#there are definitely typos bc i typed this in a frenzy

[yamujiburo]

i can't believe i never posted this here

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Blind Date

 

Note: just an idea I had, hope you like it. some soft fluffiness, but also smut bc I’m still h word for Jake, especially after how he looked tonight on tv.

Pairing: Jake Tapper x reader

 Warnings: smut, NSFW

 

(sorry for eventual typos, I wrote this in a bit of a frenzy)

enjoy

 

“You look horrible. “Abby stated matter-of-factly as she sat down in the restaurant chair across from you.

 “I missed you too, great to see you, thanks. “you responded, not even bothering to argue with her.

Abby was your best friend since college, if she said you looked horrible it was either a joke or a fact. Considering the way she was looking at you, probably the latter.

“Hard week at work?”

 You let out a tired huff.

“You have no idea. We got this new client who booked us for a nation-wide tv ad, and they’re so incredibly demanding. I’ve been working overtime for three weeks straight, it’s a miracle they didn’t call me in today.”

Your monthly Saturday brunch with Abby was sacred, work be damned.

Your friend was giving you a worried look across the table. “Well, I’m glad they didn’t, you deserve a day off.”

 “Enough of my sad life, how is it going over at Fake News?” you joked.

 “Amazing actually. You won’t believe it, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re thinking about offering me John’s Sunday spot on Inside Politics. Can you imagine, my own hour, as an actual anchor. It’s nothing official yet, but I’m so excited.”

 “Oh my god, Abby, that’s awesome. I’m so proud of you. We should celebrate.” you exclaimed, beckoning a waiter to order two glasses of champagne.

 Abby gave you a warm smile.
“Thank you, babe. But let me be honest, I’m worried about you. You look exhausted, even your voice sounds tired. When was the last time you did something actually relaxing?”

 “I’ve watched a movie, like, a week ago. And I do yoga, at least sometimes.” You tried to argue, not entirely sure if you wanted to convince Abby or yourself.

 A smirk settled over your friend’s face, and she looked at you like she just had the most brilliant idea ever. You did not like that look at all, it usually meant trouble.

 “Well todays your lucky day, because I know just what you need to de-stress a bit.”

 You just raised an eyebrow at her. 
“Care to elaborate, genius?”

 “You, my friend, need to get laid.”

You snorted. “Fun times, Abbs, you almost got me,”


“I’m serious, Y/N, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Okay, it’s been a while, but I’m fine. I don’t need a man to interfere with the little free time I have. And it’s not like the streets are full of men chasing me. I don’t have time to date, and, like I said, I’m totally fine with the way things are at the moment.” You tried your very best not to sound defensive. 

The expression on Abby’s face told you everything you needed to know. She didn’t buy a single word coming out of your mouth.
“Y/N, trust me when I tell you, blowing off a little steam would do wonders for your stress level. And maybe you’d even meet someone nice. And, lucky for you, I know just the guy. He’s someone I work with, and I think you’d get along perfectly.”

 “You’re not actually suggesting setting me up on a blind date.” You couldn’t believe your friend. The last thing you needed was an evening full of awkward small talk with some boring, sleek CNN guy.

 “Come on, Y/N, take a leap of faith. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

+++

 (One week later)

 “I can’t believe I actually agreed.” You murmured to yourself as you rummaged through your closet, looking for an outfit to wear on that damned date Abby bullied you into.

You thought about the peaceful evening you could have had, curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, maybe getting some work done.

But it was too late to back down now.

 “Let’s just get this over with” you told yourself, applying some lipstick as if it was war paint. “Let’s hope that the guy is at least good-looking.”

 The restaurant Abby sent you to was nice enough, a small and intimate place, perfect for a date. You couldn’t wait to have your first glass of wine, because you could feel your nervousness increasing with each passing minute.

You entered the restaurant, looking for the third table on the window side that Abby had described to you…and directly turned around, practically fleeing through the door again as soon as you set eyes on the man sitting there.

 Back outside, you took your phone out of your bag and furiously dialed Abby’s number. She picked up right away, but you were shouting at her before she could even say a word.

“You better tell me that you did not set me up with Jake fucking Tapper.”

Was she out of her mind? This was the Jake Tapper, the face of CNN, hell, the face of the media in this country. What the fuck were you supposed to talk to him about.

But your friend just chuckled at you through the phone.
“When you saw him on TV some months ago, you said he was your type. Plus, he’s intelligent, funny, and single. Perfect for you. And now stop making a fool out of yourself and go in there. You got this, girl. Love you, bye.”
And with that, she hung up.

 You took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves. You could not just leave now, and stand up Mr. Breaking News himself. So you pocketed your phone again, squared your shoulders and went back into the restaurant.

You made your way over to the table, coming to a stop in front of it. The man sitting there looked up to you and smiled. And wow, what a beautiful smile it was, sincere, warm and inviting, taking over his entire face.

“Hi.” You said, trying to sound confident.

“I’m Y/N, Abby’s friend.”

 

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Jake. I’m working with Abby, but she probably already told you that much.”

“She did, but I’ll be honest, I know you, of course. Big fan of your show.”

God, why did you just say that. He was probably going to think you were some kind of crazy fangirl now.

 But he just continued to smile his open, friendly smile at you.
“Always happy to hear that.” He chuckled, pointing to the opposite chair. “Do you want to sit down?”

 “Yes, of course, sorry.” You said, feeling silly because you totally forgot that you were still standing. You quickly sat down and tried your best to appear calm and collected, even if your insides were in turmoil.

 “Would you care for some wine? They have a pretty impressive list, I could pick one for us if you don’t mind.” Jake asked.

 “Wine sounds fantastic. I love it, but I’m not really an expert, so go ahead.”

 Jake took some reading glasses out of the pocket of his suit jacket and put them on his nose. 
While he was studying the wine list, you took your time to study him instead. He appeared to be in his late forties, so there was an age difference of probably 15 to 20 years. You didn’t mind that at all, older men had always been more your type.

He had a really handsome face, kind eyes that looked even better when he had those glasses on, and you loved his salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing a light blue dress shirt with a dark grey suit jacket. You caught your mind wandering to how he might look underneath his clothes and gave yourself a mental slap on the wrist. This was your first date, no need to get ahead of yourself.

“Everything alright over there?”

 Shit, he had caught you staring.

 “Yes, sorry, I zoned off for a moment. I had a stressful week at work.”

“Oh, yes, Abby told me you’re working in advertising. Any interesting projects at the moment?”

You went on and chatted about work a bit. You were fascinated by what he was doing, and taken aback by the confident, yet humble way he was talking about it. This was absolutely not the behavior you were expecting from the leading anchorman of the nations most renowned network. He wasn’t arrogant or self-centered at all and you were definitely charmed.

The wine Jake ordered arrived with your starters, and soon after you had your first few sips you felt some of the initial nervousness fading away.

Soon, the conversation was flowing freely, and you discovered that Abby was right, you really did get along perfectly. Jake was incredibly funny in a dry and witty way and his sarcastic remarks made you laugh more than once. You also discovered your shared interest in graphic novels and argued a while about weather DC or Marvel was the superior comic universe.

Jake showed you one of his own cartoons on his phone, and with each moment you found yourself more drawn to the man in front of you.
At some point his hand started to lightly brush against yours on the table, and each touch sent a warm feeling through your chest.

You talked some more over dessert, had some more wine and overall, a really good time.

The alcohol gave you a pleasant, fuzzy feeling, and the desire to just get up and crawl on Jakes lap grew with each look he gave you.

 “Excuse me, Ma’am, Sir, were closing up now.” A passing waiter told you and put the check on the table.

 “Let me take care of that, please.” Jake said, taking out his wallet. You just thanked him and enjoyed the view of him putting on his glasses again to read the check.

 He really was a perfect gentleman, you thought to yourself, as he got up to hold your coat and then the door for you on your way out.


“I really had a wonderful evening.” you said softly, as the both of you were standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Jake shot you another one of his brilliant smiles, and you could feel your heart beating faster.
“Me too.” He replied. “I really enjoyed spending time with you, and I’d like to see you again.”

Now your heart was almost jumping out of your chest, and you could feel your own smile taking over your face.
“I’d love that.”

 Jake took one step closer, now standing so close you could almost feel the warmth radiating off his body. One of his hands came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slowly stroking over your jaw. His touch sent goosebumps all over your skin, and you slightly parted your lips, looking him directly in the eyes. They were warm, and dark, and you felt like you could get lost in them. And then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth.

It felt incredible, a kind of warmth that was totally unrelated to the wine spreading through your body, your skin prickling where his hand was still on your face.

You put your hands on his arms and kissed him back, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against yours. He still tasted slightly like red wine, and you wanted nothing more than to explore the rest of his body with your mouth just as thoroughly.

 First date, you reminded yourself, and broke free from the kiss before your lust-clouded brain could make you do something you might regret later. You glanced up at Jake, who looked at you with an unreadable expression. Then, after what felt like forever, he finally spoke.

“Could I maybe have your number?”

 

“Of course.” You said, with maybe a bit much enthusiasm, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. You quickly typed your number into his phone, and just as you were finished, the cab you had called earlier was arriving.

Jake held the door open for you, and shot you one last, beautiful smile. “Good night, Y/N, get home safe.”

“Thank you for the wonderful evening, Jake. Good night.”

 You closed the door and the taxi drove off. You already missed his face as soon as he was out of sight, and you turned around to watch his receding figure through the rear window of the taxi.

Great, you were already down bad after one date. The man really got to you, and you desperately hoped that you would hear from him soon.

 As soon as you were home, you really felt the effects of the wine, so you quickly went to bed to get some sleep. Just before you were nodding off, you sent Abby a quick message.

 

You were right, he is perfect. THANKS xxxx

 

When Abby answered five minutes later, you were already asleep.

 Told you so ;) xxxx

+++

 When you woke up the next morning, there was a new message from an unknown number on your phone. Your heart made a flip in your chest, and you opened it as fast as you could.

 

Hi, this is Jake. It’s probably way too soon to text you, but I just wanted to let you know, again, what a great time I had yesterday. If you’d be up to it, I’d really like to see you again soon. Let me know if that would be alright with you. And have a nice Saturday :)

 

He had already texted you. That meant he didn’t think that you were crazy, or awkward, and that he wasn’t just acting nice, he genuinely wanted to see you again. You were filled with a giddy sort of happiness, and decided to answer him right away, there was no need to play any games here. Leap of faith, just like Abby said.

 

Good Morning Jake, I really enjoyed yesterday as well. I’d love to spend some more time together; would tomorrow evening be too spontaneous? I could make dinner, to return the favor since you paid yesterday ;) my place at eight?

 

As soon as you hit the send button you started getting anxious again. What if tomorrow was too soon? What if he thought you were being too eager?

“Stop it, Y/N!” you said out loud to interrupt your mental spiral. You wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself for this man, even if he was handsome, and intelligent, and funny. No way.

 But as you were standing in the kitchen five minutes later and heard your phone chiming from the other room, you were there in the matter of seconds to read the new message.

 

Tomorrow sounds perfect, just text me the address. I’ll bring the wine. xx Jake

 

You clutched your phone to your chest, the biggest, goofy smile on your face.

 You spent the remaining day extensively cleaning your flat, stressing out, going grocery shopping and stressing out some more. You face-timed Abby and bullied her into helping you pick out an outfit, since she technically was the one who got you into this mess in the first place.

Jake was occupying your mind whatever you did, and when you finally got into your bed that night, all you could think about was how his lips had felt against yours. Those thoughts sent a hot, burning feeling down between your legs and when you finally touched your pussy, you were already so wet and aroused that it only took you minutes until you reached your peak, Jakes name falling from your lips.

+++

To say you were a nervous wreck the next day would be an understatement. When you woke up, you decided to watch some TV to get yourself a bit of distraction. An ad was currently playing, and so you decided to check your mails first.

 

“Good Morning from Washington, where the State of our Union is in turmoil over the latest…”

 

Your head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice coming from your TV, the voice that occupied your mind ever since your blind date on Friday. You had totally forgotten that Sunday morning meant Jake Tapper time on CNN, because usually you were either asleep or at work at 9 am. But now you took your time to really appreciate the man on your TV.

He looked way more serious than the Jake you got to know, no smile, just a stern expression and a dark suit and tie. Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t looking totally hot, and his intelligent and sharp remarks did nothing to calm your fluttering heart or the heat in your lower abdomen. You definitely wanted him, bad.


This is getting ridiculous, you thought to yourself, and turned the TV off to take a very long shower.

Afterwards, you spent the whole day pacing around your flat and annoying Abby with numerous text messages and another two face time calls. She assured you multiple times that everything would be just fine and by the time it was 7:45 p.m. the food was in the oven and you sat on your couch, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

When it finally did, you all but ran to the door only to stop and force yourself to take a couple of calming breaths before opening it. Jake stood outside, a bottle of red wine in his hand. He looked amazing with his white dress shirt and dark grey slacks, but again it was his smile that got your attention, he looked just as happy to see you as you were feeling.

Out of a sudden impulse, you surged forward and threw your arms around the man, hugging him and burying your head in his chest. He seemed surprised, but still put his free arm around you, embracing you.

“Hi.” You whispered, suddenly shy, but as you looked up to meet Jakes eyes you could see nothing but warmth in them. “Hi.” He replied, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s good to see you.”

 You slowly let go of him so he could actually enter your apartment. He followed you inside and you fetched some glasses for the wine. You talked about everything and anything over dinner, family, football, the book Jake was working on. You listened closely, and so did he as you told him about your passion for art and music. He even asked you to put some of your favorite records on as you moved over to the couch after dinner.

You were still talking animatedly but having Jake in closer physical proximity made it increasingly hard to focus on what he was saying.

Instead, your eyes and mind wandered to his hands. Without thinking, you reached out and put one of your hands into his, He stopped speaking, and looked at you. You could see the kind look in his eyes being replaced by something darker, more passionate.

 He spoke again, voice lower this time. “I’ve been thinking about you and our kiss without a break since yesterday. And just as long I’ve wanted to kiss you again, touch you again.”

He reached out, cupped your jaw with one of his hands and slowly ran his thumb over your bottom lip. It took every willpower you had not to suck his thumb into your mouth. This man had you hot and aching for him with just a single touch and a couple of words.

“Is that something you want me to do, Y/L?” his voice was only a low rumble now.

 

“Oh my god yes. Yes please.” You whispered, not really trusting your own voice to come out steady enough. 
The hand on your face slid to the back of your head and you uttered a surprised gasp as Jake just grabbed a fist of your hair and pulled you close, until your faces were only inches apart.

“You are beautiful.” He said, looking you deep in the eyes.

And then he kissed you again. And as soon as his mouth connected with yours, you realized just how much you had missed the feeling of his lips, the warmth of his body. But that was where the resemblance to the kiss you shared last night ended. Because this one was more.

More passion, more lust. Jake softly bit your bottom lip and used your surprised gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. The kiss deepened and you could feel small sparks of arousal all over your body with every touch of tongue and every time he lightly tugged on the hair in the nape of your neck.

Your hands found their way around Jakes shoulders, roaming up and down his back. You were really glad he was not wearing his full State Of The Union Outfit, even if it had looked extremely hot, because as soon as you could feel the solid muscle through his thin dress shirt, you knew that those clothes had to come off at some point.

You lightly tugged on the hem of his shirt to pull it out of his pants and spread your hands over the warm skin underneath. Jake broke the kiss as soon as he could feel what you did, just to tilt back your head and kiss your exposed neck.

You couldn’t stifle a moan as he lightly sucked on your pulse point.

The feeling of his mouth on your skin made heat coil between your legs, and you tried to shift even closer to him, until you were almost sitting on his lap.

Jake continued to kiss your neck, while his other hand crept under your shirt to palm your breast through your bra. He lightly squeezed it and you moaned again, you nails raking softly over his back, making him groan against your skin.

“You like that?” he asked, and pinched one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, and you could feel your panties getting soaked with arousal.

You decided that it was time to get rid of some clothing and started to quickly unbutton Jakes dress shirt, revealing more and more skin with each button undone. As soon as you were finished, he pulled the shirt of his shoulders and the view of his body made your mouth water. You ran your hands over his muscled chest, and you could see the way his eyes darkened again.

“I can’t wait to touch you everywhere.” He said in a husky voice and pulled your shirt over your head in a swift motion, and instantly his lips were on yours again, his hands roaming over your back, unclasping your bra. When your nipples came in contact with the skin of his chest, you couldn’t contain yourself anymore.

“Jake, please. Touch me, kiss me, anything. I need to feel you.” You pleaded, your voice slightly breathless.

 

“Take the rest of your clothes off, now.” Jake said, his commanding tone sending another surge of wetness between your legs.

 You got up from the sofa and stood in front of Jake. Slowly, you opened the zipper of your jeans and pulled them down, leaving you only in your black lace panties.

Jake was watching you, his intense stare burning on your skin.

“Everything. Off.” He said, never breaking eye contact.

Having the undivided attention of this man was so hot, you almost got lightheaded.

You slowly dragged your underwear down your legs, and as you were looking up again, you saw that Jake was palming the bulge that had begun to form in his pants. You wanted to touch him so bad.

“You are gorgeous. Amazing. Beautiful. Stunning.” Jake said, taking in the sight of your naked body. His voice was strained, this was clearly affecting him.

A light flush was beginning to form on your skin, you weren’t sure if it was because of arousal or embarrassment, but you definitely knew that you needed Jake to get his hands on your body, now.

You made your way over to him again and leaned down to open the fly of his trousers. His briefs were already tented by his erection, and you palmed him through his underwear, making him groan.

“Those need to come off.” You whispered, smiling at Jake, who just nodded and lifted his pelvis so you could pull down his trousers along with his underwear.

Finally, he was naked in front of you. He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you down on the sofa, lying on top of you. The feeling of his warm skin against yours was thrilling, you tried to get your hands on every part of his body you could reach, stroking his back, pulling his hair. Finally, you wrapped your hand around the base of his hard cock, giving it some light strokes.

“You feel so good, Y/N, I’ve been thinking about doing this since I first laid my eyes on you. I’ve been in a state since we kissed, and now” he whispered against your neck „I can’t wait to finally have that sweet pussy of yours.”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of Jakes mouth, hearing him say filthy things like that was turning you on more than you could’ve ever imagined. Obviously, your thoughts were written all over your face.

“You like it when I talk like that, don’t you, sweetheart.” He said, pinching one of your nipples as he did.

“I…Oh shit, yes, yes I do. Please.” You whimpered, almost going you crazy with the need to finally feel him. 

He had mercy on you, reaching out between your legs. When he touched your pussy for the first time, you felt like the pent-up tension could make you faint any moment.
“God, you’re so wet, Y/N.” He thrust two of his long fingers into you without warning, and you almost screamed.
“And so tight.”

“I need you, please Jake, fuck me.” You were begging now, way beyond caring about any sort of decorum as his digits touched that sweet spot inside of you again and again.

 He withdrew his fingers and shifted on top of you before he put his hands on your tights, spreading your legs. You couldn’t even begin to complain about the loss of his fingers, he was already lining up his cock with your entrance, and pushed in, slowly, filling you inch by inch until he bottomed out with a deep groan. His length stretched you in the most delicious way, and you cried out as he was starting to thrust in and out of you, leaving you almost no time to adjust to his size.

You couldn’t talk coherently anymore, you were just chanting his name over and over as he was fucking you into the sofa. Your nails clawed into his back as he was leaning over you, his hair falling into his face. Just as you thought you couldn’t feel any more pleasure, he grabbed one of your legs and probed it onto his shoulder, the new angle making you see stars with every move of his hips.

“You feel incredible, so tight and warm around me, you are amazing.” He looked down on you, taking in your face, squinted with pleasure, his name falling from your lips over and over again.

He reached between your legs and started rubbing your clit, never slowing down his relentless, hard thrusts. The combined stimulation was almost too much for you and your orgasm was approaching fast.

“Don’t stop, please, just don’t stop.” You cried out, the pleasure running through your body like a wildfire.

“Look at me when you come, I want to see you. Look at me!” Jake growled, breathing hard as he sped up even more.

You hit your peak with a cry, sparks dancing over your skin as your walls clenched around Jakes cock. Your eyes were fixed on his, and he looked at you like you were the only person on the entire planet.

Seeing you come undone beneath him, Jake only lasted for another few deep thrusts before he came, shouting your name and spilling his hot release inside of you.

 He laid on top of you afterwards, his face on your shoulder, breathing deeply. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and he turned his head to look at you.

“Hi” you said.

“Hi” he replied, your favorite smile spreading across his face again.

 “I liked that very much.” You said, pressing another kiss to his lips. He chuckled and propped himself up onto his arms with a small sight, rolling off you. Luckily, your sofa was large enough so you could comfortably lie next to each other.

“Me too, that was fantastic.” He replied and pulled you closer, putting his arm around you. You buried your face into his chest, soaking up the heat of his body and his wonderful smell.

 “Maybe you should come over more often.” You suggested, sounding a bit nervous again. You didn’t want to appear clingy. But this man had just rocked your world, and you couldn’t just act like nothing happened.

“I’ll come over whenever you want me to, sweetheart. Consider me at your beck and call.”

 “Stay the night?” you asked in a hopeful voice. You had work in the morning, but you just couldn’t imagine letting him go anywhere now.

He just nodded, smiled, and kissed you again. That soft, tingly feeling in your chest increased even more, and you just happily snuggled up to him.

 Later, as Jake was already asleep next to you, you took up your phone and sent a quick text message to Abby.

Next brunch is my treat! I owe you xxxx

[thatlittledandere]

1, 2, 3, 13, 14, 21, 24, 37, 38 and 39 for those writer questions. (Sorry for being so many at once I'm just curious)

fic writer’s meme

1, 2 and 3 already answered!

13.  What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

You don’t need to write scenes chronologically! Changed my life.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Those lists of words to use instead of “said” FUCK that. Also my high school Finnish teacher pissed me off, like, in general. And we didn’t even really WRITE fiction.

21. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

...Do I revise? *checks the definition of the word* Yeah it’s possible I don’t exactly “revise” after a fic is complete. Of course every time I open it to edit it or continue I go through what I already have and make alterations, but if all of that counted for this, it would be like asking “how many sessions does it take to write a fic” which is impossible to answer as it can range from one to dozens, even with oneshots. After I finish the last scene I post it and return to it, like, two days later to fix the typos lol

24. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Nope.

37. Talk about your current wips.

Uuuuh I have WAY TOO MANY unfinished ones to mention and I’m not even sure which ones I’ve abandoned for good and which ones I’ll finish one day... But I started and two fics for Souyo week and I’m still PRETTY determined to finish them! 

One was... more of a vague idea than an actual plot, which is why I stagnated. But it’s my personal headcanon that while the seeds for Yosuke’s attraction to Yu were sown while rescuing Yukiko, Kanji’s dungeon is where Yosuke first started to... start to be somewhat almost aware of it. Like that’s where he had the first butterflies and/or the “wait a second��� double take that he adamantly refused to acknowledge. And yeah that was supposed to be the fic for the Fog prompt because, uuh, steam is almost like fog, right? Yes I know what words mean

The second one was for the Stormy prompt. I made the storm more of a mood than a weather condition because I’m pretentious like that, and it was an argument fic. But then it spiraled out of control when more and more narrators kept forcing their way in and I got a case of bad conscience bc the reason for their argument was Yosuke’s internalized homophobia that he still wasn’t completely over and idk suddenly I started feeling guilty for exploring it constantly;; Like I haven’t even WRITTEN anything with that trope/headcanon yet but it’s always on my mind and it kinda feels like it’s all I can think or write about and like I’m somehow making light of other people’s trauma and yeah I’ll stop typing now

*clears throat* ANYWAY! I may or may not finish these one day.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

I feel awkward naming names sdsfsdgf but this one time I felt a fic came out really forced and then one of my favorite authors commented that it “flowed naturally” and I was so happy I showed it to my mom lol. And my April Fools mistake got a really long comment picking apart scenes and lines I had already forgotten writing by that point (next day, but I wrote it in a real frenzy). Oh and someone commented on one of my stupid joke fics that “the plot is actually really good” and yea... I think about it a lot.

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

Luckily I haven’t gotten any!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Champagne Mixed with a Bit of Adrenaline [h.s.]

A/N: this was a request from an anon and I finally got it done! It’s meant to go with this amazing piece of art. :-)  this piece is dedicated to the amazing @tiostyles because Brianne kept it from getting lost in the void LMAO. her support inspired me to finish it so thanks Brianne ilyvm :-) sorry for any mistakes or typos! Drop by my inbox with opinions bc I’m kinda?? Iffy on it?? Anywho, enjoy!

Harry likes to think he has stamina. He’s proven it countless of times before and he’s sure he will continue to prove it until the end of his days.

A great example would be that one time on the tour bus when he had popped a stiffy around 9 PM and couldn’t do anything about it, since no one was planning on going to bed yet, so he couldn’t sneak away to handle it. He’d had to wait until well after 1 AM, when the snoring elephants known as his band mates were conked out cold, to sneak into the bathroom with his Astroglide and rub out a quick one to a picture of Y/N wearing nothing but a pink, sheer silk button-up with the word “Styles” embroidered on the chest pocket.

Or the time when he and Y/N had attended a family get-together that his mother had thrown at his old house in the new pool she’d had built. Y/N had gotten the brilliant idea to grope him during a game of water volleyball and he’d had to play actively, all whilst doing his best to make sure no one saw the raging boner tenting his Gucci lion-printed swim trunks. After the underwater fun was over and the barbecue was done, his mom had condemned him to stay and help clean up. Washing dishes with his dick leaking wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

After that long night, Harry had given his mom a quick kiss goodbye and ignored her comments about how it was odd for his jacket to be tied backwards around his waist. He’d dragged a grinning Y/N to his car, setting route to their apartment but somehow ending up in an abandoned mall square, fucking in the backseat of his Rover.

And don’t even get him started on the time he lost three rounds of Go Fish to Y/N and, as retribution, had to wear a vibrating cock ring to Lux’s birthday party. Trying to explain to a four year old why his lap was vibrating, all while maintaining a cool composure, should’ve been made into an Olympic sport because the sheer amount of concentration and determination needed was truly out of this fucking world. Not only that, but fucking in a bathroom the size of a coat closet wasn’t necessarily prime, either. Lou had been having her upstairs bathroom remodeled and the one in the living room was too obvious, so they’d had to sneak down to the one in the basement. It was tiny, cramped, and smelled way too much like lemon-scented Lysol. His left leg had fallen asleep, but as if that wasn’t bad enough, Y/N had decided to up and leave halfway through and left him horribly blue-balled. Giving a toast to his goddaughter’s coming-of-age wasn’t really fluent when casually trying to cover up the bulge in his jeans with a Hello Kitty placemat.

However, all throughout these situations, Harry had managed to keep an unfazed, calm façade and had not given in to the woes of the intense exertion that was required of him. So, yes, he most definitely likes to say he has stamina. He’s entitled to say it. With all of the shit he’s been through, it’s the least he deserves.

But tonight, his hardcore ability to sustain such troubles has decided to fail him. And, hell, did it fail him.

Harry’s not quite sure what happened, but he knows that it’s likely do to all of the post-performance adrenaline that has been bubbling and toiling through his veins since he set foot off stage after his surprise LA performance at the Troubadour. It had been quite the show, considering he’d had Stevie bloody Nicks accompanying and dueting with him. Every nerve-ending on his body was set to full throttle, every hair standing to the very tip with excitement-induced electricity, and as he stepped outside the building, the cool night air burned his simmering skin like acid (which he’s pretty sure cool air isn’t supposed to do).

He was sweating buckets from the stage lights and the close proximity of the venue, but he loves the intimacy of it all. He felt more connected to his fans this way, so he thinks it to be worth it. His body, however, begs to differ.

Right after they’d disappeared backstage, Stevie had immediately demanded that they all go out for drinks to celebrate Harry’s blooming career, and how could he say no to her? Two Fiji waters and a limo ride later, they ended up in a classy joint that Harry didn’t care enough to try and interpret the name of because it was in a language he didn’t know (French, maybe? Or Italian?), and he was oh-so very wired. The champagne was bubbly and silky smooth against his sensitive taste buds, the dim miniature chandelier above their booth casting just enough shadows to hide the itchy flush that is crawling up his neck.

His sheer black shirt is sticking to a thin sheen of sweat that has materialized down his back and he’s fairly certain that his golden-glitter pants weren’t this tight when he got them tailored. His feet feel as if they are floating in pools of sweat, the leather Gucci shoes not doing his heated body any favors. And that’s when he feels it.

Harry shifts slightly in his seat as Mitch slides in next to him, nudging his elbow off the table in a best-mate-rivalry type of way. His body instinctually bends forward slightly as all of his upper weight loses the support of the red oak surface, torso reeling to the side as he giggles and elbows him back, and that’s when it hits him like a bus. He feels his dick twitch against his damp thigh, his jerky movements combined with the frenzied nerves from the performance setting every comatose hormone in his blood on fire.

A small yip of surprise escapes past his lips, eyes wide as his thighs give a hard clench and his fingers tighten around his champagne flute. Stevie had been speaking about a concert she had done a while back in Georgia when Harry decides to have this teeny spectacle, his not-so-manly squeak slicing through the calm, cool atmosphere of the bar. Everyone looks over to him, eyebrows raised here and there in concern.

Harry swallows down his unsteadiness, forcing a tiny, soft smile across his stinging cheeks. He lifts his hand a bit higher in front of himself to draw attention to his drinking glass, swirling the golden liquid around for emphasis. “It’s the champagne. Sipped too fast.”

His voice comes out strained, but he manages to cover it up with a faux hiccup to give his whole act a touch of authenticity. Everyone seems to buy it as they return their attention to the other singer at the table, intrigued by her story. He hears Jeff mumble, “lightweight” under his breath, a couple of the guys snickering along with him as Harry pins the man with a death glare.

“You sure you’re alright?” Mitch’s soft voice hitches Harry’s ears, dragging his attention away from his producer. “You’re sweating and the lights are barely even on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just taking me a little longer to wind down. Since I sung with a legend and all, y'know?”

But he’s not fine. Not fine at all. If anything, he’s doing the opposite of winding down. He’s winding up– a glance at his lap easily confirms that. He hears blood starting to pound in his head, toes starting to go numb as he feels his balls tightening in his briefs. An annoying piece of hair keeps falling into his eyes and he contemplates ripping it off, but wagers against it since that might be considered too much of a scene. The back of his thighs are chafing in the thick material of his sequined bottoms and he’s positive he has some killer pit stains going, but he can’t will his body to stop. So he does the next best thing: He snatches the champagne bottle and pours himself another glass.

Harry’s not sure how much time passes by. It’s a blur of fizzy liquid, bright laughter, low lights and a swelling dull ache in his groin. He’s not necessarily drunk but he is buzzed, the alcohol having smoothed out the rough edges of his craving. His upper lip itches every now and then as sweat accumulates on the faint hairs he’s grown out and he has to constantly wipe at his face as nonchalantly as possible to avoid detection. The lack of personal space around the table only grates at his nerves even more because he can feel the heat of all the bodies absorbing into his clothes, turning him into the most sparkly-pantsed rotisserie chicken to ever exist. And the most irritated, at that.

But Harry will be damned if he passes up this iconic opportunity to have drinks with an icon herself. He’d been dreaming about such a moment since he could walk and he refuses to let a boner destroy one of the best to-be memories of his life. At this crucial state, he calls upon all of the times he had managed to power through similar situations and uses them to pump himself (pun intended) up, getting it through his tipsy skull that he can do it. He covered a hard-on with a Hello Kitty decoration, for fuck’s sake. Anything is truly possible!

Unfortunately, after a few more minutes lull by, Harry apparently will be damned.

He thinks he’s finally got it under reign when he sneaks a peek under the elegant maroon serviette in his lap, watching his pride crumble beneath his slightly-clouded eyes. His dick had leaked through his briefs and into his flared pants, the patch of cloth over his crotch noticeably darker than the rest of the material. His eyes squeeze shut as his nails dig into the palm of his hand through the napkin, biting down on his tongue as he feels his cock decides to give up on the slow burn and rather starts to throb sharply under the table.

Fuck his hormones for deciding to make him be a horny fourteen-year-old today, fuck his post-performance adrenaline for choosing to whip him up into a mess rather than dissolving away quietly like usual, fuck the champagne for making his eyelids droopy and his tongue heavy (although he will credit it for helping take the edge off), and most of all, just fuck himself for believing he could progress through this little get-together without bursting at the bleeding seams.

And apparently the universe agrees with him because as Harry sits there, seeing angry flashes of blue and yellow behind his screwed eyelids and wallowing in his self-hatred, Stevie calls his name from across the table.

“Harry?”

His head snaps up, eyes flying open in alarm as he attempts to calibrate himself back into the setting. A tight, croaky “hm?” thrums in his throat as he focuses on the blonde women across from him, her expression one of curiosity.

“Are you alright? You’re really pale, honey. And you seem kinda off a bit.” Stevie leans forward, setting down her almost-empty champagne flute and eyeing him thoughtfully.

Everyone’s attention turns to him, all of the separate conversations that had been going dying down to soft murmurs and silence. Harry’s not one for stage fright (his career had beaten that out of him ages ago), but he’s pretty sure this is how it feels. It feels like every person around him is seeing straight into his soul and he’s never wanted to disappear into thin air more than at this moment.

“I’m fine!” He swallows thickly, nodding weakly and he’s honestly trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“S'just the rush of having you here is still…” he motions around the air with his arms to suggest an aura of excitement, “it’s still circulating– hasn’t piped down. It’s a dream come true and the starstruck feeling hasn’t stopped lingering. Plus, all the jumping around I did is really coming back to bite me in the ass. Never wear heels, guys. Huge mistake.”

The entire table bursts into a chorus of light laughter, Harry smiling sheepishly as he pushes the hair back from his face, ignoring how damp his scalp is. He chuckles quietly as his friends begin to take digs at his wardrobe and nearly faints when Stevie comes to his rescue, threatening to break one of the drinking glasses over Jeffery’s head for attacking Harry’s “unique and renowned” sense of style.

After a bit more banter, Stevie excuses herself to go use the loo. He sees her walking around to his side of the rounded booth, leaning down to talk beside him.

“I can tell you’re really out of it at the moment. Y'look really tired. Why don’t you go ahead and go rest up and me and you can do lunch tomorrow? You’ve been kinda detached the whole time and I’d really like to get to know you a bit more. Maybe even talk a collaboration. Who knows?” She pinches his broad shoulders playfully in a way that reminds him of his mom, patting him on the back. “I’ll text Roger to set up a reservation at Cafe Habana. Heard you fancy it?”

Harry nods so fast he feels whiplash lick at the back of his brain. “Yeah! It’d be an honor.”

“Alright. See you then.”

He watches as she walks away, rounding a corner to the restrooms and he immediately turns to Mitch, who’s in the middle of actively listening to Jeff and Sarah’s conversation about a Discovery Channel documentary over mermaids.

A tap to the shoulder gets Harry his designated attention and he speaks quick and breathless. “I’m going back to my hotel. Tell everyone I was feeling really tired, will you?”

Harry manages to wriggle his way out of the booth without embarrassing himself, leaving the trusty serviette behind as he sprints for the glass doors of the bar, socks damp in his loafers and that stupid piece of hair flopping against his forehead. The cold late night air runs the simmering stiffness from his skin (but leaving it as is somewhere else), swirling into his lungs and refreshing his mind. He has a driver on the phone in a split second and is getting into a limo the next minute, headed for his hotel with the window down and the wind sifting its fingers through his curls, helping air out all of his pent up frustration.

Before he knows it, Harry’s fumbling with the key card to his king suit, cursing under his breath as it gets jammed and squinting angrily at the tiny red light that flashes on the silver mechanism. As soon as the door pushes open, he surges through, kicking it closed and tearing down the column of buttons on his expensive silk shirt. His mind immediately begins to weave out a fantasy, the fingers that are popping open his shirt molding from his own into Y/N’s. And just like that, she’s there with him. She’s there, sponging her gentle, warm lips against the racing pulse on his neck, licking down his collarbones and biting at the the tight muscles of his broad shoulders as she roughly rips the sticky shirt down his arms.

Harry’s breathing is ragged as his fingers fly to his belt buckle, fumbling with the clasp and seeing nothing but her taunting, lust-filled eyes as she’d sharply yank the leather strap from around his slender hips, undoing his zipper as he toes off his squeaky shoes. His pants are discarded in a pile by the couch and he’s rummaging through his Nike carry-on for his trusty bottle of Astroglide, positive that he’d tucked it into the inside pocket of the bag. He comes up fruitful, whooping silently in victory as he paces to the humongous bed across the elegant room, feeling her imaginary presence looming behind him as he crawls onto the fluffy comforter.

He momentarily wagers whether he should call up Y/N for some help because having her voice is better than having to envision it. He weighs against it, knowing that since it’s 1 AM here in LA, it’s around 9 AM over in London and she’s more than likely not even up yet considering she loves sleep almost as much as she loves him.

Harry sits with his back against the tall headboard, shimmying out of his dark red CK briefs and spreading his legs wide open, sighing in relief as he feels his balls settle beneath him onto the mattress. He hadn’t realized the true extremity of how wound up he had been until now.

He thumbs the cap of the lube open, wiping off the crusty dry bits against the duvet and squirting some onto his palm, shivering at how cool it is. After some shifting around and stacking a couple of pillows into a plush mountain, he gives his cock a few leisurely tugs, worrying his lip between his two front teeth and hissing out all of the accumulated stress from the entire night.

It doesn’t take long for him to get a set rhythm, his rings scraping softly against his prick as the lube squishes in between the cracks where the metal and the skin of his fingers meet.

Harry’s head leans back again the cold mahogany surface of the bed frame, his hand working up and down his engorged length as he gulps down the screams that are threatening to overcome him, mewling her name out into the dimness of the room. His translucent skin is bumpy with green and blue veins, the head of his cock a dangerous shade of reddish purple as a tiny river of precome leaks out steadily. It runs down and over his fingers as he pumps himself, mixing with the lube to form a cloudy mess. His toes are curling against the sheets and his back muscles are contracting against the headboard as his body bends all out of shape in order to produce an orgasm.

His huge hand squeezes himself snugly, breathy whimpers and quick, low moans streaming from his mouth without control because he just doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care because Harry can see her– sees her as she is pressed up against his side with one of her legs holding his own wide open, her small hand stroking him messily as she sucks love bites onto his chest and tweaks his puffy nipples, breath gooey and warm and so fucking hot as she mumbles praises against into neck. “God, you’re so fucking big, Har. All thick and warm inside me and nice and heavy in my mouth, yeah? Wanna make you come. Can you do that for me?”

Long, drawn-out “ohs” and “ughs” fill the stale air around him, wet slapping sounds bouncing back from the paisley-printed walls of the large room as Harry nods his head, not caring whether she’s here or not to see it. His face contorts into expressions of sheer bliss, eyebrows raising and scrunching in pleasure as his jaw hangs loose, head rutting back against the surface of the frame as cracked whines drip endlessly from his swollen, rosy lips. He thumbs over his sensitive cockhead, massaging circles into the skin and jerking against the mattress as he feels a boiling warmth pooling in his tummy, getting ready to explode at any given second.

Harry’s chest is flushed a dull red as he urges himself not to come, wanting to make this last as long as possible. Sweat stings every pore across his skin and he pretends it’s Y/N’s nails scratching memories across his torso. She’s everywhere; plastered across the ceiling and the walls of the room, all over his twitching body, her smell burning his nose and her pretty lips and doey eyes deeply rooted into his brain. It’s her own hands that are cupping and working him towards release as she licks sloppily at his tip, sucking gently every now and then while keeping direct eye contact with him. She spits on him just how he likes it, twisting her fist around his circumstance to give the handjob an array of new sensations.

His own hand mimics the fantasy, teeny mewls of, “oh, shit” and “fuck, it’s so good” rawing his jugular. He slows his pace, working down his cock gruelingly, pulling the foreskin down to reveal the shiny tip to the chilly air. He reaches down between his itching thighs, cupping his balls and fondling them, thumb pressing into the fleshy bit in the center and he can’t stop the stuttered sob that scrapes from deep in his lungs. Her ruby-red, bow-shaped lips are sucking a new sense into him, his eyes hazing over with the image of her kissing down his prick all the way to his balls and taking them into her palm, tugging and sucking fervidly.

Harry can feel his insides pass the boiling point, his abdomen and thighs giving foreshadowing clenches as he sinks down into the mound of feather pillows, torso twisting and thrashing as he crosses into dangerous grounds of stimulation. The cushions close around him as his dives deeply into them, swelling around his head and hugging his arms and sides, the light tickling sensation urging him to come undone. He’s breathing fast and spastic from his mouth and nose at the same time, tears squeezing from the corner of his eyes as he makes a variety of embarrassing, uncontrollable noises ranging from deep, choking grunts to high-pitched, sputtering whimpers.

And, of course, she’s there. The softness of the linen against his oversensitive body turns into her wandering fingers. The violent jerks of his fist melt into the warm velvet of her walls as she rides him. The rubbing of the pillow covers against the back of his head molds into her hands yanking and twirling at his matted, damp curls. And lastly, the caresses of his inhales and exhales as they leave his lips dissolve into her own breaths pushing into his mouth as her lips suck and chew at his, feeding bits of her intoxicating taste into his system to form a tight ball of sensual gratification at the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, Y/N, fuck me. You’re such a good fucking girl fo’ me, aren’t you? Y'just feel so good…” Harry knows it’s borderline insane to be addressing her when he’s alone but he doesn’t care because he just has to get it all out somehow. In the cage of his mind, her voice responds to him, which is all that truly matters.

“Want you t'come, H. Wanna feel you fill me up.” It’s as if she’s hovering over him, staring right into his soul with those wide, innocent eyes as she bounces on his cock, tiny gasps leaving her swollen lips as not-so-innocent words slip freely from her mouth. “C'mon, Harry. Know you can be a nice boy and come for me, baby. Jus’ a little longer, yeah?”

The hand that was massaging his balls flies up over the pillow around his face, shoving the fluffy material into his mouth so that he can bite down all of his wails. The heels of his feet dig into the springy mattress, causing his back to buck off its surface. Harry’s chest heaves with every rattling gasp, teeny mewls of pleasure squeaking from his throat. His arm is taut with the effort he’s putting into his violent tugging, tattoos glistening with sweat in the dim light of a single bedside lamp. He throws his head back as far he can, tendons stretching tight and veins chiseling into existence down his neck and across his temples. A warm sensation suddenly inflates across his entire being and he can hear his teeth grinding down hard as his climax takes the reigns, thundering over his body without remorse.

When he bursts, it’s messy, to say the least. It splutters out in thick milky ribbons that splatter across his stomach and chest, his prick twitching nonstop in his clenched fingers. Flashes of red, white and yellow form webs behind his eyelids, bursts of brighter colors overlapping the spidery strands. He feels like it’s never going to stop– like he’s going to be squirting out forever because he can still feel the knot writhing in his stomach, demanding to be let out all at once. But he can’t take it; if he doesn’t stop, he thinks he’ll pass out.

Harry’s heart is hiccuping in his chest, the intense thumping suggesting it is trying to slam free through his ribs. His ears feel as if they were clogged with gauze, the only clear sound being the blood rushing through his head. His nose is the first thing that starts to go numb, the jittery sensation spreading across his whole face and crawling down his neck, taking ahold of every one of his nerve-endings. After the feeling has washed down his thighs is when he stops coming, his cock slowly going limp against his pelvis. After it’s spread across all ten of his toes is when he releases the wet fabric of the pillowcase from his aching teeth. After it’s dissolved away down to his chest is when his back muscles untangle themselves from each other, his whole torso slumping comatose into the elegant duvet. And, only after the feeling barely lingers in his fingernails and barely tickles the back of his skull, is when Harry’s eyes finally flutter open.

His head lulls to the side so that his chin presses against his left shoulder, gaze focusing on the neon green numbers of the digital clock on the polished nightstand. 1:17 AM.

He’d lasted seventeen minutes.

It’s quite shameful, he’ll admit. He usually lasts at least thirty solo and can work his way up to an hour with Y/N (with breaks, obviously). But he’d spilled in just over fifteen minutes, all because of a couple glasses of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé and some post-concert adrenaline.

Harry lays there for a while; how long, he’s not sure. He entertains his sleepy body with threading his fingers through his moppy hair, feeling small grainy bits of hair spray still sticking to the fluffed up mess. The sweat has dried to his skin, making the light breeze from the air vents feel cooler than normal and causing him to burrow under the thick comforter. The humungous flat screen on the wall in front of the bed shows his reflection with crystal clearness: He looks like he just went three rounds with a grizzly bear in an episode of Naked and Afraid. Except the name Naked and Fucked Out seems more appropriate. Or Naked and Covered In Jizz. He wipes himself down with some fancy rose-oil-infused tissues from a box inside one of the nightstand cabinets, setting the wad of napkins on the table to discard later.

After about ten more minutes of recovering, Harry kicks off the sheets, swinging his legs around the edge of the bed in order to get up. His movements are lazy as he takes his sweet time standing up, raising his arms above his head and stretching out the kink in his back until it cracks. He grabs the duvet, wrapping it carelessly around his hips and holding both sides together in one fist at his hip. For some odd reason, he doesn’t feel like walking around naked– he thinks it to be that the air conditioning has kicked in at full blast.

He shuffles hazily out of the bedroom section of the grand suite, all the way over to where his bottoms lay in a rumpled pile on the floor near the couch, leaning down to fish out his phone from the back pocket. Harry surfs through his notifications as he slowly walks towards the bar on the other end of the room, only really paying attention to a message from Jeff confirming Harry’s lunch with Stevie tomorrow. He walks around the marble counter of the bar, opening up the mini fridge and sifting through an assortment of colorful alcohol bottles. He hisses out a victorious, “Sick.” when he sees a bottle of Brachetto d’Acqui Rosso, his favorite sweet wine. He’s not up for anything strong at the moment– just something light and fizzy to sedate the gnawing in his stomach.

Harry snatches the most graceful glass he can find, using his teeth to rip open the crimson wrapping around the cap of the bottle and being thankful that it is the type he can unscrew. After pouring out half a glass, he leans forward on the counter on one elbow, sipping lightly and pulling up Y/N’s contact on his phone. As the line rings its toll, he licks at his lips patiently, savoring the hints of black cherry, raspberry and rose in his drink.

“Hello?” Y/N’s thick, drowsy voice crackles through the speaker and he immediately feels bad for calling her. He knew she hadn’t been awake but he just really wanted to hear her voice.

“Morning, love. How’s my favorite girl?”

“I was good until you woke me up.” She grumbles, the ruffling that comes through the line suggesting she is shifting around the bed and he imagines her rolling onto her side, tucking an arm under her head as she holds the phone to her ear with the other.

A fond smile twitches Harry’s cheeks as he tips back the glass again, letting the tangy yet silky liquid send a tingle through his tastebuds. “So you’re well? Nice. ’M good too, thanks for asking.”

Y/N sighs irritably, but he can tell she’s faking it. All she could talk about recently is how much she misses him, especially in the morning because it’s when she’s most cuddly. He knows she’s thrilled to hear from him and he’s happy to say the feeling is mutual.

“So, how’d the concert go?” She asks, excitement twinkling in her groggy voice.

“It was fucking amazing. Stevie’s just…wow. That’s it. Just wow. She even said she loves Two Ghosts and I nearly shit myself on stage!” Harry responds, setting the now empty class on the counter and filling it up some more, watching the effervescent liquid slosh around as Y/N sniffles on the other end. Her nose could get pretty backed up during the night due to her allergies.

“That sounds incredible, Har. You really deserved this. You’ve worked so hard for it.” He can hear the proud smile in her voice.

“Thank you, pet. Means the world, y'know? Actually, Stevie invited me to lunch tomorrow! She even knew that I liked Cafe Habana. Can you believe it?” Harry can’t keep the childish giddiness from his voice, his entire face lighting up at the thought.

Y/N’s bubbly laugh crackles through the phone. “That’s great, baby. So happy for you!”

He smiles timidly into the glass, blushing up a storm and he can never understand how Y/N has him so whipped without even trying. “Thanks. Again.”

Harry hears the sound of running water start up on the other end and he guesses she is up and about, probably brushing her teeth or washing her face.

“So,” her voice is muffled, confirming that she indeed is brushing. He can see her, standing in her Garfield pajamas with her hair up in a messy bun, her sparkly blue toothbrush hanging out of the side of her mouth as foam wets the corners of her lips. “Are you gonna tell me all the juicy details of the after party or not?”

He chuckles softly, hiking the duvet up his hips as it had begun to slide down. “Wasn’t really a party. We just went out for some drinks, s'all.”

“Oh, that’s nice! How did it feel to have Stevie Nicks toast to you? Y'know, since you love having your ego stroked and all.” Her teasing tone pokes at his self-proclaimed narcissism, but all he can truly think about is how she used the word “stroked” and it causes him to giggle at the coincidence.

Harry sips at his wine, eyeing the unkempt bed on the opposite side of the room and smirking to himself knowingly. “It was absolutely satisfying.”