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#and then ​remember everyone reblogging it from each other again a few weeks ago
chelseasdagger · 5 months
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Teacher - Chapter II
Frank Castle x Inexperienced F!reader
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Summary: You get invited to Frank's apartment again days after he gave you your first kiss. After a long makeout session, you rush to get to the bonfire and enjoy a night with your group of friends and even more of Frank's company
Warnings: age gap (reader is in her early 20s), cursing, drinking, dry humping, brief mentions of masturbation
Author's Note: It's finally here! I'm SO so sorry for the wait on this chapter! I've been working full time at my part time job and it's been crazy busy!! Thank you for being patient :) Oh! We have a taglist now, so if you want to be added, just let me know! As always, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :) Leave a comment or shoot me an ask!! I'd love to hear what you think!
Word Count: 6.6k+
Previous Chapters: I
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Ever since that afternoon when Frank gave you your first kiss, it’s all that’s consumed your mind. It’s been difficult to focus your attention anywhere that isn’t the image of his puffy lips, swollen from your kisses, that has been ingrained in your head. You’ve been spacing out more often—even softly tracing your lower lip with your finger to try and relive the memory of his tongue brushing your skin.
You’ve even let your mind wander off its leash at work. Your coworker rips you from your thoughts by calling your name and you look up with wide eyes. She smirks when she sees your frazzled expression and asks what’s on your mind. You flip through excuses in your brain before stumbling out an “It’s a good day?”
Your voice twists into a question at the end, obvious that even you weren’t sold on your words. She shoots a skeptical look your way before walking away from the front desk, leaving you to sit once again in your thoughts about Frank. Beams of sunlight pour through the glass windows at the front of the building and the heat on your face reminds you of his warm touch. You let your eyes close for a moment and you swear you can feel his long fingers curling behind your jaw.
Suddenly, a chime sounds out and your eyes shoot open, quickly facing the front door as you expect to be met with a client’s face. There’s not a single person in sight though, and you glance down at your phone and see its illuminated screen. There’s an alert on the display and as you pick it up to unlock it, you notice it’s from your close friend.
“I’m picking you up at 6 right?”
Your eyebrows pull together, trying to remember the topic of the conversation that she’s starting back up again. As your eyes scan the earlier messages on the screen, it clicks for you. The bonfire.
Every few weeks your friend group makes plans to go out and do something fun together. With busy lives and conflicting schedules, not to mention the range of ages, it’s not always easy to reconnect and make time to be with each other. But months ago there was a collective agreement to make the effort of seeing one another more often than not. It was something you loved, being able to be in the good company of everyone you cared for.
Admittedly, your favorite part of the group hangout was watching as the rest of them enjoyed themselves. Smiles thrown on their faces, laughter roaring out when someone cracks a joke, even comfortable silences—it brought you so much joy to witness. However, due to your more reserved nature and how you passed on drinking each time, you felt more like a bystander; always watching them let loose and wishing you could do the same.
“Yes pleaseee”, your thumbs press on the glass, typing out the message on the digital keys. As you hit the arrow to send the text, another message shows as a banner across the top of the screen.
“You wanna come over?”
It’s from Frank this time. Sinking your teeth into your lip in an attempt to stall your smile, you glance at the clock on the wall. Unfortunately, no amount of wishing makes the thin, red hand pass the black numbers any faster. With a quiet sigh, you begin to type another text.
“I get off in an hour. You’re still going to the bonfire tonight right?”
You anxiously tap your finger along the side of your phone, watching the little bubbles move as an indicator that he’s typing. Frank was the main reason you went to these monthly bonfires, and the idea of him not showing is certainly enough to make you consider twice about going.
“Yeah. Just wanted to see you before then.”
As if right on cue, your heartbeat speeds up when your eyes scan across his words. You don’t even try to fight the grin that grows on your face this time. It’s only been a few days since you last saw him, since your last kiss, but you’ve been texting him each day in between. The conversations have always been light, slightly flirty on his end, but you’re thankful Frank never pressures you to do anything.
Oftentimes you find yourself still in disbelief at how this all happened. Frank’s incredibly patient with you and has reassured you many times that this is all your choice. Hell, he hasn’t even asked for you to come over again until just now. Maybe he was trying to keep the distance to not overwhelm you?
But he does want to see me, the giddy, although nagging, little voice in your head reminds you. Rolling your eyes at your own thoughts, you sigh gently before texting him that you’ll drive over to his apartment after you get off. He replies back almost instantly.
“Can’t wait.”
You force yourself to drop your phone and not reread his message multiple times. It wasn’t a habit you normally had, but it became ever so prevalent with his messages. You pictured what other thoughts could be behind his often short texts and that wasn’t particularly helpful while you’re still on the clock.
The minutes felt like centuries as you sat at the desk. No amount of phone calls from curious customers or coworker gossip could act as a catalyst and make the time pass faster. You almost feel bad for being mentally checked out, but with something as good as this planned after you left, you really couldn’t help it. With your chin in your hand as you barely hold yourself up, you take one last hesitant glance at the clock. Two minutes left.
The second the time flips to the nearest hour, you’re clocking out; you’re thankful it was a slow day and you could leave right on time. With a shout over your shoulder and a wave goodbye to your coworker, you walk out the door and straight to your car. You don’t even put the GPS on–you have the way to his house memorized after the last time–and put on your favorite playlist to get yourself excited once again to see him.
Thankfully, the traffic isn’t too bad and it’s not long before you’re making the first turn into the neighborhood. You turn on each familiar street, winding the curves before you spot the black van with an empty parking space beside it once again. There’s no anxiety this time as you put the car in park, just excitement bubbling up and making your chest grow warm. You’re quick to grab your bag and rush up to the wooden door as you lock the car behind you.
You raise your hand and swiftly knock an upbeat tune on the door. It opens only a few seconds later, and there’s a strong arm winding around you as it pulls you past the door frame. A surprised yelp escapes you and his raspy voice sounds out with an apology.
“Sorry, kid, didn’t mean to scare ya.” He closes the door behind you before walking towards the couch. The room’s not quite as spotless as it was last time but it honestly makes it feel more cozy seeing as it’s been lived in. He motions for you to follow him to sit down and this time you make sure to sit right beside him.
He asks about your day and the two of you begin a light conversation. It feels like he really listens to you; he’s nodding his head as you speak, leaning slightly towards you, and for once you feel like you’re being truly heard. After some back and forth, Frank begins to talk more as something you say sparks up a memory in his mind. He’s excited to tell you, obvious from how he sits up with a wide smile, and you listen to him as he gives you some background information that’s necessary to understand the story.
If you’re honest, you’re not really sure you’re keeping up with the whole picture he’s trying to paint you. You couldn’t really help it, memories of the only other time you were here beginning to rush through your brain. His laughter sounds out, breaking your concentration of the memory, and you try your hardest to focus back on him. Frank’s so animated when he talks: his hands moving in front of him, his facial features physically showing how he felt, and let’s not forget the voices of his friends that he puts on to get a smile out of you.
But eventually his words continue to drone on and on and you’re beginning to lose interest. It's no fault of his own, you just can’t focus on anything other than his mouth. The meaning of his words dissipate until they’re simply just noise to fill the background. Your eyes never leave his lips, watching as they curl around the words or stretch into a smile as he laughs. Before you can even think through the consequences of your actions, you lean forward and place a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
His words stop abruptly and you watch as he turns his head to face you. There’s a short pause before he’s got his arms wrapped around you, immediately pulling you into his lap. You settle on your knees, straddling his thighs, and he tugs you even closer until you’re sitting right between his legs.
“Did you hear anything I was saying?” he asks, tilting his head as he stares up into your eyes. His gaze is too intense and you find yourself focusing on his lips instead. “You hear a single word or… did some kind of switch flip just then?” He squints his eyes as he asks, his tongue brushing over his lips.
“I just… I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” you confess in a small voice.
“That is just the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. You know that?” And queue the heat rushing to your cheeks. “Got any idea how sweet you sound?”
“Frank, c’mon,” you whisper, growing tired of his teasing.
“What, sweetheart? You wanna say somethin’ like that and not expect me to talk about it?” Again, you wish he would just shut up and kiss you already. “I’ve been on your mind that much? Must’ve been a damn good kiss for you to think about it days later, huh? Did you miss—”
You cut him off once more with your lips, your hands cradling his cheeks as you kiss him. You can’t even believe you did it, you never thought yourself the one to make the first move. Being desperate for his kisses is enough for the final push, you guess. His hands are quick to find your hips and you shiver at the touch, cursing yourself for being so sensitive. He pulls away when he feels your body’s reaction but never takes his hands off of you.
“That okay?” he asks, his eyes glancing up into yours. He gives another swift squeeze into your side before questioning with another “hmm?” You nod quickly, still reeling from the feel of him touching you there. Frank only tilts his head, silently requesting more from you.
“Y-Yes,” you stutter out, and he mutters the quietest, “Okay,” you’ve ever heard. His hand that’s wrapped around your hip begins to push you back and you’re quick to move with his movements. It’s a gentle push that has your ass grinding down onto the center of his jeans and you quickly grab hold of his shoulder to keep your balance.
“You okay?” he asks through a light chuckle. You nod and hum an agreement as you focus back on his warm touch that’s setting a fire alight on your side. He pulls you closer now and begins rocking you back and forth on his lap. The heat begins to travel down your tummy and nestles between your thighs.
Suddenly, Frank’s mouth is on your neck again and you almost feel lightheaded with how your body is trying to take in so much of him at once. He drags his kisses down your jaw, his hand never stopping the gentle pull and push of your hips. As you keep rocking on him, you swear you feel something bumping into you on each push down but you’re not very certain of anything at the moment.
His unoccupied hand smoothes up your side and his big palm grabs at your chest. A small moan gets stuck in your throat, resulting in a quiet whimper, as his long fingers squeeze into your soft skin. You break the kiss, your arms crossing each other as you reach for the hem of your shirt but his hands tenderly grab your wrists.
“You don’t have to…” he breathes shallowly, his breath fanning across your lips. His gaze locks with yours before he swallows thickly. He closes his eyes as he continues, “I’m sorry. I-I just got caught up in it.” You smile at the hesitancy in his voice and brush your thumb along his jaw.
“It’s okay, Frank, I wanna,” you reassure him. He loosens his hold, allowing you to continue your movements and pull your top off. His eyes move up with each new inch of skin that gets exposed and there’s this look in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. Once your head is clear of the fabric, you drop it onto the empty couch cushion beside you before moving to cup his cheeks in your smaller hands.
His lips are parted as he stares unabashedly at your chest. Brushing your thumb over the light stubble, you watch as he takes you in for the first time. Part of you is somewhat worried about his reaction, but his kisses were enough to leave your head clouded for long enough to push the anxiety away.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” is all he mutters before his hand pushes through your hair and he cups the back of your head. He pulls you into another kiss, his tongue wasting no time as it glides along yours. You moan against him sweetly as he lightly pulls on the strands. The sound must’ve spurred him on though, because he squeezes you over your bra once more. His insatiable fingers continue and your chest threatens to spill over the fabric cups.
You bring your hand over his and he immediately lets go of you. You shake your head with a grin, letting him know he didn’t cross any lines. Rather, you press on his fingers and make him hold you even tighter. He sighs into the kiss and digs harder into your smooth skin. Wanting to mimic him and clutch onto as much of him as possible, you push your palms flat to his chest and work them up towards his neck. You don’t even register the way you’re tugging at the neckline of his shirt until your thoughts slip and you mumble something against his lips.
“What was that?” Frank asks as he trails a finger down your cheek.
“Can… Can you take yours off too, please?” Your words come out as a whisper, your nerves acting up at the idea of asking that of him. He only smirks up at you before adjusting himself to sit up more against the couch.
“Guess that’s only fair, huh?” You watch as his hands come to the back of his neck, arms flexing as he pulls the shirt over his head and haphazardly drops it beside yours. When you see him shirtless for the first time, you’re pretty sure any thought you had–and ever will have–leaves your mind. Thick muscle wrapped in tan skin, broad shoulders that you’re certain would engulf you whole, and dark hair lining the skin under his belly button that trails below the waistband of his jeans.
“You alright there, kid?” he questions through a raspy chuckle. You hesitantly reach a hand out and lightly rest it over his heart. His chest is big and he fills your palm as his heart beats against your skin. You force your eyes to focus on his face again and he meets you with a confident smirk.
“You still with me?” His words are laced with a cocky tone and you don’t even give him the satisfaction of shrinking down again. Instead, you lean forward and wrap your fingers around his neck before kissing him harder than you ever have before. He grunts against your lips, his own hips bucking up as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.
His hand wraps around to hold your lower back as he continues guiding your movements. With each roll of your hips into his lap, you feel his bulge against you. A wet gasp escapes you when you bump your clit on one particularly hard grind against him.
He feels harder underneath you each time you move, and it dawns on you what it actually means. He’s getting hard? Over me? The ever present voice sounds out again, words soaked in disbelief. Feeling more confident, you begin to buck your hips on your own as you grind faster against him. 
“Attagirl,” he praises, the kiss breaking once again due to his wide smile. He encourages your movements with one little word and his hand stops the push and pull, letting you move independently from him. He grazes his long fingers up your thighs before curling around, sliding his palms higher, and holding your ass in his big hands. Frank tilts his head to the side as he deepens the kiss and you feel the stubble scratching you, causing your hips to speed up of their own accord.
His bulge between your legs is warm–and admittedly thicker than you expected–which does nothing to help the burning at the pit of your stomach. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before and Frank’s lips begin to wander, trailing down your neck. His teeth graze along your collarbone and your hands find their way to his hair. Brushing through the strands with a gentle pull at the ends, you push yourself harder into his lap.
He grunts before pressing his tongue flat to your skin, slowly licking his way up your throat and back to your lips. A curse slips from you and you shudder when you feel the cool air hit the wet patch he left behind. Cupping your cheeks in his large palms, he traces his tongue over your bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the soft skin. You whimper louder than you mean to, the sound causing Frank to tilt his head down and break the kiss. His forehead rests against yours as he pants gently, regaining his breath.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers, dragging the tip of his nose down the bridge of your own. You giggle at his exasperated tone from the makeout session and rub your hands down his neck to his shoulder blades. The muscle is noticeable despite him not flexing and your mind starts down a path that you’re certain would do no good right now. Images begin to flash through your mind: Frank on top of you, your nails scratching down his back, his fingers tightening around a headboard. You give yourself a mental shake and bring yourself back to the present.
“What time is it?” you ask softly. Frank raises his arm up, checking the little display of his watch. Once you catch a glimpse of the digital numbers, you perk up as your eyes go wide.
“Shit, I gotta go,” Frank looks up at you confusedly as you speak. “The bonfire…” you trail off, hoping to jog his memory.
“What? No, you just got here, c’mon,” he groans. His arms wrap around your back and he tightens his hold while resting his head against your chest. With a wide smile, you brush your palms against the short hair at the back of his head.
“Frank, I’ve been here almost an hour,” you explain through a chuckle. He hesitantly looks up at you, his eyebrows pulled together and confusion clearly written all over his face.
“Really? I didn’t even notice…”
“Spent all that time when I first got here just talking. It’s your fault!” You tease him and his features soften.
“Well how was I supposed to know I had all this waiting for me if I shut up?” He pulls you snuggly towards his body and you feel the heat coming back to your cheeks. You shake your head when he drapes your arm back around his neck, his charm threatening to work on you once again.
“I gotta get ready,” you explain but make absolutely no attempt to leave your spot on his lap.
“Do you have to? You look great just like this,” his fingers idly move up and down your thighs. You find his little touches comforting and the butterflies flutter to life at his soft spoken compliment.
“My hair is a complete mess, thanks to you,” you scoff, “and I need to change.” You’re still in your outfit from work and want to wear something more comfortable, and warm, for tonight’s get together. Frank pouts as you speak but begrudgingly lets go of you, his hand keeping a hold of yours as you stand. You reach for your shirt and quickly pull it back on over your head and there’s a great, big sigh coming from him once your chest is covered.
Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you run a hand through your hair in an attempt to look halfway decent. Turning to say one last thing before you leave, there’s a sight that makes your eyes widen as a chill rushes through you. Your hands clasp together over your mouth as you gasp, embarrassment settling in. Frank looks up cluessely at you, until he follows your gaze to his lap.
There’s a damp spot on his jeans, almost unnoticeable against the dark denim, but it’s clear what it is nonetheless.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think I’d—I’m sorry,” you swallow thickly, trying to find anything to say to fill the silence. He’s hardly moved since he first glared down at the stain on his pants; his chest heaving and jaw clenching as he takes in the sight in front of him. The air is so thick you think for half a second you might actually choke on it. The next thing you see is the bulge in his jeans twitching to the side faintly.
You feel as though you might double over and grab your stomach for balance. “Frank?” you ask gently, but he continues to breathe roughly. You can’t even possibly begin to decipher what’s going on inside his head.
“Don’t ever gotta apologize for that,” he finally speaks up. His voice is gravelly and his jaw is clenched. He takes a long inhale and you can see him physically shake off the tension. “But yeah, you… You should probably change.” His normal cocky smirk is back in place and you smile, relieved.
Leaning over him, you press a brisk kiss to his cheek as a goodbye. You mutter one last apology against his skin before slipping out the door and shouting a farewell over your shoulder.
The entire car ride home you feel your skin buzzing. You’ve never felt so giddy in your life and you’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to keep this excitement to yourself. Part of you wants to scream out from the rooftops just to let the energy out but you also haven’t exactly talked with Frank about if this is something to share outside the two of you.
The ride home is a total blur and before you know it you’re pulling into your spot at your apartment. Dropping your bag by the door, you make your way straight to the bathroom. After accessing the damage that Frank left with his greedy touch, you quickly begin to try and make yourself look slightly presentable.
Surprisingly, you’re almost ready when your friend sends the message to inform you that she’s arrived at your place. All you’re missing is socks, shoes, and jacket, which by your standards, is pretty good. You brush your fingers through your hair one more time, trying to get it to lie a bit neater. With one last glance over in the mirror, you shrug and decide it’s good enough given the time crunch.
Shoving your shoes on and rushing out the door with your jacket folded over your arm, you reach her car door and climb in. She begins to drive down the street, turning down familiar roads to the place where you usually gather for this sort of thing. She fills the car ride with her stories all about her day, her rude coworker, and the new guy she’s seeing. You nearly speak up when she gets to that last topic of conversation. It would be nice to finally be able to relate to something, but you know that what you and Frank have isn’t even serious. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you bite your tongue and keep quiet.
The sound of gravel crunching under the tires reaches your ears and you perk up when you realize you’re finally here. After closing the car door and walking up to the fire pit, you notice your other friends already gathered around it. They greet the two of you kindly and pull you into hugs. You smile through the welcoming and scan their faces to check for Frank, but he’s not there.
Minutes pass and you find yourself pulling your phone out of your pocket to check the time every now and then. You watch as the sunset sinks below the horizon. It paints the sky a dusty orange before mixing and settling into soft pastel streaks of light. You’ve been here over half an hour and still there’s no sign of him. You get the courage to speak up and ask about him.
“Is Frank coming? I know he’s not usually on time but…” There’s a small chuckle sounding out from someone already a few drinks in.
“He texted me saying he forgot it was tonight. Should be here soon,” one of Frank’s closer friends, Curtis, replies to you. That’s weird, you think as you pout and wrap your arms around yourself. You wonder why he gave that excuse and what must’ve come up to deter him from getting here. It does little use, but you try to shake off the worry and focus on being in the company of the people you love.
You’re laughing loudly at a joke when you hear some light cheers and quickly turn around at the sound. Frank’s walking up slowly, shaking his head as the small group rags on him for being late. He scoffs, scratching at the back of his neck before being pulled into a few hugs by his friends. You’d give anything to rush over and pull him into an embrace as well, but you decide to not just run with your emotions.
Once Frank is sitting back in an old lawn chair and everyone is officially accounted for, Curtis lights the fire. It’s tradition to wait until everybody is together before setting the wood alight. There’s a moment of quiet crackling but before long the flames are roaring to life. You’re the first to walk up to it, stretching your arms out and melting at the warmth enveloping you when suddenly, there’s a nagging feeling in your head and you look over your shoulder to satisfy the small itch.
Frank’s eyes are glaring into your side, his expression hard and difficult to pinpoint. He’s holding his chin up in his hand and his eyes slowly begin to rake down your frame before shooting back up to your face. The lights and shadows from the flames dance across his features and you swear you notice his nose scrunch up for a second when his teeth sink into his lower lip.
A shiver runs down your neck and it’s not born from excitement like before. He looks absolutely pissed and you force yourself to look back at the charred wood. It could have absolutely nothing to do with you, you try to reason with yourself. But you’ve always been one to look for a flaw in yourself when someone’s upset, and no amount of logic can take away that instinct reaction.
The only thing you can think of is the mess you unintentionally left on him. He seemed okay when you left, but maybe that really bothered him. Whatever it was, he was definitely more cold than he was just hours ago and you wish he’d stop staring and talk to you already.
You plaster on a fake smile when your friend asks what’s wrong and insist that you’re fine. You mutter some excuse about the air being chilly and she finds a spare blanket to wrap you up in. When you steal a glance at Frank, you notice him acting in complete opposite of how he was moments before. He’s back to all smiles, holding his chest as he throws his head back laughing. You feel some of your own tension leaving at the sound of his cackling but you can’t help but wonder why that cold gaze was directed towards you.
The sky eventually begins to settle into the comforting deep blue and the fire shows no signs of dying out. You notice the cooler of beer sitting open and decide to walk over and grab one. Glancing down at the label, you notice it’s not the one Frank introduced you to. With a mental shrug you crack it open and toss it back without thinking. The flavor hits your tongue and it surprises you how much smoother it is than your first drink.
You get lost in the overlapping chatter of conversations and begin drinking more now that you’ve found a taste that’s enjoyable. The time passes and you slowly feel yourself relaxing more as the weight of the bottle in your hand gets lighter. It’s not enough to make you feel without control of your actions, but it definitely is enough to give you a buzz.
Eventually the chill of the night breeze picks up, and you begin to notice some people cuddling up to their partners. A few cuddle on a picnic blanket lying on the ground, some sit in each other’s laps. Regardless, you feel that uneasy sensation of being a spectator rising up again. You fidget with the bottle in your hand as you try and not compare yourself to the other couples when the sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look up.
Frank is sitting in his chair like before but this time his legs are spread wide apart. You lock eyes with him and he glances at his lap before looking back to your face. He runs a large hand down the length of his thigh, smoothing the fabric of his jeans, and it seems as though he’s presenting you a seat. You swallow thickly and make your way over to him, standing right at his knees.
“C’mon, it’s too cold,” he mumbles under the background noise of layered voices. You nod as he takes your hand, leading you to sit down on his legs. He’s quickly adjusting the blanket and draping it back over your shoulders before pulling your side into his chest. Your head aligns perfectly in the crevice of his collarbone and his body heat completely engulfs you. To say you’re happy you get to be close to him would be an understatement; you’ve been waiting for this all night but not sure if he’d make the move with an audience.
Each time he speaks, you feel his chest rumble against your cheek. His beating heart sounds out against your ear and you feel his fingers rubbing over your back. The warmth of his thick thighs underneath you remind you yet again of what occurred just a short while ago. You nuzzle your face into his shirt to hide from the thoughts consuming your mind, and he just continues talking while brushing over your side. Raising the bottle to your lips, you take another swig and swallow it down with a hum. Frank looks down at you and watches as you sit up higher against his chest to speak to him.
“Whatever’s in this is waaaaay better than what you gave me,” you whisper into his ear. Your voice isn’t slurred but it’s uneven in pitch, and he snorts–you’re pretty sure that’s your new favorite sound–before nodding.
“I’ll make sure to remember that, sweetheart.” His mouth is near your jaw and the breath fans over your neck. He didn’t even say anything sexual but that all-too-familiar warmth comes to life in the pit of your stomach again.
“Can I tell you something?” you ask in a quiet voice.
“Hmm?” His eyes never leave your lips.
“I missed you,” you confess. His lips spread into a wide smirk and you continue. “I know it’s stupid cause I literally just saw you but…” you trail off, staring down at your legs draped across his. “I got a little lonely when you didn’t show.”
“Yeah, about that…” He chuckles dryly and looks away from you. 
“What?”
“Let’s just say that, uh, the problem you left on my jeans was the reason I was late.” He turns his head in the direction of the tall flames and his words slowly sink into your mind. Heat rushes to your cheeks and your stomach does a cartwheel as new images flash in your mind: Frank’s long fingers working the button of his jeans open, his fingers curled around his cock, head tilted back as moans fall freely from his mouth.
There has to be a work stronger than mortified to describe how you feel right now. You still can’t believe you did that earlier and now paired with his confession? You wouldn’t be surprised if you melted into a puddle of your own embarrassment and slipped away. That also explains that his look from earlier wasn’t anger, but something much deeper and faceted.
“What’s wrong, kid?” He must’ve noticed you tensing up in his hold.
“You shouldn’t have told me that,” you mutter. You’re almost certain you haven’t blinked since he told you. Frank bursts into loud laughter, causing a few others to look over at the sound. You can’t handle the new pairs of eyes on you and you wrap the blanket around you tighter as you turn away from their curious expressions.
The night grows colder as the hours pass and you don’t even realize that the flames have died down until a few people begin to stand up and stretch, saying they’ve got to head home. You sit up and rub at your eyes, blinking slowly at the few empty chairs and people waving goodbye.
“You okay if I drop you home?” Frank speaks up as he watches you pull yourself back together.
“Are you sure? Didn’t you have some drinks?” you ask through a yawn, your eyes scrunching closed.
“Nah, saw you drinkin’ when I walked up. Just had water tonight,” he explains. 
He helps you stand up, saying your collective goodbyes to the group, before walking you to his black van. You watch as he walks around to the passenger side, opening the door for you and making sure your seatbelt is buckled before dropping the blanket back in your lap. You’ve never had someone take care of you like this and you have to convince yourself he’s just being a friend to not put more emotions in his kind gestures.
You mumble directions to him as he drives, sneaking glances at his profile as he stares out at the open roads. The lights from the lampposts shine through the window, the shadows dragging across his features as he taps his fingers along to a song playing faintly on the radio. He engages the clutch as he brings the car out of gear, coasting to a red light.
“I have another question,” you say in a raspy tone. It’s the one thing about tonight you still can’t figure out.
“Sure are full of ‘em tonight,” he jokes as he turns to face you.
“The thing you said earlier, about why you were late?” you don’t dare to actually say it aloud. “I left a few hours before the fire started.” Frank shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he stares at the scarlet glow of the traffic light.
“Tried a cold shower, sweetheart. Didn’t work,” he says simply. You don’t even say anything in response, just turn away from him and look out your window to avoid an even more awkward conversation. His chuckle sounds out in the small cabin of the van and you hate how your pulse speeds up.
“Just another left here,” you say after a while, directing him to turn into the neighborhood of your apartment. He parks along the curb with a clear view of your front door. The night is officially over and you want literally any excuse not to get out of this close space with him.
“Can I kiss you?” you ask in a small whisper.
“You don’t ever have to ask me that, kid.” You’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning over and brushing your lips over his. Pausing for a second, you try to memorize the feeling of his breath fanning over your lips, before delaying the tease and pushing your mouth against his. He kisses back instantly and you suck his lower lip past your own. A not so stifled grunt escapes him and you smile knowing you can get to him in the same way he gets to you. You break the kiss and work your mouth down his chin and the underside of his jaw. He sighs heavily and suddenly places his big palm to your cheek, gently raising your face away from his throat.
“I can’t let you go any further,” he stares down at you. You sigh frustratedly between your teeth before sitting up with a groan. You pout at him and stare back at his lips, cursing the fact that you drank tonight.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s late, you should head inside,” he nods towards the direction of your door. You hesitantly get out and drag your feet as you walk towards the small porch light. You unlock the door and look over your shoulder to see his van still parked. It isn’t until you step inside and shut the door that you hear the motor rev as he drives off.
You stumble into your apartment, brushing your hand against the wall until you miraculously flip the light switch on. You squint your eyes as you flinch away from the bright light and shuffle your feet forward down the hallway that leads to your bedroom. As you empty your pockets and drop your bag to the floor, you make your way towards the connecting bathroom.
Another yawn overcomes you as you struggle with taking your top off, your head getting lost in the mess of fabric. The jeans come off next and you try your hardest to hold onto the countertop before inevitably losing your balance as you try to pull your feet through the cuffs at the end of your pants. You try to breeze through your routine of getting ready for the night and eventually you're sinking into the soft mattress of your bed.
Three consecutive buzzes sound out as your phone vibrates on your nightstand, the display shining in the dark bedroom. You reach for it blindly and see text messages from your friend that drove you tonight.
“Did you get home okay?”
“Since when do you drink?”
“Also what is with you and Frank?” Oh no. A fourth one comes in as your phone vibrates in your hand.
“You have to tell me everything!”
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Taglist: @chellestrash @suitsofwo3 @avengerstower-houseplant @musicals-and-mermaids @castle-of-ruin @justalittlepickle @boo8008 @doublevirgogirl
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runningfrom2am · 3 months
Text
cold nights // part four
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summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.
pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader
wc: 2.9k
masterlists / nav / requests
tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.
a/n: this is your reminder to reblog and comment on fics you like!! it helps us writers out a TON the girlies who get it get it. thanks!!
series masterlist // playlist
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"I just have to ask you a few questions... is that okay?" Coriolanus asks, sitting across from you at the small table you find yourself chained to.
"Please." You nod, grinning at him. You were so tired, the bags under your eyes were evidence enough of that. Screw getting you food- Coryo is worried if you don't sleep you'll be all but useless in the games, even if all he needs you to do is run and hide.
"It's just so people can get to know you a bit better. Okay, so..." He looks down at the sheet in front of him, tapping the pencil against the table as he tries to focus on reading. "First, nice and easy, what is your full name?"
"Y/N M/N L/N."
"Great... Okay, and where are you from?"
"District Twelve, born and raised."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen next week." You smile.
"Oh, really?" He asks, pausing mid-sentence as he starts writing it down.
"Yeah." You smile. "Hopefully I'll live to see the day."
"You will." He tries to be reassuring as he scribbles the finished answer on his sheet. God, you got unlucky. Not that his eighteenth was a big celebration like some of his classmates, but Tigris made him a cake with ingredients she'd been saving up for and she refit his school uniform for him. You wouldn't even have that- you would be spending the day fighting for your life, if you even made it that long.
"And who is in your family unit?" He reads directly from the slip as he forces himself to move on.
"Well, there's me, my brother, he's fifteen, and then my ma and pa." You nod. "Well, my pa isn't home much. Lots of work in the mines; usually has sixteen-hour days. I hardly ever see him." You admit, sadness laced into your tone. "Saw him, I mean."
"My father died in Twelve." Coryo says, catching you off guard. He doesn't even fully understand why he felt the need to tell you this. "About ten years ago, it was rebels."
"I remember that." You reply quietly, recalling the lockdown placed on the District after the murder of a peacekeeper general. "He was the general. Crassus Snow, I assume?"
"Yes."
Everyone was forced into their homes at gunpoint, and in search of the responsible parties everyone you knew had their home destroyed by peacekeepers. Yourself included. Your bed was torn apart, and your mattress shredded for any hidden weapons or plans. Since then, you have shared a bed with your brother. A new mattress was hard to make, and your ma never got the free time or materials again.
Up until this week, that was the scariest day of your life. Just before the peacekeepers kicked in your door, your mother had grabbed the two of you and shoved you into an opening under the floorboards- a crawlspace made from a faulty foundation. You were in there for what felt like hours, listening to shouting and your home being ruined as you held onto each other with a hand pressed over your brother's mouth to keep him from crying too loud. Your mother's cries that day never seemed to end.
"It's a small world." You say after a solid few moments of silence, and Coryo can see it in the way you're staring at his paper that you're not reading it. You're zoned out completely. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It must have been scary."
"The war was hard on all of us." He responds. "What... what do you remember?" He had never heard anything about it besides the bare bones of what happened, he had never considered that the people of Twelve would remember it as well. And judging by the look on your face, it wasn't a good memory.
"I was about six, maybe seven, and I was playing with my brother, and I didn't hear anything but my ma must have because she grabbed us and hid us under the floorboards so fast I could have got whiplash. Peacekeepers came into our home, tore the whole thing to shreds, hurt my ma, then took off. Onto the next house. I didn't find out until a while later that rebels killed the peacekeeper general, they were looking for any evidence of conspiracy, I guess. The people who did it."
"Sounds like it was scarier for you than for me."
"But I want you to know," You speak so quickly you almost cut him off. "My parents had nothing to do with it. My pa is an honest, good man. All he ever wanted was to keep us safe. We're not rebels, I promise you that."
Coriolanus almost wishes you were, so he wouldn't be so hurt by what his people were putting you through. "I know. I wouldn't blame you for that."
"Thank you." You whisper, picking at your nails now as you look down at your shaky hands.
Coryo clears his throat, forcing himself to look away from you. "Uh..." He chuckles at the next question, making you look up at him again. "Are you married?"
"No." You reply, having almost completely forgotten about the worksheet in front of him. "I'm not."
"It's just... I just, I have to ask." He says, clearing his throat as he writes it down.
"Of course." You nod in understanding.
"Boyfriend?" He asks, and as you squint at the sheet you can see it's not there, and he quickly covers the next lines with his palm, cheeks flushing pink.
"Yes." You giggle as he snaps his head up to look at you.
"You do?" He asks, voice catching as his curls fall back onto his forehead from the sudden movement.
"Yes, what is so wrong in that?" You raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh.
"No, no, I mean, of course you do, you're beautiful, I just, you never mentioned-"
"Relax, Coriolanus. I'm kidding." You smile at the panic in his tone. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."
"Oh, right. Thanks, it's just for, yeah..." He mumbles, pretending to write something down behind his cupped hand so you couldn't see.
You shake your head at him while he's not paying attention, smiling to yourself.
"So, uh, do you have a job?"
"Not formally, but my ma is a seamstress. I help her lots with that. Fixing people's work clothes, stuff like that." You answer, getting back on topic.
"Did you make your dress?" He asks.
"Now I know that question's not on that form of yours." You laugh. "But yes, my ma made it for me when I was five. It's been my favourite ever since."
He looked the parts of it over that he could see above the table. It was well worn down, but well cared for. Similar to a lot of his own clothing.
"It used to be this big, flowing thing. Too big for a five year old- I would step on the bottom of it, just tore it right up." You recall. "So we trimmed the bottom, and as I grew, it grew right with me. I stitched up the bottom when I was old enough to enter the reaping, so now it's got shorts instead. But I still love it, lots of good memories held in the pockets of this old thing."
Shorts instead. So it's easier to run in. The thought haunts Coryo for a moment. The idea that you, at twelve years old, decided this is what you would want to run in, to die in, and took the liberty of sewing up the crotch in it yourself. Every stitch possibly sealing your fate.
"It's nice. I like it." He responds.
"Thank you." You smile, nodding proudly to yourself as you look down at the fabric. "It's real comfy, too."
"It looks it. Not very... restricting." He chooses his words wisely. No wonder you had kept it so many years. It still fit, so why not? Especially when it looked so good on you. The typically plain, neutral tone of the fabric complimented your skin tone so well. Even in bad lighting, it seemed as though you were glowing where the cloth met your skin. Glowing everywhere, now that he thought about it. Maybe you just lit up every room you walked into. Maybe it wasn't the clothing that was made just for you and hugged your form so flawlessly, maybe it was just you.
"Yes, it is not." You agree. "Now, our time is limited. Next question." You interrupt his thoughts, gesturing to the sheet of paper in between you.
"Yes, sorry." Coryo chuckles, shaking the distraction from his head. "Any hobbies?
"Reading."
"I did know that." He smiles to himself. "Anything else?"
"Well..." You think about it for a moment, chewing your lip. "I have a cat, and I like to play with him and take care of him, does that count?"
"I'll count it." He nods, quickly jotting it down. "What's your cat's name?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.
"Tybalt." You giggle.
"Tybalt?" Coryo tilts his head at you and you nod, bottom lip drawn between your teeth.
He nods slightly, prompting you to explain. "He's named after a character from Romeo and Juliet."
"That's your favourite, I remember."
"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives." You quote. "Mercutio calls Tybalt the king of the cats, so I named him after that."
"That's clever. Very funny."
"Thank you. I thought so." You smile proudly, watching him write down your cats name in his notes. "What is this for, if I can ask?"
"Uh, there's going to be an interview you'll have to do the night before the games. It'll be aired live on Capitol television, and people will be able to send in donations so I can send you things in the arena. Just like I told you." Coryo explains.
"An interview?" You ask. "What does that entail?"
"Well, I'm not sure yet." He answers honestly. "But we'll pass this sheet onto the host, Lucky, if you remember him, and he can ask you questions about your family, your life, any of this stuff. I think really whatever we want, though, so if there's anything in particular you want to say or talk about I can write that down for you."
"Oh, I'm really not sure." You reply. "Nothing in particular, but if you need me to talk I can talk about books for hours on end." You smile.
"Could you do a monologue?" He suggests. He had discussed this with Tigris before, and he was hoping you would, but knowing you, you would be dropping quotes in your interview anyway so you might as well commit to it and display how smart you are with something well-planned.
"Maybe, if you could find me a copy of Romeo and Juliet." You smile. "I think I know it, but it would be nice to have a refresher. Just to make sure I get it right. Would be awfully embarrassing if I made a mistake."
Coryo nods, quickly writing that down in the margins of the page. Considering he had never even heard of this book, it may be hard, but he would certainly try for you. "That would be great. Your goodbye was very moving, although quite confusing for most, but it had people talking about you and that's what we want."
"Okay. I'll practice."
"Thank you." Coryo smiles. "And I just have one more question on here to fill out... Do you have any special skills that you think will be helpful in the games?"
Your smile fades slightly and you just shake your head.
"That's okay. We'll figure it out."
That night, Coryo came to see you again. You were curled up with his blanket, draped half over yourself and half over Jessup as he lay next to you. It was a small blanket, obviously meant for a child, but it helped anyway. Maybe it was just a placebo, but for you, that was more than enough.
As you got up, hearing him call your name in a familiar tone, you draped the blanket more fully over Jessup before making your way over to the bars of the enclosure. "Good evening, Coryo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I brought you some things." He whispers, digging in his bag.
"How kind." You smile, watching as he pulls things out, handing you a napkin with some bread wrapped inside and tucking whatever else he brought under his arm to give to you after you've eaten. "Can you sit for a few minutes?"
"Of course." He nods, sitting down with you as you cross your legs and unfold the fabric carefully as not to drop what's inside. "I was hoping to talk to you anyway."
"Let's talk; it is not day." You smile, leaning toward him more.
"Should I be asking what that's from?" He jokes, but is surprised when you shrug.
"You could, but I wouldn't want to bore you." You giggle, shaking your head. "Take a guess, though. I believe you'd know it."
He smiles, watching as you take a bite out of the bread. "Romeo and Juliet?"
"Yes." You nod in confirmation, covering your mouth while you speak. "You're a real fan, now, aren't you?"
"I guess so." He chuckles. "The fact that I've never read it is unimportant."
"Completely irrelevant." You agree with a quiet laugh. His smile fades as his eyes land on something behind you, and you turn to follow his gaze over your shoulder. "What are you looking at?" You whisper, looking back at him again.
"Are you sharing everything I bring you with Jessup?" He asks, voice stern as his brow furrows at the question.
"I try to." You nod, taking another bite. "He's not well. I think something bit him the first night we were here."
"You can't." Coryo insists. Of course, he wants you to win, and you handing over every bit of sustenance or help you receive is only lessening your odds. Making Jessup stronger and you only weaker. "I know you're a good person, but once you get in that arena you won't have any friends. Not even him." Coryo explains, strategically skipping over the part where it makes him ill to see you sleeping with your head on the boy's shoulder and sharing the blanket that he gifted to you.
"Oh..." You say, so quietly he can hardly hear. "But-"
"Y/N." He cuts you off, a serious look on his face. "If you keep feeding him, keep helping him, and it comes down to you and him in the end, who do you think will win in that fight? If you had all the same nutrients and sleep, who do you think will win?"
"I- well..." You stutter, looking back at your friend. "It won't come to that. I think we both know that."
"We have to assume it will." He pleads, eyes now locked on yours. "Don't make it easier for him."
"Coryo, he's got a family, siblings, his ma to get home to. They need him." You protest, leaning closer so no one else could properly hear.
"So do you." He reminds you. The look of guilt that crosses your face indicates to him that even though you had your own family, something about Jessup makes you willing to give that up for him to get home. "What about Tybalt? He'll never know what happened to his own mother. Or your brother losing his sister. Y/N, please..."
Your eyes widen at the mention of your cat and your brother in particular. Clearly, Coryo is so desperate for you to listen that he's pulling strings he shouldn't. To make you hurt. To make you pay attention.
Tears fill your eyes as you speak. "I know." Your voice cracks, and the pit in Coryo's stomach tells him he's gone too far. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't want to be afraid anymore. It's selfish of me, I know, but I won't last long and I know that so I just want to get it over with." You cry quietly, reaching up to wipe your eyes on your wrist. You hadn't been so candid with him before, he almost doesn't recognize you without a smile on your face.
"Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's not selfish." He whispers, without hesitation reaching through the bars and resting his hand on your knee. Your skin is cold to the touch, even for him after he had just walked all the way here in the same air. "But it'll be over soon, and I'll get you home. I'll do everything I can."
You sniff and nod, hesitating before placing your hand over his. "I promise I'll do my best in the interview. I want you to win your prize."
Coryo's mouth gets dry at the insinuation. You didn't think you could win, you won't even consider it even with all the encouragement he tries to feed you every day, but you want him to win. "That's not important." He says, shocking himself with the sentiment. The Plinth Prize is his only hope at a viable future, at saving his family. But right now, he doesn't even care.
You don't respond right away, just sliding your hand under his to hold it. His skin on yours feels warm, comforting, the same way it did when he held it when you were first dumped in the zoo. You don't know if it's more comforting to you or him.
"I'm sorry to cry at you, I just sometimes realize what's going to happen to me and spiral over the possibilities and no matter how hard I try to accept it..." You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "I'm still fearful." Your voice drops below a whisper.
"Then don't accept it." Coryo grasps your hand tighter, leaning closer to you and looking at you through the bars. "Fight. Try to win."
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taglist: @soulessjourney, @keziahcore, @that-veela-girl, @motorsport, @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @Lanadelrey3, @rawrmameh, @3zae-zae3, @babyspice6, @pastel0rchid, @maysileeewrites, @articxari, @Urfavpouge, @Multivitaminfy, @baybieruth, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @drewsandsebastianswife, @niicole-87, @queenofshinigamis, @innercreationflower, @nallasstuff, @spring-goddess1, @baybieruth, @lovelyxtom, @throughgoeshxmilton, @enwonie, @scorpiolystoned, @iovemoonyy, @kodzuvk, @soupasoup, @eedwardss, @thatmarvelchick19, @wearemadeofstardust0, @regulusblackcore, @kbakery , @qardasngan, @omgsuperstarg, @kuroosbby001, @puredreamagination,
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394 notes · View notes
daisynik7 · 1 year
Text
Fine Lines
Pairing: Eren x f!reader
Genre: modern day au, one-shot
Rating: Explicit
cw: vaginal sex (cowgirl), blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, multiple orgasms, “princess”, “slut”, somewhat self-conscious reader
Word Count: ~7.0k
Summary: A girl’s night out ends with you crossing some lines with your best friend’s brother. 
Notes: Got inspired by this soundgasm I listened to that drove me wild (this is the link, listener discretion advised, put your damn headphones on before you click)! Everyone is in their mid-to-late twenties, for reference. Title inspired by the song “Fine Lines” by Jorja Smith. 
Personal Notes: This is shameless smut, not much plot (although I tried). Also, I’m very much obsessed with the pet name “princess” right now, so don’t mind me as I stick it in every fucking fic I write, can’t promise I’ll ever grow tired of it. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!
ao3 | my masterlist
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It’s Friday night, at last the start of the weekend. Work has been particularly stressful the past few days. New projects, useless meetings, upcoming deadlines; it’s never-ending. In need to let loose after being tightly wound this whole week, you suggest to your best friends, Mikasa and Sasha, for a girl’s night out. Dinner, drinks, dancing, and trashy food to end the night of debauchery. Just what you need to relax. 
At Mikasa’s apartment, the three of you gather inside her bedroom, blasting a party hits playlist as you all get ready. Sasha, eating a sandwich for a pre-game snack, sits beside on you on the carpet, the two of you applying your make-up in front of the closet mirror while Mikasa tries on outfits. “Does this look okay?” She presents herself to them in her black, strappy two-piece. 
Sasha whistles. “Hot mama!”
You smile, agreeing. “Stunning!”
She blushes, always appreciative of the support. “Thanks.” 
Suddenly, there’s aggressive knocking on the door. She opens it to find her brother and roommate, Eren, glaring at her. “Can you lower it? It’s so fucking loud.”
She rolls her eyes, tapping her phone to lower the volume. “Don’t you wear headphones?”
“I was wearing headphones and I still couldn’t hear Jean or Connie because of your fucking music.”
“Alright, alright, I lowered it, okay?”
“Thank you.” He glances over to you and Sasha, watching them argue. You quickly look away to avoid his gaze, staring back at the mirror. 
“Where are you three going tonight?” he asks, directing his question to his sister.
“Dinner in Stohess, then dancing at Club Paradis.”
“What’s the occasion?”
From the reflection of the mirror, you see Mikasa point her thumb at you. “Just a girl’s night. She’s been stressed at work and wants to let off some steam.” 
Eren looks at you, your back turned to them as you pretend to not be listening. “Well, have fun.”
“What are you up to today?” Mikasa asks.
“Just gaming with Jean and Connie. Armin’s out of town at a work conference, so it’ll be an uneventful weekend.” He pauses before directing his question at you. “So, I’m assuming you’ll get super drunk tonight? Will I need to take care of you again?”
You whip around to face him, cheeks hot with embarrassment, recalling the incident he’s referring to. “Hey, to be fair, your rooms are right next to each other, it was an honest mistake! And I already made up for it, remember?” 
A few weeks ago, following another girl’s night, you stumbled into Eren’s room by mistake and made yourself comfortable in bed next to him. And almost threw up on his sheets. Luckily, he caught wind of what was about to happen, and he led you into the bathroom, where he held your hair as you began to vomit the results of your excessive drinking. As thanks, you cooked a delicious dinner for both him and Mikasa the following day, complete with his favorite dessert: brownies. Specifically, you’re signature brownies.
Chuckling, he responds, “Yeah, yeah, I’m just teasing you. Good thing you didn’t actually throw up on my sheets. Then you’d be in real big trouble.” The smirk he gives you sends a flutter bellow your belly. 
Mikasa glares at him. “Gross. Stop flirting and get out of here, we’re trying to get ready.”
He obeys, yelling out, “Have fun tonight!” before retreating into his room.
As you finish the rest of your ensemble, your mind is focused on Eren. You’ve known him for nearly ten years now, ever since you and Mikasa became roommates freshman year of college. They weren’t biologically related, Mikasa being adopted into his family from a young age, but they were closer than most blood-related siblings were. The two of them, along with their childhood friend, Armin, were inseparable. And as Mikasa’s best friend outside of this close-knit circle, it was only natural that you became well acquainted with the other two, especially her brother. 
It's no secret that he’s always been attractive. You’ve listened to too many rants from Mikasa about all the different girls he was messing around with in college. She criticized him often for dating fine women without ever wanting to commit to them. These tirades began to fade after graduation. It’s been a while since you heard any news about his love life, but you’re always too shy to pry.
You’d be lying if you said you never thought about him in a romantic sense. He’s always been kind to you, harboring a soft spot for his sister’s best friend. It’s never been more than that, though. You’re certain that’s the only way he sees you. And it’s not as if you’ve ever made any attempts to flirt with him. There’s an unspeakable boundary that you don’t dare cross, fearing the repercussions. Rejection, potential harm to the relationship you’ve built through the years. It isn’t worth it to jeopardize what you currently have. 
Still, there’s no harm in fantasizing about it, as long as no one else knows. Right?
Make-up done, you slip into your little black dress, resulting in another whistle from Sasha. Mikasa twirls you with a smile. “Gorgeous.”
“So what’s the plan tonight, ladies? Shall we play a little game?” Sasha suggests with a devious grin. “Last time, it was drinks. Maybe this time, we’ll do phone numbers?”
“I’m down for that,” Mikasa agrees, adjusting the volume of the music even lower. 
“You in?” Sasha looks to you for confirmation.
You shrug. “Sure.”
“What’s wrong?” 
It takes a while for you to respond, ashamed to admit it out loud. “I never win these things. I rarely ever get hit on.”
“That’s because you’re too shy! You have to put yourself out there!”
You fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t think that’s it. Maybe I’m too ugly.”
“Stop! We don’t tolerate that kind of talk in this household!” Mikasa yells, sitting next to you. 
“I will slap you if you say that again,” Sasha threatens. 
“Not only are you two gorgeous, but you are also great at flirting. I’m just going to be sipping my drink alone while all the men flock towards you. But that’s fine! I’m fine. I’m happy to be a wing woman!”
Maybe it’s the stress of the work week putting you in this bizarre self-pitying state. You’re not usually like this. Or maybe you’ve been hiding it all along. It’s not as if you don’t have any experience when it comes to this. You’ve been on your fair share of dates, none of which have ever panned out to anything serious. Ever since you started working at your current job, you’ve been having a bit of a dry spell, too preoccupied with your career to focus on romance. Tonight, the burden of the past few years is finally taking its toll. 
With your innermost thoughts already laid bare in front of your friends, you confess, “I just wish I could hook up with a guy tonight. Just sex. No strings attached.”
“Well, if you announce it like that, I guarantee you’ll find a guy who’ll want to fuck you,” Sasha laughs. 
Mikasa adds, “Guys are easy. They go dumb if you bat your eyelashes or laugh at their jokes. It’s as simple as that.”
“Is it really? I don’t think I have that power...”
“It’s because you’re too shy! Don’t worry, we’ll find you a man tonight. We’ll make it happen.”
Sasha is the last to get changed, donned in a black dress similar to yours. Before requesting a ride, the three of you move to the kitchen, where you down a few shots of tequila. The burn of the liquor awakens your senses, prepping you for a fun night with your friends and hopefully, a guy to satisfy your sexual needs. 
Sasha checks her phone, groaning. “The surcharge is insane right now. It’s going to be this much just to get to Stohess!” She shows her screen, displaying the ridiculous cost.  
Hiccupping, Mikasa says, “Ah! I got an idea.” 
Stumbling towards Eren’s door, she knocks a few times until he answers, headphones around his neck, an annoyed expression on his face. “What?”
“Can you please give us a ride to dinner? It’s super expensive right now. And it’s only ten minutes away!” She puts her hands together in a prayer pose, pleading with him. 
Glaring, he replies, “I’m in the middle of a game right now.”
Sasha joins in on the begging, standing beside Mikasa. “Eren, please! We’ll make it up to you!”
He crosses his arms, expression softening, slightly amused now. “How?”
The two girls stare at each other, thinking harder than usual because of the alcohol taking its effect. “She’ll cook you dinner again!” Mikasa points to you. “She’ll cook you whatever you want!
You step towards them, yelling, “Don’t just volunteer me like that!” 
He looks at you with the same smirk as earlier. Even in your almost tipsy state, you feel the familiar sensation in your abdomen.
“I’ll only do it if she bakes me my favorite brownies.” 
“She will! She’ll do it!” 
He removes his headphones, throwing on a hoodie before turning off the lights to his bedroom. “Alright, you drunks. Let’s go then.” 
~~~
The three women follow him to the door, thanking him profusely as they strap on their heels. Inside the car, Mikasa and Sasha claim the backseat, while she rides as passenger. While the two struggle to put on their seatbelts, she stares forward, avoiding Eren’s gaze as he pulls out of the garage. Quiet enough for only her to hear, he murmurs, “I guess you’re my passenger princess for tonight.”
“Huh?”
He smiles at her, but doesn’t repeat himself, turning his attention on the road. 
They’ve known each other for a while now, ever since freshman year of college. She was Mikasa’s roommate, and eventually, best friend, aside from Eren and Armin. She’s always had that charming smile on her face, matching her magnetic personality. He never really noticed how alluring her energy was until recently. He’s not sure what changed, but something did. He pays attention to her now. 
Today, he overhears them talking on the other side of the wall. Eren didn’t have his headphones in while him, Connie, and Jean took a break from their game.
I just wish I could hook up with a guy tonight. 
Just sex. 
No strings attached.
These words, coming from her mouth in particular, pique his interest. 
It’s not that he wasn’t attracted to her before. He just never really thought of her outside of being Mikasa’s sweet, innocent friend. All he knows is that they’ve been acquainted long enough to know that they get along well. Sometimes really well, sharing similar humor, music tastes, favorite foods. Little details that used to be insignificant, but now, seeing her in a new light, means something more.
He'd be fooling himself if he says he’s never thought about it. Of course he has. The common trope of fucking your sister’s best friend, it’s a story that’s been written countless times in television, literature, even porn. Is it possible that this fictional cliché can become a reality? The idea floats around in his head as he drives them to the restaurant. Sasha and Mikasa are obnoxiously giggling to themselves, looking at their phones. His passenger joins in on their conversation. “What are you two giggling about back there?”
“We’re trying to find potential candidates for you.”
Eren is definitely listening now. He tries not to smile to himself as she exclaims, “What?!”
“We’re checking out all the guys in the area. Oooohhh, what about him?” Sasha turns her screen towards the front, showing a picture of a shirtless man. Literally just a naked torso, no face at all. “I can message him to meet us at the club after dinner!”
“Don’t!”
“Why not? I thought you were trying to fuck tonight!”
“Sasha!” She buries her face in her hands as Mikasa cracks up. 
“Oh hey! Maybe Eren knows someone he can set you up with! Got any single friends who are down to fuck?” 
Sasha and Mikasa cackle together as she turns to him, expression horrified. “Ignore everything they’re saying, oh my god.”
He teases, “What if I do know someone?”
Mikasa leans forward, now curious. “Who? You better not set her up with Reiner. You know he would eat her up alive.” 
“It’s not Reiner.”
“Then who?”
He pulls up to restaurant, still not answering the question. Sasha and Mikasa hastily exit the car, thanking Eren for the ride. She takes a while longer to undue her seatbelt. He takes this opportunity to say, “Good luck tonight.”
Groaning, she mutters, “I can’t believe Sasha. I’m sorry you had to hear that. It’s so embarrassing.” 
“Hey, nothing embarrassing about it. We all have needs.”
“Well, if I fail tonight, maybe you can introduce me to that friend of yours one day,” she jokes. 
“Sure. I can even introduce you to him tonight.” 
She laughs, not fully grasping what he’s trying to say. “Yeah. Right. Anyways, thanks for the ride.”
He watches her exit the car, the hem of her sexy black dress riding up along her thigh as she steps out. Hoping that she does strike out tonight, for his sake. 
~~~
Dinner goes by smoothly, the meal delicious as always, drinks flowing freely to continue setting the mood for the night. The three of you linger at the restaurant for a little while, sipping on more cocktails as you digest your food, preparing yourselves for a long night of dancing.
By the time it’s 10:30 PM, you make your way a few blocks down to Club Paradis, a crowd of people already lined up at the door. Luckily for you, Sasha’s friend, Nic, is one of the chef’s at this establishment when it’s a restaurant during the day. The bouncer, who recognizes her, let’s you all in immediately, without issue. 
Inside, the DJ has already started their set, EDM music blaring through the speakers. The first thing you do is head to the bar. Mikasa, right off the bat, works her magic and has a guy buy the first round. In turn, she also gets his number, starting the little game. 
Sasha manages to charm her way into sharing a table with a trio of men, getting their digits in exchange. Two of them chat with Sasha as the other tries to flirt with Mikasa, leaving you on the side, sipping on your cocktail, as predicted. 
When the dancefloor starts filling up and the DJ begins to play the popular club hits, the three of you abandon the table to start dancing. Throughout the night, more men approach your friends, sometimes dancing beside them or attempting to dance with them. Mikasa and Sasha end up rejecting their advances, deserting the phone number game. The three of you dance until your feet are tired, throats sore from singing along, and heads pleasantly dizzy from the buzz of the alcohol. By the time it’s past 1:30 AM, you’ve forgotten about your desire to hook up, too immersed in having a blast with your friends.
Being the least drunk, you request a ride on your app, Mikasa and Sasha both leaning against you, still giggly, but exhausted. The car arrives, the three of you cramming into the back as the driver takes you to the apartment. Sasha whines to you about fast food, reminding her that there is a frozen pizza waiting to be baked at home.
It’s about 2:00 AM now as the three of you shuffle into Mikasa’s apartment. You immediately preheat the oven before following your besties into the bedroom to start the tedious process of turning down for the night. 
When you hear the distinct beep from the kitchen, you scurry over to pop the pizza in the oven, setting the timer for ten minutes. You continue to remove the rest of your makeup and by the time you’re done washing your face, comfy in your silky, floral-print pajamas, the pizza is done. Resting it on top of the stove, you walk back into Mikasa’s room to find your two friends passed out on the bed, snoring peacefully. Chuckling to yourself, you turn the lights off and close the door quietly, leaving them to their slumber. 
In the kitchen, with the pizza cool enough to touch, you cut yourself a large slice and start eating, leaning against the counter, scrolling through social media with your free hand. The sound of a door creaking open startles you, until you see Eren step out of his bedroom, dressed in a white t-shirt and dark grey sweats. Man-bun in all its glory.
“You’re still up?” you question, mouth full of the bite of pizza you just took. 
“Yeah, I just finished playing with Jean and Connie. The smell of pizza lured me out,” he responds, smiling. 
“Help yourself. Your sister and Sasha fell asleep, so I won’t be able to finish this on my own.”
He cuts himself a large slice, sliding it onto a paper plate that you put out on the counter prior. The two of you eat in silence, you pretending to be distracted by your phone when really, you’re waiting for him to initiate conversation. When you’re finished with the pizza, you open the fridge, craving something else to eat. 
“Are you stealing my snacks?” He’s behind you, closer than he’s ever been before, body pressed ever-so-slightly against you as you inspect the refrigerator. 
You lean forward, sticking your ass out just a little bit. For good measure. “I would if you had anything good. All that’s here are Mikasa’s protein bars and a dozen eggs.”
He chuckles, placing his hands on your waist to push you aside. “You just don’t know where to look.” Reaching his arm into one of the compartments, he conjures a pack of vanilla pudding, handing it to you. In the cupboard above the fridge, he grabs a bag of potato chips.
“Ah, so you have your own secret stash.”
“For drunk munchies. Or even when I’m not drunk.”
“Thanks. This is just what I wanted.” You unfold the bag, reaching in for a handful, smiling.
He leans on the counter next to you, munching on his pizza. “So, how was tonight?” 
“Very fun. I needed that.” You rip the seal off the pudding cup. Some of it gets on your thumb, to which you instinctually stick in your mouth to suck it off. You realize Eren watches you carefully as you do this. Nervous under his gaze, you release it from your mouth with a slight pop. “It’s been a really stressful week at work, so it was fun to have a girl’s night, not worrying about anything.” When’s the last time you and Eren actually had a conversation one-on-one like this? Has this ever happened? 
He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off to drink a couple of gulps. When he’s done, he offers it to you. You’ve shared plenty of drinks with Mikasa, but with Eren? This is unexpected. Not wanting to make it weird, you take it, swallowing your fill until you’re properly hydrated, much thirstier than you thought. 
He watches you replace the cap, setting the almost empty bottle back down on the counter. It’s odd being observed by him. You don’t remember him ever paying attention to you in this way. Why tonight of all nights? Edgy from the work week, horny and desperate for an easy release. Why is he acting this way now while you’re vulnerable?
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Hm?”
He lowers his voice, leaning in closer to you. “Did you find a guy to fuck?”
This catches you more off guard, the bluntness of it. Maybe it’s the remaining alcohol still flowing through your body, giving you liquid courage to behave out of character. Maybe it’s your desire to feel a warm body beneath you tonight. Maybe it’s the words he uttered to you earlier in the car replaying in your head that you’re just now picking up on.
What if I do know someone? 
I can even introduce you to him tonight. 
We all have needs. 
Whatever it is, it’s driving you to match whatever crass energy he’s giving off. “If I did, would I be here right now? I’d be at his place, fucking his brains out.”
At this, he lets out an amused hum, smiling. That goddamn smile. Charming, attractive. Dangerous. “Being here with me isn’t so bad, right?” His arm is completely pressed against yours now. All this surface on the countertop free to occupy, yet he crowds you in his space.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you can do for me,” you answer, setting the barely eaten pudding cup on the table. You swallow hard, standing up straighter to muster as much confidence as you can. 
He moves closer, all six feet of him towering over you. “What do you want from me?”
“You told me you know someone in case I struck out tonight. Who is he?”
“I think you know.”
Your eyes widen. “Are you sure?” It’s like asking for permission to cross the line that you’ve avoided this whole time. 
“Yes, absolutely sure,” he confirms, bowing his head down towards you. 
You gulp loudly, heart thumping. “Then make the first move.”
~~~
Without hesitation, he closes the gap and kisses her. He starts off soft and slow, acquainting himself to these lips he’s known for almost ten whole years, but never appreciated until now. How foolish he’s been for not getting a taste sooner.
She grasps at his chest, white tee bunched in her fists as she pulls him closer to deepen the kiss. He never knew how forward she can be. She’s always been shy, reserved. This is a new side of her he’s never seen before, and it excites him. 
Her lips part, inviting his tongue in to swirl around hers. He slides his hands to her waist, thumbs slipping beneath the silky band of her pajama shorts, feeling for the fabric of her panties. 
“Fuck, this is crazy,” he whispers between kisses. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Dragging his bottom lip down with her teeth, she suggests, “Should we go to your room?” 
He shakes his head. “Walls are too thin. Let’s go to the couch.”
They stumble into the living room, feet shuffling against the hardwood floor, clothes tugged on here and there, little giggles exchanged between them as they fondle each other on the way to the couch. He sits down first, spreading his legs wide to display the erection outlined in the fabric of his sweats, cocky smirk plastered on his face. Palms patting the inside of his thighs, he beckons, “Come here.”
She takes her place on his lap, straddling him, skimpy boxer shorts bunched at her thighs. They keep kissing, his hands sliding under her shirt towards her chest. To his delight, she’s not wearing a bra. With a gentle pinch on both her nipples, he squeezes at her tits, still in shock that he’s feeling her like this. He starts brushing her hardening nipples with the pads of his thumbs, enjoying the way she pulls away from his lips to throw her head back in pleasure. 
“You like having your nipples played with, don’t you?”
Biting her lower lip, she nods, gripping his shoulders like reins to hold herself steady for the ride. He brings her face close to his again, lips grazing her ear as he whispers, “Do you ever think about me? Like this?” 
He’s genuinely curious. Now that he thinks about it, there has been an instance or two when she’s appeared in his mind during a late-night quick release. Particularly after seeing her wrapped in only a towel after coming out of the shower whenever she sleeps over. He never thought anything of it, just an innate reaction to seeing a woman almost completely bare. It’s instinct for him to wonder what marvel is hidden underneath if that towel conveniently slipped off. What her naked body, slick and dewy from that steamy shower, would look like in front of him. Or beneath him. Even riding him. 
It's only natural to think of his sister’s best friend, of his friend, this way. Right?
Maybe not. Lost in the jumble that is his psyche, he’s definitely thought about it, and not just once, not twice. Many times, he realizes. Somewhere in the middle of all his other depraved fantasies, she’s been there without him even noticing. Until now. 
This may be a mistake. It might ruin whatever relationship they’ve developed throughout the years. It doesn’t matter though, because all of those worries fade away as soon as she breathes out the answer to his question. “Yeah, I do. I think about you a lot.”
It’s the go-ahead, the green light. They’ve both stepped over the line now; at this point, it doesn’t even exist. She wants this just as much as he does. Nothing else matters except for the two of them, sitting on this couch, fulfilling each other’s shameless needs.
She hoists her top off, breasts completely exposed for him now, his hands still squeezed firmly around them. He takes one and latches his lips to it, sucking hard until it’s taut in his mouth, listening to her whine in ecstasy. With a loud pop, he releases her, brushing his lips along her plump nipple. “You like having your nipples sucked, huh?”
“Mm-hm. Do that other one.”
He laughs softly. “So demanding. So greedy. I never knew you were like this.” 
“I guess the secret’s out,” she says, smiling before kissing him hard on the lips. 
He breaks away to play with her other nipple, causing her to moan even louder. With his free hand, he covers her mouth gently, her wet lips puffing warm breath into his palm. Unable to resist temptation, he teases his fingers into her mouth, pleasantly surprised when she sticks them in farther, tongue licking around his digits. 
Another loud pop as he let’s go of her tit, cursing. He pumps his fingers in and out of her mouth, coating her spit all over him. “You’re nasty. You’re really fucking nasty. Tell me what you want me to do with these wet fingers.”
Still licking at his hand, she muffles, “Touch me.”
Through the opening of her shorts, he slips past her panties, sliding his fingers along her pussy, slick and creamy with her arousal. His cock is unbelievably hard, but he doesn’t want to rush this. He wants to take his time with her, familiarize himself with her body, memorize each beautiful crevice he gets to explore tonight. There’s no telling what will happen to them after this. He’s taking this opportunity and making the most out of it in case this never happens again. 
Finding her clit, he rubs his middle finger against it, pressing it firm enough to have her trembling above him. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “Eren.”
The rasp of his name in that sultry, desperate tone makes his cock twitch. He uses his free hand to start palming his erection through his sweats, thankful that he had the foresight to change into these before he stepped out of his room, knowing it was her out in the kitchen, alone.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just now that he had this revelation. Who is he really kidding? He’s wanted this for a while now. He buried it in the back of his mind because it was too taboo, too forbidden. That just made him yearn for it more. And tonight, it all comes to head. Finally.
“You’re getting so wet for me with just my fingers.” He slides his hand underneath his pants to fist his shaft. “Bet I could make it juicier if I eat you out.”
“Sounds promising,” she smirks, grinding against him. Leaning past his ear, she whispers, “But I want to try something else first.”
His abdomen tightens, anticipating what she has in mind. “What?”
She dismounts him to kneel on the carpet, head positioned between his thighs, staring lustfully at him. “You know what.”
Shifting forward in his seat, he asks, “You want to suck my dick? This fat cock in front of you? Is that what you want?”
“I want to see what all those girls in college were making such a big fuss about.”
He lets out a short laugh, lifting his torso to slide his sweats and boxers off simultaneously, his rigid cock springing free from its confines. “How do you know about my slut era? Did Mikasa tell you?”
“Maybe,” she replies, wrapping her fingers around him, stroking. 
He moans quietly, not wanting to reveal how fucking desperate he is for her. “Were you jealous whenever she’d tell you about all the girls I fucked?”
“Maybe,” she repeats, giving him a soft kiss on the tip, small string of precum connected to her lips. He’s stares at her, capturing a mental picture of this for future reference. 
“Do you wish I fucked you back then?” His curiosity is getting the best of him.
Shaking her head, she answers, “No. Because now, I get to have you all to myself.” Mouth formed in an oval shape, she sinks down onto his cock, the tip completely engulfed in her warm saliva.  
He uses every ounce of willpower not to bust right there. Who is this woman? Where has she been this whole time? And why hasn’t this happened sooner? 
“Fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes. “That feels good. Fuck.”
She blows him, her fist working the base as her head bobs along the shaft, movements in sync with each other to stimulate every fiber of his being. It’s been a while since a blowjob has felt this good. Maybe it’s because it’s her. Sweet, innocent, wholesome her. Or so he thought. The fact that his perception of her has been blown out the window, replaced with the side he’s always secretly pined for. This is what does it for him. 
He keeps his eyes shut for the most part, the sight of her with hollowed cheeks, milking the fucking life out of him, too lewd to watch. When he does, she looks up at him with a twinkling gaze, enjoying it. 
“Fuck,” he moans, a little louder this time. 
She slides off him, hand still stroking his cock, slick with spit and precum, index finger to her puffy lips, shushing him, “Be a good boy and keep your voice down.”
Holy fuck. Any morsel of control he has left is quickly withering away. “I’m going to come,” he tells her, rocking his hips in sync with her strokes. In an instant, her lips are latched around him again. He comes in her mouth, some of it spilling down onto his pelvis. She removes her hand to sink lower to the base, swallowing the rest. 
There’s a brief moment of silence as he basks in the glory of his orgasm, head lolled against the cushions, mind blank except for the euphoria spreading to the rest of his body. It’s only when he hears her giggle that he is brought to his senses. He lifts his head up to face her, observing the naughty smile formed at her lips. 
Grinning, he murmurs, “I can’t believe we just did that.”
She stands up to sit next to him on the couch. “We? Excuse me, but I did all the work.”
Turning towards her, he leans forward to kiss her cheek. “I guess it’s time for me to do my part, then.” 
Lying on the couch with Eren on top, he hastily pulls off her pajama bottoms along with her soaked panties, now completely naked. He takes a few seconds to stare at her, admiring how much sweeter it is to see her like this with his own eyes instead of in his imagination. 
“Quit looking at me like that,” she waves at him. “You’re making me self-conscious.”
“Self-conscious? About what? This fucking gorgeous body you’ve been hiding from me?” he teases, tracing his fingers along her sides, down to the hips.  
“Shut up,” she whispers, turning away. She’s so fucking cute, he can’t stand it.
“No way. I’m not going to stop talking about this beautiful face,” he says, leaning down to scatter kisses all over her cheeks. “Or your soft skin,” more smooches trailing her stomach. “And I definitely won’t shut up about this perfect pussy I’m about to devour.” With that, he spreads her thighs wide to lap his tongue on her clit, hearing her gasp quietly above him, hand covering her mouth. 
Delighted by her reaction, he hums against her skin, lips puckered at her bud, toying with her sleek folds. He flattens his tongue and slides it side to side while he slips his middle finger in her. 
“Oh fuck!” she cries into her palm. He puts his ring finger in along with his middle, thrusting into her while he eats her out sloppily, drool smearing all over her already sticky arousal. She tastes even better than he imagined, her creamy arousal luscious on his tongue, the lewd smell of sex surrounding his nostrils, priming him to go completely wild on her. It hasn’t been long since his first orgasm, but he feels the blood pulsing into his cock, getting harder and harder the more he indulges in her.
He doesn’t want to fuck her just yet. No, he wants her to gush all over his fucking face, and he knows exactly what to do to put her over the edge.
Pulling away briefly, lips and chin shiny with her arousal, he growls, “Sit on my face.”
“What?”
“Sit on my face,” he repeats.
“Are you sure?” She sits up, uncertainty evident in her expression. 
Growing impatient, he guides her on top of him, shimmying across the couch to position himself just right. “Don’t make me say it again,” he warns, hands on her hips, as she mounts his face, her knees surrounding his head. She hovers above him, too timid to do it properly. 
He grips her tighter, shoving her pussy into his face, tongue lapping up her leaking juices, swallowing noisily so she knows just how good he’s drinking her up. His hand smooths over her ass cheek, tapping it lightly. He wants so badly to spank her, punish her for hiding this from him all these years. Discipline her for depriving him for so long. 
“Ride it,” he demands, loosening his grip, letting her be in control. Without question this time, she does, rocking her hips back and forth against his face, pussy dragging on every inch of it. Dousing him, quenching him, smothering him. She’s whimpering now, lost in the heat of passion, fondling her own tits to feel even more as she grinds on his mouth. He’s tempted to jerk off, but it’ll be too much; it’s already enough for him to come untouched. 
In a small voice, she mutters, “Coming.” He sucks on her clit hard until her voice goes a pitch higher, then sticks his tongue into her slit, licking her insides while his nose jams into her sensitive bud. 
When she’s down from her high, she’s gently gets off him, a guilty look on her face as she reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table next to the couch, handing it to him. He sits up, face even shinier with her cum, and refuses. Smiling, he starts collecting her slick off with his fingers, sucking them clean into his mouth.
She shoves him playfully. “Don’t!” she hisses.
He continues to grin, pulling her into a sloppy kiss. “You taste fucking amazing,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against hers. “So yummy.”
“Don’t be weird about it,” she says, smiling. She toys with the hem of his shirt that he’s still wearing. “Do you want to stop? Or…?”
“Oh, we’re definitely not done yet,” he states, hoisting his shirt off.
Her eyes widen at the reveal of his sculpted chest and abdomen, then down at his stiff cock sprung against it. He laughs, catching her ogling him. “You’re going to help me deal with this, right?”
“Yeah. How do you want me to do it?”
“You tell me, princess.”
She grins at this, biting her lip. “I like that. Princess.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Pulling her towards him, he whispers, “Show me what else you like.” 
~~~
You get into a similar position as earlier, you on top of Eren, straddling his lap as he sits against the couch. This time, however, you’re both completely naked and messier than before, all the evidence from both of your orgasms sticky between your bodies. Lifting up, you align his cock with your wet slit, guiding it in slowly. It’s no surprise that he’s robust. It’s even bigger than you imagined, especially as you sink deeper onto it, his girth stretching you more than his fingers could. 
When he’s all the way in, you take a sharp breath, adjusting to his size. He doesn’t rush you; instead, he waits patiently, holding your hips tenderly with his forehead pressed to yours, watching you. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that beautiful head of his. 
A few moments of this and you ease up on him. You lift off slightly, then sink back down, repeating this until it’s a fluid motion, whimpering when you feel him reach your G-spot. After a few more deep thrusts, you let out a particularly loud moan, resulting in both your hand and his covering your mouth. You giggle quietly with each other. 
“You’re so fucking loud,” he laughs, gazing at you.
“That’s because you’re fucking me so good,” you respond, riding him faster. You take his hand and guide it to your arousal, begging him to touch you while you fuck yourself on his cock. 
“Fuck, you’re bad. You’re so fucking bad,” he growls, sticking out his thumb to massage your sensitive bud. “What happened to my sweet, innocent girl, huh? Deep down, you’re just a naughty fucking slut, aren’t you? Begging to be fucked tonight.”
His obscene words twist around your core, getting you closer and closer to another climax. “Say more dirty things to me, Eren,” you demand, bouncing on his lap, his thumb strumming your clit ruthlessly. 
“Oh fuck, you’re so nasty,” he whispers, panting. “Your cunt is so fucking wet for me, oh my god.” He fucks you, hands tight on your ass, feet rooted into the carpet, couch creaking noisily in the quiet of the living room. But it doesn’t matter because you’re almost there. Just a little bit more.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” he spits out, breath hot on your ear. “Acting like a good girl when you’re really just a nasty fucking slut. You know exactly what you do to me.”
“What do I do to you? Tell me.” Sweat beads off your forehead, his eyes animalistic, peering into yours as he rails you.
“You drive me fucking crazy. The way you flaunt yourself in front of me. Teasing me with that innocent smile. You’re just a naughty girl who needs to get fucked.”
“Ah, fuck me, Eren. Fuck me, fuck me! Make me come!” you cry, riding him fast.
“Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming,” he groans, holding you tighter in his arms. His warm cum shoots inside you as you orgasm on his twitching cock. 
He cradles you gently for a minute before asking, “Did you come? Please tell me you did.”
Nodding weakly, face nestled into his neck, you answer, “I did.” 
“Good,” he says, kissing you on your shoulder. “Good.” His arms wrap you in a snug embrace, massaging your back tenderly. 
“Do you think they heard us?” you ask.
“I’m pretty sure Mikasa would have come out by now to kick both our asses, so I think we’re good,” he chuckles. 
Pulling away to face him, you mutter, “Thank you. For tonight. I really needed this.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, grinning. “Always happy to help. You know that you can come to me for anything, right?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends.” It almost seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He ends it there, still smiling at you. 
You lean forward to give him one more kiss on the lips. “We should probably clean up and go to bed before we really do get caught.”
“Right. I’ll see you in the morning?” He phrases it in the form of a question, like he’s unsure. 
“Yes, I’ll see you in the morning,” you reassure him, extracting your sticky self from his body. 
Without another word, you walk away into the bathroom to clean yourself up and brush your teeth, mind racing with the realization of what just occurred. When you’re done, you exit and find him standing in the kitchen, dressed back in his sweats, waiting for you to use the bathroom. Before you sneak into Mikasa’s room to finally call it a night, you tiptoe towards him and kiss his cheek. “Goodnight.”
He blushes, eyes sparkling even in the dim light. “Goodnight, princess.”
~~~
Eren retreats into his room, ready for a good night’s sleep. He checks his phone for the time; almost 3:30 AM. In bed, he rolls to his side to face the wall he shares with his sister’s room, wondering if his special friend is still awake like he is.
Friends. He didn’t think it through before saying it. It was a spur of the moment comment, one made from nerves and anxiety surrounding the aftermath of their actions. Tonight, they crossed a line that most friends do not. What will happen to them now?
He grabs another pillow and hugs it, wishing it was her. Realizing that he doesn’t want to be friends with her at all, but something else. Something more. 
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hwajin · 9 months
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☆°. — 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 : ᴏᴄʜɪsɪᴀ
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𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hyunjin x fem!reader
𝐰𝐜: 10.1k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: big break up (👀), a bit of swearing, unprotected sex, implications of cumming inside, oral (f receiving), painful angst etc etc!! this is a LONG one and i hope you'll like it!! i eat up every bit of feedback!! the next chapter will be the final one so i wanna thank everyone already who has been reading and reblogging this series 🫶🫶
series masterlist | final chapter
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You and Hyunjin were friends. The label all but feeling foreign to you now, everything but scary; a few weeks ago it would have been frightening. Holding stable contact with the man wasn’t a hard task if you’d call it one in the first place – not long after the first introductory words and small talk was done, when the basics of a persona had been revealed your conversation had flowed naturally, as though friends for decades. It was as easy talking, texting and calling him as it was when you had first exchanged numbers – when Hyunjin had looked up your number in his system, that is. You enjoyed time when it meant spending it with him, even if you didn’t meet up physically. Hearing his voice over the speaker was calming, often fun – Hyunjin bore a kind of humour that you deemed only came out when he found himself in comfort, not intentionally comedic, simply naturally witty; you never missed a day giggling about whatever with him.
Often it was relaxing. You weren’t always talking when on the phone. Sometimes your words would fade into a comfortable silence and the only sound you’d hear from Hyunjin’s end of the speaker was pencil on paper, or brushes against a glass of water to wash off the previous colours. You’d often ask about his art, whether he was an artist to show it around or one that shied away from the attention towards his pieces; if you could ever catch a glimpse at them. He had argued that, considering it his wanted career, he needed to be brave enough to showcase his work and to accept critique for it – so yes, he’d be ready to show you, if you only asked.
Moments like those, the ones you spent in silence, in a comfortable one that only established itself between good friends and over time, it seemed, felt the most sinful, though disguising as the most innocent. When you weren’t meeting each other physically, and when you barely talked – when in fact, it seemed like you shared the least amount of contact it felt utterly shameful. Because it was intimate. Because it was more than any physical connection could ever build, you thought. Because in moments like those you could be vulnerable, existing in each other’s presence, if only in thought. Allowing yourself for them to wander, allowing sole silence to settle between you. It felt worse than any physical cheating could ever feel.
But then again, it was platonic. You argued it was, internally. You have met once or twice in the store, unintentionally – you had both needed groceries, and had stayed a bit to chat. It had evoked nostalgia, when you’d remembered it was the first place of your meeting. You had talked like friends would when crossing paths without planning to, had laughed and paid at the register together before making your ways home. And yet you had a feeling within that didn’t mimic friendship, that felt somewhat foreign yet strangely and wholly familiar. It was comforting, rather than butterflies that swarmed in the lower pit of your stomach it felt like waves of soft waters, ones you’d lay atop on when visiting a beach. Every conversation with Hyunjin – the physical ones more than the ones when you called, or merely texted – felt like water carrying your body weightlessly; utterly calming, silent, longing. You often tried to ignore it to your best abilities whenever it evoked, but it was not deniable eventually that whatever was developing between the two of you was maybe, just maybe, more than what you’d call a sheer friendship. Because you truly shouldn’t feel as excited, as happy and curious about another man you claimed to be simply acquainted with.
Speaking of, you were everything but keeping Hyunjin a secret from Chan. Despite your situation, dilemma – however you wished to call it, certainly not an easy turn of events, surely – you didn’t have the heart to give up on Chan, not that easily. You had promised to try, and he had too – which all but meant a sudden careless relationship. Arguments occurred, still, ones you didn’t seem to grow out of. Over little things, over bigger things both of you deemed important – Hyunjin was a subject of said disputes, more often than not. You felt guilty, surely, for feeling as content with him as you did. Though you had often argued that you wouldn’t tolerate jealousy from Chan in that matter. You said there wasn’t a reason for Chan to grow protective if you were the very person to admit you and Hyunjin being friends; which in no way was forbidden, Seungmin and you were too, after all; you found it childish thinking of every member of the opposite sex as a potential threat to a relationship, which Chan reluctantly agreed on. You were aware that you weren’t fully honest, not truly, that you were sinning in one way or another �� you weren’t cheating, were far from it, and you’d never stoop so low – before anything possibly developed, you’d be the first to break it off with Chan. Yet you weren’t lying when you had promised to try again, to not give up the year long relationship you had been building, had honest intentions in that matter – if anything, you were thoroughly conflicted. Staying with Chan to observe, to see if your bond would reconnect, yet befriending Hyunjin to yet grasp if he was a good match, a better than Chan maybe, altogether; it drained you, internally.
And faster than you could look, four weeks had passed since you had been in the library, since you had lent out the book you were supposed to bring in sooner or later. You had enjoyed reading, had remembered Hyunjin all the while – recalling he had read the book as well, wondering his thoughts on an impactful passage or a nice message you’d read. You enjoyed that you had similar taste – momentarily drawing the comparison that you and Chan could never bond over factors like these, your taste in literature and similar arts fundamentally different. It had never been an obstacle in your relationship, though having another person to enjoy the same things as you did was comforting, you couldn’t lie.
One o’clock on a Monday, and you were excited when you stood before the library, approaching the familiar wooden door. It looked heavy, was heavier when you pulled on it; it opened with a thick creaking, one that dared to disturb the entire quiet of such a silent space. The smell of books filled your senses momentarily, and though the place was utterly clean small particles of dust reflected in the rays of the sun and danced a dance you disturbed by walking right through. Hyunjin was sitting on his assigned desk, as promised working from twelve to six from Monday to Thursday – you had missed his face. You had missed seeing him, had missed observing him during work – not that you have done it often enough to truly miss it, yet excitement filled your body when he caught your eyes and smiled back at you. You’ve seen each other occasionally the last weeks so his smile seemed familiar, warm in nature and showing pearly teeth, and you had missed it. You had missed him. Deeply so – it didn’t scare you.
Eager steps carried you to the man, your shoes clacking softly against the wooden floor and echoed through the tall room of the library. Hyunjin fit into this place like a glove, you though – you could see the appeal it drew to him, could see how someone like him – someone quiet, someone sensitive and life-loving – would enjoy a beauteous, nearly sacred place like this. That he enjoyed typing away on his working computer and listening to the keyboard’s melody as he did, undisturbed and silent room around him, or that he liked grabbing a book or a pencil to kill time while work was slow – it fit him, in the best way it could fit.
“Hey.”
His voice like honey, and you have missed that, too. His voice, you have noticed the first time around, bore soothing fruits that melted on your tongue and got you hooked when you as far as tasted it. Anything about him had such effect, you couldn’t lie, but it was his voice that you learned to enjoy so much over the past weeks. You had missed it, deeply so.
You responded, watched as Hyunjin’s eyes softened at your word, took out the book you had not forget to pack and return. A bit of small talk around it, mutual asking about certain passages, about the ending or the characters and warmth coursed its way through your limbs – it certainly was nice to have someone with similar taste, someone who thought and felt close to the way you did. Chan rarely did, not about literature or arts, anyways.
“Oh, I’d love to see your stuff at some point…”, the conversation had shifted to Hyunjin’s very own art – ever since the party you had wondered what kind of paintings he created, ever since the party Hyunjin had told you you’d be welcome to stop by any time. “…do you like, have studio?”. A shy approach to invite yourself without actually doing so, without seeming pushy, interested instead. Yet you hoped Hyunjin would get the hint.
“Oh, no- not really, I mean. I’ve always wanted an atelier, but I can’t afford it right now…”, a glance up to you, reading your face, wondering if inviting you would be too much at this stage. Risking it anyways. “…I do have a home studio, though. You know, if you want… I’m free in an hour here.”
An exchanged smile, relief from both sides after you agreed and said you’d grab a book to read while waiting for his shift to end. Mutual giddiness bubbling in your chests and you all but could concentrate on whatever novel you picked from the various shelves – in thought already at Hyunjin’s place. You hadn’t expected, hadn’t particularly planned to be invited home to him. Your intentions had been pure, you hadn’t lie when you said you were interested in his art – though you couldn’t lie over the face that being within his own four walls rope a sort of anticipation inside you. Ones home was utterly intimate, felt like a new step to your friendship – a step you should probably be wary to take, one you maybe shouldn’t take altogether. Though you weren’t able to mind it, in all honesty.
Minute by minute went by and an hour felt like an infinity. You’d read barely twenty pages, having to go over paragraphs more often than not in your lack of absorption, until Hyunjin stood before you, finally. Bag thrown over one shoulder, single strands of hair fallen out his ponytail framing his face, soft smile dancing across his lips – he was a sight comforting to look at, and if there’d been any guilt left – about waiting an hour for the man your boyfriend was most jealous of, about visiting said man in his very own home, about taking more interest in his life, his art, his passions than in your boyfriends’ – then it was all gone by now. You didn’t mind anymore, didn’t care. Had decided maybe in that particular moment, with Hyunjin standing before you in all glory, so cautious since aware of your unavailability, yet a promising look in his eyes, one telling to simply choose him, leave your gone love behind and find happiness in a new one, that whatever was left with Chan was long over. Was barely worth fighting for, if not for sheer comfort and habit. That you in fact would stop fighting, for you’d been the only one doing so, after all. That though Hyunjin was yet a land foreign to you, yet to be discovered and explored he was a land of most promising and ripe fruits, of most beauteous nature and sight, of most comfort and secureness.
“You ready?”
___ . ꫂ
Hyunjin had played down the state of his home studio severely — it was as good as an actual atelier would be, to your knowledge anyways. The apartment he shared with his roommates — all gone now, stuck in classes or blowing raspberries at work — bore an extra room too small to be a bedroom and too spacey to work as a simple storage room, and Hyunjin had quickly taken the chance to claim ownership over the space. It’s walls and floor were littered in various combinations of cold and warm colours, stains Hyunjin was likely unable to remove for the overall state of the room was a clean one, despite being the one of an artist – you didn’t know any artists personally, yet had always imagined them to be on the chaotic side. Hyunjin’s studio, stains aside, brought nothing of such – brushes and paint kits stood under a rough system, seemed clean and neat in their position. Yet the studio carried the aura of pure artistry nevertheless — canvases piled up on each other or against the walls, unfinished and breath-taking sketches revealing themselves the longer you laid eyes upon the room, new mystery revealing itself with every closer look you took. There was art everywhere you looked, warm and comforting art you didn’t think you’d ever grow tired upon seeing. Art that made you blush, naked bodies piling upon each other, wondering if Hyunjin ever took live references, art that made you think, canvases filled with so much abstractness, so much variation in colour and texture that it needed you a minute to understand what you were looking at altogether.
You wanted to never leave this place again.
“You made all that?”
Stupid question expectant of stupider answer, though Hyunjin merely chuckled, his cheeks darkening, his fingers fiddling suddenly.
“Yeah... I mean, some of it is like super rough and not really good but... you know, inspiration comes and goes.”
The man gave you a look shy, one you wanted embedded behind a lock within your heart for an eternity – it was pureness, it was innocence that laid in his eyes when he looked at you like this. It was salvation, spoken with a pair of orbs, freedom offered with a single gaze.
And it was art that revealed itself to be a person, laying eyes on Hyunjin, art prettier than pencils and colours could ever create. Looking at him as though your entire world, looking at him as though he was the answer to everything you’d been looking for.
“Oh, shut up, nothing in here is ‘not really good’, I love every single piece…”, exchanged shy look, reddened faces the both of you, and you continued quickly, “I mean, I’m no artist but looking at your paintings makes me, like… feel something. I guess that’s a compliment for an artist, no?”
You chuckled, made your way into the depths of his atelier – it wasn’t anything but, as modest as Hyunjin chose to be about it – and let yourself flood with emotions he had converted onto paper and canvas, allowed yourself to discover colours and shapes, to give them a meaning only guessable – you truly weren’t an artist nor in any right of a good critique, though for Hyunjin you felt ready to learn it all. To understand theory and technique and profession, to dive into a world so unknown to you before, so beauteous you found yourself unable to resist.
A chuckle from him, then; “Yeah, you’re right… thank you.”
Hyunjin wasn’t following you through your journey across his works, stood by his most current piece near the window of the room – he had explained before that natural light was the best to paint with, so grateful the room happened to face the west side. He stood and watched you, enchanted by your interest in him, in his most vulnerable thing, nervous if you’d end up liking it altogether – art was insanely subjective, and while Hyunjin never took it personally nor illy if people and critiques reacted negatively, he needed you to be of an opinion positive. He needed you to like whatever you saw, to maybe understand even, inspiration and emotion, thought-process behind pieces and paintings. Though maybe that was too much to ask for, maybe to greedy of a wish to make. So Hyunjin stood watching you by the open window, hoping for simple contentment with his works from your side. Simple liking, nothing more. Because your validation was all he viewed necessary, from person least knowing of the subject yet of most important value.
Eyes meeting his, and you chuckled out, catching Hyunjin by surprise.
“You don’t talk much, huh?”
Catching Hyunjin by surprise anew – you were impossible to figure out. Admittedly, he had been silent from the moment you started making your way through his works. While he could have explained his inspiration behind certain ones he decided to refrain from it, letting you – hopefully – enjoy the silent satisfaction art brought. He was merely watching you – if maybe because in awe, though you were right, surely. He didn’t talk much, ever, truly.
“Yeah. I don’t really have much to say, I guess.”
Surprised look from your side now, and you shrugged your shoulders.
“I don’t know. Your paintings say otherwise.”
And with that you kept looking, and left Hyunjin utterly perplexed. It was a statement so base yet so determined in its character, and Hyunjin nothing but blushed at it.
He kept watching your eyes widen at certain works, when you liked the colours or when you did, after all, reciprocate thoughts and feelings, watched as you walked carefully, cautious not to nudge or bump against still wet canvasses and drying paint. Watched and shied when your gaze met his, when you decided to explore him instead of the art all around – and Hyunjin wondered if you felt the same. Ever wondered if the tension he still felt when around had dissipated for you already, if you had gotten used to the pulling and urging and longing your bodies fell into whenever near each other. No doubt that you had felt the same yet wondering if it was still the case, or if he was the one needing to hold a grip of himself – his body plucked by yours in the smallness of the room was unbearable, nearly, made him lose himself if he wasn’t careful enough. Needed constant reminding to not lose himself in the sight of you fully, converting his eyes for a second or two, collecting composition, regaining control. Control you so loved to take away from him, were so eager to steal right through the holes in his heart.
He damned your boyfriend — if it wasn’t for him, Hyunjin would have long made a move, despite his shy, his careful character, would have long spilled out his hearts’ desires for it took his body every last nerve to resist you, the whole of you. As you made your way through his paintings, through his emotions, through the soul of his Hyunjin’s body urged to be with yours, his heart desired your very own.
“You’d be beautiful to paint.”
Words past Hyunjin’s lips, gushing out too fast as to catch them from being heard. Far louder in the small room that he had intended them to be, for he hadn’t intended them at all. Hyunjin hadn’t even finished the thought before the words had materialized into the room – they simply appeared, as much to your surprise as his, and they bathed the both of you with a shower of fluster, of speechlessness. Exchanging looks, though faces burned hot converting eyes wasn’t in neither of your strengths to do – you simply looked at each other, purified disbelief dripping from within your eyes and onto your faces, standing like two idiots caught red-handed; because that was the first time thoughts had been spoken out aloud. Thoughts too secret, too forbidden to share, thoughts nearly sinful, bashful to even think, really. And they occupied your minds entirely – and Hyunjin was the first to admit to them. Though not wanted yet he did, and you’d been scared of the consequences. Scared to move because that would mean realness, scared to shift gaze because that would mean shyness, similar-mindedness; sin.
“I’m – oh my god, I’m sorry. I just mean --- you’d be a good reference, that’s all. I-”
Words a waterfall, and you shook your head, back in the studio after having felt lost, floating somewhere above the room, brought back the voice of his. And roughly, so.
“No, no… don’t apologize… uh- thank you…? I’m sorry, uh, thank you, really.”
Voice as trembling as you felt, and you shook your head all the while speaking, huffing out in attempted amusement, though it came out as a snort and ended up awkward; which made your heart beat faster and your face paint darker, and you cursed Hyunjin for saying those five words, so short a sentence, so small a promise and yet enough to shake your word. Walls you built so carefully before stepping into his home crumbling in their place, any sort of shield around your heart, regardless of its material, shattering into pieces to let free the feeling you had been trying to suffocate beneath layers of pretend. Allowing your body to be pulled by his, allowing the string that connected your hearts to tighten, to bring you closer, to connect you. To truly connect you, because now his word was spoken, now his promise was made. As small a promise as it was, and there was way to go, but it was irreversible.
And he knew it, too. Felt the threads, felt the needle in his arteries poking deeper, felt the fine fibre pulling him towards you and you towards him, felt your heart sink altogether, felt your crumbling composure. Knew even, maybe, entirely what you’ve been thinking – though not a master to mind reading he swore he knew what was going on in yours, felt your thoughts as though they were his own.
“I… actually… I haven’t really painted you, per se, but…”, though shy, resistant, Hyunjin let his mouth speak, as though a stranger to his own words, with no control over his mouth, his body. But the moment called for honesty, and he was ready to grant it to you. Ready to cross boundaries if he needed to – he hated your damned boyfriend, and if the last thing he did was being the reason for your end then so be it. He’d be ready to die on that hill, he’d be ready to die on any hill, if it was for you. Pathetic, because unsure if you felt the same, though not embarrassed, never ashamed. Hyunjin decided maybe in that very moment that he’d fight, as long as you let him. That, as long as you visited him, the library, his studio, or merely your voice at night over the hushed speaker of his phone, when your boyfriend worked his life away, unapologetic of your own, that he would fight for you. For your love. For your heart.
“I made this. And you… were the inspiration, I guess. More like, the feeling I have… when I’m around you. The feeling we both had, I think… when we first touched at that party… God that sounds so stupid.”
He mumbled; you nearly asked him to repeat himself. Though the very moment you laid eyes upon the canvas every thought ceased to exist within you – you had never seen a painting, a work of art as delicate as the one he showed you, brought up from behind a pile of abstract looking pieces. It were hues upon hues, oranges and blues, light and dark composition, moulded together in a way you wondered how was humanly possible. Where one colour ended the next began, mixing where they met each other, connecting in strokes articulate, almost. As though the painting bore the ability to speak, telling you of its thoughts, of its longings and desires, of its love. Of Hyunjin’s love, ultimately – for he was the one who brought the painting to life. With you in thought, with you behind the lids of his eyes, with you before his very being.
And you knew from maybe that moment that it was him. That it had always been him, the empty space within you, the wishing part of you, the one asking for contentment, for delicateness, for love within your life. That it had been him before you ever grew to know him, that it had been him before you’d been placed on this earth, before you had walked the planet, altogether.
___ . ꫂ
“You have no right to be angry at me, and you know that.”
Not screaming though you weren’t too far from it at that point, trying to collect voice because volume surely wouldn’t help.
You had come home, step light and head high, Hyunjin and the past hour occupying your mind entirely – until you had reached your entrance door, made your way into it, and had met Chan on the sofa, angry, upset.
“You have forgotten our date.”
Words as simple as that, and they had made you furious. Furious because he was unbelievable – missed chances from his point and it was fine, the moment you gave him a taste of his own medicine, bitter and unpleasant he reacted. It was unfair on you, and he was crazy not to be seeing it. His hypocrisy, his idiocy.
And you had been impatient. Had nearly not wanted to fight or argue because you saw no point within, knowing your boyfriend well enough to predict no outcome would leave the both of you satisfied. That compromising throughout your relationship, throughout the time you’ve spent together could only do so much, could only work for as long as it has. That you have reached a breaking point, surely, finally.
“You have no right to be angry with me. I can’t even count on fingers how many you have missed and I won’t let you ride my dick for the one that skipped my mind today!!”
You and Chan stood opposite, so far away from each other, and it didn’t feel like enough. You wanted to get away, needed to, because he was suffocating. Suffocating and impossible, loved so dearly once and now hated all the more. You didn’t want to; hate was a word so strong it nearly scared you, though love was as well. The flame with Chan, if there’s ever been one, had burned out, had used out every last match it could find, every last piece of rotten wood it could burn. Left was a cold bundle of ash, asked to be taken out, to be thrown away, to be abandoned. To be finally left alone, because it was tired, exhausted of the constant tries of starting a fire, of getting it to burn again. Pained from the constant nagging, from the fruitless effort, from the overripe dejection.
“I am angry though!? We’ve promised to start to make an effort, and I’m really fucking trying here, I’ve cleared my fucking schedule for you, I’ve cancelled important meetings and appointments I needed to attend and I did for fucking you!? Fucking hell.”
Words intended to make you feel bad though you failed to. Couldn’t, not with a right mind. Though Chan wasn’t wrong in theory, you couldn’t bear the heart to truly feel bad for him; you long stopped to, should have long stopped pretending to. You looked at him, through eyes cold, senseless. You’ve lost all hope with him, all hope for him. There was nothing left within you to feed the love you’ve so carefully tended, nothing that would make you regret your thoughts, doubt them, demonize them. You looked at him and he was furious, shouting words meaningless to you. Telling you to speak, to explain to him, to make him understand. If this was the moment where it was over, where you’d part ways. Where you’d give up. It was nothing but meaningless to you. Didn’t feel bad for Chan even when you saw tears daring to stain his cheeks, his shirt. When his fingers ran through his hair, noticing how thin they’ve grown. Couldn’t feel bad for him when his body sank to the ground, missing the sofa by inches, making contact with cold hardness beneath him instead, letting head fall into hands, chocked sobs emerging from within him.
You couldn’t feel bad for him. Couldn’t because it had been you on that same spot by the sofa countless of times, the reason him, always. You who would choke sobs past your throat, embarrassed of how they sounded through the echo of the apartment, an apartment so lonely you had wondered if it was shared, in the first place. Apartment so lonely you had doubted you had a partner altogether, maybe only a fraction of your imagination, a fabrication of your deepest wishes. To be loved, and to love – you had been missing that even though committed, and you had decided now, watching, listening to your lost love cry, that it was the last time you would miss it. That this point, the breaking one, should have enrolled far longer – though now you’d make the best of it, with what you had.
“It’s over.”
Words so disturbingly loud you jumped at your own voice, jumped at Chan’s reaction to them – his head shot up momentarily, glistening eyes boring into yours, brows furrowed and lips quivering impossibly. He was furious, confused. Started begging, screaming. Seated in his space, not moving an inch from the spot by the sofa. Stayed screaming at you, begging right after, apologizing frantically, crying fat tears that rolled heavy down his cheeks. You couldn’t feel bad for him.
He stayed crying at the spot by the sofa when you started moving, finally, letting your body get used to the sensation, feeling heavy, feeling as though you stood a statue of stone by the kitchen counter, not as much as blinking. You moved towards your shoes, grabbing a jacket as you went, slipping into the right, then the left. Motions automatic, robotic. You couldn’t care about him. Grabbing keys, listening to his pleading, to his cries of your name, to his apologies. Words you’ve heard so very often you feared to grow null towards them, emotionless, careless. Words worth gold though Chan reduced them to mere dirt, nothing more than. Words you now heard behind you, hand on the handle, opening the door to welcome the cool from outside, before it engulfed you whole, before it consumed you fully and never bound to let you go, not for tonight.
___ . ꫂ
He was in love with you. When you had left his apartment, Hyunjin feeling a useless fool, corners of his mouth from eye to eye, the pounding in his heart had never seemed to stop. He had prepared himself dinner, had put on a show he didn’t pay the least attention to, he washed the dishes with a carelessness he never laid upon chores – and then his phone’d chimed up, ringing in a tone familiar, and his heart had nearly made its way out of its confines, snugly laid within the ribcage beneath his skin when he saw your name, a text from you. Maybe she felt me thinking about her, he thought, naively, and cringed at his very own theorization.
00: 18 >> hey, are you free? right now?
Questioning look on Hyunjin’s visage, and he’d responded he was, yet asking whether there was a problem – it was a bit after midnight, and though Hyunjin would welcome you with open arms regardless how late, regardless the reason, he worried. He knew you shared a place with your boyfriend – scoffing at the thought right as he had thought it, body flooding with dislike the very moment – and there was seemingly no reason for your search for Hyunjin, not after having spent half the day in company.
And then hope filled his being, occupied his lungs with so much weight it felt heavy to breathe, made his soul bloom in flowers most delicate, most spacious he was at risk to lose sight of all else – you had texted him in the middle of the night, though it was your supposed boyfriend you ought to be with at such hour. Him who you had come home to, in all likeliness – him, or the traces of him, the loneliness he left the thing you fled from. To Hyunjin, instead. To the guy you surely walked on eggshells around, the very guy your boyfriend must be hating insatiably. And yet you had texted him a little after midnight, and had rang his doorbell.
“I’m so sorry, I know how late it is, I just- I’m so sorry, oh my god.“
You stumbled into his apartment after Hyunjin had opened the door for you, apologies gushing past your lips like mantras. Reassuring you, offering you a seat by his sofa – the apartment was yet empty, roommates having texted they would stay over at their friends’ or partners’, and Hyunjin had been giddy about having the place for himself for a night, not remembering the last time he had had the chance to – yet he was giddier now that you joined his lonesome, though worry overshadowed any excitement Hyunjin could have bared.
You weren’t crying, though the puffiness of your eyes, the red around them, your bruised up lips revealed that you had been before reaching Hyunjin’s place. He knew the reason was the boyfriend, though he didn’t allow his jealousy, his messed-up mind to start a conversation – you would explain if you needed to, wouldn’t if you didn’t have the strength to. Hyunjin would wait it out either way, would grant a listening ear or a simple companion – he’d be whatever you needed him to be.
“God, I should have called Seungmin… I would have called him, I just- I felt like I needed to see you.”
Your voice frantic, though less now than before. Hyunjin sat beside you on the soft cushions, keeping a fair distance though it wasn’t possibly enough – your distraught heart pulling him forward, and he shifted to create more space – he would touch you if he didn’t, would lay a comforting hand on your shoulder, would embrace you in a hug. Figuring it was the last thing you needed he regained control against the waves of pressure your body shot his way, waited simply for your words to take on form, to start making sense.
“No… it’s okay, don’t worry about it… are you okay? Are you hurt, did something happen?”
Soothing words and far more soothing voice, and it nearly shot another heat of tears right past your eyes and onto the wetness of your cheeks. You felt bad, guilty for disturbing Hyunjin’s night, guiltier to come crying by his doorstep. Though there wasn’t an ounce of reluctance within him, it seemed, welcoming you as though it was a normality, as though it was a given for him to take you in. And maybe that made it all the worse, his kind-heartedness, his demeanour, his readiness for you. His drastic difference to you boyfriend – your ex –, his wholly different character, kinder, calmer, softer.
“No, I’m fine, I’m fine. I just… I ended it. With Chan. I couldn’t take it anymore, Hyunjin.”
Silent tears down your eyes, glistening against your skin like flooded rain in pavement cracks, tears as you materialized what had happened prior, as you made real a tragedy so relieving. Hyunjin shouldn’t be happy, oh did he feel bad for wanting to flip over the world in feeling of newly gained strength and energy, of satisfaction so grand he never thought possible. Felt so very bad for not feeling bad for you, not in ways one would think – it hurt his heart that you were pained, understood that despite his despise it was a relationship your own heart had been invested in, so all the more painful now that it was over. And yet he was relieved. For your very own sake, because he was aware of the hardships a one-sided love must have brought, undoubtedly. Screws in his brain rutting, and Hyunjin realized he must offer a place of comfort, despite his flawed thoughts, despite his evil mind. He only hoped you couldn’t read the relief in his eyes as you locked in his gaze with your teary one.
“Fuck, I’m… I’m so sorry. God, you must feel horrible, wait… let me give you a water, are you thirsty? If you have no place to stay you can sleep here, by the way, all the others are gone… you can have my bed and some clothes, just… feel at home… wait, let me give you that water—”
And you started sobbing. Tears gushing out as fast as Hyunjin’s words were, words of utter comfort, of compassion, of kindness. You damned him for it. Damned him for your fragile heart, for the way he was so easy to shake it. Damned him for making his way into your life so unknowingly, so quietly you hadn’t noticed the point where it’s been too late. Damned him for loving him as much as you did, for seeing him when thinking of deepest desires, of love in its very being. Looking at him, eyes milked up yet looking at him. He stared back, perplexed, halfway to the kitchen though stopped in his tracks at the sound of your cries, at the sight of your eyes, your face – he stood looking at your pain, unsure gaze meeting untempt one, seconds feeling like days, entirely too long while anticipating an answer or an explanation altogether, for sudden outburst, for sudden tears at act so kind.
“Stop… just stop being so nice to me.”
Standing up from your seat, legs feeling weak as they moved around the room. Heavy steps towards Hyunjin, careful not to get too close, not to meet his tide, a tide so strong you’d be pulled into wholly if movements grew too risked.
“Please stop being so nice to me, I- I’ll fall in love with you even more.”
Words cutting into every layer of tension that had laid itself upon the room, breaking every damn either of you had built tediously, shooting right through every wall, through every measure of safety you had kept around your hearts. You had taken the knife and stabbed times a million where it was most sensitive, had cut out oxygen from where it was more necessary. And you were close. Too close to him to feel at ease, too close to Hyunjin for his blood to pump in speed it would be healthy – mind and body racing, part of his brain encoding the meaning of your very confession, of your impossible words. Words so powerful it knocked him off his feet, words he never believed to be lucky enough to hear. You were wholly insane, and he was utterly in love.
Stepping closer to you, space between you buzzing, hissing, lighting up as though bodies were electrified, as though highest volts were coursing your veins, your skin. Stepped closer to watch your face paint in agony, so close he was tempted to wipe off the tears grazing your eyes. His hand raised, inches away from your cheek. You shifted, tilted your head to escape his touch. He stayed in position, arm raised, eyes boring into you.
“I can’t.”
Your voice so quiet he had to lip read, his hand ever in position, ready to soothe if you only gave the word. More and thicker tears rolled down the curve of your face, the perky bone, down the plush and onto the dip by your collarbone. He watched it, wished to kiss it away.
“I can’t get into a relationship right away. I know there’s… something… here…”, you let your hands sway through the space between your bodies, your hand breaking through resistance so strong you didn’t believe there was nothing than mere air between your bodies. Had to be something more, something deeper, “but me and Chan, it was so exhausting.”
A choked sob and you regained control, eyes losing his for only a moment before holding gaze anew – his own didn’t wander, every of his senses glued onto you as though you’d break apart if he only as though looked a different direction. He stood listening to you, aching heart and far more aching soul – he was willing to gift you anything, to morph into the very person you needed most this very moment, to become whatever you now desired. Understanding you and waiting to take him as he was, because he was willing to get hurt if it was for you. Tears wettening your shirt, apology staining the room – and Hyunjin’s hands engulfed your face, one big hand on either of your side, palms dampened in tears. The feeling that shot through your bodies was one neither of you could ignore, eyes softening, limbs stiffening, minds short circuiting – it needed Hyunjin a moment to find his words, though sure of them the sensation of touch, your skin against his had knocked out remaining rationality.
“I need you however you’ll let me have you.”
Blinking, his words like sweetest venom in your ear. His eyes expectant, his palms providing warmth, soothing touch to disrupted skin, to torn up heart. You tended to it, tended to him.
“Will you let me hurt you, then?”
And then your lips met. Hyunjin’s answer his mouth on your own, his hands in your hair. Your own finally brave enough to reciprocate touch – you had never sensed him before, not really. Had never sought out to find his touch directly, never actively, so. It was a sensation like no other, a million light bulbs, uncountable fireworks popping in colour underneath your skin, just where yours met his. Fingertips on his neck, by the back of his hair, by the perk of his shoulder. A million fireworks in blue and red and purple and green, sounding through your ears as though going off in this very room, in this very apartment, place so lonely, filled with two lost souls that had found each other finally, though maybe in the wrong moment. Two souls connected the way two snap hooks were, sealed within each other.
Hyunjin lead you through it. His mouth opened to a kiss of teeth and clatter, and you allowed him to, sunk into the feeling of him, his lips on yours, his hands on the vastness of your body. He wasn’t greedy with his moves, needy though as he stopped before his tongue protruded into mouth of yours, asking for permission silently until you granted allowance – only then he continued forward, wet muscles enchanting in a dance addicting, warmth spreading through the entireties of your bodies. You stood in place and kissed each other, a kiss so long awaited it might have been a dream, altogether. A kiss so surreal Hyunjin had to pull away or a moment quick, looking at you, looking at the whole of you – your blown out eyes, pleading, scared. Your lips red, your hands on his chest, his own by the curve of your waist. He had dreamed of this very moment throughout countless nights, when it was only him and his thoughts, and you within them. Had dreamed to kiss you under different circumstances, yet kiss you altogether; and it was sweeter, softer, better than any dream could fabricate.
Staggered breath from both of you as you took the other in, locking blown out eyes and holding trembling bodies, tending running minds, with as much as a look, a touch. And then lips found lips again. As though instinctively, as though it was the very thing, the only thing you’d been born to do. To wrap mouth around mouth, to allow tongues within, to graze upon teeth, to bite down on lips. Softly, experimentally, and then again, when wanted reaction followed.
Hyunjin started backing against the soft of the sofa as your hands made their way through his hair, messing up the softened locks to your liking. He let you, gratefully, toy at him as you wished. Let you explore his body as he explored yours, bunching up clothes in fists, so impatient, so eager. Because this has been all you’d ever wanted, the both of you, everything and more of what you’d desired, since the very moment you’d seen each other in the small of the convenience store, entirely unfamiliar then yet strangely connected. The embrace of the other, lips dancing in sync as though meant to be, hands dancing across body as though born to serve that very purpose.
Hyunjin crouched down, motioning your body softly, swiftly, so you sat on the edge of the couch, his body hovering above yours, darkening your view against the dim light of the living room. His lips never tore apart from your own – the sounds of wet against wet filled the small of the room, joined by softest sighs and gasps for air; you were left speechless, thoughtless with every additional touch, with every further exploring, the both of you. Hyunjin crouched down further, face to face with you and he went lower, yet, pulling your head with him, leaving you to be the one above him after he settled on his knees between your own. Hands on either of your thighs, caressing the plush, groping at the flesh when your fingers pulled against his darkened roots – you quickly discovered him to like it when you did.
Hyunjin broke the kiss, reluctant to let you go, meeting equally reluctant eyes, your lips chasing his for a moment until he connected them to the curve of your neck, minimally dampened in sweat – you must have walked to his place, only now he figured, feeling even deeper discontentment with your ex; until he remembered he was the one kissing you this very moment, his mouth the one attached to the softness of your neck, to the bit behind your ear, to the hollow part of your collarbone. He was the one whose hands steadied themselves on your waist, squeezing to his liking, kissing down to meet your chest. He was the reason you squirmed in his hold, in between his hands, on his couch, in his home – it was him, and Hyunjin would be a fool to grow salty, to let you go. To miss the opportunity, the way your ex did – Hyunjin wouldn’t possibly be so dumb, would give his heart to treat you the way you had deserved to be treated, the years passed. Would show you what love could be like, if it was him you were with.
You grew desperate. Loved the way Hyunjin’s mouth lapped at your body, loved his hands exploring it – but you needed more. Needed the very thing his whole demeanour pointed towards – his body caged between your legs, his hands on your thighs, moving closer to your sex, his face inching nearer towards it. Though he was taking his time. Sweet time to dote on you, to tend you, to love you. Hands only going as far as pulling your shirt high enough to litter your lower stomach in kisses most sweet, and you couldn’t take any more.
“Hyunjin... please.”
Your words as though brought him back to reality, if he had forgotten his surroundings before, merely focusing on you and your body, on the way you sounded, smelled and felt to the touch he now was grounded again, finding himself on his knees before you, finding your eyes looking at him with so much plead, so much desire he might just implode. He understood, your words of impatience, and he mumbled a quick apology, wasting no time now to jumble up the hem of your shirt, to busy his hands with the button of your jeans, hook his fingers into the waistband of your attires. Sliding off pants and underwear in one go after an approving look, and Hyunjin feared that truly, his heart would simply shoot up in a million tiny pieces and out of his body. The sight of you, hovering on the edge of the sofa, body leaned against the back of it, arms working as a prop behind you — lower half exposed, sinfully so; you were glistening in soft wetness, excitement lacing your features, the entirety of you body. It was better than Hyunjin could have ever dare to dream of. This very image having haunted his nightly fantasies ever so often, guilt in the pit of his stomach as his hand had lowered to ease himself every single time — and now he lived it, would no longer have to rely on his mind to fabricate most eager sceneries, wouldn’t need to rely on solely his hand to grand him sweetest release. You lay before him and in flesh, and his eyes glazed over with a sheen of adoration, with a hint of disbelief, maybe.
“So pretty. So, so pretty.”
Words leaving mouth quietly as his lips connected to the plush of your thighs, your body jumping at both the compliment and the sudden contact of warm lips to warmer skin. It felt foreign yet all too much familiar, too known a feeling to be strange, and your lids fluttered close, neck giving in, head lulling to the side. Hyunjin didn’t keep his eyes off you for a moment – watching you intently through deep lashed as he bit and sucked on the flesh of inner thighs, learning most sensitive zones, most erogenous spots. Mouth moving closer to your heat and your legs opened wider at his antics, feeling his lips on the bone connecting leg and pelvis, and your hips rolled forward – minimally yet enough to drive Hyunjin insane, seeing, sensing your need a matter unbelievable to him – you wanted him as much as he wanted you, and he everything but stayed calm at the mere thought alone. A feeling of increased ego, or simple relief – the both of you had walked on eggshells around the other, ever since the day at the store. Had felt feelings reciprocated yet had never been entirely sure, because too cowardly to ever ask – knowing surely now, the desire was of mutual nature – Hyunjin felt utterly helpless.
Mouth attaching to your slit, wetness covering him whole momentarily, hum leaving his throat and sending vibrations right through you, making your back arch into him this much more, your neck throwing back now, eyes shut and hand entangled in coloured hair. Pulling on it slightly to get soft sounds to leave his lips, to feel them against the sensitivity of your clit, to hear his satisfaction in satisfying you. His tongue lapping up your every bit, humming at the taste of you, at your smell. At the sight of you basking in his ministrations on you, focused and determined, wanting nothing more than to please you, the way he’s been dreaming of, imagining too many times to count. It was working, seemingly – shy whimpers leaving your mouth, self-conscious of being too loud, yet unable to deny the feeling Hyunjin provided you, gifted you with. Tongue dancing in kitten licks and sucks against your clit, or prodding at your entrance, and you’ve lost yourself further and further into him, both waiting for release, anticipating it yet dreading it, because the moment would be over, then. Wanted to bask in the impossible feeling of satisfaction that would never be enough only to not let the moment end, altogether – yet Hyunjin didn’t stop, kept driving you to said release, with licks against your slit, with kisses against your sensitivity, detaching only to litter wettened kisses against the vastness of your thighs. Your following whines of protest in loss of touch made Hyunjin chuckle and he went back to bask you in sweetest pleasure, fingers toying at your entrance, sliding into you when your hips bucked to allow him in, when impatient hands grabbed for his wrist, pleads rolling past your tongue in sheer holiest mantras.
Hyunjin was driven, wrist sore from curling up against the spot he had found after moments of searching, knowing he had when your back had arched so violently it had nearly scared him, jaw clacking in overuse though he was the last to care about any of it. Driven to drive you to where you needed him to, until you’d see white, until his very name would be the last thing on your mind, the feeling of him on you the very last feeling you’d die to feel. He watched you as your hands pulled him closer to your middle, as your hips rolled against his face, until you started clenching around the girth of his fingers, relentless pleasure in the way they never missed the softest spot so deep within you, until you started seeing stars. Only mumbling nonsense, utterly lost in the feeling of him, thighs contracting beside his head, your mind free from the frustrations of previous moments – wholly focused on your release that came in waves heavy, stormy, washing over you as Hyunjin sat careful to ride it out, not stopping movements until you told him to, until you squirmed in his hold in overstimulation. Your breath staggered, your chest heaving, your legs tired. Your eyes finding his in a moment of realisation, hearts skipping a beat as you fell back to reality – Hyunjin’s pupils were impossibly blown out, outlined erection visible even through the fabric of his worn-out sweatpants, breath as staggered as yours was. You ought to scream at the top of your lungs at the lust, the desire he watched you with – knowing he wanted you as much as you did, knowing he had felt the same about you the previous weeks where worry’d been all that’s been on your mind, worry about lost love, worry about the risks of finding a new one – he had been there and he had been feeling the very same you had, and you urged to kiss him at mere thought alone.
Pulled him up by his chin so your lips could meet in a kiss passionate, wet and laced with your release, drowned in your contentment, teeth clashing and hands groping wherever they could reach. Sneaking beneath shirts to pull them off seconds later, leaving you wholly naked, Hyunjin in only his sweats. And the kiss was never enough. The moment you wanted to pull away for air, or to ask Hyunjin for more, for his pants and underwear to be gone you simultaneously felt reluctant to, seemingly unable to break the kiss, to detach your lips from his. Having waited to have him like this for far too long it now seemed impossible to let him go for even a moment, if it meant burning with emptiness and desire a little while longer.
Though your bodies could only take so much. Hips longing for friction, yours as much as his, the confines of his pants only paining him, his impatience. And you didn’t let him hurt for too long. Started reaching down his body, tracing lines of abs and soft muscles to hook your fingers into the waistband of his undergarments, pleading for him to take them off, eyes anticipating, hands wanting. He complied gratefully, pulled off sweats and boxers in one go, adding them to the pile of carelessly tossed cloths before his eyes were back on your own – only looking, exchanged gaze as you waited for someone to do the crucial move, the one that would bound you as one for the remaining of time. Both of you too cowardly, hot breath hitting faces, sweat forming to dance on flushed skin.
“I can’t- I can only give you this much. I can’t give you want you want, not right now. I want you to know that, this is- this is the only thing I can give you.”
Voice on the verge of breaking, quiet in your throat, eyes filling with agony. You didn’t want to hurt him, wished to be able to love him the way he wanted you to, the way he deserved it. Wished that Chan wouldn’t have settled into your very being as persistent as he did, making him the only reason for your heart to be reluctant, scared to open up as wide anew.
Hyunjin’s thumb caressed the high of your cheek, head leaning closer, giving a peck to bruised up lips to lean his forehead against yours a moment later. Intimacy dizzying the both of you, closeness and proximity making it heart to reach for air.
“Then it’s enough for the time being. I’ll wait for you, I promise.”
A sigh out of your lungs and a nod, and Hyunjin started lining up with your entrance, precum and your wetness enough for his sinking into you to be utterly painless, for the stretch to be one of unbelievable pleasure. Fireworks setting off in your bodies anew, and only now the relentless pulling seemed to have faded, had turned into a feeling of passion, of pleasure in measures unknown to you times previous. You whimpered out momentarily, reciprocating Hyunjin’s deep groan against your ear, his stuttering hips as he bottomed out within you, so deep your body felt as helpless as they came. All five senses entirely focused on him, on the way he filled you – though for the very first time, you yet felt nostalgia rushing through you, as though this very moment had happened in a past life, as though your bodies, your souls had loved each other the very same way long before you had known it yourselves.
Setting a slow rhythm, embracing each other, holding your bodies close. Chests flushed, heartbeats in sync, hips meeting somewhere in the middle, where your cores connected. Sweat a sheet across your fleshes, breaths hitching in your throats, confessions spilling past kiss-bitten lips – it was connection you had craved for years on end, connection so deep it dared to scratch your heart. And in this very moment, one you’ve anticipated behind closed doors, in most private fantasies, you weren’t man and woman having sex, you were two people, two souls loving the other. Because it were your souls that loved, not your bodies. When you kissed, when you touched, when you let lips and hands dance across bodies where it was most desired your bodies expressed the love your very souls felt, because your souls themselves couldn’t possibly reveal such feelings. So, you took your bodies as a vessel, as a messenger for your love, your desire, your longing. Materialized what souls were feeling – and you grunted against the other, bodies growing more frantic, more feverous, reaching closer the point you so badly wanted to reach, together, in unison.
It didn’t take you much longer – one thrust, a second and a third until you whined out, letting Hyunjin know how close you were, through gritted tears and teary eyes, until he nodded and agreed, telling you, begging you to let go, for you were with him. And you did at the sound of his voice, waves of pleasure gushing over you before they took over Hyunjin, whines filling the stuffiness of the room, confessions following right after. Collapsing on top of you and staying within the hold of your arms – another dream he’s had, so all the more unbelievable, impossible now that he was living it. Shifting on the sofa so you lay comfortably, never letting go of bodies, holding close to warmth. Careless about your stickiness, your sweat covering the whole of you – careless because this moment, you were everything that mattered, Hyunjin was.
“I don’t wanna sleep yet. Because then this moment will pass.”
Chuckling in his hold, and you felt no different. Basking in the feeling of him, laying on his sofa, heartbreak and suffering so far away now you wondered if the last hour had even occurred, or if it was a fabricated memory for your mind to play with you, to hurt you. It was all gone in Hyunjin’s arms, with his body so close to yours. The pulling, the string that had seemed to be connecting your hearts, your bodies wherever you went, from the moment in the store had tightened the two of you together for eternity, finally, eventually. At it was a feeling good, of utter contentment. One of relief, because the matter had been sitting on your shoulders for far too long, for your own good, for your own health. Your hearts had finally found each other, rightfully so, like they were intended to before your bodies walked this earth – and you fell asleep to Hyunjin’s soft snoring, you in his heart and him in your own, ought to be bound with nothing to tear you apart.
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Title: Break
Part 6 of my “Cray-Cray for Cater” series! Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5 can be found here!
Parings: Cater Diamond x Twisted Wonderland Male OC (Mirai Yuhara)
Summary:
With fall break finally here, Mirai is once again reminded of his place within this world. But maybe, just maybe, it won't be that bad after all?
cw: Kinda spicy? Nothing explicit but I wanna just throw that out there. Biting, love bites, heavy kissing, literal sleeping together. Let me know if the rating should change.
a/n: I don't hate Cater's family, but I'm going for this medium between them trying to fix their behavior towards each other, but it's like, not enough. They are such a grey area for us, yet so impactful on Cater's character.
Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do!  (─‿‿─)♡
Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12
It was fall break at Night Raven College and because of that, everyone was going home for a week. Mirai was kinda bummed about that, not that he really missed home that much, but things like that really made him remember how much of an outsider he really was, how much he didn’t belong there at Night Raven College. He didn’t have a place to call his own. No house to go back to, no friends, no family, absolutely nothing. All he had was Ramshackle, but even that was superficial. He could lose it all at the very whim of their oh so “benevolent” Headmage, or when he eventually had to “graduate” from Night Raven College. Then where would he be? He couldn’t stay here forever. He’d be way too old to even live on campus, it would be just plain weird, and worse case scenario, he’d have to stay there forever and become the college campus legend. “Student of Night Raven College that never left” they’d say. He’d eventually grow old and die in the Ramshackle Dorm and become one of the ghosts, haunting the Dorm forevermore. Okay, maybe that was a stretch, but Mirai was too deep in his head to use common sense. 
And if he did leave, where would he be able to go? Where would he live? How would he even survive in a world totally different from his own? Just the very thought of that was beginning to stress Mirai out as he wandered the dorm, alone. Even Grim left, not even telling Mirai where he was going, Mirai just hoped that the little monster cat didn’t stay out too late. Grim came in and out as he pleased, getting food, and going to sleep where he saw fit, but then he was out again. And when Mirai asked what he was up to, he wouldn’t say. All he said was that he was on a “mission to greaten his magic prowess,” whatever that meant. Mirai couldn’t phantom what the cat was up to, but he hoped he wasn’t getting into any trouble, that was the last thing Mirai needed.
Mirai sighed to himself as he made his way back to the lounge. He had cleaned thoroughly, washing the bed linen, washing his clothes, dusting, sweeping, mopping, and he even maintained the outside of the dorm for once. He cut the grass, weeded the garden, and watered the plants. He washed the windows, cleaned the rain gutters, swept the stairs, raked the leaves, and even maintained the gargoyles exactly how Malleus taught him to do. Of course all of that took a while to complete, three days to be exact, but he still had about a week of loneliness to go. 
If this had been a few months ago, this loneliness wouldn’t have bothered him one bit. He’d be back in America, working from sunup to sundown, eating takeout, catching a late night showing on tv before going to sleep, wherever that was, and then repeating the dull, life draining process in the morning. A few months ago he wouldn’t have missed the hustle and bustle of the college, he wouldn’t had missed Ace and Deuce’s bickering, Riddle’s rule enforcing rampages, Azul’s food at Mostro Lounge, Ruggie’s snickering as he messed with Leona, Kalim’s joyous attitude, Rook’s dramatic way of speaking, Ortho’s childlike wonder, and or Malleus’ random visits. Of course he wouldn’t have missed any of this a few months ago, he wouldn’t have known any better, but now? It was a heavy cloud over his head, and a heavy weight on his shoulders and heart. 
And mostly, Mirai missed Cater. He missed Cater’s Magicam photoshoots, Cater’s playful demeanor, and their late night talks. He missed Cater’s hugs, his kisses, the doting nature Cater had when it came to him, he missed everything about Cater. Mirai was berating himself for acting like a lovesick puppy. He could handle not being with his boyfriend for more than two days, but Mirai supposed it was due to the fact he knew that the redhead wouldn’t be back for another seven days. 
Mirai grumbled around his leftover spaghetti, sighing as he checked his phone for any messages from his friends, there were none. Cater had promised to call him to check up on him, all of the guys did, knowing his situation, but not one of them did, well, not yet at least. And Mirai really didn’t want to call them, he didn’t want to be a bother while they all were trying to enjoy their break with their families, and especially not just for something trivial as small talk. But Mirai couldn’t help but feel sad and angry. Sad and angry that the guys had forgotten about him, but also sad and angry at himself for even feeling that way. He felt clingy, and he suspected that it was because he knew, in reality, that he truly was alone. Mirai sighed again as he checked Cater’s Magicam page. Cater hadn’t even posted, which surprised Mirai. Cater posted about everything, no matter how small it was. He was hoping to see a little more of his boyfriend’s life, and if not, then just hear his voice through a post or see a more recent picture of his face. 
Mirai got up from the kitchen table and put his bowl in the sink, not even bothering to clean it like he usually did, but he did have half the mind to rinse it first. Dragging his feet as he shut off all the lights, Mirai made his way upstairs for the night. A depressing mood hung over him like a fog as he showered, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas, taking off his prosthetic, and by the time Mirai was plugging in his phone and crawling into bed, he was biting his lip, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall. Mirai threw himself into his pillow, pulling his blanket over himself as sobs escaped his lips, chest heaving. He was lonely and he hated it, hated being so weak and clingy, hated the fact that he felt like this and he couldn’t fix it. He wanted a hug, he wanted someone to talk to, he wanted Cater. 
Mirai didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but woke up to his phone blaring on his bedside table. His pillow was wet, a huge dark spot where his head lay, his eyes stung, burning from crying before he fell asleep, and his eyelids lids stuck together from his dried tears. Mirai wiped his eyes, reaching for his phone. The time read three in the morning, it was nowhere near the time for him to get up. So why was his phone going off? Mirai checked his notifications, heart skipping as he read that he had three missed calls from Cater, one not even five minutes ago. Why would Cater be calling him so late? Maybe there was a time difference between the Shaftlands and Night Raven College? But even still, Cater should know that, so why would he call so late into the night? Mirai was debating if he should call back or just wait until the morning when his phone rang again. Mirai quickly swiped right, putting the phone to his ear, answering.
“Hello?” Mirai called, flinching at how raspy his voice sounded from crying and sleep.
“Hey Mi-Mi,” Cater greeted, sounding guilty, “I woke you up, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay,” Mirai reassured, clearing his throat a little, “I don’t mind.”
He really didn’t. Mirai couldn’t describe the relief he felt just from hearing Cater’s voice. He’d wake up any day at any time to talk to Cater. He was so happy that he almost wanted to cry again, but he refused, his eyes already burning from earlier.
“S-So what’s up?” Cater asked, “How’s your break been?”
Cater was being weird, but Mirai ignored it for now, going along with what Cater was trying to hide. “I did a whole bunch of cleaning,” Mirai sighed into the phone, “My body hurts so bad, I might as well have been taking supplementary lessons from Coach Vargas.”
Cater chuckled, his laugh sound too stressed, too dry to be truly genuine, “You poor thing. You should be relaxing, not working yourself so hard. We’re on break after all.”
“Might as well get it out the way now rather than later. But now I have the whole week to relax.”
“That’s good. Don’t work yourself too hard, ‘kay?”
“Mn,” Mirai hummed.
There was silence, neither of them saying anything for a long while.
“So,” Mirai started, “Is there like a time difference between here and the Shaftlands? ‘Cus it’s three in the morning.”
“O-Oh, yeah. A little,” Cater stuttered, “I must be ruining your sleep. I-I’ll, I’ll call you later, yeah?”
“Cater?”
“‘Sup?”
“What’s wrong?” Mirai asked, done pretending that he didn’t notice his boyfriend's mood.
“I-I-I don’t, I’m not, I-”
“Cater? What’s wrong?” Mirai asked firmly.
“I’m, I’m outside,” Cater whispered. 
“What?!”
Mirai dropped his phone, rushing out of bed, not caring that he was only in one of Cater’s shirts and a pair of cotton boxers. Mirai twisted the lock and ripped the door open, looking around until his green eyes finally found Cater’s curled form sitting next to the door. Cater looked up from where his phone was on the ground next to him, eyes meeting Mirai’s as he forced a smile.
“Cater,” Marai gasped.
“H-Hey, Babe,” Cater stuttered.
“C’mere,” Mirai breathed, “C’mere.”
Cater staggered as he got up, ending the call and pocketing his phone to grab his luggage. Mirai let Cater in, and just as he shut the door, twisting the lock back in place, Cater was pulling the Ramshackle Prefect into his arms, squeezing him in a desperate embrace. 
“Oh Cater, you’re cold,” Mirai sighed softly. 
“I-I’m fine,” Cater whispered, shivering, voice sounding broken. 
“Come sit, come sit.”
Mirai pulled Cater to the lounge, turning on one of the lamps and he sat Cater down. As Mirai pulled away, Cater grabbed his wrist in a desperate attempt to keep him close.
“Please don’t go,” Cater begged, “Please.”
Mirai got a good look at Cater and his heart shattered. His usual cheerful face was sullen, dark bags under red rimmed eyes that were void of their usual brightness. His smile was replaced with a deep frown, he looked miserable.
“C’mon,” Mirai said, forgoing his thoughts on tea. Clearly it wasn’t what Cater needed at the moment.
Cater grabbed his things, shutting off the lights, following Mirai up to his room.
“Make yourself at home,” Mirai said, turning on the heat.
Cater nodded, grabbing some clothes to change into and entered the bathroom. Mirai waited, nervous energy building up inside him. He had so many questions, but knew he had to take everything slowly, one step at a time, lest he wanted to overwhelm Cater, who already looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. Cater excited the bathroom, clad in his pajamas. He looked nervous like he didn’t know what to do with himself, teetering back and forth on his feet. 
“Come sit,” Mirai beckoned.
Cater stuffed his clothes away and sat on the bed. He didn’t say anything, he just stared into the dim corner of the room like it held all the world's answers. Mirai didn’t know what to do, what to say, but he was gonna try.
“Hey,” Mirai said softly, sitting on the bed next to Cater, “We can do whatever you want to do.”
Cater nodded slowly, still not looking Mirai’s way.
They sat shoulder to shoulder, and Mirai grabbed Cater’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He wanted to give Cater a chance to speak, to say anything. Even if it was one of the stupidest things Mirai would ever hear in his life, he would wait. But when their silence dragged on too long, Mirai knew he had to take it step by step. 
“Do you wanna talk now, or sleep?” Mirai asked after some time.
“Sleep,” Cater croaked out, “please.”
“Okay, we can do that.”
Mirai crawled up to the top of the bed, flipping his tear stained pillow over, and pulled back the cover to let him in. Cater crawled up next to him and scooted under the covers, pulling them over himself. Mirai scooted closer, slowly wrapping his arm around the older male, giving him a chance to pull back if he wanted to. He didn’t. Cater accepted the cuddle, pulling Mirai closer, pressing his face into Mirai’s chest. 
“Sweet dreams, Cater,” Mirai whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Cater’s head. 
Cater didn’t respond as he pressed himself further into Mirai’s embrace.
Mirai woke up, the sun blaring through the curtains of his floor to ceiling windows. Mirai groaned, hiding his face into his pillow, but instead, his nose was filled with ticklish strands of orange hair. Mirai reeled back, nose tingling with a sneeze. Once the tingling stopped, Mirai looked down, and giggled. Sometime that night, Mirai and Cater rolled over, and now Cater was hugging a pillow as Mirai held him. Mirai found the sight amusing. But then again, there was something about holding Cater like this that made Mirai’s heart warm. Mirai wanted to be someone Cater could lean on when he needed to, and as sappy as it sounded, he sometimes wanted to protect the older male from the harshness of the world, taking the damage for him like a shield. He knew he really couldn’t do that, since everyone had their own wars to fight, but that also didn’t mean either of them didn’t have to do so alone. So just holding Cater like this was enough.
Mirai reached up and pulled Cater’s hair out of his face and behind his ear, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of his head. Mirai would lie here as long as he had until Cater woke, he didn’t mind one bit. Mirai began carding his fingers through Cater’s hair softly, pulling thick orange strands back against his head, blunt fingernails scratching at his scalp. 
“Mn, that feels good,” Cater sighed, voice raspy from sleep.
Mirai chuckled, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No.”
There was silence after that, and both of them didn’t know how to break it. Mirai tried to peer over at Cater’s face, but he couldn’t, not without jostling them from their comfortable position.
“You hungry?” Mirai asked after some time.
“Mn.”
“How about you go shower and I go make breakfast? How do omelets and pancakes sound?” Mirai asked.
Cater just nodded, yawning into his pillow. 
“Okay.”
Mirai scooted backwards, releasing Cater from his embrace, and Cater immediately turned around, chasing after the Ramshackle Prefect. Mirai entered the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Cater followed doing the same, the both of them standing shoulder to shoulder. They both looked a mess. Their eyes were tired and puffy, lined with sleep, their faces were red, marked from their pillows, and their hair tangled and all over the place. Mirai laughed, trying not to spit toothpaste on the mirror as they fought for sink space. Cater nudged him with his elbow and Mirai nudged him back. Cater chuckled around his toothbrush, bumping Mirai back with his shoulder. They were being childish, they both knew, but they didn’t care, the mood definitely better than last night. 
Mirai washed his face, scrubbing at his skin, ridding himself of the night's filth. Mirai blindly reached for his towel, drying his face, and when he checked his appearance in the mirror, looking for any residue soap, he caught Cater’s reflection. He was standing behind him in nothing but his black cotton boxers as he turned on the shower faucet. Mirai’s green eyes raked over Cater’s lean body, his thin waist, his smooth skin, his soft muscle. Mirai looked up and over his shoulders, to his neck, and face, where he met Cater’s green eyes staring back at him, a knowing smirk on his lips. 
“Naughty little Mi-Mi,” Cater teased, walking over to Mirai, “checking me out like that.”
“I mean,” Mirai said with smug thoughtfulness, “the view is nice.”
Cater chuckled, the sound echoing off the tile of the bathroom, “Yeah? And what was Mi-Mi thinking about when he was looking at little ol’ me?”
“Secret.”
“You’re a dirty little thing,” Cater sang, smacking Mirai on the rear.
Mirai gasped, face flushed with a pout. He supposed he deserved it, for he was unabashedly staring at his boyfriends semi naked form.
“Don’t pout, Babe,” Cater cooed, wrapping his arms around Mirai, voice dropping to a sultry octave, “or I may have to bite those pretty little lips of yours.”
Mirai flushed even more, if that was even possible, face hot as he gasped at their close proximity, and Cater’s state of undress. 
“Sh-Shower! Shower,” Mirai commanded, shoving Cater towards the tub.
Cater laughed, throwing his head back, “Mi-Mi’s embarrassed! #Cute!”
Mirai pouted, flicking Cater on the shoulder blade.
“Ow,” Cater complained playfully, “Okay, okay, I’m going.”
“You do that, you dummy,” Mirai huffed, marching out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. 
Mirai busied himself with putting on his prosthetic, changing the bed linen, and putting on some pants, as he waited for the flush on his cheeks to die down. After he finished, Mirai made his way to find Grim. He was asleep in the lounge.
“You want food, Grim?” Mirai asked.
Grim instantly woke up, little pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “Yeah, what are we having?”
“Pancakes and omelets.”
“Oh, add bacon to mine!”
“Alright,” Mirai chuckled. “Go wash up, yeah?”
“Don’t wanna,” Grim pouted petulantly. 
Mirai gave Grim a look, a look that said ‘you get nothing if you don’t wash up,’ and Grim deflated, grumbling as he made his way upstairs. 
Mirai was on his fifth omelet when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist.
“That looks good,” Cater muttered, kissing the back of Mirai’s head.
“Thanks,” Mirai said, his free hand coming up to hold Cater’s.
They stood in their embrace, Cater humming occasionally as he began to rock back and forth, moving the Prefect with him. Cater was warm from his shower, skin and hair still a little damp.  
“Could you set the table? The pancakes and the hashbrowns are already done.”
“Mh hm.”
Cater set the table, placing the decent sized stack of pancakes in the middle of the table along with two cups, a bottle of orange juice and a stack of napkins. By the time Cater was done, placing down the last fork, Mirai was done with the last Omelet, plating it on the empty plate. 
“Here,” Mirai said, placing the plate in front of the seat Cater was standing behind. 
“TYSM,” Cater smiled, sitting down. 
“Grim,” Mirai called, “Breakfast!”
Little thumps were heard, and soon, Grim was scurrying into the kitchen. “Thanks, Hench-human,” Grim said, taking his plate.
And as soon as he was in, he was out again.
“Where’s he going?” Cater chuckled.
“To his room,” Mirai said. “He has been up to something recently, and has holed himself up in his room. I don’t care as long as he cleans up, and doesn’t cause me any trouble.”
“Oh.”
Cater and Mirai served themselves. Mirai took a couple of pancakes, adding a load of butter and syrup. Cater on the other hand opted to just eat his omelet with some bacon and the hashbrowns Mirai had made. As they ate, they chatted about everything, school, tv shows, the weather, anything to fill the silence. But as they did, Mirai knew that they really needed to talk about what had happened last night. Mirai had so many questions, like why and how Cater ended up on his doorstep, how long had he been sitting there, why had he looked like he had been crying? But he wanted to give Cater time and the chance to eat before he brought the topic up again. And Mirai had noticed another thing, Cater hadn’t picked up his phone since they woke up. It wasn’t even on his person, it was upstairs somewhere. Cater never wasn’t without his phone, he was almost always either posting on his Magicam or checking his feed. There was never a moment Cater wasn’t seen without it.
As they finished their food, Cater began to fidget in his seat, a guilty countenance set upon his face. Mirai felt bad, he knew that Cater knew that they were gonna have to have that conversation, and he hated the fact that he was the one that was causing it. Mirai got up, washing his dishes and everything he used to cook with, and Cater joined his side not long after.
“Wanna go back upstairs, or do you wanna stay down here?” Mirai asked, taking off his rubber gloves. 
“Upstairs,” Cater answered.
Back in his room, Mirai crawled atop the bed, sitting up against the headboard, reaching a hand out. Cater crawled in after him, situating himself in Mirai’s arms for a cuddle.
“Wanna talk about last night?” Mirai finally asked with a sigh, not wanting to upset Cater anymore than what he was now.
“I really don’t want to, but I know it’s better that I do,” Cater sighed.
“I’m not forcing you,” Mirai soothed, rubbing Cater’s back. “I’m just concerned.”
“I know. That’s why it’s better if I explain.”
“Okay.”
Cater sighed, burying his face into Mirai’s shirt, hands clutching at the fabric on Mirai’s back. “I got in a fight with my mother.”
Mirai didn’t say anything, but he held Cater tighter in reassurance.
“I normally don’t go home for break, making excuses on why I can’t make it, why I can’t spend it with them, and then I go and spend it with Trey. But I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, so I decided to go home, since I haven’t been in a while.”
Mirai hummed to let Cater know he was listening.
“When I got home, my mother wasn’t happy. She started yelling at me about how I was never home, and that I should’ve never left for school like my father had urged me to, if I wasn't gonna come home. I mean, I deserve that one, but I don’t miss home at all. And of course my sisters had all kinds of things they wanted me to wear, and all kinds of sweets they wanted me to try. And I couldn’t say no, I’m not allowed to,” Cater rasped, voice was straining as he spoke, trying not to cry as he retold what had happened. “It all became all too overstimulating too fast. I wanted to tear apart all the frilly and lacy outfits my sisters made me wear for them, because my clothes were “so not cute.” I wanted to shout back at my mother as she picked apart my wardrobe, as she berated me for my grades, for the way I spoke, for the way my hair was styled, for what I was posting on my Magicam.”
“Cater,” Mirai breathed, holding the older male’s shaking form even tighter.
“I wanted to throw up with the amount of cake I was forced to eat, all the cookies I wished I could change the flavor of, and I did, I forced myself to, and I did,” Cater admitted, hiccuping a sob into Mirai’s shirt.
Mirai felt horrible. While he was here, upsetting himself over something small, petty even, for missing his boyfriend, wallowing in self pity, Cater was suffering, fighting his own wars on his own home front. Mirai felt choked up, tears threatening to fall as Cater spoke. 
“I miss, I miss my father,” Cater cried, “He, He never made me do anything, b-but he’s never home. I-I mean, it was never a better situation, and I-I know they’re trying, b-but what’s it matter if, if they never truly ask what I want? A-And last night, my sisters found out that you were my boyfriend.”
Cater was now crying, tears soaking Mirai’s shirt, chest heaving from his sobbing, and Mirai was crying tears of his own as he rubbed Cater’s back, trying to sooth his boyfriend. 
“We somehow g-got on the topic of partners and marriage. My sisters wanted t-to hook me up with one of their friend’s li-little sisters, when I told them I was seeing someone. They asked why I c-couldn’t be with someone c-cuter, s-someone like Vil Schoenheit, someone w-who wasn’t so ugly, so, so hideous,” Cater stuttered, as he cried, his voice taking an angered tone. “I was so angry with t-them that I screamed at them, I screamed at m-my sisters, at my own mother. They don’t know you! They don’t know you like I do, so how could t-they say such things?! And, and the thing is, they do. They always do and they always did. And, and b-before I knew it, I-I was storming out of the house with my things in hand.”
Cater gasped a breath before continuing, “I didn’t know where to go, I didn’t have anywhere to go. But then I remembered that you were still here, so I came back here. And by the time I got here it was so late, and I really didn’t want to wake you. But I didn’t know what else to do so I called, hoping you’d wake up, and you did, I’m so glad you did.”
Cater sat up, his form looming over Mirai’s as he grabbed the Prefect’s wet and blotchy face between his hands. 
“Cater?” Mirai called, voice quivering with tears.
Cater didn’t know what these feelings were, but he wanted to try. Cater Diamond didn’t fall in love, everyone fell in love with him. He was never one for long lasting relationships, never one for sappy words that came from the heart. He just liked to play his cards right with the next pretty face, and when they broke it off, he found someone else. But Mirai was different, so much different, and he didn’t want to miss his chance. Before Cater could stop them, the words he’d been keeping close to his heart came tumbling free.
“I love you,” Cater confessed, voice warbling, “I love you so much.”
Cater’s face was wet, flushed red from his crying, his green eyes were bloodshot, and swollen, his lips red and abused from biting them. Mirai’s whole world seemed to slow at those words, eyes widening as it all sank in. Mirai was stunned silent, voice caught in his throat, a garbled noise emitting from his lips as he tried to say something, anything. After a while Cater’s eyes widened in realization of what he just had confessed, color draining from his face. 
“A-Ah,” Cater gasped, shooting up, sheer panic coloring his face, “I, wait, I, no, I didn’t mean, wait, no, I meant it but I didn’t mean to say it-ugh! Way to go, Cay-Cay, talk about #Lame.”
Cater ran his fingers through his bright orange curls, exasperated. His freckled cheeks were beet red, his eyes looking anywhere but Mirai as he sighed. Mirai stared at Cater, mind still reeling. Mirai reached forward and slowly pulled Cater to face him. Cater looked up confused, and before he could ask, Mirai was smashing their lips together. Cater staggered, surprised, but melted quickly after, deepening the kiss with a sigh. It hurt a bit, their lips colliding with a clash of  teeth, but neither of them stopped, neither of them cared.  
 Mirai pulled back, holding Cater’s face in his hands. “I love you too,” Mirai whispered, teary green eyes steely and serious, yet so soft and full of love, “I love you.”
Cater chuckled breathily, and Mirai thumbed away the tears as they started to fall down Cater’s face again. 
Mirai and Cater lie together, basking in the afternoon sun beaming through Ramshackle’s floor to ceiling windows. Mirai lay above Cater, his chin resting atop Cater’s head, and as always, Mirai was playing in Cater’s hair, fingers scratching at the base of his neck. Cater lay below him, head lying halfway on Mirai’s chest, their legs tangled together. One of Cater’s feet was rubbing at the back of Mirai’s calf, and sometime during their cuddling, one of Cater’s hands found its way under Mirai’s shirt, his fingers flittering up to his ribcage and back down, his thumb rubbing small mindless patterns into the dip in his hip. 
“Why were you crying last night?” Cater asked, pressing his face into Mirai’s neck.
“Crying?” Mirai asked befuddled, “I wasn’t crying.”
“Your face was really puffy, and your eyes were red, so I thought you had been crying.”
“O-Oh.”
Cater sat up, looking his lover in the face, “So you were crying.”
“It, it was nothing important,” Mirai huffed, looking away from Cater.
“It is, if it made you cry.”
“But it’s not important now.”
“How is it not?”
“Be-Because, because you’re here now! So it’s fine,” Mirai flushed, covering his face with his hands.
“Eh?” Cater huffed, reaching down to pull Mirai’s hands from his face. “What do you mean because ‘I’m here now?’ I don’t get it. And stop hiding.”
“Be-Because,” Mirai stuttered, “I-I-I missed you! I missed you and me and my stupid separation anxiety was being a big baby about it because I was lonely!”
Cater’s fight left him at Mirai’s words, a small smile gracing his lips, “You could’ve called me.”
“And be that overbearingly annoying clingy boyfriend? No way! Hard pass! No thanks!”
“You could never be any of those things to me,” Cater cooed, kissing Mirai on the nose.
Mirai grumbled, hiding his face again.
“Don’t pout,” Cater cooed, leaning down to whisper in Mirai’s ear, “You know what happens when you pout.”
“Cat-ah! S-stop!”
Mirai laughed as Cater ran his fingers across a particularly ticklish spot on his stomach. Cater chuckled, pulling the Prefect’s shirt up his chest, and ran his fingers all over Mirai’s stomach. Mirai was cackling, tears in his eyes as he tried to fight off Cater’s attack.
“O-Okay! Okay,” Mirai laughed, “I yield! I g-give! I’m sorry!”
Cater ceased his attack, giggling as Mirai continued to scoot away from him. 
Cater stared at Mirai, taking in the sight of his lover in the afternoon light. Mirai’s pale blonde hair was haloed around his head reflecting the sun, his freckles that littered his warm pale skin that was flushed a bit from laughing, the dark eye bags that never seemed to fade, his vivid green eye and the scars that marred his face. Cater felt warmth in the pit of his chest, so much that it almost hurt.
“What?” Mirai asked fondly, “What is it?”
“I really am in love with you,” Cater whispered.
“So I’ve heard,” Mirai chuckled, “But yeah, I’m in love with you too.”
Cater leaned down, holding Mirai’s face in his hands, their noses touching with their closeness. Cater hummed happily as he pressed his lips against Mirai’s in a chaste kiss. Mirai breathed a laugh, leaning up to kiss Cater back. After a while their sweet kisses turned into something more as Cater deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing past the Prefect’s lips. Mirai whined, opening his mouth to let Cater in, his tongue chasing Cater’s. Cater groaned, pressing his body closer, his hands snaking up Mirai’s shirt, feeling their way up his lover’s torso. Mirai was whining loudly as Cater’s hands rubbed, pinched and pulled at the skin on his hips. And when Cater’s tongue ran across the roof of his mouth, Mirai was moaning, back arching. They parted, lips smacking, and Cater continued his assault down Mirai’s neck, kissing, biting and sucking wherever he could. 
“Bite me,” Mirai breathed, “Bite me harder.”
Cater groaned, latching on to the skin where Mirai’s shoulder and neck met, biting down hard. Mirai gasped, arching up into Cater, hands scrambling for purchase on the back of Cater’s shirt as he continued to abuse the spot, sucking and licking a big dark mark into his skin. Cater let go, licking the mark one last time before sitting up to look down at Mirai. The Ramshackle Prefect’s face was flushed a lovely red, lips swollen and wet. His hair was disheveled and so was his shirt, all crumpled, riding up his heaving chest, his eyes were clouded with heat, and on his neck was the mark, already starting to bruise, pretty against his pale flushed skin.
“Oh, that’s a good look on you,” Cater practically groaned, breathing haggard, “Wanna take a pic so bad.”
“Only if you let me mark you too,” Mirai smirked. 
Cater reached for his phone that was on the bedside table and booted it up. Once it powered on, Cater was immediately spammed with a bunch of messages. Cater’s face fell for a couple of seconds as he fiddled with the device, and if Mirai could guess, he probably was clearing out the messages from his Mother and sisters. 
“Come here, Baby,” Cater beckoned with a sly smile.
Mirai crawled up to where Cater was, allowing Cater to move him around for the picture. They ended up lying down, facing each other. Mirai’s face was pressed up into Cater’s neck, face hidden, both of them with their arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled together.
“Bite me,” Cater breathed, holding his phone above the two of them.
“Y-You’re gonna take it with me b-biting you?” Mirai stuttered, face flushing red.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I-I don’t mind.”
“Alright, cool. Whenever you’re ready.”
Mirai moved closer to Cater, trying to find a good spot to bite.
“This good?” Mirai muttered.
“Yeah, that’s good. Perfect.” Cater sighed.
Mirai took a breath before latching his mouth onto Cater’s neck. He took to an experimental bite, trying to feel how Cater would react. 
Cater sighed with a gasp, the hand under his shirt gripping his waist a little harder.
“Harder,” Cater begged.
Mirai whined, biting harder, relishing in the way Cater moaned loudly when he bit harder, sucking on his skin. He tasted like soap, his soap, and he smelled like it too, but underneath all of that, he still smelled distinctly like Cater, crisp, clean, and spicy. Cater twitched and shivered in his hold as Mirai continued to suck on his neck. No longer taking pictures, Cater relaxed in Mirai’s hold, gasping and moaning as Mirai continued to suck on his neck.
“M-More,” Cater gasped, “Again. Pl-Please.”
Mirai let go and moved atop Cater, pushing the strawberry blonde onto his back.
“Oh?” Cater teased breathily, “Someone’s feisty.” 
Mirai smirked as he got comfortable on Cater’s hips, hands pressing down on Cater’s chest as he leaned down, lips ghosting against Cater’s as he spoke, “You like it though.”
“I do,” Cater whispered back, pecking Mirai on the lips.
Mirai picked a spot on Cater’s collar bone, kissing the spot before latching on and biting down. Cater moaned, the sound rattling in his chest as his back arched, his hands coming up to hold Mirai’s hips, his head thrashing to the right. Mirai whined, sucking harder at his neck. 
“K-Keep, keep going,” Cater gasped.
Mirai hummed, pulling down Cater’s shirt collar to suck a new mark high on his chest. 
“So good for me, Baby,” Cater cooed breathily.
Mirai continued his loving assault on Cater’s neck, the both of them lost in the feeling of each other. Mirai gave a particularly hard suck on Cater’s jaw right below his ear, and Cater let out a keening whimper high in his throat, back arching, his hips grinding up into Mirai’s, and Mirai unconsciously returned the action, the both of them moaning out at the contact. 
They both froze, hearts hammering in their chests. Mirai pulled back, green eyes wide, face crimson as he looked down at Cater below him. Cater’s appearance wasn’t better off at all, he looked utterly debauched. His green eyes were glazed over, lips wet and red, face flushed red down past his shirt collar, and his neck littered with love bites, red and bruising against his honey skin. None of them said a word, staring at each other, not knowing what to say or do.
After a couple of moments of awkward silence, Mirai spoke, stammering, “So, how does, how does Ramen sound for dinner?”
Mirai boiled some ramen noodles as Cater played some pop music on his bluetooth speaker, dancing around the kitchen as he scrolled on his phone. Mirai laughed as Cater inched his way over to Mirai, hips swaying with the beat.
“Can I post this?” Cater asked, turning his phone around. 
“You took a video?!” Mirai shouted incredulously.
“Yep. It’s easier to get good pictures that way. I can delete it if you want me to.”
“I don’t mind, but don’t post the video.”
“Ok, how about this one?”
It was a nice picture, Mirai had to admit. It was quite provocative, yes, but it was a really nice picture. You couldn’t see the top halves of their faces, Cater’s being cut off by the frame, all that was visible was from his nose down, his lips that were crooked in a smirk. Mirai’s face was covered by Cater’s and his arm, his head cocked up into Cater’s neck, mouth latched on Cater’s neck, the bruise Cater had given him earlier visible to the camera.
“That one’s nice,” Mirai nodded.
“Yeah, this one’s my favorite, totally Cater approved. #Sexy,” Cater smiled. 
Mirai snickered, “You sure you wanna post that? Like doesn’t most of the student body follow you, including Riddle?”
“I won’t post it unless you don’t want me to,” Cater said, pulling Mirai into him, swaying them both with the beat. 
“I don’t mind. My issue is that I’m more concerned about you and your reputation.”
“How so?”
“Like, for starters, Riddle. I’m pretty sure you’re probably gonna get an earful if and when he sees that. And second, are you ready to like, make us more than a Heartslabyul secret? What about your followers?”
“Riddle’s totally gonna yell at me, but yeah, I think, I think I’m ready to officially change my Magicam status. My main reason was to keep it from my Mother and sisters, but since the cat’s out of the bag, why not post an actual picture of me and my totally sexy boyfriend, and not pass it off as friends just hanging out? And just to see my comment section blow up, I’m not gonna reveal who you are yet. Wanna make ‘em jealous.”
Mirai scoffed, taking the noodles off the stove, “Who would want me?”
Cater scoffed playfully, “Uh, me?”
“Besides you, you dummy.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Mirai looked surprised, “What do you mean?”
“You have quite the rep around here, and believe it or not, it’s more positive than negative.”
“I can’t see why? Like, who would want an ugly, scarred up, broken-”
“Finish that sentence and I will tell Riddle that it was you and Ace who put that hole in the wall.”
“Cater,” Mirai shouted, a pout on his face. “You promised! And Ace was asking for it!”
“Then don’t finish that sentence and I won’t tell,” Cater laughed.
Mirai pouted, as he dished the ramen into three bowls, setting the table.
“But back to our original conversation, is it alright if I post this?” Cater asked, sitting down.
“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Mirai said, sitting down next to Cater.  
“Cool.”
Five minutes later, Cater posted the picture.“#FallBreak, #BestVaycayEver, #Boyfriends,” Cater rambled, other hashtags Mirai couldn't catch with the speed Cater was posting at. “And done.”
“Sap,” Mirai laughed.
“Love you too,” Cater cooed with a wink.
Mirai shook his head. 
Grim came down sometime after, taking a seat at the other end of the table.
“So why’s he here?” Grim gruffed around a mouthful of noodles.
“Grim,” Mirai warned.
“What?! Isn’t he supposed to be on vacation? Who’d want to spend their vacation at school?”
Cater smirked, “What can I say, Cay-Cay missed his totally adorable boyfriend and his boyfriend’s totally adorable cat.”
“I am not a cat!”
Cater began poking fun at Grim and Grim retaliated with empty threats and harsh words. Mirai, on the other hand, laughed loudly at their bickering.
Grim left, more annoyed than angry after Mirai gave him a donut for dessert, Mirai and Cater continued to eat their ramen, Cater’s music filling the space. Mirai watched Cater eat, finding it endearing as Cater tied his hair up into a short ponytail to keep it from falling into his food. 
“Is it hot enough for you?” Mirai asked, “Because if it’s not, there’s all types of hot sauce in the pantry.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m good,” Cater dismissed. 
Mirai got up from the table, confusing Cater as he rummaged through the pantry until he found the hot sauce. Mirai brought the small bottle back to the table, setting it in front of Cater.
“You didn’t have to do that. It’s good as is,” Cater reasoned.
“You like it spicy right? So just use it,” Mirai argued.
“But it’s good. I couldn’t mess up your food.”
“The only reason why it’s not spicy is because I can’t handle spicy food.”
“Nope, it’s fine.”
“You really don’t want it to be spicy?” Mirai asked.
“It’s fine, really,” Cater laughed. 
The pair finished their food, washing the dishes together, Cater washing and Mirai drying. Mirai put away the last dish, and when he turned around, Cater was dancing again. The song was upbeat, the kind of music you would hear at a party. Cater looked the Magicless Prefect in the eye as he swiveled his hips, a hand running up his torso, pulling his shirt up with it, his smooth stomach revealing itself in its wake. 
Mirai put a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow, and Cater snickered, wiggling his eyebrows. Mirai laughed. 
“C’mon, Dollface, dance with me,” Cater laughed.
“Can’t dance,” Mirai smiled, “but the view is nice.”
Cater cackled, throwing his head back. 
Cater grabbed both of Mirai’s hands and pulled him close. The pair did nothing special, swaying to the beat of the music, Cater and Mirai spinning each other here and there. The couple had fun dancing around, Cater belting out a couple of lines, his voice playfully and airy, and more than once did they have each other blushing and laughing. Then a slower song played and they slowed their step to a slow dance, their movements unhurried and steady. Cater sang quietly to the song as he held Mirai close, his head resting on top of Mirai’s, his arms wrapped around the younger’s waist and shoulders.
“You smell good,” Mirai mumbled, pressing his face into Cater’s chest, tangling his hands in the back of his shirt.
“You always say that,” Cater chuckled. “What do I smell like?”
“I don’t know how to describe it. Like, I know you wear cologne, but you always smell clean, crisp, and spicy, sometimes even deep and musky, and sometimes light sweet, but it’s you.”
Cater hummed. 
Cater buried his face in Mirai’s hair, kissing the top of his head, and Mirai pressed his ear to Cater’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as they danced. Mirai couldn’t explain the giddy warm feeling he felt when he was with Cater. Whether it be talking to Cater, eating with Cater, cuddling with Cater, or simply just sitting next to him, Mirai felt happy, and safe. And he never wanted to let that feeling go. 
Mirai turned his head and looked up at Cater, and Cater looked down with a warm smile.
“Yes, Cutie Pie?” Cater cooed.
“I love you,” Mirai whispered, face warming.
Cater flushed as he held Mirai’s face in his hands, his thumbs petting Mirai’s soft cheeks. Mirai reached up to place his hands on top of Cater’s, his hands running up the length of Cater’s arms until they were on his. They stared at each other, lost in each other's eyes, in the sweetness of the moment, and neither of them wanted it to end.
“I love you too,” Cater finally said, leaning down to kiss Mirai softly.
Cater’s phone went off, the ringer a playful little tune as it sounded through the room. The pair broke apart and Cater rushed over to his phone, face lighting up as he answered it.
“‘Sup Trey,” Cater chirped happily. 
“Not to dampen your mood, but you good?” Trey asked, genuinely concerned. 
“Yeah,” Cater breathed, “I am now.”
“That’s good, I’m glad. Thanks Mirai.”
“It was nothing really,” Mirai spoke up, looking over Cater’s shoulder, “Would’ve done it for any of you, honestly.” 
Suddenly Cater’s phone started going off again and after Cater clicked a button, Ace’s face came into view. 
“‘Sup Acey,” Cater winked. 
“Hi Ace,” Mirai waved.
“So we just not gonna talk about that picture you two posted?” Ace asked, an eyebrow raised. “Riddle’s gonna kill you.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Cater laughed.
“Oh, but I do know.”
Cater froze as Riddle’s face came up next to Trey’s, face twisted in anger. 
“H-Hey Riddle,” Cater said, voice full of fear.
“Oh! Let me get Deuce in on this,” Ace said and not soon after Deuce joined the video call. 
“You’re so dead,” Deuce laughed. 
“Tell me Cater,” Riddle growled, “What would possess you to post something like that!”
“Mi-Mi gave me the okay to post it,” Cater defended himself. 
“Mirai! How could you let him post something so provocative like that?!”
Mirai laughed as he poked his head over Cater’s shoulder, “You have to admit, it was a nice picture.”
“Mirai!”
“It was, though,” Ace agreed.
Deuce and Trey nodded in agreement. 
“Don’t agree with them,” Riddle shouted.
“Lighten up Riddle, they’re having fun,” Trey soothed. “We’re letting the little things go, Riddle, remember?”
“This is not a little thing!”
“Totes a little thing,” Cater laughed.
Mirai laughed at Riddle as his face grew red.
Cater turned around, grabbing Mirai so that he was sitting on his lap, as Riddle and Trey continued to argue.
“Look at his neck,” Riddle yelled.
Mirai looked at their necks from the phone camera, and Mirai had to agree, their necks did look pretty bad. 
“Cater’s is worse than Mirai’s,” Ace laughed.
“It’s worse than it was in the picture,” Deuce laughed. 
“Oh Queen of Hearts, please help me,” Riddle groaned.
“Dang Mirai,” Ace laughed, “You really went to town, didn’t you?”
Mirai cackled, “He asked for it.”
“Mirai,” Riddle scolded.
“Keep telling y’all, wrong impression,” Mirai laughed.
“Looks like it hurts,” Deuce said.
“Oh no, Hon” Cater said, “It feels really good.”
“Cater,” Riddle chided.
Everyone laughed, while Riddle groaned miserably. 
“Ugh,” Riddle whined. “Why are we even discussing this?”
“You brought it up, boo,” Cater winked.
“But how are you gonna cover it up?” Deuce asked.
“It’s not like anyone’s gonna see it, I’m not going anywhere,” Cater said nonchalantly.
“You say that like you intend for no one to see that, yet post it on the internet,” Trey deadpanned. 
Cater laughed, flashing the camera with his signature three fingered salute. 
“So like, you guys aren’t afraid of what people might say?” Deuce asked warily. 
Everyone seemed to quiet down at his question.
“If you had asked me that a couple of weeks ago, I’d say yes, but now, I could care less,” Mirai said sincerely. “Anyone who has a problem can kick rocks.”
Cater, Ace, Trey, and Deuce laughed and Riddle sighed.
“I’ll let this one slide,” Riddle huffed, “But I don’t wanna see any more photo’s like that coming from either of you.”
“No promises,” Mirai sang.
Riddle growled.
“Have you seen Savanaclaw's posts?” Cater asked incredulously. 
“I have no control over Savanaclaw and what they post.”
“I think it was a nice photo,” An unfamiliar voice commented. 
Mirai looked at the screen, and jumped in surprise at the floating head behind Trey and Riddle.
“Get out, Che’nya,” Riddle yelled, swinging his arms. 
“Aww but I missed you,” Che’nya whined, body materializing as he held onto Riddle. 
“Get off me!”
The two began to argue, their voices loud and echoey through the phone, and it wasn’t until a pillow was thrown, most likely by Riddle, did Trey get up.
“Gotta go,” Trey said, wincing as the yelling continued, a loud bang resonating through the phone, “Talk later, yeah?”
“Bye, Trey,” Ace and Deuce waved. 
“Night,” Mirai waved. 
“Laters,” Cater waved. 
Trey hung up, leaving the chat.
“Ima get off too,” Deuce said, “It is late, and my mom is asleep.”
“That’s fine,” Mirai said, “Let’s all just call it a night. We can chat in the morning, yeah?”
“Yeah, night guys,” Ace called, “Night mama’s boy.”
“Hey,” Deuce shouted.
Everyone laughed.
“Night,” Cater chirped.
“Night, Deuce,” Mirai laughed.
“Night,” Deuce grumbled.
Cater ended the call, and Mirai stretched his arms over his head, yawning, as he stood up from Cater’s lap. It was late and Mirai thought about settling in for the night. 
“Wanna watch a movie?” Cater asked.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Mirai said thoughtfully.
“You can set up my laptop,” Cater said quietly, “but first, I’m gonna call my mother, and apologize.”
Mirai nodded, leaving to give Cater his privacy.
Mirai and Cater watched a movie on Cater’s laptop as they laid in bed together. It was some romcom where the female lead gets accepted for a job as secretary, but what she doesn’t know is that her new boss is the man who she dumped back in high school. Mirai was trying to pay attention, he really was, but with Cater playing with the hair at the base of his neck, his fingers scratching at his scalp, the slow relaxed rise and fall of Cater’s warm chest, and the sound of his beating heart, Mirai was struggling to keep his eyes open. 
“Falling asleep, Sweetpea?” Cater muttered, his voice sounding sleepy as well.
“No,” Mirai lied, a yawn escaping his lips.
Cater chuckled softly, “Liar.”
“Am not,” Mirai pouted, eyes closing again.
“Go to sleep, Baby. We can watch this another time.”
“I’m, I’m not tired,” Mirai slurred sleepily.
Not even a minute later, Mirai was snoring softly. Cater chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone to take a quick pic before he carefully shut and moved his laptop.
“Good night, Mi-Mi,” Cater whispered, placing a soft kiss to the crown of Mirai’s head, “Love you.”
Cater smiled to himself, nuzzling his face into Mirai’s hair. For once in his life, Cater could just be. He didn’t need to put on the pretty face created by his sister's perfection for all things cute, he didn’t have to put on the face he reserved for people so that they didn’t get too close, all because he and his family never stayed in one place when he was a child. He didn’t have to keep the fake smiles, no matter how he was feeling, just so that people couldn’t actually see how broken he really was. He didn't have to smile through the pain and lie through his teeth, because Mirai was always a step ahead of him, always so caring and attentive. So he could cry, he could be tired, he could be angry, he could be human again. He could be the man he wanted to be, the man he always wanted to be, not the jumbled up mess he was now. And most importantly, he could be himself. 
For once in his life, Cater felt that he belonged somewhere, somewhere he felt safe, somewhere he felt free, somewhere he felt loved, and somewhere he felt truly at home. And that somewhere was in the arms of his lover.
--------------------------------------
Thanks for reading, I really appreciate it. If it weren't for the smattering amount of yall who ready every time I post, I would have given up long ago, so thank you so much!
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solarisstyles · 5 months
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MS. HONEY: TEACHER APPRECIATION WEEK
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Pairing: Harry Styles x F!Reader Word Count: 2.7k+ Warnings: tooth rotting fluff! Summary: It takes a village to raise a special needs child. Gemma's son is growing up and starting kindergarten in the fall. Uncle Harry is struggling with not being able to spend all day, everyday, with his nephew who he's grown quite attached to. When he accompanies Gemma and Arlo on his first day of school, he meets Ms.Honey. Harry decides Kindergarten might not be so bad after all. A/N: For the sake of the story, Gemma and Harry live in the states. I know more about the school system in America than the UK so it just made sense! This story is not meant to be a 100% depiction of what a family of this dynamic is like. Harry and Gemma Styles are very real people and are only being used for fictional purposes!
*please like and reblog to help your local fic writers*
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Dear Students and Parents,
This week is Teacher Appreciation Week! Every day this week we will be celebrating our staff and teachers to let them know how much we care for them. Below is a list for what the theme will be each day this week. Help us show our teachers and staff how much we appreciate their hard work! 
-Mrs.Rina(Principal)
Monday:
We’re Muffin Without You!- Surprise a staff member or teacher with their favorite treat.
Tuesday:
Tasty Tuesday!- Volunteer to serve a sponsored breakfast.
Wednesday:
We’re WILD About Our Staff!- Thank a staff member with their favorite flower, or a gift/hand made picture of their favorite animal.
Thursday:
Thankful Thursday!- Treat a staff member with a gift card or hand made card!
Friday:
Phantasmagoric Palette!- Ask your teacher her/his favorite color and wear it!
- - - - - - - -
Sunday;
Sunday mornings are Harry’s favorite day of the week. Sitting with Gemma at her dining room table with a hot cup of tea in front of him. He watched Gemma scoot about through her kitchen to make Arlo breakfast. 
Scooby Doo was on the TV in the living room for Arlo to watch while he played with his legos. His occasional giggles would make Harry smile a little brighter.
“You’re daydreaming again.” Gemma said while flipping a pancake on the electric griddle.
Shifting his gaze from the window to his sister, he looked at her bashfully, then glanced back down to his tea, “Sorry. You know it’s hard to stop once I start.”
A plate of pancakes was sat down in front of him along with a bottle of syrup, engulfing his senses with the sweet and buttery smell.
“Eat. It’ll perk you up some.” Gemma ordered, giving him a small smile.
Rolling his eyes, Harry picked up his fork and poured some syrup on the pancakes. Using his fork to cut them up and eat them while he slowly sipped on his tea in between bites.
“So, what’s got you in such a daze?” Gemma asked, plating up more pancakes for her and Arlo.
Harry hesitated to answer, nervous about how Gemma would react. He pushed the syrup around on his plate, dragging his fork through it as a distraction while he built up the nerve. “You remember a few weeks ago when we all helped with the field day?” he asked, glancing up at his sister.
Setting the plates down on the table, Gemma leaned against the table with one hand while propping the other on her hip, “Of course I do. What about it?” she asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.
“When everyone left, it was just me and Honey. She noticed my face was sunburned and pulled out some aloe to rub on my face. Uh, well…I might have made a move on her and we kissed.” Harry rambled, blushing madly.
Gemma stared at him with a mixture of astoundment and unsurprised. “Well for one I’m shocked you had your first kiss in her classroom, but I’m also not shocked after that little water balloon fight you both had. The tension is thick enough for a knife to cut.”
“I’ve never had a first kiss like this Gemma.” he sighed, setting down his fork. “There were fireworks. Not sparks. Fireworks. I’m positive she felt them too.”
“Sounds like Harry is in loveee.” Gemma teased, cutting up Arlo’s pancakes for him, then calling him to the table.
Harry felt a giant knot in his stomach. Love. That was a big word to use for somebody he wasn’t officially dating. It’s not something he can confidently say he’s ever experienced to know the signs either.
“Harry?”
“What?”
“Don’t overthink it.” Gemma said, sitting next to him and starting to eat her own pancakes. “By the way! Next week is Teacher Appreciation Week. The flier is hanging on the fridge if you want to look at it.” Pointing to the fridge with his fork.
Glancing at the fridge, Harry saw the piece of paper Gemma was talking about. “Did you plan on doing anything?” Harry asked, looking back to Gemma.
“Of course.” Gemma said as if it was obvious. “There might be some days you can do too. So give it a look when you’re done.”
Quickly finishing up his breakfast, he took his plate and mug to the sink, rinsing it off before turning to the fridge to read over the theme for each day. “Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday seem the most open for me.” patting his pants to make sure he had his wallet and phone, he looked back over to Gemma, “I’m running to the store to pick up a few things. Do you need anything?” he asked, pulling his phone out to snap a picture of the paper.
Amused by Harry’s sudden urgency, she shook his head, “We’re fine. Go buy your gifts for your girl.” she dismissed with a wave of her hand.
- - - - - - - -
Monday:
We’re Muffin Without You!
As all your students entered the room, they quickly came up to you with excitement to give you the treats their parents had picked out. You assure them that you would look through each gift at the end of the day and that they’ve made you feel extremely loved today.
The day came and went with ease, not having any major hiccups to tend to with your students. Easy days like these were always cherished in your classroom.
As dismissal came around and your kids slowly left, you leaned back in your chair and sighed. The silence welcomed you in a warm embrace till it was interrupted by a soft knock on your door. Looking up to see Harry standing there with a soft smile on his face as he admired you.
“Sorry for interrupting your down time. I just wanted to personally drop this off to you.” he said, holding up a grocery bag.
Beckoning him inside, you sat up in your chair, “Well bring it here then.” you said, making grabby hands for the bag.
Harry laughed, walking over to you and handing you the bag, which you accepted with glee.
Opening the bag, you glanced at its contents and gasped, pulling out the container of banana nut muffins.  “For the sweet to my nut.” you read the writing scribbled on top of the container. Snorting with laughter, you covered your mouth in embarrassment. 
Harry looked at you amused, “You like that?” he asked, trying not to laugh himself.
“I love it.” you assured him, popping open the container to grab a muffin. “Banana nut is my favorite.” taking a bite out of the muffin you couldn’t help but moan, “Oh my God these are amazing!” you raved, looking at the brand he bought. “I’ll have to remember this next time I go grocery shopping!”
Puffing his chest out proudly, Harry smiled, brushing off his shoulder “Yeah, not to brag but I’ve got good taste.” he shrugged.
You rolled your eyes fondly, “Well I appreciate your good taste. Thank you.” setting down your muffin, and leaning over your desk to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
His green eyes looked back into your own as you pulled away, an emotion swimming in them that you couldn’t quite put a finger on identifying.
Gently caressing your cheek, he then softly spoke, “There’s more to come for you this week darling. I hope you expect to be spoiled.” giving a small smile and a playful wink, he kissed your cheek in return. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” 
“Okay.” you softly said in return, leaning into his touch.
Giving you a final kiss to your forehead, he said goodbye, smiling at your gentle gentle echo of a farewell as he walked out the classroom door.
- - - - - - - -
Wednesday:
We’re WILD About Our Staff!- Thank a staff member with their favorite flower, or a gift/hand made picture of their favorite animal.
“Oh my goodness! Thank you so much Arlo!” you gushed as he handed you the stuffed lion. Flashbacks to the zoo played through your head as you admired the small stuffed animal. 
Arlo giggled at your reaction, “Zoo!” he said, clearly having the same thoughts as you. 
You nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! That’s exactly what I thought of too. Thank you Bub.” The nickname has grown on you since hearing Harry speak it so fondly.
As you were in the middle of your reading lesson, there was a knock on the door. Pausing where you were, you walked over and opened it. Nancy stood there with a giddy smile on her face and an arm full of wildflowers, “special delivery!” she said, handing them off to you.
“Oh, wow!” you said, cradling the vase in your arms. “Who are they from?” you asked, looking from the flowers to her.
Nancy smiled at you, “Oh, just some guy. Called himself Mr.Honey.” she winked, turning to walk back to the front desk.
Sighing and shaking your head, you gently closed the door and walked the flowers back to your desk. Some of the boys making teasing remarks about you having a crush which just made you laugh.
Adjusting the vase to sit perfectly on your desk, you sniffed the flowers, humming happily at the sweet smell. Pulling the small card out of the bouquet you opened it to read the note inside.
‘A queen bee as beautiful as you deserves flowers just as stunning and radiant. When you look at these and think of how pretty they are, I want you to know that’s how I feel when I look at you. -Mr.Honey.’
“Who are they from Ms.Honey?!” Sean called out, bouncing in his chair. The other students looked up at you with wide curious eyes.
Laughing, you shook your head. Of course this had all of their attention and you couldn’t blame them. If you saw somebody get handed a beautiful vase of flowers you would be nosy too. “It’s a secret admirer.” you teased, tucking the note into your desk away from their prying eyes. “Let’s focus back on our reading okay?” you decided to redirect, going back to the front of the classroom and continuing your lesson.
Later that afternoon you called Harry to personally thank him for the flowers. You made sure they arrived home with care and now have them sitting in the window sill of your kitchen that’s right above your sink.
“I was expecting you.” he answered, causing you to giggle.
“I wanted to tell you about these beautiful flowers I got today.”
“Flowers? Somebody’s got a crush.” he teased.
You couldn’t help but play along. “Yeah, he calls himself Mr.Honey and thinks I’m beautiful.”
“He sounds extremely charming. You should give him a chance.”
“I think I will. He’s pretty cute and goofy himself.”
Harry laughed, and it was then that you decided you wanted to make him laugh till his stomach hurt. Till he was laughing so hard he was silent with tears streaming down his face. Chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Butterflies invaded your stomach and your heart skipped a beat at the thought.
“I’m glad you loved the flowers Honey. By the way, you can plant them in your garden and it’s supposed to attract honey bees.”
Placing your hand over your heart, your bottom lip pouted outward, “Harry, that’s so thoughtful. I can’t believe how much thought you put into this.”
“It’s what you do for those you l-...really like.” he caught himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his face as he cringed at the almost slip up.
Thankfully you didn’t catch it though, only smiling and shaking your head as you admired the flowers. “Well, I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” the both of you were blushing like crazy on both ends of the phone. This phase took the both of you back to your youth, being up on the phone late at night with your crush, whispering cute things to each other, and refusing to hang up.
“Oh, guess what Arlo gave me today!” you said, suddenly remembering the cute gift.
“I can only imagine.” Harry chuckled. “What did he give you?”
“A stuffed lion.” you said proudly. “It reminded him of the zoo so he wanted me to have it.” picking up the stuffed animal, you held it close against your chest. “I adore that kid.”
Harry smiled at the memory, not a doubt in his mind that Arlo saw the lion and threw a fit until Gemma would buy it for you. “I adore him too. He can be off the wall but he’s a sweet kid.”
“He really is. I don’t think I would have signed on for another two years at the school if it weren’t for him.” Thinking back on the bond you had with your students, they all had their special connection to you, but you couldn’t help but feel drawn to Arlo and favor him a little bit.
“Honey, that's great!” Harry exclaimed, happy to know Arlo will get to see you for two more years.
A soft giggle slipped past your lips, “I thought you’d be happy to hear that.” 
“I’m over the moon.” Harry softly said. “I hate to cut this call short but I had an early day and my bed is calling my name. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Of course. Go get your beauty sleep.”
“Hmm, Goodnight Honey.”
“Goodnight, Harry.”
- - - - - - - -
Thursday:
Thankful Thursday!- Treat a staff member with a gift card or hand made card!
Overwhelmed was the only word to describe it. Walking into your classroom the next morning, you were greeted by a large basket on your desk full of gifts. Slowly setting down your bag, you stood over the basket and admired it. Spotting a gift tag, you gently opened it to see who it was from.
To: Ms.Honey
From: Your Worker Bees
All the parents had gotten together to put together this gift basket for you from the class. You didn’t know what you did in a past life to get such an amazing class.
Pulling open the ribbon, you removed the plastic wrapping to see what all was inside. Mixed with the cute gifts were a few cards as well. You couldn’t wait to read them when you got home this afternoon. One of the moms made you a custom t-shirt, another personally made you a tumbler cup, some of the dad’s even pitched in a home depot gift card to be funny.
As if you couldn’t get any more emotional, each kid came in and handed you a homemade card they did themselves. The love these kids have for you, the impact you’ve made in such a short amount of time, is why you love this job. They’ve given you a purpose in life to live and you were determined to make them feel that love right back.
So, as a thank you for being such an awesome group of kids, you made popcorn and watched movies all day. Nothing fueled your happiness like the sounds of them happily chattering to one another or laughing during the film. Work could definitely wait.
Later that evening you sat down and decided to read the cards from the parents. You’d held it together pretty well until you got to Gemma’s card.
Ms. Honey,
This week is all about you and rightfully so. Words can not describe how thankful I am to have you as Arlo’s teacher. You’ve helped ease every worry I have, answering all my emails, and even my texts. The bond you and Arlo have is something I would have never imagined. He’s learned so much from you. Things I would have never had the patience to teach him. You make him feel safe and that’s all I could ever want for my child around another adult. If it wasn’t for you(and Harry honestly) I’m sure I’d be one short mishap to a ward. Thank you for all you’ve done and continue to do. My family has become infinitely happier since you’ve buzzed into our lives. You’re an amazing teacher, and an amazing friend to us parents.
Yours sweetly, Gemma
Ps- Sorry for the bee pun Pss- Not really though
TAG LIST: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @justlemmeadoreyou @squirreljoe @end-of-the-earth @behindmygreyeyes
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blusapphire · 1 year
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Play me a memory (Billy Russo x Reader)- Chapter 3
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Summary: When you first met Billy Russo, you fell for him hard and fast. Being with him was like a dream, You were perfect for each other, or so you thought.
You return home one night to find all traces of him gone. You’re left heartbroken… and with a life changing surprise. Years later, you find yourself in a predicament when you unexpectedly find your way back into each other’s lives.
A/N:
Thanks everyone for all the reblogs, and likes, I hope you guys enjoy, and let me know what you think!!❤️
Warnings: Some swearing
Series Masterlist
The rest of the world seemed to be nonexistent, as you zoned out behind the wheel of your car, debating with yourself if the events that occurred a few minutes ago, had actually happened.
If only if you had read that damn pamphlet. Then at least you would’ve known what-, who to expect.
Like it would’ve made any difference though.
You didn’t really remember getting in your car and speeding away, swiftly pushing past people on your way out, your mind completely out of place and scrambled as you frantically rushed out of Wilburne Industries and into the parking lot, slamming your car door.
You didn’t know where you were going, you just had to get out of there.
Your mind was racing a mile a minute and you couldn’t calm your thoughts down, no matter how much you tried.
You just couldn’t believe that it was real.
You’re startled by a series of loud honking and people spewing angry words behind you, which pulls you out of your trance, and you realize that you’ve created a long line traffic at a stoplight.
You start your car and begin driving again for about a minute or two, but your thoughts were getting to you, so you pulled over at a random corner.
You sat there for what felt like hours, but in reality was just a few minutes, as you replayed the scene in your head, trying to piece together what just happened.
You just saw Billy Russo. After seven years.
The man who used to make you so nervous before every date, even after the years of dating.
The man who used to make you smile so hard, you thought it would somehow leave a tear in your face.
The man who you love- loved, so strongly, it hurt.
The one who you thought felt the same way about you. Seeing him used to make you feel giddy, like having a high school crush, and now.. all you felt was pain.
The pain of the day he left. Calling him for days, which turned into weeks because you couldn’t accept that he was just gone from your life, as if he never existed.
Then eventually his phone number had stopped working.
You went to see Frank first, to see if he knew anything, or anywhere he might’ve gone, or why. He was his best friend after all, and If anyone had known anything, it would’ve been him.
Frank, had told you some story about how he hadn’t spoken to billy in weeks, Which you had surmised was a lie. But after an hour of pressing him for answers, and getting nowhere, you decided to try his other friend, Curtis.
He had told you the same story Frank had told you, but in a different version.
You even went to the police, because you thought maybe something terrible had happened to him, and that he needed help. When you’d explained what happened to the police, they told you they didn’t think he was in any danger, but that since all his stuff was gone, it was simply a case of him just, leaving.
To which you responded “No, he wouldn’t just, do that to me.” You were frantic, and they had told you they would look into it and contact you, but after waiting around for a month, you figured they never would.
You sat around in the place that you had gotten together for months, hoping that one day he would walk through the door.
Every time your phone rang you were eager to answer, hoping it was him, calling you to tell you that he had just gone out of the city to see one of his old friends from the military, or that he’d gone on that trip to Italy the two of you always talked about, and that he’d be home in few days.
You’d be mad at him of course, for going without you, but you’d get over it eventually.
You were desperate for anything. Any kind of answer from him, that told you he was okay, and that he was coming back.
But it never came. And Billy never came back.
And it dawned on you, that fact that you refused to believe, hear, or see.
The fact that, he had just, left.
You had so many unanswered questions. Where the hell was he? Why did he leave without saying goodbye? Had you done something?
The memory made your eyes sting, and suddenly, before you realized it, tears began streaming down your face, and your breathing hitched in your chest. The quiet crying and incoherent sounds had soon escalated to sobbing, the sound loudly reached your ears.
Before you knew it, hours had passed while you were sitting in your car, and you checked the time, remembering you had to pick your daughter up from school.
You didn’t want her to see you in the manner you were now, so you wiped your face with the sleeve of your jacket, sniffing away your runny nose, and tried your best to cover the distress painting your face.
When you made it home, Jaz had already been back from work, and had already started on dinner, greeting you when you walked through the door, but it faded into the background, much like everything else for the rest of the day, and you gave her a small ‘hey’ in return, your mind too heavy with thoughts.
Ever since you picked Ava up from school that afternoon, you couldn’t help but, watch her.
Watch her as she did her homework, and as she picked the food on her plate at the dining table, and ran around the apartment claiming she was a fairy, even when you tucked her in that night.
You didn’t know what you were going to do.
What were you going to tell her about Billy?
Just then, you feel something tossed at the side of your head, and Jaz was saying something, you suspected to you, taking you out of your deep thoughts.
“Huh?” You asked snapped out of your trance, by the chip tossed at you.
“I said, would you rather smell like rotten eggs for life, or sweat hot sauce for a month?”
You shake your head to increase your focus on her question, “Uhm, the second one.”
The two of you had been sitting on the couch for the a while now, Jaz working on a project on her laptop, and the tv was on, but you weren’t paying any attention at all to the show that was on, instead opting to stare at the space in front of you.
“Y/n,” she snaps her fingers near your ears, “hey, you okay? You’ve been zoning out like every, five minutes, since you got home.”
You had a hard time getting the words out to her, Afraid you would break down again if you said his name.
She was in as much disbelief as you were, well, almost as much as you were, and she closed her laptop to make sense of what you just told her.
“So I ran out of there, lik-like a chicken with no head,” you said, flopping back down on the couch next to her and sigh, “I hope I still have a job on Monday though,” You added, frowning.
Would it really have been the worst thing to not have a job there anymore?
“Dude, you just kept that to yourself the whole day?,” she asked, concern painting her face, “why didn’t you call me?”
Fidgeting with your fingers, you stop and answer, “I was kinda busy having a breakdown in my car, and I left work really early, so I doubt you would’ve been able to pick up anyway.” You admit.
She follows with an apologetic look, “Are you sure it was him?”
“Jaz, I’m telling you, we were literally standing three feet from each other,” you explained, “I could practically count the hairs on his face.”
“What hole did he crawl out of, after seven damn years?”
“Wish I knew,” you shrug, “but it was a rich one, you should’ve seen what he was wearing. Suit, tie, watch, the whole starter pack. Not a lint speck in sight, and ugh,” you rolled your eyes, “don’t even get me started on his car.”
“Well, what the hell was he doing there?”
You run your hands over face, “I guess he owns some kind of security company or something now, Wilburne wanted more protection, until the police caught those guys that broke in a few weeks ago, so..,”
“So he’s there to stay?”
You sighed, “Probably, yeah, for a few months,” You answered in regret.
“Well, did he tell you where he’s been, or say anything?”
“Nope,” you say as you look up at her, “we were too busy staring at each other.”
You can see that a thought crosses her mind by the look on her face, a kind of realization, which she then shared with you.
“What about Ava?”
Her question brought you back to what you were dreading to answer.
Of course, even though you detested Billy right now for what he did, you wanted to tell him about Ava. He deserved to know he had a kid and she deserved to have a father.
But what if you did let him into her life? And he just, left again out of the blue? She’d be as devastated as you were.
The both of you deserved an explanation as to why he left and Protecting her was your number one priority, so you decided that.., you wouldn’t tell him about Ava. Yet.
“Uh..I don’t think..” you start crossing your arms and look down at the ground in front of you, “I’m gonna tell him, yet. I just,” you shrug, followed by a head shake, “don’t want her to get hurt.”
Jaz gives a small nod in return, in show of support. You both lean against the back of the couch, looking up at the ceiling, and let out a small breathe of air, as if to take some pressure off of the heavy conversation, when Jaz says something, to lift the mood.
“Hey.., remember the other day when we said nothing was worse than that job we got, that summer after college?”
“yeah?”
“This one,” laughing in between, “kinda takes the cake, I mean.. wow.”
You briefly glance in her direction, and a burst of laughter leaves your throat, and you toss a couch pillow at her, “I hate you,” you playfully respond, “but it kinda does though, doesn’t it?”
Bursts of laughter fill the room at that, taking your mind off things for a while. It went like this for the whole weekend, as you prepared yourself for the hectic Monday you knew was inevitable.
You sat in the parking lot, for about 20 minutes now, you woke up earlier than usual, because you knew you’d need a few minutes to give yourself a pep talk, in order to have the courage to go inside.
You saw his car on your way in, so you knew Billy was in the building already.
You couldn’t hide in your car forever, so you whispered a small ‘I got this’ to yourself, and walked into the building, making your way up to your floor.
When you got to your office, your desk had a small note, from Wilburne, telling you to come see him when you got in, something you were weary about.
God, you hoped be weren’t about to be fired.
You head over to his office, and before you knock on the door, you can see Billy and Wilburne through the window.
The blinds were down, but not all the way through, so you could see the two men standing opposite each other, almost face to face, in what looked to be a heated exchange, but you couldn’t tell, because the sound didn’t extend into the hallway.
You interrupt the moment between them, by knocking on the door, and in a few seconds, you guessed he was gathering himself, he extends his voice, to let you know to come in, as Billy, shoves his hands in his hands in his pockets, and turns his back towards the door, which looked to be in frustration.
Letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding on, you turn the handle to the office door, and walk in, as your boss smiles and welcomes you.
“Y/n,” the sound of your name being called, prompts Billy to turn around, and a soft expression washes over his face.
“How are you feeling, Chelsea told me you weren’t feeling, very well the last time. Everything okay?” Your boss asks.
You fold your hands in front of you and give a light smile, “Yes sir, I’m feeling all better now, it was just uh, a little food poisoning, it cleared up over the weekend.”
Billy keeps his gaze on you the whole time as your speaking, just staring, before your boss introduces him.
“Great, glad to hear it,” he says with a smile, “Uh, I don’t believe you got the chance to meet him the last time,” he directs his hands to Billy, “Meet Billy Russo, head and founder of the Private Military Company, Anvil.”
Your gaze shifts off of your boss, to Billy, who already has his eyes on you, and you hold out your hand intended to shake his.
“ Uh, Y/n Y/L/N, nice to meet you.”
Billy extends his hand to shake yours, “Billy Russo, nice to meet you.. too.”
He keeps his gaze on you for a few seconds, a few seconds too long, with your hand still in his.
The feel of his hand in yours is a familiar one, one that you hated to admit, you missed.
You tried you best not to stare more than you had to, but you truth be told;
Damn did he look good.
But you were supposed to be mad at him, so the thought leaves your mind, as fast as it came.
“Ahem,” you clear your throat and break the handshake, Billy follows by shoving his hands back in his pockets and looks down at the ground, as if remembering where he was.
You turn to your boss, “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, actually,” he walks over to the back of his desk, “I need you to complete the second half of building tour.”
He clears his throat before he continues, “And Mr. Russo’s going to be with for a few months, so I want you to show him to his office, down the hall, for me. It’s already been set up, I just need you to show him where.”
Man, was this not your month.
“Will do, sir,” You replied, giving a single nod.
He dismisses you, and you leave his office, and begin walking to the elevator, with Billy following close behind.
You try to walk ahead, purposefully speeding up, but he catches up to you, keeping the same pace as you.
“Hey, we- we didn’t get a chance to talk, the last time,” he chuckles, before walking next to you now, “how are you?”
“I’m fine, Billy,” You muttered and gave a forced smile, Keeping your pace, still looking ahead.
After he realized you weren’t going to say anything else, Billy kept talking.
“Great, that-that’s good, I’m glad, you look.. good.”
The annoyance was starting to show on your face the longer he kept going, but it didn’t stop him.
“Y’know, I’m not, surprised you ended up working for a company this big,” he said motioning to the place around him, with a dampened smile,
“I know only the best of the best work here, and you were always really, smart and better at this kinda stuff than anyone else I kno-”
“Okay, stop, Just.. stop.” You pause in your steps, having had enough of his ramblings. “Are you serious right now?” You scoffed, and shook your head in the process, trying to understand.
“Are you just gonna act like nothing happened- like we’re two old friends catching up? You’re not even gonna attempt to apologize?” You fumed.
He briefly looks down at the ground and lightly brushes the tip of his tongue over his lips, before looking back up at you with soft eyes.
“I’m.. sorry, I kno-,”
“Gee, Billy, thank you, so much, for that very very sincere apology, it really means a lot.” You responded, with a synthetic smile.
You roll your eyes and start walking away before Billy lightly places his hand on your arm.
“Listen, I kno-know you have a lot of questions, so..can we go, somewhere to talk after?, There’s this place down the stree-,”
“I’m not going anywhere with you Billy,” You spat. “Anything you have to say, say it now.”
He pauses before starting again, “It’s.. not that ..simple, it’s complicated, you wouldn’t- understand-”
“Wow,” you exaggerate the word, “okay.., now I’m too much of an idiot, to understand why you just, left one night and never came back,” you glared at him in anger, with your arms crossed, “just, wow.”
You turn away from him and start walking again, before he lightly pulls at your arm again.
“I-I didn’t mean it, like that, I just meant tha-”
“I don’t care, what you meant.” You interrupt bluntly.
The two of you are in front of the elevator doors now, as you stare at each other.
You wanted to scream at him so bad. You wanted to cry again too.
But you decided, that he didn’t deserve to see any sort of feeling from you. Any sort of emotion.
Not after how broken he left you.
You move closer to his face now, trying, despite the height difference, to reach his eye level.
He looks down at you, and you look up at him, two very different facial expressions presenting each other.
“If you won’t say it, I will, I don’t need you to sugar coat it for me with some bullshit excuse. Everything, from the moment we we met, didn’t mean shit to you,” You spat.
“All the moments we shared, were bullshit, All that talk about the future, was bullshit, and you were just counting down the days, so you could get the fuck out.”
He tries to speak, but you interrupt him,
“And if you found someone else, Billy, whatever, but don’t try to paint over it, and make it something that it’s not.”
He takes in a breath before you continue,
“Your gonna be here, for a few months, so just do your job, and I’ll do mine, and, you can go back to wherever It is you came from, and we’ll probably, never have to see each other again.”
The elevator dings, and you leave him standing, to step into the elevator.
“You coming, or not?”
He clears his throat, and adjusts his tie, and steps into the elevator, before the doors close.
Taglist: @celestialams @snowkestrel @promnightbinbaby @intothesoul @weallhaveadestiny @ramadiiiisme
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igglemouse · 6 months
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Song of the Day!
youtube
A classic for tonight!
I should have more posts next week! The rest of the Laverne episode 3 posts!
After those posts I'll go back to mixing from each heir because I do think right now its better for the blog! I know some people enjoy some heirs more than others and I don't like a heir going away for too long!
I know I've said this a few times too but I might do poses again. We shall see! Thing is, I feel like there's almost a pose for every thing out there! I'm always open to ideas though and I know there's always room for more action/weapons poses? If I do I'll post them on the sideblog. I guess its more about just releasing the poses I make for myself privately...
A little fluff below!
This is just a random thank you for anyone whose given me a nice comment, reblogged, or just supported me in any way. I say it a lot but it's true that without this I would have quit a long long time ago. Sometimes I do get down, feel like quitting, just deleting the blog and then I'll remember something nice someone said about my writing or my posts and it makes me take a step back from the tumblr cliff.
So yeah! Just thank you again! Everyone that's always been a mutual for so long as well! When I see someone I've been a mutual with for a while or interacted with a lot unfollow me it always stings. It's happened a lot over the years, it makes me wonder if I did something wrong buuuut in the end all I can do is just unfollow back and move on and appreciate the people that do still appreciate me, even if it feels like sometimes the number shrinks lol I push on because I do enjoy posting. Keeps my writing muscle flexible!
Despite my seemingly wavering confidence I am also peskily determined and competitive. It's an odd set of traits to be sure that often leaves me in confusion but it has gotten me this far I guess!
Any ways, that's my Tedtalk!
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Hey Steph! How are you? I want to thank you for all you do keeping the fandom alive and united. I feel a lot of us come here for some guidance, at least so we can connect with others that have the answers we are looking for. What you do here is invaluable. Thank you.
That's the reason why I would like to share this with you and all the fellow fans:
https://at.tumblr.com/thou-babbling-brook/sherlock-fandom-survey/hxi9dezxvekp
I hope you can see this correctly. It's a survey about fandoms, it will be useful in a study about the vocabulary that we use and our knowledge about this spaces. This time is BBC Sherlock. I think it's a great thing that we can all do, and another place where we can share our love for this fandom and what we built together.
In virtue of this, I would like some guidance. In one part of the survey there is a section about phrases or words that we use that are specific of our fandom, and I CAN'T remember any (except maybe TJLC and Johnlock). Do we use a specific language with each other that it's unique of us? Some other code words? I can't remember.
Anyway, thank you if you read this and I hope you have a great week! ❤️
Hey Lovely *HUGS*!
First off, thank you for your kind words! I am glad you enjoy your time here and I hope I continue to make it worthwhile!
As for the link, yes! I did see that survey; I reblogged it a couple nights ago, and I hope everyone takes a few to do it! I plan on it as soon as I get a free moment myself!
Oooof, yeah there's a few I can immediately think of:
TJLC / johnlock, as you said
smoll (that was started by the Sherlock fandom)
john's red pants / red pants Monday
tea and jam (and there was something about John being a kitten? can't remember this one)
purple shirt of sex
I feel like "pillow princess" started with us, but I'm probably wrong
dark fuck prince Sherlock / dfp Sherlock (essentially where Sherlock has this weird dark, sometimes cold and/or abusive characterization that I personally don't jive with, but to each their own)
"setlock" is what we call the filming period
I feel like the sun and moon thing was started by us as well? Dunno.
bisexual lighting (while I don't think we coined it main-stream, it became a little more popular after our fandom spent a LOT of time examining it)
tinhatting / tinfoil-hatting (again, same with this one)
a bit of a selfish one here, because I am pretty sure I coined this one: the mary problem. Another one not really beyond my own blog and the small circle that follows me, but I did see a bigger blog a long time ago use it AND credit me for it, so whee.
DON'T remember the EXACT phrasing, but it was something like "the fake baby is guns and money", where during the S3/S4 hiatus, speculation about the "baby" was that it wasn't real, and jokes devolved to "hahah the baby is Mary's secret stash of guns and money". It was silly and I loved it.
"something's fucky" came about after S4, and I don't know if it spawned from our fandom, but I'd NEVER seen it used before S4 shitposters used it.
Another I don't remember the exact phrasing, but "a camp gay and an angry bisexual dynamic"
phone = heart metaphor, the tea code, and food = sex metaphors
"the gay pilot"
I know I'm missing a PLETHORA of them... I've a terrible headache so my capacity for remembering things is very low right now, and I've been in this fandom for SO long, I've seen things come and go too often. If anyone wants to add to this list, please do!
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visualnovelzombie · 1 year
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Furry Visual Novel Book Club: Echo Week 6
Hi everyone, here is the SPOILER FREE discussion post for “Echo - Carl’s Sunday??”  
Links: Previous - Next - Original - Spoiler Version
Feel free to respond in reblogs/replies/or asks :D
We open on a view of the night sky, while a new song, ‘Transition’ plays, a calming series of chimes and wind.
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Chase describes the sensations of being outside, while things sniff around him. They speak in a language he can’t understand and eventually the sound of laughing snaps him from his vision. The otter awakens in a completely black room, confused. He can barely remember what happened. Chase makes his way to a glow of light but is scared by what feels like the presence of something
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Chase, in attempt to get away from the presence, falls down an attic ladder, injuring his ankle and head on the way down. Carl and Chase run into each other, both surprised and happy to see the other.
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Carl admits to only waking up 20 minutes ago, and the location definitely not being his house. The two are startled by screams from down a hallway, and rush to investigate. Raven is trapped in a burning room and the two struggle to help him escape. The room is filling with smoke and Raven is crying out for help, startled from the presence of something in the smoke.
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Carl decides to ram the door in with his horns as a last ditch effort to save Raven. Carl’s head burst through the door… and there is no smoke on the other side.
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Once the door is open, the smoke seemingly disappears, even it’s scent. Chase says he can still smell it lingering on his throat. The three converse and try to figure out what’s going on. Carl saying he can’t remember anything at all after the lake. Chase comments on Carl acting different
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Carl and Chase get into a small argument about the situation, but Raven breaks the tension by asking to make food. The three check their phones, only to find them all dead. Chase’s head continues to spin as the three whittle down their options
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Carl decides to carry Chase on his back due to the otter’s injury, and the three set out to explore, Raven reluctantly arming himself with a kitchen knife. The group explore and find themselves in a looping hallway, each with identical doors and rooms. They quickly find the door into the kitchen into each hallway has impossible-geometry attached to it, only ever one way out despite there being four doors in. The three explore all of the adjoining rooms and discovery a mixup of styles and time periods, all of which have no way out. As they approach the second to last door, a disgusting smell emanates from it.
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The smell is gone after being investigated and only an empty room with a noose remain… The final door is locked and the trio begin to panic as they release they’re fully trapped. The three head back to the kitchen to try and look for food again, Neutral starts to play, relaxing the mood. Chase remembers making a grilled-cheese sandwich in the past, and then discovers the exact ingredients for one in the next counter he opens.
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Chase and Carl try to make sense of the situation but are unable to, sharing a touching moment in the process.
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The three successfully cook the food and all take a bite at once… only to discover something extremely wrong with it.
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Raven and Carl continue eating the chalk-sandwiches as dread and unease build up in chase… until we’re met with something peculiar...
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Chase is unable to voice his concerns of the current situation, the track ‘Hysteria’ plays as Neutral continues to play as the player is forced to choose an option… Because Everything is fine.
The choices all lead to the same line, the track Hysteria cutting out after a few moments. Raven calmly asks Chase for his sandwich and starts to eat it as Chase stares into the distance... The three decide to sleep instead of looking for a way out, Raven enthusiastic about the idea
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Carl notices that Chase is uneasy as they make their way to a bedroom discovered amongst the hallway and tries to reassure him. The otter finally points out what’s on his mind
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The two make their way into the bedroom, while Raven pulls the most absolute best BRO move ever
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‘Sunday’ opens on a dream… Chase even calling out ‘of course, I dream’
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Chase dreams of running endlessly through hallways, even having ‘false wakes’ like previously seen and mentioned. Chase finds himself in sleep paralysis-like situation again, haunted by voices and some sort of spider creature.
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Chase copes with the situation, saying to himself that it’s some torture maze and not…
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Chase looks for Carl in the bed only to hear someone else.
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And see… someone else
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The form shakes and moans, eventually shaking the sheets off… only to reveal… Carl.
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Carl wakes stating, “I know what to do” and the three head back to the kitchen. Carl recounts that his ancestry, James Hendricks I, told him what to do in a dream. 
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Chase breaks down at the implications of the supernatural, with Raven calmly telling him they’ll get out, as Carl and Raven continue to look for ‘something’. Chase notices an envelope addressed to ‘John’ in the chandelier and the three grab it. As Carl opens it, the letter bursts into flames.
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As the letter burns, the sounds of drums from earlier start to play as the building shakes.
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A smoke creature attacks Chase, causing him to lose his senses. Carl, seemingly, grabs Chase from the creature, and an unknown voice demands the letter. Chase rips the enveloped up, dispelling the smoke from the room.
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The three regroup, Raven telling Carl and Chase that’s what he saw the previous day. Daze starts to play as the three read the letter. The author of the letter is promising to defends someone named ‘John’ from a militia, promising to do everything in his power to keep John safe. Carl begins to read out loud and as he finishes…
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Chase doesn’t understand why Carl is kissing him now, but lets it go on, enjoying it despite the circumstances. Carl is embarrassed afterwards, admitting to not knowing why he did that. Chase forcibly moves the situation along and the three head to the locked door.
Chase makes an astute observation for once in his life about what the fuck is going on
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Carl isn’t sure himself though. The two wonder what is ‘soiling’ James’ name
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Chase decides to TALK to someone he likes again and that lets him think what’s been so PAINFULLY OBVIOUS to us.
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Note: this is ‘character’ dumb moment, not writing dumb moment. Chase is just a simple boy who doesn’t talk or even think about his feelings
Chase kisses Carl as the two both admit to liking it and each other.
Carl is then immediately punished for being queer and Chase awaits his fate…
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—--
And that wraps our reading for this week! Things are starting to get ... spooky as Weekend drags on further.
For next week there is a VERY important choice that needs to be made.
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We’ll cover the option... MUCH later, but make sure to select ‘Fight it.’ for this weeks reading!
We’ll be reading until this line:
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Until next week folks! Also be sure to keep your eye out for a poll option about Week 8′s reading, which will need to answered in time for Week 7 so it’ll go up today!
Remember, this is the spoiler free version and to check the spoiler free version when it’s available. I’ll be uploading that tomorrow, as the extra day makes it EXTREMELY easier for me to manage as well as lets me develop my thoughts for another day, instead of just going off my notes as well.
Spoiler Version
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jinkoh · 1 year
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Back in time
Hui x Reader
Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, ambiguous/open ending, exes to ?, mentions of alcohol and food, SFW
word count: ~2,2k
anon requested: hii i saw you reblogged the prompts with the bed sharing? are your requests are open again now? maybe you can write something for hui or wooseok maybe :) any prompt you like :)
a/n: i was in the mood for something painful I guess? I hope you like it~ Not proofread, sorry
Inspired by a prompt from this post:
24) Because we’re too caught up in the past to remember that we broke up.
Masterlist
It’d been a while since Hui and you had broken up. Not long enough for all wounds to be healed and your broken hearts to be mended, but at least the thought of the other didn’t make you burst out in tears anymore. That was something, right?
Hui hadn’t seen you in a week or two, but there was only so long he could go before getting confronted with you again.
Sharing a friends group was great when you were dating, but once you broke up it felt like you and everyone around you had to constantly worry about stepping on a landmine. It was exhausting.
When Changgu asked if Hui was going to come to the birthday party of that girl from your faculty he agreed easily. He even offered up his place to pregame in the hopes of restoring at least a little normality within his friends group.
“Uh.” Wooseok suddenly looked uncomfortable. “We sorta planned to go with y/n, but we could split up or-”
“It’s fine,” Hui insisted. “Just bring y/n along.”
“...Are you sure?”
“Totally.”
He wasn't. But he just needed things to be normal again. He didn’t want his friends to feel weird, he didn’t want them to omit your name from the conversation in order not to hurt him and he was tired of the awkward silence that came with it.
But now that you were standing at his doorstep, fidgeting awkwardly while Wooseok and Yuto made their way in, he started to regret it. Even if the break up didn’t hurt as badly anymore, it still hurt.
“Hey,” he said, awkwardly lifting his hand in a wave.
“Hey,” you replied.
“Come in?”
You visibly swallowed. “Thanks.”
And that was that. You came inside, and sat down in his living room between Wooseok and Hyunggu which just so happened to be the furthest possible away from Hui. Maybe that was for the best though.
The two of you didn’t talk again until everyone left for the birthday party, and once you’ve reached it it was even easier to avoid each other, with all the drunk people around.
It was fine though, Hui was fine. His heart didn’t ache at the thought of you at his doorstep, fidgeting awkwardly as if you weren’t sure you were allowed to come in, when just a few months ago you even had a spare key to his apartment.
He didn’t think of the way you hadn’t dared to get yourself a glass from the kitchen, even though you knew better than anyone where he kept them and had instead timidly asked Wooseok to get you one.
He wasn’t bitter about you not sparing him another glance all night, while he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
No, really. Hui was fine.
He tried his best to distract himself the rest of the night, drinking maybe a little more than he should have, but who was going to scold him for it?
Around 1 a.m he decided it was time to go. He said goodbye to Changgu and asked him to forward the message before making his way to the hallway.
He came to a sudden halt when he saw you standing by the front door, looking through the jackets and bags hanging on the coat hooks on the wall, Hyunggu beside you.
“I can’t find it! It’s not here!” You sounded completely stressed.
“Did you even have it with you?” Hyunggu asked, his voice a little calmer, as he searched the bags and jacket that were, due to the lack of space, piled up on the floor beneath the hooks.
“Of course I had it with me!” You almost sounded offended. “I remember locking my door after I left my apartment. And my keys are in my bag but my bag is not here! What if someone took it?”
Hyunggu seemed to think for a second. “If you definitely had it with you when you left home but it isn’t here, did you maybe….?”
You looked at Hyunggu in shock. “No, no, no that can’t be.”
“Are you sure?”
“... I’m not. But I can’t- No.”
“Well you need your keys and your phone back, so…”
Hui decided it was as good a moment as any to join the conversation, so he drew attention to himself by clearing his throat.
Both you and Hyunggu looked at him in surprise, before something like a smile appeared on Hyunggu’s face. “That’s what I call timing.”
“Did you forget your bag at my place?” Hui cut to the chase.
“...Maybe? I’m not sure. But.. Yeah, probably.”
“I was about to leave, do you want to come along to take a look?”
You visibly hesitated, throwing a quick glance at Hyunggu before looking back to Hui. “...Sure.”
The walk back to his place was quiet at first, the air tense between the two of you. But maybe it was the late hour or the alcohol in both of your systems but it soon loosened up, a nostalgic conversation spreading between the two of you.
“Ah, it’s been so long since I last walked home at night. These days I always take the bus,” you exclaimed eventually, taking a deep breath of the night air. “I missed this.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What do you mean? You’re always walking home after parties though?”
Hui shrugged with a small smile. “I just haven’t been to parties recently.”
“Me either,” you automatically replied, making Hui chuckle.
“You have, though? Did you forget we share the same circle of friends?” He shook his head fondly.
“I don’t know why I said that,” you laughed as well before you added “I’ve probably been to too many, honestly.”
“Isn’t it fine if you’re having fun?”
You shrugged, looking at him through the dark. “It hasn’t been that fun. I’ve just had so much time to fill suddenly.”
He nodded slowly, thinking back on all the times the two of you spent huddled up on his couch or cooking in your kitchen or cuddling in bed. It’s not that you did a lot of exciting activities all the time. But you didn’t need to make fancy plans or go to fancy places. As long as you were together, even chilling on the couch felt special.
“I know what you mean.”
It got quiet again, until you walked past a convenience store in Hui’s neighborhood. He had loved going there because it always made him recall that time last summer, when you’d gotten a sudden desire for ice cream in the middle of the night. The both of you went to the store in your pajamas, buying way too much ice cream for two people to handle on their own. You sat on the swings of the local playground, swinging back and forth slowly as you ate the ice cream that melted too quickly. It hadn’t been that special. But somehow it was a memory Hui had always held dear. Maybe it was how you seemingly couldn’t stop laughing that night, the sparkling of your eyes still engrained in Hui’s brain.
Hui hadn’t gone to that convenience store since the break up.
“You know,” you suddenly broke the silence, making Hui lift his gaze from the store. “I suddenly really crave ice cream.”
When he looked at you, he was met with a nostalgic smile and somehow it was comforting that he wasn’t the only one holding on to that memory.
“Let’s get some then.”
Just like back then, you were sitting on the swings, eating popsicles as you swayed back and forth. They didn’t melt as quickly now, the cold autumn breeze making you both shiver.
It felt like you traveled back in time and just for the night it seemed like both of you were able to forget that this wasn’t your reality anymore. He wasn’t supposed to look at you fondly as you tried to get rid of the ice cream in the corner of your mouth. Nor was he supposed to feel warm and fuzzy every time you laughed.
Most of all he wasn’t supposed to hold your hand when you finally made your way back to his place.
But you didn’t call him out on it. Instead you intertwined your fingers with his the way you did a zillion times before.
“Oh, thank god,” you exclaimed in relief when you finally reunited with your bag.
“Good thing it was here,” Hui smiled softly, but he felt a little sullen at the prospect of having you leave again already.
“Yeah. I’m glad.” You nodded slowly. “It’s so late now though.”
“I don’t think the buses are still running.”
“Guess a cab it is… My wallet won’t be amused.”
“Just stay over,” Hui suggested. And of course a small tiny voice somewhere at the back of his mind tried to tell him that it isn’t a good idea. But he couldn’t let you go just yet, he couldn’t let go of this parallel universe where you hadn’t broken up and that only existed for tonight. 
You hesitated for a moment but then you set your bag down and slipped out of your coat. “Okay.”
Things were different now than just a few hours ago. You weren’t behaving like a stranger in his home this time. Instead, you naturally borrowed a shirt from his closet to sleep in like you’d always done. When the two of you were standing next to each other in front of the bathroom sink brushing your teeth, Hui had truly forgotten about the break up. Everything just came so naturally. You fit right back into his life as if you had never left.
You crawled into bed with him because it didn’t even occur to either of you that you could possibly sleep on the couch instead. Why would you?
Your bodies weren’t touching, but knowing that you were there in his bed and feeling the heat your body radiated made Hui feel like home.
The two of you quietly rambled on about this and that, recounting memories from last summer, talking about your friends and family and whatever else came to mind.
“I think,” you eventually mumbled, your voice already thick with sleep. “We should probably get some rest.”
Hui chuckled softly. “Yeah, I’m tired too.”
“Sleep well.”
“Sleep well,” Hui responded. “I love you,” he added because that’s what he always did.
Usually, you’d say it back now. But you didn’t.
Instead, heavy silence hung over the both of you as the realization came crashing in that things weren’t as they always were. You’d broken up. He wasn’t supposed to say I love you anymore.
He still did love you. But he wasn’t supposed to say it.
He knew he had to say or do something, but he didn’t know what. Should he take it back? Apologize? Everything felt wrong. 
You didn’t speak up either.
He slowly turned his head to you, hoping to catch a glimpse of you through the darkness of his room. You were just laying there, staring up at the ceiling, your eyes reflecting the little light of the room. They looked teary.
Hui swallowed. Even breathing felt like too much.
You tensed up, maybe having noticed his gaze, before you screwed your eyes shut and covered your mouth.
Hui knew this face, he knew it well. He’d seen you cry too many times, especially at the end, when it’d become clearer and clearer that things were going to end.
He’d hoped he’d never have to see it again. It shattered his heart, and he so badly wanted to pull you into his arms and comfort you. But was that still allowed?
You tried so hard to stay quiet, your hand covering your mouth tightly. But despite that, a sob escaped between your fingers. And because the cat was already out of the bag then, it got harder to hold back. So you cried in the darkness, your sobs filling the heavy silence.
It was impossible to bear. Hui didn’t know when he’d started crying as well, but tears were rolling down his cheeks and staining the pillow. A strangled whine escaped his throat. He couldn’t do this.  The rules of what was and wasn’t allowed after breaking up didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t just lie there in silence and watch you fall apart.
He inched closer before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. He held you so tightly, as if you could disappear any moment, one of his hands at the back of your head as the other drew slow patterns on your back. 
The two of you stayed quiet, just crying into each other’s embrace. There was something comforting about it, something healing about sharing your pain like this.
You cried until there were no more tears left. And even then, you were still holding each other close. Neither of you was willing to let go; you simply couldn’t risk losing the other again.
So you stayed close, clinging onto each other until you drifted off to sleep.
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I'll Be Home in December (Maybe We Can Remember Us) 4/8
Rating: T
Summary: It’s the Nolan’s Annual Christmas Eve Eve Party and Emma had found herself in a bind. She convinced her brother and sister-in-law she’s been dating someone for the last year. The only person Emma Nolan can think of to ask for help is the man she swore never to speak to again.
Killian Jones.
@cssecretsanta2020 for @resident-of-storybrooke🎄🎅
Read on AO3
Chapters: 1, 2, 3
A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! Especially the last part...😏
Thank you always for the likes and reblogs! Let me know what you lovelies think of this next chapter! ❤️
*** If someone were to have told Killian a week ago that Emma Nolan didn't hate him, he would've laughed. There was no way he would've believed it and even if she said it herself, he doubted he would've believed her.
Even if it were yesterday that someone were to give him that news, he wouldn't believe them.
But then she pulled over to that rest stop and didn't get out. Instead, she turned to face him, and told him that no, she in fact did not hate him.
He watched her face carefully, looking for a lie or something that would expose her hidden meaning.
It took him all of a minute to realize there was none.
She was being completely honest.
Which led to him confessing it as well. That he didn't hate her either.
And a weight that had been on his chest for two years began to lift.
Not completely though, because there was still so much that needed to be said between the two of them.
Part of him wanted to try for an apology this weekend. He knew those words were never going to be unsaid, but maybe he could come up something that would begin a healing process between them.
They were going to be spending enough time together, might as well try.
He doubted she would appreciate him bringing up old wounds though. This weekend was going to be hard enough. Why make things even harder?
Besides, if things were fairly civil this weekend, Killian couldn't see a reason why they wouldn't pick up communication afterwards. Obviously, it wouldn't be the same as before, but being around her these last few hours as they traveled reminded him how much he had always enjoyed her company before.
Imagine how things might turn out if they were civil for the entire weekend.
After finally getting it off their chests, the admittance that they didn't hate each other, the air seemed to have cleared between them. It was easier to come up with a more detailed backstory for their relationship. Why they hadn't told anyone from back home yet, making sure the seriousness of their relationship that Emma portrayed to David during her messages and phone calls was on full display. The real challenge would be giving a tiny hint that at any moment, something could go wrong. Maybe even a public argument before they left that would make it clear to everyone they weren't meant to be together.
Killian didn't particularly like thinking about that part of the plan. He knew it would only make sense because one could only pretend for so long.
But everything else, he didn't mind.
The only issue was this whole thing made him think of how things had ended between them. The argument that had caused everything.
It had been something so simple.
Well, Killian thought it was simple.
Maybe that was part of the problem.
He had asked Emma to move back to Storybrooke with him during the last trip they made together.
The idea was that they would open up a coffee shop together in the place they spent their youth. It was back when things were going exceptionally with the coffeeshop in New York. When the idea of opening up a second location didn't seem all that crazy.
Killian would run things in the front end, and Emma would help with the financial side, considering that's where her expertise was. In his mind, it had made perfect sense. Besides Emma had even expressed frustration with her current job for the last six months. There was going to be a merger and positions were going to change and she had no idea where it would leave her.
He thought he had presented the idea so carefully too. Because he knew how much Emma actually hated coming back to Storybrooke. This place didn't seem to hold too many good memories for her.
He didn't have too many good memories either, but he thought it was worth it to come back and try and make better ones.
But something had gone wrong when he was giving presenting his pitch. Emma had been upset the entire weekend and he had thought it was because of her job.
He never had issues reading her moods or figuring out what was causing them. 
So when he realized she wasn't getting excited, he made an assumption.
He told her that maybe her then boyfriend at the time could move too.
That's when something inside her snapped and words were exchanged. Words that could never be taken back. It seemed like her words had been building in her for years.
And they hurt more than Killian liked to admit. Which didn't help his own reaction as he yelled his own words.
The point of it all was that they had both been at fault for how things ended. Perhaps, at first, Killian had placed more of the blame at her feet. But a few months after the fact, he could see where he had erred too.
He wondered if this time they were going to be forced to spend together might change things. Not to take back the words, but to maybe make up for them. To heal them with other words that he could just now begin to start coming up with.
For the first time in a long while, Killian actually thought that might be the case. Because after they pulled back onto the highway after their small detour that allowed them both to confess how they felt, things felt different in the air. As they planned what their story would be for when they arrived in Storybrooke, Killian was almost tempted to say there was a lightness in their conversation.
A lightness that hadn't been there in a while.
He had missed it.
He didn't realize how much he missed to just talking with her.
It wasn't too difficult to come up with a story as to how they started dating, their favorite place to hand out, what they did for their anniversary. Not even the inside jokes were an issue.
Because really, they had an entire history together before. Years of friendship that they were pulling from that would help them make this weekend of pretend easy.
However, there was a part of Killian that whispered this was going to become much more complicated than either of them intended because of that history.
And because of things Killian hadn't admitted to before their argument. He hadn't admitted to any of it, for fear of her reaction. He knew what happened when Emma Nolan felt like she was cornered.
She ran.
In his attempts to keep her from doing that to him, it still happened.
None of that mattered anymore though. They weren't ever going to get to that point again of maybe Killian admitting things to himself and then to her.
Those feelings were gone.
He had made sure of it.
The drive that he had expected to drag on for hours started coming to an end as the empty road began showing signs of civilization.
They were quickly approaching Storybrooke, and Killian hadn't even realized it.
The moment of truth was coming.
Killian glanced at Emma and could see her shoulders tensing up again. She was going to have to relax if they were going to pull this off.
He reminded himself to do the same as well, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.
They could do this. They could pretend for just one weekend.
***
Emma's knuckles, which had relaxed on the steering wheel for the majority of the drive after they had pulled over for the first time, tightened again the moment they passed the welcome sign for Storybrooke.
She hated coming back to this place.
There were too many bad memories for her here and when she left for New York, she had the intention to never return.
But then of course, David had gotten married, and he and Mary Margaret moved away from the city and settled back into their hometown of Storybrooke.
While they would come visit her, they also invited her over. And feeling guilty, knowing it was much more expensive for them to go to New York, Emma would go.
Most of the time, she would drag Killian with her.
Even if he had bad memories tied to this place too, he never denied her requests.
They were different in that regard. Even though he had a shitty time in this town, he always seemed to come out of the bad situations with a smile on his face.
Emma couldn't say the same thing.
That had been one of the reasons for their argument in the first place actually.
He asked her to move back with him to Storybrooke. The coffeeshop he had opened in New York was doing great. She had seen first hand, always trying to go at least three time a week to support her friend. It was always busy and he thought now was the best time to open up a second location.
In Storybrooke, of all places.
Killian would handle making the coffee while Emma would help him with the books. He said she had great experience of doing the same thing for a property investor company. He even threw in that she was miserable with her job and wouldn't it be nice to work for someone other than 'The Man'.
Her answer would have always been no, but maybe if she hadn't been so upset already, she would've let him talk before giving her reasons calmly.
But then he brought up her boyfriend at the time. Neal.
Except Killian didn't know they had just broken up.
It was part of the reason why she had come to Storybrooke. She had to get out of the city to breathe.
She had caught Neal cheating with his secretary.
Neal had run after her and they had a huge argument and he made her feel worthless with his words.
He said she was never meant to live in a place like New York. That she was the kind of girl that would move back to her small town, settle down with a local, pop out 2.5 kids and that would be it. She would be miserable with her life and never amount to anything.
The worst part was, he accused her of cheating too.
With Killian.
So when Killian brought up his idea after a day in Storybrooke, Emma had snapped. Because if she did it, Neal would only be proven right.
She said things she hadn't been proud of.
And after she yelled at him, he yelled out his own accusations. Not confirming what Neal had told her, but his words ended up hurting her more than Neal's.
Because she cared more about what Killian thought than of her ex-boyfriend.
She always had.
Now, two years after the fact, Emma was curious as to what would happen if they revisited that conversation. She knew her opinion on it wasn't going to change and Killian's might not either.
But maybe they could actually come to some sort of agreement and apologies could be shared for the words said.
Emma didn't want to push it though. Already, this entire weekend felt like it was resting on a delicate balance. Any little disturbance would cause the whole thing to implode, and she might even be worse off than before.
As they drove into town, Emma took a few deep breaths, willing herself to relax. There was no way anyone was going to believe her if she showed up completely tense.
The plan was to go to Granny's Inn before heading to David and Mary Margaret's. They would check in, obviously having to ask for one room, but would ask for the master suite. The only room in the inn that had a sofa where one of them would sleep.
Their sleeping arrangements would be taken care of before  Mary Margaret could insist they stayed at the house.
But as Emma drove closer to downtown, her phone began buzzing.
She answered it on the car's bluetooth, glancing at Killian. "Hello?"
"Emma!"
It was Mary Margaret.
And Emma was grateful it was over the phone, as it allowed her to hide her wince.
"Hey, Mary Margaret," Emma replied, hoping her voice didn't hold any of the tension she felt. "We're just pulling into town."
"Perfect! Why don't you stop by the house first? That way we can meet this boyfriend of yours."
At the word, her face reddened, and she refused to look over at Killian, afraid she would see a satisfied smirk on his face.
But she did manage a quick glance at his reflection through her window.
Sure enough, she had been right about the smirk.
"Oh, don't worry about it, Mary. We're going to stop by Granny's first and unload everything. Then we'll head over to the house."
"Emma, don't you start with me. I want you to come to the house first, okay?"
Emma glanced at Killian, hoping he might provide some kind of back up for her.
He just shook his head and held up his hands a little in defeat.
Because Killian knew exactly how Mary Margaret was too.
Shit. There was no getting out of this.
"Okay," Emma finally conceded. "We'll head that way then."
She hung up and her fingers tightened even more around the steering wheel.
Killian let out a long breath before looking at her with a wry smile. "Guess it's time, love."
Emma grit her teeth, doing her best to not react to him calling her 'love'. She needed to get used to it and remember that she couldn't react negatively to it in front of anyone.
What would people say if they saw her snapping at her boyfriend for a lovely pet name?
It was a ten-minute drive from downtown Storybrooke to David and Mary Margaret's. When Emma finally pulled up to their house, she didn't move after turning off the car.
Killian's hand had moved to the door handle, but he stopped when he realized Emma stayed still. He looked at her through the corner of his eye. "There's still time to turn back," he said softly.
But she could hear what he was really saying.
There's still time to call this whole thing off.
Emma cleared her throat and shook her head. "David will be mad at me for lying this entire time and then Mary Margaret will just try and set me up with one of her co-workers. No thank you."
"Seems like I'm the lesser of two evils."
Emma turned to meet his gaze. He was smirking at her, but she could also see the self-deprecating look in his eyes. Something so small that only those who really knew what to look for would see it.
Emma looked away and pretended she hadn't seen it.
Well, it was now or never.
Gathering up her courage and sheer stubbornness, Emma stepped out of the car with Killian following beside her. They walked side by side up the small pathway. For a moment, Emma wondered if she should grab Killian's hand. Show affection for when the door was opened and it would only further cement in the eyes of her brother and sister-in-law that this relationship was definitely real.
She convinced herself that was going to the extreme though, considering she'd never been a particularly affectionate person. David would see right through it.
When they stood on the front porch, Emma tried not to fidget too much as they waited for the door to open. From the reflection on the glass screen door, Emma wondered if perhaps it was too late to make a dash for the car. It was right there and she could easily drag Killian with her into the car. And if David or Mary Margaret opened the door as they were driving off, it wouldn't matter. It was a rental and whoever opened the door would only see an unknown car speeding away.
David and Mary Margaret would automatically assume that it was a prankster.
Before she could figure out the rest of their escape plan, the door opened.
"Emma! You finally made it in!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, opening wide the screen door and hugging Emma.
By some miracle, she hadn't seen Killian yet. And maybe Emma could give him some kind of signal to dart into the bushes and stay out of sight before their little plan could even go into action.
But the moment Mary Margaret pulled away, her eyes found Killian. "Killian! Oh, we weren't expecting you to come too! Oh my God, how long has it been?"
Killian smiled as he accepted Mary Margaret's hug. "A little over two years, if I'm not wrong."
Mary Margaret placed her hands on his arms, regarding him as if he were a long, lost child. "Well, we aren't going to let that happen again. You are going to have to start coming by more. Oh, and David's going to be thrilled you came too!"
Emma exchanged a quick look with Killian, wondering if he was thinking the same thing as she was.
That if David knew the real reason, he most definitely would not be thrilled.
Hell, Emma wasn't even sure if David would like the fake reason as to why Killian was here.
Mary Margaret ushered them inside, calling for David to come downstairs, and asking if they wanted anything to drink or if they were hungry.
Neither got the chance to respond to her question though because David had come down the stairs and wrapped his little sister up in a hug.
"Killian!" David exclaimed with the same delighted surprise that Mary Margaret had after he released Emma. He gave Killian a hug as well. "I had no idea you were coming too! This weekend is definitely going to be a party."
Killian laughed and Emma could already see him falling into the same ease he always had with David. "Only if you make sure to bring the right beers. We can't have the tailgate party of '09 happening again."
Both David and Killian laughed even more.
And Emma couldn't help her small smile at the fact that her brother and fake boyfriend had inside jokes.
Well, maybe this would be easier than she thought.
"Killian, as happy as I am to see you again, Emma promised us she was bringing her boyfriend," David said, arms crossed as he put on the face of protective big brother. "Where'd you leave him? I hope he's out there getting the bags out of the car."
"Um, well, no actually," Emma said, taking a step closer to Killian.
She definitely spoke too soon when she thought this was going to be easier.
Because now the real test came and there would have to be a show of public affection and Emma couldn't imagine even letting her arm brush against Killian's.
David furrowed his brows. "Emma, please don't tell me he bailed on you."
Emma took a deep breath. Now was the moment of truth. "No, he didn't bail." She looped her arm through Killian's and looked up at him with a smile.
As if sensing her gaze, he looked down at her, meeting her smile with one of his own.
Emma looked back to David and Mary Margaret and could already see them connecting the dots Emma had forced onto the page. "It's Killian. Killian's my boyfriend."
David and Mary Margaret's eyes seemed to widen. Then David started laughing, earning a slap to his arm from Mary Margaret.
"Oh, come on Mary Margaret," David said, extending a hand out to Emma and Killian, still trying to hold back his laughter. "It's a funny joke."
"David, I don't think they're joking," Mary Margaret said as she gave him a tight smile.
David looked to them again, blinking a few times as if that was going to help him see what was really going on.
But Emma kept her smile plastered on her face and leaned even more into Killian, annoyed with how warm he felt.
"Sorry we never actually told you, mate," Killian said. "Emma and I, we didn't want to tell anyone until we were sure." He was looking at her now and Emma has to admit he was a good actor.
There was so much sincerity in his eyes, she almost believed him.
"Sure about what?" David asked, all amusement gone from his voice.
Killian gave a helpless shrug, looking back to David. "That this was real, and it wasn't going to screw anything up."
Emma did her best to smile even more, leaning into Killian's side and resting her hand on his chest.
And it just so happened to be her left hand and David's eye immediately went to it, as if looking for something that wasn't there.
Emma knew exactly what he was looking for. What he was probably expecting after what Killian had said.
She was going to have to talk to him. Tell him to ease up and not be so serious, especially in front of David. He would take that seriousness, tell Mary Margaret, and before she knew it, Emma would be standing in a bridal boutique, shopping for a wedding dress she wasn't ready for.
David blinked a few times, still doing his best to process this information. "You're dating Emma?" he finally asked, the disbelief so evident in his voice and face.
Killian nodded, pulling Emma even closer into his side. "One of the best decisions I've ever made," he said, going along with the script they had come up with.
That Killian was madly in love with her and Emma, while sharing the same feelings, kept up a stoic attitude towards the whole thing.
And if she was completely honest, Emma wondered if there was the tiniest kernel of truth in how they set up these roles.
Because Killian always dove headfirst into his feelings and any plan or idea he came up with. Emma had always been the more reserved of the two, considering every outcome and making sure her next step wouldn't negatively affect her in any way.
Again, she convinced herself that this was okay. That's what was going to make this whole ploy work.
The kernel of truth would make it easier to lie.
David turned to Emma after regarding Killian for what felt like hours but was really only seconds. "This is serious? You're dead serious. You're dating him?"
Killian frowned at him, his grip on Emma tightening slightly. "I'm standing right here, Dave."
"No. I'm sorry, it's just..." David blew out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Now Emma was really beginning to doubt that they would be able to pull this off and she began thinking through everything they could possibly do to convince him.
But then Mary Margaret tugged at David's arm a little as she looked to Emma and Killian. "Well, I think this is fantastic," she said with a huge smile. "I've always wondered when the two of you would finally get together."
Emma tried not to pull away from Killian at her words, but she couldn't help the way her body stiffened.
Before the couple before them could pick up on it, Killian let out a laugh that pulled everyone's attention to him. "Honestly, I've always thought the same thing." Then he smiled as he looked down at Emma. "Seems like my charming self finally wore her down."
And Emma made herself smile back at him, even though she felt a frown tugging at her lips.
Because she had never seen that kind of smile from him. A smile that looked as if he was hopelessly in love.
She told herself that Killian was just a better actor than he led on.
David let out another sigh, bringing their eyes back to him. "I'm sorry. It's not that I'm upset about it. I swear. I kind of agree with Mary Margaret actually. I just still don't understand why neither of you ever mentioned anything."
Emma wanted to again give the reason they came up with on the drive, but Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and waved David's statement away. "We can talk about that later. Right now, let's eat! I've got some soup on the stove. I hope you two are hungry."
***
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diggersofgraves · 1 year
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im gonna rant here, but if anyone wants to give me advice 😭
so. there was a girl i used to talk abt a lot here. i might rb a few things that i mentioned her in. anyways. i had a big old crush on her in hs. but i moved away for school and that was that. what might have been during hs was kinda dropped. i still saw her when i came back for holidays it summer, but she was more of my bffs friend than mine by the end of hs, so i only saw her once in a while. and by the time i finished college. ig i still remembered the crush i had on her, but i felt like i had gotten over it.
the thing abt this girl is she's a very big jokester and kinda deflective. shes kinda like. an elementary school kid who has a crush on someone and only knows how to handle it by being mean to them? thats kinda her. but with jokes??
well, i never took ANYTHING she said abt us srsly bc. its just what she does. she jokes.
and a few weeks ago, my friend invited us to a little kickback and she was there. i made a post abt it i think, bc obviously everyone needs to be in my business. but quick run down. she made a joke abt kissing me. when i didn't go along with it she said, "why didn't you lean in?" and that's the moment it kinda hit me that she might be fr 😭
and the she got "defensive" again and she told me she was gonna talk to the cute girl over there or w.e.
(and im not a jealous person when im not in a relationship with someone. even if i like them, im not gonna play jealousy games with ppl, sorry, so if she wanted a reaction from me, she did not get one)
okay, we've seen each other a couple of times since then. nothing big. someone realized i had a little crush in her bc apparently i act a FOOL, a SIMP, even when we just talk abt her.
now the NEW MAIN PART OF THE STORY (sorry that was all suppose to be a quick recap lol).
my close friend always throws a big old costume party for her birthday since she's an october baby, duh. and shes make a deal of inviting anyone she was ever cool with. so some ppl from hs, some ppl from shows she goes to, shes knows a lot of ppl. and ofc this girl is gonna be there (lets not talk abt the fact that my ex and her new girl was there lmao, i didnt mind, i just had no idea how to react)
and me? im a little loose from the alc. i dont even remember how we ended up hanging together, but we did. we played beer pong (and ofc we're both amazing so a lot of celebration hugs).
and i think from there we stick to each others sides. kinda close. right?
and she says things I once thought were jokes, but now im like 😳 u think my beauty doesnt compare fr ??
well by the end of the party we're making out. again, i dont remember how it happened. just that it did.
and we went home and I have not texted her since then and vice versa.
i had a conversation with ANOTHER friend yesterday tho. who told me while i was in the bathroom and they were all drunkenly hanging out outside. she told them she's been having a crush on me since hs and she's always been too scared to do or say anything. now lets forget abt the fact that my dumbass is living through a 7 year slow burn with a apparently a shit ton of mutual pining. lets forget abt that. or else ill punch myself.
point is, she has yet to contact me and i have yet to contact her. and im scared if i do she'll pass everything off as a joke. which will hurt. but i still want to reach out. i just dont know what to say. i dont talk to her much outside of in person situations. i should've stolen her sweater so i could have an excuse to give it back 🙄
anyways. that was my little rant. im still stuck on what to say. if anyone has advise. ill give u a little digital heart or smth idk.
the solution might literally be so simple, but i dont have an outside perspective rn, i have dumb dumb lovesick brain rot >:(
PLS DO NOT REBLOG THIS THANKS
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the one with y/n and her inexistent love life
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a/n: after a much needed break from tumblr... I’M BACK!!!! i missed you guys so so so so so much and finally writing again feel sooo good. furthermore, enjoy this request i was able to write up after my exams.
please remember to reblog if you like and feedback is HIGHLY encouraged!
word count: 1.3k
warnings: none
--
“(Y/N), seriously? I’ve told you so many times that he won’t care!”
(Y/N) scoffed with a shake of her head as she passed the hair iron through another strand of Gemma’s hair, “Yeah, that’s what Lauren said about Daniel, and he left me in the middle of the restaurant the second I said I have a daughter. It was so embarrassing.”
(Y/N) gave up on dating months and months ago. Every time she mentioned she has a child, the person would run to the hills. She didn’t think it was a bad thing, not at all. But apparently everyone else did and now (Y/N) no longer had a love life.
Gemma has spent the past two or three months trying to get her to go out with her brother, Harry. Besides the fact that Gemma swears they have a thing for each other, she’s always going on and on about how she thinks they’d be a great couple for various reasons. And of course, (Y/N) isn’t blind. She’s always found Harry attractive and so sweet and gentle but given that she has yet to find someone who’s okay with her having a kid, she couldn’t help but think that was what he thought too.
“I know Harry. He’s my brother. I promise he wouldn’t care, (Y/N). And plus, he already knows you have a daughter and I know he likes you anyway. You both get all weird and jittery whenever you’re both over.” (Y/N) sighed softly, picking up another strand of hair and closing the iron grips, slowly moving down her hair.
“Alright, fine. Fine. But-“ Gemma gasped and immediately turned, hair falling out of (Y/N)’s fingers as Gemma’s hands came up to grip around (Y/N)’s biceps. “Oh, finally! Oh my god I can’t wait to tell him to ask you out. Been waiting too damn long for this to happen.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes and made her turn back around so she could finally finish ironing Gemma’s hair for their girl’s night out.
Not even a week after seeing Gemma, (Y/N) could tell she had already told Harry, indicated by the text she had just received while at work. It was sweet and straight to the point making (Y/N) smile and agreeing to going out on a date barely a minute after she received the text.
But even if she was excited and just a little bit optimistic about Gemma’s assurance, (Y/N) still refrained from keeping her hopes up. She understands that many people that don’t have kids aren’t ready for a partner that does have. So she made a promise to herself that if it fails with Harry, she was done for a while… and for real this time.
After a few more texts between (Y/N) and Harry, they had decided Thursday evening was going to be the night and (Y/N) got nervous. That was only two days away and all she could think about was who could take care of Kaylie for the evening and what she should wear. But of course, her mind immediately ran to Gemma. She knew she’d take care of her daughter for the evening, and especially since her date was with her brother.
--
Thursday strolled around, Kaylie was now at Gemma’s for the whole night after Gemma insisting she’d keep her overnight, and (Y/N) still didn’t know what the hell she would wear.
Half of her closet and drawers were all over her bed, jeans on the floor, shoes spread out everywhere. (Y/N) let out an exasperated sigh as she fell back onto her bed, turning her head with a pout when her eyes land on a pair of white jeans hanging off the corner of the bed and a black lacy top right above it. A smirk formed onto her lips as she reached over, snatching the clothes, and immediately putting them on.
Finally, after spending nearly three hours deciding on an outfit. She almost couldn’t believe she was actually content with the clothes adorning her body. (Y/N) looked at the time, gasping when she realized Harry could arrive at any time making her scramble around for a pair of heels and a purse. This made her realize she made the great choice of doing her make up first in neutral colors because she was well aware it was going to take forever to decide on an outfit.
The knock on (Y/N)’s door startled her, her feet carrying her down the stairs and straight to the door. The second she opened the door, a smile broke out on her face. Harry had a bouquet of roses in his hands, the sweetest smile adorning his plump lips, and those emerald green eyes glistening so beautifully under the porch light right above (Y/N)’s door.
“(Y/N)… Hi. You look beautiful. And um, these are for you.”
(Y/N) giggled and reached over and grabbed the roses, “Thank you, Harry. You look stunning yourself. Just – I’m going to put these in some water, and we can head out, yeah? Come in, come.” She stepped aside to allow Harry entrance, then scurrying off to the kitchen to grab a vase and fill it up with water before setting the roses in there and walking back to Harry who was stood by her door. “Alright, all good to go.”
Harry was such a chivalrous gentleman and that didn’t surprise (Y/N). He opened the doors for her, asked her how her day went, pushed the seat for her at the restaurant…
There wasn’t a single thing Harry didn’t make her smile about. He was fantastic. Gemma vouched for her brother and (Y/N) could tell why, knowing how well her friend knew where (Y/N)’s standards were set at.
“So I gave her the last croissant and she finally left us all alone.” Harry said with a small laugh before taking a sip of his wine, (Y/N) breaking out into a fit of laughter, as quiet as she could, hand at her chest to try and catch her breath.
“And you did that just so she would leave you all alone? She left you with nothing to eat!”
(Y/N) felt so happy. She was on a cloud – eating great food with an amazing man on such a beautiful night.
“Well, Harry… I think this is the part where you run away.”
“What? Why – why would I do that?”
“I… well you know about Kaylie, and I understand if that’s something that is off putting for you”
Harry chuckled and shook his head, reaching over for her hand and giving it a small squeeze. “(Y/N), I’ve known about you having a daughter since Gemma introduced us. If that were something I didn’t potentially want in my life, I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place. And besides, I’ve had such a great time tonight and I really enjoy your company.”
(Y/N) opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she sighed and smiled at Harry, giving his hand a squeeze in return before the man weaved their fingers together. “You’re so sweet, Harry. Thank you for such an amazing night.”
The delicious dinner and long conversations with Harry weren’t enough. (Y/N) was sad she had to go home, spend the night alone with this man suffocating her mind. He drove her home, walked her up to the door with their fingers messily intertwined with each other’s. They stopped in front of her door, standing in front of each other with small smiles and longing gazes.
“I had a wonderful night with you, (Y/N).” Harry’s unoccupied hand came up to her cheek, (Y/N) leaning into his touch as her mind told her to say things she was a little too shy to confess… but thankfully the wine her system did enough to bring that wall down and spit out the words.
With a small smirk on her lips, and her voice barely above a whisper, (Y/N) finally speaks up. “Who says it has to end here?”
--
taglist: @mouthfulloftoothpasterry​ @imavirginhoe​ @camflowervol6​ @evanjh​ @peaceandloverry​ @majasophieanna​ @msolbesg​ @harrysddtittys​ @lollypopsx​ @damnasstyles​ @gucci-hazza​ @awesomebooklover17​ @ayeshathestyles​ @harryspumkinloveslonghairstyles​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​
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Looking for a Place to Happen
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.
This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.
Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely
Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.
Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
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Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore
💀💀💀
The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 
In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.
It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.
As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.
The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 
You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.
You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 
You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.
You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.
You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.
You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 
You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.
You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.
💀
You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.
“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.
“For what?” you scoffed.
“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.
You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.
“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”
“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”
“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”
She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.
“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”
“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.
“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”
“Language,” she huffed.
“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”
“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.
“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”
“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”
“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 
“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.
“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”
“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”
“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”
“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”
“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”
She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.
“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”
“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”
“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”
“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”
“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”
💀
Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.
When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.
You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.
As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 
“More basil,” she snipped.
“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”
“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”
“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.
“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”
“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”
“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”
You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.
You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.
You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.
You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.
“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.
You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.
“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.
The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 
You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.
“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.
“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.
“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”
“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.
“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”
As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.
“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.
“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.
“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.
“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.
“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”
“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.
“Am I bothering you?” he asked.
You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.
“Sorta,” you answered.
“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”
You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.
“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.
You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.
“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”
“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”
“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”
“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.
“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.
“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.
“Well?”
“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.
“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.
You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.
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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years
Text
changes (best friend!harry)
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Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol
Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader
Word Count: 17k (holy shit)
A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3
{masterlist}
Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.
This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London.  However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.
Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor.  Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas.  Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.
This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.
Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother.  Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off.  Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there.  Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world.  Just typical teen things.
However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever.  They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother).  Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition.  Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.
They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating.  Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other.  However, their answers were always the same.  Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more.  Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything.  Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.
Until now.
Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest.  His entire body glistens with water from the shower.  Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—
Her breath catches in her throat.  Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.
“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.
Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”
“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”
Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.
Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.
It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes.  Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times.  The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times.  But she’s never seen him like that.
When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child.  Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.
Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror.  She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did.  Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.
As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up?  Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman?  Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?
Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach.  Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago?  That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?
The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed.  Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before.  She likes it more than she should.
After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child.  She isn’t a child.
Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.
Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.
Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand.  His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.
And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.
“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”
Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did.  Woke up a bit early, though.  Thought I’d shower before brunch.”
Right.  Brunch.  They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before.  Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.
“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked.  I forgot you slept over, and—”
“It’s fine, Y/N.  I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal.  Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”
Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No.  You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”
“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”
“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.
The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”
Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love.  It’s fine, promise.  I don’t mind that you saw.  I’m very comfortable in my body.”
Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”
“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.
“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes.  There is.”
“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”
Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.
For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone.  The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night.  Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.
Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted.  There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.
And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.
I’m on the last flight back to London.  Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together.  You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.
Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through.  Harry’s already on the plane.  So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.
Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life.  She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks.  She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes.  She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.
When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago.  The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.
“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug.  One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”
“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States.  I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”
“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”
“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone.  And I wanted to be with you.”
Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon.  I have dinner ready.”
Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.
“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”
Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six.  Stop pouting to get what you want.”
“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”
Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first.  You smell like a plane.”
Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely.  Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.
Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV.  When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first.  It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.
As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second.  They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous.  And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them.  They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.
Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.
“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent.  His words slur together as well
“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer?  Feels nice.”
The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says.  Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.
Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes.  Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.  
“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.
“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”
Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”
“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”
If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him.  She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.
But Harry is hardly awake right now.  And it wouldn’t be fair.
“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.
It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time.  While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal.  While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.
A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple.  He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.
Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”
Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out.  Not anything good, anyways.”
“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”
Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”
“We can go out.  We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard.  Why don’t you use it?”
“Yeah.  Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”
Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job.  I’m on the clock for another two hours.”
“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”
Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”
Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini.  However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency.  Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning.  She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.
Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you.  Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”
“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water.  Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.
“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day.  You really would’ve liked it.”
“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”
“All musicians are narcissists, love.  At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”
“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.
Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry.  The pool is for swimming only.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do.  She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.
She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool.  Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.
“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”
“The pool is for swimming only.  I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”
“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”
“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”
“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”
“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”
“Right.  Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”
Harry just grins at you.
“Want one?”
Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.
“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.
Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah.  I’m not very good, though.  Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”
“So high maintenance.”
Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha.  High maintenance.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”
“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.
Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly.  To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.
“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now.  I’m sophisticated.”
Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”
Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”
“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”
His Y/N.  That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core.  Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.
“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.
“She doesn’t take shit from anyone.  She gets drunk fast and high faster.  She’s always down for a laugh.  And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.
“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.
The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.
“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.
Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah.  Just haven’t done that in a while.”
“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.
Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly.  She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.
Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.
Y/N really doubts it.
“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”
Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face.  Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.
“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that.  Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”
“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”
“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul.  Neither was I, honestly.”
“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”
Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”
“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”
As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her.  He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.
“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall.  Did you two ever…?”
“What?  Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.
Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah.  I guess so.”
“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun.  But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”
Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip.  Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes.  His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.
“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter.  Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”
“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”
The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.
“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”
“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why.  You usually tell me everything.  You always have.”
Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”
Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.
After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”
Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright.  I’ll be up in a little bit.”
“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater.  Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it.  Social distancing, and all that.”
Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No.  I sleep better with you beside me.”
When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall.  She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.
Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her.  Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.
Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done.  The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry.  Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.
Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers.  He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders.  Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.
The tender action leaves Y/N speechless.  The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other.  But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.
Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again.  Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly.  It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.
“You’re still working?”
Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout.  His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face.  His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.
“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”
“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”
Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.
Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.
Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.
“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later.  It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”
“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”
“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone.  Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface.  There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.
“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon.  Try a cupcake.”
Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth.  She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.
Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah.  They’re good.”
Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing.  He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah.  Sweet.”
The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk.  They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.
“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”
“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”
Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”
Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”
Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know.  I miss sex so much.”
“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”
A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face.  Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching.  I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”
Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”
“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching.  It’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.
She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”
“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”
Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass.  You know exactly what I meant.”
A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge.  He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that.  If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.
“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”
Y/N runs a hand through her hair.  She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping.  The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”
Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else.  He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”
Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”
Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”
“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching.  Intimate touching.  And…being touched intimately.”  
Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah.  I miss that too.  Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”
“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.
Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”
Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”
Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair.  You know that.”
Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass.  Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions.  And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.
“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”
Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too.  That’s always nice.  I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”
“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”
“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H.  Isn’t that strange?”
Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control.  Have someone else…”
“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah.  I’m more like that, I think.  I usually let someone else decide.  But I like the in-between, too.  Like…both exploring each other.”
“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.
Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”
Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”
“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”
Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah.  I do.”
“And remember how nervous you were?”
“Yeah.”
“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you.  Kind of like…a breathlessness.  And you looked at the other person and knew they…”
Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”
“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know.  I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice.  I like it.”
“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually.  But nice.”
“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine.  What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”
“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee.  He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”
“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me.  And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”
“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”
Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H.  That’s good. That’s…brave.  You’re not afraid of how you feel.  Most people are.”
“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.  
Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth.  She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.
Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position.  His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Who have you been in love with?” He asks.  His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.
“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university.  We were together for two years.  That’s it, I think.”
Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really?  No one else?  No one since Christian?”
Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know.  I didn’t love any of them.  I was…infatuated.  But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark.  Nothing prolonged.”
Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment.  He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”
Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”
“Yeah.  Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left.  Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”
“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry.  We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”
“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you.  And you were…”
“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”
“Yeah.”
Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”
Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression.  His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.
“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”
“Good morning.”
“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”
“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”
“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”
When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.
“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m used to it.  I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”
“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”
“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”
“Shut up.”
Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites.  She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.
“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.
Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink.  You chose to.”
“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”
“Exactly.”
Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”
Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”
“Of course not.  I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”
“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”
It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other.  They’ve never acted any other way.
Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.
Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry.  But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before?  Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?
Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.
“Look at them.  Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose.  Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.
“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms.  She likes how warm he feels.
“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her.  Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”
Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so.  Do you?”
“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice.  He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.
They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.
“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”
Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it.  This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”
“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.
Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls.  She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this.  She wonders if he notices it, too.
Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.
The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side.  What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.
“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”
Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Probably.”
“I’m a terrible artist, Harry.  You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”
“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”
“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”
“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”
“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.
“That’s why I want you to do it.  I want it in your handwriting.”
Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.
“You do?”
“Yeah.  I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”
Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”
“No.  Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.
“Why do I have to be creative?”
“Because I want you to decide what I get.”
Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”
“I am!  Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”
“No.  Absolutely not.”
“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.
Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”
“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”
Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”
Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.
Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”
“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters.  She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”
“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.
“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.
“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”
“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.
“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”
“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”
Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose.  Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.
“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”
True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish.  When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.
“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”
Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face.  There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”
“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”
“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”
“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”
Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”
Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”
Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.
They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them.  It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.
“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”
“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right?  Being touched?”
Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah.  I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done.  Find someone there.”
He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”
Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan.  Not right now, at least.  It’s not what I…want.”
“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”
“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random.  I want sex, but I want to be…intimate.  Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”
Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”
“No.  It would be nice, but no.  That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares.  I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”
“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.
Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah.  Intimately touched.”
“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”
The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”
“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks.  And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”
“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…?  I mean…”
“I—yeah.  I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that.  We’ve just never…discussed it.”
“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild.  If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”
“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.
Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”
“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”
Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”
Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged.  His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.
Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly.  His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions.  However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.
“Like this.  Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly.  His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”
“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.
Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch.  His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.
“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.
“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah.  Good.  But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck.  If you’d like.”
Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck.  He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body.  Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.
Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it.  Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.
She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.
“H…”
“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.
“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.
For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him.  She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now.  Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something.  And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more.  She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.
Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.
After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed.  Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.
“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.
“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly.  If anything, she thinks, it’s worse.  She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.
“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.
Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was.  She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.
“Is it okay if I…?”
The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love.  Go ahead.”
Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch.  Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others.  She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore.  She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.
Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles.  She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.  
Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.
“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish.  He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.
“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.
“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”
Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm.  Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve.  With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.
“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.
Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance.  His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed.  His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it.  There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.
Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own.  Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose.  Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.
Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm.  Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.
“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.
Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”
Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath.  He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.
“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.
“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”
Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”
Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach.  His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once.  She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.
“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.
Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body.  When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.
Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”
“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”
“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones.  She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair.  She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.
Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular.  Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.
“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.
Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching.  She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts.  Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him.  However, she’s not sure if they should.
Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”
Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know.  I have no fucking clue.”
“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”
“Yeah.  It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”
Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”
“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you.  I’ve always wondered if—we—”
“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves.  Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”
“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day.  I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”
A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”
“This isn’t the alcohol talking.  I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you.  And I think…I think you need me too.”
“I do.  I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends.  This is going to change that.”
“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless.  You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know.  All I know for sure is that I want you.”
Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.
“I want you, too.” She says simply.
Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”
Y/N nods.  She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.
Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away.  Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.
When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.
Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement.  Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation.  This kiss is the exact opposite.
Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate.  Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top.  His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.
Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before.  Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time.  Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark.  She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.
Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.
Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side.  Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.
“You’re not done.” She says simply.
He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again.  This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.
Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure.  With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.  
With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious.  His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.
“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”
“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.
“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that.  Touch me like that.”
Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.
Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction.  Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.
Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them.  Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence.  She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to.  She doesn’t want to in the slightest.
Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.
“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”
He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep.  Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.
Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple.  He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.
When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.
“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger.  The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”
Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth.  He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.
“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”
Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”
“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad.  Yeah.”
Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed.  Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.
Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top.  When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.  
“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”
Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there.  In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.
Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes.  She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.
When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair.  She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.
“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down.  Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.
Y/N loves him for it.
Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair.  She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.
“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”
Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.
“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”
Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”
Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.
“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.
Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”
“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry.  Just relax, yeah?  It’s just me. I got you.”
Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center.  When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.
“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.
Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.
The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties.  Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.
The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure.  Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.
“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”
Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”
“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.
“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”
Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her.  YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.
“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”
Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”
“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”
He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt.  His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.
“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”
He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can.  Y/N continues to whimper above him.
“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”
Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him.  However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.
“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”
Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth.  He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.
“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”
Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”
“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”
Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H.  I’m going—”
Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before.  Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.
Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.  
Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes.  Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.
Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness.  He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.
“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again.  She doesn’t know what else to say.
Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently.  She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.
“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”
Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”
“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”
The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H.  I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours.  Always.”
Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”
“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you.  Feel your weight.  Feel you close.”
With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between.  He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them.  He’s teasing himself just as much as her.
“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”
“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”
“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”
Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”
As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between.  I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah.  I’m sure.”
Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling.  A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.
The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before.  Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete.  He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.
“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”
Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”
Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up.  While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her.  This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.
Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her.  Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer.  As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her.  As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop.  Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.
They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible.  Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication.  Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language.  When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being.  When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.
Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.
Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”
Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.
“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.
Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge.  He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.
Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”
“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you.  Yours.”
Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her.  He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.  
As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again.  He can’t think of anything else to say.  He can’t think of anything else worth saying.
When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her.  She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance.  It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.
They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are.  Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one.  The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm.  Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring.  And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.
Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly.  He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.
Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.
“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”
Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom.  Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes.  Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.
Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed.  He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.
“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”
Y/N nods again.  She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.
Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know.  Almost done.”
Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later.  His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.
He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.
“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H.  Just…tired.”
“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”
“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”
Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.
The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.
She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry.  Of course it’s Harry.  It’s always been Harry.  In every way.
Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry.  She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.
“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.
Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm.  Barely.”
A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“A little hungover.  A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.
Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers.  She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time.  He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.
Y/N wonders if she looks the same.  If she looks as pretty.
“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.
“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.
“Well…it is, actually.  I made your drinks.  And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.
“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”
Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”
Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”
“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”
Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No.  I don’t.  Do you?”
“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”
“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”
A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it.  It felt—you felt like heaven.”
Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms.  So that was a first for me.”
Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment.  It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.
“I did.”
“You said you were mine.”
Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.
“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”
Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”
Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead.  Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H.  Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”
Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N.  I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”
“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”
Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach.  Not right now.  And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you.  I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N.  I still would, and I always will.”
Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out.  Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.
“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug.  He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl.  You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always.  Don’t you know that?”
Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.
“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades.  Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost.  I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it.  I’ll make it work.  I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”
Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H.  I do.  I need you.  I told you that last night.”
“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”
Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this.  I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”
Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”
His low voice makes her shiver. “No.  It feels right.  Really right.”
“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”
Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”
“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”
Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”
“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”
“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.
“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it.  At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”
“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent.  Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”
Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t.  But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N.  I think we’re perfect for each other.”
Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something.  I’ve loved it.  I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will.  I’ll never get sick of you.”
Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”
“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”
“Yeah.  It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”
Harry nods. “I am.”
“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”
Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”
“I’m just saying!  We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”
“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”
Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah.  We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”
A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.
Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”
“I’ve already admitted it!”
“So have I!”
“Not as well as I have!”
“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”
“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”
“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”
“Just—”
“You’re so irritating—”
“I’m irritating?  You—”
“You’re the worst!”
“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”
“Okay.  Nope.  Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”
“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love.  Come back to bed.”
“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.
“Come here!”
“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”
Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.
“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”
Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body.  He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”
Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together.  One less record for you.”
“Good.  Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”
Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”
“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”
“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”
She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”
“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”
A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”
“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”
“Harry!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”
“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.
Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”
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