords in the process. The only times we’ve seen everyone else has been with the both of us present and , to my knowledge, he hasn’t mentioned this to anyone else. The brown paper package that sat on the coffee table could invite a few more questions that I was prepared to answer. 

“Harry, you’re next!” Ellie grinned, hugging her present to her chest. 

Thanks to our early secrecy, there’s been no opportunity to tell our friends we were dating. Eleanor hasn’t stopped her constant questioning but we’ve kept up a pretty good front of excuses. It was still freezing out so it made sense for us both to climb into his car together at the end of the night. Nobody had to know we would be going home to the same house where we’d climb into the same heavenly bed and scramble eggs together in the morning. 

“I’m going, I’m going!” Harry laughs as Ellie tries to hurry him up, playing perfectly into her role as the youngest in our group. 

He pulls the first fold of paper back with his ringed fingers and immediately looks up at me as the mustard fabric shines up at him. He grins wide, beaming back at me before pulling the rest of the paper back and laying the trousers out in front of him. 

“No babe...where did you find them?” He’s running his fingers down the cord, in awe to have his favorite trousers back - or at least a copy. 

I don’t miss how Eleanor and Nick’s heads turn to share a look of shock as the pet name tumbles out. Before I can put anything together, Harry’s standing and leaning over the coffee table. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug and whispering his thanks in my ear. 

“Wait I dont - how did you know it was h-” Julia pipes up, before she can finish she’s cut off by the joint gasps of Nick and Ellie as Harry plants a wet kiss to my cheek - then my lips, and laughs at our friends reaction. 

“I knew it!” Ellie yells, pointing frantically between the two of us, Harry now having stepped over the table and come to sit next to me, pulling me into his side.

“What was-” Julia stammers, “Since when!” 

Harry’s eyes flutter down to my face. He giggles quietly when he catches on to my glare. This wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined the evening going. 

“Have you just been lying to my face for the past three months?” Ellie asks, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips. 

“Five,” Harry mumbles, almost just as an inside joke for the both of us to enjoy. I slap my hand against his shoulder to shut him up but the damage is already done. 

“Five months!” Even Theo’s joining in now. “How didn’t we know?” 

“It didn’t start out like this honestly, we would’ve told you.” I try and explain, eager for this to quiet down so we could get to the roast dinner waiting for us in the oven. 

“How did it start?” Nick pokes, drawing Julia and Ellie’s attention as the same puzzled expressions adorn their faces. 

“Unimportant,” Harry brushes off, standing up to tower over us all and reaching a hand back for my own. “We better get dinner, we wouldn't want burnt potatoes.” 

Harry pulls on my arm gently, leading me out the room before anyone can object. 

In the kitchen, he picks up a tea towel and starts to check on the food, prodding at the parsnips. I roll my eyes as he ties his lavender apron around his waist and tentatively pulls the potato tray from the oven. 

“Harry..” I sigh, trying not to laugh as he turn to face me, spatula in hand. 

“Yes dear?”  

“What was that?” 

“Oh - You’ve gotta shimmy a little spatula under the potatoes or they’ll break apart-” 

“No, obviously not that,” He makes it so hard so stay stern, a giggle leaks out as he lifts a hand to rest on his hip. “Why did you do that?” 

“I want them to know.” drops his utensils, tone sincere as he takes another step towards me. “I want our friends to know how much I love you already, and you remember about my mustard cords so..it felt like the perfect time.” 

“What?” I stutter, looking up at him from where he’s pulled me into his chest. His hands rest on my waist, rings a little hold against my exposed skin. 

“You remembered the trousers I lost last month in LA -”

“You love me?” 

His eyes go a little wide, a smile peaking through as the sides of his mouth quirk upwards. Realising what he just said, he lifts a hand from my waist to rest it against my face and lean down a little. 

“Of course I love you.” He whispers, his voice a little croaky and I can see tiny droplets gathering in his eyes that make my heart flutter. 

“Love you too..” I mumble. I wipe a thumb over his cheek before pulling him down into a kiss. I feel his smile against my own, and everything’s perfect for just a second. 

“So you’ll come to Christmas with me?” 

. . . . .

Hiii I hate the ending :)

Tysm for reading !! pls leave a like or reblog (it rlly helps <3) if you enjoyed it x

[toovirgins]

Le Rêve - Part 3

Summary: John demands an explanation for what happened in part two. The only problem is the response that the explanation is met with.

Warning: NC-17-rated (Buckle up!)

Paul was a bloody mess.

He and John had not directly talked to one another since the car ride. Their interview answers had been chaste and polite, and they had sat as far away from one another as possible, ignoring the persistently quizzical looks from George and Ringo. Paul had desperately tried to act as typical as possible but had felt overwhelmed with humiliation and confusion—and the concerned looks of the interviewer coupled with the “get-it-together” jabs of George’s elbow didn’t do much to reorient him.

They had finished the interview in a hurry, tensions high. On the way back, the boys wordlessly altered their seating arrangements as Paul crawled first onto the floor, curling up as much as possible as Ringo now took his spot on John’s lap. Paul held his face in his hands the entire ride, murmuring a flurry of “I’m all right” and “Maybe a sort of stomach bug, that’s all” to the others’ concerns.

John didn’t seem upset with him, just… indifferent. Which was almost worse. He didn’t scowl at him or try to hit him or mutter bitter, backhanded comments in the interview. He also didn’t curl up next to him tickle his ear or thump the back of his head or straighten his tie, as was typical. He just sat there, as if Paul had never existed. A bad reaction, Paul felt, would be better than this. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever what was going through John’s mind. Was he angry? Confused? Paul’s breath hitched. Disgusted?

Maybe he was just waiting until later to confront him. Away from the others.

The thought of being alone with John made Paul’s stomach churn. God, he had royally screwed up this time. He was alone with John more than anyone in the world, and there was no way he could wholly avoid his songwriting partner for too long. A discussion was inevitable, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to come any sooner.

Paul threw the pen and pad down on the carpet in a sudden burst of frustration, running his hands through his hair. As soon as they had exited the car upon arrival back at the hotel, he had hurried to his room, buttressing his distress with an “I’m going to be sick” call. He had been hunched over on his bed ever since, staring at the utterly blank paper pad in front of him. He had immediately locked the door—not that he thought John would try and come in anyway, after earlier. Just to be safe.

In all fairness, Paul did think he was going to be sick. His sudden infatuation with John pulled at him from every which way, filling him with questions. Notably: What did all of it mean? For him and John, yes, but more importantly: for him. For his own sexuality and future. His mind was racing at the prospects.

He had tried to get some writing done, but it was no use. Usually, it was a soothing process for him, but he was stuck at a particularly heavy part of the song and couldn’t bring himself to ask for John’s help on the verse, especially after John had approached him with the task. He had had something earlier, but today’s—ahem—disastrous turn of events had left him distracted and empty-handed.

Paul stood, pacing the room frantically and kicking John’s strewn-about clothes to the side. God, what he would give to shamelessly watch John strip them off—

No. Paul’s mind snapped in response. He gave himself a light smack on the forehead, as if to swat the thought away. That’s John, your best mate. Your best male friend. You can’t think about him in that way.

It was one thing for him to show up in the dream, and for the dream to taunt Paul’s waking thoughts. He reckoned if it had been George or Ringo in the dream, he’d be in the exact same struggle—with something that sensual and realistic and wrong playing out in his unconscious, it’d only be right to worry. To obsess over. To over-analyze.

But he just couldn’t start thinking of John in that capacity, outside of dream-state John. He had started off as a bird, anyroad. The real John could never be so eager an interested in Paul in-in that way. Paul had watched his mate bloody lads up time and again for calling him queer when they were younger. So, it would do him no good to start fantasizing about Real John. Dream John would have to be compartmentalized until Paul could get over whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Paul suddenly sighed defeatedly and gathered up the pen and paper from the ground. He rehearsed the incomplete ballad in his head, hoping that with the flow of the song would come the next few lines.

If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand?

‘Cause I’ve been in love before

And I found that love was more

Than just holding hands…

Paul groaned in frustration. Nothing. John’s verse was so natural, so pure and beautiful: hey, love isn’t what I’ve always thought. Could you help me figure it out? Paul felt he was dirtying up the ballad, every thought paling in comparison to the vision he knew John wanted. But they’d both been stuck there for a reason, and it was now Paul’s duty to push them forwards.

Than just holding hands…

“Any progress, mate?”

Paul’s head whipped around at lightning speed. He had never heard the door open, but there John stood in its frame, leaning against it with the most casual aura Paul had ever felt. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling theatrically, almost offended by the carefree picturesque model of John in front of him.

“I—uh, no. Sorry,” Paul spluttered, holding the pen and paper out to John as an offering. “I thought I’d locked the door.”

John ignored the latter comment, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “It’s all right. I kind of dug me self into a hole, there. Sounds like a definitive ending.” He took the items from Paul and set them on the bedside table.

Paul nodded, his voice shaking as it rang impossibly loud in the small room. “Yeah. Maybe launch into a pre-chorus or something, I don’t know. Shake up the rhythm a bit. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Doesn’t always matter what I want,” John answered. Plainly.

“It’s your ballad,” Paul countered. “I know how you can get with these things. Ask me for help and expect me to read your mind, you do.”

John chuckled, almost to himself. “Sometimes,” he started, toying with the pen on the nightstand. “I’m more interested to hear what you want.”

His eyes found Paul’s, and they were curious. There was something testing in them, and Paul began to panic. He had a feeling they weren’t necessarily talking about the song anymore.

“Why?” was all he could think of to say.

John shrugged. “Because sometimes it’s something new, and daring. Something… that I didn’t think you were capable of.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow at what felt like a backhanded compliment. He almost hoped they weren’t talking about the song. Because, if they were, he was pretty sure John had just called his writing boring. A stubborn defensiveness rose in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean, now?”

John blinked. “What the hell happened in the car, Paul?”

Paul froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. They were stuck in his throat, every word that had ever been. The entire alphabet circling his mind, the infinite possibilities of combinations, the skill of language on the tip of his tongue. But it all eluded him.

John continued slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to receive an answer. “Because, based on the way you’ve reacted since then, I don’t think I’ve misinterpreted it. I think I know exactly what happened, but what I want to know is—why. Or-or how.”

Paul could lie. He could tell John that he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Or that it was a misunderstanding, and he had thought John was acting strange. Or that he had popped a magical pill that was also an aphrodisiac, and it wasn’t anything personal or weird, because it was magical. Or he could tell the truth.

With his options laid out side by side like that, the answer felt quite clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s voice came out about eleven octaves higher than normal.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes surveyed the whole length of Paul’s body skeptically, as if trying to read his inner thoughts and feelings and desires. Paul squirmed under the gaze.

“That’s not true,” he decided finally. He was still standing across from the bed, his looming presence beginning to feel like one of dominance and control. He had the upper hand now, and whether Paul liked it or not, he was going to tell John the truth.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Paul tried. “But then you were acting strange, so I got nervous and reciprocated.”

“Wrong again.”

Paul was beginning to feel desperate. “I took a pill—”

John laughed suddenly, bizarrely. He cast his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Macca.”

Paul was quiet for a long time. The words were there, it wasn’t a matter of lexical access anymore—now he had to get his heart to say it. Because there was only one right answer to John’s question, and it wouldn’t answer a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Now it was John’s turn to be quiet. He simply stared in wonder as Paul continued unsteadily. “I-I had this dream. A few nights ago. And in the dream, I was getting on with a bird, and we were in the room, y’know? A-and we were. You know. But she was real strange at some parts, like she-she kept changing, and then…” He hesitated. “And then it was you. And you were doing everything that she was. And I woke up, w-with you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I try, I swear, and I-I’m not gay, it’s just—”

“Why don’t we give it a go, then?” John said softly.

Paul’s words died in his throat. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

Paul blinked wildly. “John, if this is some sort of sick joke—”

“No.” John stepped closer now, his expression impossible to read. “If it was so damn good that you can’t get it out of your head, and you can’t even control yourself around me… Let’s give it a go, then.”

Paul swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was small. “What if I don’t want to?”

John thought about this for a moment. “You can stop me at any point. We act like it never happened. You say the word, mate, and it’s off.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want that.”

To his dismay, John was right. Paul didn’t want that. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the unbelievable things that John was suggesting. John had no idea what happened in the dream, and yet he was a wholly willing participant in the recreation? The idea, despite the whirlwind in Paul’s mind, sent a shock of tingles to his crotch.

“But… it’s… I’m not gay,” he tried again.

“Don’t think so much,” came John’s voice, gentle, as he caught Paul’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Paul’s breathing slowed. This was that side of John that he rarely got to see: soft, comforting, calm. Loving. It felt bizarrely out of place in the situation. “Just… just don’t worry about it. If you think, you’ll ruin it.”

Paul nodded quickly, his mind buzzing.

John lowered himself onto the bed, his gaze never leaving his mate’s face. “What did she do first?”

The question caught him off guard. “Who?”

“The bird.” John chewed his lip tentatively. “What did she do first? In the dream?”

“Oh! Erm…” Paul thought for a moment. He knew very well that the dream had started with them making out, but part of him held that thought back. For some inexplicable reason, kissing felt more intimate, more queer, than whatever was about to happen. So, he refrained from mentioning it. “She—um, sort of got in me lap, like.”

John’s eyes flashed in recognition. “The car.”

“Yeah.” Paul winced. “The car.”

“Oh.” John’s voice was curious, and he looked down at himself for a moment before his eyes reconnected with Paul’s. They were wide, intrigued, but somewhat shy, too. A nervousness that Paul had never seen in his friend before. A tremor ran through Paul’s body as he recognized that same piercing stare from the dream.

“Why don’t ya…” John scratched his face apprehensively. “Erm… move back. Against the headboard.”

Paul gradually obliged. He swung his bare feet over the side, shifting himself higher on the bed until his back comfortably rested against the cushioned headboard. John kicked his own shoes off as he did so and climbed up after him.

Both boys paused for a moment, eyes locked, and something passed between them. An understanding that wherever this was going, it was all right, because it was John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. And everything would be all right.

Emboldened by the exchange, John swung a leg over Paul’s outstretched body and planted himself directly in his lap.

“Like this?” He breathed.

Paul’s fingers found their way to John’s hips, watching the scene in wonder. His voice was ragged and humiliating, cracking at the sudden contact that flooded his mind with millions of filthy thoughts and images. “I—yes. Like that.”

“Then what?” Their faces were mere inches apart, John’s face flushed and almost eager. His eyes continually darted around Paul’s face and body, as if he too couldn’t believe the position they were in. His lips were wet and parted, slightly swollen from his nervous chewing habit. He sucked in the tiniest breaths of the shared air between them, as if he was terrified that Paul would pull away and he’d be left to his own solemn airspace once more.

In the moment, Paul wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

But no, that was too far. The desire in his crotch could be written off as greedy, randy, sexual—a biological need, perhaps. It could be satisfied, and maybe that was all Paul needed to get over the fantasy. The wild, twisted pull in his heart was not so easily dismissed.

“Paul?” John repeated. His pupils were dilated, his chest slowly heaving.

“Right. Erm… then she started, sort of, rocking a bit, I suppose.” He cringed inwardly as the words spilled out now, both humiliated at his own forwardness and betrayed by the almost desperate response his body was giving to John’s presence.

John didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, however. He simply shifted to where his knees straddled Paul’s hips and placed his backside directly on Paul’s hardening member. A whisper of a groan escaped Paul’s lips as John slowly began rocking back and forth, grinding down into him.

“Like this?” John said again.

“Just like that.” Paul murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, cocking his head back against the bed. The feeling was all too familiar and quite simple to deal with—if Paul closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend that it was a female. One of those ladies from a Hamburg club giving him a lap dance. While the thought was entertaining and calming, part of Paul was alarmed at how easily John mimicked those movements, how convincing it all was.

“Paul,” John said suddenly, halting his movements.

Paul’s pulse quickened again. “Hmm?”

His friend broke out into a reluctant grin, chuckling at his own perplexity. “I can feel it. Already.”

Paul looked at him uncertainly. He knew he was hard as a rock now, all of the blood having rushed dizzyingly fast to the lower half of his body. The arousal and sudden shame made it hard to think. “Is it bad?”

John took a moment. “No.” He gave an experimental twist, slotting his body against Paul’s as he grinded down again, his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. A hand laced its way up the back of Paul’s neck and into his dark locks, giving a quick tug.

Paul couldn’t bite back the “ah, fuck,” that was pulled from his throat. The dizzying combination of sensations sent buzzing shocks through his dick, which now felt as though it was frantically trying to push its way out of his slacks.

“What next?” John asked, pausing the shift of his hips. There was an edge to his voice now as shaking fingers reached up to tease at Paul’s shirt buttons. “Maybe… she got you a bit undressed, is all.”

Paul nodded lazily. Why the hell not? It would make sense. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really recall that happening. “Yeah… yeah, I think she did.”

John continued to rock in Paul’s lap, letting out curious hums at the minute twitches and moans coming from his friend. His long, delicate fingers struggled to successfully pop Paul’s buttons free, but Paul refrained from offering any assistance. He was amazed, shocked even, by the submissive display John was putting on show. A sudden jolt shot through his chest as he realized that John might do anything he asked him too.

John inhaled sharply as he undid the last button. Paul leaned forward a bit to shrug the white dress shirt off of his shoulders, casting it to the floor as it joined its friends.

John’s eyes wandered over his shirtless frame. They had seen one another in the most compromising of positions before—hell, they’d walked in on each other in the middle of a good shag countless times—but something was different now. This looking, feeling, touching… it was intentional, and it was just them. And it felt strange: an intoxicating concoction of arousal and desire and fear and confusion. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted this for much longer before now and simply never realized it.

John’s calloused fingertips traced their way down Paul’s jawline, onto his neck, chest, stomach. Paul simply watched and felt, felt the way the touch that ran over him made his skin prickle and his face warm. John was regarding him cautiously, deliberately, as if he was a work of art that John was afraid to mar.

“I’m sorry if she teased you for this long,” John’s voice came, breathless. His fingers found the waistband of his trousers and hooked inside them. “When do I come in?”

“Right about now,” was Paul’s reply. His mind had entirely disregarded the remainder of the dream, not recalling and not caring. It was just him and John now, real John, who somehow really wanted to do this with him just as much as he wanted it to be done. Perhaps Paul had fallen asleep again while working on the song, and this was just a recreation of the first time. Another lucid fantasy.

The feeling of his cock popping free as John undid his zip let him know that this was all but a dream, though. He arched up off of the bed to help John shimmy the remainder of his trousers down his legs, kicking them off with fervor. The sudden change in John’s mood as the reins were passed to him caused Paul to check any reserved guilt or shame at the door. The tent in his boxers was no longer a burden but a beacon, an invitation for an inexplicably fervent John to do whatever he desired.

Then, the boxers were gone too. Tossed to the side with a particular carelessness that made Paul’s skin prickle with sweat. And that was that. Paul laid there, entirely naked and exposed under the watchful gaze of his best friend, his partner. John.

“I’m going to try something, Macca,” John started nervously, shifting so that he was directly between Paul’s thighs. Paul’s eyes went wide at the implication, at the scene. John’s mouth was only centimeters away from his flushed cock. And he eyed it, almost hungrily.

The sight made Paul moan, and John’s eyes flicked up fearfully. “You can stop me, Paul. Just tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop…”

John almost sounded like he was talking to himself.

“Go on,” Paul whispered hoarsely.

John shot him one last daring glance before reaching out at grasping at Paul’s dick. The sudden sensation caused Paul to arch forward, brow knitted in roused concentration. His hands clutched at the bedsheets to steady himself as John began wanking him in an encouraging rhythm. “Bloody hell, John,” he groaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” A note of confidence, arrogance even, laced John’s voice.

“Y-yes. Very.”

Paul forced himself to open his eyes and jerked at the heated gaze that met his in return. John’s expression was dark with arousal, and his tongue flicked out teasingly between his teeth. The dynamic had wholly changed, John’s assuredness growing with every new step he was allowed to take, every dirty sound that was elicited from Paul’s throat.

When a bud of precum began to spill over, John wrapped his lips around the head and dipped his tongue over the slit, sucking it dry like the last few drops of an ice lolly.

Holy fuck.

“Shit. Ah, Christ!” Paul was babbling now as the sensation and notion struck him at once: John was giving him head. And it felt damn incredible. “God, John.”

The feeling of his throbbing member inside of John’s mouth was unreal. He could see it pulsing against the inside of his cheek as John bobbed his head, tongue and cheek muscles massaging him slowly to insanity. Paul cocked his head back and tossed it back and forth, unaware of how to respond to the situation.

Paul decided he had never gotten a blowjob before this. All those others were a silly game. Maybe it was John’s willingness and enthusiasm. Maybe it was that he, a male, probably knew how to best please another male. Maybe it was the taboo nature of the extremely explicit act they were engaged in, adding further logs to the fire. Whatever it was, Paul didn’t care. This—this was head.

John pulled off for a moment but continued stroking, the mixture of saliva and precum making the slide all the more easier. Paul felt lightheaded at the immense pleasure. “Christ,” John murmured, his voice unsteady. “Look at you, Paulie.”

Paul only moaned in response, hoping to draw John’s wonderful mouth back down.

John happily obliged, licking a long stripe up from his balls to the tip of his dick and swallowing it all down once more. Paul could note his inexperience, from the length he could take in and the variety in his movements, but somehow, the knowledge made it all better—the idea that John was doing this for the first time (or, one of the first times) to Paul. He made extra sure to gasp and groan loudly when John did something he particularly enjoyed, as if to almost teach the man what to do.

When John began to pull back for a breath, Paul hooked his ankles around the small of John’s back without thinking, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Paul,” John groaned back. “God, I want you. I want you, Paulie.”

Paul hardly paid the confession any mind. John was babbling now, just like him, but Christ he would be lying if it didn’t turn him on more.

He let out another broken string of incoherent curses as John took more of him into his mouth than he thought possible. He grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him up aggressively, relishing in the light “Ah!” of surprise that escaped John’s lips.

“Dirty-talk me, John,” he practically begged, whispering into his mate’s ear. “Just—fuck—tell me what you want.”

Paul could feel John grin knowingly against his jaw. Uh-oh. The lad had an idea.

“You know, Paul, you’re not very quiet during sex.” John spoke into his ear teasingly, sensually. He began to pepper his jawline with kitten licks and nibbles. Paul only whimpered in response as John’s hand slowed to work him lazily. “Actually, you get quite loud. Make a whole fuss of it.”

“I—hadn’t noticed,” Paul panted.

John’s eyes glinted dangerously as he momentarily lifted himself. Their faces were only centimeters apart. “Paul? Do you want to know a secret, Paul?”

Paul’s mind barely registered the question. He nodded hazily, letting out another soft moan as John bent back down to lick at his earlobe.

“The thing is,” John started slowly, his hand beginning to pick up speed. “Sometimes you bring a bird up. Usually at a hotel, just like this. And we all know—me, George, Ritchie—we all know what’s going to happen when we see her come up.” John moved downward and began paying special attention to the junction of his neck and jawline. “But knowing what’s going to happen is different from hearing it.”

Paul immediately blushed, trying to discern where John was possibly going with this. Did he want him to be louder now? Or quieter later? Did he… Oh God, was John suggesting that they should—

“So here’s the secret,” John interrupted. “The other night, in Glasgow. I’m sure you remember.” He paused, as if to give Paul a chance to recount the night. His hand began pumping furiously, and he bit experimentally at Paul’s jaw. The mix of pleasure, shock, and pain, coupled with the words John was saying and the way he was saying them, was beginning to feel overwhelming. A string of filthy moans and groans were drawn out of him as he began to feel a familiar pull in the pit of his stomach. John looked at him expectantly for a moment, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was gauging his reaction or waiting for a response. Paul opted for the latter.

“I—fuck—remember.”

“Good. I do too,” John replied simply, sounding almost like a schoolteacher. Suddenly, his voice dipped low, and he placed his mouth directly in Paul’s ear to whisper the next bit. The second the words flowed out, John grinded down hard into Paul’s thigh, and Paul could feel an erection perhaps more pressing than his own.

“I gave me self a wank to it. And it wasn’t the girl.”

“Shit, John.” Paul’s mind instantly flooded with obscene images of John touching himself to the sound of Paul’s broken moans. His cock twitched in John’s hand and another series of moans and curses spilled out. He felt so close, John’s firm fist feeling so good around him, but part of him wanted to hold back. He began to panic.

If Paul let John touch him, that was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’d seen each other jerk themselves off countless times. He could convince himself that this was basically the same thing, just a slight shift of hands. He could ease his conscience by saying nothing had really happened.

But if Paul came on him, by his hand? He didn’t know if he could reconcile that one.

Paul bit his lip and tried to focus on anything but the image of John that was now burned onto his eyelids. It didn’t help that John was now rutting against his thigh and letting out involuntarily groans of his own. He couldn’t hold off much longer.

“John,” Paul started insistently. Before he could speak again, however, John pulled his face from where it was buried in his neck and pressed his lips against Paul’s own.

Paul was struck with surprise, but John wasted no time waiting for him to adapt. His tongue forcibly parted Paul’s lips and he licked into his mouth with fervor, as if this had been something he’d needed his whole life. Paul hesitated momentarily, but the roughness and intensity was impossible to ignore. He let his own tongue dance around with John’s. In a spur of dominance, Paul pushed back against John and licked into the other’s mouth, running his tongue along his mate’s teeth as if he wanted to trace every part of the man. Teeth clashed as both impossibly fought for more. When John retreated for air, Paul bit down on his bottom lip and grabbed him by the waist to pull him back in.

“Fucking hell, Paul,” John mumbled against his lips. He thrusted down particularly hard against Paul and moaned into his mouth, and Paul decided in that moment that it was the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“John.” He pulled back as much as possible from the kiss, turning his head so that John was met with his cheek when he went back in for more. “John, I can’t—” He thrust up weakly into John’s fist as if to emphasize his point. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Just then, the door flew open.

Paul and John froze in their compromising position. Although it was only seconds later when John pushed himself off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, Paul grasping at the bedsheets to cover himself, it was too late.

George stared at them, open-mouthed, his hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke.

Paul, in that moment, solemnly decided they had no alibi. His mind ever-so-helpfully constructed an image of what they must have looked like: Paul, completely naked, his cock trapped between John’s skilled fingers, tongue-fucking each other as John dry humped his leg.

George’s eyes flitted between the two as their chests heaved. He made no motion, no effort to speak. Paul almost begged him to say something, watching as his mind worked furiously to come up with some excuse for what he just saw his mates doing.

Without a word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

“How could you not lock the fucking door?”

Paul turned his head towards the voice. His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets tighter to his chin, twisting onto his side so the tent in the sheets wasn’t so humiliatingly evident. He felt dumbfounded. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” John’s gaze looked frighteningly angry. “Are you absolutely daft? Are you actually just the pretty one? Paul, how could you not lock the fucking door?!”

Paul felt his own anger begin to rise in his chest. He felt helplessly defensive. “Are you mad? You started this! You’re the one that closed us in here. If anyone should’ve locked the door, it should have been you!”

“How was I supposed to know you were begging me to shag you? I just wanted to know what the hell was up with the car ride.”

Paul was aghast. “Begging you to shag me? I didn’t want to fucking tell you, John! I knew what would happen. You forced it out of me.” His voice grew cold. “You wanted it just as much as I did.”

John stared at him for a moment, his words faltering. Paul wondered if he had learned something tonight about John that he wasn’t supposed to know. He felt a sudden sick pride in his ability to shake him. The feeling, however, was short-lived when he noticed with a start how glassy John’s eyes were.

John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. I bet he’s in the other room talking to Ringo right now. Telling him everything. There’s no other explanation for what he saw, Paul. They’re gonna tell Brian. Someone must have heard us, too, and they’ll get ahold of the press. Or the police. It’s over, everything we have is all over—”

“Hey,” Paul interrupted, softening his voice. He couldn’t bear to watch John spiral, especially in the tornado of emotions that was tearing through the room already. If John lost it, he would too. “It’s not going to get out. We’ll go get George and Ringo, and tell them what really happened, and—”

“What really happened, Paul?”

John was quiet now. His eyes were burning into him, pleading. Paul tensed up at the question, feeling his mind falling blank on any possible response. He didn’t know what answer John was pleading for. So he didn’t answer.

John met Paul’s eyes with the iciest stare Paul had perhaps ever seen. It suddenly felt as if a chill had come over the room.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

Paul watched numbly as John bent over on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He knew John was furious and spewing things he would soon regret, but another part of him knew that John was right. He had ruined everything.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, already fearing the answer.

John paused by the door. When he turned to look at Paul again, his expression was hard and unreadable.

“I’m not fucking queer.” And he slammed the door behind him.

Paul could only stare.

[sdvharveybby]

If you are taking requests I was thinking if you could write for the farmer and Harvey in their first everything, like, their first date, first kiss, first... Time👀? ... You know, their first things

Sorry this was so late, but I got into watching Tokyo Ghoul and literally days went by. Great anime by the way! I love watching like gross and terrifying anime’s. Besides Attack on Titan and The Promised Neverland, Tokyo Ghoul is definitely amongst my top favorites.

See how I can’t stop talking once I start?? Anyways, I loved this ask!!! I really really did, it’s just so cute and fluffy. Like a bunch of clouds all piled into one ask. Great idea so thank you for sending this in!

I added in, saying ‘I love you’, holding hands, and getting drunk together lmao I just made them as like... chopped up headcannons because there’s no way I could have added all of this as a story!

Without further ado, hope you enjoyed this! Thank you bby!!

ALSO THIS DOES MENTION THEM DOING THE DIDDLE, OKAY? IT DOES NOT GO INTO DETAIL BUT NSFW ANYWAYS. SORRY BBYS :) (it’s the very last paragraph if you want/need to avoid it)

 Word Count: 1343

First date:

Oh, it’s filled with a lot of laughs. Both Harvey and the farmer share jokes and awkward stories about their lives- mostly to break up potential tension, and to also learn about each other. Harvey figures it’s better than the traditional boring small talk that’s usually made during first dates. Also, considering it’s a small town- they both know the answers to the basic questions normally asked like, “What do you do for a living.” For as how nervous Harvey seems to be- he plays it off quite nice.

He’s also blushy. Mainly because he’s trying to maintain eye contact with a potential love interest, but he loves that feeling! Harvey definitely has a smile on the entire time, and also barely eats his food because he’s so invested in learning about the other person.

But things just happen to him. Without his control- outside forces just want to play on his nervousness. Something like Emily randomly tripping and accidentally spilling his water/wine on him. Then it’s just a brief moment of both Harvey and Emily chaotically trying to wipe up the liquid, Emily feels bad, but the farmer finds it adorable at how much Harvey tries to console Emily, like, “No! Don’t feel bad! It’s not your fault, you didn’t plan for that to happen.” With an awkward smile the whole time.

He does get a bit tipsy during the first date though… and he definitely gets more confident. He’ll start to compliment the farmer in every way he can. He’ll also start to find everything funny, even if it’s not meant to be. He’ll giggle if the farmer drops a spoon or if somebody bumps into them walking by. He can’t help it! But where eye contact was hard for him before, it’s easy now, and he’ll begin to share some of his feelings that he has towards the farmer.

Holding hands:

The first time the farmer and Harvey hold hands is at the Feast of the Winter Star. The brisk cold made the farmer shudder and stick their hands in their coat pockets. It’s with a moment of impulsivity that Harvey reaches his hand into the farmers pocket and entangles his hand with theirs. There’s a brief moment of silence between them until he leans his head closer to theirs and says, “I hope this is all right- I just didn’t want you to be cold.”

He doesn’t seem nervous when doing that though- it was actually a comfortable action for him. It didn’t rely on conversations or him trying to impress the farmer. He just wants them to be happy and warm.

First time getting DRUNK (I just thought this was a funny idea):

First time they ever get drunk together is actually in Harveys apartment. He’s always been good about limiting how much alcohol he drank, but with the rousing conversations the farmer and him had- he wasn’t paying any attention.

They are both star fished onto the floor- heads next to each other just laughing. Either of them would first start a joke or story and get about four words in until they would just start laughing.

It ends that night with actual life related conversations. With barriers down, they begin to share their fears, hopes, and dreams. They learn quite a bit about each other doing this, and they end up falling asleep on the floor, at some point, late into the night.

First kiss:

The farmer initiates this one, mostly because Harvey doesn’t have the slightest idea on how he would approach their first kiss.

They decided to go on a date to the beach to watch the sunset. It wasn’t meant to be anything particularly special, but as they sit on the docks listening to the water rush up on shore and watching the golden sun set- it became special…

As Harvey is in mid story the farmer cuts them off, “Hey, Harvey?” they ask, and he responds with a questioned, “Hmm?” and that’s when the farmer turned his head and kissed him!

At first kiss- it was quick. The farmer took it as initial rejection when Harvey basically became a wooden plank, but a part of him didn’t even know if it was real. His eyes were wide, a deep red blushing his cheeks. It takes him a moment, but he is genuinely ecstatic. He reaches in close placing a hand on the farmers cheek and gives them a deep kiss lasting much longer than their first (eyes closed this time!)

It was just a simple kiss, but to him it meant validation. It meant, ‘They like me as much as I like them.’ He certainly treasured the moment- something he would never forget. Sometimes at night, he remembers this moment and gets so giddy that it becomes hard to sleep.

First ‘I love you’:

This was at the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies event! A sight to behold no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

They stood next to each other on the docks as far out to the water as they could get. It was dark out, but with the moon shining bright, they could vaguely make each other. Once the event began, Harvey and the farmer held hands eyes bright as the jellyfish swam in close. They saw an array of beautiful jellyfish before them, in the background they could hear people breathlessly saying ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’. An assortment of colors illuminated upon Harvey and the farmer as they both would point out one’s they found particular pretty or cool. Harvey then saw his opportunity and leaned in close to the farmers ear and whispered, “Could I tell you something?” They turned to look at him, watching the colors dance across his face, he wore a soft smile and said, “I love you.” The farmer immediately gave him a big hug whispering, “I love you, too.”

The farmer couldn’t see it, but Harvey had tears brimming his eyes when they reciprocated his love. It made him feel reassured and accepted, another moment he never wanted to forget as they held each other.

First time having sex:

If Harvey couldn’t initiate their first kiss- he sure as hell had no one idea how to properly initiate them having sex for the first time.

The farmer invited Harvey over for dinner one night; something they could do together and enjoy each other’s company. It started off standard, as they’ve done this many times before, but Harvey decided that they should have dinner in front of the fireplace. The night air was cold, and this would be something comfortable for the both of them.

They sat in front of the fireplace as they ate- sharing their usual stories or making up things as they went. It became a great evening for both of them, it seemed it was perfect! When they finished, Harvey stood to clear off the table and before grabbing the farmers plate, he leaned down for a kiss. Something must have been in the air because his initial quick kiss evolved into them passionately kissing amongst the warmth of the fireplace. He set his plate back down on to the table, and they made there way into the bedroom.

Now, they both knew what this would mean, and it being their first time doing this together- they were nervous to say the least. But the passion and drive for one another quickly threw their nerves out of the window. It was a craving to be with each other and it wasn’t long until they made it to the bed… and the rest is history.

Neither of them could properly describe the night they had together. It was riveting, exciting, and loving, but they couldn’t put that into words. It was a night they both shared that memory together, and after they had finished it was left with, “Do we clean off the table now?” “Let’s just do it in the morning.” Sleeping in each other’s arms and soaking in each other’s warmth, nothing could have been better.

[midnyghtmadnes]

Thoughts

So... I finished SVSSS. Gonna just stream out my thoughts. Will be long cause I wanna cover all my final opinions. Then I’ll shut up about it lol.

So, all in all, the novel was enjoyable and fun. Definitely can't say I have the same emotional investment in the characters as I do in MDZS though, except SY, he's my favorite.

To start, I guess this is where fanfics will come into play, but I want more SY and Airplane interactions. They're the only two that can truly understand the other's situation and I think that’d make for a lot of interesting and fun interactions. Though at the same time it's also funny how they have that understanding but their current relationship is basically just like, not a love-hate relationship. But a.. somewhat camaraderie I'll help ya out maybe if you need it-but I also don't particularly like you, relationship. Still, I am falling onto the Cucumberplane wagon (not in a shippy way though).

As for MBJ and Airplane.. I just wish the novel went into the status of their relationship after everything that happened. SQH was constantly stressed out by him and seemed to have had his share of beatings from MBJ. I saw shipping stuff with them as I was reading it and I was like.. ehhhh? At that point the only connection I knew was that MBJ was the one who was supposed to kill him, so I was like ?? Where did that come from. By the end of the extras, I wanna say I'm on board with it lol, but I just wish we saw more.

Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang... :( I love them and am really sad for them. And yes, I do constantly forget that ZZL killed Gongyi Xiao (who I liked a lot), but come on. He's snek Wen Ning and you can't tell me otherwise. I also actually like Shen Jiu's character. Which is kinda funny thinking about it, cause for example I know many ppl find JGY to be a sympathetic villain, and while I can understand, I still hate him lol. But SJ, who feels very similar to JGY in some ways, I find him really interesting and want to explore him more (that's what fanfics are for ayyy). Funny how all the antagonists of this story caught my eye lol. I didn't care for any of the villains in MDZS in terms of nuance (not that they were poorly written, but they just weren't the Type™ I fall for). But SV managed to get me to want to know more about all of them.

Bingqiu final assessment.... complete indifference. It wasn't as terrible as it could've been, and the extras did make it better, but idk. I flipped flopped a lot as I was reading regarding whether I was okay with it. The 50s chapters, no. Then it got better. Then chapter 80 happened and I was just.... it was genuinely painful getting through that chapter lol. I was constantly pausing and just.. collecting myself. Then the extras and I was like, hmmm it seems.. ok I guess. But I still think it's not the healthiest relationship. You can’t tell me his spiel in chapter 79 isn’t still a total guilt trip. Xin Mo exacerbates his negative emotions, it doesn’t make them up. He’s also constantly jealous even in the extras, making comments of suspicion on the slightest things and just wanting SQQ’s attention for himself. His whole world revolves around SY, and that’s just not a healthy thing for any relationship. It’s undeniably obsessive, and while I don’t see LBH acting on his jealousy, I think that’s only because “it’d make Shizun sad” and not because it goes against his morality. I think LBM is just as capable of doing messed up stuff (murder, torture, etc.) as LBG.

I also just feel like there's something that just doesn't connect between SY in the whole novel, and SY in the extras. By chapter 78 he still did not seem particularly reciprocative of LBH's advances. And even within the extras he's very no-touchy and anti-PDA. He tends to refuse LBH’s requests for intimate moments (until the crocodile tears guilt him into doing what LBH wants) and overall is easily embarrassed, like he's not confident in this relationship. I think at the least more lines of buildup should’ve been added, particularly in moments where it was just the two of them.

And you know what also kinda bugs me about it? I dislike how much the story pushed on that SY was confidently straight since birth. If you want to convince me that the initially ‘straight’/uninterested character ends up falling for another guy, just don’t push it so hard in my face contradicting that. Wei Ying flirted with girls, cool yeah. But the novel never gave the impression he was completely closed off to the idea. With how WY is written, I can totally see him being bi. But SY is more like, well I somehow ended up raising the ML as gay but hey that’s not so bad I guess, at the last minute. I can't say I ship LiuShen either, but I can definitely see the appeal when the canon alternative may easily not float your boat. Nothing beats Wangxian in my heart though 💕

As I expected, am sad with how the relationship with Cang Qiong Mountain ended up. I mean I guess it wasn't necessarily on bad terms, but basically his other disciples are left without their shizun and the sect's whole familial relationship is scattered. I guess it's because I appreciate Wangxian staying in the Cloud Recesses, having this space of theirs and the Jingshi that they can call home. I read the fanfics that have LWJ making WY a lotus pond out front and just their beautiful domestic post-canon life. I love that they can go out night hunting with the juniors. They can go out and travel, just the two of them, when they want. They could retire one day if they wanted. But they'll also always have a family to come back to. LQR begrudgingly accepting WY in time. The bread and butter that is Yunmeng bros reconciliation. Bingqiu.. doesn't really have anything like that. For instance, Liu Qingge and LBH are on terms that I don't feel could ever be recuperated the way WWX and JC could. I don't think Bingqiu could ever stay at CQM in complete comfort. So that's just a little sad.

Also is it just me who, when reading, would always imagine TLJ with short hair, even tho nobody ever has short hair in these novels lol.

Anyway lol, I think that about covers everything I can think of. If you got this far, you the real one ✌🏼

[westallenfun]

Two's Company (1/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas). 

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma, and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend, Barry Allen, but grapples with revealing her true feelings, for fear of completely ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, with romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may in fact force both Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths. 

Rated: T (Warnings: Mild language)

Perhaps the most notable visual extravagance at wedding receptions is the abundance of balloons, flowers, and the chiffon backdrops, draped like curtains, framing the table whereon sat the wedding cake. 

Iris is already trying to determine how she might steal away a few balloons, because really, nobody would miss them, and she had, after all, been the one sitting with the wedding planner for days on end, painstakingly selecting a theme for the reception and agonizing over every detail. Surely, after all her efforts, a few balloons going missing at the end of the party would be forgiven, if not unnoticeable. And she would be surreptitious about it too, seeing as how she would wait until the final guests, likely pleasantly drunk on champagne, rosé, and Prosecco, stumbled their way out of the Central City Gold Hotel. 

            “Nice work, West.” Iris looks up to see her heavily pregnant sister-in-law take a seat next to her, while cradling a rather magnificent sundae in her hands, spoon hanging precariously atop the hazelnut fudge.

            “Thanks, but don’t you call my brother ‘West?’ Could get confusing,” Iris says, raising one eyebrow. 

            “Yeah, but I’m married to Wally. Have been for three years. And so, it doesn’t have the same effect with him anymore. That’s the troublesome thing about marriage.” 

            “Classic Linda Park logic,” Iris murmurs, before once again focusing on the balloons. They are all the same shade of ivory, which made them particularly functional. For gift-giving purposes, that is. Gift-giving, Iris knows, is all about the presentation.

            “No, but seriously, Iris. I’m impressed. Joe and Cecile deserve the best, and this is, honestly, the best.”

            “Thanks, Linda. Dad deserves a perfect wedding day. As does Cecile. To be honest, I didn’t expect it to come together as beautifully as it did, but I’m still praying we see this thing to the end without any hiccups. We’ve got…” Iris taps the screen of her phone to check the time, “About three hours, at least, left.”

            “And it’s probably especially important to you. You know, because you played matchmaker for Joe and Cecile,” Linda says, while spooning a generous amount of ice cream, topped with fudge and sprinkles and coconut flakes, into her mouth. Iris’s brow furrows,

            “I did not ‘match-make’ my dad and Cecile. We’ve been over this Linda…” Linda begins to interrupt, but Iris shakes her head, “I know you seem to think that because I introduced my dad to Cecile that somehow this is my doing, but that’s untrue. To be honest, I didn’t expect them to hit it off so well, let alone date and get married within a year of my introducing them.” Cecile owns an interior design shop, which Iris had visited when she was helping Barry decorate his new apartment— a memory which immediately brings a smile to Iris’s face, for she fondly recalls Barry frantically searching eBay for a bed and a couch, and the way she had persuaded him that that was a terrible idea and instead found her way to Cecile’s trendy furniture boutique, which was also quite affordable. Cecile was so friendly and sweet, and Iris remembered her father struggling to date again, as it had been nearly a decade and a half since her mother had passed away, and so when she had thrown Barry a housewarming party, Iris figured that there was no harm in inviting Cecile, who had become friends with both Barry and Iris after hours spent together at the boutique, and introducing her to her dad. That had been a year ago. Now, they are at Joe West and Cecile Horton’s wedding reception.

            “Well, we can debate semantics, but you definitely match-maked Wally and me. You can’t deny that,” Linda says, matter-of-factly, before eating another scoop of her sundae.

            “I wouldn’t call it match-making. More like I have a sense for people that I know well and then introduce them, thinking that they may potentially like each other.”

            “You set Wally and I up on a blind date six years ago, and now we’re married and have twins on the way. I would say there’s a diabolical matchmaking side to you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel accomplished every time you successfully match-make a couple.”

            “Linda, I’ve only successfully match-maked— to use your word, which I still find objectionable, by the way— two couples. One was my brother and you. And you’re my best friend. The other was my dad and Cecile. That’s hardly a track record of successful matchmaking.”

            “But it could be. Think about it. This could be a lucrative side hustle.”

            “As if I would have time for a match-making side hustle, even if that was something I was interested in doing. I finally got my news site up and running, and The Citizen needs all hands on deck and then some. Besides, a matchmaking business is an exploitative way to make money.”

            “Mmm, maybe,” Linda seems to ponder this, momentarily, before changing topics, abruptly, “Speaking of which, I’m your best friend now? Thought that was a privilege exclusively afforded to Barry,” Iris has heard this before and rolls her eyes, exasperated,

            “My friendship with Barry is different. You know that.”

            “Actually I don’t know that. But I would love to be enlightened about that.” Linda’s response is far too smug for Iris’s liking, but before she can retort, she hears a familiar voice behind her, a voice that unquestionably wraps Iris in a cocoon of warmth, so that she feels instantly home,

            “I heard my name.” And although she cannot see him yet, she knows he’s smiling. 

            “Was wondering where you were, Allen. It’s a rare sight that you and Iris would be separated at any point, when in the same vicinity.” Barry chuckles at Linda’s quip, settling into the chair on Iris’s right and brushing away a few plastic flowers that had come undone from the upholstery. Iris glances up at him, smiling widely, which he’s reciprocating in equal measure. He sets a plate, containing a chocolate fudge brownie topped with mint chocolate chip ice cream, in front of her. Iris’s eyes widen, as she glances from the plate to Barry; her face alight with unadulterated joy. 

            “My hero,” she gasps, squeezing his hand and then truly taking in the scrumptious display of gooey chocolate and ice cream goodness.

            “Always,” he whispers, gazing at her, affectionately, before continuing, “I was wrangling the last brownie from old Mrs. Rogers, who apparently wanted to share it between herself and her cat. Although I don’t know,” Barry pauses for a moment, glancing around the reception hall, “if her cat is even here. Doubtful. Regardless, it took a great deal of speed, stealth, and possibly defying Newton’s first law of physics, because I could have sworn that I willed the brownie in my direction without even touching it, to retrieve this dessert.”

            “Don’t lie, Bear,” Iris says, her eyes sparkling with laughter, as she eagerly grabs her dessert fork, “Mrs. Rogers would never argue with you, if you wanted that brownie. She loves you.” 

            “Yeah, it was just my regular, old charm. And by charm, I mean, because I tutor her grandson, Matt, in chemistry.” (Linda snorts at that.) “Still, I think defying Newton’s first law makes for a better story. But nobody was getting this brownie except for you, Iris. You know, we wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you. I mean, just look at this place. It looks fantastic,” he raves, gesturing towards the décor, “The work you put into this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

            “Thank you, Barry.” She’s touched, not just because Barry managed to negotiate the last brownie from poor, old Mrs. Rogers with his rather endearing, tripping-over-his-feet-type charm, but also because he is being, as usual, so disarmingly complimentary of her. Barry never expects her to be amazing; he just thinks she’s amazing always, even when she’s at her lowest or when she is mistaken, and when Iris reflects deeply on that, it overwhelms her. It forces her to dwell on feelings untold; on how, whenever she sees him, she can’t help but smile, almost as if by instinct. 

But she can’t think about it. She won’t think about it.

            “Before you got here, Barry. I was telling Iris how she should really get into a matchmaking side hustle,” Linda says, forcing Iris to focus on the conversation taking place and not on… well, a place where she refuses to go. A place which she cannot explore. 

            “Matchmaking?” Barry leans back, resting his arm on the back of Iris’s chair. “I don’t think that’s even remotely close to anything Iris-like.” Iris is acutely aware of how close his arm is to the bare skin of her upper back, but she ignores this. Or tries to.

            “Exactly. And so I was telling Linda how that’s an awful idea, and how I am pretty sure a matchmaking business, where I have zero actual knowledge about strangers’ interpersonal relationships, could be fraudulent. I can’t possibly claim to be an expert. I mean, no guarantees, right? Seems like a colossal waste of people’s money,” Iris remarks, still trying not to think about Barry’s arm on her chair, right near her back. And how (she thinks she had just imagined it but, no, it was real) he had seemingly shifted his arm, so his fingers are now grazing her skin; his touch is feather-light, equally comforting as it is emboldening. 

            “That could be the genius of it, though. Enough people want to pay money for a matchmaker, even if it’s probably not going to be any more successful than a dating app. Throw in some good, old Cosmopolitan level astrology knowledge for marketing purposes. And there you have it. A potentially incredibly lucrative endeavor. Maybe I should start it myself,” Linda says, while still enjoying her sundae.

            “Why waste money on a matchmaker? Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that,” Barry sounds wistful when he says this, and Iris turns to him, abruptly, studying his expression. He’s looking straight ahead, but his gaze is demonstrable of clear desire, and upon hearing such longing in his voice, her stomach drops. Because that’s the face of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone who’s found their someone. But who could her Barry have found? When did he find someone? 

Iris is contemplating this, her stomach churning with her every thought, when the conversation shifts to pregnancy, as Linda comments how she’s always hungry and moody thanks to,

            “…These two whom Wally impregnated me with.” To which Barry laughs, his fingers still softly grazing Iris’s back, while Iris forces herself to smile along and even joke that Linda had talked her ear off about how much she wanted babies and how maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so ahead of herself. But Iris’s mind is still on Barry potentially having found someone. She knows she should be happy, monumentally happy, because Barry is happy, so she cannot fathom why she feels like she’s about to vomit. Suddenly, she has no appetite for her brownie and ice cream, but she eats to evade suspicion, because Barry would surely know something is wrong if she fails to eat her dessert. But from the way he’s carefully watching her, maybe he does know something is wrong already, and Iris wishes, not for the first time, that they did not know each other’s every fidget and expression, signaling a mood shift, so well.

When the wedding reception is over and after Iris has said goodbye to every guest and promised her father and Cecile that she would be at their house the next day for their family dinner, she manages to take three ivory balloons with her to her car, without a single guest noticing. The decorator who had stayed to help her wrap up tells her that she can take any number of balloons that she would like. Or, perhaps more practically, however many would fit in her car. 

*

More accurately, perhaps, Iris thinks she had not been noticed by anyone, when she’d successfully managed to fit all three balloons in her car two nights ago. She’s standing on line at CC Jitters, the local hub for Central City citizens to get their morning coffee and pastry fix, and holding a basket, which contains baked goods, a carefully wrapped red scarf, and a small, navy blue bag. Tied onto the handle of the basket are the three balloons, still inflated. 

            “For the boyfriend?” 

Iris turns to meet the friendly disposition of a blonde woman she’s never met before. Startled for a moment, Iris realizes, that the stranger is referring to her basket, and she smiles, shaking her head,

            “No, for a friend.” Although, given her thoughts lately, friend seems far too simple a word. She feels like she’s perjuring herself by saying friend, but best friend who I’ve known since childhood and with whom I think I might have feelings for, but who is possibly in love with someone else seems far too complicated, especially when Iris is not ready to admit this to herself, let alone to a stranger whom she meets for the first time on the queue for coffee. 

            “Well, they’re lucky. You clearly put so much work into that. No friend has ever given me a gift like that. Actually nobody’s given me a gift that thoughtful before,” the stranger continues, before visibly cringing, “I’m sorry, I’m oversharing. I’m Patty, by the way.” 

            “I’m…”

            “Iris!” There it is again, that feeling of home settling upon her shoulders, like a velvet cloak, shielding her, protecting her. Barry is walking towards her, holding two mugs of coffee, and when he stops before her, he presses his lips to her forehead briefly, a typical form of greeting between the both of them. But if he could hear the way her heart hammers against her chest whenever she feels the soft brush of his lips on her skin, then surely the ruse would be up. He would know how she feels, and so Iris is grateful, not for the first time, that her heartbeat is inaudible to anyone but her. 

            “Hey Bear, that for me?” she asks, nodding at one of the two mugs.

            “Yep. One Americano with an extra shot. Got here earlier and figured we could beat the line,” Barry grins, and he’s looking at her as if she’s the sun, and it’s almost too intense, perhaps because of all of those pesky feelings that she’s been feeling lately, so Iris breaks their gaze, remembering herself as well and turning back towards Patty.

            “Patty, this is my friend, Barry. Barry… Patty. We just met on the line.” Barry nods politely, as Patty says,

            “Nice to meet you.”

            “Likewise,” Barry responds. “New around here?”

            “Is it that obvious? I’m just about to start at CCU as a grad student. And so I’m trying to get used to the city. I’m originally from Midway.”

            “Yeah, understandable,” Iris smiles. “Takes awhile to get used to a new place, but CC Jitters is the best, so you’ll never be wanting for good coffee, that’s for sure.” Patty laughs, then,

            “Well, I’m glad for that. Anyways, I won’t keep you two. Thank you, Iris, for just chatting with me.”

            “Of course.” The three exchange polite goodbyes, and Barry and Iris make a beeline for their favorite booth in the farthest corner from the entrance to the coffee shop; a rather secluded, cozy spot that Iris had first started occupying, when she was a journalism student at Central City University. Barry had been a chemistry major, and they met up every morning for breakfast and would come to study nearly every weekend, armed with cookies, coffee, and blankets. Iris remembers long afternoons spent in this booth, her feet propped up on Barry’s lap, his hands massaging her calves, as they studied in companionable silence. 

            It was in this booth that Iris had written article after article for The Central Brief, CCU’s university-wide newspaper, including her famed paper on the state of land rights of women, globally, that had won her the Scholastic Student of Journalism Prize and had given her the chance to speak in The Hague at an international conference on human rights. As Iris agonized over her field research, including research accumulated from summers of backpacking, Barry, while studying for his Protein Crystallography final, had been effusive in his support for her. He was constantly breaking from his studies to be her sounding board, should she need one, despite her reminding him time and again that he ought to concentrate on his own finals and not on her. He never listened, though, not that it in any way affected his marks. And so sure was he that her work would be honored that he’d planned a party, months in advance, before she had heard back from the National Committee for Excellence in Student Journalism and before she had been invited to The Hague. 

            Indeed, it was Barry who had remarked then that Iris ought to consider starting her own news media site after university, stating that she already had the credentials to draw in a large audience and investors. 

            “How are you feeling? About the exposé, I mean. Today’s the big day and all,” Barry says, as they settle into the booth, referring to what Iris considers to potentially be the most groundbreaking piece of journalism of her career thus far, namely an article exposing the rot of the biotechnology company, McCulloch Technologies. Its CEO, Joseph Carver, has been using the corporation as a front for a highly dangerous and illegal weapons trafficking scheme. The exposé, which is due to be published later today, will be a highly contentious article, no doubt, but Iris had long since decided that she will not rest until she sees justice through and the thousands of innocent people, caught in the crosshairs of Carver’s inhumane crimes, are safe.

            “Okay. I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” Iris replies, and Barry takes her hand for a moment,

            “Hey, I get it. It’s hard not to be anxious, especially given the magnitude of the article and the far-reaching consequences it’s going to have. But I am so proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself as well,” he says, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly, before releasing her hand. Iris smiles softly, deeply touched by Barry’s faith in her,

            “Thanks, Bear.”

“Of course,” he says, before gesturing towards the gift basket, “So, are you going to tell me who the basket is for?” Iris adopts a playful expression, then.

            “Hmmm, it’s for this friend of mine who just submitted his dissertation for his DSc.”

            “How did you know I submitted today? I told you my deadline was next week, which it is,” Barry states, apparently incredulous that Iris could have known that he had submitted his paper this morning. 

            “I have my ways. And by that I mean you drooling on my couch last week and mumbling, half-asleep, that you are definitely submitting your dissertation on Tuesday. Well, today’s Tuesday, Bear,” Iris teases, chuckling at the memory of Barry entering her apartment last week in need of caffeine, which culminated with him staying the night, when he fell asleep on her sofa. 

            “I really can’t keep anything from you,” Barry sighs in mock frustration. “Although I really wouldn’t want to, anyways.” 

            “Good. And think about it, now you have this nice surprise.” Barry takes the basket from Iris’s hands, admiring her handiwork, before giving her a sly smile,

            “Well, I guess I know why you took those balloons from the reception on Saturday.”

Okay, so apparently she had not gone completely unnoticed. One guest had noticed her attempt to fit three inflated balloons into her car. Unsurprising, she now reflected, given who that guest happened to be.

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Iris. I may not be able to keep anything from you, but you definitely cannot keep anything from me either.” Are you sure about, Iris thinks momentarily, before banishing the thought immediately. For she will not dwell on those feelings again, not when she stands to lose too much if they start consuming her. When Iris looks up again, Barry is looking through the basket, marveling at the baked cake lollipops and banana bread and brownies (Iris can only bake sweets, and she would never subject Barry to her cooking, although he claims it’s not as bad as she seems to think it is), before he takes the red scarf from the basket. “Iris…” he whispers, her name like a prayer on his lips, and there goes her heartbeat again, pounding against her chest. “You knitted this.” And she knows that he already knows that she did, but it’s the way he’s looking at her now, like there are not any words currently discovered to express to her how much this means to him. She gives him a comforting smile, hoping to diffuse some of the intensity of the emotions that are radiating off of Barry. 

“Open the rest,” she encourages, and he’s now holding the small, navy blue bag, and removing a velvet box from it. Encased in the box is a watch, which she’d been saving up for, because all of his watches are for some reason broken, and she can hear his gasp, nearly inaudible, and then he’s looking at her, solemnly, gravely.

“Iris… I don’t know what to say. I don’t… thank you,” he says, his tone soft and tender.

“Of course, Bear. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t think this simple gift basket really can quantify how proud I am of you.”

“It’s not… it’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he says, and there it is again. How definitive it is to him that she’s amazing. And perhaps she forgives herself a little for her feelings then, for how can she not feel as she does when he says things like this to her every single day. He’s already wrapping the scarf on his neck and remarking how comfortable and warm it is. “I couldn’t get better knitted scarves at the store. I’m pretty sure you’re a superhero. You can literally do anything.” She listens to him wax on about her many, unbelievable talents, which she’s sure only he seems to think she possesses, before shaking her head, affectionately,

“The scarf looks good on you. Red is your color.”

“Always has been,” he jokes, although the emotion is still evident in his voice. “Come here,” he says then, reaching his arm towards her. She leaves her side of the booth to come over to his, and the moment she’s at his side, he wraps his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. She has one arm around his back, the other clutching his sweater, and her head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and Iris is sure that now he must be able to feel how rapidly her heart is beating. She’s cloaked in warmth and in comfort, and all she can think of is home. And all she can feel is love. The kind of tumbling, head over heels into a field of daisies type of love that Iris’s college friend, Cynthia Reynolds (now a hotshot litigator who works in BigLaw and who also is the Citizen’s unofficial legal counsel), claims is simply mushy, fairy-tale nonsense that couldn’t possibly exist outside of movies. Iris had laughed then, telling Cynthia that maybe she shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynthia had been unmoved, steadfast instead in her sentiment that people can fall in love, but that kind of ‘I want to go gallivanting in a forest somewhere and run towards you in a field, as if this is some damn terrible romantic drama’ love does not and cannot actually exist in real life. 

Well, Iris is feeling that mushy, fairy-tale type of love now (a fact which shocks her, despite the fact that she’s very aware of her growing pesky feelings), while wrapped up in Barry’s arms, so clearly, Cynthia had gotten it wrong. Oh fuck.

*

There are approximately fifteen different photos, capturing different angles of the McCulloch Technologies building, sitting on Iris’s desk when she walks into The Citizen that morning, after saying goodbye to Barry at Jitters, and all Iris can think about is the fact that she’s in love with her best friend. And as if her life could not be more complicated in that very moment, Barry is potentially in love with someone else.  

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

She cannot think about her feelings nor Barry being in love with some mystery human being right now, though, for she’s on the verge of publishing the explosive piece on Joseph Carver, who has been using his internationally successful technology company to peddle a highly intricate and complex hub-and-spoke conspiracy involving arms trafficking. He had managed to slither under the radar of inquiring agencies by acquiring different sorts of obscure technology, including ballistic software and parts that are often used to construct robots for laser guidance, under the guise of developing cutting-edge bio-technology. When Iris’s source had informed her that Carver’s labs were combining methane and ammonia, she knew that there was an underbelly of weapons-related criminality within the globally recognizable technology company, and armed with her pen, pepper spray, and sheer gumption, she and her photojournalist, Kamilla Hwang, had obtained press passes to Carver’s unveiling of robotic limbs. While there, Iris had asked janitors, low-level software engineers, and other personnel about why Carver’s labs were having methane and ammonia react with oxygen and how this in any way ameliorates existing biomedical technology. Iris and Kamilla eventually obtained access to a private press tour of Carver’s labs, where they noticed how jittery the staff had been, and after Iris had slipped her card to some of the employees, she had found herself, three days later, with nearly fifteen whistleblowers willing to come forward about nefarious activities in the labs.

As it turned out, Carver’s labs had been trying to create and had indeed succeeded in creating a gun that releases hydrocyanic acid, which they are currently selling on the black market. This is the latest of extraordinarily dangerous weapons that Carver sells both domestically and internationally. Indeed, several politicians are in cahoots with Carver; Carver having made them rich men, in exchange for avoiding Congressional inquiries into McCulloch Tech. 

Now, Iris stands poised to publish the most explosive exposé of her career thus far, and the thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. 

She studies Kamilla’s photos of the McCulloch Tech building, now having to decide which one would accompany the headline that is due to go up right before noon. One photo stood apart among the rest: a shot of McCulloch Tech at night, illuminated by the lights of the city, but with only one floor of the building, the top floor, indicating any activity: the lights of the top floor were on, and the rest of the building was largely camouflaged by the night sky. That top floor contained the only working laboratory at headquarters and is where hydrocyanic acid is processed. This is the photo, Iris thinks, just as she hears a commotion at the door and sees her newest hire, Allegra Garcia, forcefully wrangle open the door, rather dramatically, before slamming it shut.

“Hey, boss,” Allegra says. “We have got to get that door fixed. I’m telling you; it’s trying to kill me every time I arrive.” Iris chuckles fondly at Allegra’s dramatics,

“You’re the only one who seems to be constantly battling the door, Allegra. There are four other people who work here who seem to have no trouble getting in and out of the office.”

“Well, I don’t know, but this door has had it out for me since I began working here. And so… oh! Are those the photos? How much time have we got until noon…?” Allegra pauses momentarily, as she taps her phone, which she was holding in one hand, “Forty minutes. Fantastic.” Iris smiles, watching Allegra race up to her desk, excitedly. Two of the reasons that she had hired Allegra was for her enthusiasm about reporting and for her passion for ethical journalistic integrity, both of which she demonstrated every day on the job.  

“This is the one I want to use to accompany the article,” Iris explains, while pushing the photograph towards Allegra, whose eyes widen when she sees the photo. 

“Yeah, this is incredible. I know Kamilla must have camped out awhile to get this shot,” she exclaims, before looking up at Iris, “We’re really gonna do this, boss. We’re gonna expose Carver and who knows? You might win a Pulitzer from this.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have to publish the exposé first, and our legal team has been sending me messages since this morning about how she is obligated to warn us about frivolous defamation suits that Carver might file in the immediate aftermath. But the truth is more important. Let Carver sue us; if he does, he’s going to lose anyways.” Although, to be completely accurate, the Citizen’s unofficial legal team, comprising of one Cynthia Reynolds, whose texts to Iris consisted of, “Carver is definitely going to sue you for defamation, so I’ve got to warn you of that, but screw that guy. Publish and destroy him once and for all,” were certainly more emboldening than averting. Iris is also quite certain that that is technically not sound legal advice, in the least.

The door opens again, and in walks Kamilla, joined by the two other reporters at The Central City Citizen, Kara Danvers and James Olsen. They’re all chatting animatedly about the exposé and the explosive ripple effects its publication might have. 

“He’s an absolute monster,” Kara tells James, no doubt referring to Carver. “I mean, hydrocyanic acid? The sheer inhumaneness of his crimes just to fill his coffers…” 

“Evil folks will do absolutely anything to satisfy their greed, including murdering people,” James observes, and Iris knows this is perhaps a fundamental truth of which every investigative journalist must be aware. Kamilla walks up to Iris’s desk and grins when she sees Iris scanning the chosen photo onto her computer,

“That’s the one, isn’t it? When I captured it, I knew I had gotten it. It took me, I think, nearly five hours of camping out, and it was 2:45 AM yesterday when I finally had managed to take that photo.” 

“It’s incredible, Kamilla,” Iris praises. “All your photos are great, but this one is fantastic. It captures exactly what we need to accompany the article.” When Iris had taken this on by herself, she had been wary about putting any of her reporters in danger, but Kamilla had insisted that she accompany Iris in order to take photographs. In hindsight, Iris is incredibly grateful to have had Kamilla by her side through it all, for her calm, steady demeanor was vital amidst the insanity of taking on Joseph Carver. Kara and James, who have caught up to the others, both make approving noises, congratulating Kamilla on her photography, as Iris continues to work to format the article. 

When she is satisfied with the formatting, she taps her phone, seeing that there is roughly twenty minutes remaining until the deadline, and while her reporters are chattering excitedly, the door opens once more, and Iris is greeted by the sight of Wally carrying two champagne bottles in one hand and precariously balancing a few glasses in his other hand. On his heels is Barry, who is carrying a large white box with the words ‘Zulma’s Pastries’ emblazoned on the top, and Iris is flooded with that fairy-tale, gallivanting in a field of daisies feeling again, to which she now finds she is already getting accustomed, which is a somewhat terrifying thought. 

While Iris has some idea as to why both of them are in her office, she is also aware that Dr. Wally West is supposed to be at work at Central City Hospital, and Barry is supposed to be meeting the Dean of Graduate Studies at CCU about a potential professorship. 

“What are you two doing here?” Iris asks, smiling nonetheless, for she is touched that they likely took time out of their busy days to celebrate the publication of the exposé. She had not mentioned the details of the publication to them, in an effort to protect her sources, but Linda had let it slip to Wally that Iris is publishing the article on Tuesday at the wedding on Saturday, and Barry… well, Barry knows everything about Iris, just the way she knows everything about him, so his appearance in her office twenty minutes before she is meant to publish the most important exposé of her professional career is even less surprising than Wally’s.

“I can’t believe you thought we weren’t going to come and crash this… pathetic party, quite frankly,” Wally says, frowning as he takes in the Citizen office, which while buzzing with the excitement of determined reporters, is not exactly set up for any sort of impending celebration. “You have nothing here to celebrate, Iris. No food, no drinks, nothing.” 

“We haven’t even published, and we have no idea of the repercussions of a piece like this, Wally. I think our sheer grit as reporters is celebratory enough.” 

“We knew you were going to say that,” Barry chuckles, placing the box on a desk adjacent to Iris’s, and then helping Wally with the champagne glasses. “But Linda and I wanted this to be a surprise. We managed to get Wally to help, which is good…”

“Linda’s not feeling well,” Wally cuts in. “She was having awful morning sickness, and I told her I didn’t want to go and that Barry could do the heavy-lifting, but she threatened me and sent me away with two of our best champagne bottles.” Iris begins to protest, but Wally continues on, “And honestly, Iris, before you say anything, I’d rather get an earful from you about leaving Linda at home for this— and by the way, she’s feeling much better, thanks to the fact that I’ve finally perfected the art of making a ginger and mint smoothie— than defy her orders.” 

“Glad to see your theatrics are still in top form,” Iris deadpans, before turning to Barry, pointedly, “Thank you, Barry. You and Linda really didn’t have to do all of this. I haven’t even published it yet.” 

“Excuse me, I helped!” Wally interjects, and Barry is laughing now as Iris reaches up to give him a quick hug, which he returns immediately. As they break apart, Barry’s hand lingers on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I wanted this to be a surprise and that’s why I didn’t mention earlier coming by later on. And I knew you could have used a distraction this morning from thinking about the exposé.”

“I did need a distraction,” Iris smiles, still keenly aware of his fingers slowly brushing against her arm, gently, tenderly. 

“I imagine you did. But to reiterate what I said earlier this morning, I’m so proud of you. So, so proud of you.” He cups her face with one hand, gently caressing his thumb against her cheek, and he’s gazing at her with so much emotion in his eyes, and she knows that the same intensity that had radiated off of him when she’d gifted him the basket earlier this day is emanating from him now, and she cannot help but wonder if he feels what she feels, because in these moments, she’s sure he must be. 

Wally clears his throat loudly, while pouring out the champagne, and both Barry and Iris break away from each other quickly. When Iris looks up at Wally, he’s giving her that same look Linda had given her at the wedding reception on Saturday, when she had clarified that her friendship with Barry was different. Unwilling to entertain the idea that Wally and Linda have discussed her feelings for Barry, she turns to her reporters, who were already opening Barry’s box of sweets.

“Brownies!” Kara yelps, eyeing the chocolate chip, fudge brownies and quickly grabbing paper plates from the Citizen’s supply cupboard. 

“Thank you, Barry! We really needed this,” James agrees, while Kamilla and Allegra join their colleagues in helping themselves to the scrumptious sweets and expressing their gratitude. 

“We’re not going to get any work done today, but it’s fine. Thanks, Bear,” Iris laughs, as Barry hands her a glass of champagne. They clink their glasses together, before sipping their respective drinks.

“The Citizen can use a break. Especially you,” Barry says after a few moments, giving Iris a pointed look. “You’ve had countless sleepless nights over the research for this, and now it’s ready for the public to read. You deserve a whole week long break, at least.”

“The news doesn’t stop for me to catch up on sleep, unfortunately. I have three upcoming potential stories, including the ways in which exam software companies have violated the privacy of examinees.”

“Sounds like you’re about to become the hero of every university student everywhere. I can’t believe the vagueness of some of those disclaimers that exam software companies put out, as if students have any choice but to use them, when they have examinations online.”

“Yeah, exactly. And if nobody holds their feet to the fire, they think that they can get away with anything. That’s why I’ve got to do it.”

“Iris West saves the world yet again. That should be a headline. Maybe I should pitch it to Central City Picture News. Think Scott Evans would run a headline on his biggest rival?”

“Scott would definitely do it, if it brings CCPN good business. Besides, our rivalry is more friendly than anything else. That said, ‘Iris West Saves the World Yet Again’ sounds more like I’m saving the world with superpowers, not the power of a pen and a public audience. I think you might be overselling me just a little bit.”

“Absolutely not,” Barry says, affronted. “Iris West is my hero, and she always has been, so I think you’re underestimating her. She’s a total superhero.” 

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not a superhero, Iris. You’re definitely not going to win this argument.”

“Fine, I’ll level with you. Because you know what they say, right? Every superhero has her own hero? Well, if I am a superhero, then I have a confession to make: my hero happens to be this guy I know… superheroes need strength to be invincible, right? So yeah, this guy is my constant strength. Maybe you know him? Name’s Barry Allen?” Barry blushes furiously at that, ducking his head bashfully, and Iris thinks, Success! She knows she’s rendered him flustered, and he’s so adorably handsome, as he fidgets with his hands, as if searching for something to hold. But even despite his flustered state, he remembers the ongoing debate, and he manages a,

“Alright, alright. You win, Iris.” Iris smiles at him, radiantly and triumphantly, just as Wally makes his way over to them, holding a champagne glass of his own, and he’s got a rather sheepish look on his face, which immediately makes Iris suspicious.

“I know that face, Wall. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing. Not every expression of mine means something,” Wally says, immediately defensive. “Although, I do have to ask you a small favor. But really, it’s not a favor, because it’s actually going to be great for you. So it’s technically a favor, but a favor that you’ll enjoy.” 

“Of course you think so. What is it?” Iris asks, tiredly, knowing immediately that she probably was not going to enjoy this favor as much as Wally seems to think. 

“Okay, so you know Cecile’s godson, Eddie Thawne? He couldn’t come to the wedding, because he was away on an emergency business trip?”

“Yeah, I know Eddie,” Iris responds, confused as to what he had to do with whatever Wally was asking of her. Eddie Thawne was the son of Cecile’s best friend, a wealthy hotelier, and he’d been friendly enough in the few interactions that Iris had had with him, but she could not claim to know him all that well.

“Right, so he’s hosting this gala in Metropolis for dad and Cecile this Saturday. It’s very last minute, found out last night, actually… and well, I’d told dad I was going to go, because you know, one of us should go, right? Technically, both of us should, but dad didn’t want to trouble you, because you’ve been so busy with work, and it’s not a big deal. In fact, I think dad didn’t want you to know, because he thought you might get the wrong idea and think that this gala was going to upstage all the work you put in for the actual wedding and reception, which I kept insisting to him you wouldn’t think at all. And I don’t want to leave Linda, even for the weekend. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, and I know she’s not due for another two months, but I’m not comfortable going.”

“So, you want me to go,” Iris says, knowing exactly what her brother was asking of her. On the one hand, traveling to Metropolis for the weekend for a gala made Iris nervous, because she did not want to leave Central City for at least a week after the McCulloch Tech article was published, but on the other hand, Wally could not be expected to attend, and it would be wrong if both of them missed a gala that was being held for their dad and Cecile. 

Wally is apparently under the impression that Iris might need some more coaxing, so he puts his champagne glass down and reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing four plane tickets.

“Here, the flight tickets are on me. Eddie is putting people up in rooms at his family’s hotel, and he apparently booked four rooms between the two of us, so we could each bring some guests. With Linda and I not going, you’ll have at least three rooms to fill.”

“It’s fine, Wally. I’ll go. You’re right; we should go for dad and Cecile, and you honestly cannot and should not go. I just have to find people who can take a trip with me, last minute…” Iris knows whom she would want to invite, and so she turns to Barry, immediately. “Look, Bear, I know it’s short notice, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Barry agrees quickly, before she can even finish posing the question, and Iris notices that he has a slightly agitated expression, which worries her. His hand clenches the edge of her desk, rather forcefully, and so she places her own hand over his, reassuringly, and this seems to relax him, at least momentarily, as she can feel some of the tension in his muscles evaporate slowly. He smiles, then, perhaps trying to mask his sudden agitation, “My weekend’s free, and we were just talking about how you could use a break, Iris. This’ll be good, as it’s a vacation of sorts.” 

“Thanks, Barry. I’ll also ask Cynthia; she could always use a break, and Bear, why don’t you invite someone?”

“I’ll ask Cisco.” Iris glances up at Barry, and they both share a knowing look: they had been trying to get Cynthia and Barry’s old college roommate and engineering genius extraordinaire, Cisco Ramon, to meet for ages (So much for swearing off match-making, Iris thinks then), but they had not had the chance to introduce the two of them yet. This trip might just provide the long-awaited golden opportunity.

“Perfect,” Wally says, considerably relieved, but before Iris can respond, she finds herself surrounded by her fellow reporters who are telling her that it’s just before noon. She nods, waiting until everyone is gathered around her, and Barry’s arm comes around her shoulders, providing her with both comfort and strength. And while a sudden, rather dignified silence, perhaps to mark the solemnity of this publication, descends upon the Citizen, Iris can feel the soundless excitement of Kamilla and of Allegra and of Kara and of James, as she publishes the exposé on the Citizen’s website. 

*

Thus, late that Friday afternoon, Iris finds herself boarding a plane with Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco, in tow, and she’s only half paying attention to Cisco’s exuberance in describing his latest inventive feat at S.T.A.R. Labs, the product technology company he works for, because Barry is acting… odd. He has been acting odd since he had accepted her invitation to come along to Metropolis, and she cannot fathom what it is about this trip that has him so on edge. He is fidgeting so much, and every time he notices that she notices, he gives her a forced smile, as if to divert her suspicions away from his agitation, but that only serves to increase her worries. Whatever is bothering him so much is something that he apparently is unwilling to share with her. 

“…It’s insane. I mean, if we get this right, we will be revolutionizing tablet computers and robotic interpreters,” Cisco is saying, and Iris is sure that if Cisco is put to the task, he and his team certainly would get it done, for she had witnessed his genius first hand before, when, during a birthday party for his best friend, Caitlin Snow, a few years back, the power had blown and there had been no backup generator, and Cisco had managed to create a temporary power source seemingly out of thin air. Iris is sure that there were numerous devices at Cisco’s disposal, and he’d had the aid of Caitlin’s then boyfriend now husband, Ronnie, also an engineer, but it was the sheer ingenuity of Cisco’s engineering ability and the sheer determination to get this done and to ensure Caitlin had the party that she deserved that was so impressive. 

“If anyone can get it done, though, it’s Cisco Ramon,” Iris voices her thoughts, and Cisco smiles proudly,

“Thanks, Iris. It’s definitely going to be a lot of work, but I definitely think we’re headed in the right direction. Hopefully.”

“Hmmm, it all sounds impressive, but what are the patenting ramifications that come with such a unique project. Surely, you’re worried about somebody trying to build upon your product once it’s out in the market. How stringent is your patent going to be?” Cynthia, ever the cynic, adds, eyeing Cisco.

“I don’t want to hog all the spotlight, honestly. We want other people and companies to be able to build on our findings and develop even better tech. There’ll be a patent, but it’s not going to be exclusive.” 

“You’re way too nice.”

“I’m just here to improve tech. Being nice isn’t a crime, I hope,” Cisco laughs, and Cynthia shakes her head fondly, clearly believing Cisco to be naive, but apparently endeared to his naiveté nonetheless. Cisco and Cynthia, still playfully arguing about the stringency of a future patent, take their seats in the middle row, and Iris and Barry, the latter who is still distracted, sit by the window across the aisle. 

“Bear, what’s going on?” Iris sighs, finally, turning to him, once they’ve taken their seats. Barry looks up at her, startled and guilty, and immediately starts deflecting,

“Nothing. I’m fine, Iris, really. I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it. Just… I don’t know, I’m fine.” Iris can tell that he’s not going to be forthcoming with her, no matter how persistent she is, but she is not ready to drop the issue entirely.

“I’m not going to press you, but you know that if something is bothering you, I’m always here, if you want to talk. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Of course I do,” Barry says, his voice tender. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world for it. I’m sorry that I’ve been out of it the last couple of days, I just… I don’t want you to worry about me. That’s the last thing I want.” Iris can tell he’s struggling between telling her and being evasive, so she takes his hand in her own, their fingers interlocking almost instinctively. She squeezes his hand, as his thumb brushes against her knuckles. 

“I’m going to worry, because it’s you, and so I can’t not worry, but I don’t want you to tell me anything when you’re not ready to.” Barry’s free hand comes to cup her chin, as he brings her closer to him, and she basks in the warmth of his hand against her skin. When his lips meet her forehead, she closes her eyes and relishes in his lingering kiss, and she knows… she knows that she’s unequivocally in love with him, and she’s sure that she has been for quite some time, and all she wants to do is lift her face and coax his lips to hers, but she can’t. She knows that she can’t. She can’t ruin their equilibrium, because if she were to admit her feelings and lose Barry’s friendship completely… that is a possibility that she cannot risk. 

“I know how deeply you care. And I love you for it,” he whispers against her forehead. And I love you for it. 

He’s told her he loves her so many times over the two decades that they’ve known one another, and she knows that he means it platonically, as he always has, but that doesn’t stop her from imagining that he loves her in the same way that she loves him. 

And when Barry falls asleep, after the plane takes off, and drops his head, so it rests comfortably on her shoulder, his face turned into the crook of her neck, so that she can feel his steady breaths fanning against her skin, Iris leans her head against his, and she thinks that this is what true tranquility feels like. 

And I love you for it.

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Female Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Requested by: anon x 2

Yule Ball, best friend to lovers, Ravenclaw reader, Calum (your house choice). Murder me please*

hi love could i still request? slytherin calum and ravenclaw reader, best friends to lovers, yule ball. im a hoe for hogwarts au and i hope u can still do my request. thank you 💗 (requested by anon)*

Trigger Warnings: strong language

A/N: this came out longer than I expected. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you as always to @h0tsos and @5-secondsofcolor for all the help pulling this together!

***

Having built up a solid sporting reputation during your six years at Hogwarts, this is proving to be as far from your comfort zone as possible. 

The Triwizard Tournament as a whole, is right up your alley, of course. Especially since the type of dangerous tasks that it used to consist of had long since been discontinued. These days the tournament was basically a huge sports festival, whereby the three school champions, from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, would take part in events such as magical assault courses, spectacular broomstick flying demonstrations and other athletic exercises. Therefore you’ve been excited to watch it for longer than you care to admit. You only wish that it’d been scheduled for next year instead of this one, so that you could actually put your name forward to be the Hogwarts champion. Unfortunately, only students over the age of seventeen have that potential honour open to them and you’ve only just turned sixteen.

Despite all of that, you’re excited for the contest to begin. Before you can enjoy all of the sporting festivities, however, you have the not-so-small formal tradition of the Yule Ball to contend with.

You smooth down the front of your dress robes nervously. Staring at yourself in the full length mirror doubtfully, wondering whatever possessed you to think that this particular shade of periwinkle blue, is one you could pull off. Before your inner jock can convince you to simply attend the ball in your quidditch robes, muffled voices from the Ravenclaw common room beneath your dormitory alert you to the fact that you’re running late. Most of the other girls have already headed down to the Great Hall, leaving only you and your best friends, most of whom belong to other houses, in the whole of Ravenclaw Tower.

Finally convincing yourself that you look decent enough for the formal occasion at hand, you quickly slip a glittery hair slide into your neatly curled hair, Hoping it will distract people from the fact that you look incredibly uncomfortable.

As you head downstairs to your common room, the previously muffled voices you’d heard a moment ago slowly become more distinct. 

“Does anyone know who Ashton’s date is?” 

Michael’s curious tone carries through the mostly empty space just as you reach the halfway point of the spiralling staircase. 

The mention of the Hogwarts Champion causes your insides to squirm uncomfortably and you have to stop for a moment to compose yourself.  Your last interaction with Ashton Irwin, your long-term friend and the celebrated Gryffindor Quidditch captain, isn’t one that you really want to relive, especially not right now, moments before having to endure this stupid fucking ball. 

“No idea…” Calum replies, his voice suggesting that he’s only mildly interested in the answer anyway. “He hasn’t mentioned any names to me.”

The sound of your second friend’s voice brings a subconscious smile to your face, you notice it in the dark window you’d stopped in front of but you quickly shake it off and continue down the stairs.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out if we ever get downstairs!” Luke huffs, raising his voice for the last few words to express his impatience at having to wait for you. 

“There’s no need to yell, Hemmings.” You scowl, trying to act as casual as possible when you reach the last few steps. 

All three of your friends turn to look at you as you enter the room, each of them with expressions of  varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

Michael seems to be the least affected by your somewhat unusual appearance. His look of mild surprise gives way almost instantly to a cheeky grin. “Wow, didn’t know you could scrub up this well.” He smirks, already turning towards the door, too impatient to tuck into the buffet that is waiting in the Great Hall, no doubt. It makes you smile, his love of food is rivalled only by his love for his friends but seeing as he’s eaten nothing since lunch time, you’re unsurprised that his first love is winning out.

“He’s right!” Luke grins, his pretty blue eyes drifting over your outfit as though he’s struggling to take in the sight of you in an outfit that’s so uncharacteristic for you. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where you wore anything other than your uniform, quidditch robes or those ratty old muggle music t-shirts!”

You want to argue with him and explain for the millionth time that those shirts you love to wear, are meant to have holes in them, but he’ll never understand the concept of distressed clothing, he’s a spoiled little pureblood and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. Besides, how can you focus on a mundane argument with Luke when Calum, AKA the most beautiful boy in existence is staring at you as though he might actually be seeing you as someone other than his quidditch training buddy for the first time ever.

“You look incredible.” The Slytherin gasps, his chocolate brown eyes locking onto yours as a faint smile curls the corners of his lips. He nervously runs his hand over his short hair. His fairly recent buzzcut is rapidly growing out but you’re happy to see that he’s decided to keep it blue for the time being. He’d surprised you with the daring dye job a couple of weeks ago, insisting that he’d tried to turn it green as an outward display of his loyalty to Slytherin, but something had gone wrong and it had turned a shade of blue that shockingly resembles the Ravenclaw colour instead. 

You feel the blood in your cheeks rise to the surface of your skin. He’s never complimented you like that before and your heartbeat quickens at the words. It’s ridiculous, you know that. He’s probably never going to see you as anything more than a friend but there’s a tiny bit of hope left, if the sparkle in his eyes right now is anything to go by.

“You don’t look so bad yourself” you manage to giggle, trying not to let the way Calum is looking at you trick you into thinking that the crush you have on him is in any way reciprocated. He’s probably just shocked that you even own something like this to wear. 

Calum smiles at your half-hearted compliment and gestures towards the door. “We better get going before Michael gets too hangry. I’d rather avoid a repeat of breakfastgate, if we can!”

You laugh at the memory of Michael hexing some unsuspecting third year Slytherins a couple of weeks ago. They’d wrongly assumed that their whole house had already finished breakfast, and tried to take the last remaining pastries. Michael, who’d been delayed getting to the Great Hall due to helping Calum with a homework emergency, had been devoid of patience when he aimed a nasty hex at his fellow Slytherins, that caused all four of their faces to break out in a terrible itchy rash. He’d earned himself a week’s detention for his rash actions, but he still maintains that those pastries were worth it.

“Yeah, if we keep him from food for much longer, he might even start breaking out the unforgivable curses!” Luke huffs dryly.

Calum and Luke continue to tease Michael about his irrational anger when it comes to food, all the way down to the main lobby of the castle. You join in a little bit, but ensure that you stand up for Michael too, after all you’ve never taken too kindly to being kept away from your food either. 

It’s only when your group reaches the entrance to the Great Hall that you all fall silent. The large room has been transformed into nothing short of a winter wonderland. Large, ice sculptures shaped like animals line the two longest walls. Each frozen statue is as intricate as the last and all of them have been charmed to move their limbs or revolve on their individual platforms like giant versions of the ballerinas in those little music boxes your muggle mother used to buy for you when you were a little girl.

The usual Christmas tree that sat in the corner of the room at this time of year, had been decorated particularly extravagantly for this occasion. All of its branches are covered in glittering snow whilst real candles burn prettily in fancy spiralling patterns.

A small stage has replaced the spot where the teachers table is usually situated and it’s occupied by a band playing a song you vaguely recognise from the wizarding radio show that Luke forces you to listen to every Friday night when you hang out in his dorm whilst Michael and Calum attend their gobstones club.

“Wow, look at the floor!” Michael exclaims, gesturing at the exquisite frosty patterns etched into the wooden floorboards. 

“And the roof!” Calum gasps, pointing up at the enchanted ceiling.

You take a moment to admire the wonder on your friend’s face, adoring his soft smile and the way the light reflects in his eyes, before following his gaze to the enchanted ceiling where rows of snowflake shaped fairy lights have been hung beneath the clear starry night sky.

“They’ve really gone all out, haven’t they?”

The familiar voice causes a jolt in your stomach and you curse yourself for letting down your guard so easily and so quickly. You’d hoped to avoid Ashton for much longer than this.

Calum nods in response to the older boy’s question. “It looks so beautiful! I can’t believe they did all this in just one afternoon!”

Ashton doesn’t reply, his hazel eyes move from Calum, to Luke, to Michael before settling on you. His expression is somehow thoughtful and confused all at once. You know what’s going through his mind, though and you can’t allow him to voice it.

“Yeah, it looks amazing.” You interject quickly. “Hey Cal, why don’t you go and get us all a pumpkin juice?”

“Sure.” The blue-haired boy agrees easily. “Do you want one, Ash?” He adds, turning to the Hogwarts champion with a beaming smile.

Ashton shakes his head. “My date’s just gone to get me one, thanks.” He replies, his gaze never drifting from yours.

“Oh yeah, who’d you pick in the end?” Michael questions, his tone inquisitive enough to make him appear interested in the answer. “I bet you had hundreds of offers.”

Luckily, Calum doesn’t hang around for Ashton's response, apparently too eager to get the juice you asked him for.

The raven-haired boy’s eyes never leave yours as he answers. “I chose to bring Arielle Lamer, one of the girls from Beauxbatons.” His gaze drifts over to the long row of buffet tables against one of the walls. “She was my second choice.” He looks back at you, his displaying the same hurt they had done when you’d refused his invitation to the ball a few weeks back. 

“Why did you have to go to your second choice?” Michael asks, his face twisted into a confused expression. “You’re the Hogwarts champion, who in their right mind would have turned you down?”

“Never mind that!” Luke gasps, “why the fuck would she be anyone’s second choice? She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Ashton doesn’t offer a verbal response to either of the confused boys, but his gaze is still locked on you, which unintentionally tells Luke and Michael the truth. 

Your friends stand silently beside you, their mouths agape as they stare between you and Ashton, trying to wrap their heads around the unspoken but incredibly obvious situation.

“I thought you turned me down because you had a better offer.” Ashton frowns, “but it looks like you’ve just come here with our friends, I’m confused…”

Your guilt at having refused Ashton’s offer gnaws away at your insides as your shoulders twitch in a vacant shrug. “I never said there was anyone else, Ash I just…”

“You just didn’t want to come here with me.” Ashton interrupts, the sad realisation in his eyes and voice almost breaking your heart. “I get it.”

“I didn’t think anyone had asked you to the dance.” Calum’s voice is almost too quiet to hear over the music but his shocked tone just about reaches your ears nevertheless. 

You turn to face your secret crush, your heart pounding in your chest. Calum is literally the last person on earth you would want to overhear this conversation. “I never lied to you, Cal… if you’d asked I’d have told you.”

“That’s not the point.” Calum shrugs. “You got asked to the Yule Ball by Ashton fucking Irwin and you turned him down, just to hang out with three dateless losers. Why would you do that?”

The truth almost slips past your lips, but you manage to replace it with a vaguer response before you embarrass yourself even further. “Because I just don’t see Ashton that way.” 

“But he’s the fucking Hogwarts champion and probably the hottest guy in the whole school.” Calum insists, gesturing a little too wildly with his full hands and sloshing pumpkin juice over the floor.

Before Calum can make any more mess, Luke steps forward and takes the drinks from him before shuffling back to his spot next to Michael. 

Despite your initial urge to tell Calum the truth about why you’d refused to come to the dance with Ashton, your anger at his persistence is starting to override it. “Well why didn’t you ask him to the dance if you love him so much?” You counter, trying not to raise your voice too much. 

Calum frowns, glancing over to Ashton for a second before returning his attention to you. “Stop trying to deflect, I’m asking you a simple white question here!”

“I just wanted to come here with you, okay?” You reply snappily, gesturing at Luke and Michael faintly with one hand but never taking your eyes away from Calum’s. You can only hope that your weak attempt at trying to imply that your other friends are included in the ‘you’ that you’d just spat out, was enough.

Calum opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s trying to speak but his vocal chords are refusing to comply.

Taking advantage of the continued silence from your friends, you continue your reply to Calum’s initial question. “Not that I really owe you an explanation, but; I love Ashton as a friend and the thought of coming here with him as more than that just didn’t feel right.” You turn to Ashton, the guilt that had been laying heavily in your chest since your conversation with him a few weeks ago, finally giving way to a sense of acceptance that you’d done the right thing. “I’m sorry, Ash. You know I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

Ashton nods in recognition of your apology. “I know. I think I understand why you had to say no to me.”

There’s a sickening theory in your mind that Ashton’s realised that you have feelings for Calum. That’s something that you’re just not ready to be proven right about. Knowing that there’s no way to shut Ashton down without inadvertently giving away your own secret, you take the easy option and turn on your heel before making a run for it, heading straight out of the great hall towards the open doors of the castle.

You barely notice the cold night air biting at every inch of the exposed skin on your arms and face as you stumble out of the entrance hall. Stragglers from the visiting schools were still filtering into the castle but most of them spared you nothing but sideways glances before disappearing inside.

Deciding to hide in a quiet corner until you can gather your thoughts properly, you head down the stone steps and drift across one of the front lawns. Luckily the grass is frosty and your high heels don’t sink into it very much.

You haven’t made it very far before a familiar voice yells your name, stopping you in your tracks. Part of you doesn’t really want to turn around but it’s not like you could outrun the Hogwarts champion in these heels anyway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.” Ashton pants as he jogs to a stop beside you. “It’s freezing!”

Now that you’ve stopped walking and your initial anger is wearing off, you really start to notice the chill in the air and wrap your arms around yourself as an ill attempt to protect the bare skin of your arms from it. “You sound like my grandma.” You huff, your voice already betraying a slight tremor. 

“She sounds like a smart woman.” Ashton shrugs. “I’m sure she’d think you storming out here without a coat on was a stupid idea.”

You let out a defeated huff, sparing a glance at the warm castle, wishing you’d thought to storm back to your dormitory instead. “She would have thought what I said in there was stupid, too!” You reply, dropping your gaze to the frosty grass at your feet. “I should have been more honest with you and…”

“And Calum?” Ashton interjects, his tone solemn but not at all angry like you’d have expected if he ever found out about your feelings for your Slytherin friend. “I think he’s the one you need to talk to the most. At the very least you need to tell him how you feel.”

The very thought of confessing your feelings for Calum to anyone, especially the Slytherin captain himself, sends a stab of fear through your chest. “I can’t do that…”

“If it helps at all, I think he’s been struggling with similar feelings for you for a while.” Ashton admits, his tone hesitant to and cautious. “If I think back, there’s been plenty of signs there that I should have noticed. The way you two act around each other should have tipped me off a long time ago.”

As much as you want to believe that Ashton’s telling you the truth, you can’t really bring yourself to believe that Calum likes you back. In the back of your mind, you think that Ashton must simply just be doing what he thinks is best. 

“I never should have asked you to come to the ball with me.” The raven-haired boy sighs thoughtfully, “regardless of whether I should have seen whatever it is between you and Calum, I’ve always known that you don’t really feel that way for me.”

That guilt in your chest seems to grow even more. You can’t take the sadness in Ashton’s voice anymore. “I’ve always loved you as a friend, Ash. I just…”

“You only have romantic feelings for Calum, I get that.” Ashton smiles glumly, reaching out to stroke your arm in a comforting gesture. “I hope the two of you can work something out.”

“Me too.”

Calum’s voice takes you by surprise for the second time in just a few minutes. Your face automatically snaps towards him as panic starts to flood your brain.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk things out.” Ashton announces before you can even begin to form any words. He flashes you one last smile and claps Calum on the shoulder reassuringly before heading back the castle.

Part of you wants to follow Ashton, but your legs refuse to move. “Look Cal, I don’t really know what to say to you right now.”

Calum simply stares at you for a moment as though he’s struggling with the same predicament. 

“Maybe we should just head back…”  You shrug, forcing yourself to take a step past him.

You’ve barely taken a second stride before Calum’s strong hand closes gently around your upper arm. “Please don’t take off again.” He pleads. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You ask, shivering a little at the prolonged physical contact with your crush.

Calum apparently misinterprets your slight trembling and instantly shrugs off the outermost layer of his dress robes and hands it to you. “About how I’ve been a huge wuss for the past year or so…” He suggests timidly.

You silently accept his jacket-equivalent and drape it over your shoulders. The confusion you feel must show on your face because Calum lets out a humourless laugh. “Okay.” He breathes deeply, dripping his gaze to the floor. “God, I hope you’re not gonna hate me after I tell you this…”

“Calum.” You whisper softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m starting to get worried, what is it?”

Sucking in another deep breath, Calum composes himself before summoning the courage to meet your gaze again. “At the very start of our fifth year, you waited for me on platform 9 ¾ so that we could sit together on the train, remember? Just like you always have done, since our second year.”

You nod, the memory of the bright September morning still clear in your mind, although you have no idea of its significance to Calum’s story. 

“You were wearing those tight jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair was scraped back into a loose bun and your face was twisted into an anxious expression because I was a bit late and you were worried that there wouldn’t be any empty compartments left for us.” Calum explains, a slightly dreamy expression on his face. “Just as you caught sight of me trying to work my way through the crowd towards you, some clumsy seventh year knocked into you. One of your suitcases toppled off your luggage trolley and burst open, a bunch of your books and stuff spilled all over the ground and you looked so fucking pissed off…” he chuckles, subconsciously reaching for hand as he continues. “I know it sounds weird but, that’s the moment that I knew I loved you. The way your cheeks went all flushed when you grumpily threw all your shit back into your suitcase and muttered about how much you wanted to push that dickhead onto the train tracks. Like, I’d had feelings for you before that, but I’d put it down to a silly crush because you're one of my closest friends and we have so much in common. In that moment, though, I just fucking knew that you had my entire heart.”

Your brain struggles to process everything that Calum has just told you as he runs his fingers down your arm in order to wrap them around your hand. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this sooner and I completely understand if you think I’m weird and creepy and don’t want to be my friend anymore…” Calum rambles.

“You were sitting at the Slytherin table, eating jam on toast, laughing at something Michael had just told you.” The words spill from your mouth almost of their own accord. “It was the morning of your first quidditch game as the Slytherin seeker, so you were a bit nervous. I could tell because your smile didn’t reach your eyes and you only nibbled at your toast. That’s the moment that I knew I loved you as more than a friend.”

A shocked expression colours Calum’s face in the seconds before he gasps out his response. “But that was like… four years ago.”

You can feel the blood rising to the surface of your cheeks as you nod, dropping your gaze to try and hide your embarrassment. Before you’ve recovered enough to meet his gaze again, soft fingers rise to cup your face tenderly and you automatically lean into the touch. 

“How the hell did we both miss each other’s feelings like that?” Calum asks, a sigh escaping him as his lips brush your forehead. “I’m sorry I was so oblivious and that I was too scared to tell you about my own.”

Savouring the softness of Calum’s lips on your head, you wrap your arms around his waist, curling into his strong, warm body.

“Shit, sweetheart, you’re trembling.” The Slytherin whispers winding his arms around you to keep you close to him. “Let’s get inside so we can talk more without the fear of freezing to death, yeah?”

As much as you want to take Calum up on his offer before you become an icicle, the thought of breaking away from the hold he has on you is the last thing on earth you’re contemplating at the moment and you tighten your hold on him to express your utter reluctance to let him go.

Calum giggles, stroking your back soothingly before pulling away a little. “I promise I’ll cuddle you as you much as you want once we’re inside.”

The slight shiver that runs through the Slytherin, helps your rational side to win out. “Fine…” You pout, “but you’d better deliver on that promise when we get back to the castle.”

You allow Calum to lead you back across the lawn and up the stone steps to the front doors of the castle. The fact that he keeps one arm around you the whole time, makes your heart flutter in your chest, making you feel very much like a lovesick little puppy.

Just as you enter the warmth of the entrance hall, Calum takes your hand and instead of leading you into the great hall like you’re expecting him to, he guides you to the bottom of the staircase instead.

A confused expression takes over your face before he takes your hands and swallows thickly as though he’s trying to voice something that is incredibly difficult for him to say.

In an attempt to comfort him, you cradle his cheek gently, just as he’d held yours a few moments ago outside. “Is everything okay, Cal?”

Nodding, Calum reaches up to press your hand harder against his face as he meets your gaze. “I just wanted to ask you something before we go back to our friends.” He explains, a light blush rising in his cheeks. “But I’m worried it’s gonna sound stupid now that we’re already here and…”

“You can ask me anything, Cal.” You reassure him.

Before he responds he pulls his wand from his dress robes, pointing it at the ground near your feet and quietly utters a spell. A moment later, a beautiful exotic blue flower sprouts from the floor. Calum leans down to pick it up before handing it to you. “Will you go to the dance with me, like as my date?” He asks nervously

A giant smile bursts across your face as you take the flower and slide it into your hair. “One one condition.” You smirk cheekily, a sudden burst of confidence extinguishing the last of your lingering doubt about how Calum feels about you.

Your date raises a questioning eyebrow, silently urging you to elaborate.

“Well I’m a strong believer in that whole, ‘try before you buy’ thing.” You chuckle when Calum still appears to be utterly confused. “I need to know if you're a good kisser before I agree to be your date to the Yule Ball, Calum.” You clarify, hoping that you’re not going to scare him off by coming on too strong.

Calum mirrors your delighted grin before pulling you closer to him again. His beautiful brown eyes are sparkling joyfully as he allows them to drift down to your lips. He takes a moment to build up the confidence, but when he finally leans forward and kisses you, it’s more than worth the wait. His lips are soft and he kisses with a tenderness that you weren’t sure he was capable of. All-in-all, you’re incredibly impressed and you cling onto the tail end of the kiss for as long as possible before answering your date’s silent question when he meets your gaze again. “That wasn’t bad at all, Hood. If you dance half as well as that, I think tonight will be the perfect first date!”

Tag list: @cherrycolamike @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @wildfl0wer-meg @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​ @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor @queer-5sos @babylon-corgis

[sweetteaanddragons]

Day Fifty-One (And Counting)

With Feanorian Week finished, I managed to complete something for the Tolkien Decameron Project! For those that prefer not to read on AO3, I decided to also post it here.

. . .

Nolofinwe wakes up to find Feanaro about an inch from his face.

He thinks he can be forgiven for a quietly strangled scream. Usually when he wakes up with a face that close to his, it’s his wife, or possibly, when they were younger, one of his children.

Not Feanaro peering down at him like Nolofinwe has just become his latest experiment.

“Good, you’re awake,” Feanaro says with apparent satisfaction. Thankfully, he pulls his face away some, although since he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, this is still rather awkward.

Nolofinwe looks to the other side rather helplessly in the hopes that Anaire will still be there and will have some kind of idea what’s going on. Unfortunately, she appears to have risen for the day already.

“She’s in your dining room,” Feanaro informs him. “She’s just about to discover there’s a spider on her cup.”

Downstairs, there’s a shriek and the sound of something breaking.

“You put a spider on my wife’s cup?” he says rather blankly. Feanaro is not above pettiness, but he is usually above childish pranks.

“No,” Feanaro says dismissively, and then he moves on, pulling out a sheet of paper that must have been laying beside him. “Number one - “

“How did you even get in here?” Nolofinwe demands, taking advantage of his regained personal space to sit up. “Why are you here?” They are both scheduled to appear before their father in his court today; surely whatever it is could have waited until then.

“I climbed in the window,” Feanaro tells him rather impatiently, and he assumes for a happy moment that his half-brother is joking.

Then he notices the grappling hook hanging over the window ledge and the rope that is trailing behind it. There is also, he realizes with a jolt of dread, a chair tucked under the doorknob as a rudimentary barricade against entrance.

Tensions between he and his half-brother have become high. He had not previously realized that they had become so high that Feanaro would conclude the best method of speaking to him was breaking and entering.

He wonders if it is too late to bury his head under his pillow and pretend this isn’t happening.

Feanaro anticipates this, apparently, because he snatches the pillow away and tucks it under his paper. “Number one,” he says firmly. “You are my brother.”

“Regrettably,” he mutters when Feanaro looks up expectantly.

Feanaro scowls at him. “You are my brother,” he repeats, “and I . . . love . . . you.” He looks like he’s bitten into something sour, but he steamrolls through the sentence regardless.

Nolofinwe gapes at him.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that Feanaro does have a tendency towards experiments and working with dangerous equipment. “Have you hit your head recently?” It’s almost a hopeful question. It would be an explanation, at least. A sensible, rational explanation.

Feanaro ignores this. “Number four,” he announces. “I do not want you dead.”

“I’m . . . glad?”

“Number five. Despite the fact that I hate every single factor that led to your existence, I do not regret your existence itself.”

Nolofinwe wonders if he is supposed to be reciprocating these statements. Feanaro is very clearly waiting for something, and maybe this will all go away if he gets whatever it is. “I’m . . . glad . . . you’re here too, Feanaro.” Well, not here in this room, in this moment, but as a general statement of truth -

Frankly, as a general statement of truth, his life would be a lot easier if Feanaro didn’t exist, but he can’t actually imagine what that would look like, so, yes, he’s glad Feanaro’s here in a general, existential sense.

Feanaro is apparently not interested in this declaration of brotherly sentiment and in fact seems rather annoyed by the interruption. “Number seven."

Nolofinwe wonders what happened to number six, but he quickly decides he does not want to prolong this experience by bringing it up. This seems all the more wise when what Feanaro says is -

"I am sorry for drawing a sword on you.”

“Beg pardon?” Nolofinwe looks around a little frantically, wondering if this happened while he was asleep. There is no sword in evidence, however, and he is growing increasingly concerned that his ‘Feanaro got knocked on the head’ theory is correct.

“Number eight. I am sorry for accidentally killing you.”

“I’m not dead. I have never been dead.”

For a single moment, it occurs to him that maybe he’s wrong, that maybe this is the Halls of Mando,s and the afterlife is far more bizarre than the Valar have led them to believe.

“Not today, I haven’t,” Feanaro says, rolling his eyes, and, alright, Nolofinwe is definitely going for a healer as soon as he thinks he can get past Feanaro to the door. “Number nine. I am sorry for failing to save you on the forty-nine days that followed that accident.”

“Save me from what?” he asks in his best placating voice. Maybe if he edges over to Anaire’s side of the bed . . .

“Dying,” Feanaro says shortly. “I’m not reading you that list, you never react well to it. Number ten - “ His hand shoots and grabs Nolofinwe’s wrist the second he tries to scoot away. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve tried everything on this list,” he says grimly.

There are many contests Nolofinwe can win against his brother. Contests of tact, for instance. Contests of sanity, apparently.

Contests of strength are definitely not among that number, not after Feanaro’s long years at the forge, so Nolofinwe doesn’t even try to tug against his grip. He tries to play along instead. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“I’m saying everything they want to hear,” Feanaro says. “Starting with statements about you, since you seem to be the center of all this.”

Nolofinwe works very hard to keep his voice steady. “This?”

“For the past fifty days, you have died every day,” Feanaro says, and there is a terrifying bleakness in his eyes that Nolofinwe has never seen before. “And then I wake up, and Makalaure is singing somewhere downstairs, and you’re alive again, and no one remembers anything. Except me.”

“So you . . . “

“Have been trying to stop it,” Feanaro says impatiently, but there is still that terrible bleakness in his eyes, and it hits Nolofinwe, suddenly, that for all the irritableness Feanaro has displayed today, the terrible rage that has been building between them for years is entirely gone.

Thinking he has seen Nolofinwe die fifty times is apparently enough to do that to him.

He realizes then, that whether or not he believes Feanaro, he at least believes Feanaro believes this, and that’s concerning enough in itself.

“You said they,” he remembers. “Who’s they?”

“The Valar, of course,” Feanaro says, still impatient. “Who else would have the power?”

That’s . . . valid. If this were to happen, the Valar would be the ones to do it, but why?

“I’ve tried saving you, and that never works,” Fenaaro says. “You just die a different way, so that can’t be what they want. I spent all of yesterday compiling a mental list, and I wrote it down as soon as I woke up this morning. Something on here as to be what they want to hear.”

There is a terrible, desperate, light in his eyes, and Nolofinwe decides that no bump on the head is enough to explain this. Either Feanaro is telling the truth, or he has gone utterly, irretrievably mad.

He hears steps creaking on the stairs, and Feanaro says, tiredly, “It’s Anaire. She’s going to knock three times and ask if you’re coming down to breakfast.” His nose wrinkles. “She’s also going to call you ‘sweetheart.’”

There are three raps on the door. “Sweetheart?” his wife calls. “Are you coming down to breakfast?”

Nolofinwe’s mouth has gone very dry. “No,” he manages to croak out. “No, I need to . . . think.”

Feanaro has mouthed along to every word.

“Alright,” his wife says with a sigh, and then she retreats back down the stairs.

“You could have guessed that,” he says, as soon as she’s gone.

“Or I could have come to your house on and off for the last fifty days as I try to figure out a way to fix this.”

It’s insane. It’s impossible.

He thinks he might almost believe it.

Feanaro either sees this or gives up on convincing him, because he pushes onward. “Number ten. I am sorry for the following insults I have rendered you over the years - “

Nolofinwe can see enough of the paper to realize he has an itemized list of these. He does not particularly want to hear it read. “Maybe you have to actually mean it,” he interrupts.

“I do mean it,” Feanaro snaps, and it is with such blazing sincerity that Nolofinwe cannot, for a moment, speak.

Oh.

You are my brother. I love you.

He - had not expected to hear that.

Feanaro glares down at the paper, possibly as an excuse to not have to look at Nolofinwe. “Except maybe for this one,” he admits.

“That’s fair,” Nolofinwe says faintly. “I don’t regret most of the things I’ve called you for the past few decades either.”

There is an ominous creaking sound from above them. Nolofinwe looks up.

There’s a crack in the ceiling. There has been for months now; he keeps meaning to have it fixed, but there never seems to be time.

It’s getting wider now.

And it’s right over Feanaro’s head.

Feanaro doesn’t seem to notice. He’s still looking at the paper, gearing up for number eleven.

The creaking sound grows louder. Stone dust crumbles from the ceiling and starts to fall.

Feanaro looks up, his eyes going dark in absolute horror.

Nolofinwe shoves himself off the bed, and collides into Feanaro, desperately trying to push him out of the way. There’s a sharp burning pain in his back -

. . .

Nolofinwe wakes up to the sound of hammering.

There is a large barricade in front of his bedroom door. Someone is pounding on it.

Feanaro meanwhile, is pounding on the nails he is using to drive a support beam into Nolofinwe’s bedroom ceiling, right over the crack he’s been meaning to have fixed.

For a moment, he is sure he is dreaming.

“What are you doing?” he finally demands.

Feanaro doesn’t even glance down. “Good, you’re awake. Number eleven.”

“Eleven of what?” he demands.

Feanaro steamrolls on without bothering to answer.

It is, Nolofinwe suspects, going to be a very long day.

. . .

(Note: I have many complicated feelings about the tv show Supernatural, not all of them positive. However, I DO uncomplicatedly love the premise of the episode "Mystery Spot," and I got curious about how it might play out with two brothers who aren't . . . quite so willing to admit that they care about the other. This was the result.)

[cooliogirl101]

For the prompt thing, 6, 13, and/or 22 (I think they all work well together), for the AU where Sayuri ends up in the Naruto-verse and is taken in by Hatake Sakumo. Romantic for those two please?

Yay, a prompt for my favorite TLM AU! Thanks and I hope it doesn’t disappoint!

6. Hiraeth- a homesickness for a home to which you can never return, the nostalgia, yearning, and grief for the lost places of your past

13. Cafune- the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

22. Basorexia- the overwhelming desire to kiss

In the end, it isn’t Sakumo who gets through to her. It’s Kakashi. 

It’s been nearly a month since Sakumo has invited Aizen Sayuri into their house and in that time, the only piece of information Sakumo has managed to get out of her is her name. And while she’s more responsive than she was when Sakumo first found her, there are still days where she goes long stretches of time without speaking, without eating, without doing anything but staring blankly at the wall.

With Kakashi though, she’s...better. Even on her worst days, if Kakashi asks her a question, she’ll answer. If Kakashi asks her to eat, she’ll take a few bites. If he asks for her attention, she’ll make an effort to focus on him.

Perhaps more surprising than her attachment to his son is how easily Kakashi seems to reciprocate it. Despite how well Kakashi does with people (hardly a day goes by without some civilian woman stopping them on the street to coo over how adorable he is), the reverse isn’t quite true. At best, his son tends to find people (outside of a select few) uninteresting, irritating, and stupid. At worst...well, Sakumo once found him hiding in a trash can to escape a particularly persistent civilian woman determined to pinch his cheeks. 

“She’s cool. I like her,” Kakashi says, shrugging, when Sakumo asks him what he thinks about their guest.

“You don’t like the people at the Academy,” Sakumo points out.

“The people at the Academy...they’re like the wooden dolls and paper cutouts I used to play with. The look real, but they aren’t,” Kakashi says matter-of-factly, and not for the first time, Sakumo wonders if he should be worried. “Sayuri though, she’s real. Just like you and me and Uncle Jiraiya and Minato-sensei.”

“But Kakashi, the people at the Academy are real,” Sakumo says, a little helplessly. Kakashi gives him a look like he thinks Sakumo is being deliberately obtuse. 

“If you say so,” he says dubiously. “Anyway, Dad, I got homework to do now.” 

“I thought you already finished your homework,” Sakumo says, a little confused. 

“Sayuri’s homework,” Kakashi says, rolling his eyes. “Finished my Academy homework in school, took me under five minutes. I don’t know why dummy Obito keeps complaining about how hard it is, it was so easy I almost fell asleep doing it.” 

“Kakashi, I’ve told you before, not everyone learns at the same pace you do,” Sakumo says, tired. 

“Then teach them to learn faster. I could do that stuff when I was three,” Kakashi says sullenly. “Why can’t Sayuri be my teacher instead? At least her assignments are interesting.” 

~~

“Giving my son homework assignments now?” Sakumo asks Sayuri later. She glances up from her book before humming in affirmation. 

“He came to me complaining about how he got in trouble for not paying attention in class,” she says. Sakumo hides a wince, hearing Kakashi’s high-pitched voice in his mind all too clearly-- it’s not my fault she keeps going over stuff I already know, tell her to teach something new and I might pay attention, can’t I skip a class or two, maybe I’ll actually learn something, dad? Dad, are you listening? Dad? 

“I thought it was for the best if I gave him something to keep him occupied,” she continues, a bit dryly. 

“Oh? What’d you assign him?” Sakumo asks, interested. “I haven’t seen Kakashi so engaged in an assignment in...well, let’s just say I’ve never seen him interested in homework.”

“It’s a...reconnaissance mission, of sorts,” Sayuri replies, eyes brightening slightly. It’s is one of her better days, then, Sakumo thinks to himself, and can’t help but lean in slightly. “He is to take notes on each of his classmates, learn their habits, their likes and dislikes, and by the end of next month, come up with an item that is perfectly suited to each and every one of them. All without asking his targets any questions or making his assignment known to everyone. He is to then secretly deposit each of his targets’ items somewhere they will easily find them, all the while keeping his identity secret. Of course, it will be suspicious if he is the only one in his class not to receive an object, so he will need to get something for himself too.” 

“So let me get this straight. His assignment is...to come up with exceedingly thoughtful gifts for each of his classmates...while also treating himself to something nice,” Sakumo says slowly. 

Sayuri turns back to her book, but not before Sakumo catches the barest twitch at the corner of her mouth. 

“If that’s how you want to put it,” she says blandly. “The important thing is, it will keep him entertained and even if he is caught, there will be no consequences. Quite the opposite, actually. I imagine it’ll improve his standing amongst his classmates quite a bit.” 

Sakumo watches her closely.

“You’re good with him,” he says finally. “Not many people are.” 

Sayuri doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When she speaks up, her eyes are distant, unfocused.

“Understanding Kakashi is easy. He is a boy living in a world far too slow for him,” she says quietly. “It’s everything else that’s difficult.” 

“What would your advice be? For dealing with someone like that?” Sakumo asks, a bit too urgently. Sayuri glances at him. 

“Don’t give up on him. That’s all you can do, really,” she says, before standing up and tossing the book at him. “I found a few mistakes in here, so I corrected them. I hope you don’t mind, Hatake-san.” 

“Sakumo,” he calls after her as she walks away. “I’ve told you to call me Sakumo!”

She doesn’t reply and Sakumo shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips. 

Well, at least he got more than a few short sentences out of her this time. Improvement. 

~~

The first time Sakumo leaves Kakashi alone in the house with Sayuri is an accident. He makes it all of half a block before realizing and dashing back, only to find Kakashi taking a nap on Sayuri’s lap while she hums to him, running her fingers through his hair. She glances up at him, taking in his panicked, unkempt appearance and smiles wryly, a knowing look in her eyes. 

She doesn’t say anything though as Sakumo, resolutely refusing to be embarrassed, takes Kakashi into his arms.

The second time, he makes a point of leaving the house before doubling back to hide in some bushes to observe her. That lasts all of two seconds, ending when she steps outside, looks directly towards Sakumo’s hiding spot, and informs him, “This feels like a good time to mention that I’m a sensor.” 

The third through fifth times, he leaves Kakashi with her for four and a half minutes precisely. The sixth time, seven minutes and thirteen seconds. The seventh, eighteen minutes and forty-two seconds. 

The fifty-sixth time Sakumo leaves his son alone with the woman who has started to feel more like family (like pack) than a guest, is for five days, seven hours, and forty-eight minutes. He returns from his mission desperate for a shower, with three new scars and a still-bleeding cut on his shoulder, and walks through his front door with only a hint of that once-suffocating anxiety remaining. 

It disappears completely at the sight of Kakashi running towards him, and with a laugh, Sakumo scoops Kakashi up in his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug. 

“Ugh Dad, you stink. When’s the last time you washed?” Kakashi asks, wrinkling his nose. 

“Last time you saw me, kiddo,” Sakumo grins, smile widening as Kakashi yelps in disgust, pushing him away. 

“Eww, Dad, go take a shower already! Come find me again when you’re clean,” he grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. Sakumo chuckles, reaching out to ruffle Kakashi’s hair.

“Brat. Is that any way to talk to your father?” He asks fondly, before giving Kakashi a little shove. “Go do your homework, yeah? I know you haven’t finished.”

“That’s because Sayuri’s homework is hard,” Kakashi complains, although he doesn’t actually sound upset about it. “Fine, fine. When I come back, you better not stink anymore though.” 

Sakumo shakes his head as Kakashi leaves, running his hand through his hair.

“Can you believe that kid? No manners, that one,” he says mournfully, glancing towards where Sayuri is standing in the hallway. 

“Kakashi excels in many things but politeness is not one of them,” Sayuri agrees. “He’s not wrong though, you should take a bath.”

“Want to join me?” The words slip out before Sakumo can stop them and he promptly snaps his mouth shut in horror. “I mean--”

“You should also get that wound looked at. I know a few basic first aid techniques, but I’m no healer,” she says, apparently choosing to ignore his words. He inclines his head, unsure whether he feels disappointed or relieved.

“Will do,” he promises. She nods, something in her expression softening at that. 

“It’s good to have you back, Hatake-san,” Sayuri says, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “The house is...far quieter with you gone.” 

“Ah.” Sakumo clears his throat in surprise, even as his mouth goes a little dry. “It’s--it’s good to be back.” He swallows. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Interesting?” She pauses in thought. “Well, Kakashi scored top of his class again, as was expected. He also learned a new jutsu; I imagine you’ll be hearing a lot about that at dinner. Also, there are two dead assassins in your backyard. I buried them so the smell wouldn’t irritate Kakashi’s nose.”

Sakumo nods before realization hits, causing him to choke on his spit. “Wait, what?!”

~~

Two hours and copious amounts of digging later, Sakumo finds himself staring at two very dead shinobi. No headband, but that didn’t even really matter at the moment. The important thing was that two enemy shinobi had somehow managed to get through Konoha’s walls and all the way to his goddamned house, where his son was, and he hadn’t been there.

Sakumo swallows, trying desperately to clamp down his rising killing intent, and finds his gaze drifting again to the single cut across each of the corpses’ necks. 

Quick. Clean. Fatal.

Professional, Sakumo can’t help but think. The precise amount of force needed to end a life and no more. He wouldn’t expect that level of skill in anyone below jounin rank. 

He finds Sayuri at the sink washing dishes, as if someone hadn’t just tried to kill her, as if there aren’t two dead bodies in their backyard right now. She doesn’t turn around, even as he strides up to her, grasping her by the shoulders.

“Kakashi?” He murmurs into her ear. 

“Doesn’t know,” she replies levelly. “They arrived about half an hour before he was due to come home from school. I buried them in the yard before he came back.” 

“And you?” His grip tightens. “Are you injured?”

“Worried about me, Hatake-san?” Sayuri asks, tilting her head to the side. 

His jaw clenches. “Answer the question.” 

“No, I’m not injured,” she says, setting a cup on the drying rack. “You can relax.”

Sakumo exhales heavily, feeling his shoulders slump in relief. 

“I--good. That’s...that’s good,” he says, releasing his grip. For a moment, Sakumo doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes to better focus on Kakashi and Sayuri’s chakra signatures. 

It was going to be okay. They were alive, they were safe, they were here and with him. Everything was going to be okay. 

“Hatake-san? Are you alright?” Was he imagining the hint of concern in her voice?

“I’m never leaving again,” Sakumo informs her, voice tight. “If the Hokage needs an S-ranked ninja, he can send Jiraiya. Or Orochimaru. I’m not picky.” 

At that, Sayuri turns off the water before finally, finally turning around to face him. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, exasperated. “I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that I’m not your...average civilian. I can handle myself. And--” She takes in a deep breath. “And I wouldn’t let anything happen to Kakashi. You know that.” 

“I believe you.” In fact, it worries him a little how much he believes her. “But I’m still not leaving. What happened today was...it was too much of a close call.” 

“I wouldn’t call it close. I understand your concern, but I mean.” Her brow furrows slightly. “It’s not like they were good assassins. Or average, really. Even mediocre is being generous.” 

Sakumo huffs out a laugh. 

“And I’m the ridiculous one?” He mumbles to himself. 

“Yes,” Sayuri replies without hesitation. “I’m the only one being logical here.”

Sakumo shakes his head in disbelief. 

“You do realize that for most people, for normal people, assassins-- yes, even incompetent assassins-- are something to be worried about?”

“Not where I come from,” she argues, and it’s the first time he’s heard her bring up anything from her past. “Where I come from, there are worse things to be worried about.” 

“Is that so?” Sakumo asks, and he can’t quite resist reaching out with one hand to cup the side of her face. 

“Someday,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers. “I am going to get your entire life story out of you. I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life to do so. I bet it’ll be fascinating.” 

“Sounds almost like a threat,” she answers, for the first time sounding just the tiniest bit unsteady. “Then again, being interrogated by you sounds like it could be...enjoyable.” 

Her gaze flickers briefly to his lips and in that moment, all Sakumo can think about is how this woman protected his son today, killed for his son today, and how he so very desperately wants to press his mouth to hers. 

With a shaky breath, he pulls back. 

“Sakumo?” Sayuri asks in a small voice, sounding more uncertain than he’s ever heard her. 

“When you’re ready,” he whispers hoarsely. “When you’re ready and no sooner.” 

“Could be a while,” Sayuri murmurs, eyes darkened and cheeks still flushed a faint red.

“Take however long you need,” he says, and means every word. “I’ll be waiting.” 

~~

(I headcanon that reiatsu and chakra are a bit different, so all of Sayuri’s emotion-sensing abilities are thrown just slightly off. And as someone who has spent the past however many centuries growing increasingly reliant on her sensing abilities, having to make that adjustment is extremely annoying for her. 

It also puts her on more equal ground with Sakumo, who has just been having THE most difficult time trying to read this woman. 

Also Sakumo, for the past few months: wow way to be exceedingly obvious about how much you want her, get it together Hatake, can’t you see she’s gone through some shit, if you keep this up she’s going to think you’re pressuring her and then you’ll just push her away

Sayuri: okay, so like. I THINK he’s into me? Like, pretty sure. But I can’t be 100% certain with the spiritual energy here being so weird. Also it’s been months and he hasn’t made a move? In my experience, when men want sex they tend to make a move in the first...well, twenty minutes if they’re the patient type.)

Ugh this ended up super long but @kamkong you asked for romantic and I felt like it wouldn’t make sense without some lead-up into how he fell for her. And so basically Sayuri comes back to herself through Kakashi and Sakumo falls for her through Kakashi-- idk, it felt right. 

[midnight-in-town]

Why do you think, if manga/anime characters fall in love at the first sight? In my case I prefer it, if their relationship develope slowly.

Hello Anon! Well, in general I find it depends on context?

There are series in which characters are already attracted to each other by the time the story starts and it’s fine.

Some other times, it takes as long as the story goes for characters to realize they’re attracted to each other and that’s also fine.

Finally, there are characters who experience love at first sight and I have no problem with that either. 

The point is, as long as it’s well-written and not meaningless or halting characters’ development, love & relationships can take on many forms and I have no problem with how and when it happens. 

Especially for love at first sight, I think, since it can be really challenging for an author to introduce it and then roll with it, without too many expected and boring developments. Overall, I’d say love at first sight is not any different from obvious ships who aren’t canon just yet but that will be without a doubt one day. 

Some examples of interesting cases of love at first sight, even when in the background of a plot: /!\ S P O I L E R S /!\

Love at first sight: Anotsu Kagehisa/Otonotachibana Makie (Blade of the Immortal)

Clearly a very enjoyable dynamic introduced quite early on in the story and stemming from love at first sight, at least as far as he is concerned (she’s never said it explicitely from what I can remember, but he’s the first one who ever accepted her skills and she loved him from that day, so same difference). 

Many developments happened, but it made the characters so human and their romance so very moving, because they kept finding & losing themselves, their feelings for each other set in stone and yet it wasn’t easy to live by them, due to their respective personal circumstances.

Anyway the point is, it’s introduced as love at first sight when they were kids, but there is still a lot of development for them to reach the stage of being able to be by each other’s side and it was very compelling to read about all of it!

Love at first sight in spite of knowing better: Denji/Makima (Chainsaw man)

Okay, so, it’s clearly on his end since the first chapter or so, because she’s the first person who treated him nicely, she’s a pretty girl, she gave him a purpose and mostly she plays him like a fiddle, but he’s still hung up on her despite meeting other girls and getting more and more proof that she’s no saint. 

Whereas, on her end, it’s more about manipulating him into being a good pawn to her, or so it seems most of the time, because we also get examples that they’re quite similar to each other and that he might turn out to be the only one who can understand her.

Anyway, whatever happens, I’m always enjoying whenever they interact and the weird dynamic that they have. 

Kinda love at first sight: Legosi/Haru (Beastars)

Well, he falls for her quite quickly after all, but she isn’t reciprocating at firs. Tthen he saves her when everyone else had given up on her, so they become a thing: what a happy ending, yay? 

Well, if you read Beastars, you know that’s not what’s going on exactly. xDD Although that doesn’t mean that anyone ever doubts the strength of their feelings for each other either (it’s quite beautiful). 

In fact, they’re one way of exploring that there always is more to making a relationship work than love at first sight and that’s quite refreshing to read about, amongst the rest of the plot. :D

Not love at first sight, but bomb-dropped into the story and I was here like ‘???’: Soumei/Erina (Cuticle Detective Inaba)

Hard to explain if you don’t know the story but...

Consider that the main character is a police dog who turns out to have an unwanted criminal dad & a terrorist younger brother and, way later, Sensei introduced the robot replacing “Mom who was a lab genius & died years ago”. 

The thing is, for a long time in the story, readers are meant to believe that the main character and his brother were artificially conceived, so the police could get their hands on their father’s genes after he betrayed them. Yet, it turns out that there was most likely really something between their mom and dad...

...making their existence less a mean to an end for the corrupted police force, but something way more meaningful, at least for their parents and themselves. 

I loved it personally, it created a particularly emotional final arc and it was quite an unexpected plot twist, to be very honest!

Horrible idea to fall in love at first sight: Kaneki/Rize (Tokyo Ghoul)

Yeah, what a bad idea to go on dates, right? I’m sure you’ve heard of it, haha!

Anyway the point is, yes, at first it greatly complicated Kaneki’s life and caused him a lot of pain, but...

...Eventually, as he looked back on it, he reached the conclusion that the misfortune that Rize brought him was short-lived compared to all the people he met and the path his life ended up taking, as he found love and a future with a different person (Touka). 

Quite meaningful there as well, especially since we get to follow him through so many hardships before he manages to call himself “happy”. It was still love at first sight as far as Rize goes though and that’s meaningful for all that it ended up triggering. 

There you go! Again, I love that love and relationships can develop in many different ways and these are just a few examples. 

TL;DR as long as there is interesting development, I’m not one to complain, haha!

To each their own tho’! Have a nice day Anon. :))

[ploppythespaceship]

In Defense of Will Riker

Riker gets such an unfair reputation in the Star Trek fandom. So many people genuinely can’t stand the guy, which is their right. He can be a somewhat boring character with a strange and even nonexistent character arc. But a lot of this dislike stems from the idea that Riker is a sexist, misogynistic creep who is actively trying to get into the pants of every woman he meets. Which is so far from the truth, I don’t understand how it’s still the perception.

First of all, we’ve done this song and dance with Kirk before. Enjoying dating and sex does not make someone a creep. If everyone involved is a consenting adult, it shouldn’t matter who you’re dating and/or sleeping with.

Secondly, TNG goes out of its way to show that Riker is a great guy. If you actually go through his episodes and look at how he treats both the women he works with and the women he’s interested in, you’ll see that he always treats them with respect. And in instances where he has an easy opportunity to take advantage, he never does it. Because Will Riker is a gentleman who drinks his respect women juice.

I’m so sick of this argument that under the cut I’ve compiled all of Riker’s important relationships with women on the show to demonstrate exactly what I mean.

I pulled most of these from the relationships section of Riker’s Memory-Alpha page, which is pretty thorough, and a few just from memory since I rewatched the whole show pretty recently. I don’t think anything relevant has been left out, but feel free to let me know if you think of something else. I’m all for some civil discussion of these things! Emphasis on civil.

Deanna Troi

Starting with the big one! The very first episode establishes that they have a romantic history, and have since split up. The details of their relationship are pretty scarce, but it’s clear that they had an intense, intimate connection. Initially they’re awkward but professional around one another, and this eventually softens into genuine friendship. They are close, possibly closer than anyone else on the ship. But Will never, not once, pressures Deanna into romance with him. He is entirely respectful towards her. In a few episodes they’re possibly shown to be dating again (it’s unclear) but Deanna gives no indication of being uncomfortable with this arrangement. When they officially get back together in the films, their feelings are clearly mutual and neither is being pressured into anything.

Frankly, Will and Deanna are an excellent example of a healthy relationship with one’s ex, respecting boundaries while maintaining closeness. The two of them are always shown supporting each other. It always bugs me that people think there’s something insidious going on here. Will isn’t just trying to get back into her pants. He genuinely loves and respects her.

And it’s worth mentioning that in “Second Chances”, when Deanna is interested in dating the alternate version of him (later known as Thomas), Will clearly isn’t thrilled about it, but also respects her decision and does nothing to intervene. When she talks to him about it, he is very clear that he does not expect her to ask for his opinion or for his approval, and that as long as she’s happy, he supports her.

Tasha Yar

Frankly they don’t have many distinct interactions that I recall, but Riker treats her the same as he treats everyone else on the crew. He is respectful of her, her rank, and her position.

Beverly Crusher

Not a hint of romance in their relationship. They are friends with a healthy connection built on mutual trust. Again, he is respectful of her, her rank, and her position.

Kathryn Pulaski

You can copy paste everything I said about Crusher, tbh. They’re friends and quite respectful of one another. Nothing untoward happening here.

Lwaxana Troi

Lwaxana flirts with Riker sometimes. Cause she flirts with everyone. Though she leaves him alone a bit more since he’s involved with her daughter. And yet again, Riker is entirely respectful of her, though he does gently have to tell her to back off at times. Eventually they settle into the classic son-in-law / mother-in-law relationship.

Beata (“Angel One”)

Does this episode suck? Yep. Is this relationship awkward as hell? God, yes. Is Riker being misogynistic? Nope! He actually goes out of his way to be respectful of this matriarchal society’s customs, even wearing an outfit that many in his culture would consider demeaning. Not to mention, Beata is primarily the one coming onto him, not the other way around. He’s simply reciprocating. It might be poor judgment, but it’s again entirely mutual and consensual.

Minuet (“11001001″)

Riker goes into the holodeck to relax, and then meets a nice holograhic lady to help him do just that... and people get mad that he enjoys that? Minuet is programmed specifically for this. Not to mention the Bynars literally designed her to be irresistible for him. Of course he’s gonna be besotted with her. And, issues of hologram sentience aside (Trek hadn’t delved too deelpy into it by that point), this is once again entirely consensual.

Minuet does pop up again in “Future Imperfect”, sort of, simply because Barash needed to choose a figure to serve as Riker’s late wife. With someone unable to distinguish holodeck memories from real ones, Minuet would seem like a perfectly reasonable choice.

Brenna Odell (“Up the Long Ladder”)

This is an entirely consensual one night stand. The feelings are clearly mutual. Even while they’re bickering, it’s obvious there’s an attraction underneath it, on both sides. Again, their fling might be poor judgment, but absolutely not misogyny.

Yuta (“The Vengeance Factor”)

This is one of the few episodes where I can see why their relationship might make some viewers uncomfortable, but I also think it’s the most telling as to why Riker is not the creep people assume him to be.

The cultural and status differences between them place Riker at a clear power advantage compared to Yuta, which makes for an imbalance. Yuta is a servant, and her entire mindset is that of serving others. Having a relationship on equal footing with someone like Riker is entirely foreign to her, and she struggles against her instincts to follow all of his wishes without question. That being said, Riker does basically everything he possibly can to address and negate that imbalance. He does his utmost to respect her and her position. He doesn’t force her into anything she isn’t ready for. Any time she tries to fill the role of a servant for him, he stops her to explain that he wants her to be his equal. You could argue that this relationship is inappropriate regardless, because the power imbalance still exists whether he wishes it to or not, but I think it’s important to note how dedicated he is to not taking advantage of this girl.

And of course, at the end of the episode he is forced to choose duty over love and must kill her, but it’s hardly his fault that she’s a secret assassin.

Lal (“The Offspring”)

He flirted with her while unaware of who she was, and stopped immediately upon realizing. And she kissed him, not the other way around. Just look at his face! He clearly didn’t expect that. He did absolutely nothing wrong here. Using this brief scene against his character is just absurd.

Commander Shelby (“The Best of Both Worlds”)

For some reason the consensus in this episode is that Riker is rude to Shelby because she doesn’t want to sleep with him. And that’s just a complete and utter misread of the episode.

First, there is absolutely no indication that Riker is romantically interested in her. Nor does she does not reject his advances, because no advances are even made. Second, Riker gets short with Shelby at times because she has been assigned to work under his command, and she’s questioning his decisions and generally being difficult to work with. It’s literally his job to call people on things like that. That being said, he’s never particularly rude to her -- at least, no more rude than she is to him. They also grow into mutual respect by the end of the episodes, to the point where he trusts her to serve as his first officer.

Lanel (“First Contact”)

( TW: rape mention )

Quite frankly the next person to point to this episode as evidence of Riker’s misogyny is getting slapped. She. Raped. Him. Full stop. He needed to escape, she offered to help if he slept with her, and he agreed because at the time it was the only way to save his life. Consent under duress is not consent. He does not appear comfortable with the arrangement, and his joking afterwards is forced. So let’s just stop holding this episode up as proof of Riker’s sexism, mkay? He was undeniably the victim here.

Carmen Davila (“Silicon Avatar”)

There’s not much to glean from their brief interaction where Riker asks her to dinner, but again: feelings are mutual. Everyone’s consenting. Nothing untoward happening here. Besides, she’s killed not five minutes into the episode, so it doesn’t particularly matter.

Etana Jol (“The Game”)

Riker’s having a fling with her on Risa. Because that’s what you do on Risa. You go vacation and have fun, and if you so choose, you can find someone else there wanting to have fun. And you have some sexy fun together. That’s just how it goes on Risa.

Also, she’s revealed to be playing him and literally brainwashes him to access the Enterprise. So the situation is not entirely within his control. Again, let’s not blame the victim here.

Ro Laren

There’s clearly sexual tension between them in some episodes, which mostly comes across as bickering. Riker is sharp with her when he needs to be, as a commander, but also tells her when she’s done a good job. The only time they sleep together is in “Conundrum”, when all their memories are erased. Therefore they’re unaware of the context that a romantic relationship isn’t entirely appropriate. When they remember again, they are awkward but respectful of one another, and now have a stronger friendship for it. And I’ll say it for the umpteenth time: mutual and consensual.

Soren (“The Outcast”)

This episode is controversial as hell, and it’s always a tricky one to dive into. But as far as Riker’s relationship with Soren is concerned: there’s honestly nothing bad happening here. He is respectful of her culture and is impressed by her as a pilot and scientist. Though he clearly has feelings for her, it’s unclear if he would have been the first to pursue them, because she confesses hers for him first. Before then, he was entirely professional with her. Only when their mutual attraction is confirmed does Riker actually pursue a relationship with her.

(Side note, that conversation is also when she comes out to him as female.(Yes, Riker was attracted to her before knowing she was female! At the time he believed her to be androgynous/non-binary. Which makes him canonically not straight.)

Additionally he is 100% respectful of her gender -- one of the only people to do that, in fact -- and does what he can both to respect her culture while also supporting her and her journey. He’s genuinely gutted when she’s forced to conform to the expected gender of her society, and isn’t allowed to be who she truly is.

Don’t get me wrong, this episode is a hot mess in many other aspects, but Riker’s treatment of Soren is one of the few things it got right.

Kamala (“The Perfect Mate”)

Is this episode super uncomfy with an almost laughably sexist plot? Oh yeah. But can we blame Riker for anything? Not really. Kamala can read men to make herself everything they desire -- the perfect mate, as the episode’s title says. Naturally this extends to her scenes with Riker as well. She flirts with him, comes onto him, and he’s clearly very into it. They kiss briefly, he’s tempted -- and then he stops her, because he knows this isn’t appropriate and she’s promised to someone else.

Let me say that again: Riker has a perfectly willing woman in front of him, who is literally doing everything in her power to be as appealing to him as possible. She is right there for him to have if he wants. Which he does. And he still tells her no, to keep a clear professional boundary between them. It would have been so easy to take advantage of that and later say she was too irresistible. Yet he didn’t.

Amanda Rogers (“True Q”)

Amanda is a young girl, 18 at the oldest, when she arrives aboard the Enterprise. She’s pretty enamored with Riker, cause she’s a kid who doesn’t have a great sense of what’s healthy/appropriate and what’s not yet. Riker is very aware of this, and does absolutely nothing to encourage her. He sets boundaries where appropriate and is obviously just waiting for her crush to die down, so he doesn’t have to hurt her feelings. When Amanda really starts to make moves on him, he very clearly tells her no. She actually starts to force him to play out her romantic fantasies using her Q powers, though she stops when she realizes it’s not real and isn’t right. Riker does nothing wrong in this episode.

Rebecca Smith (“Genesis”)

There’s nothing to go on here except that they had a date in the holodeck. Everything seems on the up and up. She’s not even shown onscreen, just mentioned in a couple lines of dialogue. I’m just including her for the sake of being thorough.

tl;dr

All of Riker’s relationships are either entirely consensual, or non-consensual with him as the victim. In several situations he could easily have taken advantage of someone, but never does, instead choosing to set clear boundaries. I have been thinking and scouring through Memory-Alpha and I genuinely cannot find a single instance in which he behaved in a sexist or misogynistic manner. That isn’t to say it never happened, I certainly can’t remember every moment of a seven season show. But it’s hardly a defining character trait for him the way many seem to think.

There are plenty of other reasons to dislike Riker. He can be immature. He rather stupidly stays in the same position for a decade because he can’t be bothered to take his own command the way he should. He can be a bit dull as a main character. The way he gets into chairs looks very stupid. But he is not sexist or a creep. *drops microphone*

[capriswritingnartshenanigans]

Snapshot: First Time (F!OC/Negan) (Explicit)

Snapshot one of Carrie's Snapshots. Carrie/Negan, explicit work. 2,400 words roughly. AO3.

Carrie and Negan finally get time outside of his prison cell together and alone, letting them make up for lost time and find comfort in each other.

I give Negan a shy smile as I pull him by the front of his shirt into my bedroom. He grins in response, his eyes dark. Something about the way he gazes at me the entire time causes my entire body to feel hot and needy for him. Only him. 

He closes the door behind him and locks it. He looks around the room for a fragment of a moment before his eyes are locked back onto me, the candle I left burning making their normally hazel color seem like dark pits. His tongue lightly traces over his bottom teeth as those dark pits look over me. “I had been thinkin’ I would have to drag you into a bedroom sweetheart, goddamn don’t you have some surprises up your sleeves.” I chuckle softly, leaning against his chest, my hands knotting into his grey t-shirt.

I shiver when one of his hands brush under my shirt along the curve of my spine. I lean into the other hand now cupping my cheek. “Well, I’ve only had, what… four years to build up the balls to do so,” I joke. My words cause the hungry, hot look spreading over his face to pause. It’s interesting to watch the emotions play across his features: from that dark hunger to thoughtfulness to softness he started to show around me about a year into being his daily guard. 

Seeing that softness war with his wanting for me… well, hot doesn’t really do it justice. His thumb runs along my lower lip, and in a warm whisper he murmurs, “Yeah, something like that.” I lightly kiss his thumb’s pad, the rough skin there pulling at my lips. 

“What’re you waiting for?” I ask him, trying to keep a playful, lighter tone in my voice while more deep and warring emotions make my chest tight. 

But emotions can wait. I’ve waited too long, far too long to be able to love him with my body and to feel his arms around me without anything to keep our bodies apart. 

He seems to think the same, as he almost has to force a smirk on as he tilts my chin up and moves to kiss me, but as my eyes slide shut in anticipation, his lips meet mine in an oh so gentle touch that leaves me more breathless than any passion could do. I melt into his touch as he gives me more of these soft kisses, slowly deepening into something more ardent and heated that causes my mind to spin. 

His hands run through my hair, over my skin, my hips, everywhere he can reach, and I reciprocate with the same growing need, feeling his scars and the flexing of his muscles. The image of his hips moving between mine and my hands splayed out over his tan back, feeling the strength packed into his lean form bringing our bodies together… It rips a moan from my throat, one he answers with a deep, rumbling groan in his chest. His kisses grow in their fever, ravaging my mouth at first, then my neck upper chest until I pull him back to my lips. 

When he fully pulls away, panting, I whimper and pout, and without even meaning to stomp I foot lightly. He laughs, a genuine laugh, joyful but with a raspiness that sends a wave of heat into my stomach, coiling like a spring, eager for more of his attention. “Impatient, are we?”

“Negan-” I let out a little squawk when he suddenly lifts me and tosses me lightly onto the bed. He grins down at me, moving my legs apart with my feet flat on the bed and knees bent, then places his hips in between them. 

“What? We had to get to the bed some fuckin’ time, shit.” He takes in how I look, pulling his lip lazily between his teeth and releasing it in a way that causes my blood to sear in my veins. “You can’t be the only one with surprises, darlin’, that’d be unfair as fuck.”

“Oh, so now you’re all about fairness?” I ask, my voice edged in exasperation. He nods and hums in agreement, before undoing my boots and removing my socks, massaging each of my feet in turn (with a little side eye and smirk each time), before slipping out of his own. 

“Oh, absolutely.” I sit up just as he shrugs off his jacket and sheds his t-shirt. My breathing sharpens at the sight of his lean chest being completely open to my gaze for once. My mouth watering in want, I lightly run my fingers over his scarred and tattooed skin, shivering when the curls of his chest hair tease my fingers. He hisses when my pinky grazes his nipple, and his hand whips out and grabs my wrist so fast I didn’t even see him move until it’s just there. 

Part of me had forgotten just how capable Negan can be. But his grip is gentle, not hurting. He leans in to me, his nose running along mine, his eyes hooded as are mine, our eyes peering into each other’s. It’s intimate, close, warm. He’s warm. His lips meet mine again, heated and wet, his beard scratching my skin in a way that sends chills all over my body. But, all too soon, he’s pulling away again, and… he somehow got my shirt unbuttoned in the time we were kissing. I hadn’t even realized he let go of my wrist. 

“That a talent of yours? Keeping someone so occupied with your mouth they don’t realize anything else happening?” I tease as he helps me slide out of my shirt before flinging it onto the floor. He chuckles darkly, biting his lip and leaning close.

“Oh, darlin’, you want me to show you everything my mouth can do to keep you busy?” he asks, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. The tone he uses makes my thighs try to squeeze together, but they only press against him more fully, causing his breathing to shudder for a moment. 

“I, um…” He tsks.

“That’s not an answer, baby girl,” he murmurs, one hand lightly brushing over my throat before cupping my chin. “And I do need an answer. Got to make sure you’re wantin’ this ‘n’ all.” The predatory gleam in his eyes makes my sex pulse more eagerly for him, demandingly, wanting what we’ve been missing out on all this time. 

“Yes,” I answer breathlessly, my mind beginning to fumble with words. He grins wickedly and easily undoes my bra and adds it to the growing clothes pile on the floor, then uses his body (especially his hips against mine) to move me further up the bed some. His lips meet mine for another scorching kiss, his tongue no longer teasing and patient, but demanding and his kiss is just as so. I can’t keep up with him, but before I can try to get myself on track to him, he’s moving on, leaving a trail of wet kisses and nips down my jaw, my neck, my collarbones. He gives a particularly sharp nip right on the bone, causing me to yelp and drawing a short chortle from him before his lips sooth the spot. 

I lay back down when he reaches my chest, wanting to enjoy his attention to my breasts. My hips jerk when he bites my nipples, then they grind against him when his motions become suckles, pulling whimpers and moans from me so easily. My hands play in his short hair, and one errant thought manages to pierce the heat clouding my mind: I’m so glad his hair is long enough for this again. 

But it leaves as his mouth moves further down, and it’s definitely gone when he undoes my gun belt and it crashes to the floor with a loud thunk!, and then my regular belt and pants. He bites my hip bone in the same moment he pulls my pants and underwear down in one motion. With my legs free of constraint, my feet hover around his shoulders, my eyes locked on him as my breaths come in pants. His eyes meet mine, and he holds my gaze as he lightly runs his beard over my inner thigh, the sensitive skin there coming alive under the scraping. I shiver with each brush, and his kisses nearly drive me insane.

“Negan, please,” I beg, my fingers knotting in my own hair. “Please, please, please, I can’t take it.” He sighs, but can’t hide his smile. One of his hands move from my thigh to cup my sex. 

“Mmm, that’s what I like to hear,” he replies, one of his fingers lightly pressing into my slit and rolling the small throbbing nub there slowly, causing my legs to shudder violently. “How close are you, sweetheart? Am I gonna just be gettin’ started and you fuckin’ tap out?”

“P-Probably,” I half whimper out as my hips try to press towards his hand. He watches my body arch and shake for a few moments, before his hand moves away is replaced with his mouth. He places my legs over his shoulders, then proceeds to thumb my slit open, and with a groan, his lips seal over my clit, working and rolling and suckling it wetly. My inner walls squeeze together as his mouth works, my back arching, my breathing sharp and fast. I mewl and whine and moan and struggle against him, unable to handle the intense pleasure but not wanting it completely gone, either. When I can’t stop squirming, his hands become like vices on my hips, keeping me still to him. 

“Aaagh, Negan, oh my God,” I whimper, and he answers with a dark chuckle, and as I edging close to the end, he slows for a few moments, but when I kick his back in frustration, he growls and keeps on, faster than previously, so much faster it takes only a few seconds for light to pop behind my eyes and my body both try to keep struggling and lock up at the same time. My ears deafen with a warm buzz. 

A few moments of intense pleasure pass, before I weakly push Negan’s head away. My legs and body go slack, a laugh bubbling out of my chest as my arms lazily flop onto the mattress and across my forehead. He lightly kisses my thigh before rising, placing my legs gently on the bed. I give him a lazy smile as he undoes his pants, letting them and his boxers hit the floor before climbing into bed with me finally. He easily lifts me and shifts how I’m laying so he can pull my side against his chest. “You look happier than a fuckless fuck on Free Fuck Day, sweetheart.” 

I snort, then gasp softly when his member presses against my hip stiffly. “Negan, what the hell does that mean?” 

“It means exactly what I said, shit,” he answers, acting offended. “Sweetheart, you not listenin’ to me?” I ghost my hand down his cheek, smiling when his lips press a soft kiss into its palm.

“I was, but even in all these years, I have not learned Neganese fully,” I answer ruefully with a dramatic sigh, nuzzling his shoulder. He huffs playfully, playing with my stomach. 

“A damn shame. A real fucking damn shame,” he says gravely, stuttering on the end when my hand lightly wraps around his member. He… hadn’t been lying, he is big. A flutter in my stomach and a spasm inside of me makes my breathing stutter too. He eases my hand away from him with a soft hiss, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “As much as that feels fucking amazing, I want to be inside of you far too fucking much to let you continue,” he says in such a gruff voice it gives away just how eager he is for that exact scenario. I flutter my lashes at him before turning on my side with my back to him, bending my leg to give him easier access. Then, I lay one of my arms along my side, playing with the skin of my hip. 

“Then let’s get going,” I purr, wiggling my butt against him. He groans so deeply it’s almost a growl and one of his hands cup my ass, squeezing softly. But he stills, his other hand tracing the scars, both aged in the years and some fresh, and the even fresher stitches on my back carefully with his other. 

“Will it hurt you if I do?”

“No.”

“You sure, darlin’? I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.” His breathing shudders as he says the last word, causing my heart to hurt. I reach back and cup his cheek, gently nudging his head forward so I can press my cheek against his. 

“I’m sure. Don’t think about it right now,” I murmur soothingly, pressing myself fully against him. His hand skates over my hip, up the length of my body, to cup my head and gently move it to where he can give me a gentle kiss that both melts me completely and causes my heart to clench. The other hand works its way under me and then lightly brushes my still sensitive clit, causing me to jump. 

“Will you lead me in?” he breathes against my lips, a ghost of a grin steadily slanting across his lips. I nod and lift my bent leg, then wrap my hand around his throbbing part. He grunts and his hips jerk, but he lets me move him to where its head lightly presses inside of me, and with a slow thrust, he begins to fill me, leaving us both to sigh and gasp against each other’s lips.

My hand leaves to knot in his hair. A rush of nervousness fills me at the thought that maybe he’d realize my inexperience by this, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. And while there is some pain, it’s nothing like what people always said it would be.

He doesn’t get rough, he stays easy and slow, holding me against him the entire time, leading me to a slow-rising but intense second orgasm, and then his own finish on the sheets. After, he gently holds me to his chest, his hands holding me by my shoulders and hips. Careful to avoid the marks left in my flesh. Holding me like some precious, fragile treasure. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, Negan… It was amazing,” I answer honestly, nuzzling his chest. “I was worried it’d be more painful, but… it wasn’t. I only felt it for a little bit, and while I’m kinda sore… it’s not bad at all.” He lightly kisses the top of my head.

“I noticed when you tensed; I was worried as shit that you were wanting me to back off, but you didn’t say anything and kept pullin’ me in you. I’m glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart. First times shouldn’t be fucked up.”

“And mine certainly was not.”