#who have never once really put her in a situation like that

[hugsandharrystyles]

Change of Heart

Summary: Harry's a protecter, a good man. She's a shy librarian with a dog named Pickle. He can't stand her, so why does it fuck him up when he finds out she's scared of him? (Enemies-to-lovers) Word Count: 17k+ Warnings: Harry being a dick, smut

Harry always tried to be a good person.

Key word: Tried.

Growing up, it was just him, his sister, and his mother, so he always felt as a natural protector for women, not implying that women can't hold their own, but he always keeps extra lookout because he can't count all the times his mother and sister have been put in uncomfortable situations with men.

So, he can't understand why all that being said, he can't feel anything but disdain for her.

Y/N has been a part of Harry's friend group almost as long as he has, and he can't stand her. She is the fakest person he's ever met.

He remembers his sister dealing with girls like her in high school. They start off kind and sweet, but then suddenly they have everyone wrapped around their fingers and doing anything they ask. He remembers his sister crying to him about girls like her, so he can't understand why he has to entertain her presence.

He's talked to Niall, his closest friend who's also in their group, about it, but Niall doesn't see the problem. Hell, Y/N has Niall and the rest of them wrapped around her manicured finger.

He really just can't stand her.

"Y/N, tell us how your job interview went!" Harry rolls his eyes and shoots back some of his beer. It was rare that his friend group actually went out to a bar instead of gathering at one of their homes, usually because Y/N hated going out. He feels Niall hit his leg at his eye roll.

"Oh, yes! It went really well, in fact, you're looking at a professional librarian!" Y/N says, her excitement evident in her voice.

"That's so great, Y/N. I'm so proud of you!" Sarah says while the others all chime in with their own praise.

"Awesome, a job almost as boring as you!" Harry says snidely. He usually isn't so blunt, but he's had a few drinks in him.

"Harry- dude, c'mon," Mitch sighs.

"N-no, I get it," Y/N interjects. "It definitely sounds boring just saying it, but I'll be fixing binding on really old books and helping people out with-" Y/N is interrupted when Harry starts dramatically snoring. Y/N looks around the table, getting visibly embarrassed.

"Alright, H, I think you're tapped out. You're being an asshole," Niall says and tries to push him out of the booth.

"Oh, come off it. I'm just joking," Harry rolls his eyes.

"It's fine, I got the joke," Y/N tries to laugh. "I'm going to go get another drink," she says before sliding out of the booth.

"Do you want me to come with?" Sarah asks, knowing about her friend's social anxiety.

"N-no, I'll be okay," Y/N reassures her and grabs her purse before walking off to the bar. She's wearing a big sweater and jeans to a bar, and it's pissing Harry off.

"You need to fucking lay off, man," Mitch says and throws a napkin at Harry. "Just because she doesn't work with lumber and hammers and whatever else manly shit that you do, doesn't mean her job isn't any less important."

"Actually, to be correct, I am a project manager for a multi-million-dollar company-"

"Shut up," Sarah groans.

"You're so mean to her- that's not you," Mitch sighs.

"I'm not fucking mean- she's just annoying. And look at all of you, wrapped around her finger, just like she wants."

Niall goes to speak but is interrupted by Sarah reading a message off of her phone.

I'm so sorry, but I started feeling really sick, so I went home. Hope you guys have fun!

Once Sarah finishes reading the message she looks at Harry with a glare.

"Well, how the hell is she getting home? Didn't you drive her?" Harry asks Sarah.

"Oh, are you worried?" She asks with a condescending tone.

"Shut up."

Y/N thinks this is the first actual party she's been invited to. Sure she went to her fair share of birthday parties and sleepovers, but they were all PG. Never had she seen so many red solo cups in one place before. One of her friends released an EP, and they're celebrating by hosting a huge party at their apartment.

Sarah helped her pick out her entire outfit and assured her she looks amazing. Y/N has always struggled with her appearance because her parents weren't around very much. Between business trips and trying to live their own lives, there wasn't time to acknowledge their daughter. She would be dragged to their business parties, and she would just feel surrounded by a bunch of white bigoted men who thought they were superior just because they get fat checks.

When they arrived, they were immediately greeted by the stench of alcohol and weed. The apartment was crowded and loud, and Y/N was beginning to get nervous.

"Hey, it's okay," Sarah assures her, and she nods in agreement. "Let's go find our people," Sarah suggests and loops her arm with Y/N's.

"I think I see Niall," Y/N points out, and her theory was proven correct when she hears his booming laugh. It eases her nerves, and she wraps her arm around her shoulder when she finally gets next to him. He's standing with Mitch, Harry, and a few other people she's casually met before. Sarah greets Mitch with a kiss and settles into his side.

"Y/N!" Niall shouts when he finally realizes who's hugging him. He embraces her, and she can tell he's a bit drunk with the way he leans his weight on her. "I didn't think you'd come!"

"None of us did," Harry interjected lowly under his breath, but she still heard him. They hadn't really interacted since that night at the bar.

"Harry," she nods to him when Niall releases her. He barely acknowledges her before he turns back to the guy he was talking to, but he can't help the way his gaze would sometimes drift back to her. It's so annoying how pretty she can be without even trying.

Harry hates how enamoring she is.

"Harry, oh my gosh, how are you?" He hears a voice come up from behind him then feels a hand wrap around his arm. Emma. A clingy girl he hooked up with about a month ago- a good distraction from the thoughts he's facing at the moment. He wraps his arm around her shoulder as if he cares about seeing her.

"Hey, babe, I'm good," he tells her.

Y/N watches the scene and tries to limit the disgust that wants to appear on her face. Niall wonders off, and she's left alone with the pair.

"Who's this?" Emma suddenly asks Harry, as if she is entitled to any kind of ownership over Harry. He wants to be pissed off, but he also wants Y/N to go away.

"My friend's friend," Harry tells her. Y/N feels her heart pang. He couldn't even call her his friend out of convenience.

"Oh, interesting," she says, and Harry can tell she's not convinced.

"Yeah, I'm Y/N! It's actually my first party, and you're really pretty! Do you-" She's cut off by the girl who's practically hanging off of Harry's arm.

"Do you have a thing for Harry?" She asks.

"Oh! What? No- no-"

"Chill, Emma," Harry says, and Y/N almost thanks him before he continues, "Don't worry, she's the complete opposite of my type," he assures with a cocky smirk. The two laugh, and Y/N wills herself to walk away.

It's an hour and a half later, and Y/N is more than ready to go home. She's leaned against a wall, her phone dead and her head hurting. She doesn't have the strength to go find her friends, and she's kind of hurt they've all left her at her first party. She knows that this isn't about her, but she's scared and nervous, and they knew that but still begged her to come. She's just sad and scared and wants to go home.

"Hey, are you okay?" She hears someone ask in her ear, and she almost jumps out of her skin.

"Oh gosh, you scared me!" She gasps and meets the eyes of who's talking to her. He's a very cute boy who's holding a red solo cup.

"Sorry!" He apologizes and touches her shoulder with a smile. She smiles back. "I'm Ian," He introduces himself, shaking her hand in his.

"I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you," she tells him.

"So, I take it you don't usually come to parties," He asks, and she nods.

"My first one actually," she grimaces.

"Let's go get you a drink," he suggests and takes her hand in his, not waiting for an answer before taking her to the kitchen. It's surprisingly empty when they walk in.

"I don't- I uh- I don't drink," she admits.

"Ah, c'mon. One drink won't hurt," he tries to persuade her.

"No, thank you," she says again.

"Alright," he settles. "I think this punch is non-alcoholic," he says to himself and grabs her a cup. She zones out as he pours her a cup. She thinks this guy is cute, but she really just wants to go home. She's broken out of her thoughts when a cup is being handed to her, and an arm is being thrown around her shoulder. Her eyebrows furrow as 'Ian' leans closer to her. "Are you going to say thank you?" He asks, and his tone makes her skin crawl. She laughs awkwardly and tries to shift away from him, but his hands move to her waist and his grip is too tight.

"Ah- that hurts," she tells him, but he only tightens his grip, so she can't move. "I- I want to leave," she whimpers.

"Yeah? Let's go to mine," he says and tries to lean forward to put his mouth on her.

"No- no," she says and tries to push at him.

"Just one little kiss," he tells her. Her first kiss was about to be took from her. Tears roll down her cheeks as he gets closer, but fortunately, he's suddenly being roughly pulled away from her.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Harry's loud and rough voice makes its way to her ears.

"Ay- the fuck, man? We're a bit busy," the scumbag tells Harry. "Didn't realize she was already claimed."

"A woman doesn't need to be claimed for you to not force yourself on her. Walk away, or I'm going to drown you in this punch," Harry warns, and the dude scurries off.

Harry's glare makes her want to cry all the more.

"C'mon," he says gruffly and with a gentle hand, he wraps his hand around her wrist, pulling her all the way outside and to his car. She doesn't even think twice about getting into his car and buckling. Her mind is a state of fog. Harry starts the car and rests his head against the steering wheel, his breathing rapid.

"Are you okay?" She asks gently.

"You- You're asking me if I'm okay?" He laughs condescendingly and buckles himself in before putting the car in drive.

"Well, you seem really mad, and- and maybe you shouldn't drive if-"

"I need you to stop talking," he says suddenly. "I mean seriously- what were you thinking, Y/N?" He asks with his voice raised.

"I don't- I don't-"

"Yeah, you don't think." Harry doesn't think he's ever been this mad before. He saw the beginnings of her and the guy- him practically dragging her to the kitchen and her just going along with it. He saw red. "Did you even watch as he poured you a drink? Do you even know this guy before you just ran off with him?" His questions upset her further, making her feel stupid.

"I was- I was just flustered, and I wanted to go home, and I didn't know what to do-"

"You don't fucking follow a random dickhead alone at a party!" His voice is loud in the small car. It's quiet for a moment, giving him a second to just focus on the road in front of him as he heads to her house when he hears a stifled cry that breaks him out of his moment. "Are you crying?" His anger falters.

"Well, yeah!" She sobs. "I was left alone at my first party- then I almost get molested- now, I was forced to get in the car with you, and- and- and I'm just scared!" She cries.

Harry doesn't particularly know what to do in this situation. All he knows is that his heart is twisting and pulling in his chest.

"There's nothing to be scared about now." His voice is incredibly softer than before.

"I'm stuck in- in the car of the guy who hates me, and I'm scared," she whimpers, her chest heaving as she tries to suck in air between each word.

Harry's heart dies.

"You're scared of me?" His voice is quiet and insecure.

"Yes," she says simply as if she doesn't understand the gravity of her words. Harry continues driving as he feels wet droplets fall down his cheeks. "Are you- Are you crying?" She asks, concerned but also confused. The tables have turned.

"Well, yeah!" He laughs sadly. He's never felt more like a piece of shit.

"Um- I don't- I don't know what to do," she admits. The car is silent until they pull into her driveway. Harry still has tears running down his cheeks, and Y/N feels frozen.

"Okay- we're um- we're here," he announces as if she doesn't know she's at her own home.

"Harry, why don't you come inside. I don't feel comfortable letting you drive home," she tells him.

"I'm f-fine," he tries to laugh it off, wiping roughly at his red eyes.

"If not for you, I really don't want to be alone right now," she admits.

"But I thought- You're scared of me?" He questions.

"I was merely being dramatic. Tonight was heavy, and you're the most unlikely person to be with at the moment," she explains. "C'mon. I'll brew us a pot of tea," she encourages and gets out of the car. Harry thinks for a moment before ultimately getting out of the car and sheepishly following her up. She unlocks the door and ushers him inside quickly before her mut could escape.

"Hi, Pickle," he greets her dog quietly.

"You remember his name," she says, shocked while bending down to scratch at Pickle's ears.

"'Course," he agrees and also pets her dog.

"Okay, I'm going to go put on a pot of tea. Make yourself comfortable," she tells him before scurrying off to her kitchen.

Harry, still feeling emotional, wanders around the room, looking at pictures. He notices he's not in any. He knows he had no right to be. Still, it makes him cry harder.

"Okay, I've got- oh," she freezes with two cups of tea in her hands as she watches Harry breaking down in front of her. She sets the tea down on her coffee table. "Why don't you come sit down, Harry?" She suggests with a soft voice and sits down on the couch herself.

"I'm sorry. This is so em-embarrassing," he cries and plops down on the couch, covering his face with his hands as his shoulders shake.

"Um do you- I can-" Y/N splutters words as she tries to figure out what to do. "Do you want a hug?" She finally asks. She thinks she's the one that should be being comforted right now, but it almost makes her happy to see this side of Harry. Not that she enjoys anyone's sadness, but it's nice to see him vulnerable instead of conniving. Harry slowly looks up at her, and she holds her arms out. He cries as he shuffles into her arms. His face is buried in her chest as she rubs at his back.

"I'm sorry, that's not who I am," he repeats over and over even though she shushes him. They stay in this position, Harry's arms wrapped around her and hers around him as Harry starts to calm down. Harry takes in the moment. She smells fucking divine and feels so soft against him. He never wants to move. Then her phone rings. She starts to get up, but he shakes his head groaning, "No."

"Okay, then," she sighs before shifting to get her phone out of her back pocket. Harry lays flat against her body as she answers Sarah's phone call, his nose nudging at her tummy as he continues to sniffle. She courses her fingers through his hair making him stifle back a moan. He can't believe the full 180 his brain has done on him, but he can't find an ounce of hatred he once felt towards her. He doesn't want to either.

"Hello?" She answers.

"Y/N? Oh, Y/N, I've been looking for you. Where are you?" Sarah asks frantically, and Y/N can barely hear her over the loud party music.

"I uh- I left," she tells her, and Harry rests his chin on her chest to look up at her. She hates to admit it, but her breath gets caught in her throat looking at Harry's red, puffy eyes. She's always thought he's the most attractive person she's ever met, but right now, he looks so effortlessly pretty. He looks gentle for the first time ever.

"Are you safe? Where are you?" Sarah continues to ask.

"I'm home."

"Oh, Y/N. I'm so, so sorry. I thought Niall would have stayed with you, so I thought it was okay to leave you with him, but he didn't and-"

"It's okay, Sarah," she assures. She doesn't want her friend to feel bad. The thought makes her stomach churn.

"No, it's not," Harry counters, and Y/N presses a finger to her lips, but it's too late.

"Is that Harry?" Sarah asks.

"Um, yeah. He took me home. There was a slight problem at the party- some guy wasn't leaving me alone," Y/N explains.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. Can I come over? Mitch and I will bring food, and Niall can-"

"No, no, Sarah it's okay! You don't have to do any of that. Harry's not bothering me- we're good." Harry smiles at that and lays his head back down on her chest.

"Okay," Sarah replies, doubtful. "I'm going to make it up to you. It was so fucking inconsiderate of me, especially with your past and anxiety-"

"Okay, Sarah, I got to go!" She says. Harry caught the last of what Sarah said, and his eyebrows furrow. They say their goodbyes before hanging up. Y/N sighs and tilts her head up to stare at the ceiling. They sit in silence as Harry's sniffling comes to an end. "Feel better?" she breaks the silence.

"Uh, yeah," Harry answers. "What did Sarah mean by 'your past'?" Harry asks. He feels Y/N tense, and he immediately regrets asking. "I'm sorry- you don't have to answer. I was being-"

"No, it's okay," she sighs. "I just- my parents weren't the greatest, and I just struggle with crowded environments," Y/N explains loosely.

"Oh," Harry answers. "I'm sorry," he adds.

"It's fine. People have it worse than me."

"It's still okay to be upset by it," Harry rebuts.

"Thanks, Harry, but you're kind of the last person I will take advice from. No offense," she tries to explain gently.

"Fair enough," he laughs without humor. He feels her push at his shoulder, so he takes the hint and gets off her. He wants to whine from the loss of her touch, and it confuses him.

"You're really confusing me, Harry," Y/N admits as she sits up. She grabs her own tea and takes a sip before continuing. Harry doesn't think he's ever seen someone so beautiful doing something so domestic. "I mean, you've done a complete 180 in your behavior, and as much as I enjoy you not tormenting me anymore," Harry winces, "I don't understand it, and I don't trust it. I don't trust you."

"I know, I know," he sighs and covers his face with his hands. "I don't understand it either," he admits. Y/N scoffs and puts her cup down. "What?" he asks.

"You don't want to hear it," she mutters.

"Tell me," he encourages.

"It's just- It's really unfair, Harry. You do understand that, right?"

"I don't-" He looks at her in confusion. She continues.

"You can't just completely change your behavior in the course of an hour. I let you have peace for a while because I could tell you were really upset, but if you want to move forward- it's going to take a lot from the both of us," she explains.

A long silence ensues.

"I'm stupid- I'm sorry. You probably don't even care about any of that. Jesus-"

Harry realizes at the moment the exact mental state his actions have and still put her brain in. He makes her insecure and scared. His mom and sister would be so disappointed.

"Stop, Y/N, stop," he pleads. She stops. "Don't talk about yourself that way," he grimaces.

"That's how you talk about me to my face," she counters. "What the fuck else am I supposed to think?" Harry thinks that's the first time he's ever heard her curse. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that," she sighs and ducks her head. Harry can't help but admire her now. His brain is so mushed and confused with this sudden switch.

"Don't- don't apologize. I deserve much worse," he admits.

"I just don't understand your motive. Is this a joke?" she asks.

"Y/N, I'm being honest when I say I don't understand myself either. When I used to see you, you would just anger me. You reminded me of girls in high school that would bully my sister. They all started out super nice and kind, but somewhere along the way, they would realize that they had my sister wrapped around their finger, and they would toy with her. I love my mom and my sister, and I will always protect them and those around me, and so I just hated you. Dad was never around, so I had to step up."

The confession makes Harry feel as if a pile of bricks was finally removed from his chest. He realizes this is how he would have felt if he had just talked to Y/N in the beginning.

"I guess I can understand more now where your behavior came from but- I'm not like that. You've known me for so long, and I've never- I'm not-"

"Y/N, I don't think you realize just how completely entranced everyone is with you. Anyone would do anything for you because of the spell you put on people," Harry explains. "And I see now that it's not a bad thing to be under your spell. You're kind and patient and good. I've always known that. I just didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to like you, but how can I not?" By the end of Harry's speech, they're both in tears.

The draw he feels for her is indescribable.

He's leaning in before he knows it. His hand on her cheek, her eyes wide in surprise and confusion. Their lips are close when she speaks.

"What- What are you doing?" she stutters.

"Please," he whispers.

"Please what?" she asks. He doesn't know if she genuinely doesn't know what he's doing, or if she's asking him to beg, but both ideas make his dick harden.

"Please let me kiss you," he begs. He places his lips against her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, relishing in the way she sighs and softly moans. He cups her face with both hands, but before he could place their lips together, she stops him. She places both her hands on his wrists and turns her head.

"Harry, no," she whimpers. He immediately stops.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I don't- I don't know," she stammers.

"Talk to me, what's wrong?" Harry presses.

"I just- Harry, I want my first kiss to be with someone who actually likes me," she admits.

"I- I do like you," Harry tells her. "Wait- your first kiss?"

"Yeah, my first," she says sheepishly. "And I want it to be with someone who is attracted to me."

"I am attracted to you!" Harry encourages.

"No- Harry, you said it yourself- literally tonight- that I am 'the opposite of your type'," you counter while using air-quotes.

"That wasn't-" Harry realizes he's dug himself into a deep hole.

"It's okay, Harry. I know that it's going to be harder to find someone who likes me, but I know it can happen, and I want all my firsts to be with that person," Y/N explains. "I'm not going to kiss someone who just feels bad for me," she says, shaking herself out of his grip to look away, but he turns her face back to him.

"I am, Y/N. I am so attracted to you, and I think that's why I was even more of a dick because I hated that I was so fucking attracted to you," Harry tries to tell her, but she softly shakes her head with a sad smile.

"But you don't like me."

"I do."

"I can't tell. You have to realize how absurd your behavior is to me, right now. Harry, you've been so awful to me for so long, and I'm just not ready to forgive or believe you, I'm sorry- it's too quick," she tells him, her eyes holding all sincerity. Harry feels his own well up again, and she cups his cheek because even though she doesn't trust Harry, she never wants to see anyone sad. "Thank you for- for explaining to me why you acted the way you did- while it doesn't excuse your actions, I do appreciate it and your heart for your family and friends, and I'm more than willing to begin trying now with you." Her explanation ends with Harry in tears and her thumbs whipping them away. "Do you- Would you want to stay the night?" she asks.

Harry feels new hope in his chest.

"You sure?" he chokes out. She nods her head with a soft smile and stands. Harry looks up at her with all the wonder in the world and presses his chin to her stomach while she holds his hand.

"C'mon," she whispers, and she gasps quietly when he presses a gentle kiss to her clothed stomach before standing up with her.

They hold hands as they go to her bedroom, and Harry can't help the way he smiles.

"Let me go get you a change of clothes," Y/N says before disappearing in her closet. He looks around her room for a minute and can't help the comfort and warmth he feels. It's just so her. After a moment, he hears her talking in the closet and thinks she's telling him to come in. He opens the door, and his eyes grow wide when he sees her standing in front of her mirror in just her jeans and bra. Harry purses his lips as his eyes take in her body, and he fights the groan that wants to fall from his mouth. "Harry!" She gasps and covers her chest.

"Sorry!" He's finally broken out of gaze. "I thought I heard you- Hey, what is that?" His eyes zero in on the bruises that cover both sides of her waist and ribs. She looks down as well and bites her lip.

"Um, I think they're from that guy," she whispers defeatedly. He slowly moves closer to her, giving her time to back away or tell him to stop, but she just stares at him with wide glossy eyes. He carefully and with the utmost gentleness he can muster, places his hands on her hips. Softly caressing them, and the bruises littering her skin. He takes a moment just to take her in before speaking.

"I'll kill him," he sneers. It makes her softly laugh.

"No, you won't," she disagrees and shakes her head. "I'm okay," she says. dipping her head down to meet his eyes.

"You're very pretty," Harry counters. She blushes before moving away to get him clothes. Once she hands him the oversized t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, she leaves the room to let him change. She finds and extra toothbrush for him, and once they both finish their night routine, they crawl into her bed, keeping to their own reserved sides and both staring at the ceiling. "Thank you for letting me stay," Harry says, his head turning to look at her. His breathing falters as he looks at her. She just smiles in return.

"Just no funny business," she says softly before reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. They sit in silence before Harry adjusts himself. They both quietly gasp when his hand skims her own. His hand freezes over hers for a moment before he gently intertwines their pinkies. She makes the bold decision to, with her free hand, lean over and feel for his cheek before planting the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. "Good night, Harry."

Harry falls asleep with a smile on his face and new hope settling into his mind.

Y/N wakes the following morning to a loud banging sound and a heavy weight on her chest. Her eyes squint open, the sun shining through her curtains and to her irises. She groans and closes her eyes again until she hears the banging continue. Her eyes are wide now with fear and confusion. She tries to move to grab her phone but quickly realizes her body is immobilized because of a big sleeping Harry laying on her, his shirt now off his chest. His mouth is slightly agape, laying at the top of her breast. His arms are encircled around her waist and holding her tight. It was much different from the pinkies they had entangled the previous night.

"Harry," she whispers and tries to budge his shoulder. He doesn't move, just continues to heavily breathe against her clothed tit. The banging, which Y/N has realized is just loud knocking, continues, and she really needs to get up. "Harry!" she says louder and pushes at his head. He groans and yawns sleepily. "Get up!" she demands, but he's barely conscious.

"Morning," he sighs dreamily and settles back down on her, pressing a wet kiss to the top of her boob. He's broken out of his dreamy state when he finally hears the knocking. "What the hell?" he groans and sits up on his elbows, still caging her in.

"I need to go see who's at the door," she whines and pushes at him. He whines as well and gets up, taking her hand in his to take them both to the front door.

"I'm going to kill whoever is out here," he tells her, and she laughs because she doesn't believe he's fully awake yet. She likes morning grumpy Harry a lot more than normal grumpy Harry. As soon as he opens the door, people are barging in.

"Finally!" Someone yells, and Y/N's able to place the voice to Niall. She watches as he, Mitch, and Sarah all welcome their selves into her home with bags of food. The chill from the outside makes her shrink into Harry's side, and he wraps an arm around her before shutting the door. He rubs his hand up and down her arm to create heat for her.

"Is someone going to tell me what you all are doing in my home on this Sunday morning? Not that I mind, of course," she says and hugs each one of them as they get their coats and hats off.

"We felt like shit after being the shittiest friends ever last night," Sarah explains.

"Hey-" Y/N begins to stop her, but Niall cuts her off.

"No, it's true, Y/N. Felt like my heart shattered in my chest when Sarah and Mitch came to me all panicked cause they couldn't find you," Niall explains. His eyebrow quirks as he watches his best friend, who seemed to still despise the girl not even twenty-four hours ago, wrap his sleepy body around her, his chin resting on her shoulder as his body pressed against hers from behind. "Though it looks as if it might have been for the best that we lost you," Niall suggests and cocks his head. Y/N shrugs her shoulders and purses her lips, saying 'yeah, I don't understand it either'.

"Anyways," Mitch breaks the silence. "We thought we'd bring you breakfast then go to the winter festival in town."

"Sounds perfect," she says and moves away from Harry to set the table. Harry has to physically stop himself from whining, but Niall, Sarah, and Mitch all see his pout and look at him with questioning eyes. He blushes under their questioning stares. When she walks into the kitchen to retrieve silverware, they start asking the questions.

"What the hell is going on?" Sarah asks first.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry says innocently.

"You're acting like her pet, and not even a full day ago, you couldn't stand her. I'm definitely not saying it's a bad thing, but what-" Niall stops speaking because he genuinely doesn't know what to ask.

"Look, I don't understand it either," Harry begins, "But I just- I don't know. Something's changed. There was some weird fucking pervert at the party that was scaring her, and then when we were in the car, she admitted that she was scared of me, and it genuinely killed me to know that I was grouped in the same space in her head with that dickhead from the party," Harry explains. "I don't get it, but my mind has completely flipped, and all I want to do is just be around her."

"Wow," Mitch was the first to speak.

"Yeah, I know," Harry groans. "We had a really good talk last night, and I think she's willing to move forward."

"You know, Harry," Niall speaks, "There's a saying that there's a very fine line between love and hate," Niall sings with a mischievous voice.

"I'm not even going to argue with that," Harry sighs, and none of them have any time to speak on Harry's crazy admission because Y/N is coming back into the room with silverware, plates, and napkins. She eyes the tension in the room.

"What were you guys talking about?" she asks.

"Nothing, Angel. Let's get you some food," Harry tells her.

The town was decorated in the most beautiful festive decorations. Y/N felt real joy for the first time in a long time as she walked through the streets filled with vendors with her friends. She couldn't help how cute she thinks Harry looks as well. He borrowed a hoodie from her and was in his jeans and sneakers. He wore the hood up as he munched on a soft pretzel he bought. She couldn't help the urge to whip out her digital camera and snap a picture, not realizing the flash was on. She blushes when she realizes he caught her.

"Hey!" he accuses her. "I'm trying to eat my pretzel here!" He complains and pouts.

"Sorry," she laughs. "You just looked really cute," she admits. His cheeks flush red before he quickly shakes it away.

"Yeah? Well, you're cuter, and I'm keeping this hoodie by the way," he tells her before walking away. She follows him quickly and loops her arm around his waist to catch him.

Harry's cheeks seem as though they're now a permanent blush around her. He'd always seen how affectionate she was with their friends, and he thoroughly enjoyed finally being a receiver because he loves physical touch- especially from a very beautiful woman.

"You can't keep my hoodie, you thief. I barely have any as is," she complains and slips her hand under the hoodie to feel the plush at his hips. He always hated the extra skin at his waist, but now he thanks his mother for it. He feels overtly bashful at her touch, like he wants to smile and kick his feet like a teenage girl with a crush.

"I'll buy you some more, Angel. Just tell me if there's a shop you want to walk in," he tells her gently and wraps the arm that isn't holding his pretzel around her shoulder.

"Give me a bite," she suddenly says. Harry gawks.

"Uh- sorry, what?" He stutters.

"Of your pretzel, you perv!" she laughs at his flustered expression.

"Oh!" he laughs and reaches his hand out in front of her to let her bite the pretzel from his hand. He gasps when she takes the rest of the pretzel into her mouth. "Hey!" he whines and pouts at his empty hand.

"Sorry," she apologizes once she finishes chewing. She squeezes his side as she speaks, "I was hungry," she says with an evil smirk.

"Rude. Very rude," he comments though he pulls her tighter against him.

Little did they know, all of their friends were snapping pictures of them from behind, snickering and chatting about the newfound lovebirds.

Y/N and Harry seemed to be attached by the hip as the weeks went on. It had been almost two months since their new friendship was born, and neither of them realized how much they would click. Many nights were spent having dinner, singing karaoke, and watching movies together. When they were with their friends, they were always attentive to each other and sitting by one another.

It's a Friday, and Harry was on his way to visit her library right now. He'd been visiting her a lot and using it as a nice place to get work done. Work had been pretty stressful for Harry recently. He was managing a project for his company that's building a new stadium, and it's challenging in ways he hasn't been before, so while he's thankful for the opportunity, it comes with a lot more planning and map-outs than usual.

When he walks in, he sees her at the counter. Her shift is over in an hour, and he told her he'd pick her up once she got off, but he decided he could get some work done while he waited.

She's re-binding a book when he walks up, totally engrossed in the practice. So much so that she doesn't see Harry looming over her across the counter. He rings the bell that sits next to a box of tissues on the counter. She jumps and gasps when she looks up. A bright smile quickly covers her face.

"You're here early, puppy!" She walks around the counter to greet him as he blushes over the nickname. Ever since they became friends, their friends joked about how Harry follows her around like a dog, so she decided the nickname was fitting.

She squeezes him tight and wraps her arms around his waist as she looks up at him. Her chin rests on his chest as she speaks.

"How was work? Are you sore? I can give you a massage when we go to mine. I've been watching a lot of videos because I know your back hurts you a lot, and-" She tends to lose all sort of mind whenever he's around, and he has to reign her in.

"Angel," he interrupts her and laughs when she pauses abruptly.

"Sorry, I was rambling," she blushes. He kisses her forehead.

"It's okay. I love hearing you speak," he tells her honestly.

Harry never takes for granted the way she speaks to him because there used to be a time when she was too afraid to.

"I would love a massage, my love," he tells her and kisses her temple. "Work was good- fun. Got to tear down walls today, and that's always really fun, and before you ask, I promise I was wearing all the right gear, so don't go scolding me," he eyes her, and she smirks.

"Good boy," she says.

Harry damn near busts in his jeans at her praise. She continues talking like nothing happened.

"Why are you here so early? I don't get off for another hour."

"I- um. I- I know. I was- I figured I could get some work done," he stutters out.

"Okay, silly," she laughs at his speech. She unwraps herself from him and walks behind the counter. "You can sit back here with me. I'm the only one working," she offers, and he nods his head. She places a stool next to hers, and they both get to work for the next hour.

"We've watched this movie a billion times, H! Not again!" Y/N complains when Harry tries to put on The Notebook for the millionth time. They're both cozied on her couch after eating some takeout sushi. Harry's wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. Y/N's wearing a new purple hoodie Harry bought for her and a pair of tiny sleep shorts. Harry had been fighting the urge to stare at her thighs since they got back.

"Well, until you get some good movie taste, we're watching mine." They're banter was playful and not harmful.

Y/N huffed as he started the movie and scooted to other side of her couch, away from him.

"Don't be mad at me, sweet girl," he says before pulling her sideways into his lap. "Be mad at yourself and your terrible movies," he laughs and tightens his arms around her when she tries to escape his hold. She continues to squirm until he pulls her close and bites down on her neck. She lets an airy moan escape her lips as he sucks and kisses at the spot.

"Teething at me like a needy puppy," she tells him and cards her fingers through his hair. Y/N has never been with a boy before, so she doesn't know if what her and Harry are doing is normal or not for just friends, but she doesn't care. She just likes what he does. "Are you seeing anyone right now?" she asks him out of nowhere. The angst she would feel if he said yes would make her cry.

"I'm seeing you all the time," he tells her and kisses at her chin and jawline. It was when Harry got like this that she had a hard time thinking clearly. She thinks she would say yes to whatever he asked if he was being as lovey as he gets.

"I mean are you dating any girl right now," she corrects him.

"I know what you meant, Angel," he tells her. "I haven't seen anyone but you since the night of the party," he says honestly, and it makes her smile and place her head against his chest. He runs his fingers through her hair as he speaks. "It's totally okay whatever your answer is to this, but I wanted to ask you." Her head quirks up to look at him with a confused face. "Have you uh- Have you forgiven me?" He asks, and he immediately looks away. "It is more than okay if you haven't because I was incredibly awful to you for so long, and I know if I was you, I would have a hard time-" She presses her hand against his mouth to shut him up.

"I forgive you, Harry," she says. "Forgave you a long time ago," she tells him honestly and releases her hand from his mouth.

"You serious?" he asks, and she nods. His eyes well with tears, and he hugs her to his chest. "Thank you. I don't deserve you," he whispers into her hair and kisses her head. They watch the movie for a while until Harry speaks again. "You remember that night when I tried to kiss you?" He asks.

"'Course," she tells him, wondering why he's bringing it up.

"Have you kissed anyone since then?" She sits up to look at him.

"Now when would I have had the time to?" She gestures to his hold on her. "You've got me locked down 24/7," she laughs.

"Would you say no if I asked to kiss you now?" he asks, bracing himself for the answer. She takes a moment to think about it.

"I would definitely let you kiss me," she tells him, and he grabs her face, about to plant a big smooch on her lips until she stops him, laughing at his eagerness. "But wouldn't that make this weird?"

"Make what weird?" he asks.

"Us," she tells him.

"Nothing has to be weird unless you make it weird," he tells her.

"But- but we're in such a good place as friends-"

"Friends kiss all the time!" Harry counters, though it makes his heart clench at the thought of them just being friends. "Though I do think we're a bit more than that," he adds, and she smiles. He becomes serious again, holding both sides of her face in his strong, rough hands. "I'll make it so good for you," he promises.

"I don't know, puppy," she sighs, but they both know she wants it. She just wants to make him work for it a bit.

"Please, please," he whispers.

"Just one little kiss," she tells him. He nods his head and begins to lean forward. She cups both of his wrists like she had done that first night and breathes shakily until his lips finally meet hers. She sighs, her first kiss finally taken. She doesn't even know if it counts as a kiss because their lips are just pressed together until they start smiling against each other. She pulls back to giggle, but he pulls her back in, this time actually kissing her. His lips massage her own, and she doesn't really know what's she's doing, but she just tries to mimic his actions. He moans as she picks up on it quite quickly. "Okay," she breathes and backs away. Harry whines and cups the back of her neck to try and reel her in.

"Please. A little more. You're so good- taste heavenly," he comments. Harry feels like he's experiencing his first kiss again as well. Nothing had ever felt like that before. Nothing had ever felt so good. He could feel himself chubbing up in his pants just from the one kiss.

"I told you one kiss, Harry," she reprimands him, but he shakes his head.

"Was it not good for you?" He asks. He knows she enjoyed it. She's panting like a dog in heat, and he can see her subconsciously pressing her thighs together. He just wants her to kiss him again. "My lips not good enough for your perfect mouth, pet?" he asks with a pout and lets a finger caress her bottom lip.

"No, that's not it at all, Harry!" she says eagerly. "It was perfect. The best first kiss I could have asked for. I just don't want to complicate things," she tells him.

"It's already complicated, babe. That's our thing," he tries to reason, and she laughs. He can see her slowly start to let down her wall, and he takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss at her neck and jaw, trying to coerce her more.

"It did feel very good," she sighs and grabs the back of his neck, holding him against her own.

"Yeah?" he mumbles against her skin before sucking a hickey into her neck.

"Yeah," she moans softly. "Okay, okay, I don't care anymore. Just kiss me," she begs.

"Sound so sweet begging for me," he tells her and cups her cheeks, caressing her cheekbones with his thumbs. Her eyes well as she waits for him to lay one on her.

"Harry, c'mon," she whimpers.

"Don't cry on me," he coos. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait. I'll give you what you want, my love," he assures her and with that, plants his lips back on hers. She's more eager this time around. Her lips move more feral against his, and he groans deeply when she nips at his bottom lip. The exchanging of saliva makes her feel dirty in the best way possible. She's still sitting sideways on her lap, but her body is aching for her to straddle his thighs and grind against his crotch as she pushes her tongue against his. Harry realizes very quickly how dirty she is for being a virgin. Her tongue found its way into his mouth first, and she didn't hesitate to mold hers against his. Harry fights the urge to move his hands lower and grasp at her body, but he doesn't want to scare her by moving too quickly. Luckily, he doesn't have to wait much longer until she's requesting exactly what he wanted.

"Can I sit in your lap?" she asks breathlessly. She doesn't let him speak, instead missing the way his mouth felt against hers too bad that she kisses him again, her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling in a way that makes him whine.

"You are sitting in my lap," he mumbles against her lips.

"No, I mean like- Can I just show you?" she asks impatiently. He nods his head and chokes on his own spit as she straddles his thighs and presses her crotch down onto his roughly. "This okay?" she asks.

"S-so okay," he tells her and grips her hips.

"Why does that feel so good?" she asks rhetorically and continues to roll her hips against his.

"Baby- I don't think you know what you're doing," he tells her. She shrugs and continues to do it because it feels good against her pussy. "Wait, wait, wait," he makes her pause.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"More than," he assures her. "But I want to talk to you first before we go any farther."

"Okay, well hurry up because I would like to continue." He laughs at her horny, foggy mind that's making her bolder than usual.

"I need to know what all you've done- sexually speaking," he tells her.

"You know I'm a virgin, Harry," she says. "I've never done anything with anyone- well, until now," she smiles, and he reciprocates.

"Right, but what have you done by yourself?" he asks, and she blushes. "Nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassures her.

"I've touched myself before," she admits, and he tries his best not to whimper at the thought.

"Okay. Do you know all the terms of anatomy down there?" he asks.

"Yes, professor," she laughs.

"So, when you touch yourself, do you just play with your pretty little clit, or do you put fingers into yourself? Or do you have a toy?" She becomes bashful at his blunt speech.

"I usually do one finger inside and my other hand playing with my clit," she admits shyly.

"You're so fucking hot," he tells her honestly before grabbing her face to kiss her. She moans at his roughness. "Okay, okay, wait," he stops himself. She whines. "I need to know what you're comfortable with us doing, my love," he tells her.

"I just want to keep doing what we're doing," she whimpers.

"Okay? You like grinding yourself against me?" He asks, and she nods her head while biting her lip. Harry wishes he had his phone to take a picture of her. The embodiment of sex, and she didn't even realize. "We can both cum from that," he tells her. "You want to- Do you want to go that far?" he asks, and she nods her head eagerly. "Words," he commands.

"Yes, yes please," she begs.

"How would you feel about both of us stripping to our underwear, so we can feel each other a bit better?" he asks.

"Sounds really good, Harry," she says and immediately stands up to take her shorts off, but he stops her.

"You're incredibly cute with how eager you are," he laughs, and she turns red. He kisses her clothed stomach to assure her it's nothing to be ashamed of. "Let me take them off," he suggests. What she didn't expect was for Harry to sink to his knees in front of her and kiss at her thighs a bit first. It makes her feel extra hot having his mouth so close to her core. "Have you ever watched porn?" he asks suddenly as he bites a hickey into her thigh.

"Yes," she says breathily.

"What do you watch, dirty girl?" he asks as he sinks his teeth into the waistband of her shorts and starts to pull them down her legs.

"Um-" she stutters at the question.

"It's okay," he assures her. "It's just me," he says and squeezes her thighs in support. It was like those three words were all the encouragement she needed. He rests his chin between her thighs as she begins to speak.

"Well, I like to watch men um- eating out girls. I like to watch rough stuff, and I think I would like that a lot, but I think I would also like to just make love," she explains. "I also like watching girls giving blowjobs," she says suddenly like she had almost forgotten. "I also," she begins but stops herself in embarrassment.

"What is it? You're safe to talk to me, Angel," he assures her.

"I like to... read about things," she says.

"Okay. Explain," he tells her.

"Well, like- smut. I like to read little things people write about people fucking," she admits shyly.

"And what are the people doing in your favorite ones?" he asks.

"I like when they write the guy just being completely overtaken by his natural instincts to- to fuck the girl- almost feral- he's just taking what he wants, you know?" she explains.

"Did you know you're perfect? Like actually fucking enthralling?" he asks and basks in the way her face reddens. "I'm serious, Y/N," he tells her.

"Thank you, H. You're very captivating yourself," she comments.

"Oh?" he questions as he stands. His nose meets hers and they play tag with their mouth for a moment before she just leans forward and pecks him.

"You're an incredibly beautiful man. Always thought so- even before," she says honestly. His heart twists a bit at the mention of before. "The most alluring man I've ever seen," she tells him.

"You can't mean that," he disagrees, and his breathing shakes when he feels her play with the waistband of his sweatpants.

"I can, and I do," she tells him and presses her hand over the large bulge in his sweatpants. He actually moans from the contact- not expecting it from her.

"You're dirty," he gasps, and they both laugh. She doesn't waste another second before pulling his sweats down his legs and letting him step out of them.

She sits on her knees to love on him a bit. She's always loved his meaty sides, and now that she has the opportunity, she doesn't think twice before sinking her teeth into his loves handles. She smiles when he gasps as she kisses and nipples at his flesh. She surprises him once again when she presses her mouth against the bulge, letting her hot breath feed into the fabric and to his cock. He wants to push her away because he's afraid he's going to cum too soon, but he also knows that's the stupidest idea when he's got the most irresistible woman in the world with her mouth on him. It's when he feels her lick at his tip through his briefs when he back away and sits on the couch, shielding his clothed dick with his hands as if to protect himself from her.

She smiles at him as devilishly as an angel could. "You have an oral fixation," he notes, and she shrugs.

"Let's get to the fun stuff," she whines and crawls all the way to the couch and onto his lap. Harry doesn't think he's ever been so fucking turned on.

"You know you're every man's fantasy?" he asks, and she cocks her head in confusion. "A hot librarian," he expands, and she laughs.

"Yeah? You want me to read you a bedtime story, baby?" she asks, trying to make her voice sound sultrier, and it works. Harry's dick twitches in his boxers.

"I'm gonna cream in my boxers," he warns, and she laughs.

"Please, don't. We haven't even had any fun yet," she complains, and he shakes his head in amusement.

"Just start rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock," he instructs her, and she wastes no time before she puts her hands on his shoulders and begins to rut against him.

"Oh," she gasps. From the way his dick is positioned in his underwear, it's perfectly laid out for her to rub her clit against. "Is your- Is your dick big?" she suddenly asks. Harry, who was in a trance already from the way she was shamelessly grinding on him, splutters for words from her question.

"W-What?" he asks, his hips jutting up to press against her roughly out of instinct. They both moan at the sensation.

"It just- It feels really big, and sometimes you get a big bulge in your pants," she moans and bounces on his lap, trying to catch her clit on his tip.

"I have been told it is- yeah," he tells her. To be honest, he knows his dick is big. He knows it's really big. He usually would be cocky about it, but he doesn't want to scare her.

"Can I see?" she asks breathlessly.

"What?" he asks, his eyes bulging out of his head.

"Well," she begins, her hips stopping their movement. "I was just thinking that if maybe you were naked that it might feel better," she tells him. Harry's frozen in shock, but she takes it as him being unsure. "C'mon, please," she begs. "I'll let you cum on me," she adds.

"Where?" he asks.

"My- my pussy," she says quietly.

"Hop up," he tells her, and she quickly crawls to the spot on the couch next to him. She's about bouncing from how excited she is.

"Take your shirt off too." He laughs at how demanding the virgin is being.

"Need to spank your attitude out of you," he says as he takes off his shirt.

"Yeah, right," she scoffs but is silenced with his glare.

"I'm not going to show you my dick if you're going to be mean," he tells her and watches how her eyes round with wetness.

"I'm not being mean!" she complains.

"Yeah, you are, pet. And I'm being so nice to you- showing you everything, and you're acting like you don't care," he reprimands her. He's surprised when he feels her arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Please, puppy. Show me, please. I'll be so sweet to you," she pleads, her voice muffled in his neck. Harry smiles, feeling like he's won the jackpot in life.

"Give me a kiss first," he commands, and she acts quick. Because she acted on fast movements, her hands lands his neck to stabilize herself. Harry moans at the pressure it provides for him.

"You like my hand around your neck?" she asks. He feels himself begin to nod submissively but remembers that he needs to be in charge for the moment. He switches on her, instead cupping her neck with his hand. She gasps, and her jaw falls from the movement.

"I do, baby, about as much as I like my hand around yours." He uses the grip he has on her throat to pull her closer and spit into her mouth. She moans and swallows easily. "Okay, enough foreplay," he tells her and releases her neck to shimmy his underwear off. The gasp he hears from her when his dick comes into view is welcomed gladly.

"It's so big, H," she tells him and continues to stare at it. She gulps at the thought of it being inside of her.

"Don't have to worry about it being inside you tonight, pet," he tells her as if he could read her mind. "It's gonna make you feel so good though."

"It's so pretty, puppy," she tells him, and she feels the urge to put her mouth on him, but she holds back, not wanting to upset him.

He pets her hair as he talks to her, "Can we try a different position than last time?" he asks.

"Whatever you want to do," she tells him, and he smiles.

"Just make sure to let me know if you don't feel good or like what I'm doing," he asks as he cups her face. She smiles softly and leans forward to lightly kiss him.

"Thank you for doing this, Harry," she tells him sincerely and places another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you for letting me," he says. They both lock eyes and their lips meet again, completely forgetting about what they were supposed to be doing. The kiss is passionate instead of rough. Their lips are eager but not rushed. Harry ends it with pecking her lips a few times, making her giggle. "Okay, enough sap. We can do that after. I feel like I'm going to burst," he says, and she laughs.

"How do you want me?" she asks.

"On your knees, face pressed against the couch," he tells her, and she blushes before complying. Harry moans as she sticks her ass in the air. He's quick to get on his own knees behind her. He holds his dick up and places himself against her, grabbing her hips once he's in place. They both groan at the contact. He slowly starts to use the leverage he has on her hips to grind her against him, making sure to angle her up, so her clit is grinding against him.

"That feel so good, puppy," she whines and begins to throw her hips back at him. His hold on her tightens, but he allows her to help his efforts in making them both feel good. Harry has never done anything like this before, and it feels so fucking good. He raises her up enough so that her clit is catching at his tip before he lowers her back down to rub along his length. He thanks his job for the strength he has to lift her up and down on him like this. He takes a break from the rubbing to harshly thrust his hips against her as if he was fucking her for real.

"I can't wait to have my dick inside you," he moans.

"Yeah, baby?" she asks breathlessly, and he whines a yes. He groans when he feels her wetness seep from her panties onto his cock.

"Creamy little pussy," he moans and takes his dick away from her for a moment to rub his finger on her clothed clit. Her hips just forward at the surprising touch, but he lightly spanks her as a warning to stay in place. His finger ventures up to press at her hold through the opening, and the whiny moan that she releases only makes him press harder.

"I wanna see your face," she says quietly, and he could almost cry from how sweet she sounds. He taps her hip, so she takes the hint and turns around to lay flat on her back. She smiles up at him once she can see him, and he can't believe there was ever a time where he hated this girl.

"You're so beautiful, and you're doing so good for me," he tells her as he cups her head and kisses her hair. "Do you feel good?" he asks.

"Very," she answers quickly. "I want to try something though," she says shyly.

"What is it? Whatever you want," he assures.

"Can I show you?" she asks, and he nods his head. He gasps when she wraps a gentle hand around his dick, a bit of precum slipping from the tip when she gives a little tug. He thinks he dies when she slips her underwear to the side and places her bare dick against her naked pussy. She throws her head back at the contact and more cum oozes from Harry's dick.

"Oh, baby," he moans and places a hand on the length of his dick to press down on it as he glides against her pussy. She isn't shaved, but she's trimmed and well-groomed like Harry is, and it makes it feel so much better with the extra sensation. He uses two fingers to spread her open, so his dick rubs right over her clit, and he thinks she might die at the expression she makes. Her mouth is dropped, and her eyebrows are scrunched together in pleasure. She holds her thighs up and apart for him, and he doesn't think he's ever felt so attracted to a human.

"You're leaking so much," she moans as she looks down at them together.

"It's for you- It's all for you," he whines and ruts against her harder. She loves seeing him so whiny and submissive. She moves her panties so that her dick is actually inside of them now, so he doesn't have to hold it down anymore, and it makes them both moan to watch the erotic scene unfold. Her cotton panties are becoming see-through with their combined wetness.

"Love your dick, H," she moans and presses on him through her panties.

"I love your pussy," he moans back. "So fucking creamy and soft," he adds.

"I'm gonna cum," she tells him and grabs him by the back of the neck to kiss him. It's sloppy, and they're basically just trading saliva, but it makes it so much hotter. They're both so far gone.

"Please, Angel. Baby, please cum for me. Let me feel it," he says and moans when he feels her push on his dick harder, the pressure making her orgasm. It's intense and prolonged because Harry never stops moving. He can't help but cum as well when he feels his tip catch her hole. He fights the urge to just stuff her full with his dick, instead cumming against her pussy that's still covered by her, now, ruined panties.

"Wow," she breathes as they both feel the aftershocks. She pulls her panties to the side, and they both moan at the mess they created. He takes his softening dick and spreads his cum all over her. He leans down to smear a wet kiss against her lips, and they both sloppily make-out until Harry's weak arms give out, and he lays on top of her. They fall asleep in each other's embrace.

It's Y/N's second party.

This one is already going much better than the last. Harry hasn't let one second go by that he doesn't have some sort of physical contact with her. It's been two weeks since their moment at her house, and he hasn't let her forget about it.

Right now, Harry and Y/N are standing in the kitchen talking to some of Harry's friends. Well, Harry's talking to them, Y/N's basking in the way he has her back pressed against his chest, and how his hand is casually resting at the bottom of her throat. His casual dominance makes her pussy throb.

"You okay, pet?" his voice in her ear spooks her until she relaxes back into his hold. His friends are occupied with themselves for the moment, so he takes the opportunity to love on her, pressing a kiss to her cheek and discretely squeezing at her throat.

"Y-yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought," she explains.

"It's okay. Just let me know the second you're ready to leave, and we can go," he promises her. She rolls her eyes and turns around in his hold to look at him. His hands gravitate down to hold her ass with a smirk.

"You know you don't have to babysit me, right?" she asks.

"Not babysitting. Why would I want to be without you?" he asks like she's acting dumb. She goes to speak, but she's interrupted by his fratty friends.

"Hey, H! Come play beer pong with us!" One of them shouts at him and shoves at his shoulder, making both him and Y/N stumble a bit. He goes to reprimand him, but Y/N stops him.

"He would love to!" she tells them when she turns around.

"Y/N-"

"No, H. Go have some fun. I'll be fine, I swear. I'll go find Niall," she assures him.

"Harry, dude, c'mon. Tell your babe goodbye for like twenty minutes, man," they all laugh at how whipped he is. Harry glares at them. Y/N makes the decision for him.

She kisses his cheek and says, "I'll see you later!" Before she scurries away to find Niall. Harry's grumpy as he goes to play beer pong.

Y/N somehow found Niall easily. All she really had to do was stop for a second and listen for his laugh to follow it. It had been about thirty minutes since she had seen Harry, and she was certainly missing him.

"Can't believe how whipped H is for you," Niall tells her as they walk outside to find the firepit. His arm is slung protectively around her shoulder, and her hand is holding his that's wrapped around her.

"He is not," she counters. "We just like to spend time with each other," she explains, and Niall gives her a knowing look.

"He told me about the other night," he informs her.

"He did not!" she says suddenly and releases herself from his hold.

"He's my best mate, of course he did," he says easily.

"I'll kill him," she says seriously and starts to walk off to find him.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N!" Niall whines and hugs himself over her shoulders as she storms off, trying to find the culprit. "It's not like he told me what all did! Just that you got a bit intimate but didn't go all the way," he explains. She grimaces when she spots where Harry is with his friends playing beer pong. Well, where he's supposed to be playing beer pong. Instead, he's talking with a girl who's a bit too close for Y/N's liking. Y/N also doesn't like how into the conversation Harry looks. He's talking with his hands, and his facial expressions are animated.

"Let's go inside," Y/N says suddenly, and Niall furrows his eyebrows.

"Why-" he begins to ask but then stops himself when he sees the reason she wants to go inside. "C'mon," he tells her and doesn't give her an option to say no before he's wrapping a strong arm around her shoulder and pulling her along.

"No! I don't want to see this!" she complains, but Niall says nothing as they approach the group. Harry's telling the girl something when his eyes land on Y/N. It's like his whole world stopped, and Y/n doesn't have time to process anything before she's being engulfed in a rough embrace and kisses are being pressed all over her face.

"Y/N!" His voice is loud and joyful. "Niall, get off her," Harry scolds, and Niall just laughs.

"Don't be rude, H," Y/N tells him, and Harry pouts. He sinks his head into her shoulder and holds her tightly around her waist.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Niall," he says loud enough for Niall to hear. His words are slurred.

"It's alright, H," Niall just laughs.

"Harry, this is nice, but I can't breathe," Y/N tells him.

"I wish I was small, so I could climb in your lap," Harry says randomly, and Niall's loud laugh is heard for miles. "It's not funny!" Harry complains. "Oh, wait!" Harry abruptly turns around to face the girl he was talking to who's looking at him unamused now. "This is my wife, Y/N. She's who I was telling you about and why I did not want to make-out with you at all!" Harry looks and sounds disgusted at the thought of making out with the girl, and Y/N gasps. Niall's laugh somehow grows louder. "Once you've tasted her fucking mouth- oh, fuck," Harry groans just thinking about Y/N's mouth. "And her pussy- holy shit!"

"Harry!" Y/N scolds. The girl walks off coldly.

"Bye!" Harry tells her, but she doesn't even look back at him. Y/N turns around to find Niall bent over, hugging his stomach in amusement. "What are you laughing at, Niall?" Harry asks him and goes over to hug him.

"Nothing, H," he says once he's put himself together enough. "You drink a little bit, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry says with an evil smirk. "I was so shit at beer pong, so I drank like so much, dude," he tells Niall.

"I think we should get you home, buddy," Niall tells him, and Harry whines. Y/N comes up to Harry's side and wraps her arm around his hip. He seems to remember that Y/N was there and gasps.

"I missed you so much," Harry mumbles into her hair.

"Harry, I would like to go home," she tells him.

"Okay, let's go!" he agrees with ease, and Niall rolls his eyes. Y/N, Harry, and Niall all make their way outside and to Niall's car. Y/N gets into the backseat because she expects Harry to sit in the front, but she's surprised when he climbs in right after her and sits so close he should practically be on her lap.

"Oy, what do I look like? An uber?" Niall says when he realizes he's alone in the front. He starts his car up and starts driving towards Y/N's house.

"Sorry, Niall," Y/N says and grunts when Harry encircles her waist with his big arms and smushes his face into her neck.

"It's alright. I'm just messing with you, babe," he tells her.

"Hey, don't call her that!" Harry grumbles.

"Don't be rude, Harry," Y/N scolds and lightly swats at his head.

"She is my babe, H," Niall tells him, just to mess with drunk Harry some more.

"She's not your anything!" Harry cries.

"Niall, stop messing with him," Y/N now scolds the Irish man, and he just laughs in return. She suddenly feels a hand on her cheek and Harry planting kisses all over her face. He moves his hand down to rest at her neck, so he can angle her face however he wants. "Niall, can you hurry up? I'm being attacked," Y/N says.

"I'm a law-abiding citizen, Y/N," Niall tells her.

"Oh, please. I've seen you speed to go get a donut," she grumbles and grimaces when she feels a tongue lick her cheek. "Ew, Harry!" she pushes at him, but he doesn't move.

"You taste so good," he says before he erupts into a fit of giggles. "Fuck, I wanna suck on your tits," he groans randomly, and Y/N thanks God when they finally pull into her driveway. "Alright, goodbye guys," she sighs before getting out of Niall's car. She raises her eyebrows at Harry when he tries to follow her out. "Um, what are you doing?" she asks him.

"Uh, spending the night with you," he responds like she's acting dumb.

"H, I'm going to take you to your house," Niall tells him.

"What? No!" he cries and hugs Y/N's waist tight when she tries to walk away from where she stands outside the car.

"H-" she begins to say, but she's stopped when she sees Harry's eyes full of tears and his whimpery voice begging.

"Please, I'll be so good for you," he pleads, and she sighs. Niall doesn't know whether to laugh or be disgusted. He settles on taking a picture of a sad Harry practically wrapped around Y/N to send to him later. "Please, Angel. I don't want to be away from you," he cries, and how can Y/N argue with his pitiful little state?

"Alright, H. C'mon," she tells him and leads him out of the car.

"Good luck," Niall tells her before she shuts the car door and lets him drive off. Harry suddenly grabs her face and plants a sloppy wet kiss on her lips. She doesn't even have time to react before he's running up to her door.

"We're going to have so much fun!" he yells, and she shushes him, grumbling about her having neighbors. He waits impatiently for her to open the door, and once it's open, he's running inside in search of her dog Pickle. Y/N shakes her head, wondering what she's gotten herself into especially when she sees Harry laying on the floor with Pickle licking at his face. She grimaces, setting her stuff down and taking off her shoes before she makes her way to Harry.

"Let's get up and go to bed," she tells him, but he shakes his head and pouts like a toddler.

"I don't want to go to bed! You're being boring," he spits, but there's no real spite behind it.

"Fine, you can stay out here by yourself then," she says, knowing it will make him get up and follow her. As she's walking off to her bedroom, she hears Harry get up and scurry off in search of her. She quickly shuts herself into her closet to change before he catches up to her. Once she's changed into a large t-shirt and just her panties, she opens her door. She's not prepared to see Harry in just his boxers sitting at the edge of her bed pouting. She pretends to not notice him as she makes her way to her bathroom and does her nightly skincare and brushes her teeth. He follows after her quickly and shadows her routine, washing his face and brushing his teeth while looking at her expectantly the entire time.

Drunk Harry was needy for her.

Once they're both finished, they crawl into her bed. The lamp isn't even off before Harry is laying on top of her, weeping into her neck.

"I'm sorry," he cries. "Don't ignore me!"

"Why should I talk to you? Being so mean to me. Where's my sweet boy?" she asks, willing herself to not put her hands anywhere on him to mess with him more.

"I'm here, I promise," he whines. "You're not boring- not boring at all. You're the best person, and I love you." Y/N feels like the blood from her body was being drained at his drunk confession. "Don't be mad at me. I'm sorry. Am I being annoying? Oh, I am. I'm so sorry," he continues to cry.

"Puppy, I'm not mad at you," she tells him with a giggle. She finally lets her hand card through his hair, her other hand going to rub at his back.

"Okay, good," he says and begins to kiss at her neck again.

"You're incredibly needy," she sighs and leans her head back to give him more access to her skin.

"Yeah? Fuck, I'm so needy for you," he tells her, and her eyes grow wide when she feels him start to subconsciously hump at her leg. She feels his dick start to harden in his boxers.

"Maybe we should stop, H," she warns him.

"Why?" he whines like the thought of stopping brings him physical pain. His hips thrust into her thigh with more determination.

"Because you're drunk," she tells him.

"So? I want you just as bad when I'm not. I'm just better at being chiller about it," his speech slurs. "Can I suck on your tits?" he asks, and she feels one of his hands snake under her shirt to feel the bare skin of her stomach.

"Um," she stutters.

"Please? It'll help me sleep," he claims. "You can even turn off the lamp if you don't want me to see," he tries to convince her even further.

"Okay," she relents. She reaches over to turn off the lamp, so they're welcomed into the darkness. Harry wastes no time before his legs move to straddle her thighs, and he's lifting her shirt to feel at her breasts. They both moan when he glides his fingers over her taut nipples. He squeezes at them in handfuls and moans at the sensation.

"Fuckin' perfect," he sighs. She feels him scoot down so that he's resting his body weight against her now, and his mouth wraps around one of her tits. She gasps at the feeling and tries to work out the horniness she feels because she genuinely does want them to sleep. He spends some time swapping at both her breasts, biting, sucking, and kissing at both of them before he rests his head on her and keeps one of her tits in his mouth to lull him to sleep. The feeling begins to feel relaxing for her, and she feels herself start to drift to sleep as Harry sucks on her breast. She falls asleep with her hand in his hair and her boob in his mouth.

When she wakes in the morning, she's surprised to be in an empty bed. She thought for sure that Harry would still be resting on her chest or in her bathroom heaving over the toilet, but instead she feels no weight on her chest, yet she smells bacon and pancakes through her nose. She does her business in the bathroom and makes her way to the kitchen when she finishes. What she walks into is a sight she would love to wake up to every morning. Harry is in nothing but his boxers as he flips pancakes and sears some bacon on her stove. She says nothing for a long moment, just observes him. She finally decides to make her presence known when he walks over to the sink to wash some of his dishes once he finishes cooking the last pancake and piece of bacon. She feels his body tense then quickly relax when her hands wrap around him from behind and rub at his tummy.

"Good morning," his rough voice greets her, his body tensing with delight when her hands run over his abs and lower belly.

"Morning handsome," she greets him as well and rests her cheek on his back sleepily as her hands continue to wander. "How are you feeling?" Referring to his intense night of drinking.

"Better than I deserve," he laughs in self-deprecation. She laughs as well. "Honestly don't feel bad at all," he tells her and once he finishes the dishes, he turns around in her hold to see her beautiful morning face. He brushes a few strands of hair out of her face. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I barely drank anything," she shrugs.

"Um, how are your- your uh," he stutters, and she's confused until he looks down at her chest. She laughs lightly.

"Not sure. Haven't seen or felt them yet," she says honestly.

"Can I look?" he asks. She gawks. "I just want to make sure I didn't hurt you!" he explains honestly. She eyes him.

"Okay," she agrees nervously and begins lifting her shirt. She looks away as he looks at her.

"Oh, shit," he gasps.

"Are they ugly?" she whines and goes to bring her shirt back down, but his hand stops her.

"No- they're- they're fucking perfect, but I- I fucked them up a bit," he admits honestly. Her eyebrows furrow before she takes a look for herself. She gasps too when she sees the damage he did. They're littered beautifully with hickeys and a few bite marks. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," he tells her, and she looks up to see his eyes watering. She shakes her head as if to tell him not to feel bad.

"Is it messed up that I kind of like it?" she admits.

"You do?" he asks.

"I really do," she says and bites her lip. She finally drops her shirt to cover her abdomen again. She felt awkward just having her tits out in the middle of her kitchen.

"I really like them too," he admits as well and wraps his arms around her waist, bring her closer to him and leaning his face close to hers. He kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she sighs in contentment.

"Do you remember anything from last night? Anything in particular that you might have said?" she asks.

"Are you asking about me telling you I love you?" he asks boldly.

"Possibly," she replies.

"Well, what's to ask about it?" he wonders.

"Well, is it true?" she asks quietly and looks away from his gaze out of nerves. She feels his fingers gently grip her chin to make her look at him before he leans down and presses his lips against hers. She sighs into the kiss and wraps her arms around his neck to press him against her harder. Both of his hands cup her throat, and his thumbs rest at her jaw to direct her in any way he likes. He parts once he feels he's running out of breath. He rests his forehead against her own, and she looks up at him with expectant eyes.

"I love everything about you," he admits.

"You also called me your wife," she says with a grin.

"You are my wife- just without all the legal papers and rings and whatnot," he explains, and she shakes her head with a laugh.

"Harry, I want to have sex with you," she admits breathlessly and watches as his eyes grow wide at her statement.

"Are you- Are you sure?" he asks.

"The surest," she tells him honestly.

"You want me to be your first?" he asks and presses a quick, light kiss to her lips.

"And my last," she adds and sees him swoon. He takes a deep breath before speaking.

"Okay. Okay- um. Well, let's eat first. We need- It's good to have energy," he stumbles his way through his sentence. She whines in complaint.

"No, we can do that after," she says and goes to pull at his briefs, but he snatches her hands and leans in close to her face. The dominance radiating off him makes her sink into herself.

"I'm not going to fuck you if you don't listen to me," he warns. Her eyes gloss over. "Be sweet for me and go set the food on the table. I'll get our drinks," he instructs, and she scurries off quickly to obey. She's standing awkwardly by her own table when he walks in, and he chuckles lightly. He sets the drinks down and slowly approaches her. He cups her cheeks, and she nuzzles into his touch. "You're not scared of me, right?" he asks, wanting to make sure her behavior isn't out of fear. She shakes her head quickly with furrowed brows.

"No, no," she assures. "Just... want to please you," she explains and turns her head to kiss the inside of his palm. He smiles at that and leans in to slowly kiss her.

"Good," he says against her lips. "Then be good for me and sit on my lap while we eat," he tells her and smiles when she blushes. He sits down first and guides her by her waist to sit down sideways on his lap. She wraps one arm around his shoulders, lightly scratching at his hair as he cuts her up some pancake. He feeds her a few pieces with one hand on keeps the other arm wrapped snug around her waist. He goes to give her another piece, but she shakes her head and takes the fork from his hand to feed him instead. It goes on like that until all of the bacon and pancakes are ate. There's a tension that settles in the room once the plates are cleared.

"Please," she whispers, and that's all Harry needs to hear before he's carrying her off to her bedroom. She giggles when he throws her on her bed and crawls after her, hovering over her excited body. She moans when he rests his body weight on her and kisses her like he's starved. His tongue finds its way into her mouth quickly, and the once innocent kiss becomes messy and sloppy. Harry's pulling away from her panting and with swollen lips. He moans at the sight of her- bare-faced and fucked out just from a little kissing.

"Can I take your shirt off?" he asks roughly.

"You can do anything you want," she answers seriously, making him laugh.

"Don't speak too soon," he tells her before shedding her of her shirt. He moans at her only clad in underwear, her breasts beautiful and littered with his markings. "Oh, baby," he whines and gently tweaks her nipples with his fingers. She gasps and arches her back away from the bed. "Are they sore?" he asks before leaning down to flick his tongue against her nipple.

"A bit, but that feels good," she tells him. She moans when he kisses down her body and to the edge of her underwear. He bites the waistband of her panties and pulls back only to let go of them and let them snap against her skin. She whines at his teasing and buries her hand in his hair to encourage him to do something. He grins at her impatience.

"Bratty little virgin," he remarks, and she tugs at his hair as a warning.

"Big annoying man-whore," she retorts back, and he laughs before lightly slapping her clothed mound. Her body jumps at the sensation, but he's quickly tugging her back into place. He presses his mouth against her clothed pussy and blows hot air against her. She squirms at the new sensation.

"You need to stay still," he tells her and places his hands against her thighs, spreading them in the way he likes. He spends more time licking at where he assumes her clit is by the sounds she makes. He flattens his tongue and licks over her panties, moaning when he begins to taste her wetness. "Can I take these off?" he asks, but his hands are already dipping into the waistband to take them off.

"Please," she tells him and lifts her hips to help him take them off. She feels a bit exposed now that she's naked. She nervously closes her legs, but he quickly snatches them open again.

"Don't do that," he warns her. His jaw drops when he sees her bare pussy, a moan tumbling from his lips. "I missed her," he groans, and she shakes her head in annoyance. "Let me tell you what I'm going to do to you," he tells her, and he's suddenly hovering over her face, her eyes wide. "I'm going to make you cum on my tongue- finger you a bit until you're stretched," he pauses to act like he's going to kiss her, only to pull back at the last second. "Then, I'm going to fuck your sweet little virgin pussy. That sound okay?" he asks, though it's not really a question. Y/N nods her head vigorously and throws her arms around his neck to kiss him. He moans against her mouth, but before she could slip her tongue into his mouth, he pulls away. "We can do more of that later. Let me taste you," he says, and she bites her lip as he pushes down her body.

"Harry, do something please," she whines and grips his hair in her fingers. He pries her thighs apart and begins with a long lick from her hole to her clit. She throws her head back and lets out a long moan, her fingers fisting in his hair hard enough to make him whine, so she immediately let's go and apologizes. "Sorry! I'm sorry!"

"No, baby," he tells her and places her hands back in his hair. "I like it, I promise, so pull all you want," he assures her and quickly gets back to eating at her. He essentially makes out with her pussy, not caring about how messy or wet anything was getting. He pushes her thighs apart farther and shoves his tongue as deep as he could push into her hole. Her moans and whines could barely be heard over his own. His tongue curls and tries its best to get all of her in his mouth. He's addicted to the way she tastes. He takes his thumbs, using them to spread open her hole wider, so he can really insert his tongue inside her and taste her better.

"Fuck, Harry," she moans. It's like nothing she's ever felt before. It's so much better than anytime she's gotten herself off. Harry himself is pure sex, and it's hard to not let her brain get all muddled around him. "I'm gonna cum," she warns and digs her fingers deeper into his scalp when he switches to flicking at her clit quickly and moving his head side to side. Her orgasm is strong and continuous, taking her a few moments to actually breathe her way to the end. She has to push his head away when the overstimulation begins. He crawls up her body and kisses her cheek.

"I'm gonna have to go down on you again some time tonight," he admits, and she laughs at his eagerness. "Do you feel good? Was that okay?" he asks.

"Yes, and yes," she answers.

"Let me know when you feel ready, and I want you to cum on my fingers at least once before I fuck you," he explains, and she blushes and is a bit taken aback by how he can just talk about this stuff so easily. He sees her blush and smiles. "Don't worry. You'll be as dirty as me soon." His hand moves to her throat, and he teases her lips with his. "Corrupt your innocent little pussy and have you begging for me all the time," he tells her and kisses the corner of her mouth. She shudders.

"You sound very sure of yourself," she tells him.

"And your pussy already loves me. Just let it happen, babe," he sighs, and she giggles.

"M'kay," she agrees in content. "I think I'm ready now." He smiles before he begins to move.

"I'm going to sit behind you, so it will feel a bit safer and more comfortable for you," he explains, and she could almost cry at how thoughtful he is. They maneuver around so that Harry's is against the headboard, and Y/N is leaning back against his chest. He starts by reaching around and grabbing her throat, turning her head so that he can kiss her. They make out for a bit until Harry gets too impatient. "I'm going to start with one finger. Let me know if anything doesn't feel right, okay?" He kisses her cheek for reassurance. "Why don't you rub at your pretty clit while I finger you," he encourages, and she nods. She starts to rub at her clit, and her body sinks further into Harry's. His hand wraps around her, and he brings it to her mouth. "Get it wet, baby," he instructs, and she doesn't waste another second before welcoming his finger into her mouth and getting it wet with her tongue. She sucks on it like it's a dick and swear she feels Harry's dick twitch in his boxers. He takes his finger out of her mouth and rests his chin on her shoulder, embracing her from behind to see what he's doing.

"Feels so nice already," she admits and leans her head back, so they're faces are pressed cheek to cheek. She kisses his cheek right as his finger begins to circle her entrance. She bites her swollen lip and rests her forehead against his temple. He slowly enters the finger, and her hips grind upwards to push it in deeper. "I can take it, H. I promise," she assures him.

"You're tight," he hisses, his own jaw dropping as he feels her warm gummy walls embrace his finger. "And so wet, fuck," he groans, and he can already feel her wetness dripping down his finger.

"Feels really good," she admits, her own fingers still working circles around her clit.

"Can I add a second?" he asks.

"Please," she begs and nods her head in encouragement. She moans when he feels his second finger prod at her hole. She's tight, but there's no resistance as the second finger slides into her.

"You're going to be my perfect cocksleeve," he tells her, his head turning so his mouth is pressed against her cheek, her jaw wide in pleasure. She's almost panting. "Pussy's gonna make me cum so fast and so fucking hard," he admits. "Are you on birth control?" he asks suddenly.

"Yes- yes," she nods her head, throwing it back when his fingers begin to curl inside her.

"Shit- you gonna let me fuck you raw?" he asks and punctuates his words by beginning to thrust his fingers inside her faster. Her pace on her clit quickens to his speed.

"Yes- Oh, fuck- that sounds so good. Wanna- I want to feel your cum in me. Want you to- oh- fill me up," she fights to speak as her orgasm approaches.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, meaning for it to sound condescending, but it comes out whiney. He's on the verge of cumming himself.

"I'm cumming," she warns, but he just keeps his fingers moving inside her. Her orgasm seems stronger but doesn't last as long. The overstimulation comes quicker. "Okay- Okay," she winces and pushes his hand away. He removes himself gently as to not give her any pain. He doesn't waste a second more before he's sucking all her orgasm from his fingers, his eyes rolling into his skull at the taste. Once he cleans himself off, he wraps his arms around her waist to hug her to his chest as she gets her breathing under control.

"You did so fucking well," he praises, and she smiles.

"Thank you," she tells him and kisses his cheek. He looks at her, and when their eyes meet, they both feel the intensity. Their lips meet instantaneously, and she begins to turn around to straddle his lap. One of her hands goes to the back of Harry's head while the other cups his cheek tenderly. His hands settle on her waist, being careful not to make her grind over him in case she's still feeling any overstimulation. When she begins to mess with the waistband of his underwear, he pulls back.

"If you- We don't have to do anything else if you don't-" He's cut off by her hand groping his clothed dick. Harry's back slightly arches off the bed, and he moans quietly at the surprised touch.

"Trust me, I want to," Y/N assures him with a grin. She helps him get his underwear off and then gets back on his lap. They're positioned so that Harry is sitting up at her height as well, making it more intimate than if Harry was just laying down below her.

"It's going to feel deeper this way," he warns.

"Good," she says with a sly smirk, and he shakes his head with a smile.

"You're amazing," he says randomly. She smiles softly before leaning forward to kiss him. It doesn't last long because she's eager to have him inside her.

"I don't- I don't know what I'm doing," she suddenly admits with a laugh, and he laughs as well.

"I'll do all the hard work," he tells her. "Rub at your clit. It will help relax you," he explains, and she listens obediently. She has to raise herself a little so that Harry's dick can be placed at her entrance. "I'm going to push in, but I'll go very slow," he assures her with a serious look. He was so scared to hurt her.

"Thank you, Harry," Y/N smiles and continues to rub her clit when she feels the head of his dick press into her hole. They both gasp at the sensation, and Harry's presses her down until only his tip is inside her.

"Good?" he asks.

"Yes," she moans and fucks herself on the tip, in the process she sinks down about another inch.

"A fuckin' natural," he tells her. He's a little bit over halfway when she presses at his stomach. His eyes dart to hers that are closed shut. "Are you okay? Do you want me to take it out?" he asks in a panic. She laughs at his worriness.

"No, puppy," she tells him. "It's just a lot, and I've never felt anything like this before," she explains, and he nods his head in understanding. "Starting to feel really good, though," she admits and scratches at his abs. She sinks herself a little farther down.

Harry's trying to be on his best behavior, but his instincts are telling him to just grab her hips and start fucking up into her. It's the best pussy he's ever been inside of, and he knows she can feel him throbbing inside her. His balls are tight and round, stuffed with cum that belongs shoved inside her tummy. The thought almost sends him over the edge, picturing her belly and tits, that are still littered with his marking, round and swollen with him. His baby in her womb. The thought makes him whine.

"Are you okay?" she asks with a chuckle.

"Feels- feels too good," he whines and has to throw his head back when he feels her seated on his lap, having taken him all the way in. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, willing his orgasm away. He thinks all it would take at the moment is the sight of her innocent little body being corrupted, his fat cock shoved as far as it can be inside her pussy.

"It's deep," she comments, her voice almost as whiney as Harry's. Her eyes narrow at him and his distraught expression. He's still refusing to look at her. "Seriously, are you okay?" her voice suddenly worried.

"Yes. I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I'm trying not to cum yet," he explains. "You feel- really, really lovely. The best pussy I've ever been in," he moans.

"It's okay if you want to cum, Harry. I've already cum so much, and this alone feels really good," she assures him, leaning forward to kiss his lips. He whines into her mouth.

"No, no- I think I'm okay for now," he sighs and finally looks at her. He feels as if he just brought himself back to square one. She looks so perfect sitting on top of his cock it almost makes him cry. She's rubbing at her clit and biting her lip with the cutest smirk on her face. "I won't last long," he admits.

"Me neither," she agrees and begins to move herself on him. Her hips grind against his pelvis, making his dick press into spots she didn't know existed. She stops rubbing her clit and instead presses her hands against his shoulders for extra help.

"Fuck- don't even need my help," he comments. "Already the perfect slut," he says through a moan. Her eyes narrow at him.

"I can f-feel your dick throbbing inside me. Who's the- the real slut?" she stutters, the feeling of him stretching her out making her brain foggy and incoherent. He whines at her assertive tone and feels his balls tighten. He sits up further so that he can hug her waist, pulling them close together. He uses his leverage on her to bounce her on him, and the new feeling makes her third orgasm approach quickly. The intimacy of the moment adds to the intensity of her approaching orgasm. They stare deeply into each other's eyes as they both begin to finish with each other.

It's like nothing Y/N's ever felt before when his balls start to leak his cum inside her. Her own orgasm hits her like a truck when Harry's seed starts to fill her womb. He looks so beautiful fucked out in front of her, his eyes welled with tears of pleasure much like her own.

"I love you," he moans and dips his head into her shoulder.

"I love you too," she moans back, wincing when she begins to feel the overstimulation, though Harry's still finishing inside her. "Damn, you had a lot in there," she laughs, and he blushes into her neck. His hips rut into her on their own accord until he finally begins to calm down.

Harry's face leaves its hiding spot in her shoulder, and he looks up at her like she's everything in the world to him. And she is.

She's his whole world.

+++++++++++++++++

im never fucking looking at this story again. took tooooooo long. hope you enjoy though 🤪

[magesforthedas]

Just have to share this, because I keep seeing critiques of Veilguard that like, try to guilt people who say they love, or even like the game. And HEAVY critiques of the protagonist, Rook, and how they aren't really a hero.

ALSO it contains some SPOILERS so just be warned ☺️ and an edit of additional thoughts now!

Like, yeah I have a couple gripes about the game, but overall it's emotional and amazing and I care about the characters so deeply. I keep seeing how people are saying how Rook and the party were not well written because they caused a lot of death?? This is Dragon Age, everything always goes from bad to worse, but the characters always bring out the light.

Rook was put in a very shitty situation, and I've seen people say they caused the destruction of thousands by trying to prevent the hundreds. But how many people, before the game came out, said Solas's plan to tear down the veil was a bad idea? Not all, I'm sure, but most. I always viewed it, and I know I wasn't alone, as that by trying to "fix" things Solas was just justifying his selfish wants, when he knew somewhere in his heart that the people of today, including the elves that he was "doing this for", would rather live alongside their friends & family in a world without their old magic, than live in a world with it alone.

That being said, even with differing views in and out of the game, it's very reasonable that a group of people would try to stop him, not know the consequences. And the beautiful thing about Rook, why Varric chose THEM, is that they saw what they had created, and didn't give up, didn't leave it to someone else to fix. Whether or not it was really their fault they stepped up and tried to save the world the best they could, from the mistake they unwittingly made (which I would argue against the fact that they made a "mistake", looking at that they were hired to do a job & by successfully completing that job there were unintended consequences).

Parallels anyone? Dragon Age loves those. But the difference, again illustrated in the game, is that while Solas couldn't move past the regret of his mistakes, Rook could. And on the topic of the deaths of those around them, not everyone that died in the past was Solas's fault, but some he did directly lead to their deaths. And he accepted that, did it over & over. Rook never led anyone to their death. Rook walked willingly into it themselves, and the love and trust their companions felt led them to choose to die for Rook, and the world instead.

And people who say the destruction of the south means the earlier games were for nothing? How so? 20 years ago, 10 years ago, things were happening, people were dying that needed saving. The heroes of that age saved the world so it would still be around to save now. And who knows what the south really looks like, or what it might look like as and after rebuilding? We will, in another 10 years once BioWare comes out with more content I suppose, and I wouldn't be surprised if everyone we knew is dead, but I also wouldn't be surprised if many, many of them lived.

Because that is Dragon Age. Death, betrayal, sacrifice, cruelty, pain. It's a dark, dark world. But there is always a ray of light, of hope. And characters who will do their utmost to protect that .

EDIT: Adding!! To this!! And more spoilers!!!

We know because of the Wetlands that it's possible to cause the Blight to pull back. In the end scene, as people are being broken out of the Blight Roots, it seems to me like it's died, at least to some degree. In my playthrough, Neve was cured of her blight sickness. There's obviously some immediate changes, and that all means that the South could have had an immediate reprieve. Plus, once more surviving wardens from Weisshaupt are free to travel south, and all the factions up north get things relatively in order, the South could get a lot of assistance.

The South was overrun... By hordes, by growths? That's the land, what about the people? Could the combined might of the Inquisitor, the Chantry, The Free Marches, Fereldan's ruler, have evacuated enough people that the death toll might be high, but not totally catastrophic? Enough people have survived to rebuild, maybe with a better, more unified attitude towards one another?

(The last bit may be wishful thinking 🥲)

But still!! We have no idea what exactly happened down there. And no matter what, Rook did the best they could, they WERE a hero, and made a difference not only for the North, but everywhere affected.

And yes, I might complain about this or that, mainly that we don't get to put more past game decisions in.... But I love this game and that won't change.

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Cabin - Logan Howlett x ftm!Reader

A/N: Written for this request. I hope I did it okay. I left a lot of things vague, but I didn't wanna make up a situation for this one. Also, if anyone saw this post early, no you didn’t

I hope Logan doesn't come off as too ooc. Writing him getting angry around Reader didn't feel right for the request, so l wrote it like this instead

CW: crying, unsafe driving (due to crying), family fights, Reader has a toxic mother, I think this counts as hurt/comfort?, more crying, quiet comfort, cuddling, kissing, hugging, Logan's more of an actions guy than a words guy, hopeful ending sorta?, ooc Logan

672 words

You were crying while driving. It’s a little bit disheartening; how well you know this road by now. How easily you can navigate it, even with your tear-blurred vision.

But you don’t stop. You can’t. Where else do you go?

It’s not the first time you’ve driven up this road after a fight with your mother. But this time was different.

You’d finally gotten the courage to come out to her. To set her straight about who you really are. And of course, everything had fallen apart the moment you’d spoken the words, “I’m trans.”

Hell hath no fury like your mother. Even now, you flinch at the memory. You push it out of your mind forcefully. The last thing you want is to start bawling and have to pull over.

Pulling over means stopping. And stopping means facing the fact that you have four boxes in the back of your car, filled with everything she let you take.

All too soon, you’re arriving at your destination. Logan’s house. It’s small. Tucked away in the mountains. Cozy, with a beautiful view.

It’s become your safe place. The one place your mother’s too scared to venture. It’s home.

And now it may really become your home.

You take the time to clean your face up. Making it look a little less like you’ve been crying. He’ll be able to tell; you already know. But it helps you focus on something.

Finally, you exit your car. You leave the boxes in the back, taking only yourself as you walk up to the front door. His truck is in the driveway, so you open the door without knocking.

“Logan?”

“In the living room.” His voice is gruff and immediately soothing. Just the sound has a weight lifting off your shoulders.

You go further in, toeing off your shoes at the doorway.

He’s lounging in the living room, comfortably sprawled on the couch. He’s reading a book, though he puts it down once you enter. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Something breaks in your chest at his question. Your heart, maybe. Tears spring to your eyes and your voice comes out shaky. “I got kicked out.”

Logan sits up, beckoning you to come closer. “Come here. Tell me what happened.”

You make it into the safety of his arms before everything spills out with a sob. And oh, you tell him everything.

You can feel him tense as you speak, but he never gets angry. He never says anything. He just holds you.

Once you’re all done, he rubs your back. Quietly soothing you into soft hiccups of breath. Your tears have all dried up, leaving your eyes itchy and sore. You feel like shit, except for the fact that you're with him.

“Say something?” You whisper.

He rumbles out a sigh. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need. A place to stay, a voice against her. I’ll do whatever it is you want me to.”

You think about what you want. What you need. “I want to stay here. Will you help me get the boxes out of my car?”

He pulls you in for a gentle kiss and nods. But he hesitates before getting up. “No matter who you are, you’re always safe here. You’re always safe to be yourself.”

It’s gruffly said, but clearly heartfelt. You know he’s rarely so direct about it; preferring unspoken ways of love to words. But he’s doing it for you.

You hug him tightly, a silent appreciation of his words. He’s never been one for grandiose displays of affection or comfort. Instead, he’s your cabin in the mountains. Quiet. Steady. Always there when you need it.

It gives you hope. Confidence. Logan’s got your back. Whatever you decide to do, whatever ways you choose to continue on, he’ll go with you.

It gives you the strength to stand up, gather your shoes, and lead him out to finally face the boxes in your car.

No matter what, you’ve got Logan. And she can never take that away from you.

Logan Howlett Taglist: @yhlqmdlg @alekkkkssss

[avnche]

WHAT ONCE WAS

Changin x Afab reader {angst-fluff}

PART FOUR

8 MONTHS LATER

Everyday after you became Changbin's girlfriend you have been really happy. There are times where Changbin becomes really busy with work so he can't come over to your place but he does make sure to send flowers and small gifts in his absence.

Now it has been 2 weeks and he hasn't even replied to your text or sent you his regular "Good Morning" texts. You are aware that he has an upcoming comeback and his schedule gets really crazy so you didn't want to push things even if you were worried. You decide just to text him how he was before putting your phone down and focusing on the customers that just came in.

You quickly became busy with barely any break in between and like always your so-called friends weren't much help. It's always like this. Tae is always in the back on his phone, Jiho and Momo either doing the bare minimum or doing something that doesn't need to be done right now. Momo stood a few feet behind you cleaning off the counter where you placed your phone.

As you continued running the shop making sure every customer was attended too Momo noticed your phone was unlocked once she saw you had a text come through from Changbin with a heart at the end of his name. Momo being the nosy person she is picked up your phone and looked at your texts you shared with Changbin. She wanted to know if it was true...if you were actually texting who she thought. Momo looked back to check if you noticed her but you didn't. You were too busy ringing up customers. So Momo called the number. It only rang once and Changbin's voice could be heard on the other side. "Hey Baby, What's up?" Is all Changbin said before Momo quickly hung up the phone.

Is she really dating Changbin? HER!? Momo thought. She finally put the phone back and continued cleaning.

After a long busy day the work was finally done. Jiho, Tae and Momo were just heading out. You waved goodbye to finish the last couple of hours before grabbing your belongings and closing up shop.

When you got home you were so tired you didn't even bother checking your phone. You would have noticed the multiple text and missed calls for Changbin but you were just so tired that you passed out immediately after you laid down.

It was now the morning after. The sound of your phone constantly ringing wakes you up earlier than usual. You grabbed it from your night stand and answered it in a groggy tone. "Hello?"

"I have been calling and texting and you don't respond!?" Changin yelled. His never yelled at you before like this so you were completely caught off guard and almost speechless. "I was tired from work." You said calmly hoping to help the already heated Changbin. "Have you ever looked all over the Internet!!?" He shouted louder. You began to panic as you weren't used to him mad at you and from PTSD from childhood trauma. Changin knows these things about you which is why he never raises his voice at you.

"Look at your texts!! This is bad!" Changin yelled again. You removed the phone from your ear so you can look at Changbin's texts. There were multiple links. Your hands were shaking from the complete panic you were in but you managed to click on one of them.

It took you to an article titled. "Changin's secret lover; a lowly bakery worker!"

This article somehow found out your name and even some pictures of the texts you shared with Changbin. Not only that, they also said some nasty things about you and toxic fans upset at the whole situation, demanding Changbin get kicked out of the group.

"I.....I didn't say a...anything." You stuttered. "Then how do they know!? How would they get pictures of our texts!?" Changin was roaring. "I DON'T KNOW!" You shouted back getting fed up with Changbin yelling at you like a child. "I knew it was a bad idea, ever letting you back into my life!" Changin shouted again.

You immediately froze and were shocked at his words.

"Changbin!?" You could hear someone in the background telling Changbin's last words were out of line.

You immediately hung up after that. Your chest was tight and your breathing was rapid. You felt like you were going to pass out.

You knew you had to call someone before you do something rash so you decided to call your mom.

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's happening again...I need you" You managed to say even though you were having a panic attack.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes...just remember your breathing exercises." Your mom said before quickly hanging up the phone so she can be there for you.

Minutes felt like hours but your mother finally made it. Rushing into your apartment and into your room where you were. You were more calm due to your breathing exercises but you were in tears.

"Honey what happened?" Your mother asked as she rushed to your side immediately putting you in her arms so you could cry in her arms. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." You cried sorry feeling bad to call your mom, pulling her away from whatever she was doing just because you allowed some childhood trauma to get the best of you again.

Your father was a drunk who used to physically and mentally abused you. Not a day went by that your father wasn't yelling at you for the smallest thing. Your mother often protects you the best she could. She finally got enough money to leave him. You never saw him again. You were happy but you didn't know the trauma you went through you would have to carry for the rest of your life.

Changin yelling at you like that brought you back to that scared little girl hiding in your closet to escape his wrath.

You told your mom everything that happened. She knew about your relationship through the articles but she didn't want to say anything. She just knew that she had to be there on speed dial for you when the time came.

"Changbin is just angry right now...give it some time he'll come around."

That time became 4 months without a word from him. Eventually you have given up. What the media was saying about you brought you to a dark place. You stop showing up to work as you started to get those same remarks from your friends and the constant media trying to interview you was bad for business.

You quit and eventually had to move back in with your mother. You even had to change your number after it was leaked.

Surely Changbin was going through a lot worse but it wasn't your fault but at the same time you thought maybe he was right that you were a mistake to come back into his life.

[perryabbott]

i just think people need to remember being a nun was not isabelle's life calling and something she kind of took up mostly for survival. yes, she ends up finding comfort in it but i think that reducing her to A Nun (and in most instances not even using her name, just calling her "the nun") not only serves to degender her (because in a way it feels like people don't see her as A Woman, but A Nun), but also kind of takes away from her humanity. sanding her character down to this one trait seems the easiest way to make it seem like she's paper thin/badly written/badly acted/whatever excuse people want to use to hate her/be misogynistic about her presence/pretend to be surprised that daryl can care about her (in any capacity. not just in a romantic sense) because "she's a nun" as if nuns aren't People with thoughts and feelings. and isabelle has shown a LOT of personality. she is a survivor, just like daryl. she's so much more than "a nun" so the insistence to reference her solely by her faith just feels so forced

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Help! I’ve fallen for a rarepair from a show that ended 6 years 1 month and 7 days ago!

And by rarepair I mean there is one singular fic about them where they’re not a side ship or in a collection of smut drabbles

[loveanddeepthroat]

Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts. 

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—” 

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself. 

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly. 

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence. 

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.” 

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?” 

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry—”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

[katszumi]

“have you seen the abs on that man?” hagakure sat across of you. “sexy on a stick, i swear!” she giggles. she was going on and on about the guy that starred in the superman movie you girls put on last night. henry cavill was his name.

mina agrees with her statement with a nod. “he’s the hottest white man i’ve ever seen before.”

“sure, he was hot, but are we forgetting the misogynist comments he’s made? sexy is one thing, but being controversial is a whole ‘nother thing.” uraraka inserted her input.

“oh, please. i’d cook and clean for him anyday he asks.” mina retorted. both uraraka and yaoyorozu shake their head in shame.

“speaking of controversial.” uraraka murmurs under her breath, you peer over your shoulder, wondering the intent of her statement.

you notice bakugou making his way over to your desk, his eyes planted on you and you only. you shift uncomfortably. why the hell would he be coming to you? did you do something?

once he makes his way to your desk, you look up at him with a half smile.

“hey, bakugou. what’s up?”

his eyes analyze the other girls before looking back down on you.

“my pencil?”

you flutter your lashes at him. “pencil..?” you repeated in a trance of confusion.

he groans. “the fuckin’ pencil i gave you last week. i need it back.”

now it all clicks. you nod, laughing nervously because of your stupidity. you reach in your backpack and grab the black mechanical pencil that you forgot to lend back to bakugou.

your arm extends to the male in front of you, waiting for him to snatch it back.

“sorry.”

he gently grasped onto the pencil, his hand brushing against your fingers for a small moment.

“it’s whatever. just rather not be the one to find you after i lent you something.” he shoved the pencil in his pants pockets, leaving his hands in there. “that’s one of the last pencils i have.”

you shoot your eyebrows up in defense, quickly lowering them after. your eyes falling down to your desk for comfort.

“well, hope you take care of that one.” it was a half-joke. a lame one, might you add. you were just unsure on what to say. especially since it seemed like bakugou was lingering around your desk. as if he didn’t want to return to his seat just yet.

“so, what’d you score on your test?”

“ah…it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible.”

“well?” was he really desperate to know that bad? you knew bakugou was smart, so he probably only wanted to know so it could boost his ego.

you rubbed your arm out of shame. “a seventy-nine.” you stared at his face to recognize any humility or laughter, but there was none.

he shrugged. “should’ve asked for my help if you needed it.”

right. you almost forgot that bakugou offered to help you study and go over notes with him for the next test. it was such an out-of-bakugou thing to do that you nearly didn’t take him serious.

you nodded slowly, processing his information.

“i was planning on making it up, so maybe for that.”

“fine.” his short one-worded response was dull. but what else did you really expect? “next time, don’t steal my pencil.” was his last comment before leaving your presence.

you sat in your thoughts, reeling the conversation back in your mind. what the hell just happened? it was the most simple yet confusing conversation you’ve ever had. was bakugou joking with you or was he seriously irritated with the pencil situation?

regardless, you made a mental note that bakugou was very protective over his mechanical pencils.

once bakugou returned to his seat, he unzipped his backpack, secretly opening his pencil box. within the box were a collection of pencils. there were so many pencils that he could give one to all of class 1a and 1b and still have few left.

aside sat denki who was clearly peeking inside of bakugou’s bag.

“damn, bakubro. you saving up pencils for a potential pencil outage or something?” it’s denki. of course, he never used his inside voice.

“i will literally blow you out this fuckin’ window and across the lot.” bakugou turns his head immediately, a faint pink blush spreading across the apples of his cheek.

bakugou just didn’t want you to know that the pencil was obviously an excuse to talk to you.

pt 2 of the study sesh

[charminglygrouped]

For the past several years (and perhaps longer) in the P&P fandom I've seen a lot of people who want to rehabilitate Mrs. Bennet: like, sure, she's uncouth and seems greedy, but it's because she cares so much about her daughters' futures; her situation is actually really stressful and uncertain and she's powerless to change it and her husband makes fun of her, and so it's natural that it would cause her to be anxious all the time; maybe she doesn't have the intelligence or social awareness to understand that her behaviour is actually harming her daughters' prospects, but at least her heart is in the right place.

I'm usually not the type of person who argues that fandom is actually being too nice to a female character, but in this case I don't buy the counter-narrative (which I think is popular enough at this point to be fanon / a narrative in itself) about Mrs. Bennet.

For one thing, she was never really powerless in this situation. These people are rich even for gentry. Mr. Bennet's income was always good, at 2,000 pounds per annum (even though I can't believe he isn't neglecting some practices that could raise it higher). Mrs. Bennet had 4,000 pounds from her parents and a further 1,000 from Mr. Bennet. Invested in the 4 per cents (for example), this is 200 pounds per year in pin money that Mrs. Bennet could spend without touching the principle of her dowry, and without affecting Mr. Bennet's income. This is more than some people's entire yearly incomes.

The picture of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that we get in P&P is not of people who are helpless against their circumstances, but of people who are extraordinarily neglectful. We're told that:

Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. [...] When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydia’s birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy; and her husband’s love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income.

We also know that the "continual presents in money which passed to [Lydia] through her mother’s hands," plus her allowance and food, amount to about 90 pounds per year. Rather than saving up from the beginning in case the entail is not broken, rather than beginning to save once it's clear a son will not arrive, rather than making Jane's dowry the full 5,000 from her mother (which would be something) and saving up for the younger girls' dowries thereafter—which is what would be typical, and that's why Lady Catherine was so shocked that all the girls were out at once—Mrs. Bennet's housekeeping, dress, the girls' allowance, presents of money over and above their allowance, plus whatever Mr. Bennet is spending money on (and other expenses relating to servants, carriages, maintenance &c. which are unavoidable), add up to their entire income. The only reason why Mrs. Bennet doesn't overspend even that is that that's where Mr. Bennet puts his foot down.

Mrs. Bennet is actively harming her daughters' prospects, not even of marriage, but of living respectably if they don't marry, because she doesn't have the temperance not to spend all of the income that is allotted to her. It is the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of the housekeeping, servants, cooking, furniture, and all expenses relating thereto (plus certain attentions to her tenants and any living in genteel poverty in the area, though presumably this will depend on her income and whether there's a parish church with a parson's wife who's doing some of these things). She's an adult who should be competent to manage these things in a reasoned way without needing to be dictated to.

It is supposed to be the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of her daughters' education—and yet Mrs. Bennet did not hire a governess, and Elizabeth says that she didn't spend much time teaching her daughters anything (it's not clear to what degree she's educated herself). Granted, the girls did have masters—but, from the sounds of things, that was only if they requested them. No one was required to learn much of anything, which will probably further harm the marriage prospects of the girls who "chose to be idle."

I think the "point" of Mrs. Bennet is that she is one half of one type of bad marriage which the novel illustrates, in contrast with the Gardiners' marriage. These marriages are two possible models for the Bennet daughters to look to. At one point, Elizabeth's prospective marriage is explicitly compared to her parents', with her in the role of her father: Mr. Bennet says "My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life" (emphasis original).

We might wonder whether Elizabeth saw herself potentially in the role of her father, in a marriage that was very intellectually unequal, when she rejected Mr. Collins; or whether she also saw herself in the role of her mother, married to a man who insults and doesn't respect her, when she rejected Mr. Darcy. Ultimately, she accepts Mr. Darcy after she realises that he is nothing like her father; that he is diligent in attending to his responsibilities, and that he does evidently respect her mind.

This isn't me defending Mr. Bennet, who is also a bad parent and a bad spouse. I do, however, find it a little disturbing when people suggest that Mr. Bennet is at fault for not controlling or curtailing his wife. His wife is a grown woman. Surely we don't actually believe that a situation where a man is legally in complete control over his wife, merely because he is a man and she is a woman, is in any way natural, moral, or just? (This also goes for people who suggest that Mr. Bingley needs to get his sister 'in line' 😬😬😬.)

Mrs. Bennet should be competent to manage her household and her daughters. Given that she's not, yes, Mr. Bennet, according to Georgian and Victorian ideas of the role of a man in a marriage, "should" have stepped in and started dictating to her. But I don't really think that's what Austen is suggesting went wrong here. The models of good marriages we have—the Gardiners, the Bingleys and Darcys after their weddings—are all ones in which the women were basically sensible people to begin with. In the latter two cases, we are told of particular ways in which the men stand to benefit from some mental quality of their future spouse (Elizabeth's good humour and ease in company; Jane's steadiness and determination).

The ideal which some Georgians had of a husband's role being to shape his wife's intellect doesn't seem to be what's being advocated here. If Mr. Bennet made a mistake, it was in marrying a silly, selfish, ill-tempered woman to begin with, not in failing to browbeat her into submission once he found out that she was silly, selfish, and ill-tempered. The idea is that you should choose your spouse carefully. But that message doesn't work if Mrs. Bennet is just a woman in a difficult situation who has her heart in the right place.

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all. 

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion. 

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when—wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was. 

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view. 

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment. 

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow. 

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten. 

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile. 

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion. 

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race. 

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers. 

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.” 

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real. 

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box. 

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink. 

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation. 

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke. 

“I… uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink. 

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment. 

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. 

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table. 

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup. 

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming. 

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. 

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

[bananayuyu]

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

------

Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors at the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your eyes from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stiflingly hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

[racew1nn3rs]

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘷. (𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺) 🍑

⤷ summary: austria. mclaren pr department can't read the room so shit officially hits the fan. at least y/n is getting paid for her troubles. lando thinks he can think his way out of this one 🤣

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"You want us to what?" Y/n asked incredulously.

There is no way. No. Fucking. Way.

"I know this may seem out of the blue, or even slightly unorthodox, however-" Michael started. Thirty-nine years old, head of the McLaren PR Department, her boss, and he thought this was only 'slightly' unorthodox. Right.

"I think we're a little past slightly, don't you think?" Lando muttered from the chair next to her. He wasn't looking at her directly anymore.

She had successfully ignored 127 messages, 53 phone calls, 3 emails, and a handful of indirect messages from Oscar, and he still didn't seem to get the hint. She shot him down once again when he tried to approach her before their meeting, after she had purposefully shown up as soon to the start time as possible to avoid him. Maybe that had been the final straw and he had understood she had no intention of speaking to him.

Lando's eyes met hers and Y/n swallowed down the guilt at his kicked puppy dog look. He was very good at looking pathetic, and she was starting to become skilled at ignoring it.

Not skilled enough.

"I'm well aware this is putting you both in a very precarious position, especially you Y/n considering your career," Michael continued, "but since you two have begun to interact on social media our numbers have nearly tripled. We've increased our social following across all platforms, we've increased engagement, Christ, we've even increased our merch sales. But if you two dated, a real, PR contract-based relationship, the results would be more than we could have hoped for at the start of the project."

"That was the point of hiring me," Y/n said sitting up. Yes, she was annoyed, but at this point who could blame her, "I knew my strategy of personalizing ourselves to the internet would work. I told you guys this would happen, and if we keep to it we could probably still reach these numbers you're looking for. What you're suggesting doesn't seem a bit far to you? A bit too risky?"

"Honestly, Y/n, the fact of the matter is this: we could increase what you've already started. If we go through with this project, we could see a skyrocket in our social media. This could do wonders for the team, especially given the results this season. No offense, Lando."

The Brit seemed to be dragged out of his thoughts at the comment and he simply shrugged and waved his hands impassively. Y/n intentionally ignored his disregard for the situation, because jumping across her seat and choking him would not solve any of her current problems- even if she really, really wanted to choke him.

"Do you understand what this can do to my career? This would look so unprofessional for me. The point of a PR relationship is that it doesn't really seem like a fake relationship. It would seriously decrease my options if or when I leave McLaren if it seems like I date my coworkers. You're basically condemning me to a life where I would never be hired again. I won't do it. I can't do this." Y/n said shakily, before standing up. It felt like she couldn't breathe, and it's not like she could turn to Lando for comfort in this because they weren't even friends. Not that he seemed all that bothered anyway. Lando seemed perfectly comfortable staring into space like the airhead he was.

Zak, who had been standing calmly in the corner of the room leaned toward her and squeezer her shoulder comfortingly. She had no doubt he knew how uncomfortable this situation must be for her. Unfortunately for her, he just didn't seem to care. Or at least not enough.

Michael sighed and stood up as well, walking around the desk he was sitting at so he was directly in front of her and Lando and sit on the desk itself.

"I hear your concerns Y/n, I really do, but you cannot truly expect that we wouldn't have some safety measures in place for your protection, can you? When I said this would be a contractual relationship, I meant it. There would be physical evidence that you were not violating any workplace policies, and were instead participating in a project that involved the relationship you would be a part of. We would provide any future employers with proof of this, given that they are willing to sign an NDA. You would not be left at risk in your future endeavors," Michael explained sympathetically. Y/n couldn't help but feel the insincerity of his words in comparison to his face.

They understood they were putting her in an uncomfortable position. They understood they were endangering her career no matter how many contracts she signed. And yet here they were, asking anyways.

"And if I just don't want to?" She asked and she heard Zak sigh from behind her. He took his hand off her shoulder.

Oh.

"Then I'm afraid we've reached a standstill here, haven't we?" Michael said. She inhaled sharply and looked down.

Oh. They were going to fire her. Of course.

"Are you serious?" Y/n finally turned to look at Lando. At some point in between when she had last looked at him and since she had begun to have her job dangled in front of her face he had stood up. He looked angry, not that he hadn't looked some variation of hurt, angry, and sad since he arrived.

"You can't seriously be threatening to fire her, right in front of me, over a project that no one in their right mind would agree to without any incentive. You do realize you haven't really offered her anything that would make her agree don't you? Do you do this to all of your employees or just the ones who carry nearly an entire department on their back?" Lando spit out angrily. He wasn't yelling, but he had sure as hell left the station of speaking calmly a while ago.

"Lando," Zak started through grit teeth, but Michael held up a hand.

"You're right Lando, I'm sorry, let me-"

"Why are you apologizing to me? I'm not the one whose job you were just threatening."

"You're right," Michael cleared his throat and returned back to his chair, "I'm sorry Y/n. Truly. I don't think we've approached the topic correctly at all. Let me start over. There is, of course, some incentive for you."

Y/n sighed, and looked over at Lando. Like usual, he was already looking at her. He was letting her take the reigns of the situation, he was letting her be in charge.

Because he respects you, a small part of her brain whispered and she closed her eyes and breathed in. She wasn't thinking about that anymore. She couldn't think about him anymore.

She sat down and stared at Michael. He could continue, but that didn't mean she would agree. Lando sat down as well, glaring at Zak over his shoulder until the older man walked away from behind Y/n's chair and back to the inconspicuous corner he had been in when they started.

"We had some extra money allotted in the budget," Michael started uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up his nose. His voice was wavering and uncertain, making his British accent even thicker. Y/n seemed to have an affinity for upsetting British men this week. Call it American reparations or whatever, but she was finding the prospect quite enjoyable.

"There would be a salary increase for you, should you choose to participate in the project." Michael stated, as he shifted some papers around on the desk. He uncapped a pen and wrote down a number on a piece of company branded legal pad paper. He folded the paper and slid it across the desk. Y/n, who had begun rubbing her temples irritatedly, closed her eyes as she sighed through her nose before reaching a hand out to look. Lando's hand slid in front of hers and grasped the paper before she could.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked at him incredulously as he unfolded the paper Michael had passed.

"Lando," Michael began and Lando cut the man off with a scoff. He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash.

"You're asking the girl to put her career on the line and that's the amount that you offer?" Lando scoffed. Michael continued to try to speak but Lando held his hand up.

"Let's break this down properly before we make anymore stupid offers," Lando said, voice dripping the arrogance that typically bothered Y/n the most.

"You're asking her to stick out her neck for a PR project that may not work the way you're hoping, you'll be expecting her to keep performing her current work functions while also appearing at additional McLaren events as my partner. On top of all of that, you'll probably also want us to be making public appearances on days and times where she wouldn't be working at all anyway," Y/n thought briefly that this might be the most serious she had ever heard him sound.

"You also can't expect anyone to believe any of this if she doesn't also behave like we're dating in public, and expecting physical affection with someone she isn't actually dating is a lot to ask of someone who isn't a robot, if you weren't already aware," Lando stated patronizingly.

"And that's not even acknowledging the multiple hostile workplace environment policies you've broken in this meeting alone. I really hope you're not expecting her to sign a contract right now without a lawyer on top of that, considering that's illegal." Lando finished, staring at Michael with more anger she had ever seen him show.

"So maybe we should try a much bigger number," Lando said, leaning forward in his chair, "might I recommend doubling it?"

Why was he doing this. She hadn't even heard him out since their argument, ignoring any attempts at conversation, and now he was fighting tooth and nail in a room where no one else was defending her. Including the CEO of the company, who quite literally held his job in his hands.

Maybe that's just his charm. That he never thinks things through. That he doesn't think at all, whether it hurts someone else or himself in the process or not. It's just in his nature to fight first and ask questions later. She couldn't decide whether that was something she could handle or not.

Michael cleared his throat and wrote a number down quickly, handing it to Lando this time instead of her. Lando looked at the number and turned to look at her, nodding and handing the paper over.

Y/n fumbled with the paper slightly before opening it and exhaling sharply through her nose. Right in front of her eyes was a one, a five, and 5 whopping zeroes.

One and a half million dollars. Lando had just gotten her one and a half million dollars.

"This," Y/n started with a shaking voice, before clearing it with a harsh swallow. This was more money than she had ever seen before in her life.

"This is what you're offering me instead of my current salary?" She asked uncertainly. She was getting a headache from the tension of the furrow of her brows.

"No of course not," Lando started, never looking away from Michael.

"This is a bonus they're offering in addition to your current salary, right?" He narrowed his eyes at Michael. Michael nodded aggressively.

"Yes of course. This would be a bonus for participating in the project. You would be receiving your current salary as well for the work you were already participating in," Michael assured and his shoulders slumped in relief when Lando looked away to finally look at her.

"You don't have to make any decisions now," Lando began gently, eyes visibly softening, but Y/n could hardly hear him.

Half a million dollars would be more than enough to pay off her student loans. One and a half million dollars was more money than she even knew what to do with.

"I'll do it," She agreed.

One and a half million dollars, she reassured herself as Lando smiled at her softly. She smiled back. She was only doing this for the money; the one and a half million dollars.

Lando ignored the fluttering in his stomach as she smiled at him for the first time all day. He cheered internally. Who cared about money, this would be perfect. He would make sure to be perfect.

Lando would be the best fake boyfriend she could ever ask for, starting now.

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liked by mclaren, lilyzneimer, and 38,890 others

ynusername austria views hit different this time of year 🥴

19,208 comments

user1 you need a bark cause i can dog real loud

user2 so close op, but not quite!

user1 ... i'm too embarrassed to try again atp

user3 A SOFT LAUNCH?? ON THIS FINE TUESDAY EVENING??

user4 i HATE happy couples, they ruin my mood fr

user5 no deadass, like i hope y'all find out you're cousins

user4 she's dating a m*n i feel so sick

user5 the white men got her 🧎‍♀️

user6 you know who else is in austria 👀

user7 i want to tell you to be fr... but lowkey that does look like lando

user8 BE SO FR YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE HIS FACE

user9 i can't believe i'm lany/n truthing in god's year of 2023, but i am

user10 maybe lany/n is the friends we made along the way

user9 don't patronize me bitch iT'S RIGHT THEREEEEE

landonorris what book are you reading 🤨

ynusername stop acting like you know how to read

landnorris i didn't want to know anyways 😀👍

user11 damn girl they pay you to do this 😫 i don't even get vacation days

ynusername hi i'm saul goodman. did you know that you have rights? the constitution says you do. and so do i ☝️

user12 going on a date on a work trip, are we? 🫣

ynusername let's just call it an employee outing (;

user12 WAHT DOES THAT MEAN Y/N???

user13 OH MY GOD???

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liked by oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, and 40,103 others

mclaren lando norris p4? more likely than you think (ignore oscar, an intern let him out of his cage again) 😞

user14 he looks so happy, no one speak to me ever again

user15 it's that y/n effect

oscarpiastri quick question! WHAT THE FUCK.

oscarpiastri i am NOT an animal 😡 i don't need a cage

lilyzneimer DON'T YELL AT HER OSCAR 🫵 I'LL HAVE THE INTERN PUT YOU BACK.

mclaren yeah oscar 🤨 watch it

oscarpiastri this isn't a funny joke 😔 this isn't haha funny

user16 lando's best results after there are rumors they've started dating... hmmmm

user17 omg not y'all starting already

user16 what can i say the fanfics write themselves

user18 oscar fans can never catch a break, huh?

user19 i knew that last post was too good to be true

user20 @/oscarpiastri what happened to bribery??

oscarpiastri sorry guys, i pissed her off 😓

user21 ig since lando's off the shit list someone had to take his place

landonorris i got p4 for you admin 🤭

mclaren this is workplace harassment

landonorris ):

mclaren 🎻🤏 (it's the world's smallest violin playing the world's saddest song)

landonorris alright, fuck you ig

user23 lando flirting in the comments and then getting turned down in the most humiliating manner, what's new

landonorris ... it wasn't that humiliating

user23 🎻🤏

landonorris STOP OT NOW.

user24 i know y/n's boyfriend is reading these comments and weeping

user25 boy oh boy do i have news for you op

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liked by user26, landonorris, and 21,844 others

f1wags Various sources have reported seeing Y/n L/n, the current McLaren social media manager and McLaren F1 Driver Lando Norris together across Austria during the GP weekend, and celebrating after. Various kisses and intimate interactions were reported by our sources, including the ones pictured above. What do we think about this new workplace romance?

9,450 comments

user26 IS THIS REAL???? IS THIS REALLLLLL??????

user27 THE PICTURES ARE THERE BUT I STILL DON'T BELIEVE IT

user28 they're so cute, it almost makes me forget that this is the most insane thing i'll see all year

user29 bro beat the norizz allegations

user30 THE KISS?? THE BEACH PICTURES??? THE DINNER HUG??? OH THEY'RE IN LOVE IN LOVE

user31 they grow up so fast

user32 he's not hot enough for her, next question!

user33 be so serious 🙄

mclaren zoo wee mama

user34 THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF????

mclaren hubba hubba

user35 from the team account is diabolical

user36 and they say bullying isn't a love language

user37 she hated on him so hard he fell in love with her

landonorris damn right she did

user38 lando try not to be down bad challenge *impossible* *never seen before*

user39 oh i know the twitter users that have been getting hate for weeks for saying the truth are MADDDD

user40 they couldn't have been more obvious, we've been in denial

user41 the eyes chico, they never lie

user42 oh i know zak brown is throwing up over this pr nightmare

user43 right like i think people are forgetting she's an employee 💀

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liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 77,954 others

landonorris post-p4 cooldown 🧡

25,001 comments

oscarpiastri what's all this then 🧍‍♂️

oscarpiastri i really love how you're so good about telling me things 😮‍💨

user44 someone free oscar from lany/n bro

user45 this was NOT on my 2024 bingo card

user46 i don't think anyone could have predicted lando having rizz

ynusername so true

landonorris HEY.

danielricciardo i wasn't familiar with your game lando

landonorris STOP HITTIG ON HER SHES MINE

danielricciardo damn lil bro no one is taking her from you

user47 "she's mine" down horrendous once again

user48 bro was born down horrendous i fear

carlossainz55 i can't believe you didn't tell me lando! congratulations

landonorris it was a secret you muppet 🙄 but thank you

maxverstappen1 you too make a great couple! congrats mate 🤝

ynusername this was the most max verstappen way you could have said this

maxverstappen1 still bullying me i see 😔

lilyzneimer CUTIE PATOOTIES <3 oh and hi lando

landonorris can't even be mad cause they are too damn cute 😫

lilyzneimer good answer!

bsfuser1 congratulations i guess (she was mine first) 🙄

landnorris thanks! (we can share)

bsfuser2 hurt her and i kill you!!! so cute together tho <3

landonorris you lot are fucking terrifying!! appreciate it (:

zbrownceo Congratulations you two! Can't imagine a better pair 🧡💪

landonorris Thanks Zak!!!

ynusername you gave cali kisses so i guess you're alright <3

landonorris as many kisses as my girls want

user49 MY GIRLS KMSSSS

user50 cat dad cat dad cat dad ‼️

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that's the end of act 1!!! part 2 coming shortly <3 i'm moving into college and starting classes so if updates slow down a bit just know i'm getting things out as quickly as i can ((: hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave your thoughts!!

-

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne @urfavsgf @sadsierra2 @96jnie @sltwins @poppyflower-22 @alliumiae @livelovesports @liberty-barnes @the-holy-trinity-l @iliwyss @awritingtree @redpool @elliotts1one @velentine @chaoticmessneutralplease @5sospenguinqueen @charizznorizz @2pagenumb @mxdi0 @cwiphswmwasohmm @tremendousstarlighttragedy @lnspipedrm @itseightbeats @tinycoffeeroom @woozarts @personwhoisther @a-beaverhausen @love-simon @annabellelee @ravisinghs-wife @chezmardybum @greantii @weekendlusting @monserelates @sapphiccloud @halleest @deamus-liv @gigigreens @morenofilm @laneyspaulding19 @lanireadss @dear-fifi @moldyshorts1997 @oliviarodrigostan13 @eugene-emt-roe @ilivbullyingjeongin @im-a-ghost666

[qqueenofhades]

Obviously the main contrasting narrative of the Harris campaign is (rightfully, the ads almost write themselves!) prosecutor vs convict. But I keep thinking about how, in one of her first campaign speeches, she had Biden on the phone and he said something like "I'm here, I love you Kid" and she said "I love you too" and just... That compared to the Jan 6th Mike Pence situation. Like this election is about democracy over fascism but it's also about love and kindness and sincerity on the level of person-to-person relationships.

Well... yeah. As Minnesota governor Tim Walz put it when he was doing the TV rounds for Kamala the other day, the Republicans are just weird people. They are mean, petty, reactionary, focused on revenge and retribution and making people suffer, their rhetoric is about shame and violence and punishment, they are all about Who Your Enemy Is, and their drift into ever more extreme fascist positions is a reflection of that. And strongman/fascist authoritarianism is often popular during moments of chaos and upheaval in the rest of the world, because the unknown feels so scary and people keep falling for the lie that a helpful dictator strongman will turn up and make it all better. It never happens, but it is a powerful lie and it can work for several years at a time, as we have (unfortunately) seen. (And Tim Walz is definitely climbing the list of Old White Guys I Like; supposedly he is on Harris' initial VP shortlist, and while I certainly have favorites of my own, she could very much do worse.)

However, and this is why fascist movements always plant the seeds of their own destruction, this constant garbage spew of hate and vitriol never ever works forever, and usually not even all that long. Because once you spend your time destroying everyone else on your mean stupid crusade of mindless bigotry, you lose friends, you alienate the ordinary people who are more interested in having something to be FOR rather than just constantly against, and eventually you eat your own. And while it will shore up your ever-dwindling cult base, it will not be able to expand beyond the people who are already fully indoctrinated, and it will lose more people than it attracts. As I have said before, one of the key tenets of fascist movements is presenting themselves as powerful, inevitable, and almighty: just surrender to them now before We Crush You (tm) later! But they are not! They are goofy, stupid, mean, and just plain (thanks Gov. Walz) WEIRD! Nobody wants to be those guys!

So yes. With the whole fact of a party where one guy tried to get his first VP killed and now has picked another reactionary loser who is the least popular VP pick in 50 years, and the other is joyfully supporting his VP, a woman of color (after serving loyally to the first Black president, Biden has set the way for the -- knock on wood -- second, and that is also amazing), it's really easy to see the difference, and very clearly, people do. Kamala offers something to rally FOR, and that is always, always more powerful than mindless hate. Sucks to be the GOP. (As usual.)

[ellecdc]

the case of the missing pickles

poly!marauders x slytherin seer!reader who can't stop Seeing them [2.9k words]

amalgamation of various prompts:

prompt 1 from 🔮🐍 anon: I was wondering if you could do a part two of Sight's Set where one of her visions comes true? maybe the vision is of her on a date with them to Hogsmeade, but it turns out differently where she goes to Hogsmeade alone and they find her there and join her??? prompt 2 from anonymous: Can I please request marauders with a reader who are just in the beginning of their relationship and yet they know r so well like she doesn't have to even ask and she's all confused and flustered prompt 3 from 🕊️ anon: Remus calling feisty slytherin reader 'dove' being her kryptonite

The sun was warm on your skin as the castle gates permeated your view. You were trying to hide your amused smile at the boys’ antics, though you’re sure you were unsuccessful when a gentle laugh escaped your lips.

James faltered in his steps at the sound, turning to look at you with a beaming smile.

“Well gorgeous,” Sirius teased with a salacious grin as he moved to stand in front of you. “I had a wonderful time on our date today.” 

Remus breathed out a chuckle as he placed your jacket that he had been carrying over your shoulders, taking a moment to squeeze your shoulder affectionately before moving to stand with James.

“Don’t make any plans for next Hogsmeade weekend; we’ll definitely be doing this again!” James called; Remus encouraging him forward by a hand on his waist as Sirius walked away from you backwards to continue looking you up and down.

“Don’t miss us too much.” He said with a wink before turning to join the other two boys.

You woke up with a start, shooting upright in your bed as you sucked in a much needed breath. Goosebumps erupted all over your body as the feeling of being submerged in cold water began to dissipate and your nervous system realised it wasn’t dying.

After nearly two decades of living with ‘the gift’ of Sight, one would think your body would have a better response to it.

Alas, it still acted like you were moments away from death.

Perhaps it wasn’t too far off, what with all your Sights of the Marauders overtaking your every waking (and sleeping) moment; perhaps you were dying, perhaps that would be preferable.

After taking a warm shower to bring some much needed heat back to your bones and wash away the residual nerves that your vision had caused, you decided to put it out of your mind; you would never agree to waste one of your precious Hogsmeade trips with the Marauders anyways, so there really was no point stewing over it.

You eventually made your way into the Slytherin common room to find Regulus and Barty already situated with a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Good morning, Treasure!” Barty cheered as he stood abruptly from his spot on the sofa with Regulus. “Heading to Hogsmeade today?”

“You know that I am, Barty.” You responded with a smirk. “I told you I needed to go to Tomes and Scrolls; the book I ordered should be in.”

“Great!” Barty clapped his hands together. “I need to stop at Dogweed & Deathcap!”

“Absolutely not.”

Barty paused in his excited tirade to look at you incredulously. “What do you mean, absolutely not!?”

“I mean you are absolutely not coming with me, Barty.”

“Why!?”

“Barty.” You started as if you were speaking to a rather troublesome toddler. “Last time I let you come with me you had us kicked out of Zonko’s and then spent two and half hours violently debating with the Dogweed & Deathcap shopkeep about the proper brewing times for veritaserum.” 

Barty stared at you bewilderedly as you held his gaze.

“You’re really not going to let me come with you?” He asked after a painfully long silence. 

“No.”

Barty stomped his foot once and let out a petulant breath. “Then you’re not allowed to be my best woman at our wedding!”

Regulus looked up from the newspaper he’d been engrossed with in favour of this ridiculous conversation to look at the two of you in bemusement.

“Wha-? We’re not getting married?” Regulus stated as a question, effectively removing Barty’s furious glare from you only to have it directed at himself. 

“It’s just one sodding disappointment after another!” He screeched before turning and storming off towards the boys’ dormitory. 

You and Regulus stared at the empty spot that was once Barty Crouch Junior before Regulus broke the silence by standing with a tired sigh. 

“Well I guess I know what you’ll be up to today.” You teased gently earning you a groan from the youngest Black. 

“If you happen to be by Honeydukes…”

“Yeah, yeah.” You cut him off, accepting the galleons he pulled from his pocket as he held them out to you. “I’ll pick him up some sugared butterfly wings.” 

“Thanks, I’ll need all the help I can get.” He grumbled as he made his way after his cantankerous boyfriend. 

Even the dreary weather couldn’t bring your mood down as you pocketed your galleons and accepted Barty’s bag of sugared butterfly wings from the Honeydukes shopkeep. 

You loved Hogsmeade, and you loved visiting with your friends, but sometimes there was nothing like enjoying a peaceful trip on your own.

Feeling quite pleased at having procured your special order from Tomes & Scrolls and successfully running Regulus’ errands, you pulled your hood up to protect yourself from the elements outside before pushing open the shop door only to collide with a heavy force on the other side. 

“Hullo, L/N!” James called as he quickly righted you. 

This cannot be happening. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You grumbled as you stepped out of James’ hold, pretending like you didn’t notice the slight fall in his expression at the loss of contact.

“Nope, I think you’ll find I’m really quite Sirius.” Sirius said with a wink.

“Ew-” You started, turning to look at the longhaired boy in disgust. “That was terrible. That’s a terrible joke.” 

“Listen, when you get cursed with a name that’s also an adjective, you get to make all the terrible jokes you’d like.” He responded plainly. 

“You get used to it.” Remus sighed; offering you a sympathetic crooked smile.

“I should think I won’t, thank you very much.” You said as you turned to walk away, only to feel a gentle hand grasp your elbow.

“Whoa whoa, where’re you off too in such a hurry?” James asked teasingly. 

“The castle?” You responded quickly, immediately berating yourself for deigning to explain yourself to the likes of the Marauders. 

“Before lunch?” Remus asked then. “It’s not a trip to Hogsmeade without a stop at the Three Broomsticks.” 

“I’m not hungry.” You proclaimed with finality only for your stomach to traitorously contradict you by groaning rather loudly at the thought of one of your beloved tuna melts from the restaurant.

“Liar.” Sirius smirked smugly. “To the Three Broomsticks!”

Before you had a chance to protest, Remus and Sirius were walking ahead as James threw his arm over your shoulders and guided you after them.

“Get your hands off of me, Potter.” You spat.

“Sorry sweetheart, I wish I could, but then I’d have no way of ensuring that you wouldn’t just take off.” He apologised, not sounding very apologetic at all. 

You thought of your Sight from this morning but decided you were relatively safe; they had called it a date - this was decidedly a hostage situation. Besides, the weather had been really rather lovely in your Sight; today’s weather was quite the opposite.

It was fine.

This wasn’t a date.

You were fine.

Just fine. 

Except you had no sooner entered the Three Broomsticks before Sirius was pulling out a chair for you as James rather forcefully sat you in it; Remus quickly sitting and blocking your means of escape on your other side.

“I’ll go order!” James called quickly before nearly skipping towards the bar to do just that.

Sirius sat across from you looking all sorts of chuffed at his current predicament, smiling knowingly between Remus and yourself. “So,” he started. “Any more visions of your wonderful future with us?”

“Bite me.” You spat immediately, hoping to all the gods that no one noticed the heat emanating from your cheeks at the question. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smirked.

“Be nice to her.” Remus chided softly. “She already doesn’t want to be here.”

That’s right, you thought petulantly before quickly scolding yourself for agreeing with a Marauder. 

Entirely too soon in your opinion did James return, happily sitting beside Sirius and looking around the table. “So! What’d I miss?”

“Y/N wants me to bite her.” Sirius responded quickly. “Okay!” James agreed readily. “Now?”

“Oh my gods I’m going to avada myself.” You muttered as you pressed your fingers into your temples.

“Oh come now, not before lunch.” Remus chuckled, rubbing conciliatory circles onto your back.

You couldn’t believe how tactile these boys seemed to be; they almost always had their hands on each other in some way. Sirius currently had a hand on James’ thigh who had his arm thrown casually over the other boy’s shoulder. You were almost certain that James had extended his legs under the table and was currently playing some form of footsie with Remus, who, in turn, had his hand on your back. 

And then you thought of the ease that James had thrown his arm over your own shoulder on your way here as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Sirius asked, pressing a finger to the divot that was growing between your brows before you hastily swatted his hand away from you.

“Just wondering what I ever did in another life to deserve this.” 

“Must’ve been an angel in another life to deserve us.” He responded haughtily.

“She’s an angel in this life too.” James added; beaming smile making you feel as though you needed to squint your eyes lest you look directly at it. 

The barkeep saved you from having to think of a response by placing food in front of each of you.

Your beloved tuna melt that you had been dreaming of earlier sat on a plate before you, confusing you as to how James seemed to know your order.

But perhaps he hadn’t; perhaps the barkeep recognised you and knew what you usually ordered. 

You pulled open the sandwich and were hit by another curiosity.

“There’s no pickles?” You asked aloud, causing the three boys to look at you in bemusement. 

“Did you want pickles?” James asked you slowly; his fork hovering over his plate as he delayed the first bite of his own meal on your account. 

“Well…no, but it usually comes with pickles.” You explained dumbly. 

“Yes but you always pick them off, so I asked for no pickles.” He explained simply before finally taking his long awaited bite. 

“How did you know that?” You demanded rather harshly then. 

“Know what? Your order?” Sirius asked on James’ behalf.

“Yes. And the pickles.”

“Because we pay attention?” Remus offered then; you could see him scrutinising you from the corner of your eye.

“Do you want me to go ask for pickles so that you can pick them off?” James teased then, an ill-suppressed amused grin threatening to overtake his face. 

“No, I want you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” Sirius asked with a smirk. “Knowing things about you?”

“Yes, that. Stop that.” You ordered.

“You’d have to obliviate me.” James taunted, leaning on his elbow and resting his chin on his fist as he considered you. 

“Better make sure to get the incantation right, gorgeous.” Sirius added. “Otherwise you’ll be responsible for his care when you ultimately put him into a vegetative state.”

You huffed petulantly before opting to take a bite from your sandwich in favour of continuing with your current conversation. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask-” Remus started with an amused grin on his face. “If you don’t like pickles, why don’t you just ask for no pickles?”

You let out a conceding sigh as you swallowed your bite. “I don’t want to be a bother…it’s just as easy to pick them off myself.”

You felt shame prickle at the back of your neck when your answer was met with silence before Sirius let out a bark of laughter. 

“Oh my Godric,” He exclaimed excitedly. “You are a big softy.” 

Against your better judgement you kicked your foot out at the long haired Marauder, horrified when James yelped before reaching under the table to rub his hand over his shin. 

“Fucking hells, sorry Potter.” You grumbled as you tried to curl in on yourself, watching as Remus cooed at the bespectacled boy and Sirius laughed at him. 

“Oh, no worries angel.” James offered you tightly, voice coloured with pain as he forced a smile at you. “Merlin, you've got quite the leg on you.”

“Fuck yeah she does.” Sirius agreed salaciously, earning him a fiery glare from you as you considered re-aiming your foot. 

“Easy there, dove. Play nice, yeah?” Remus murmured then, causing a shiver to rush down your spine as you turned to look at him with your mouth parted slightly.

You were absolutely horrified at the very visible reaction you had to the scarred boy’s endearment - and you knew it was a very visible reaction because Remus had a very visible reaction to it. 

“You’re alright, dove.” He murmured again, this time with a knowing smirk before turning back to his own sandwich and pretending like he hadn’t just completely rocked your world with one simple word. 

You looked over to see Sirius pick off of James’ plate as you waited for James to use his fork as a weapon for the egregious crime of stealing food, only to see James quickly load up a fork-full and hold it out for Sirius to try. 

“Fuck, I should have ordered that instead.” Sirius admitted as he swallowed the bite.

“Wanna switch?” James offered quickly, already lifting his plate to give Sirius room to slide his over should he want. 

“I’m not taking your meal, bubs.” Sirius responded with a smile as a faint blush dusted the tops of his cheeks. 

“You’re not taking, I’m offering.” James insisted, moving Sirius’ plate in front of him before placing his own plate in front of Sirius when it became obvious the other boy wasn’t going to help. 

“Thank you.” Sirius admitted rather shyly for the notoriously boisterous boy before he pecked a kiss to James’ cheek.

You looked over to Remus in bemusement only to see him looking lovingly over at his boyfriends. 

“Did you wanna switch, too?” Remus asked then, alerting you to the fact that he was quite aware that you had been staring at him.

“Absolutely not; you stay away from my tuna melt.” You spat before taking another bite.

You found yourself quite glad that the boys simply laughed before moving on to other topics of conversation, watching curiously as they talked and joked the afternoon away.

By the time the four of you were making your way back towards the castle the sky had cleared, leaving the spring air fresh and fragrant in the warm sun.

You felt a gentle tug and turned to watch Remus pull your jacket out of your arms before folding it over his own arm to carry it for you.

Shit. 

“Moons! What do muggles call the game ‘leaping toadstools’?” Sirius called suddenly from where he and James had run ahead.

Remus breathed out a chuckle as he smiled at them. “Leapfrog.” He called back with an audible eyeroll you were sure was mostly for show.

“Rem, I bet five galleons that me and Pads can leapfrog the whole way back to the castle.” James shouted.

“I’m not betting.”

James let out a horrified scoff. “Why not!?”

“Because I know that you likely can even though you probably shouldn’t.” He responded simply.

“Don’t rain on our parade, Moony.” Sirius said dismissively, waving Remus off like he was the definition of anti-fun. 

And to your absolute horror, you found yourself rather entertained as you watched them line up to play leapfrog; the only interruption of the game on your walk being to pet the odd cat, point at a patch of honking daffodils, and to run back and steal kisses from Remus (glaring at them when they threatened to do the same with you). 

The sun was warm on your skin as the castle gates permeated your view. You were trying to hide your amused smile at the boys’ antics, though you’re sure you were unsuccessful when a gentle laugh escaped your lips.

James faltered in his steps at the sound, turning to look at you with a beaming smile.

“Well gorgeous,” Sirius teased with a salacious grin as he moved to stand in front of you. “I had a wonderful time on our date today.” 

Remus breathed out a chuckle as he placed your jacket that he had been carrying over your shoulders, taking a moment to squeeze your shoulder affectionately before moving to stand with James.

“Don’t make any plans for next Hogsmeade weekend; we’ll definitely be doing this again!” James called; Remus encouraging him forward by a hand on his waist as Sirius walked away from you backwards to continue looking you up and down.

“Don’t miss us too much.” He said with a wink before turning to join the other two boys.

And though you would sooner die than admit this to anyone, after this rather lovely afternoon and with the amount of time the Marauders have spent leapfrogging through your mind, you didn’t think you could miss them too much, even if you wanted to.

Find the next update here

[theminecraftbee]

the case of docm77 v zombiecleo: a very incomplete summary of events

i, of course, strongly recommend going to doc's video (or bdubs, cleo, joe, or skizz's, once they exist) and watching the whole thing for yourself i could NOT stop laughing. but for those of you who want a vague summary of some stuff that happens in the courtroom:

bdubs is insisting on being called "your highness" as opposed to "your honor".

we START with bdubs explaining he has set up a dramatic five-strike system; if either side gets five strikes (things that upset bdubs lol) he will "uh, not give them the death penalty, but--"

doc immediately tries to use this to take advantage of the system and get cleo strikes.

he instead accidentally immediately murders his own counsel.

it has been like One Minute.

"just in case anyone dies, there's a jury deliberation room under construction, there's a bed in there"

bdubs is paying everyone a diamond block for showing up if they listen to his judgement. help.

"thrust his sword into said swine" so skizz's opening speech is GREAT.

"wow, that was really good. but the camera is over here, so if you could do that again and look into the camera for me--"

"defense, first off, how do you plead?" (doc, grasping for his vague knowledge of american legal dramas) "i plead the fifth. i plead the fifth. uh. right?"

joe, in his opening speech: "this is esteemed around the world as a place where two adults who act like children can come to have their differences settled by you in the most entertaining manner."

HELP. "cleo is bringing to the court not an affair between two adults with an unsettled matter, but an adult and a large baby."

HELP IS JOE'S DEFENSE THAT DOC IS A LARGE BABY AND THEREFORE CAN'T BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS ACTIONS.

joe: "you know, cleo has a lot of communication problems." bdubs, with great feeling: "yikes."

cleo, under her breath: "i'm gonna kill him."

"just a minute i'm setting up my lawyer", ren says, carrying the armor stand he had in the stands with him to the bench and putting false's head on it,

ren: "i cannot recall." bdubs: "YOU CAN'T RECALL WHAT HAPPENED?" ren: "i cannot recall if i cannot recall."

why is skizz doing a foghorn leghorn accent now,

skizz, about doc: "this is proof this man likes to intimidate, that he gets off on it." no one comments on this phrasing.

sorry ren making an armor stand falsesymmetry as his lawyer and companion in the stands is so funny.

"this is more evidence cleo is a poor communicator. she can't control her man--"

joe is very clearly just trying to make everyone in the room mad and it's really funny.

HELP. BDUBS BUILT A HEADS AND TAILS MACHINE TO DECIDE IF THEY'RE GOING TO ALLOW OBJECTIONS.

anyway it rolls tails so it overrules skizz's objection.

skizz's accent and vocabulary just keeps getting more and more exaggerated i think he's going for approximately benoit blanc,

beef: "he forcefully approached us and said he's the guy who wants all the wood." cleo and doc, snorting and giggling at this as one,

i feel like i should note that bdubs has a fireworks crossbow that he's calling his "whip" and hitting people with when they do something he considers wrong.

this leads me to wonder if bdubs thinks whipping is normal in a courtroom...?

i think its really funny that skizz is actively doing like, correct types and moments to do an objection, and it almost sounds like good lawyering, and then IMMEDIATELY bdubs goes "it's time to HEADS AND TAILS!!!" and breaks that illusion completely.

"well, it's heads, objection sustained, strike that from the record." joe: "well then i guess you'll never know what my point was." beat of silence. bdubs: "never mind, let's just add a strike, and you can say it,"

"i don't know how the esophagus entered this situation at all?" "let's pray it didn't. geez." "i was not thinking of doc's esophagus when i built the giant fish for his hourglass." <- this only barely makes more sense in context,

"no further questions your honor." "seriously???"

every time joe calls doc either a baby or a manchild is SO FUNNY. why is this his argument. it's SO FUNNY.

"but he has not proven mens rhea, which you your highness are very familiar with but for the viewers at home is not a gendered form of diarrhea--"

cleo, to doc: "doc are you sure you want to win this one?" doc, in clear and obvious distress: "i'm not sure of anything anymore man i just, i don't know,"

bdubs then interrupts to do the sponsored segment of court.

"the tall claims court is brought to you by!" bdubs puts a disc in. 13 starts playing. "shoot that's the spooky record. that's the worst one." he continues with his bamboo shop sponsored segment spiel anyway, with 13 continuing to play,

"i'm not going to ask for money, i'm just asking for a simple injunction against doc. he won't be allowed to use diamonds for redstone anymore." "WHAT??? THERE'S LIMITS TO THIS, OKAY????" "calm down doc, we're not gonna--" "WHAT NO WHAT CALM DOWN???"

"cleo i have to say that's way better than anything skizz said. skizz was talking and all i heard was bla bla bla bla bla but that was real heartfelt. if you're thinking about paying him, maybe don't."

doc: "i want to make peace and love that's all i care about i'm just a humble boutiquer"

"i felt like as her friend i needed to teach her what it feels like to lose something" i love how deranged that is doc keep going

"but it happened and i think i'm insane, right," doc says, then nods at joe.

"yeah this is really good" cleo responds, perfectly happy with the idea of doc declaring himself insane for no good reason,

cleo: "doc is just completely unhinged when people mess with his redstone, and i feel like my punishment would take away that emotional bond."

joe: "objection your honor, my client is unhinged in every context."

i like how this is "make fun of doc" day.

bdubs: "i'm going to deliberate quickly then i'll come back with my judgement." (turns around for like five seconds.) "and i'm back!"

HELP DOC HAS BEEN BANISHED TO A SINGLE BLOCK IN THE SKY WITH A CHEST ON IT FOR TWO WEEKS

THREE IF HE TOUCHES THE GROUND

AIR JAIL...........

bdubs adjourns court. doc, immediately: "WHAT THE HELL JOE??" "i did my best, man :/"

"DO YOU KNOW THE VEINS ON MY NECK ARE ABOUT TO EXPLODE????"

jevin in the background of doc losing his shit just kinda murdering skizzleman for fun,

doc's main objection to the sky island is "BUT I HAVE THINGS TO DO :(((((("

doc ends the video standing here:

in conclusion: yeah this seems like a very fair trial with no ridiculous elements at all. very serious and befitting the sanctity of court. yes. you should watch it for a very serious hermitcraft experience,

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

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