#the press release that was linked on my dash sucks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

42 Hours (II)

Content: part 2 to an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time!! includes a karaoke bar in Cleveland, Ohio, sharing of motel rooms (oh my god there was only one bed 👁️👁️), and a lesbian wedding in the Catskills

Warnings: language, alcohol, NSFW content, making fun of Nebraska and The Notebook

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

A/N: okay can I just say that I am so glad this is finally done. I have been working on this fic for over a month!!! the entire thing is over 51k in length!!!!!! my word doc is almost 100 pages!!!! this was meant to be a fun story about enemies to lovers stuck on a road trip!!!!! what happened!!!! but thank you guys so much for all the love and support and interest in this story <3 I was really nervous about splitting it up (which looking back was a good choice because again. it’s so long.) but you all showed so much love for the story and the characters!!!! I’d like to give a special shout out to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for proof reading, and miss andrea again for this pretty header image!! if you’re looking for any good reads after this, I highly recommend checking out their masterlists!! and as always, if you like this fic, please like it AND reblog it!! and shoot me a message about it!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by ALL content creators, and is the main motivation for us to create more for you all to enjoy!!

{masterlist}

here is everyone’s wedding looks!! and HERE is a lil moodboard of Jo and Laure’s wedding so you can sense the vibes!!

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

It’s almost instantaneous, Y/N notices, how quickly and easily she and Harry fall into a rhythm of friendship. From the moment she wakes up the next morning to a blue sky, the storm long passed, and Harry holding out a cup of black coffee for her, the stress and anxiety of the previous day is gone. There’s no watching herself around Harry, biting her tongue to stop herself from snapping over every small motion he makes as he fidgets in the driver’s seat. There’s no irritation caused by the way he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, or how he asks any question that crosses his mind, speaking out his random chain of thoughts just as often.

The thing that Y/N’s come to realize is that Harry is so much more interesting than she’d ever thought. He’s certainly more interesting than the endless fields of corn that whip by her window as he drives down the interstate. His jokes are dumb, but he says them with such a big grin on his face that she can’t help but laugh. His comments are strange, but Y/N finds herself enjoying the weird words that slip from his mouth without being caught by a filter.

“If we were in a Children of The Corn situation,” Harry begins, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel. “Do you think you’d be able to outsmart the cult? Or would you get sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows?”

Y/N half chokes on the bottle of water she’d just raised to her lips, and coughs the liquid from her lungs as she turns to give Harry an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“We’re in Nebraska. That’s where it takes place, right?” Harry asks, glancing at Y/N from behind his sunglasses. “There’s, like, a weird child cult, and they kill all the adults in town for the corn harvest, or something, and then this couple on a road trip discovers them, and tries to stop them. Do you think you’d be able to?”

“Do I think I’d be able to stop a child cult? Or would I get sacrificed to their weird corn god? That’s what you’re asking me?” Although she can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of the question, her mind is already appraising the situation Harry’s proposed. “I think I’d be able to stop them. They’re just kids, right? You just can’t be afraid to—you know—” Y/N drags her thumb across her throat, and Harry quirks up an eyebrow at her casual response.

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

“If the kids were evil and wanted to kill me? Absolutely.” Y/N leans her head back on the head rest, still keeping her eyes locked on Harry. “Wouldn’t you?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in response. “I don’t know. I’d try to reason with them, I think.”

Y/N extends a finger gun at him, clicking her tongue in sync with the motion. “And that’s why they’d sacrifice you and not me.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head slowly as he turns his attention back to the road. “Lovely. Wouldn’t you try to save me?”

Y/N hums, pretending to think the question over. “That depends on how annoying you’ve been that day.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Y/N, you really are.” Harry laughs more, but stops abruptly as he spots a sign to the right of the road. “Oh! There’s a souvenir shop at the next exit!”

A groan falls from Y/N’s mouth as her head flops back, already sensing defeat. “No, Harry, you don’t need another keychain—”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I could get a corn stalk keychain!”

…

“You know, I could drive for a bit. If you’d like.”

Harry looks up at Y/N with an apprehensive gaze, his nimble fingers halfway through attaching a new silver key chain in the shape of Nebraska to his key ring. “What?”

“You’ve been driving for three days straight.” Y/N leans over the passenger side of the car, resting her arms on the sun-warmed roof. “I could drive. I know how to; I just don’t do it in L.A. because the traffic is annoying. But the interstate is practically empty, so…”

“Uh, no offense, Y/N, but…” Harry opens the drivers door, a small smile curving the corner of his lip. “No one drives Stevie but me. And besides, she’s a stick. Have you ever driven one?”

“Well, no.” Y/N admits, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “But you could show me.”

Harry inhales deeply, glancing around the souvenir shop parking lot. Y/N can tell he’s surveying the area, searching for a reason to say no, but as far as she can tell, there isn’t one. There are no other cars around, and the area is mostly flat, giving her a good space to practice driving in. With a defeated look on his face, Harry exhales sharply and gives a quick nod as he takes a step back from the driver’s side. “Fine. Get in.”

Y/N and Harry swap sides in the car, although Y/N is much more enthusiastic about it than Harry is. From the moment she climbs in and begins adjusting his seat, a pained look comes over Harry’s face, making her roll her eyes.

“Oh, come on. You’re a giant, Harry, I have to adjust things so I can reach the pedals.” Y/N scoffs, reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror. “You can put them all back later.”

“Yeah.” Harry sucks in another breath before pushing his sunglasses up into his chestnut curls. “Okay, so…there’s three pedals on the floor. The right one is gas, the middle is the brake, and the left is the clutch. And then here—” Harry takes Y/N’s right hand and places it over the gear shift. “This is how you shift. There’s six gears, right? And their use depends on the speed you’re going, so you’re going to start with one—” His hand squeezes hers as he shifts the gear shift over and up to the left with ease. “Which is here. Here’s two—” He shifts the gear shift down to the left, and continues to move it as he speaks. “Three. Four. Five. And reverse. Got it?”

“I think so.” Y/N nods, her hand flexing beneath Harry’s large palm. His rings feel cool against her warm skin, and she has to admit, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. “Up left, down left, up middle, down middle, up right, down right. Right?”

“Right.” Harry lifts his hand off hers to point towards her feet, which are sitting on the carpet cover in front of the pedals. “You want to start with your foot pressed firmly on the clutch, the one—yeah. There, to the left. Keep it pressed there. Is it pressed there?”

“Since you first told me to press it, yeah.” Y/N furrows her brow in concentration, which is caused both from learning how to drive manually, and the effort it takes to stop herself from laughing at the nervousness in Harry’s voice. “Now what?”

“Take off the parking brake.” Harry pulls the lever down himself, making sure Y/N is focused on her other movements. “And the car is in neutral, so you can turn the key in the ignition.” He holds out his keys towards her.

Y/N takes the cool metal from his hands, quickly finding the right key for the Impala and slipping it in. The car roars to life, a sound which is now familiar to her ears. “Okay. There.”

“Good.” Harry pauses for a moment before reaching across Y/N’s body and buckling her seatbelt, which she had forgotten in the excitement to drive. “Safety first.” He sits back in the passenger seat, fixing his seatbelt across his own body. “I have a feeling we’ll be needing these.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, her eyebrows and nose wrinkling as she makes a face. “What do I do now?”

“Now…” Harry fidgets with his seatbelt again as he moves forward in the passenger seat, one hand bracing against the dash as he directs her. “Press the clutch and the brake at the same time, like that. Now move the gear shift into first gear.”

Y/N does as he says, pushing the gear shift over and up to the left. It takes much more pressure for her to move it without Harry’s help, she notes, but doesn’t let the effort show on her face. “Then?”

“Take your foot off the brake.” Harry instructs, caution laced through his voice. “And slowly—slowly! —release the clutch as you press down gently on the gas.”

“Okay…” Lifting her left foot first, Y/N does her best to match the motion with her right foot, pressing down at the same pace as she lifts the other. Her movement, however, isn’t as smooth as she wants it to be, and the car lunges forward in a choppy motion.

“Careful!” Harry says loudly, twisting his body to face Y/N as he continues bracing himself. His entire body is tense, his shoulders practically up by his ears as he appraises Y/N. “You have to do it at the same time!”

“Alright, alright—” Y/N tries again, focusing on matching her feet to each other. This time, the movement is smoother, and the car begins to drive forward slowly, moving faster as Y/N presses down more. “Is that—am I doing it?” Y/N asks nervously, navigating herself slowly through the parking lot. “Is that it?”

“That’s it. You’re doing good, yeah.” Harry nods slowly, but Y/N can see the strain in his jaw from the corner of her eye. “Now let’s try…let’s try shifting gears, so you can speed up.”

“Try not to sound so terrified.” Y/N mutters, turning the wheel to guide the car around a lamp post.

Harry ignores her comment. “You’re going to do the same motion, but this time release the gas while pressing down on the clutch. Then move the gear shifter to two, like before, and—”

Before Harry can finish speaking, Y/N attempts to change into second gear. The car lurches again as she releases the gas and presses on the clutch, and the jagged motion only gets worse after she shifts into second.

“Slowly, Y/N—” Agitation is clear in Harry’s voice, and his knuckles turn white as he grips the dash. “Slower!”

Another lunge of the car shifts Y/N to the side, and her foot slips off the clutch completely. With a sickening sound, the car lurches to a stop, despite Y/N’s foot still pressed on the gas. “What—?”

Harry, who’s been wincing throughout the entire ordeal, sucks in a sharp breath. “You stalled her.” He says, shaking his head with a quiet horror.

Y/N tugs on her bottom lip as she glances at him from the corner of her eye, her voice hesitant. “Is…that bad?”

“Is that—?” Harry’s green irises snap to meet hers, wide open and shocked. “Yeah, it’s bad. That’s enough practice for today, I think. I’m driving again.”

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

“Nope! Out!” Harry shakes his head firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car in one swift motion. “Come on!”

With a defeated sigh, Y/N unbuckles herself, climbing out of the driver’s door that Harry’s just opened for her. “Sorry.” She mumbles, walking around to the passenger’s side and climbing back in.

Harry gives her a small smile, albeit a pained one, as he begins to move his feet over the brake and clutch, shifting the car into neutral. “It’s fine. That was pretty good for a first practice, really. Just…maybe it’s too soon for highway driving.”

Y/N buckles her seatbelt as Harry restarts the engine, and within a few minutes, he has his signal flipped back on to head back to the highway. “You know, mostly I wanted to drive so that I could pick the music.” She says casually, resting her chin in her hand after propping it up against the arm rest. “I’m getting a little tired of The Beatles on repeat.”

Harry laughs, raking his hand through his curls before shifting gears with ease. “Oh really? What would you put on, if you had a choice?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugs, taking a moment to think. “We could listen to a nice sonata, maybe. Oh! Or Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. I haven’t listened to it in full in a while.”

A sound of surprise and indignation leaves Harry’s mouth. “Tchaikovsky—? No! No, you can’t listen to classical music on a road trip! You need music that you can scream the lyrics to!”

“Is there a rulebook about what you can and can’t listen to on a road trip?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she poses the sarcastic question. “I wasn’t aware.”

“There’s an unofficial rulebook, yes.” Harry risks a glance over at Y/N, his green eyes alight. “And one of the most important—if not the most important—rules is that any song you listen to has to be able to be sung loudly while driving down a highway. Everyone knows that.”

“My bad.” Y/N says sarcastically, toeing off her shoes to better cross her legs beneath herself. “So, in short, we’re stuck listening to your playlist, huh?”

“Now you get it.” Harry shoots her a cheeky grin, pointing with his free hand. “You can change the song, though. If you’d like.”

“Really?” Y/N reaches down to the small catch all tray between them, where Harry’s phone sits connected to a car charger. She picks it up carefully, raising an eyebrow in question. “May I?”

When Harry nods, Y/N clicks on the screen, which displays the controls to the Spotify playlist currently being projected through the car’s speakers. Unsurprisingly, a Beatles song is moving across the scene, causing Y/N to press the skip button immediately. The next song is by The Killers, called “Spaceman,” and while she likes it, it’s not really something she feels like listening to in the moment. She hits skip again, passing over “Night Moves,” “Piano Man,” and “Seven Wonders,” (the last skip earning a sound of protest from Harry) before a familiar album cover pops up on the screen.

“Hold on.” Y/N says, mouth agape as the 1990s Vocoder sound fills the car. “You listen to Cher?”

“Are you kidding?” Harry’s surprised expression matches hers. “Of course! She’s a treasure.” He taps his fingers to the beat of “Believe” while his head bops to the same pattern. “I love this song. It’s a good one.”

Making a sound of agreement, Y/N lets her gaze drift to the window, watching the agriculture fields that whiz by. “Yeah.” She murmurs, losing herself in the beat. “‘No matter how hard I try…you keep pushing me aside’…”

“‘And I can’t break through’…” Harry’s voice joins with hers, louder and surer of himself than hers had been. “‘There’s no talking to you’…”

Y/N’s head turns from the window, locking eyes with Harry for the split second he looks away from the road ahead of them. “‘It’s so sad that you’re leaving…it takes time to believe it’…”

“‘But after all is said and done’…” The grin playing on Harry’s pink lips grows, popping out his dimples as he continues to sing. “‘You’re gonna be the lonely one’…”

With a grin pasted across her own face, so big that her cheeks ache, Y/N joins Harry for the chorus, yelling the lyrics more than singing them. “‘Do you believe in life after love? I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!” Harry’s hand drifts down to the volume dial, turning the music up until the bass thumps through the entire car. Y/N can feel it in her chest like a second heart beat.

“‘Do you believe in life after love?’” Encouraged by each other, Harry and Y/N scream the lyrics even louder on the repeat, straining their necks as much as their vocal cords. “‘I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!”

When Harry’s hand moves again, Y/N thinks that he’s reaching for the dial again, perhaps to turn it down, but then his hand makes a questioning motion, and Y/N realizes that Harry, ever the one for dramatics, is acting out the lines.

“‘What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you?’” Harry points at Y/N then, an exaggerated look on his face as his whole body moves to the beat. “‘Well I can’t do that! And there’s no turning back’…”

Not wanting to be one upped, Y/N pushes up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her wrist enough that she can tap on it. “‘I need time to move on’…” A fit of giggles interrupt the next line as she and Harry both raise their arms to flex their muscles. “‘I need a love to feel strong’…” Y/N taps on her temple as she sways her body to the beat the best she can in the car. “‘Because I’ve got time to think it through’…” When she turns to point at Harry, she finds him already pointing at her, once again in sync with her thoughts. “‘And maybe I’m too good for you, oh’!”

They repeat the chorus in the same way as before, screaming the lyrics as loud as they can, pulling dramatic facial expressions and dance moves to match. Halfway through the repeat, Harry attempts to mimic the classic Cher move of pushing hair over the shoulder, and the ridiculous sight is enough to send Y/N into another fit of laughter. She almost misses the entrance for the bridge, but recovers just in time to yell the lyrics in sync with Harry.

Forming fists and dragging her arms towards her dramatically, and Harry doing the same with his free hand, the two of them screw their faces up as they sing passionately. “‘Well I know that I’ll get through this…because I know that I am strong’…” The flexing of arms returns for a moment before being replaced by impassioned pleading hand gestures. “‘I don’t need you anymore…I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore’…”

Although they’d been energetic in the previous choruses, Harry and Y/N give their all for the final chorus, bouncing and yelling and gesturing as much as they can as they drive down the interstate at sixty-five miles per hour. They quiet for a moment as the beat falls out, singing the lyrics at a slightly lower volume, but when the beat returns, they scream the lyrics one final time in unison before the music fades out.

The song changes to “Baby Driver,” and Harry reaches to lower the volume as he and Y/N both struggle to catch their breath. They laugh between pants, hands on chests as they rapidly rise and fall. Y/N lets her head fall back against the back of the seat, shifting her legs so only one rests on the seat beneath her thigh.

“That was a good one.” She admits, pushing her now-sweaty hair out of her face. “I’ll give you that. Cher was a good choice.”

“Do you see what I meant, now?” Harry asks breathlessly, his grin still plastered to his face. “Do you still want to listen to Tchaikovsky?”

In lieu of a reply, Y/N reaches for Harry’s phone again, skipping songs until “Jessie’s Girl” begins to drift through the speakers. “Turn it up again, Harry.”

There’s a twinkle in Harry’s eyes when he does as she says.

…

“I can sleep on the floor.” Harry volunteers, tugging his hand through his stretched out curls as his eyes scan the interior of the motel room. “Make a little bed out of pillows. Then you can have the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, setting her bag on the small table in front of the room’s mirror. “You can’t sleep on the floor!”

Harry purses his lips. “I’ll take the chair, then. I can stretch out on it—”

“Please, you have limbs like Gumby.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N unzips her bag and pulls out her toiletries. “You can’t sleep comfortably in a chair. We can deal with one bed for one night. It’s not the end of the world.”

Four days ago, Y/N might have considered having to share a bed with Harry the end of the world. If someone had told her about the lack of available motel rooms on the road, Y/N might have never left L.A. And that first night in Utah, she remembers, she would have rather smother Harry in his sleep than share a bed with him. Now, however, they’re in Iowa City, and for all her talk of how much she despised Harry before, she’s found herself quite fond of him in a short period of time.

There’s a list of reasons why that’s happened, she thinks, as she pulls out her charger to plug into the wall. Their forced close proximity in the car and motel rooms probably has something to do with it, as well as Harry being her only company for the last four days. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of it is due to the way Harry looks in the dim motel room light as he flops back on the bed, his red and black striped t-shirt riding up just the slightest bit to expose the fern tattoos lining the bottom of his stomach. The way his jade irises manage to sparkle in the light of the lamp, or how his chipped nail polish still manages to look elegant as his fingers dance along his chest and twist his rings over his knuckles. The way his lips, despite his constant habit of biting them, look so soft and so pink, and how Y/N thinks she could just—

Y/N clears her throat, stopping her thoughts in their tracks. It’s really been too long since she’s been around another human being, she thinks, keeping her back to Harry as she roots through her suitcase for her pajamas. Four days is too long for her to be with the same person, with hardly any alone time, and she’s wondering if she’ll be able to have alone time any time soon when her fingers brush over the familiar smooth silicone surface of her vibrator.

Y/N pauses, pulling her fingers back as if she’s been burned. Right. She’d tossed that in there just before leaving L.A., just in case she needed some stress relief. Glancing back over her shoulder subtly, Y/N sees that Harry has his phone out now, his nimble fingers tapping along the screen as he lays on the bed. Maybe some stress relief is exactly what she needs.

Grabbing the first articles of clothing she can get her hands on, Y/N carefully wraps her vibrator within the fabric, trying to fold it so that it doesn’t look like its hiding a small purple sex toy. Once that’s done to the best of her ability, she grabs her toiletry bag, tucking it under her arm as she quickly makes her way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower.” She mutters, closing the door behind her without waiting for Harry’s response.

Although the ritual of stripping from her clothes, starting the shower and adjusting the temperature settings, and relaxing her muscles underneath the (albeit low pressure) stream of water is familiar, it takes Y/N a few minutes to work up the courage to run her hands down the length of her body. She takes her time as her fingers dance over the planes of her breasts, down her stomach, fluttering over her hips before making their way to the crevice where her thighs flow into her core. Taking a deep breath, Y/N begins with just her fingers, running them through her wet folds slowly and carefully.

She allows herself the time to warm herself up, waiting until she can dip her index finger inside her slick entrance and circle its way around her clit before grabbing her vibrator from the shower ledge. She flicks it on to its lowest setting, making sure the electronic buzz is hidden beneath the sound of the shower before gently circling the tip around her clit.

The relief, Y/N finds, is instantaneous. A breathless sigh slips past her lips as she rubs the toy over her folds, delighting in the fluttering sensation it leaves behind. Without breaking contact, Y/N turns the toy up a level, biting her lip to keep from moaning as she presses it back to her clit.

Despite the tension building up in her body as Y/N works herself to an orgasm, this is the most relaxed she’s felt in days. The tension, she finds, is so much sweeter than the anxiety and stress she’s been experiencing throughout the road trip. Although her shoulders tense, it’s different than the knots worked into her muscles from hours in the car. Although her leg feels as though it may cramp from its position perched on the bath tub ledge, the burn is more welcome than the ache of being stuck in one seated position.

If someone were to ask her what crossed her mind when Y/N brought herself over the edge, what thoughts drifted into her head as she gripped the wall of the shower with one hand as her core convulsed in the most delightfully sinful way, Y/N would tell them that it was nothing specific. Strong hands, she’d say, smoothly and knowledgeably caressing her body. A low voice whispering dirty nothings in her ear. A deep breath flowing down her neck as cherry lips and white teeth nipped and kissed down her skin and across her collar bones. Nothing specific. And Y/N would believe it when she’d say it.

But if anyone were to be listening at the exact moment that she thrust the vibrator inside her, panting and whimpering as her index and middle finger worked over her clit and brought her to climax, they’d hear the breathless whisper of a name that Y/N herself didn’t even know she was saying.

The nice thing about getting off in the shower, Y/N thinks, once she’s regained enough function in her head to do so, is that cleanup is a breeze. Within fifteen more minutes, Y/N’s washed her body, shampooed and conditioned her hair, and is climbing out of the shower with the motel towel wrapped tightly around her body. Within another few minutes, she’s towel dried to the best of her ability, and finally realizing that the pajamas she’d grabbed in her quick bid for the washroom happened to be the pink silk set that she’d tucked at the bottom of her suitcase four days ago.

Cheeks burning, Y/N weighs her options. She could wrap the towel around herself, she thinks, and instruct Harry to look away as she snuck back to her suitcase and grabbed the sports bra and boxers she’d been sleeping in for the past few nights. Or…she runs her fingers over the lace trim of the set. These pajamas were quite comfortable, and the silk would feel so nice on her body after multiple nights of scratching motel sheets. And, if she’s being honest with herself, her other pajamas are quite dirty from a new nights of use. Now that her body feels completely relaxed and clean, she’d like to put on something to match.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Y/N does her best to seem casual and calm, still running her towel through her set hair, her clothes and toiletry bag (where she’s hidden her vibrator) tucked under one arm. “The shower’s free.” She says to Harry, barely glancing at him as she returns her items to her bag. “Although the water pressure is pretty shit.”

A low chuckle echoes from Harry’s mouth. “I expect nothing less.” He says, and Y/N thinks she may be in the clear when the laughter stops abruptly.

Biting back a sigh, Y/N straightens her back, knowing that she can’t avoid the conversation forever. “What?” She asks, tossing her towel on the motel room chair.

Harry is sitting up on the bed, his phone still held loosely in his right hand as his left props his body into an upright position. As his eyes scan over Y/N’s body, his tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips without Harry being aware he’s doing it. “What—” His voice cracks, and a flush creeps up Harry’s pale neck as he clears his throat. “What are you wearing?”

Y/N begins to comb her fingers through her hair, sectioning it off before she begins to braid. “Pajamas.”

A scoff leaves Harry’s mouth. “No, no, those aren’t pajamas. That’s…lingerie.”

“Yeah, well…I brought them as pajamas.” Y/N mumbles, twisting her hair into the desired pattern before tying it off with the ponytail on her wrist. “Look, I—my other ones are dirty, and I didn’t want to put a sweaty sports bra back on right after showering. But…if it makes you uncomfortable, then I can—”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Harry cuts over her, giving a quick shake of his head. “I just—we’re sharing the bed tonight, so I wasn’t sure—as long as you’re comfortable—”

“I am.” Y/N says quickly, cheeks beginning to burn as the conversation continues. “I’m comfortable.”

“Alright then.” If Harry’s cheeks are any indication, then he’s feeling the same thing Y/N is. “I’m…going to shower, then.”

And that’s how, two hours later, after watching a rerun of When Harry Met Sally, Y/N ends up in bed next to Harry Styles in lingerie that she’d bought to impress her ex-boyfriend.

Harry, to his credit, is doing his best to draw a line between them. His lanky body is practically hanging off the edge of the bed with how far he’s pulled himself from her, his defined back turned towards Y/N. Her own posture mimics his, back turned from Harry, clinging to the edge of the bed in an attempt to respect his personal space. The problem, Y/N thinks, exhaling hard as she shifts under the covers, is that she doesn’t like sleeping on her side like this, and she especially doesn’t like tensing up to make sure her limbs stay in their designated zone. It feels awkward and uncomfortable, and after laying in bed for over an hour, she finally huffs before turning onto her back, her hands settling down over the sheets.

“Harry.” She whispers, twisting her head to the side as she struggles to make out the shape of his body in the dark. “Are you awake?”

The bed creaks as Harry’s body shifts towards her, twisting on his hip to be able to meet Y/N’s eyes. “Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” Y/N rolls over again, propping herself up on her side to face him as he matches the motion. They’re closer now, their faces about six inches away as they rest their heads on their pillows. Y/N can smell the mint of Harry’s toothpaste on his breath. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder as best he can while horizontal. “Dunno.” He mumbles, voice low in the quiet darkness. “Don’t think I’m used to sharing a bed with someone and not…being close to them.”

“Yeah.” Y/N matches the tone of her voice to his, as if speaking quietly and gently will preserve whatever it is hanging between them. “Feels weird.”

Moving his hands from his chest to tuck them under his pillow, Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous look apparent in his eyes even in the darkness. “Would it be okay if I moved closer?” He asks, caution written into every word. “It’s just—staying on the edge isn’t very comfortable.”

Four days ago, Y/N would have shoved him off the bed. Now, however, she finds herself nodding, pulling her top leg into a bent position, her bare knee brushing over Harry’s beneath the sheets. “That’s fine.”

Y/N watches the way Harry’s body visibly relaxes, the tension she didn’t even know he had leaving his body. Trying his best to move without disturbing her, Harry turns over to lay on his toned stomach, and the sheets pull down around his body enough that Y/N can see how his Rolling Stones t-shirt has ridden up his back. Without thinking, Y/N pulls one hand from beneath her pillow and reaches for the sheets, pulling them back around Harry to his mid back.

“Thanks.” His voice is raspy, half muffled by the pillow as he tucks his hands beneath his head, eyes still locked with hers with an intensity that, during daylight hours, would have made her cheeks burn.

But in the safety of the darkness, Y/N simply returns her hand to its previous position, allowing the lack of light to masquerade the concern written onto her face. “You’re welcome.”

…

“I’m not saying The Notebook is a bad movie, I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense!”

Harry gives Y/N an incredulous look as he flips on his turn signal, shifting gears in the car so he can exit the highway and head towards a gas station. “What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?” He demands, turning the car over the curve of the road. “They’re in love! Noah reads to Ally to help her remember that! What about that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well, the dialogue for one.” Y/N shrugs, tapping her fingers to the beat of “Heroes” that’s drifting through the speakers.

Harry scoffs as he pulls into an empty gas station, slowing the car to a gentle stop in front of a pump. “Give me one example of the dialogue not making sense!”

“‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she quotes the movie. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Harry demands, shifting the car into neutral and pulling the emergency brake before turning off the ignition. “It’s romantic! It’s talking about—about reincarnation, and past lives—”

“And what about how Noah and Ally first met, huh? She was on a date with someone else! She wasn’t interested in him!” As she rants, Y/N’s volume grows, almost drowning out David Bowie completely. “And then he climbed up a Ferris wheel, demanded that she go out with him, and said that if she didn’t, he was going to kill himself!”

Harry points an accusatory finger at her, his expression fierce. “Don’t! It was romantic—”

Y/N pushes his finger away, holding her stance adamantly. “It was creepy! And don’t even get me started on the arguments, and the lying, and—and she was engaged to someone else! Noah was a homewrecker!”

Harry takes a deep breath, squeezing his keys in his hand as his eyes close for a moment. “I’m going to fill Stevie with petrol.” He says, his tone careful and controlled. “And when I get back, I am going to give you a very long lecture on why you’re wrong.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she grabs Harry’s sunglasses from the cupholder next to her, slipping them onto her face as she sticks her tongue out at him. “Whatever. Go pump the gas, Styles.”

With one last withering look, Harry climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him, turning his attention to the rusted gas pump in the middle of nowhere along the Illinois interstate. Y/N can’t help but laugh at the irritated look on his face, and how he flips her the bird when he catches her laughing. Small giggles still roll through her as she turns her attention to Harry’s phone, choosing a new song as David Bowie slowly begins to fade out. She’s just begun scrolling through her options when her own phone begins to vibrate from where she has it tucked underneath her leg.

Y/N sets Harry’s phone back down on his seat as she grabs her own, her eyes widening when she sees Brant’s name lighting up her screen. She should answer, she thinks, as she hasn’t spoken to him in person since their conversation in Colorado. That conversation seems like a lifetime ago, and Y/N’s thumb hovers over the “accept” icon, her teeth tugging her bottom lip over and over. She should answer. She should. Brant will probably want to discuss work, and find out when she’s coming back so they can plan another dinner, because he always likes to schedule things at least a week in advance. He’ll tell her about his coworkers, what the weather in L.A. has been like (as if it ever changes), and maybe, just maybe, if he has time, he’ll tell her about a new Netflix series he’s just starting to watch. Y/N should answer.

The driver’s side door opens with a creak, and Harry bends down to poke his head inside. “Alright, I’m going to go inside the petrol station and get us some snacks, and then I’m going to explain to you exactly how wrong you are.” He says firmly, mouth pressed into a flat line of determination. His expression falters for just a moment as he sees the conflicted look on Y/N’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Y/N says quickly, pressing “ignore” and tucking her phone back under her leg. “Just go get the snacks while I create my counterargument, alright?”

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching into the car and pulling his sunglasses off Y/N’s face. He slips them over his own eyes, his expression back to its determined look. “Fine. Do you want Cheezies?”

“Uh huh. The crunchy ones!” Y/N reminds him, grabbing his phone from the seat again to continue selecting a new song.

“Right. The crunchy ones.” Harry shoots her a finger gun as he shuts the car door. “You can eat them as I prove you wrong!”

“You wish!” Y/N yells back, the phone call all but forgotten as she watches Harry walk into the gas station.

…

“We should go out tonight.”

Y/N sets her duffel bag on the queen-sized bed situated in the center of the motel room, giving Harry a confused look as she registers his words. “Go out?” She asks, tugging on the zipper of the bag. “Go out where?”

“To a bar.” Harry flops down on the bed next to her bag, leaning back on his elbows as he speaks. “All we’ve done this entire trip is drive, and we’re getting to the Catskills tomorrow. We can have a bit of fun tonight, can’t we?”

Y/N snorts as she rifles through her bag, pulling out her phone charger and favourite book. “It’s a road trip; driving is the point, isn’t it? Besides, what kind of bars are in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Harry shrugs lightly. “We passed a sign for one on our way into town. And we haven’t had dinner yet, so we should go get something to eat anyways. And I haven’t had a pint in forever.”

“I doubt you’ll like the pints from a dive bar in Cleveland, Harry.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she plugs her charger into the wall. “I don’t think they’ll be up to your standards.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Harry matches her eye roll with ease before turning his expression into something more endearing. “Please? We don’t have to stay too long if you don’t want to!”

Y/N sighs as she sits down on the bed next to him. “Harry—”

“Just one drink!” Harry pleads, pouting out his bottom lip. “Please? To celebrate not killing each other on this trip?”

In spite of herself, a small laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “The trip’s not over yet, Harry. Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.”

“Y/N…” Harry whines, turning onto his side as he looks up at her. “Come on!”

Y/N tugs her lip between her teeth as she looks down at Harry. It’s true, she thinks, that all they’ve done for the last five days is drive and sleep in motels. Maybe they could use a break before tomorrow’s final day. And they’ve been getting along so well today that Y/N would hate to put a damper on their moods now…

“Fine.” She relents, ignoring how there’s a turning feeling in her stomach when she sees Harry’s green eyes light up. “But just one drink!”

…

“I’ll take another Old Fashioned, please!” Y/N says to the waitress, raising her voice to be heard over the man singing a bad cover of “Take on Me” on the small bar stage. “And—Harry, do you want another?”

Harry bites back a laugh, barely managing to cover it with a cough as the waitress turns to him. “Uh, yes, please.” He smiles charmingly, flashing his eyes to Y/N between his words. “I’ll have another pint.”

With a quick nod, the waitress begins to work her way from their table to the bar, pushing through the crowds of people scattered around the bar.

Y/N leans over to Harry as she twirls her straw through the remnants of ice in her empty glass. “You picked a good bar!” She says loudly, gesturing to the people around them. “Who knew this would be the center of Cleveland’s drinking scene?”

“I did! I have good taste!” Harry replies with a laugh, lifting his pint glass to his lips to drain the remnants. “And here I was, thinking that you’d be whining to go home after the first drink!”

There’s something about the way Harry says “home” that turns Y/N’s stomach. Or maybe it’s the Old Fashioneds, she thinks, as she eyes the three empty glasses sitting in front of her. “Oh. Yeah. Maybe we should go…?”

Harry groans, waving off her suggestion without a second thought. “No! We’re having fun! When was the last time you went out?”

“Uh…” The alcohol makes it hard for Y/N to think back in her memory, but she does her best to focus for a few moments to search for the answer. “I think…a few months ago? Jo came to visit, and we went out for drinks…”

“That’s just sad.” Harry shakes his head, feigning disappointment. Or maybe not feigning it, Y/N thinks, because a deep sigh leaves his lips right after. “You live in L.A., a place with so much culture and so many opportunities, and you don’t take them!”

“I take opportunities just fine!” Y/N defends herself, a pout working its way onto her lips of its own volition. “I’m just busy—”

“You’re always going to be busy!” Harry argues as the waitress approaches them with their drinks. “You—thank you—” He says to her as she hands him his pint and Y/N her Old Fashioned. “You have to take time for yourself, to enjoy things! Or else life is just going to pass you by, and soon you’ll be old and grey in your apartment, with no cool stories to tell!”

Y/N takes the straw from her previous drink and slips it in her new one. “I have stories!” She argues hotly, a flush coming over her face from both the alcohol and the argument. “I have plenty of stories!”

Harry takes a gulp from his pint, wiping away the drop of beer that drips from the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? Tell me one.”

“Like—” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “Like now! The story of how I had to go on a road trip with a guy I hated to make it to my best friend’s wedding on time!”

“I’m not really a fan of that title, honestly.” Harry purses his lips, his brow furrowing as he sets his pint back down on the table. “How about we call it the story of how you had to go on a road trip with a guy you hated to make it to your best friend’s wedding on time, and along the way, you and the guy actually realized that you got along pretty well, and became friends?”

A small smile plays on Y/N’s lips, and she raises her glass towards Harry. “Sounds like a plan.” She says softly, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. Harry lifts his pint glass and clicks it against her drink.

They both take a sip of their drinks, and when Harry lowers his glass, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately makes Y/N uneasy. “I have another idea for a story.” He says, setting his glass down and pointing towards the stage. “How about the story of us singing karaoke at a bar in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Y/N snorts, half folding herself over their table as the snort turns into a full laugh. “Not a chance in hell, Styles!” She says through her laughter, tapping her fingers against the wood table top.

Harry pushes her shoulder, making her sit up again as he tries to convince her. “Come on! We’ve been singing in the car for two days straight! There’s tons of songs we could do—”

“The car is completely different than a stage!” Y/N argues, shaking her head firmly. “No way!”

“What, are you worried about making a fool of yourself?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he gestures around the bar. “Is there anyone you know in the audience? The audience that’s full of people who are pissed out of their minds?”

Biting her lip hard for a moment, Y/N gives a reluctant shake of her head. “No.” She mumbles, looking down. “But I just—I don’t sing karaoke.”

“And you didn’t spend five days in the car with me, either. Until you did, and we had fun.” Harry points a ringed pointer finger at her, and the annoying glint in his eye means he knows he has her trapped. “There is literally no better place to try it than right now, in this bar, where you know no one.”

Y/N glances around the bar, appraising her surroundings. She knows Harry has a point; besides himself, she knows not a single soul in the building. They’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, and she won’t ever find herself in this bar—or, honestly, Cleveland, Ohio—again. If there was ever a time to try karaoke, it would be now.

And hasn’t this trip been full of trying new things? New foods, new conversations, new ways of thinking…Y/N finds herself locking eyes with Harry, losing herself in his intense gaze. Y/N’s not sure what’s swirling around in his irises, whether it’s alcohol or something else entirely, but it’s intoxicating.

Y/N lets out a harsh exhale, pulling the straw out of her drink and downing it entirely in one swift motion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she slams the glass back on the table before looking back at Harry to find a new grin pasted across his pink lips.

“Alright.” Y/N slips off her stool, stumbling for just a moment until Harry catches her elbow. “You go pick the song.” She says, pointing towards the DJ near the stage. “I-I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

Harry nods, catching his lip between his teeth as his hand squeezes her arm. “Are you alright? You stumbled there—”

“I’m fine! Perfect, actually.” Y/N assures him, pulling away and walking towards the washroom. She calls over her shoulder to him as she does. “Go pick the song! I’ll be back in a moment!”

When Y/N reaches the washroom, she’s surprised to find it empty, and she’s even more surprised when she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Is that really her? She wonders, propping herself up on the counter as she leans closer to examine herself. Her skin is flushed from the alcohol, all across her cheeks and neck, and it only gets warmer as the heat of the bar finally hits her. Y/N undoes the top few buttons of her plaid shirt, exposing her chest to the air. Cocking her head to the side, Y/N studies herself for a moment before undoing the rest of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves to wear the shirt like a cardigan, leaving her bralette exposed. It’s a different look than anything she’s ever done, but…she likes it, she realizes, as her eyes scan over her reflection. She likes this. Being somewhere that no one knows her, somewhere filled with people that won’t judge her for drinking too much, somewhere that she doesn’t have to worry about stories getting back to her work. Y/N likes the wild look in her eyes, the breathlessness stirring inside her, the plumpness of her lips from the ice of her drinks. When she looks at herself, she sees a different person. Someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone who seems to know what they want.

Her phone vibrating in her back pocket pulls her from her thoughts, and it takes Y/N a moment for her intoxicated self to manage to pull it out. When she sees Brant’s name flashing on the screen, she only hesitates for one second before hitting decline. That one second of hesitation, however, is all it takes to make her contemplate herself in the mirror again, second guessing what she sees. She tucks her phone away before washing her hands, and splashes a little bit of cold water on her cheeks to help cool herself down. Giving herself one last look over, Y/N buttons the few bottom buttons of her shirt back together, tying it into a neat knot to cover her stomach. Even if no one here knows her…she can’t get too wild. She still has to be who she is.

After exiting the bathroom, Y/N returns to the table, expecting Harry to be waiting there for her. All she finds, however, is his jacket tossed over the back of his chair, and his now empty pint glass sitting on the table. Y/N turns in a small circle, wondering where he is in the crowd when she hears his slightly slurred voice magnified over the speakers.

“Y/N. Up here, love, c’mon.”

Y/N turns towards the stage, her eyes wide as she realizes Harry has a microphone in one hand and has the other hand wrapped around the microphone stand. His smile is practically glowing underneath the stage lights, and his eyes seem to be doing the same. He releases the mic stand to run a hand through his hair before beckoning her forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Cleveland, this—” Harry points towards Y/N, and she almost swears that every person in the bar turns towards her. “This is my very good friend Y/N. And five days ago, she hated my guts!” The crowd boos, and Y/N stares at Harry with incredulous eyes. What is he doing?

“No, no, don’t boo, it’s alright. I hated her guts too.” Harry says with a shrug, leaning against the mic stand again. “But everything’s alright now! We’re getting along, she’s stopped being such a control freak, and she even said she would let me pick a song for us to sing tonight, isn’t that nice?”

The crowd cheers as Y/N walks towards the stage, stopping just before it to stare up at Harry as he continues his drunken monologue. If she was sober, she’d probably pull him down from the stage, grab the front of his patterned button down shirt, and drag him back to their table. But the alcohol running through her system is making her bold, and with her head swimming in the amber liquid she’d been consuming, all she can do is laugh and stumble her way to the stairs to the stage.

Someone wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it helps her up the stairs, handing her a microphone once she makes it onto the stage. Harry, realizing she’s where she needs to be now, motions to the DJ behind her, and a familiar beat that Y/N can’t place begins to play.

“Harry—” Y/N speaks without raising the microphone to her lips. “What song—?”

“Don’t worry, you know it.” Harry assures her, his eyes flickering over her appearance quickly. “You look great. Just go with it!”

There’s really no choice but to go with it, she thinks, because within a moment, Harry has a simpering smile on his face as he lifts the microphone to his lips, his body turned towards the audience but his eyes flickering to you.

“‘I wasn’t jealous before we met…now every man I see is a potential threat’.” He sings in a confident voice, and Y/N watches the split second it takes for the crowd to realize he’s actually good. And it’s not just his voice, she thinks. It’s his demeanor. The part of Harry’s personality that had first irritated her, the part that lives for a spotlight, the part that can draw someone in with a snap of a finger…that part shines on a stage.

In contrast, all Y/N can do is stare with a shocked expression painted across her face as Harry continues to serenade the crowd. He makes eye contact with specific people as he croons the next lines, his hand confidently wrapped around the microphone “‘And I’m possessive, it isn’t nice…you’ve heard me say that smoking is my only voice’.”

It’s then that Harry’s attention turns back to Y/N, his eyelids hooded, half hiding his emerald eyes as he saunters back towards her. It’s like a switch has flipped in his head, because Y/N is certain that he’s never looked at her in this way before. “‘But now it isn’t true…now everything is new’…” The closer Harry gets to her, the less Y/N can breathe. By the time he’s a foot away from her, she feels like her breaths are stuttering in her chest, giving barely enough oxygen to her body to keep her going.

Harry, it seems, is unaware of the affect he’s having on her. His long limbs are loose and free as he continues to move closer, the smirk on his face intertwined with something deeper that Y/N’s drunken mind can’t quite put her finger on. “‘And all I’ve learned, has overturned…I beg of you’…”

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and sweat that emanates from Harry as he gets close enough to press his forehead to hers reminds Y/N exactly where she is, and what she’s supposed to be doing. Just managing to bring the microphone to her lips in time, Y/N shoves Harry on his shoulder, pushing him away enough that she can walk past him and distance herself. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion’…” She sings, glancing at him over her shoulder as she moves away. Harry watches her with darkened eyes, a hungry look on his face as Y/N begins to sway her hips to the music. It’s fun, she realizes, being on stage like this, and playing the part with Harry as she sets down a challenge. “‘Lay all your love on me’.”

The crowd cheers as Harry begins to take measured steps towards Y/N again, looking like the cat who wants to catch the canary. Y/N, ever the competitive player, refuses to give in so easily, and quickly extends a hand to two people sitting in front of the stage. They give her support as she slides down from the platform, working her way through the tables without so much as a glance behind herself at Harry, who she knows is following her.

“‘It was like shooting a sitting duck…a little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck’.” Y/N finally turns around, pausing her walk to see Harry hopping down from the stage. She points at him slowly, giving a small shake of her head as she sings the next line. “‘I still don’t know what you’ve done to me…a grownup woman should never fall so easily’…”

Harry’s smirk only grows, and he runs a hand haphazardly through his sweaty curls. He’s enjoying playing the part too, and Y/N can tell by the way he allows her to cross the seating area, so that they’re walking parallel to each other towards the bar. He’s not chasing her down. He’s taking his time, knowing that he’ll get her in the end.

“‘I feel a kind of fear…when I don’t have you near’…” Y/N pauses at a table of two men and a woman, leaning down between the latter two. She only takes her eyes off Harry for a moment to give a questioning look to the man, who gives her a smile of permission. Y/N runs her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm, but keeps her eyes glued to Harry the entire time. “‘Unsatisfied, I skip my pride…I beg you dear’…”

When he sees Y/N’s fingers trace down the collar of someone else, Harry’s brow furrows in jealousy, his jade eyes shifting even darker than they were before. He keeps pace with Y/N as she begins to move again, but there’s an air of tension in his saunter that wasn’t there a moment ago. When he sings, it sounds like half plea, half demand. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry rounds a table of people before beginning to close the distance between him and Y/N, each of them now standing in front of the bar. With the tension between them now palpable, the crowd is moving out of their way discreetly, watching as the two approach each other. Harry licks his red lips before singing the next line. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion…lay all your love on me’.”

Y/N releases her bottom lip from between her teeth, running her fingers over the finished wood of the bar before pulling herself to sit atop it. She crosses her legs carefully before leaning her weight on one hand, giving a small shrug, knowing that Harry’s eyes are glued to her every motion as the bartender pours him a shot. “‘I’ve had a few little love affairs…they didn’t last very long and they’ve been pretty scarce’…”

Harry’s lips wrap around the shot glass, throwing it back just in time to sing the next line as tequila drips from the corner of his mouth. The drop of alcohol runs down his chin to trace the muscles of his neck, and as Harry pulls himself to sit next to Y/N on the bar, the only thing she wants to do is lean forward and lick the liquor from his skin.

“‘I used to think I was sensible’…” Harry passes a newly poured shot to Y/N, meaning for her to take it from him, and he nearly stutters over his next line as Y/N wraps her hand around his own, guiding him to guide the shot to her mouth. There’s a sharp intake of air into the microphone before Harry can sing again, and Y/N smirks at the small victory as she wipes her mouth doing her best to hide how the bitter taste of the tequila affects her. “‘It makes the truth even more incomprehensible’.”

Y/N brings her microphone to her mouth again to sing the next verse with Harry, their eyes locked together as they lean forward into each other. Despite the cheering of the crowd, Y/N can’t help but feel as though she and Harry are the only two in the bar, as if this—very public—performance were small and intimate and just between them.

“‘Because everything is new’…” Harry grips the knot in Y/N’s plaid shirt, easily pulling it undone with one hand. His eyes break away from hers for only a moment to canvas over her newly exposed midriff and lace bralette before snapping back to her gaze with a renewed vigor. He keeps the tails of the shirt clutched within his strong hand as he begins to lean back on the bar, pulling Y/N down with him.

“‘And everything is you’…” Y/N almost falls over before she catches herself, bracing one hand beside Harry’s head on the bar to support her weight as he lays down fully. She can feel how tightly he’s gripping her shirt by how the hem of it is pressing into her skin, and the pressure of the fabric cues another kind of pressure to begin to curl inside her stomach. When she sucks in a breath, she can taste tequila and Harry’s cologne on her tongue, and she struggles to bite back a whine while Harry wraps her shirt tighter around his hand.

“‘And all I’ve learned has overturned’…” Harry releases the wrinkled fabric of her shirt, his now freed hand trading the cloth for the skin of her exposed waist. The coolness of his rings against her flushed skin makes Y/N’s breath stutter, and she curls her body over him more in response. The taste of Harry’s touch has sparked a need to be closer, as well as a new fluttering in her core, and judging by the way Harry keeps licking his lips, he knows it.

Refusing to be the only one affected by their close proximity, Y/N moves her supporting hand from the bar to Harry’s hair, tugging on it harshly as Harry opens his mouth to sing the next line. As Y/N sings “‘I beg of you’…” with a pleading glance, Harry grunts deep in his throat, just managing to pull the microphone away from his lips so that Y/N is the only one to hear it.

Although getting a reaction out of Harry was her goal, actually hearing that reaction is another story entirely. Heat rushes to Y/N’s face as Harry grips her waist tighter, pressing her thighs and hips to his own as he guides the two of them to the beat of the music. The cheering and wolf whistles from the crowd are the only thing that keep Y/N grounded and in the moment, reminding her that—despite how it feels—there are people watching the two of them.

“‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry grinds his hip against Y/N’s once more, moving them in a steady and consistent pace. Y/N repositions her body in return, spreading her legs so she can straddle Harry’s hips more easily. She knows, though, that she needs to start pulling back. She has to do something to get away from him, to break the trance that his touch has her in, before she does something she’ll regret.

“‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Y/N slowly sits back up, letting go of Harry’s hair in order to trail her free hand down his chest. Although she knows that she’s supposed to be distancing herself from him, she can’t resist digging her nails in just the slightest bit, delighting in the hiss that leaves his mouth. “‘Lay all your love on me’…”

Harry sits up slowly as the key changes, his eyes glued to Y/N’s lips as she sings a line by herself, her voice growing ever so slightly fainter every time Harry tugs on his red lips with his teeth, soothing the mark with his tongue a moment after. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’…”

Now that they’re both sitting upright, Harry grips their bodies and turns them so that their legs once again dangle off the bar. Y/N can feel the blood rushing from her head as she drapes her arm over Harry’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as Harry digs his fingertips into her waist. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Harry’s pupils are so blown that his irises practically look black. His chest is heaving with every breath, his exposed skin flushed and sweaty. His curls are a mess from Y/N tangling her fingers in them. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d say Harry looks freshly fucked, and then she wonders if she looks the same. By the way Harry’s looking at her, she thinks it’s safe to say that she does.

“‘Lay all your love on me’.” They finish together, hungry eyes locked with each other while the wolf whistles and clapping gets louder as the final notes of the song trail off. This is where they should break apart, Y/N thinks, her chest moving rapidly with every ragged breath she takes. This is where she should climb off Harry’s lap, climb down from the bar, return the microphones to the DJ, and gather her things and go. This is the end of whatever the hell just happened during that song. This is where she says “Harry, we have to be up early tomorrow to drive, so we should go back to the motel.”

To her credit, Y/N tries. She swallows hard, her mouth as dry as it’s ever been, and sucks in another breath, almost whimpering at the taste of his cologne in the back of her throat. Don’t, she tells herself. She needs to say what she needs to say. Their game is done. It’s over.

“Harry—” She begins, and that’s all she manages to say before Harry is kissing her.

Her body reacts before her mind does, but between the overwhelming sensations all around her and the copious amounts of liquor that her brain is swimming in, Y/N can only register every third movement. The microphone falling from her hand onto the bar as she tangles her fingers back in Harry’s curls, twisting and pulling and receiving the most delightful gasps from him in return. Harry’s teeth catching her bottom lip, just barely tugging on the tender flesh. Ringed hands keeping a firm grip on Y/N’s sides as Harry helps her down from the bar, his lips still pressed firmly against her own. The lingering taste of tequila on Harry’s skin as Y/N kisses down his jaw, unable to completely pull away as Harry struggles to settle their tab with the bartender.

She’s never felt like this before; Y/N didn’t even know it could feel like this. She didn’t know that she could feel an ache so deep inside her, both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and be so completely aware that the only cure for it is the touch of another person. Y/N had been convinced that this rush was something that was fiction, made up by steamy romance novels to entice lonely housewives to dive beneath their pages. And yet here she is, stumbling out of a bar in Cleveland, Ohio, with Harry Styles, someone that she swore up and down that she hated five days ago. Here she is with Harry’s jacket draped over her heated shoulders, his hands slipped underneath, rubbing at her exposed skin as he guides her back to the motel. Here she is with his lips connected to her neck the moment their motel room door is closed, his fingers fumbling with the locks on the door as he refuses to pull away from her.

Yes, Y/N thinks, as she grinds her hips against Harry’s, relishing in the strangled moan that he breathes into her mouth: it’s never felt like this.

“Y/N—” Each pant of her name from his lips sounds like a song. “Fuck, Y/N—” Harry pulls back from her just enough to suck in a full breath, the first in what feels like hours. “I—we—”

“Shut up.” Y/N uses her grip on his hair to pull his head back, trailing open mouthed kisses over his jugular. “Just shut up, Harry, I need—I just need—”

“Need what?” Harry demands, eyes dark as he pushes himself away from her. An involuntary whine at the loss of contact escapes from Y/N’s throat, and Harry has to steel himself again before he can continue. “What do you need?” He asks, struggling to keep his voice controlled. “You—you have to tell me, so that—I need you to be clear.”

Y/N licks over her swollen lips, eyes blown wide with lust as she stares up at Harry, struggling to find the words. “I need…” She swallows once more, inhaling sharply as he grips her shoulders to steady her. “I need you, Harry. Just fuck me. I-I need you to—”

Before she can finish her request, Harry has scooped her up into his arms, tossing her on the creaking motel bed as if she were a rag doll. A gasp of shock leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she’s barely managed to sit up before Harry is caging his body over hers, forcing her back down as he kisses her hard.

Y/N’s hands go straight to the hem of his shirt, tugging roughly on the fabric, shoving it up Harry’s body before he gets the clue to half sit up and pull it off himself. After that, it’s a rush to remove clothes, each of them blindly pulling off shirts and bras and pants. Everything is rushed, and that’s what Y/N wants. She doesn’t want time to lay down and explore, and allow herself space to second guess her decision. All she wants is Harry to do something about the ache in her core, to fill her up so completely that she’ll be feeling him for days. It’s that need that makes Y/N tug on his hair to get his attention as he begins to kiss her thighs.

“No.” She shakes her head haphazardly, and the room spins slightly when she finishes the motion. “No, I just—I just need you to fuck me. I’m ready, Harry—”

“But—” His teeth tug roughly on his bottom lip, mimicking Y/N’s actions from moments ago. “I want to taste—”

“Please, Harry.” Y/N whines, throwing her head back on the motel pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve been full…please…”

The lewd admission catches Harry off guard. “Fucking hell—” He spits out, his hands tugging on his hair as he sits up. “Yeah, I—okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself, the struggle to have a coherent thought clear on his face. “Okay, I need…”

Harry’s eyes begin to search the room, and the moment they settle on his bag in the corner, he rushes towards it. Y/N watches the muscles in his back shift beneath his smooth skin as he unzips the bag, rummaging through it before pulling out a tiny foil square. He tucks the package between his teeth as his hands fumble with his belt, undoing it quickly and pulling it off to toss to the floor. He undoes his button and fly as he climbs back onto the bed, doing his best to waste no time as he situates himself between Y/N’s still spread legs.

“Y’look so hot like this, y’know that?” He can’t stop himself from muttering the words as he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock. Y/N stares hungrily at how swollen he is, only half listening to Harry’s words as she watches his hand stroke himself, the other lifting the condom package to his teeth. He tears the foil open, spitting the little tag from his mouth as he removes the condom from the foil. That foil is soon tossed to the ground before Harry gives himself one last stroke, quickly but carefully rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

Placing his hands on either knee, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs even wider, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of her bare core. “You’re dripping.” Harry says in a low voice, and before Y/N can reply with anything, he runs a ringed finger over her folds and slips it into his mouth.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasps at the unexpected sensation, the minimal contact enough to send her reeling. Harry grins at the response, loving how the pleasure from the small action is clearly written across her face.

“Sorry.” He says with a small shrug, lining himself up with her entrance. “Just wanted a little taste, tha’s all. Couldn’t resist.” Harry drags the tip of his cock along Y/N’s slick core, a look of concentration overtaking his features. “I’ll go slow—”

A sound of protest leaves Y/N’s mouth. “No. Go fast. I need it, Harry, please—” Her plea is cut off by Harry thrusting inside her with one sharp movement, and then Y/N stops talking completely.

There’s a slight feeling of pain, as she wasn’t lying when she said it’s been a while since she’s been with someone, but underneath that pain, pleasure is quickly building as Harry begins to snap his hips towards hers, finding a rhythm within a few thrusts. Y/N knows immediately that Harry is probably one of the largest men—if not the largest man—she’s ever been with, but that’s exactly what she needs right now. The moment he filled her for the first time, there was a feeling of completeness that she’s been missing in her life for a long time. She needed this, she thinks. She needed to be stretched, to be filled, to be fucked, and Harry is the only one that could have fulfilled those needs this well. She’s convinced of it.

It’s far from the most romantic sex Y/N’s ever had; it’s all teeth clacking, biting, scratching, tugging, and growling. And she knows that she should be concerned about how Harry’s teeth biting down on her shoulder is going to leave marks, especially when she has to wear a bridesmaid dress in less than 48 hours. But all of that is exactly what she needs. She doesn’t want Harry to whisper how much he loves her, how close he feels to her, how happy he is to be with her. She doesn’t want to hear him say anything, except—

“Feel so fucking good around my cock.” He growls, his fingertips digging deeper into the flesh of her hips. “So bloody tight, Y/N…”

A sharp gasp tumbles out of Y/N’s throat as Harry swivels his hips, finding the exact spot she needs him the most. “Oh God, Harry, I—” Y/N scratches her nails down his back, surely leaving a trail of angry red marks in her place, as her other hand twists the sheets within her grip. “Fuck, right there, right there, right there—”

“Feels good, yeah? You like it?” Harry manages to bring a hand to her hair, tangling it within her locks and pulling hard. “Tell me.” His voice is so much lower than she’s ever heard it, his accent so much thicker, and the combination sends Y/N’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Tell me how much you love my cock, and—fuck—how much you love me fucking you.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open, a strangled whine echoing from the back of her throat as the head of Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot again. “I-I love it, Harry, I—your cock fills me so well—don’t stop, please don’t stop—!”

Using her moans as fuel, Harry begins to thrust faster, tugging on Y/N’s hair one last time before grasping her hips between his hands to gain more control. If his flushed skin and the sweat covering his entire body is any indication, Y/N can tell that Harry is just as close as she is. Her breathing quickens just as the sound of the bed creaking does, and she brings one hand down to her clit to rub fast circles, desperate to reach her release.

“Harry—” She gasps for what seems the millionth time that night, her body shuddering as she pushes closer and closer to the edge. “I’m so fucking close, Harry, please—”

The growl that falls from Harry’s mouth almost doesn’t sound like him. It’s deeper, more animalistic, and so unlike the careful and slow voice that she’s gotten used to over the last five days. Releasing one hand from her hip, he pushes her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his own to rub circles over her clit. “Cum for me, Y/N. I know you need it, baby, so just—” Harry groans as her walls squeeze his length. “Just cum.”

The command combined with his motions is all it takes to push Y/N over the edge. A breathless gasp falls from her open mouth, and she screws her eyes shut as pleasure courses through her body. It’s so much more intense than anything she’s felt before, so much more pleasurable, so much more dizzying, and just so much more. Small whimpers and Harry’s name are the only things she can think to say as her orgasm makes her movements stutter before falling limply back onto the bed.

“Fuck—” Harry moans roughly as he kisses her one more time, his mouth falling open against hers as her orgasm triggers his own. Although the rhythm of his thrusts stutters, they don’t completely stop, and he continues to slam his hips against her own as he rides out his orgasm. “That’s it, baby—squeeze me tight—” Harry pants into Y/N’s mouth, barely registering anything he’s saying, let alone the pet name that’s begun to fall from his lips. “Christ…”

Things become a blur after that. After Harry pulls out, all Y/N can focus on is how empty she feels without his thick cock filling her to the brim, and she doesn’t even realize that he’s gotten off the bed until he returns, his weight causing the whole bed frame to creak once more. With both of them so sweaty, Harry only pulls the top sheet over their panting bodies, pressing his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck as his eyes close.

Neither of them says anything, and for multiple reasons. What exactly is there to say? And, more pressing, what exactly is Y/N capable of saying right now? There are no words running through her mind. All she can do is think in terms of physical contact and needs, and those two things tell her everything she knows in this moment. She knows that Harry is in just his boxers now because she can’t feel the rough fabric of his pants against her bare skin. She knows that she needs his hands on her, cupping her breasts the way he is. She knows that if he were to move away from her, she’d go chasing after him. She knows that she’s completely worn out—completely fucked out, really—and above all else, she knows that whatever needs to be discussed between them can be discussed the next morning.

Harry, however, seems to have a different approach. His face still pressed into her neck, he mumbles something against her sweat soaked skin, low and deep and completely inaudible. Y/N feels an open mouthed kiss pressed to her neck, and then hears another mumble, this one even quieter than the last.

“Hm?” Y/N barely manages to hum the syllable in her exhaustion.

There’s no response, no repeat of the quiet phrases, and it takes Y/N a few minutes of feeling Harry’s breathing even out to realize that he’s fallen asleep. If she were sober and had the mental capacity to examine things, Y/N would wonder what it was that Harry whispered into her skin. But her brain is swimming in exhaustion and endorphins and tequila, and the only thing she can do is close her eyes and allow her breathing to sync up with the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.

…

The first thing Y/N registers the next morning is the shrill ringing of her cell phone, which somehow made its way to the bedside table in her drunken fervour the night before. The second thing she registers is the pounding of her head, like she can feel each pump of blood to her brain, and the uncomfortably dry feeling in her mouth, as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton. The third thing Y/N registers is—

“Christ.” Harry groans into her neck, his voice raspy from sleep and laced with irritation. “God, who is calling right now?”

Right. The third thing she registers, probably the most complicated of all, Y/N thinks, is just how much of Harry’s taut and tattooed bare skin is pressed against her own. His strong arms are thrown over her waist, clutching her tight to his chest. In the back of her mind, she’s vaguely aware of the chain of Harry’s cross pressing into her breast, probably leaving a small red indentation along with the other marks he left on her last night.

Last night.

Y/N lets out a small whine as the previous evening comes rushing back to her. It’s a blur of alcohol, ABBA, and Harry. Harry is everywhere, in every blurred picture her hungover brain can conjure. Laughing at her from across the table. Smirking at her on stage. Staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes as he pulled her down on top of him on the bar, grinding his hips into hers. Kissing her. Kissing her multiple times. Coming back to their room with his hands leaving scorching imprints over every inch of her. And now, him laying next to her, clutching the two of them together like they’ve always done this. Like it’s natural.

The phone rings again, louder than the last time, and Harry curses under his breath, the short exhale of air leaving goosebumps along Y/N’s neck. He lifts his head just barely as he reaches across Y/N’s body, grabbing her phone from the bedside table and not bothering to check the caller ID as he answers.

“Hello?” He says, the rasp of sleep still clear his voice. Within three seconds, Harry’s entire body tenses against Y/N, his arm constricting around her waist enough to shift her on the bed.

Y/N lifts her head up when she feels the change, finally opening her eyes just enough to read the change in Harry’s body language. What she finds are dark and stormy green eyes, a swollen red mouth pressed into a thin line, and a deep crease between his furrowed brow, all of it such a contrast from the hazy memories of him the night before.

“I—yeah, she’s right here.” Harry mutters, his eyes snapping to Y/N’s face for just a moment. “I’ll—oh. Yeah, no, the trip’s been…good. Yeah. Not too much traffic.” His arm moves off her waist as he pulls away from her, rolling onto his back as the bed creaks beneath them. With his newly freed hand, Harry covers his eyes, rubbing them for a moment as the irritation on his face grows. “Yeah, it was nice of me to give her a ride. Yeah.” He sucks in a breath. “Well, she’s—she’s awake now. Here. I’ll let you two talk.”

Y/N props herself up on one elbow, careful to keep the sheet pressed to her chest so that she’s not exposed. She knows that Harry’s already seen everything, touched everything, and kissed everything, but the sudden change in his demeanor is telling her that she needs to be guarded, even if she has no idea what caused it.

Harry holds out her phone for her, his face stony as Y/N slowly accepts it. “Harry—?” She begins, but he just gives a rough jerk of his head, and offers no other explanation.

Eyes still glued to Harry’s face, Y/N brings the phone to her ear, clearing the sleep from her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The familiar cadence of Brant’s voice crackles through the phone speaker, an indication of how far away he is from her. “It’s good to finally hear your voice; I haven’t been able to catch you the last few days.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Harry as her body goes cold, pressing the sheet tighter to her chest. “Brant.” She whispers his name unintentionally; her body won’t allow her to say it any louder. “Hi.”

At the sound of Brant’s voice leaving her lips, Harry throws the covers off of himself, jerkily pulling himself off of the low motel room bed. He snatches his jeans off the floor, and doesn’t give Y/N another glance as he walks to the small bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

“Hi.” Brant says again, completely unaware of what’s happening on the other end of the telephone line. “I’ve missed you. Where are you now?”

“Uh, Cleveland.” Y/N says weakly, stumbling her way out of the bed to her duffel bag. She grabs a new bra and t-shirt, along with her comfiest pair of pants. Without Harry beside her, she’s freezing. “Today’s our last day of driving.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Brant replies easily. “The wedding is tomorrow, then?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N’s eyes flicker to the bathroom as the sound of the shower starting travels through the wood of the door. “And tonight is the rehearsal dinner.”

Brant makes a sound of acknowledgement on the other end of the phone. “That’ll be nice! Do you know if you’re flying back?”

“Uh—” Y/N pauses her movements, her pants half pulled up her legs. That, honestly, is a good question, and one which seems as though the answer is changing with every passing moment. “I guess I’ll call the airline and…see if I can fly back. Maybe the storms will have passed.”

“You must have driven through them, right? In Utah, or wherever they were?” Brant asks curiously. “Did they seem that bad? Honestly, I’ve always found thunder to be relaxing. I think most people do.”

Y/N tugs her t-shirt over her head with one hand, accidentally bumping her chin as she does so. The motion causes her to bite down on her tongue, and she lets out a curse under her breath, not even bothering to correct Brant. It doesn’t matter, she thinks. He probably wouldn’t remember. “Yeah. Relaxing.”

The sound of the shower turning off catches her attention, distracting her from what Brant says next. “I—sorry—” She mutters in a distracted tone, raking her fingers through her sleep and sex mussed hair. “What was that?”

“I said let me know when you’re on your way back from New York, so I’ll make us a dinner reservation.” Brant repeats himself without suspicion of Y/N’s distracted tone. “We just got some new files at work that I think you’ll be very interested in.”

The bathroom door creaks open, and Harry emerges from the cloud of shower steam. He’s dressed in just his pants, his marked chest still damp from the shower. Although he catches Y/N’s eye for a moment, he quickly looks away, rubbing his towel through his wet curls as he turns to search for a shirt. The red marks of Y/N’s nails are prominent on his otherwise unmarked back.

“Dinner?” Y/N repeats slowly, chewing on her cuticle as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you—you still want to get dinner?”

“Of course. I enjoy our weekly dinners, don’t you?” Brant asks, confusion finally slipping into his voice. “I’ve missed them.”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over her bottom lip. “Okay. Yeah. Dinner. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know when I book a flight home.”

“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ll let you get on the road. Let me know when you’re available.” Brant’s voice already sounds more and more distant. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Y/N replies lamely, letting her phone drop to the crumpled bed sheets.

There’s a rustling behind her, the sound of a belt clicking, of the zipper on a duffel bag being pulled shut. Y/N waits for a moment, to give Harry the chance to say something to her, but nothing comes. Finally, she twists around on the bed, her nerves running on high.

Harry is completely dressed now, a black t-shirt covering his previously bare chest, and he’s tied his familiar green bandana into his damp chestnut locks. His sunglasses are hanging on the neck of his shirt, but even without them covering his emerald eyes, Y/N can’t decipher anything that’s swirling within them.

“That—that was Brant.” She says finally, scratching a nail over the palm of her hand.

Harry jerks his head in a nod as he shoulders his duffel bag. “Yeah. I heard.” Tapping his fingers against the leather strap, he finally spares a glance at Y/N. “He wants to take you to dinner, huh?”

Running her teeth along her bottom lip, Y/N takes a moment before she replies. “Harry, I—”

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters, taking long strides to the door and unlocking it with a harsh turn of his hand. “Just hurry up, yeah? I want to get on the road soon, so we’re not late to the rehearsal dinner.”

When he slams the door behind him, Y/N breaks.

…

And just like that, it’s like they’re back at square one.

It really feels like the first day all over again, Y/N thinks, in every sense of the sentiment. From the way she and Harry sit in silence, each avoiding the other’s gaze, to how every single one of Harry’s movements is filled with a tight and tense irritation. Even the sound of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” is familiar, echoing through the speakers of the car like a soundtrack to an old memory.

After four hours, the silence is finally getting to her. She can’t stop shifting in her seat, her muscles seizing from hours on end in the same position—although, frankly, her soreness may partially be a result of her and Harry’s activities from the night before—and with every short and hard breath Harry sighs, Y/N gets more and more antsy.

“Harry.” She says finally, risking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift, both grips tight enough to stretch his skin over the bones of his knuckles until it goes white. At the sound of Y/N’s voice, his jaw flexes, but he shows no other evidence that he heard her.

A frustrated sigh falls past Y/N’s lips. “Harry.” She says again, firmer this time. “Are you going to ignore me all the way to the Catskills?”

Realizing that he can’t feign deafness, Harry lets his shoulders lift once and drop down again in a quick motion. “’M not ignoring you.” He mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“We’re not talking. At all.” Y/N taps her fingers against her knee, just slightly off the beat of the music. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?”

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice flatter than she’s ever heard it. “What’s there to talk about?”

Y/N twists her body in her seat, her seat belt nearly cutting into her throat with how quickly she moves. “What the hell do you mean, what’s there to talk about? There’s plenty! Last night—”

Harry cuts over her with a sharp tone, still refusing to look away from the road. “Last night we got drunk, and we made a mistake.” His grip tightens even more on the gear shift as he moves it to accelerate the car. “And it shouldn’t have happened.”

It takes a few moment for the words to register in her brain, and Y/N blinks slowly as the process unfolds. “You think it was a mistake?” She tries to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible.

“I do.” Harry nods tightly, and while Y/N thinks that she can detect something else underneath his tone, his dark sunglasses hide the truth of his thoughts from her. “We got caught up with trying to—to pretend we’re not who we are. But we know who we are.”

If Y/N’s brain couldn’t process Harry’s words a moment ago, it’s working in overdrive now as she draws a million different conclusions from the conversation. What the fuck does “we know who we are” mean? Wasn’t the whole point of this trip—the long lesson they’d learned together—that both of them were different than the other had thought? Hadn’t Harry proved to her, over and over, how he was so much more considerate and empathetic than she’d previously imagined? Hadn’t she shown him that she wasn’t the Ice Queen he thought she was, wasn’t as controlling, wasn’t as perfect? Hadn’t that been a good thing? Hadn’t they bonded at roadside fruit stands, small souvenir shacks, ghost town gas stations, and dingy motel rooms?

But maybe…maybe she had imagined all of that, because the way that Harry is actively avoiding her gaze is telling her that he isn’t thinking the same thing. Everything from his body language, to his tone of voice, to his attitude, is telling her that he’s just as stubborn and closed off as he was when they first met. He hasn’t changed. If he had, he wouldn’t be refusing to do something as simple as look at her.

Still, something about the interaction doesn’t sit right with Y/N. Although she turns to face the windshield again, she keeps Harry in the corner of her gaze. “Is this…” She swallows hard. “Does this have something to do with Brant calling?”

A harsh snort is all the response she gets. “Christ, no. Trust me, nothing that prick can do has that much of an affect on me.” Even from behind his sunglasses, Y/N can tell that Harry is rolling his eyes. “Although I suppose it is a reminder of where you belong.”

A flash of irritation rips up Y/N’s spine. “A reminder of what?” She repeats, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me, Y/N, don’t make me say it again.” Harry taps a finger to the song, perfectly on the beat. They’re out of sync, Y/N realizes. Had they ever been in sync?

No, she decides. They hadn’t. She’d just been fooling herself. Being in the car for five days with only Harry for company had deluded her, but soon she’d be with Jo, and a million other people, and when she’s not in stuck in Harry’s car, smelling Harry’s cologne, listening to Harry’s music, she’ll have a clear head. She’ll be able to think straight.

“Fine.” Y/N crosses her arms firmly over her chest, leaning her head against the cool glass of the passenger window. A sign welcoming them to the state of New York whizzes past. “I won’t make you say it again. You don’t have to say anything.”

…

“So? What do you think?”

Y/N steps over the threshold of the cozy cabin, analyzing every little detail of the room as quickly as she can. The interior seems to be one open concept room, cleverly split up with small architectural dividers. The living room and kitchen flowed into each other smoothly, with a kitchen island dividing the space. To the left of the living room is a small reading nook, holding a comfortable looking wicker swing chair and a half-size bookshelf that seems to be well stocked. Separating the reading nook from the rest of the cabin is the staircase, which Y/N presumes leads up to the master bedroom and bathroom that’s lofted above on the halved second floor. Between the wall of windows giving a beautiful view of the forest, the fire quietly cracking in the living room, and the potted plants scattered around the cabin, Y/N has to admit that she thinks she could live in this space for the rest of her life.

“It’s beautiful, Jo.” She finally replies, setting down her suitcase and duffel bag as she continues to look around. She walks to the living room first, brushing her fingers over the cable knit blanket that’s draped over the back of the comfortable looking couch. “Is this for you and Laure?”

“Nope. It’s for me and you.” Jo replies, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge. She pulls out a bottle of rosé, motioning over her shoulder to the cupboard. “Grab a couple wine glasses, would you?”

Y/N crosses to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards until she finds the glasses. Setting them down on the island, she gives Jo a confused look. “Me and you?”

Jo gives her a familiar grin as she uncorks the wine, and the sight of it lights a warm fire in Y/N’s chest. It feels like home. “It’s tradition for the bride not to see the bride before the wedding, isn’t it? So after the rehearsal dinner, Laure and I will say goodbye until the ceremony tomorrow, and you and I—” She fills Y/N’s glass liberally. “Will have one last night of single girl fun. And then you can have the cabin to yourself tomorrow night, because I will be on my honeymoon, and, hopefully, getting laid.”

Y/N smiles back at her as she lifts her glass, clinking it against Jo’s. “Sounds like a plan.” After taking a long sip, Y/N leans her elbows on the counter, propping her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow. Married!”

“Yeah, well, that’s old news.” Jo waves her hand as she lowers her wine glass from her lips, her inquisitive eyes alight with mischief. “I’d rather know how the trip with Harry was. Are you two finally getting along? The last time I called, you actually sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

Y/N pauses with her wine glass half lifted to her lips. Part of her wants to tell Jo everything, because she always tells Jo everything. It feels wrong to have a secret from her. But then again, she’s never had a reason to have a secret before. Right now, however…the last thing Jo and Laure need the night before their wedding—three hours before the rehearsal dinner—is to be stressed because the maid of honour and the best man had a drunken one night stand in Cleveland, Ohio.

“I wouldn’t say we’re getting along.” Y/N says diplomatically, taking a sip of wine between her words. “We’re…a bit better, I suppose. But we’re not that close.”

“Really?” When Jo raises an eyebrow, Y/N almost swears that she can detect a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But Harry said—”

“He said what?” Y/N asks quickly, the diplomatic tone disappearing immediately.

Jo tugs on her bottom lip as she gives a small shrug of her shoulders. “Nothing, I guess. I don’t know. I overheard him and Laure talking last night, but I couldn’t really make much of it out. It sounded like you two were at a bar.”

The new information makes Y/N pause. Harry had called Laure while they were at the bar last night. Harry had felt the need to call Laure while they were at the bar last night. What had been so urgent, so pressing, that he needed to speak to her right then and there?

“A bar, yeah.” Y/N finally replies after a moment. “It was alright. We just had a couple drinks to relax from being in the car.”

“Just drinks? That’s all? Nothing else?”

Y/N clears her throat, gulping down the rest of her wine before answering. “That’s it. Nothing else.”

…

“Here you go, Miss Bride.” Y/N grins at Jo as she tops off her mimosa, fixing the tie of her pink silk robe as she settles back down in her chair. “Something to relax you, yeah?”

Jo glances up at Y/N, her pen pausing over the page of her notebook. She’s careful when she moves her head, so as not to disturb the hairstylist that’s carefully curling her hair, but still manages to meet Y/N’s eye. “I’m relaxed.” She argues, but takes a sip of the drink nonetheless. “I just love mimosas. You can’t blame me for that.”

Y/N gives a slight shrug as she brushes a strand of her own carefully styled hair over her shoulder. Jo, being Jo, had insisted on sleeping in as much as she could that morning, so when the hair and makeup lady had arrived two hours ago, Y/N had been the first one to get made over. Which, honestly, she quite enjoyed, but the real feat would be remaining picture perfect until the ceremony, which is still two hours away.

“Will you do something for me?” Jo asks suddenly, her pen still scratching over her notebook. She finishes signing her name with a messy signature, waiting until the hairdresser has paused her movements to rip the page from the notebook and fold it up. She quickly writes Laure’s name on the front and extends the note to Y/N. “Will you bring this to Laure?”

Although Y/N accepts the note from her automatically, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “This isn’t an explanation of why you’re leaving her at the altar, is it?”

Jo flips Y/N off with an elegantly painted fingernail. “No, you jerk. We agreed to write letters to each other right before the wedding. As a little keepsake.”

A sudden lump develops in Y/N’s throat as she turns the note over in her hands, her mind flickering back to the last time she’d read something Jo wrote for Laure. How Harry’s voice had sounded reciting Laure’s words for Jo. “You two are sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Y/N finishes her mimosa before standing up, tightening her robe once again. “I’ll take it to her now. Where’s her cabin?”

“Just down the path towards the resort. Take a left when you reach the arrow sign.” Jo instructs her, setting her notebook down beside her before relaxing back into her chair. Her eyes close as the hairdresser continues styling her hair. “You’ll find it.”

Y/N nods, slipping on her scuffed up Vans before dashing outside. When the slight chill in the morning air hits her, she pulls her silk dressing gown around her tighter, and debates whether or not she should grab a proper jacket. She decides against it, however, and ignores the goosebumps popping up on her bare legs as she begins to walk down the path Jo mentioned.

It’s a quiet and calm morning, and Y/N can hear birds chirping and flittering through the pine trees around them. The trees themselves add a wonderful scent to the air, in addition to the faint smell that indicates it may rain later. Glancing up, Y/N can see that the sky is overcast, giving another indication of future weather patterns. A small sigh escapes her. A storm would be just the thing that’s needed today, she thinks wryly.

When Y/N reaches the arrow sign, which points towards the lake, the main resort building, and the cabins, she takes a sharp left. And practically slams into Harry’s chest.

On instinct, Harry’s strong hands grip her arms, steadying her as she stumbles back from him. Y/N’s eyes widen as she registers who she almost walked into, and she can tell Harry is just realizing it’s her. His grip on her tightens for just a moment before it releases, and he takes a step back from her, creating space between their bodies.

“Sorry.” Y/N says after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was just—”

“Yeah.” Harry holds up his hand, and for the first time Y/N realizes that he’s holding a note identical to hers. “You’re on messenger duty too, huh?”

Biting her lip, Y/N nods slowly, holding up her own note. “Mhmm.”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Y/N doesn’t miss how Harry’s green irises pause during his scan of her bare legs. Crossing her ankles together, Y/N lets her eyes wander too, admiring for a moment how Harry’s grey sweatpants cling to his hips. But only for a moment.

“Well, here.” Y/N pushes the note towards him, taking the note that he trades her in return. “How’s Laure doing?”

Harry gives a half shrug, turning Jo’s note over and over in his fingers. “Pretty decent, except she won’t eat anything. Says she’s too nervous.”

Y/N cracks a small smile at the image of Laure, someone who is usually so self assured and confident, being too nervous about anything. “Tell her she can’t have a drink until she eats. That’s how I got some toast into Jo.”

“I’ll do that.” Harry says with a terse nod.

A beat of silence falls between the two of them, the only sounds audible being the chirping of birds and the wind in the trees. The latter sends a shiver through Y/N, and she wraps her arms around herself to rub her bare skin, trying to find a bit of warmth in the shade of the forest.

A crease appears between Harry’s brow as he registers the motion, and he quickly shrugs off his own jacket. Before Y/N can refuse, he’s draping the fabric around her shoulders, careful not to touch any bare skin.

Although Y/N fixes the drape of the jacket, her mouth opens to protest. “Harry—”

“I should go. I have to give this to Laure, and get her to eat something.” Harry’s voice is gruff as he takes a step back. “I suppose I’ll…see you at the wedding?”

Y/N nods slowly, her fingers still grazing over the hem of the jacket. “Yeah.” She should say more, she thinks. She should voice her anger, or her hurt, or whatever the hell it is that’s curdling like a hot ball of lead inside her stomach, but she can’t think of the words. “Yeah, I—” I’m sorry. I miss you. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could do things over. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

…

“Uh, hello. Can everyone hear me?”

Y/N watches with expectant eyes as Harry leans forward over the podium, his pink lips brushing against the microphone for just a moment before he takes a step back. He looks so different than the last time she’d seen him with a microphone, she thinks. He’s dressed so much more formally, in a striking emerald suit that matches the colour palette of the wedding, along with Y/N’s dress. His cheeks are flushed from champagne, his eyes bright, but there’s a hint of nerves under his thick accent.

Harry raises his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat quietly as he unfolds a piece of paper and smooths it on the podium. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Harry Styles. I have had the honour of being Laure’s best man today, as well as her best friend since we were teenagers.” Harry pauses his speech to smile at Laure, the fondness for the bride apparent in his eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together—I’ve watched her go through a lot, too—and she’s always come out on the other side better than ever. An example of this is when she made the decision—after living in England her whole life, never leaving, living in the same small brownstone for eighteen years—to move to America for university.”

Y/N lifts her champagne to her lips, taking a small sip while keeping her eyes glued to Harry. The more he talks, the more relaxed he appears, as he naturally falls into the role of a performer again. Out of the corner of her eye, she can practically see him charming every woman in the room, and it takes all her concentration not to roll her eyes.

“She’d made the decision a bit impulsively, and—in true Laure fashion—stuck to it like the stubborn person she is.” Harry laughs lightly, shaking his head at the memory as Jo nods in agreement beside Y/N. “She was so certain that moving was what she wanted, so determined to do it—and then the night before her flight, she showed up at my house in tears, talking about how she couldn’t possibly go through with the move. She couldn’t leave behind everything she’d known.” Glancing down at his notes for a moment, Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. “It freaked me out a bit, I won’t lie. To see someone who’s usually so sure of themselves question such a big decision. But I assured her that everything would be fine, that moving forward was always scary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do. Life always pushes us forward, whether we’re ready for it or not. So Laure left, and a month later, I decided to go visit her in America, expecting to find her incredibly homesick, in tears, a mess.” A small smile begins to play at the corner of Harry’s lip. “Instead, I arrived to find her adjusted, happy, and about to go on a date with a girl she had met named Jo.”

A laugh ripples through the wedding guests, and Y/N can’t help but smile in spite of herself.

“And I, uh…I was at a loss for words that day.” Harry’s eyes flicker to the head table, settling on the two brides with a happy smile, and yet…something in his eyes looks flatter, like he’s trapped in a deep thought. “I thought I was going to visit my friend, and comfort her, and instead I found her on a date, completely fine. She didn’t need me to comfort her. She was—and still is—so incredibly resilient. She always has been.”

Harry’s eyes travel again, but this time, they settle on Y/N. She shifts in her seat as he looks her over, his eyes phasing emotions again while his tongue swipes over his lips quickly. “So anyways—” Harry quickly looks away when he catches Y/N’s eye, turning his attention back to the audience of wedding guests. “I suppose I’m the one to thank for this marriage, because if I hadn’t pushed Laure to come to America, she would never have met Jo.” An easygoing smile pulls at his pink lips as the crowd laughs lightly. “And now, Laure…you’re at that same place again. A new beginning. Except this time, you’re not alone. You managed to find something that most of us…” Harry hesitates again. “Most of us spend our entire lives searching for, and when we find it, we manage to f—screw it up.” His eyes flicker to Laure’s grandmother when he catches the curse word, and Y/N hides a small laugh behind her champagne glass. “But you didn’t. You and Jo…you’re lucky. You figured out what you wanted, and you didn’t let anything—fear, anxiety, or your…your own pride—” Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering to Y/N once more, and the glance makes her skin burn beneath her dress. “—stop you. You’re both an inspiration to all of us. I love you two. To Jo and Laure!”

Y/N murmurs the toast with the rest of the crowd, raising her glass of champagne and draining it as her head spins with Harry’s words. A waiter walks by and quickly refills the glass, grazing by Harry as he makes his way back to his seat on Laure’s right side. Y/N barely gives herself a moment to catch his unreadable emerald eyes before she stands, carefully picking up the hem of her dress as she walks to the podium. It’s her turn now.

Stepping up to the microphone, Y/N clears her throat, resting her free hand against the wood to steady herself. “Thank you, Harry, that was…lovely.” Y/N begins, allowing herself one more stolen look at him. His brow is furrowed, hands folded together over the cream tablecloth as his eyes focus on her.

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the maid of honour. Jo and I have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, when she punched a boy in the nose for me, which, funnily enough, wasn’t the last time she’d have to do that.” A laugh rolls through the room, and Y/N gives an endeared look to Jo’s sheepish grin before turning to face the wedding guests again. “I’ve had the good fortune of having her on my side from day one, and…I know just how lucky that makes me. There’s so many times where I’d…I wouldn’t have been able to handle what life threw at me if I didn’t have Jo with me. She’s kind, and compassionate, and fiery, and just…the very best person I know. And if you know her, then I’m sure you’d agree.”

Y/N takes a moment to breathe, her parched tongue swiping quickly over her lips. “I’ve, um, I’ve never been a perfect person. I’ve never been very good at…articulating what I feel, or—or making a hard choice. I’ve always followed a safer path, out of…fear, I suppose.” Not for the first time since she began talking, Y/N’s eyes travel to Harry. He still has the same stoic expression over his features, but his eyes…she can tell he’s hanging on every word she’s saying, and is analyzing every syllable.

“But Jo has never done that.” Y/N continues, shaking her gaze from Harry to settle on her best friend. “Even when she’s been afraid, she’s pushed forward, usually dragging me along with her. And it’s a good thing she has, because I wouldn’t have half the stories I have now if not for her.” Y/N cracks a smile. “But she just—when Jo loves you, you know it. She never hesitates to tell anyone. She never worries about it being too much. She has the biggest heart, and if you’re lucky—really lucky—she’ll keep you inside it. And I used to worry about her, because in my mind, that was dangerous. Being so open was so terrifying to me, I was certain that it would backfire for Jo. And then she met Laure.”

Although it’s a struggle, Y/N manages to train her eyes on Laure without letting them travel to Harry. “Laure and Jo may seem different on the surface, but they both share giant hearts. And their differences balance each other out so perfectly. You two—I never really believed in soul mates until I saw the two of you together.” Y/N admits, biting down hard on her lip when she catches Harry shifting in his chair from the corner of her eye. “But the way you two know each other, and speak to each other, and love each other…anyone who sees it can’t help but know that you’re meant for each other. That you’ve been meant for each other since the beginning of time. Every choice you made, every path you took—all of it led you two to each other, because that’s what was destined to happen. You—” Y/N’s voice catches in her throat, and she takes a moment to compose herself before speaking again. “You’re going to be happy together, because you were meant to be. It’s as simple as that.”

Y/N knows that she can’t say anything else without beginning to unravel, so she simply raises her champagne glass in the air, deciding it’s best to leave it at that. “To Jo and Laure.”

Above the echoes of the wedding guests, Y/N can hear Harry’s unmistakable voice.

…

“‘She’s like the wind…through my tree’…”

With her champagne glass raised to her lips, Y/N pensively watches as Jo and Laure turn to the music in each other’s arms, holding one another close as the voice of Patrick Swayze drifts through the speakers. When the pair had originally told Y/N that they wanted to dance to a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for their first dance, Y/N had laughed at the choice. Now, however, as she watches Laure brush back a strand of hair from Jo’s face, her lips drifting down to whisper something in her new wife’s ear, Y/N has to admit that the song is the perfect choice for them.

“They look happy, don’t they?”

Y/N recognizes Harry’s voice, not needing to turn her head away from the couple on the dance floor to know that he’s moved from his chair three seats down. Although the feeling of his warm breath on her neck is enough to make her shudder, as well as bring back memories of the nights they spent together, Y/N does her best to keep herself composed.

“They do.” She agrees after a moment, setting her fluted glass down on the table. She keeps her fingers around the base, gently gliding them over the smooth crystal absentmindedly as she finally turns her head just enough to catch a sight of Harry.

He’s moved himself to Jo’s chair, with one hand braced against the table and one hand lightly settled on the back of Y/N’s seat. He removed his suit jacket after his speech, but his waist coat is still buttoned properly, despite the sleeves of his dress shirt now being rolled to his elbows, exposing his tattoos. His face is just as pensive as it’s been all day, but there’s some sort of change that Y/N can’t quite put a finger on. There’s less of a guard in his emerald eyes, she thinks, before turning her attention back to the dance floor.

“Do you…” Harry licks his lips once, swiping a hand through his carefully styled curls before brushing over the back of his neck. “Would you like to dance? With me?”

Y/N’s movements against the crystal flute pause. That question was the last thing she expected him to ask. “I…” Clearing her throat, she keeps her eyes focused on the swaying of Jo and Laure. “I don’t know.”

A vibration on the back of Y/N’s chair lets her know that Harry’s tapping his fingers against it, the pattern familiar after watching him play the same rhythm on the steering wheel for five days. “You don’t have to, so—don’t feel like you have to say yes. But I just…I don’t know. I thought it would be nice.”

Yes, Y/N thinks wistfully, pursing her lips slightly at the nervous tone in Harry’s voice. It would be nice. To be wrapped in his arms again, his body close enough that she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath his formal clothing. To feel his calloused hands within her own again, and resting on her waist, pulling her closer to himself with every passing moment…

“It…” Y/N glances down for a moment, fixing a crease in her dress with careful attentiveness. “It would be nice, yeah. Until we try ripping each other’s throats out in the middle of the wedding.”

The joke is only half a joke, and Harry’s laugh is only half in amusement. “I didn’t really plan on that.”

“Well, it seems that things we don’t plan on keep happening, so…” As the music begins to fade out, Y/N finally turns her head to look at Harry straight on. “That’s not really a reassuring statement.”

A flicker of irritation flits through Harry’s eyes, a sight that’s become familiar in all her years of knowing him. “It was a simple question, Y/N. Do you want to dance or not?”

As Y/N’s own irritation escalates, she knows that she should say no. The best thing for her to do right now would be to distance herself from Harry, to get some space to clear her head, and to keep herself from making a scene. Whatever there is to talk about—if there even is something they need to talk about—can be done at a later date, preferably not in the middle of a wedding. And yet—

“Fine.” Y/N finished off her champagne glass, setting it back down on the table gingerly as a new song begins to drift through the speakers. “Let’s go.”

Harry stands from his seat first, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up. Although she’s wary, she takes it, the sensation of his cool rings against her own fingers growing more and more familiar with each moment she spends touching them.

A few more couples have joined Jo and Laure on the dance floor now, and Y/N and Harry fit right in as he leads her to the center, keeping her hand held firmly in his own as his free hand finds her waist. Y/N rests her own hand on his shoulder, gripping his sturdy frame carefully.

“‘Is love so fragile…and the heart so hollow’…”

The song, Y/N realizes, doing her best to focus on anything but the way Harry’s gaze is locked onto her with a frightening intensity, is one that she’s heard a few times over their road trip together. The beat of the song is as familiar as a memory as the two of them sway to it, their motions careful and controlled.

“‘You’re saying I’m fragile; I try not to be…I search only for something I can’t see’…”

Harry’s hand on her waist, Y/N can’t help but notice, is so much more unsure than it was a few nights ago, when he pulled her close on top of the bar. When he guided her movements in a way that was so much more frenzied than he’s doing now, and in a way that she misses. She’s missed it, that breathless feeling. The feeling of not knowing what’s coming next, and being enthralled by the unknown of it all.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today…give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirking up ever so slightly lets Y/N know that he’s listening just as intently to the lyrics as she is, and has the same events and memories floating through his head. His hand begins to get braver, tightening his grasp on her as his hand begins to rub gently over her hip.

“Harry…” His name slips from Y/N’s lips involuntarily as she meets his jade eyes in question. From the corner of her eye, she can see Laure and Jo watching the two of them as they dance, whispering into each other’s ears like girls gossiping in a school hallway. “What—?”

“Sh.” The sound is soft as it falls past Harry’s red lips, the crease between his brow slackening slightly as he sighs. “Just…don’t speak. Not right now.”

“‘You in the moonlight…with your sleepy eyes…could you ever love a man like me’…”

The request is easy enough, but Y/N can’t make herself listen to it as she cocks her head to the side, the furrow of her own brow matching Harry’s. “Why?”

“‘And you were right…when I walked into your house…I knew I’d never want to leave’…”

The breath that Harry sucks in is mostly taken through his teeth, his lips pursing immediately after as he contemplates his answer. “I just want to…remember this moment. Properly remember it, before tonight ends, and we…”

“‘Sometimes I’m a strong man…sometimes cold and scared’…”

“…We go our separate ways.” Harry finally finishes, his eyes shifting to the floor as he pulls Y/N even closer to his chest. Her elbow is completely bent to her body as her fingers drift further from his shoulder, moving closer to where the slope of his neck begins.

Although the explanation makes sense, the thought of going a separate way from Harry catches Y/N’s breath in her throat, so much so that she can barely choke out a reply. “Okay.” She manages, the lump in her throat growing with every passing second.

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Eyes drifting closed of their own accord, Y/N leans her head forward, settling her cheek into the curve of Harry’s shoulder. The smell of his cologne lingers in the fabric of his emerald waistcoat, intoxicating her further with every breath she takes.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Something warm and soft presses against the top of Y/N’s head, and she knows that it’s Harry’s own cheek resting against her. A gentle sigh falls from his mouth, and Y/N feels every moment of it, from the rise and fall of his chest against hers to the breath of air that blows slowly from his lips. She memorizes the motions, something for her to play in her head again later when she’s alone on a plane back to L.A., where her regular life is waiting for her. Where Brant is waiting for her.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

Y/N quickly lifts a finger to her eye, wiping away the moisture that’s pooling on her lash line before returning her grip to Harry’s shoulder. “If I said…” She hesitates, taking the time to choose her words carefully. She needs to choose them carefully. “If I said that I loved every moment of the road trip…would you believe me?”

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Harry squeezes her hand in his own, his entire body tightening in response to her words, and for a moment, Y/N fears that she’s overstepped. An apology is already forming in her mouth, about to spill from her tongue, when Harry’s response cuts her off, his voice hesitant and anxious and so quiet that she almost can’t make out the words.

“If I said that I loved every moment I’ve ever spent with you, and not just these last five days, would you believe me?”

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Y/N’s eyes snap open, her head quickly lifting from Harry’s shoulder to look at him with wide and astonished eyes. Although the struggle is written clearly upon his face, he doesn’t shy his eyes away from hers, and instead holds her gaze as the voice of Stevie Nicks continues to croon over the speakers.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

As the music fades out, another song begins to fade in, increasing the tempo and causing the other couples around them to break apart and mill around the dance floor. Only Y/N and Harry stay pressed together, stuck in a bubble of all their own, frozen in a moment of change, and unable to move forward or back in the same way they once had.

Over the fabric of her dress, Y/N can feel Harry’s thumb brushing against her hip, sending electrifying pulses throughout her body. A loose curl has fallen from his styled hair into the path of his eyes, dusting over his eyelashes lightly as he blinks. Did she believe him, she wonders? Could she believe him?

“Can we…” Her mouth is dry when she tries to respond, and she licks her lips quickly, noticing how Harry’s eyes flicker to follow the motion. “Can we discuss this after the wedding? I just—I don’t want to take attention away from Jo and Laure—”

“Yeah.” Harry nods roughly, his hand squeezing hers one last time before he slowly drops it, stepping back from her with great care. Y/N has to bite her tongue to stop herself from whining in protest.

“Yeah.” Harry repeats the word as he fixes his hair, his eyes drifting from hers. “We can discuss it later.”

…

Later, after Jo and Laure cut the cake, after each of them danced with their parents; later, after the staff members began to clear the plates from every table, after everyone waved goodbye to Jo and Laure as their car drove off to the honeymoon cottage snuggled further up the mountain side; later, after guests began to depart in their own cars; later, after Harry snagged a bottle of merlot from the kitchen, after Y/N slipped off her heels during the walk back to her cabin, the feeling of the ground beneath her feet oddly comforting; later, after Y/N opened the door, allowing Harry to step in first before following…

Later is each of them standing in the kitchen, still in their formal clothes, more disheveled than they were at the start of the day, as Y/N opens the cupboard and reaches for the two largest wine glasses she can find.

“Here.” She sets them down on the counter, allowing Harry to fill them to the brim with the crimson liquid. He pushes a nearly full glass towards her before taking the other in his hand, each of them bringing the glasses to their lips for a long drink.

Harry is nervous, and Y/N can tell. She’s gotten a bit better at reading him over their journey together, and she can see the anxiety that’s running through him in his body language. However, although the tapping of his fingers, the rubbing of his lips, and the crease between his brow is a major indication, she knows the real reason she’s aware of Harry’s nerves is because she’s hyper aware of her own.

“You, uh—” Harry clears his throat quietly, the action half reflex, half habit. “You looked really pretty today. Beautiful, actually.”

A light flush heats Y/N’s cheeks, both from the wine and his compliment. “Thank you.” She murmurs, glancing down at her forest coloured dress. “I’m just glad the dress survived the car.”

A chuckle falls from Harry’s lips as he lifts his wine glass again. “Yeah. A real miracle, huh?”

Y/N taps her fingers anxiously against the kitchen island, the coolness of the countertop a nice contrast to her heated skin. “Well, considering all the things that didn’t survive…” She trails off, watching as Harry’s face falls when the meaning of her words washes over him.

Still, Harry steels his shoulders, resolve painting itself over his pained features. “You mean us, yeah?” His tone is blunt and to the point. “After we…?”

“I just—what the fuck was that, Harry?” Y/N asks, her voice every bit as exasperated and exhausted as she feels. “I thought we—and then you—and now, saying you—you’ve always…?”

“I know I’ve been—I know I fucked up.” Harry drops his head, shame clear in his voice as he twists a ring around one of his fingers. “I know that, Y/N. I’m so sorry—”

“I’m just so confused, Harry. Really, I—” The words spill out of her now, faster than they ever have. “I know we were drunk when we fucked, but I…I liked it. And the next morning felt so good, and so right, and then Brant called, and it was like…a switch flipped inside you. And you called us a mistake. So I just—I don’t understand how you could say that less than forty-eight hours ago, and then tell me you’ve always loved being around me tonight.”

Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips once before he inhales slowly, collecting and preparing himself for the conversation. “I’m sorry.” He says lowly, his accent thicker with remorse. “I didn’t want to—I felt like it was a mistake, but not because of anything you did. It was because I knew that I had feelings for you, and I knew that you didn’t have feelings for me.”

The admission of his feelings was clear in his speech before he actually spoke the words, but the verbal acknowledgement of them still leaves an ache in Y/N’s chest as she refutes the statement. “You didn’t know that!” She says hotly, her hand tightening around her glass with every breath. “You wouldn’t let us talk about it, so how could you know?”

“Because Brant called!” While Harry’s voice doesn’t raise in volume, it does in intensity. “Brant called, and asked you to dinner, and you said yes!”

“What, did you want me to break things off with him right then and there? Over the phone?” Y/N demands, an incredulous look on her face as she appraises Harry. “I’m not a bitch, Harry. That would be heartless, and I’m not—I don’t want to hurt anyone. And maybe, maybe, it would be different if I felt anything for Brant, anything that was even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you, the good and the bad, but I don’t!”

Y/N’s words hang heavy in the air between them, flickering through the room like the dim light of the light fixture above them. There’s just enough light, however, that she can watch as her words roll over Harry, sinking into every pore of his body until all the defiance rolls out of him.

“What—” His voice cracks with emotion, and he takes a moment to compose himself before he tries again. “What do you feel for me?”

Turning her eyes down to her wine, she raises the glass to her lips, draining more than half of it in one swift motion. When she speaks again, her voice is slick with the liquor. “What does it matter?” She asks softly. “If you couldn’t believe it enough to not try to push me away the moment I let myself be vulnerable?”

“It wasn’t—your vulnerability wasn’t apparent to me.” Harry lifts the wine bottle automatically, refilling Y/N’s glass with merlot. “It was mine that scared me. Brant called, and you spoke to him, and I felt like—it was like that first date all over again, when you gave your attention to that guy from your class. I felt…” Staring into his own wine, Harry mulls over his words as if the liquor can reveal the perfect thing to say. “I felt like a jealous teenager again, like a proper idiot. And I—you’ve always been so much more put together than me, and refined, and steady, and Brant clearly fits into your world neatly, so I—”

“Stop fucking doing that.” Y/N’s voice is as sharp as ice, as harsh as frostbite. “How many times can we prove to each other that we’re more than our projections of the last seven years? How many times until it sticks?”

Harry studies Y/N’s face, his emerald eyes scanning over every slope and curve of her expression before he replies. “I didn’t think you felt anything for me. I’m still not…sure…”

“Harry, I feel—I feel everything with you.” Y/N’s voice drops to a hushed whisper, as if what she’s admitting is top secret. “I feel like I can be myself. I can be as stupid or serious as I need to be, and you’ll just…accept it. The only person I’ve ever felt that with before is Jo. No one else. And it—it’s terrifying, but good, and then you pushed me away again, and that fucking hurt. You have the ability to hurt me now, and the moment you got it, you did.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry mumbles the words, rubbing his hand over his flushed cheeks slowly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. If I’d known—”

“But you didn’t even ask. You can’t do that, okay?” When Y/N looks up at him, she can see the vulnerability on her face reflected in Harry’s eyes. “Please. I don’t care if you get jealous, or angry, or—or anything else that’s as irritating as I know you can be—” A soft snort echoes from Harry. “Just be honest with me. Tell me. Ask me.”

“What about…” Harry reaches across the kitchen island, taking Y/N’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What I said to you earlier? I told you how I felt. And I asked what you feel for me. Can you be honest with me about that?”

“I can.” Y/N says carefully, pursing her lips for a moment. “I…I’m not sure if I’m ready to say something as…decisive as you do. I’ve never really—I know that I feel…more intensely for you than I ever have for anyone else. I just don’t know…how intense, or…I can’t describe it.”

“Maybe I can help.” Harry tugs gently on Y/N’s arm, bringing her around the kitchen island to his side of the room. With his hand still holding hers, he leads her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her with him. He’s mindful of the skirt of her dress, fixing it carefully so that it doesn’t get caught beneath her. “To me, love is…wanting to be near the other person. Do you want to be near me?”

Y/N nods softly. “I do.” She whispers into the darkness, the cabin quiet save for their breathing and the chirping of crickets outside.

“And what about…” Harry lifts a hand to caress her face, his calloused fingers gentle against her warm skin as he brushes over her cheekbone. “This? Do you like being touched by me?”

Y/N’s skin burns beneath his touch. “I do. A lot, actually.”

“And even when we were arguing…when we weren’t speaking to each other, and wouldn’t look at each other…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, the motion staining his lips an even darker pink than they were before. “Did you want me as badly as I wanted you?”

Harry’s other hand begins to rub Y/N’s thigh over her dress, still heating her skin even with the layers of fabric preventing actual contact. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. “Yes.” She breathes, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “I did. I still do.”

“Obviously, I…I’d like it if you could know exactly how you feel, but…” Harry shrugs slightly, his hand drifting down to rest on the side of Y/N’s neck. “I know that it’s different for you. You’re not used to it. You don’t have to put a label on it, yeah? I just want you to be comfortable with me. As long as you’re mine, you can take as long as you need to express how you feel.”

Relief spreads through Y/N’s body at Harry’s words. The freedom to take her time, to feel like she doesn’t need to have all the answers right away, is something that none of her past partners have ever offered her, and a familiar sensation begins to curl itself around Y/N’s core as Harry caresses her neck. “Yours?” She repeats slowly, her senses feeling like they’re processing through molasses. “Am I yours?”

“I’d like you to be.” The corner of Harry’s pink lip pulls up, but there’s an air of anxiety in his words. “Are you?”

The fabric of her dress swishes beneath Y/N as she pulls herself into Harry’s, managing to settle one knee of either side of him beneath the layers of tulle. “I am.” She murmurs, her hands wrapping themselves around his sturdy shoulders. Their noses bump together as she moves closer, breath mingling in the small space between their lips. “I’ll be yours.”

Harry’s breath washes over her as he sighs gently, the fragrance of merlot and champagne settling on the back of her tongue. “Laure and Jo will be happy.”

A small laugh, mostly an exhale of breath more than anything else, sounds from Y/N as she twists the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck between her fingers. “Mmm. Probably because they won’t have to break up any more fights.”

“No, no, we’ll still fight. It keeps things interesting.” Harry’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, his nose brushing over Y/N’s once more as he tilts his head to the side. “We’ll just have a lot more fun when we make up with each other.”

Harry’s fingers find the bare expanse of Y/N’s back between the straps of her dress, gliding his fingertips over her warm skin. The sensation of his cool touch against her sends a shiver up her spine, and she twists herself closer to him in return, but keeps the inch gap between their lips. There’s an anticipation between them, but also a stubbornness. A refusal to be the first one to break.

“A lot more fun?” Y/N questions, massaging the tips of her fingers into Harry’s scalp. She lets her painted nails scratch along him gently, just enough to make his eyelids flutter at the sensation. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I could tell you…” Harry purrs his words, pressing his head back into the palm of her hand. “Or I could show you. It’s up to you.”

His words offer Y/N a choice. Will she continue to push him? Or will she give in?

When her hands retreat from his hair, Harry whines quietly, his half lidded eyes staring up at her in confusion. Y/N braces herself against his shoulders as she carefully removes herself from his lap, picking up the fabric of her dress with one hand while grabbing the half empty bottle of wine with the other.

Harry watches as she takes a step backwards, her eyes glued to his as she appraises him. As comfortable—and as attractive—as he looks on the couch with his emerald slack covered legs spread, sleeves half rolled up, chest heaving from their close contact, Y/N needs him somewhere else.

Harry’s tongue glides slowly over his parted lips as Y/N raises the bottle of wine to her mouth, taking a small sip before turning on her heel and walking to the staircase that leads up to the master bedroom of the cabin. She only gets two steps up the stairs before she feels Harry’s hot breath on the back of her neck, his back and arms bracing against her as she climbs slowly. With one hand still holding her dress out of her way, Y/N steps over the summit of the stairs, not waiting for Harry before she makes her way to the bedroom.

The bedroom itself has been tidied by the hotel staff since Y/N last saw it, and she’s never been more thankful for it; she and Jo had left it in a mess in their efforts to get ready that morning. Instead, the staff have perfectly made the bed, complete with all the decorative pillows that Y/N had tossed onto the floor the night before, set fresh candles on the night tables and dresser, and left carefully rolled white towels on the edge of the bed.

A pair of tattooed arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, and a smile lights up her face as she falls back into Harry’s strong chest. “Your room is lovely. Much nicer than those motels.” He rasps in her ear, teeth just barely grazing her lobe as he speaks. “Do you have a lighter for the candles?”

“You want to light candles?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she drops her dress from her hand in order to trail her fingers over Harry’s wrist. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Pressing a light kiss to her neck, Harry shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He murmurs. “We were so rushed last time. I want to enjoy tonight.”

A smile creeps over Y/N’s face as she carefully unlaces Harry’s hands from her waist. “The lighter is in the bedside table, on the left.”

As Harry turns his attention to searching through the drawer, Y/N sets the wine down on the dresser, appraising her reflection in the mirror propped on top of it. She begins to unpin the hair that had been carefully styled that morning, her hair only a fraction as put together as it had been. Setting the pins down on the wood surface in front of her, she takes her time taking off her earrings and bracelets, her eyes following Harry’s movements in the mirror.

The broad expanse of his back is still covered by his green waistcoat, rumpled as it stretches over the slope of his body. With each movement, a new flicker of candlelight begins to glow in front of him, illuminating the silhouette of his body with soft flickers of orange and yellow.

“You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?” The question slips from Y/N’s lips before she’s turned around completely to watch Harry’s actions without the aid of the mirror. “You like this sort of thing—the candles, the cabin in the forest, coming from a wedding…”

Harry’s body shakes as a laugh rolls through him, his side profile barely visible as he turns to light another candle next to the bed. “I suppose I am, yeah. Are you not?”

Y/N gives half a shrug, tucking her now loose hair behind her ears as best she can. “I don’t know. I’ve never really considered myself one…never saw the point in grand gestures. They’re not very realistic.”

“They don’t have to be realistic. That’s why it’s a grand gesture.” Harry says easily, sauntering towards her with a dimpled grin on his face. He reaches carefully behind Y/N, his thumb flicking the lighter to spark as he tilts the candle towards the flame. “And I’d hardly call candles a grand gesture. Haven’t you ever been properly romanced?”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplates the question. “Not…really? I mean, there’s been a few things, but nothing…I don’t know. We were always busy—”

“You can always make time for someone if you want to.” Harry sets the lit candle back down on the dresser, repeating the motion with two more before setting the lighter down as well. “Hasn’t Brant ever—well, I know he hasn’t, actually—” A snort leaves Harry’s mouth as he begins to run his hands over Y/N’s bare shoulders, massaging the skin gently. “Haven’t any of your exes asked you what you wanted, or…done something spontaneous for you, like a surprise gift, or trip, or…?”

Harry trails off as he registers the expression on Y/N’s face, and feels the tensing of her shoulders beneath his hands. “Um, not really.” She says, doing her best to keep her tone light. “We were always very…scheduled. A surprise trip wasn’t really feasible.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth tugs down into a frown, his hands continuing to work over the knots in Y/N’s shoulders as he turns her around. He presses himself behind her, moving her hair to one side of her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her spine. “The more we speak, the more I see why you’re so guarded, love.” He murmurs, his tone carefully controlled. “You don’t need to be like that with me. If you’re…afraid of what I’ll think, or…you know I tease you, but you’re always fine with me. We can be serious—”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, glancing at Harry over the curve of her own shoulder as she rests one hand over his own. “I don’t want to be serious. I’m so sick of being serious.” She maneuvers Harry’s hand to her back as she speaks, guiding his fingers until they find the zipper of her dress. “I like that you tease me, and aren’t afraid to irritate me, and how you care enough to listen to what I say…”

The sound of her zipper slowly being tugged down pricks Y/N’s ears, and she watches Harry’s movement in the mirror. There’s a clear look of concentration painted onto his expression as he helps remove her dress, but the moment he catches her eye, he locks into her gaze. As he finishes pulling down the zipper, he keeps his emerald eyes glued to hers in the reflective surface, his stare becoming more and more hypnotic with every passing second.

“So what you’re saying is…” Harry’s lips brush against her ear as he leans closer to her, pressing a sensual kiss right over her pulse point. “You want me to romance you, but still annoy the shit out of you?”

Although it’s breathless, the sound that leaves Y/N’s mouth is unmistakably a laugh as Harry begins to trail kisses down her neck, slipping the strap of her dress down her shoulder. “Yes. It’s oddly endearing.”

“Oddly endearing is my middle name.” Harry’s laugh matches hers as his hands continue their task of removing her clothing. Once Y/N’s straps are free of her shoulders, Harry helps her step out of the hunter green dress, carefully maneuvering the full skirt to the corner chair without creasing it.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty dress, now would—” Harry freezes mid sentence as he turns back around, his mouth falling slack as if seeing Y/N for the first time.

Despite having been naked and underneath his body less than forty eight hours ago, Y/N crosses her arms over her body. The black teddy bodysuit she’d purchased to wear under her bridesmaid dress had, at the time of purchase, been more for practicality than anything. The underwire of the strapless bra supported by the corseted middle was comfortable enough to keep her properly situated in her dress without a wardrobe malfunction, as well as serving as a barrier between Y/N’s sensitive skin and the stitched seams of the gown. It’s not until this moment, with Harry staring at her with a hungry stupor in his eyes, does Y/N realize how racy the undergarment is.

“What?” She says after a moment, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I—it’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”

The nerves woven into her tone are enough to snap Harry from his thoughts. “This is…different.” He approaches her again, his steps slow and measured as he lays a hand on her lace covered side. “I was pissed last time I had you…didn’t get to properly take in the sight of you…” Harry scratches his nails over one of the mesh panels, his jade eyes darkening another shade once more.

“I didn’t get to enjoy you, either. And yet you’re still fully clothed.” Y/N begins to fiddle with the buttons of Harry’s emerald waistcoat, working them open one by one as she forces herself to steady her breathing. “That’s not very fair, is it?”

“I suppose it’s not. Not fair at all.” Harry allows her to pull his waistcoat from his body, and it’s not until Y/N reaches the third button of his button down shirt that she realizes how much he’s enjoying her undressing him.

Every breath that Harry takes is ragged and shallow, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself controlled as Y/N’s fingers trail down the exposed skin of his chest. The sight of Harry’s throat tightening as her nails scrape his skin is too much for her to resist, and she quickly attaches her lips to the base of his neck as she pulls the now unbuttoned shirt from his body.

Swiping her tongue over the new mark at the base of his throat, Y/N manages to pull a moan from Harry, and her lips pull back into a small smile against his hot skin at the sound. “You sound really nice when you do that.” She murmurs, her hand trailing down to his belt as she speaks.

She can feel Harry swallow again, and when he replies, his voice is as low as she’s ever heard it. “Then you’ll have to make me do it more, won’t you, pet?” His eyes are blown darker with lust as he grips Y/N’s hips tight, pressing the pads of his fingers into her flesh. “Are you going to give me moans that are just as pretty? Or am I going to have to pull them from your stubborn little mouth?”

Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest at his dominant tone, her mouth falling open in a gasp against Harry’s collar bones. She can feel the vibrations of his laugh in her lips, the tingle not unlike the burning she feels in her core, and Harry’s hand travels from her hips to her chin as the burning increases.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Harry grips Y/N’s chin between his thumb and forefinger as she fumbles with his belt, the action clumsier without her looking at her movements. “Don’t get all shy now, m’love. It’s just me. We’ve been here before.”

Pulling his belt from his dress pants, Y/N tosses it to the side, her fingers resting on the warm skin of Harry’s abdomen. “I know. It just feels different now, that’s all. After everything we said, and…” Her eyes are unable to hold his as she drifts off, and she drops her gaze to his swallow tattoos as her cheeks redden.

A gentle tap on her chin brings her eyes back to meet Harry’s intense gaze. “I know it feels different, but that’s not bad.” Harry’s voice softens as his thumb begins to stroke over her skin, the motion slow and gentle. “It can be really good, actually. I told you, I can properly enjoy you now. If you’ll let me, that is. It’s up to you.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she reaches behind her back. Her fingers quickly find the laces at the back of the garment, and she pulls the tie undone slowly, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Harry’s the entire time. “I want that. I want you, Harry. I want…all of you.”

She barely has her laces undone before Harry is grasping at her hips, pulling her body tight against his again for another desperate kiss. His lips glide between hers smoothly, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle before he lets his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging at the flesh in a hungry way. With her lingerie hanging loosely off her body, Harry easily yanks the material down her body, fully exposing Y/N’s breasts and stomach.

The sight of her exposed skin is enough to grab Harry’s attention from the removal of clothing, and he leaves the lace bodysuit hanging at her hips as his kisses begin to travel down her jaw, her neck, her collar bones, to her breasts. A breathless gasp falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s open mouthed kisses become wetter and longer, until his hot mouth is wrapped around her stiff nipple.

“Harry—” Y/N tangles a hand in his already ruined curls, yanking hard at his hair as his teeth scrape against her sensitive skin. “God, be careful—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry murmurs the phrase against her breast, barely pulling his mouth off enough to speak. His eyes, although half lidded with lust, flicker up to her with a playful look. “Y’really want me to be careful, pet? Or do you want me to devour you?”

His words send another flood of heat to her core, and it takes all of Y/N’s focus to keep herself standing upright. “Shut up.” She mutters, voice pitched higher than normal as she tugs on Harry’s hair again, half in need and half to solicit a groan from him.

The groan he emits, however, just adds more sensation to his teasing as the sound causes a vibration against her nipple, and Y/N barely manages to pull Harry away from her before her knees buckle.

Harry, however, wastes no time, and it’s only the moment after Y/N pulls him off of her that he’s kissing her again, teeth clacking against teeth as he backs her up towards the bed. When the back of her legs hits the mattress, Y/N stumbles back, but Harry catches her in time to lower her gently to the bed.

There’s an unmistakable tenderness in the movement, and the action catches Y/N right in the throat. “Thought you weren’t being careful?” Despite her ribbing tone, Y/N’s voice is breathless as she settles back into the soft sheets. “Isn’t that what you just said, pet?”

A growl rips from the back of Harry’s throat as he cages himself over her shaking body, his mouth already reattached to her chest to leave a fresh trail of bruises from her sternum to her abdomen. “You’re such a bloody minx, y’know that?”

Although she opens her mouth to reply, the only sound that leaves Y/N’s lips is a gasp as Harry quickly lifts her hips to pull her teddy completely off, tossing it to the side without so much as a glance. He leaves one last bite on her lower abdomen, just hard enough to leave an imprint of his mouth, before soothing the mark with a wet swipe of his tongue over the red skin.

“Knees up, minx.” Harry’s accent is thick, dripping from his voice like honey as his hands rub her lower calves, helping to push them up on the bed until Y/N’s legs are bent and spread open in a position he likes. The way that Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips tells Y/N of his intentions right away, and she braces herself on her elbows on the bed before pulling back.

Harry, who had been leaving open mouthed kisses along Y/N’s knees, makes a disgruntled sound at the loss of contact. “Where do y’think you’re going?” He asks in frustration, pulling himself onto the bed and crawling after her. Gripping one of her ankles, he spreads her open again, resuming the path his mouth had been making to her core a moment ago. “Trying to get away from me?”

A breathless laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “More like trying to get comfortable. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone…” Despite Harry’s position between her legs, Y/N can’t bring herself to say the words.

“Had someone what? Eat your cunt?” Harry asks crudely, raising an eyebrow as he kisses her inner thigh. His hot breath rolls over her core, causing Y/N to sigh as she relaxes back into the sheets. “That’s a tragedy, love. Especially when you taste so sweet. I remember from a few nights ago…I just barely got a taste when we…”

She should know better, Y/N thinks. She should know, now that she knows Harry well enough, that something like this is coming, especially since it’s exactly what he did last time he was between her legs. Still, when his ringed index finger runs quickly between her folds, becoming coated in her wetness just for Harry to pop it into his mouth like a satisfied and smug ass, Y/N half jumps off the bed.

“Sensitive, are you?” Harry laughs around his finger, taking great care to lick off every bit of her wetness. “Just as sensitive as you are sweet.”

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, doing her best to give him a scathing look. “You could’ve warned me, you—”

Her complaint is cut off abruptly by Harry licking over her slit with the flat of his tongue, collecting every drop of arousal before suctioning his lips over her clit. “What was that?” He mutters between his actions, flicking his tongue over Y/N’s clit as she grasps the sheets between her fingers. “I didn’t quite catch it, love.”

Falling back onto the pillows, Y/N allows her eyes to close for just a moment as she twists the cotton sheets between her hands. “Shut—shut up.” She moans, one hand releasing the sheets to latch onto Harry’s curls. She tugs harshly, and the moan he releases sends shivers from her core into her spine.

Although Harry laughs against her, his smirk detectable against her folds as his tongue continues to work over her, a silence falls between them as he continues to eat her out. It shouldn’t be surprising, she manages to think as she tugs on his curly locks, that Harry is giving her the best oral she’s ever received. Everything he does to her, from irritating her, making her laugh, to pleasuring her, is so intense that it only makes sense.

Harry’s tongue dips inside Y/N’s entrance, proving that thought to be true for what seems to be the millionth time that night. Y/N can’t help but writhe on the sheets now, her body unable to contain the pleasure that’s building inside her core like never before.

When a gasping whine echoes from Y/N, a sound she’s never even heard herself make before, one of Harry’s hands moves from its position on her thigh, where he’s been holding her open so he can continue to work. It travels up her leg to her pelvis, pressing flat on her lower abdomen and keeping her hips secure to the bed.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, pet?” Harry’s mouth is red, coated with her wetness when he glances at her. He begins to rub circles on her abdomen, both soothing her and creating an ache deep inside her that she knows can only be satisfied by his cock. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum on my mouth, yeah?”

Y/N whimpers in response, barely managing to keep her eyes open as she nods desperately. “I-I need—your fingers, or—”

“No, no, pet, you don’t need that.” Harry assures her between long licks over her clit. “I’ll fill you later, but you’re going to cum from my mouth. I know you can do it, love. I know you can.”

“I—” Harry’s hand pressed to her abdomen is the only thing keeping Y/N from rutting her hips into the air in desperation. “Please, Harry, I—”

“You can do it.” Breath hot against her entrance, Harry dips his tongue within her again, moving it in and out slowly as his nose brushes against her sensitive bundle of nerves. “You—fuck—you’re so ready, Y/N, I know you can do it…just relax, pet…let go…”

Let go. The command is so simple, and yet, isn’t that all Y/N’s ever wanted? Isn’t that exactly what Harry has managed to allow her to do this entire trip? No sooner does the thought cross her mind that Harry’s teeth graze over her clit, tweaking it ever so gently before pressing the flat of his tongue against it once more. He gives a harsh suck, mouthing something she can’t understand, and then Y/N is tugging on his chestnut curls with a renewed desperation as she falls over the brink of pleasure.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” His name is the only thing Y/N can repeat as she orgasms, her head falling back against the pillows while the waves of her pleasure wash over her.

Harry untangles her hand from the sheets, weaving his fingers through her own to give her something solid to hold onto as she loses herself in the sensations. Although he keeps his mouth pressed to her, his actions are gentler, just licking the wetness that drips from her entrance as she rides out her orgasm.

It takes a few moment for the pleasure to recede enough that Y/N can become aware of her surroundings again. Chest heaving, she lolls her head to the side, her hand falling from Harry’s curls and onto the crumpled sheets.

Harry finally pulls away from her then, pulling himself from between her legs to the side of Y/N’s shaking body. He licks his wet lips, savouring the last drops of her arousal before pressing softer kisses to her stomach, her sternum, her collar bones, until he reaches her lips.

“You alright, love?” Harry asks, voice quiet in the hum of the night as he settles beside her. He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, and the motion is so gentle that Y/N almost tears up. “Just take some deep breaths.”

“I—” Y/N sucks in another breath as Harry wraps an arm around her stomach. “I’m alright. Just…trying to catch my breath.” She laughs nervously as her cheeks redden in a post-orgasm haze. “You’re, uh, you’re really good at that.”

Harry’s laugh is much more amused than hers. “Thank you. I quite enjoy it, so it would be rather sad if I wasn’t good at it.”

“That’s true.” Y/N hums, rolling her head onto Harry’s shoulder. He rubs small circles on her waist, and the action gives her something to focus on as she evens her breathing.

Harry sighs in satisfaction. “You know, if you had shagged Brant, I doubt his cunnilingus skills would have been as good as mine.” He says thoughtfully, as if he’s been pondering the idea for a while.

Y/N groans, bracing her hand against is muscled chest to shove him away. “Do not mention Brant while I’m lying next to you naked! Christ, I shouldn’t have to say that!”

Harry laughs as he readjusts himself, pulling his body over hers while his lips work against her neck. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring him up again, I swear.”

Huffing slightly, Y/N settles herself back into the sheets. “Good.”

“But for the record—”

“If you keep speaking, I’m not giving you a blowjob.” Y/N warns, shooting Harry a warning glance. “Are you prepared to give that up?”

The speed at which Harry’s face falls is almost comical. His brow creases as his ruby lips pull down into a pout, his arms keeping himself suspended above Y/N as he relents. “Alright, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ll stop.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes focus on Harry’s shining green irises. “Good, because I really want to blow you.”

The crude admission catches Harry by surprise, his eyebrows jumping up in shock as he rolls to the side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he rakes a hand through his messy curls as he answers with a measured tone. “You do?”

Y/N nods slowly, pushing herself up to sit on her knees as one of her hands begins to trace over the muscles of Harry’s chest. “I do. Like you said…I didn’t get to last time. And I bet you taste good.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth as he gives a sharp nod. “Yeah. Okay. If you want to—”

“I do.” Y/N presses on Harry’s chest to push him back again, but this time she does it carefully, settling him back into the sheets like he did for her. Moving so that she’s on her knees beside him, she gives him a quick kiss, only letting herself enjoy his slightly chapped lips against hers for a moment before she directs her attention to the bulge in his Calvin Klein boxers.

Y/N trails a finger over the line of hair leading to the waistband, feeling the muscles of Harry’s abdomen contract under her finger. “Sensitive, huh?” She asks quietly, mimicking what he had said to her before earlier.

Harry inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Yeah. So don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. I’m just…warming you up.” Y/N continues the motion for a moment before her fingers drift to the elastic of his boxers. She dips a finger beneath it, continuing to tease his abdomen before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his clothed bulge.

Harry’s hips jerk in reaction, his mouth falling open as he spits out a curse. “Bloody hell…”

“Feel good?” Y/N only lifts her mouth enough so that the soft murmur can be heard. She can feel Harry’s cock twitching as her lips move over it, and the thought that she’s turning him on enough for him to twitch in his boxers sends a flood of heat between her thighs.

“Feels really good, yeah.” Harry’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and the effort it takes to keep his voice controlled is apparent on his face. “Keep going.”

Y/N hums in response, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulling them down his legs as Harry lifts his hips. She waits until his boxers are completely removed to turn her attention back to his cock, and the sight of it makes her mouth water.

It’s just as big as she remembers, with a slight curve along the length leading to the red and leaking head. Y/N can practically see the heat radiating off of it, she thinks, and when she wraps her hand around the base, her suspicions are confirmed.

The weak groan that falls from Harry’s cherry red lips is the only thing that keeps Y/N from getting completely distracted by admiring him. She pumps him slowly a few times, and his length throbs in her hand as more blood floods to his pelvis. Licking her lips once, Y/N leans down and gives a small kitten lick to the leaking tip, collecting the precum on her tongue.

A garbled moan sounds from Harry’s chest, and Y/N watches from the corner of her eye as one hand tucks into his own curls before the other gathers her hair within his fist. Although he’s holding her, he doesn’t force her down, or try to guide her motions. He wants to see what she’s going to do of her own accord.

Y/N takes her time, licking slowly from the head of Harry’s cock to one of the pulsing veins that runs down his shaft. She traces the line with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the sounds that the action pulls from Harry before taking the head of his cock between her lips. Mindful of her teeth, she sucks slowly, pushing herself further and further down his length until her nose is just touching his pelvis.

“That’s it, minx.” Harry moans his words, his voice breathless and strained as he cards his fingers through her hair. His flushed chest is rising and falling prominently as Harry takes deep breath after deep breath. “Doing so well, aren’t you?”

The praise sends a wave of delight through Y/N, and she begins to bob her head faster, working what she can’t fit into her mouth with her hand. Harry, she learns, is extremely vocal during sex, which isn’t exactly surprising now that she knows him better. Still, his moans and whimpers are all the encouragement Y/N needs to keep her pace, slowing down only to tease him. And she loves to tease him.

“Fuck—” A groan rips from Harry’s chest as Y/N slows her motions again, trailing her tongue up his length before focusing on his tip with great interest. “C’mon, darling, don’t be mean to me. I wasn’t mean to you.”

“I’m just enjoying myself, Harry.” Y/N says innocently, batting her eyes at him as she kisses the head of his cock. “Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?”

The question is simple enough, but the sinful context makes Harry buck his hips into her hand. “Y’know I do, pet, but you’re torturing me…”

Y/N lifts her mouth from his length with a quiet pop as her strokes slow down. “Am I?”

“Fucking hell—” Another moan forces its way through Harry’s clenched teeth. “You won’t be laughing when I’m fucking you at the same pace you’re teasing me right now.”

Y/N’s movements stutter for the first time since she began. “What?”

“Didn’t think of that, did you, minx? Thought you could tease me, and I wouldn’t get you back?” Although Harry’s words are domineering, he pants through them, throwing his head back against the pillow. “That—Christ—That’s not how it works.”

Speeding up her stroking of his length, Y/N leans over Harry’s body, sponging a kiss just at the corner of his lips. “You don’t mean that, Harry. You need to fuck me just as badly as I need it.”

“You need it, do you?” Harry’s eyes snap open, lust completely clouding the jade green of his irises. “How badly? Tell me.”

Y/N kisses him once more, pulling back the moment his tongue tries to pull her in for more. She returns her mouth to the tip of his cock, letting her tongue flick over his slit before sucking on him again. “So badly, Harry. I’ve never felt as full as I did with you in me…”

“Oh fuck…” Harry’s words slip into drawn out moans as he tugs on his own hair, his hips stuttering up into her hand again. “Stop.”

The sudden command makes Y/N pause, and she pulls her mouth off of Harry’s length to stare up at him with wide eyes. “What?” Her hand pauses its motions, but stays wrapped loosely around his base. “Is—is everything okay? Did I hurt you?”

The concern and fear in Y/N’s voice is enough to snap Harry out whatever headspace he had been slipping into. “No, pet, you didn’t hurt me. I just need to be inside your tight cunt. Can’t stand another moment without it, if I’m honest.”

The twitch of his cock in her hands confirms his words, and Y/N gives one last lick to its biggest vein before releasing him. She keeps her mouth in use, however, by sponging kisses up Harry’s already marked chest, stopping only once she reaches his lips.

The kiss they share is passionate, with a rhythm finally established between the two of them as Harry slots his plump lips neatly between hers. There’s no awkward turning of their heads, trying to find a way to slip a tongue into a mouth, and no teeth clicking together. Already, each of them knows the best way to fit together, as if they were meant to all along.

“How do you—” Harry mutters the words against Y/N’s lips, his breath flowing into her own panting mouth with every gasp. “How do you want me, love?”

Y/N takes a moment to think, but only a moment. “On top. I like…” Her cheeks flush with even more heat. “I like feeling you over me. And holding your hands…”

Harry raises a surprised brow at the confession she spills into his mouth. “My hands?”

Forehead still pressed against his, Y/N nods, picking up one of his hands and lacing his ringed fingers through her own. “Mhmm. They’re strong, and…and they fit in mine so nicely.” Y/N glances at Harry through her lashes, shy despite having his cock in her mouth less than a minute ago. It’s the intimacy, she realizes. A sexual act is nothing new to her, but putting emotion behind it…

“They do fit together well, don’t they?” Harry agrees, squeezing her hand as he leans forward, pressing puckered lips to her forehead. “Alright, then. Lie down for me.”

After Harry grabs a condom from Y/N’s bag and rolls it on, it takes a moment for the two of them to get positioned comfortably. Y/N leans back on the rumpled sheets, fixing one of the pillows behind her head with Harry’s help. Once he knows that she’s comfortable, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs again, situating himself between them with his arms propped up on either side of her body.

Although it’s the same position as the last time they had sex, Y/N can’t help but feel like it’s entirely different in every single aspect. While the drunken need that she felt for Harry had been exciting, and while he had satisfied her incredibly, there’s something different about knowing that she has feelings for the man who’s so interested in pleasuring her, and that he has feelings for her in return.

Harry moves one hand to his length, rubbing the tip of it between Y/N’s soaked folds as his other hand grasps her own. “Are you ready?” He murmurs, his lips hovering just over her own.

Y/N nods quickly, squeezing his hand tightly. “Please, H. I need it.”

The first thrust into her is slow. Painstakingly slow. Y/N knows that she should be appreciative of the restrain Harry has, and that she needs a moment to adjust to his size, but the way he stretches her makes her feel so complete that she can’t help but whine for more.

“Faster, Harry.” She pants, squeezing her eyes shut as he continues to enter her slick entrance. “I…”

“Sh, love. Just spreading you open first, yeah?” The effort to control himself shows through the strain in his voice, but Harry still manages to sponge a quick kiss over her lips. “Besides…I warned you, didn’t I? Said I’d tease you if you teased me…”

Y/N whines loudly as Harry finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush to hers and bringing a kind of euphoric fullness that she’s never felt before. “Oh God…” She drags out her speech, her eyes barely managing to flutter open in time to catch the look on Harry’s face as he feels her walls squeeze him.

His brows are drawn together, an all too familiar crease appearing between them. It’s a look of concentration, but the pull of his mouth and the quiet pants leaving it tell Y/N that it’s so much more than that. His pupils are blown out, dilated so much that she can barely see the green that she loves so much, and every few moments, Harry’s eyelids flutter, times perfectly with the contraction of Y/N’s pussy around his length.

“Move, Harry.” Y/N begs, grasping his free hand and squeezing it along with his other hand. “Please.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, and he begins to thrust in and out of her slowly, letting her adjust to each pace before gradually increasing his movements. “Like that, pet?” He asks, voice low and thick with pleasure. “Is that what you wanted?”

A whine is all the answer he gets, as Y/N is so far gone past the point of being able to reply with a coherent sentence. The only thing she can think of is how good it feels to have Harry fill her. How the feeling of his cock inside her is simultaneously too much for her, the most content she’s ever felt, and not enough to satisfy the ache deep within her. Every one of her senses is consumed with Harry—the touch of his skin to hers, at her pelvis, over her abdomen, his hands squeezing hers with desperation as he thrusts inside of her repeatedly. The scent of his cologne mingled with his sweat, so hot and all consuming that the air feels thick with it. The taste of that scent on the back of her tongue, along with his Merlot flavoured kisses that linger in her mouth. The sight of him caged over her, his sweaty curls and flushed skin being all that she can see. The sound of his moans, hot and low in her ear.

Everything is Harry. Had there every been a time where it wasn’t?

When Harry pulls his hands from Y/N’s, a small whimper stumbles out of her mouth, growing louder when his thrusts begin to slow and the ball of tension in her core begins to uncoil. “What—?” She begins, the question still half formed on her tongue when Harry moves his grip to her knees.

In one swift motion, Harry has her left knee over his shoulder, quickly repeating the movement with her right leg as he sponges stuttered kisses over the newly available skin. “Need to be deeper.” He mutters, pressing a wet and breathless kiss to Y/N’s lips before sitting up for more leverage. Weaving his fingers back through hers, Harry begins to thrust again, the head of his cock rubbing against new areas with every motion.

And oh. It’s like an entirely new feeling. The moans and whimpers are leaving Y/N’s mouth in a steady stream now, with any ability she had to filter her volume gone the moment Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot.

“Fuck, Harry, right there, baby—” Y/N releases one of his hands to throw her arm around his shoulder, digging her nails into the muscled skin as the words of pleasure slip past her lips. “That’s it, that’s so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts, bracing himself against the bed so that he can increase the speed of his movements. “You like how my cock fills you?”

Y/N nods desperately, the movement stuttered as she shakes from both her pleasure and the force of Harry driving his hips into her own. “Yeah, I—fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”

Harry’s face twists in concentration as he removes his braced hand from the bed and trails it down Y/N’s body, pausing just enough so that he can tweak her nipple as he passes by. He continues on until he reaches his destination, and settles his large thumb over her clit to rub fast and concise circles on the bundle of nerves.

“Oh—” Y/N’s back arches off the bed as her nails dig into the skin of Harry’s shoulder, as well as the back of his hand. She barely manages to pant through her whimpered words. “Fuck, I’m going to cum—”

“Please, baby.” Harry pleads with her, his expression desperate as he stipples more kisses to Y/N’s knees, the only inches of skin that he can get his mouth on as he drives himself harder into her. “Need you to cum for me, I—fuck, minx, I need it more than you know.”

A sharp gasp falls from Y/N’s slick mouth as Harry hits her G-spot again, and the sharp repeated motion combined with his stimulation of her clit is enough to send her barrelling headfirst over the edge. A desperate sound leaves her mouth, half moan, half whine, as the coil in Y/N’s core snaps, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of her body.

The reaction is almost instantaneous. As her body shakes with pleasure, abdomen contracting and releasing over and over, Y/N feels Harry’s hips begin to stutter, his movement growing sloppier as the constriction of her core works Harry to an orgasm.

“Y/N—that’s it, pet, just—yes—” Harry’s words are more coherent than hers, but still just form a string of half put together phrases as he presses himself deep inside her, his eyes snapping shut as he spills inside the condom. A choked sound works its way out of his throat, pulling from deep within his chest, and the pads of his rough fingers dig into her thighs as he grounds himself throughout his orgasm.

Y/N’s shuddering climax finishes before Harry’s does, and all she can do is collapse back in the sheets, enjoying the feeling of his cock throbbing inside her one last time before he pulls out slowly to clean himself and throw away the condom. An involuntary whine, quiet but audible, falls from her lips at the empty feeling that’s left behind, but it’s soon satiated after Harry returns to the bed, wrapping his shaking arms around her and pulling her tight into his chest.

His chest, like her own, is soaked in sweat, covered in dark bruises, and heaving from the aftermath of the orgasm he’s just finished, but it’s the only place Y/N wants to be. She presses her ear into his skin, his racing heartbeat thumping beneath her head, and she focuses on the pounding pattern as she attempts to catch her breath.

Harry speaks first, clearing his throat before his wrecked voice fills her senses. “That was…that was so fucking good. I was worried that it wouldn’t be as good as the last time, because we were more sober, but…”

“It was better, yeah. I know.” Y/N agrees, her voice filled with exhaustion and contentment as she kisses over a purple bruise forming on Harry’s collar bone. “I think…I think knowing how we feel made it better.”

“I agree.” Harry’s hands move over her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns onto her sweaty skin. “Passionate sex with someone you care for with candles lit…all after the wedding of your best friend…was that romantic enough for you?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, just barely audible beneath the rasp.

A tired smile lifts the corners of Y/N’s swollen lips. “I suppose so. But it’s not hard to be, in comparison to others…”

“Well, from now on, you’re going to be comparing to me, yeah?” Harry shifts his arms around her, tightening his grip before reaching for the crumpled sheet to pull it over their bodies. “This’ll be the marker, I suppose. And I’ll have to work on raising the bar with everything I do for you.”

“What about what I’ll do for you?” Y/N just barely manages to raise her head off Harry’s chest enough to look at him. “This is a two way street, you know. I have to romance you, too.”

“Mm. True.” Harry hums as he resumes tracing patterns on Y/N’s skin. “How about you stop making fun of my taste in romantic movies? I’d like to watch The Notebook without you poking fun at it. If you’re laughing at all the emotional scenes, it makes me feel pathetic when I cry at them.”

Y/N laughs quietly as she rakes her fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. “That’s asking too much from me. How about…I can still make fun of your taste in romantic movies, but I’ll hold you and comfort you when you cry at the really dumb scenes?”

An exhausted snort rolls through Harry’s chest, but there’s a degree of tenderness hidden in the sound. “I suppose that’s the best offer I’ll get, isn’t it?”

“You suppose right.” Y/N sighs contently, her eyes drifting shut as she settles herself into Harry’s chest. The feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his muscles is enough to soothe her to sleep, and she’s just settling in for what she thinks may be the best sleep of her life when her head suddenly drops as Harry abruptly pulls away from her.

“Harry—” Y/N’s eyes snap open as she pulls herself into an upright position, any feeling of calm that she had a moment ago gone out the window. “What the fuck?”

A sheepish Harry smiles at her from the dresser. “We left the candles lit, love.” He says, blowing out the three lit candles on the wooden surface before walking to one of the bedside tables, where four more candles are lit. “It’s not safe.”

“No, you know what’s no safe? Jerking your girlfriend from her sleep when she’s exhausted, and has to be up early tomorrow.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she flops back into the pillows.

Harry blows out the last candle before sliding back into the bed. “Would you rather I let the cabin burn down? That wouldn’t be very romantic of me, now would it?”

Turning over on her side, Y/N faces the wall away from Harry. “You’re an asshole.”

“Don’t be mean.” Harry’s pout is tangible in the press of his lips to her bare shoulder. “We were having a moment!”

“Not anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Harry laughs as he wraps his arms around Y/N, pulling her to spoon into his chest. “Just go to sleep. You’ll be less grumpy in the morning.”

“Fuck off.” Y/N mutters, but she allows herself to be held against Harry as his breathing once again soothes her to sleep.

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

Harry laughs as he shuts the loaded trunk of the Impala, the sound echoing off the trees around them and scaring a few birds that had settled in the branches. “After that disaster in Nebraska? No way.”

“Did you let her drive Stevie?” Laure asks, shock woven through her voice as her eyes flicker between Y/N and Harry. “Really?”

“No, I let her try to drive Stevie. And then she stalled her, and lost all driving privileges forever.” Harry replies with a snort, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders as his keys jangle in his hands. “So I’ll be driving the forty-two hours back to L.A.”

Y/N crosses her arms with an irritated sigh. “Whatever. Don’t complain to me when you get stiff from being in one position for eight hours a day.”

As Harry rounds the back of the car, he shoots Y/N a smug grin, walking up behind her to wrap his warm arms around her waist. “But you’ll give me massages, won’t you, baby? I’d really appreciate them…”

“Okay, this is still weird for me.” Jo says slowly, shaking her head as her eyes flicker between their intertwined pose and Laure, who looks equally as bemused. “A week ago, we had to practically beg Harry to drive you, Y/N, and now you’re…?”

“It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?” Harry asks, resting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder with a smirk. “No woman could last five days with me while resisting the Styles charm…”

Y/N shrugs his chin off her shoulder with a snort. “Right.” She scoffs as she unravels his hands from her waist. “The Styles charm. We’ll pretend that’s a thing.”

Harry pouts as Y/N pulls away from him, his arms still outreached and trailing after her. “It is a thing!”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N walks over to Jo, wrapping her arms around the girl tightly as the crisp morning air sends a shiver down her spine. “Congratulations, Jo. Have fun on your honeymoon.”

Although Jo hugs her back with a smile, there’s something lingering under the sweet expression. “Thank you.” She speaks in her normal tone, but waits until her lips are right by Y/N’s ear to lower her voice. “The moment you arrive back in L.A., I expect a three hour phone call explaining how all of this happened. Is that understood?”

“You’re so demanding. I would have thought you’d be more mature now that you’re married.” Y/N laughs as she pulls out of the hug, turning to Laure and giving her a tight squeeze before walking to the car. She leans against the cool metal of the passenger side as Harry rounds around to the driver’s side, having said his goodbyes right after she did.

“I’m serious! The last time we talked about Harry, you threatened to cut off his—”

Laure takes Jo’s hand, squeezing it hard as she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, darling, that’s enough. Just be thankful they’re not arguing anymore, yeah? Maybe we’ll finally be able to have a wine night that doesn’t end with someone flipping a charcuterie board.”

The memory of Laure and Jo’s four year anniversary party brings a sheepish smile to Y/N’s face, and she watches as the realization hits Jo, who gives a satisfied nod to Laure before the latter presses her lips to her cheek.

Harry, however, is less amused, and shoots a questioning glance at Y/N over the hood of the car. “Wait, when did you threaten to cut something of mine off?”

“Oh, it was just a joke, Harry.” Y/N waves off his concern as she opens the passenger door with a click. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, as long as you don’t piss me off too much.”

“Right.” Harry says slowly, climbing inside the car as Y/N does the same. “I’ll do my best.”

Harry starts the car with an easy and practiced motion, shifting it into reverse and pulling away from the mountainside resort as the two of them give one last wave to Jo and Laure through the passenger window. Once they’re back on the winding mountain road, Y/N grabs Harry’s phone from its usual spot in his cup holder, scrolling through his music library with interest.

“What do you feel like listening to?” She asks curiously, her eyes scanning over the now familiar titles indecisively. “Something fast? Something mellow?”

Harry shifts the car into second gear before grabbing Y/N’s free hand, brushing his pink lips over the back of her knuckles in a gentle motion. “I don’t really care.” He says with a shrug, winding his fingers through her own before lowering their hands between their seats. “Anything you want.”

The comment of free reign causes Y/N’s eyes to widen in disbelief. “Really?” She asks incredulously, and when Harry gives a confirming nod, she quickly settles on “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” leaning back in her seat as the familiar guitar riff fills the car.

From the corner of her eye, she watches Harry’s nose wrinkle as his eyebrows crease beneath his sunglasses. “Actually, I changed my mind.” He says lowly, swiping his thumb over her knuckles in a motion of apology. “Not this song.”

Y/N lets out a groan as she presses her head back into the head rest. “For fuck’s sake, H—”

“I’m not feeling it! It just doesn’t suit this time of day, or this scenery—”

“We have forty-two hours left in this trip, and you’re already pissing me off. Do you want something to get cut off?” Yanking her hand from his own, she grabs his phone again and opens it with a harsh sigh. “Okay, what do you want to listen to?”

“I told you.” Harry taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he risks a glance at her, gauging if the irritation in her voice matches the irritation on her face. “Whatever you want to listen to.”

Y/N allows herself a quiet snort, but makes no other comment on the contradictory statement. “Fine.” She says shortly, scrolling through his songs for another moment before clicking on “Strangers”. “How’s that?”

Harry raises his now empty hand defensively before finding her own again, squeezing it gently. “Good, love. It’s good.”

“Good.” Y/N gives a short sigh of relief, settling back into her seat again as a new guitar riff begins to sound through the car speakers.

The first verse of the song has barely finished when Harry clears his throat thickly, the corner of his lip just barely twitching up. “You know, actually—”

“Stop the car.”

5K notes · View notes

notnctu · 3 years

Text

haechan: the cocky | vol 1

━ welcome home to housemating smut series :)

☆ click the link above to read background info about this housemate!

☆ GENRE: smut, pwp ☆ DETAILS: fem!reader, college!au, housemate!au ☆ WARNINGS: oral, voyeurism, explicit language ☆ WC: 2,659 ☆ SYNOPSIS: on this sunny afternoon, you’re home alone while everyone else is in class... or so you thought. as haechan’s name spills from your lustful mouth, he mindlessly comes in thinking that you’re calling for him. instead, he walks in to see you fingers deep and in need of some assistance, again.

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: happy halloween everyone!! pls read the background info before proceeding with the fic!! absolutely pwp, there is no real plot here besides smut LOL and yes there will be a part two ! maybe multiple parts idk yet lol depends on my story building

Tossing your backpack into the corner of your room, you pounce on your bed as quickly as possible. There was something about Haechan’s outfit choice today: baggy relaxed pants and an oversized plain white tshirt that only he could pull off. Something about his cool, carefree attitude riles up an inexplicable part of you. And though you didn’t have much time to drool over his incredibly impressive outfit before dashing for your 10 AM, it is all that’s been running through your head.

And truthfully if you had been caught staring for even a millisecond, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from him. You’ve seen this guy go two days straight sitting in his boxers and wrinkled old tee as he yells profanities at his computer monitor. Yet, in some egotistical world, Haechan still manages to be the cockiest person in the whole house.

Haechan has pulled quite a fair share of girls, but nothing in comparison to Jaehyun or Johnny. The reason behind his sly smirks and obvious traveling eyes could possibly be that he’s pulled you, quite a number of times.

Haechan never really peaked your interest until he became the one you spent the most time alone with. He is not the type to boast about his sexual encounters, so you really had to squeeze it out of him. Long talks of his cunnilingus tactics had you wet by the end of it all, not expecting that this gamer boy had such an eager passion for seeing girls squirm from his tongue.

Eager and strong enough passion to ask if he could get a taste of you, then proceeded to bring up all the moments that he has passed by your room to see you sprawled across your bed naked and rubbing one out. You had a poor habit of not closing your door all the way.

However strangely enough, you didn’t feel embarrassed that Haechan was the one who saw you. In fact, if anyone in the house did catch you masturbating, you’d hope it was him. Your relationship is comfortable to the point of seeing the worst sides of each other, you could be your true self around him because he wasn’t some playboy to impress. He is and always will be, Lee Haechan, the boy that sucks at arm wrestling.

So as you check your housemates’ locations and thinking that the coast is clear, you begin to peel off your bottoms and panties. Every naughty thought of Haechan rolls into your lustful mind. Tugging at his fluffy hair. His plushy tongue against your clit. His light spanks against your ass. His needy hands gripping your thighs. His low throaty moans.

You get into your favorite position --- ass up, on your knees and legs spread open, with your face buried in a pillow. Your hand tries to mimic his touch: gently teasing your nipples, trailing down your stomach until you reach your sensitive bud. Your fingers gather your slick and automatically, Haechan’s name escapes your lips. Closing your eyes, you recall all the times he’s eaten you out until you’ve seen stars.

Now if Haechan wasn’t so forgetful, he wouldn’t have to drive all the way back home to grab his notebook for lecture. When the boy enters the house, he takes note of your scattered shoes at the door and the faint sound of your voice. Curiously, he walks up the stairs to the rooms and hears you calling for him and concludes that you probably heard him come home.

When he approaches your slightly opened door, he sees an image that immediately halts him in his tracks. Through the rather large slit, he has the clearest view of your dripping pussy and quick fingers rubbing at your clit. And he registers your calls for moans. You were moaning his name, not calling for him.

He glances around at the other open rooms to check if anyone else is home, but that is probably why you thought it would be completely fine to not close your door, again. When he returns to the incredibly sexy scene of you masturbating to the thought of him, you’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t even hear his heavy breathing.

A tent forms in his pants as he feels all his blood rushing to his shaft. He’s beyond turned on, like come on, it’s him you’re thinking about. This does nothing, but fuel his already large ego. Haechan enters your room and clears his throat, “you should really learn to close your door, baby.”

Your momentum breaks at the sheer fear of someone else’s voice. Panic settles and the first thing you see when you look up is Haechan’s small smirk. He leans against the frame of your door, arms crossed and eyes never leaving your figure.

“Why are you home?!” You throw a pillow at him, very well annoyed at his presence and for ruining your private time. Sitting up on your knees, you try covering your lower half with your blanket. Haechan is quick to stop you, while simultaneously shutting your bedroom door.

“I forgot my notebook.” He leans in, lips inches away from yours and his hand pulling the sheets off your body. “I have twenty minutes to spare, so let’s make this quick, mmh? Seems like you’re in need of my assistance... again.” His eyes are dark, and the sunlight that seeps through your shades shines so beautifully against his melanin. The faint smell of his cologne messes with your mind and god, you want him so bad and you hate that he can tell.

“Get back into your previous position and show me how you touch yourself.” He leaves a quick peck on the corners of your lips before standing at the end of your bed.

“What if I don’t want to?” You’re not usually bratty with other partners, but Haechan’s assertiveness and overall aura draws it out of you so naturally.

He pokes his tongue at the inside of his mouth, protruding his cheek and tilts his head at your bratty attitude. Staring you down with hungry eyes and a raised eyebrow, he says in a serious tone, “no time for games right now. You want me or not?”

“Yes, please.” You nod with urgency once you realize that Haechan still had class to get to. Turning back around, you rest comfortably on your elbows with your knees firm on the mattress. Your hand travels down to circle your clit again, resuming your previous lustful actions before Haechan interrupted you.

Every jolt runs down your legs as a pumping surge of electricity, all the way down to your toes. Haechan palms himself watching you get back into the mood, biting his bottom lip at the delicious sight of your glistening, pretty pussy on display for him. It doesn’t take much before he hurries to get under you and in between your legs.

He lays back flat on the bed as you hover over him, your hand still rubbing intensively at your bud and your juices collecting in your palm. Taking your wrist, he guides your wet fingers into his mouth. You moan knowing your fingers are being cleaned by Haechan, him sucking your taste off of you.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” He groans, bringing your hips closer to his face. Without another second of hesitation, he licks a long strip across your clit.

“Hyuck..” It has been established between the two of you that you have special rights to use his government name. He loves how hot it sounds coming from you, like it is meant to be spoken only by you. “..I’m.. already.. going to burst.”

He kisses your inner thighs, then encapsulates your bud in his mouth. Your legs give out at the mind blowing pleasure that comes with Haechan’s plushy licks. His tongue doesn’t leave your clit for more than a second, suckling and rubbing it like his life depended on it.

When you peer down at him, his face is entirely pressed up against your body: nose digging into your skin and mouth latching on for a taste. He gives your ass a little spank, then grabbing a handful to squeeze. The tinge of pain turns into pleasure as the feeling of static runs throughout your lower half.

Haechan tries to free himself from his pants, growing painfully hard that it began to feel strained. One hand unzips and tugs down hastily at his bottoms, his cock springing up and slapping against his stomach. He lifts his shirt up as far as it can go, not once breaking his attention on making you feel good.

You yelp when his two fingers enter your hole abruptly, gathering enough of your slick to cover his own dick. With your wetness, he strokes his tip with his thumb and the vibrations from his moans sends shivers down your spine. But Haechan is more than skilled at multitasking, jerking himself off while he eats you out.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself?” Your head turns enough to see movement in your peripheral vision. You can infer two things: Haechan is half naked and fucking his hand so fast that it shakes the bed a bit.

“Of course I am. You’re fucking hot, baby.” He only pulls away briefly to speak, his soft tongue flicking rapidly harder against you now. Haechan knows you’re close, without you needing to say much. Your toes curl at the intensity, your moans become louder, and you’re gripping onto his hair as tightly as possible.

The peak of your mountain is at the tip of your lips, your legs are about to give out at any moment, but Haechan is showing no mercy to slow down. “Just like that, shit.” Your hips mindlessly grind with his fast-paced rhythm.

Haechan can feel his own release coming just as quick, his own grip growing tighter around his shaft as his hips have no caution to stop. “Give it to me, (Y/N).” His low grunts solely push you to your edge, as you announce your orgasm.

Your shaking legs uncontrollably twitch around his head as the euphoric feeling fills your blood stream. Like a knot coming undone, it’s the most rewarding feeling you’ve ever felt. You try to catch your breath as Haechan unlatches from your swollen clit, and his moans replace yours.

“(Y/N),” He barely manages to speak and you look down in between your legs to see him biting his bottom lip hard and eyes closed. “--I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk... when I get back..” and with that, he cums all over his lower stomach, short strings of white landing across his body.

You roll off of him, grabbing tissues from your nightstand to clean him up. “Are you still going to make it?” A hoarse laugh rumbles your chest as Haechan remembers the lecture he has to attend.

“I’ll just show up late.” Wiping the last bit off of him, he gets up to hurriedly zip himself up. “Why are you suddenly so needy?” He jokes, partially. A smug grin appears reminding you of his haughty personality.

You scoff at his remark, “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yeah, but why do that when I clearly give you the best orgasms of your life.” He shrugs, his tone being quite matter of fact. He chuckles mischievously at your displeased expression, running out your room before you can chase him out.

“Okay, I’m leaving!” He yells from the hall, hurrying down the stairs to catch the last half of his lecture.

“Bye, thank you... I guess..” You pull your panties up, your voice trailing off when you step out of your room to the top of the stairs to watch him leave.

He stops to peer up at your obvious fucked out appearance, admiring you all in your glory. “Any time, baby. What are housemates for?” Haechan winks flirtatiously before he shuts the front door.

The rhetorical question repeats in your head, what are housemates for?

As everyone floods back home later in the day, you and Haechan act as if nothing happened. That’s the thing about you two, Haechan never really feels the need to brag to the others, only if provoked.

You two can live in this house with the other three not expecting a single thing, not knowing that there is courage behind Haechan’s bold statements. Not even the way Haechan stares at you sometimes can give anything away. This man is too slick, too quick on his feet to ever be caught.

“You make it to all your classes today, Haechan?” Johnny asks as the three of you devour the dinner Doyoung made, Jaemin once again not being home.

“Yes, dad.” Haechan answers sarcastically and stuffs his mouth full of dinner rolls. “I had a midterm that I totally aced.” He smiles proudly, but your ears catch onto the first half of his sentence and immediate guilt settles.

“You had a midterm?” The tone of your question raises a few eyebrows at the table, the rest of the boys wondering why you sounded so worried.

Nevertheless, Haechan doesn’t lose his cool. He simply bids you his sugary sweet smile and says, “not for that one.”

“No flirty eyes at the table.” Doyoung scowls as Haechan’s corner lip twitches into another infamous smirk. He somewhat enjoys the thrill of almost getting caught, you make it all too easy for the others to find out.

You gulp your food harshly and shy away from Haechan’s dark gaze, not knowing the right words to recover your slip up. Jaehyun acknowledges the confusion in the room, laughing nervously at your sudden bashfulness, “why did (Y/N) sound so worried?”

Your food gets stuck in your throat, waiting to hear what Haechan has to say to your nosy housemates. “I had to come home to grab my notebook and missed the beginning of class. She’s just looking out for me, it’s cute.”

And your eyes make the most dramatic roll, “I should’ve just let you to suffer the consequences.”

“But you’re a good girl.” Haechan barely lets you finish, his sharp-witted tongue almost cutting you off.

“(Y/N) is the best girl.” Johnny ruffles your hair and picks up your chin, being oblivious to the sexual tension between you and Haechan. “Now, did my best girl go to all her classes today?”

You push his large hand off of you, grumbling lowly, “yes, Johnny.” Mindful to not say dad as it would steer him with too much satisfaction, “unlike you delinquents, I actually go to class and stay for the whole thing.”

“I do too.” Doyoung bickers.

In response, you pinch his cheek harshly. “I know and I’m always proud of you, my bunny.”

Haechan clears his throat obnoxiously, “I’m going to play games, hop on when you all are done.” He takes a few more dinner rolls as he starts heading up the stairs with his plate of food.

“Can’t, I have someone coming over in a few.” Jaehyun stuffs his cheeks full of deliciousness.

“Me too.” Johnny chimes and you’re repulsed that more than half of the house is going to be having sex at the same time.

“In that case, that is my cue to leave and put on noise canceling headphones.” Doyoung gathers his plate to rush out of the scene.

Jaehyun and Johnny finish their dinners at an impressive speed, “don’t be too loud, Haechan!” Johnny loudly proclaims and though you can’t see Haechan’s face, you can imagine his devilish smile through the cadence of his voice.

“Oh, trust me. I won’t be the loud one tonight.” Your phone lights up from incoming texts. As your eyes register the messages, you almost choke on your food at the implications.

housemate haechan: come to my room when you’re done

housemate haechan: and don’t expect to walk tomorrow:)

And you’re finishing your dinner as fast as everyone else is, shamefully excited to make your way upstairs.

What are housemates for?

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #kpopscape #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct smut #haechan #lee haechan #haechan smut #nct imagines

2K notes · View notes

legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Rooftop Rendezvous

watch me ignore my wips challenge!

Timminette Oneshot 1.8K words

Summary: Red Robin finds the new criminal, Karma, on a roof.

His only response is to make out with her.” contains sexual content

without further ado

She stuck to the shadows, tucked away between two AC units. She made use of her small stature and remained out of sight, hoping her prey would stop by soon. He should any minute now. He was meticulous and methodical such that he became painfully predictable. It led to a fun game of tag though, so she wasn’t complaining too much. Her little tweety bird was so fun to chase.

The sounds of a grappling wire sings through the night’s silence and alerts her to her new rooftop companion. She pushes further back into the shadows, watching the expanses of a black cape flow through the soft wind. Her attention zeroes in on the yellow belts that snugly frame the figure’s chest as he turns to survey the roof. He completely looks past her and faces the skyline again.

“No signs of Karma, but she couldn’t have gotten far.” His voice was sturdy and confident. Assured that he would find her before the night was over. How right he was. “Oracle said she spotted her in the Fashion District. She should still be here.”

He was about to leave the roof and continue his search. She let him. He wouldn’t get far though. She didn’t want the night to end just yet nor did she want to drag out this little game. Patience wasn’t her best virtue after all. She crouched poised and waited until he leapt off the building heading to the west. Immediately, she sprung from her hidden spot and made a dash across the roof, running in the opposite direction. Loudly. Red Robin’s curse at her sudden appearance was music to her ears. Her delighted cackles rang out into the night as she lunged and landed on the nearest building. She couldn’t hear him behind her, but she knew he wasn’t far behind. He was predictable like that after all.

She makes it another three blocks before a body is slamming into her. They fall into a roll and she lands above the red vigilante. She’s about to run away to prolong the chase but he has a firm grasp on her forearms and his legs lock into place behind her. Trapping her in the space between his thighs and pressing her weight into him. He reaches behind him and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. She couldn’t resist teasing him; he made it too easy.

“A bit early for kink exploration, wouldn’t you agree, tweety bird?” She peers up at him and flutters her lashes. He ignores her but his pretty pink blush tells her everything she needs to know. He drags them up to stand and pulls her to some overhead pipes belonging to the building’s plumbing system. He links one end of the handcuffs to her wrist and the other to a low hanging pipe. Red Robin tries to back away, about to abandon her but she won’t allow it. She takes her free hand and grabs at one of his belts on his chest. She yanks him until he’s pressed flush against her.

“Don’t ignore me, tweety. That’s rude.” Her tone is light and playful. She smirks at him but he can’t see it behind her mask. Hopefully her intentions are conveyed in her still visible eyes.

“I don’t plan on playing your games, Karma.” He sounds exasperated but his arms haven’t left her hips yet. They wound up there from her earlier aggression and she quite likes the weight of them. They’re steadying and heavy; a daunting pressure. “You’re a criminal and It’s my job to bring you to justice.”

“So what? That means you can’t have a little fun while doing it?” Her knee was slowly edging up the lines along his right leg, her ankle hooking him behind his knee. “Must get boring. The whole performance of being such a dutiful civil servant.”

“We do what we must in the name of the greater good. Something you could try emulating.” He leaned in closer to drive his point but all she did was lean further into the wall and tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes of his mask. His hair curtained his face and darkened his expression. She quite liked the looming appearance of him over her like this.

“Trust me, I know all about acting in the name of the greater good. The good-girl act got tiring after a few years.” She tilted her head further back, stretching out her neck and staring up at the sky. She could still feel his gaze burn into her exposed throat. She adored the attention. It lit a simmering fire under her skin. “Much more rewarding to give into your own self-interests,” she continued. “Something you could try emulating.”

He releases one of his hands to reach up to unclasp her mask, while the other snakes around her waist, eliminating all space between them. His gloved fingers brush against her back, gracing the thin slivers of exposed skin. The texture felt lovely and sparked shivers down her spine. He threw her mask behind him and the clatter of it against the roof went ignored. His hand returned to her chin and gripped her daintily. It was almost sweet. Tender even. Her hand that was still firmly grasping his belt slowly traced up his chest. She pressed firmly at his exposed neck and slid her hand into his hair at his nape, scraping her nails lightly against his scalp and tugged at the strands. His body pushed into her more, wedging his trapped leg further between hers. Someone likes having his hair pulled apparently. Delightful.

His lips parted, caught on an inhale, and he looks like he has something to say. He doesn’t speak though, just hold their position as the seconds ticked by. Her already thin patience was waning and her frustrations shone through.

“What? Waiting on Daddy Bats to give you more orders like a good little soldier?” She made her intentions clear by rolling her hips up into his and pulling more insistently on his hair. He hissed at the stimulation and his hips betrayed his already crumbling facade of professionalism. “Or are you going to finish what you start—”

He cut her off in the best way possible. His lips were forceful and his teeth nipped at her lips but this was exactly what she wanted. His tongue came out to play and she was more than willing to entertain. The kiss was wet and messy and absolutely perfect. The hand around her waist traveled further down her body and grabbed a handful of her ass. He groped further until he reached her thigh and his hand cradling her face reached for the other one. He lifted her so their heads were leveled and her leather clad legs were wrapped snugly around his hips. Her vice-like grip kept him just where she wanted him. The heat that was simmering earlier reached a light broil. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes but she relents her sight to sharpen her other senses. He felt solid and firm against her soft edges. He smelt like fresh aftershave. He tasted divine.

The hand in his hair guided him to her exposed neck. He lavished at the expanses of skin and went to work painting a mural of pink and red bruises. She was particularly tender at one spot, just below her jaw and she hissed at his sharp bites and kittenish licks.

“Just like that. Oh, fuck,” she had no control over what she was saying, her body giving into the ministrations. Her tweety bird hummed in response and it sent a sweet tingle down her body, curling her toes in response. He used his hold on her thighs to pull her hips into his, setting a controlled grind, slow and sensual. She was completely at his mercy. When he grew tired of sucking a dark bruise into her neck he travelled further down to the curves of her bust. She arched into his lips, body asking for more pressure. The hand in his hair tightened and pulled him to pay attention to her other side. That’s how they were, getting acquainted with each other.

Her free hand left the back of his head and went to join her cuffed one. She slid the pick she kept up her sleeve out and fiddled with the lock, quietly. She paused every now and again to focus on the worship of kisses being left on her chest. He moved back up to her lips, leaving a trail of soft pecks on her overheating skin. She whimpers at the gentleness and he chuckles at her. He’s all too pleased with himself for her liking. She bites at his lip and soothes it with a soft swipe of her tongue. She presses her oversensitive chest into his, keeping his attention just where she wants it. Their hips haven’t stopped and the pleasure is blindingly distracting. He pants and moans into their kiss and she responds in kind. The heat has turned into flames under her skin and she could get addicted to this. She feels strung up like a live wire but it’s not enough. Her partner shares her sentiments, evident by the whispered babbles of ‘more’ and ‘so good’ punctuating the caresses of his kisses.

His hands roam around her body, one going down to her knee, the other up her back and this changes the angle in which they fit together. It’s exactly what was needed to bring that extra edge to their rooftop tryst. The pleasure is blinding and she feels every muscle tense as she’s brought to the long awaited precipice. Her tweety bird is throwing his head back, breaking their kiss, and their rhythm stutters as he convulses against her. His sighs of ecstasy flow into the night air as they come down from their highs together.

He rests his head on her shoulder, chest heaving and limbs weak. She slowly extracts herself from his hold to stand on unsteady legs. Her breathing evens out and slows to match his own, sharing each other’s oxygen in their own secluded bubble. With both arms free she reaches up to caress the slight stubble on his jaw, committing his structure to memory. The silence is peaceful and she creeps around him to go for her discarded mask. Behind her, Red Robin braces against the wall, staring up at the night sky. He makes no move to accost her so she takes this as her cue to leave.

“We should do this again sometime,” her voice is touched with a hint of exhaustion, raw with emotion. She doesn’t look back at him. “You’re quite something, tweety bird.”

She doesn’t wait for a response but as she leaps across to the next building she hears his following remarks echo into the night.

“Negative, Batman. She got away. Maybe next time.”

Next time indeed, Red Robin.

#timinette #mlb x dc #maribat #self-indulgent #oneshot #tumblr dont fucking try me #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #hornknee hours #timari

186 notes · View notes

here4theheartbreak · 3 years

Text

Warm Beach Afternoons (ksj + jjk)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jungkook x Seokjin Genre: smut, PWP Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2.6k

Tags: smut, PWP, cockwarming, dirty talk, watersports, oral sex, Omorashi, rough oral, semi-public blowjobs, coming untouched, deepthroating

Summary: It's far too hot for any sort of nonsense, Jin thinks. Jungkook has other ideas.

A/N: Second Kinktober fic, day 4: cockwarming. This fic was inspired by this lovely piece of artwork.

The sun was boiling hot. Too hot to reasonably be outside, Jin figured. And he was determined to take every opportunity to bitch about it to anyone that would listen. The rest of the group ignored him, as they always did – disrespectful kids, he did something wrong raising them. The makeup noonas only laughed and offered him ice packs or cold water.

And of course, there was Jungkook – in a league of his own, set out to torture Jin at every turn. Jungkook heard Jin was overheating, and his priority became laying on the elder, leaping on him, hugging him, or otherwise smothering him, at every turn.

Not that Jin really minded. For as much as he’d complain about Jungkook, that young man had his heart locked away in that beautiful bunny smile. They hadn’t mean to get so involved. Jungkook was the baby of the group, he was the elder. He knew he should be taking care of Jungkook – and that didn’t mean stealing kisses from his perfect mouth or routinely railing him into the bed. But despite knowing he shouldn’t, Jin couldn’t help it. He’d found himself falling hard and fast for the golden child. The other members knew, but opted to look the other way; so long as they didn’t get themselves outed in some horrible way, it didn’t bother them.

Most of the time, they were careful. Jungkook was clingy with everyone, so nobody thought twice when he’d leap into Jin’s arms, or chose to crawl into his bed while on a trip somewhere. Even the fans thought it was oh so sweet and brotherly. Of course, there were whispers, usually from international fans, about what if, maybe they are – but nobody gave them much thought. It was harmless.

What wasn’t harmless was the current situation. Jin was trying his best to remain cool as they shot the last few photos from his group shot with Jungkook and Yoongi. However, every time the cameras paused – and a few times when they weren’t, Jin found himself with a very large, heavy, and hot Jungkook leaning on him.

He pushed his arms off for the fifth time in fifteen minutes, whining. “It’s too hot,”

“It’s not that bad,” Jungkook complained. He back hugged Jin once more, blowing cool air on the back of his neck. Jin gritted his teeth, hating how nice it felt.

“Just a few more in the lifeguard seat,” the cameraman said, clearly mistaking Jin’s expression for annoyance. “Then you three can relax. We’ll shoot a little further down with the other four.”

“Sounds good,” Yoongi said. “That spot of shade is calling my name.”

Jin chuckled. “Agreed. You go first,” he offered, motioning his head to the lifeguard stand a few feet away. Yoongi headed for it, crawling into it and settling in for the photos. Jungkook went next, and Jin took a moment to shake the fabric from his skin, sticky with his sweat – and Jungkook’s.

Jin climbed into the stand last, working with the photographer to take the photos he needed to take. When the man finished, Jin slumped down in the chair, closing his eyes and letting the sun beat down over his skin.

“Gonna get a sunburn,” Jungkook scolded. Jin opened his eyes, looking down. Jungkook was climbing up the lifeguard stand, effectively pinning him there.

“Then let me get down, I’ll join Yoongi in the shade.”

“Nope,” Jungkook leaned forward, going nearly nose to nose with Jin. Jin pulled his head back, glancing over to make sure they were alone.

“Jungkook,” he warned.

“I’m horny,” Jungkook said softly.

Jin’s eyes widened. “When did you become so damn brazen.”

“We’ve been so busy working on the photoshoots for the single… You haven’t let me touch you in days.” Jungkook leaned on the stand, forcing Jin to open his legs or have his knees crushed by Jungkook’s weight. Jungkook slid his palms up Jin’s bare legs, squeezing his thighs under his shorts. “I miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin whispered, relaxing a little at Jungkook’s firm, steady touches. His eyes fluttered shut. “We’ll play together tonight, okay?”

“What about right now?” Jungkook offered. Jin felt him shift and opened his eyes, surprised to see Jungkook climbing down. His hopes for freedom and relaxation were dashed, however, when Jungkook stopped a few feet lower, his torso still against Jin’s legs. He palmed Jin’s cock through his shorts, meeting his gaze. “We have time.”

“We don’t,” Jin argued, gasping a little when Jungkook squeezed.

“We can make time. I can hurry.”

“It’s far too hot for this,” Jin complained even as Jungkook pulled his cock from his swim trunks.

“Drink some water then.”

Jin swore softly, chuckling. “Also, we’re gonna get caught.”

“Doing what?” Jungkook asked, his eyes wide and innocent. “I’m just playing with my hyung on the lifeguard tower,” he leaned forward, sliding Jin’s half hard cock into his mouth.

Jin jerked forward, grabbing Jungkook’s back. Jungkook took him the rest of the way in his mouth, reaching up to grab Jin’s back. He knew, from where the rest of the crew was, it did probably look like they were just wrestling.

The only problem was that Jungkook wasn’t even sucking. No, he was holding Jin’s cock in his perfect mouth, only moving his tongue every now and again. Even as Jin swelled to full hardness, Jungkook remained still. Jin pinched his side.

“Come on, hurry up and make me come,” he hissed, watching the others frolic down the beach.

Jungkook pulled his mouth off Jin’s cock with an obscene pop, his lips wet. “Come? I’m not blowing you.”

“Then what’s your face doing on my crotch?”

Jungkook smirked. “I thought your cock was cold. I’m warming it for you. I can’t make you come, we’re in public.”

Jin gritted his teeth. Jungkook grinned and slid his mouth back over Jin’s cock, nuzzling down as far as he could.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Jin hissed. “I’m pounding your ass tonight for this.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes up. He pressed his tongue up, applying pressure to Jin’s cock. At the same time, he let his teeth graze dangerously over the sensitive shaft, and Jin’s eyes rolled back.

“Be careful,” he growled. Jungkook moved his teeth back, his lips curving into a smirk around Jin’s cock. The little shit knew exactly what he was doing.

No matter how Jin tried to move, to stimulate any part of his cock, Jungkook remained still, entirely relaxed. It wasn’t as if they were atop a lifeguard stand with their entire group and about twenty crew members a few hundred feet away.

Jin was in agony. This was worse than edging; he was sweating, turned on, and desperate. Yet, the lack of stimulation - and ever constant stimulation - of Jungkook’s mouth had his cock in a state of half hard, half soft. Jungkook’s mouth was warm and wet and comfortable…

Jin hissed. “Let me go,” he panted. “JK, I gotta piss.” He pushed at Jungkook.

Jungkook looked up at him. He winked. Instead of moving, he closed his lips more firmly around Jin’s cock and shifted. One hand slid down, and he pressed hard on Jin’s lower belly, not breaking eye contact with Jin. Jin’s throat closed when he realized what Jungkook was getting at.

“N— Here?” Jin panted. He and Jungkook had played with piss a little, but never in public. Not that he was opposed… Frankly the idea had his heart racing. He looked back down the way at their group and then to Jungkook. “You sure?”

Jungkook’s nostrils flared. He nodded as well as he could, shifting just a little. He buried his fingers in Jungkook’s shaggy purple hair, leaning forward just a bit. A few drops came first, and the thought of them landing on Jungkook’s tongue nearly made him moan. He closed his eyes, focusing on the warm, wet, tight feeling of Jungkook’s mouth. He willed his bladder to release, pushing away thoughts of arousal flooding in.

There it was. A spurt of piss first, and then a gush. And there, a full, steady stream. He could hear Jungkook gulping rapidly, and feel the warm piss filling his mouth. It was pooling around the base of his cock as Jungkook struggled to swallow it down. The amount of water he’d drunk throughout the day was coming in handy, he realized. He looked down, meeting Jungkook’s gaze.

He was tearing up, his nostrils flaring as he breathed between gulps of Jin’s release.

“Cockwarmer, huh?” Jin whispered. “Looks like what I actually have here is a nice, portable urinal, isn’t that right?”

Jungkook’s eyelids fluttered shut. Jin laughed softly, stroking his cheek. “Almost done, baby. Keep swallowing for me… Fuck, Jungkook. Drink it all.”

Jungkook gave a full body shudder, his fingers tightening on Jin’s lower back.

Jin pulled his cock back slowly as his stream ended, letting Jungkook swallow the last bit of piss. He opened his mouth when he was done, showing Jin his proof.

“Good boy,” Jin murmured. He tried to tuck himself away but Jungkook made a noise of annoyance.

“I was a good cockwarmer and urinal,” he whined. “Don’t I get a treat?”

Jin glanced at the others. “They’re about done.”

“And you’re hard already and always come fast after you piss. I can do it.” Jungkook smirked. “Wanna know something that’ll speed things along?”

Jin raised an eyebrow. Jungkook shifted, standing up a little higher on the ladder of the stand. Jin could see the front of his shorts, tented from his own erection. Jungkook pulled Jin’s cock free and kissed the tip and looked up at Jin. “Slide your hand in the front of my shorts.”

Jin shifted, sliding his hand down gently, past Jungkook’s tight stomach, the tie of his trunks, the soft, curly mat of his pubic hair…

“Oh...” Jin breathed, his cock throbbing. “Is that…”

Jungkook grinned. “I came in my trunks while you were pissing in my mouth.”

Jin moaned softly. He ran his hand over Jungkook’s cock, feeling the slick squish of his come, clinging to his skin and hair.

Jungkook sank down on his cock, his shoulders heaving a little when the tip bumped his throat. He began to suck and swallow, barely moving his head. Jin grunted behind closed lips, playing with Jungkook’s come covered cock. It was a secret between them, this kink. If it was a kink. An association, really.

The night that Jin took Jungkook’s virginity, they began with foreplay. Which turned into Jungkook sucking Jin’s cock; not a bad arrangement if Jin could say so himself. Jungkook had been in his jockey shorts at that point. And, in his ever so eager way, ended up coming prematurely, spilling his release in his shorts. Though he’d been embarrassed, Jin had never been more turned on in his life. He’d come so hard he saw spots just from Jungkook’s mouth on his cock, and his hand down the from of his come filled shorts. From that point on, Jungkook filling his underwear with a surprise load of come was the quickest way to get Jin to orgasm; and Jungkook was good at it. Jin was starting to wonder if the guy could come on command with how easily he came in his shorts during foreplay, even after all these years. It wasn’t that he was always premature; having sex, Jungkook could go for hours sometimes. But if the mood struck… It happened.

Jin whined softly. Jungkook was mouthing along his cock perfectly. “So dirty, JK,” he teased. “Filled your trunks with all this come… And not even being touched. You squirted while your hyung was making you drink his piss. So, so dirty.”

Jungkook pulled off Jin’s cock with a wet pop. He began to stroke him in short, fast strokes. “Can’t help it,” he panted. “I just love your cock… Being your cockwarmer made my dick so hard. I was wishing you could just lay me in the sand and ruin my asshole, right there… And then you started pissing, I couldn’t help but get so much hotter. It tasted so good and it makes my belly feel full and warm, I just had to let a load go.”

Jin shuddered, his orgasm nearing. He pulled his hand free and licked the come from it, earning a happy little gasp and sigh from Jungkook.

“Well, I’ll need to punish you tonight,” Jin murmured.

“What will you do?”

“I think I’ll need to pound your ass… Make you scream loud enough all our members hear.”

Jungkook’s eyes rolled back. He nodded quickly.

“And maybe after,” Jin muttered, “I’ll leave another round of piss in there, make you plug it up and hold it until your stomach hurts.”

Jungkook whined and nodded again. “Please, hyung…”

“We’ll see,” Jin murmured. “Swallow it again, I’m close.”

He pushed Jungkook’s head down, sighing happily when Jungkook took his cock to the root. A few quick bobs of his head and a few swipes of Jungkook’s expert tongue, and Jin was coming, spilling hot ropes of come into his soft mouth.

Jin felt his entire body relax, the tension draining out of him with each spurt. “Perfect,” he sighed.

Jungkook pulled off him with a pop and tucked him away. “They’re coming,” he whispered.

Jin straightened up and grabbed Jungkook, shifting their posture to look like they were wrestling on the seat as the others neared.

“You’re going to fall,” Namjoon called as he approached.

“He’s trying to smother me,” Jin complained. Jungkook popped his head up, shaking it to try and fix his hair.

“I’m just making sure you’re cozy, the breeze from the water might be cold.”

“Troublemaker,” Jin grumbled. Jungkook laughed and crawled down the ladder. Jin glanced down, relieved to see his crotch was not showing any bulges or wet spots. The makeup girl rushed up, fixing his hair without question; she was used to fixing mistakes from their wrestling on shoots. Jin crawled down as well, watching Jungkook from afar. He wondered what she’d say if she knew that mess of Jungkook’s pretty hair was from Jin’s hands, pulling and tugging. Or the slightly smeared lip color was because his lips were around Jin’s cock… She wouldn’t be happy, that’s for sure.

Jungkook glanced over, meeting Jin’s gaze and offering a sweet smile as she fixed his makeup. The photographer was talking about the last few group shots, but Jin could barely pay attention. One word he heard for sure though, was water.

“We get to play in it?” Jin asked, perking up immediately.

The photographer thought for a moment and nodded. “Sure, I think that would be cute photos perhaps. But we’ll do that last, so if you guys get your outfits wet, it won’t be a big deal.” Jin nodded. He leaned over a little, allowing the makeup girl to fix his hair and face when she came at him.

They set to work after, finishing up the beach shoots and heading to the ocean. Jin tried not to keep staring at Jungkook, but it was impossible. He did, however, try not to notice (at least visibly) when Jungkook made sure to go at least waist deep into the water, inconspicuously shifting to make sure his trunks were well soaked in the crotch area.

As the shoot wrapped up and they dried off and changed back into their normal clothing. And, of course, as was the pattern, Jungkook took that opportunity to drape himself over Jin, warming every inch of his body that he could reach. But Jin didn’t complain this time. This time he leaned into it, savoring Jungkook’s embrace. Pesky or not – Jungkook was his happiness, and he’d never trade a second of time with him for anything else in the world.

#thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #jinkook #seokjin x jungkook #jungkook x seokjin #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #jin x jungkook #jungkook x jin #mywriting

33 notes · View notes

secondhand-trash · 3 years

Text

A/N: it’s been a long time without any new bentos but its back uwu I know we usually clown osamu a lot in this series but this one is kinda where we give him the appreciation he deserves hehe also its winter and I just have to write about something winter related so enjoy ouo

Warning: sickness, Osamu being baby

Word count: 2375

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the notes, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

Winter in Hyogo was lovely, by all accounts. Not too chilly, but cold enough for the gentle sunshine gracing on your skin to feel like a blessing from the universe when you walked on the streets.

It would have been a flawless season if you were to be given the luxury of staying underneath your thick, fluffy futon every morning after waking up until your body was sufficiently warmed up and the worst hours of the day had passed before you finally had to leave the comforting confines of your bed. But alas, you wouldn’t get paid for staying in bed and before the day that such a magical occupation becomes a reality, you still had no choice but to give up on the blissful warmth of your blankets at unholy hours in the morning before leaving for another day of sitting still in a cold office with nothing but lifeless documents as your company.

You let out a sigh as the blaring screech of your alarm kept ringing, shutting your eyes tight to relieve yourself of the soreness lingering behind your vision before turning it off in frustration. The room was still dark, and it would not be until you were ready to leave the door that any light would shine through the curtains.

That was winter work days for you, always making the offer of early retirement all the more tempting.

Rolling to your side, you sucked in a deep breath to brace the impact of what was to come before lifting up the corner of your futon that you would certainly miss throughout the day. The chilly air broke through the trapped heat within the layers. You shivered as you hastily searched for you cardigan that draped at your bed side table, slipping your toes that were numb from the cold into your room slippers. Osamu shifted in his sleep at the sudden evasion to his warm little bubble, curling up uncontrollably at the sudden loss of his heat source as you left the bed.

Wait, Osamu?

“Samu?” you called out for him gently, putting your hand on top of his body that was wrapped up by the blanket that he now occupied entirely.

“Hm...”

There was a whimper that came from beneath the layers, hoarse and muffled as the man barely moved.

No wonder why it was so quiet this morning. Osamu was rarely up later than you, always out of the bed at the first alarm to start preparing for the day. You had taken being woke up to the smell of warm breakfast and the sound of pan sizzling for granted with it being one of the few motivations you had to actually open your eyes.

But right now, he was still in bed with seemingly no intention of waking up. You walked to his side of the bed, clutching your cardigan closer to your body as you bent down to push down the blanket that was covering his face just a little. His brows furrowed at the miniature, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead as he clenched his jaw. His face was flushed but his lips looked dangerously chapped, the few strands of his bangs that had fallen down matted to his forehead.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily, the clear nasal in his voice making it sound like there was something stuck at the back of his throat as he spoke.

“8:30.” You replied, rubbing your hand along his arm as you took in his expression.

He shuddered at the time, kicking away the blanket but seemed more tangled up by it under his attempt as he shifted and tried to get up. “Shit... that’s so late. Why did I miss the alarm?”

You did not miss the way he nearly fumbled the moment his feet touched the ground, leaping forward to hold him by the shoulders before he could fall.

You had expected it when you saw that he didn’t get up. Osamu rarely misses his alarm, and the number of times this had happened as a careless mistake on his part was near none after he had the responsibility of Onigiri Miya on his shoulders.

But you knew your guess was correct when you pressed your forehead against his as he slumped over you. He was burning up, his face and his entire body as it laid on yours despite it being difficult for you to hold up his much larger frame. However, the person who was basically a human furnace in your hold was still struggling to stand back up straight as you held him there.

“Osamu,” you said, patting his back and trying to urge him to lay down, “go back to bed.”

“No...” he replied stubbornly, but ended up sounding more like a child who was trying to sound serious with his voice coming out weak and shaky.

“You are sick, I won’t let you get up like this,” you peeled off his hand that was latched onto your forearm, the lines between your brows deepening when you felt how he was sweating from his palms.

“But-”

“Miya Osamu.”

He let out a defeated whine, succumbing to the way you coerced him back onto the mattress as the dizziness weighing on his head finally took over. He was still mumbling about all the things he needed to do today under his breath as you tucked him back under the covers, reminding you to contact the staff that was supposed to come to work this morning as you reassured him again and again that you would get it figured out for him.

He spoke slower and slower as you fixed the pillow underneath his head, words melting into near incoherent slurs before he finally closed his eyes back up.

You did not move away until you saw the heavy breathing returned to a steady pace, even though the loud inhales indicated that he was still having a hard time. Sighing as you relaxed your hands that had curled into fists at your side when you hadn’t paid attention, you pressed your finger to your own forehead where it felt like his heat was still lingering on your own skin.

You had gone back to work as usual after spending too long pacing around that morning to call for a day off completely, but managed to file in to leave early. Just the thought of a sick Osamu being alone at home had you shifting in your seat. What if he woke up while you were gone and tried to force his wobbly body to handle chores? You had never packed up your things as quickly as you did when the clock finally strike at the hour when you were allowed to leave, dashing out near immediately the moment you finished off the work at hand.

Osamu was still deep in sleep by the time you got back, much to your relieve. He seemed slightly more at ease now than he was when you left the house, the cooling pad on his forehead sufficiently absorbing the heat emitting from him. It had been a long while since you last saw him so vulnerable, his lashes fluttering at his eyelids jumped at the way your finger brushed against his cheek when you reached to check his temperature.

“Mm...you’re home,” he fought his eyes open when he sensed you moving away under his half-woken state.

“Don’t go...”

You forgot how needy he always was when he was feeling unwell and how weak you were against his glassy eyes. Patting the back of his head, you tried to appease him as you cooed, “Let’s try to get you something to eat first, I’ll be back soon. Ok?”

He did not seem to be happy about the suggestion of you leaving his side, but still, let you go with a whine. Grey eyes stared at you from behind hooded lids, his cheeks squishing against the pillow as his hands curled and released at the corner of the futon he was grabbing onto. “Ok...”

When was the last time you ever stood in front of a stove? You were not completely useless in the kitchen by all means, but the long period of having all your meals being taken cared of by someone who not only knew what they were doing but found so much love in doing so had reduced you to nothing but a clueless cloud as you stared at contents in the fridge. There sat the jelly you had got for Osamu, which apparently was recommended to feed to patients for increasing appetite and reducing heat according to the articles you looked up on your way home. But other than that, it was a territory of unknown to you.

There were several Tupperwares labeled with different dates in Osamu’s scribbles. He had always been smart when it comes to domesticities, making sure that the best before was always marked clearly on the package of everything he bought. The drinks and soda cans were always refilled, which you had clearly taken for granted because the suddenly empty space stood out to you more than ever before. There were a few plates stacked up at the corner with sticky notes on the side and you felt a hollowness in your chest when you saw what it said.

“Monday’s bento.”

Oh baby boy...

You clasped your hand together as you gathered your thoughts, not giving yourself the room to stand around doing nothing. There’s a patient waiting for you in bed, and you couldn’t just let him suffer through a fever with an empty stomach.

You rolled your sleeves up, bracing the winter cold that graced against your arm, before searching in your sea of memories of all the times someone had taken care of you when you were sick.

The sweet smell of rice gathered in the steam, warming up your body with each inhale. You lifted up the lid tentatively and was pleased to see the all the grains had already melted together into a soft, fluffy cloud. The strings of egg added a tint of flavour to the otherwise bland congee. It was all starting to come together, and you let out a relieved sigh to know that at least he wouldn’t have to starve. The mess around the counter was evidence that you had to stumble through each step, the ingredients that you choppily diced up still lingering around the cutting board.

You thought of the way Osamu always out so much effort into making sure you were well fed each day and all the thoughts he had put into each bento.

The sheer cheesiness and absolute embarrassment that followed what popped up in your head made you shiver. Since when were you the type of person who could even think of things like that? But still, your hand moved to pick up the knife that was put to the side with the other reaching for the scraps that were left from the cooking.

He would probably like this a lot.

You hope he would like this a lot.

“Samu? Are you awake?”

The creek of the door was met with a soft whimper. The man on the bed swung his arm over to the side so his still heavy body could move with him, a small smile crawling onto his face when he saw you.

“Took you long enough...”

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I cooked anything,” the wooden tray landed on the bedside table with a clank. He tried to get up on his own, but the shaking of his arm had you rushing to help him at once. He looked sheepish as you lifted the cover of the pot, mixing everything together with the spoon before handing it to him.

Osamu was always touched by food, but maybe the lack of taste in his mouth all day had done a number on him when he had to choke back the urge to sob when he smelt the warm steam filling his nostrils the moment you opened the lid.

“Is that a heart?” he was grinning ear to ear as he pushed around the congee with the spoon.

“Yes,” you huffed with a defeated laugh under his knowing stare, “now hurry up or it’ll get cold.”

He looked up at you, and your heart nearly skipped a beat when he pouted.

“Feed me,” he demanded, his voice sweet and like a kid as he held out the spoon in his hand.

You knew he would be all over it. You let out a soft tsk as you took the spoon back in your hand, sitting on the small space next to him on the bed as you scooped up some of the rice.

Osamu felt a warm swell in his chest at the way you carefully blew against the congee, one hand cupping beneath the spoon before bringing it to his lips. His head was still pounding, and the dryness felt nearly painful as he had his first bite of real food of the day but he loved, simply loved the way your eyes never left him for even just a second.

The congee warmed him from within, and he indulged in the leisure of laying against your shoulder while you babied him.

He latched on you when you were about to move away, rubbing his face against you as he whined. “It’s cold without you.”

“I need to get this in the sink or else it’ll be hard to clean up-”

“Nooooooo,” he held out for the last note of his voice, burying his face at the crook of your neck, “do it later...”

“You’re such a child when you are sick,” you joked, pushing away his bangs and caressed his jaw with your thumb.

“Yeah?” he muttered, leaning into your touch, “Good thing I have you here to take care of me then...”

You sighed, knowing that there was no way you could win when he was acting all clingy and cute like this. He let out a satisfied hum when you climbed under the covers, wrapping your arm around his waist while tugging his head against your shoulder.

“Get well soon, you big baby.”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu imagines #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu x reader #miya x reader

177 notes · View notes

beauregardlionett · 3 years

Text

all or nothing (it’s a game no one can win)

AO3 Link

Realization was a cold, viscous curl in her gut.

Her thoughts were racing, but they passed through her grasp like wisps of smoke—like illusions. None of them stuck where terror turned her mind into a slippery slope.

Eyes locked on Caleb’s, Beau imagined that his expression of horrified comprehension was mirrored on her own face. Her chest felt tight, ears ringing to where she could barely hear Fjord’s worried questions. His confusion meant little to Beau at the moment.

She and Caleb stood scarcely a foot apart from each other, bare feet planted to the floor and vulnerable in every sense of the word. Dressed in their sleep clothes, chests heaving from the dream—the nightmare. Caleb had torn his shirt off over his head and stood facing her with a naked chest. They had been asleep and still they were marked with those horrid eyes. Beau hypothesized they marked one for death—Lucien had died once already, Molly died, Vess died.

A curse.

Her thoughts were racing, but one clear, overwhelming emotion stuck at the back of her throat. It burned like the brink of nausea—that hint of relief. A sick part of Beau overwhelmingly grateful she wasn’t alone in this. That she had Caleb beside her like always. But she saw the heavy panic settling into the lines of his expression that tore through Beau with guilt.

The rest of the party stirred around them, and the tension snapped in Beau’s chest with all the force of a broken rib.

On instinct, Beau’s eyes flicked to Yasha where she leaned up against the door. She couldn’t face Yasha with this—not yet. Beau still didn’t want to face this, and she was the one with the unwarranted tattoo on her hand.

Seconds after Yasha’s eyes opened, she seemed to understand something was wrong. Jester’s sleepy question only enhanced that sense. Her muffled, “what happened?” against the pillow she pressed into spurred Yasha to shove to her feet, alert already, always a light sleeper.

She wasn’t ready. Beau moved faster than all of them.

Grabbing Caleb’s wrist and his discarded shirt, Beau yanked him from the room. Sleeping in Yasha’s bed had filled her with warmth, a sense of security. Now her fingers felt like they had been left out in the snowbanks of Eiselcross overnight, and her heart along with them. Her skin seemed too tight, too little to contain the frightful chaos underneath. Her breaths came with rapid fervor as she fled like an animal cornered to the worried calls of their friends.

Still clinging to Caleb’s wrist, Beau leapt off the platform into the middle of the tower and they began to ascend.

“Beauregard,” Caleb said tremulously at her shoulder.

“Take us to the eighth floor,” Beau said, her tone sharper than intended. At least it masked the tremor that wracked her chest.

Caleb unlocked the iris that lead to the upper floors with muttered Zemnian that Beau understood but couldn’t process. The contraption slid shut behind them with a soft shink that echoed against Beau’s nerves. Releasing Caleb’s wrist, she slid her hand into his and frantically intertwined their fingers.

“The first door,” Beau whispered. “Where was it?”

Caleb went rigid beside her, but Beau struggled to force her gaze to focus on anything at the moment, to even try looking his way.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in labored silence before Caleb finally took that infinite first step. He led her to a door and pushed it open with heavy intent. Somewhere among the tangle of threads, Beau understood. She just couldn’t seem to parse them apart long enough to comprehend anything beyond the exact second she was living in.

Standing just inside the door, hand in hand, shaken to their core, Beau and Caleb lingered.

Beau closed her eyes and took a deep, unsteady breath. Dairon had told her in one of their training sessions that when she needed to find her center, find a foothold to begin, to start with a breath. Inhale, and look forward.

She breathed in again, deeper and steadier, swore she tasted the salty air of Nicodranas on her tongue. With a tremulous exhale, Beau opened her eyes and latched onto the teacup sitting on the tiny, worn kitchen table. She could scarcely make out a hairline fracture against the lip of the cup in the dim light. There were flowers and vines painted against the fired ceramic, faded with use and more so in spots that welcomed fingerprints.

Caduceus.

The kitchen was stocked with necessities as far as Beau saw, so she inhaled once more and laid out a brief roadmap in her head.

She found purchase.

Turning to Caleb, Beau almost flinched at the expression of hollow dread etched into the exhausted lines of his face. Beau pressed his shirt into his hands and gave Caleb a nudge toward one seat at the table. He sat without protest, but Beau’s palm felt cold and empty without the weight of his presence there.

With a shake of her head, Beau mentally checked off the first step and turned to the kitchen.

A quick heft of the kettle on the counter found it full, so Beau set it over the fire crackling quietly in the hearth and returned to the counters. There was one other mug, faded brown clay that was chipped in so many places Beau was surprised it still held water. A tiny tin box held a scant amount of mint leaves, but it was enough for two mugs of tea.

She worked through the motions of brewing—the way Caduceus had shown her. It was a grounding sort of practice, almost like meditation. Each step required just enough attention to banish all other thoughts from creeping in.

Minutes later, Beau sat across from Caleb and hooked their ankles together beneath the table. Somewhere in Beau’s process, Caleb had attempted to put his shirt back on. He had gotten as far as pulling his arms into the sleeves before giving up, since it sat in his lap, his hands poking through the ends of the sleeves. Two steaming, steeping mugs of tea sat between them, steam curling lazily from the surface.

“This isn’t good,” Beau pressed out, her voice thick in her throat. That hint of nausea still lingered at the back of her tongue, accompanying the sensation of vertigo still spinning in her head from the dream.

“Nein,” Caleb said, voice hoarse.

“What do we do?”

Caleb was silent for a long, suspended moment before, “I don’t know.”

Beau had seen the way his fingers brushed and lingered over the eye on his shoulder, then the scars on his arm back in Yasha’s room. The marks on his arms were paler skin than his usual complexion, raised and puckered slightly—tangible things of torture endured and surmounted. They were evidence of something removed.

The eye against his shoulder was flat, etched and inked into skin with a permanence that neither of them had ever had the privilege or sanctuary of knowing. Beau imagined the mark against the back of her hand felt much the same, but she couldn’t even find the courage to look at her hand again.

With frustrated resignation to their fate, Beau curled the fingers of her left hand around the steaming mug before her and held fast. The weight of the eye on her skin stung like a caustic burn.

Caleb’s eyes flicked to her hand at the movement, his expression doing something complicated before he made a wounded noise. The sound came from the back of his throat, like a creature accepting its fate. He pressed his face into his hands, shirt dangling between his elbows.

“Scars and eyes,” Caleb muttered from behind his fingers before Beau could find her voice. “I’m becoming more and more like our purple friend every day.”

“Shut up,” Beau choked out near immediately, eyes narrowing. Her anger wasn’t for Caleb, but she was angry. At Trent, at Lucien, at everyone that had ever made him and her friends feel inferior, defective, and worthless. “Don’t you dare.”

“Beauregard,” Caleb dropped his hands to his lap again, eyes tired and dark. She hated this expression. “I know you care for me, but be realistic. My appetite for knowledge bears frightening comparison to Lucien’s…” His fingers drifted toward his shoulder, face turning bitter.

“It’s only a matter of time, it seems.”

The anger banished Beau’s haze of panic entirely.

“What about me, then?” Beau bit out at him. He flashed her a look of confusion and Beau released her mug to wave her left hand in his face.

“I’ve got scars and eyes and a need to know everything I have no business in. Am I going to turn into Lucien, too?”

“No,” Caleb said, sounding strangled at the very notion. “No, Beauregard, you’re different.”

“How?” Beau fired back, the furrow of her brow daring Caleb to put himself down in front of her. “Am I different because I’m younger, I’ve got more time to make it right? Is it because I wasn’t manipulated as a child the way you were? Or maybe I’m different because you assume I’m not afraid. Well, newsflash, asshole—I’m fucking terrified.”

Caleb blinked at her, lips parted slightly as he stared.

“We both know I’m blunt and I don’t have a filter,” Beau said by way of preamble. “But if you truly think you’re more like Lucien than you are like me, then your intelligence is fucking wasted. Lucien clings to that book because he wants the power he thinks will come of it. We,” Beau gestured empathetically between them, making the steam from their tea waft in erratic spirals. “Went into that book looking for information, for a foothold to understand. We’re sitting here like this because we don’t want this.”

Beau sucked in a tremulous inhale, her eyes stinging as she glared at Caleb. “So fuck you for implying otherwise.”

Caleb seemed at a loss for words, his jaw snapping shut, a muscle twinging beneath his cheek with the force of it. He looked down at his hands in his lap, tangled in his shirt, and said nothing. Dashing at her traitorous eyes, Beau didn’t even try to be subtle about the tears she furiously wiped away. The silence pulled, and they let it, the crackling logs being devoured by flame an undercurrent of white noise.

“Why are we up here, Beauregard?” Caleb’s haggard voice pushed through the silence between them.

Beau stayed quiet for a beat before answering. She weighed her options, wanting to tell Caleb everything that had been in her head since they were up here earlier. She just wasn’t sure if this was the right time.

The eye on her skin burned, and Beau remembered Fjord’s words from a couple nights before.

Who knows how long we have.

“Because I don’t think Lucien can get up here,” Beau replied to the surface of her tea. She paused and made her choice. “And I needed to tell you I understand now.”

The snap of Caleb’s eyes finding her was palpable, but infinitely more comforting than the stare of that stupid eye from their dream.

“Caduceus said you were going about this the wrong way. Jester said it was a punishment rather than a memory—but this isn’t here as a punishment, is it? You put this here as a reminder, so you don’t forget where you came from. So you don’t forget them. This is here because you’re scared you might forget them the way you forgot those years after you were tricked. You have this here so that it exists because it’s the closest thing you can get to without actually going back. You keep thinking about this past, about what it would cost to go back and fix things.”

She looked up finally, and the jarring lock of Beau’s gaze into Caleb’s previously fixated stare almost threw her. There was desperation to his eyes, a longing sort of hope that Beau might manage to put his way into words.

“I’d give up quite a bit for the chance to fix a few things in the past now, too,” Beau murmured. “So yeah, I understand why you keep this place around, why it’s hard to let go.” She looked around at the simple kitchen, at the cheerful hearth. “Jester’s right, it is a nice house. None of us were trying to judge you or shame you for it, Caleb. But you understand why we were worried before, right? Everything comes at a cost—even the right thing.”

They sat silently for a long moment, staring at each other in the dim. The press of Caleb’s ankles against Beau’s a warm, comforting weight.

“Caduceus asked you if you thought Lucien had a room like this,” Beau whispered. She could all but sense the amount of effort it took for Caleb to not flinch at her words.

“Even if he does, Caleb,” Beau spoke in a measured, firm tone. Her grip around her teacup tightened as she leaned in marginally to keep his gaze on her. “You aren’t like him. And I won’t let you be, either.”

Caleb held her gaze for a lengthy, tenuous moment before he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. The furrow between his brow eased, and he raised his arms to tug the shirt fully over his head. He scooped up the clay mug before him with a trembling hand. The eye on his shoulder hidden away for now, but Beau’s still glared out at them with red intent.

“So how do we fix this?” Caleb asked, accented and gruff. His ankles pressed with more resolve against Beau’s where they were locked together. “Going forward.”

Hope was not a swell in her chest. Instead, it was the heated comfort of a mug of tea against her palm and Caleb’s warm hand covering her knuckles. His fingers obscured the eye etched into her skin, and Beau could almost pretend for a moment that it wasn’t there at all.

Inhale, and look forward.

#cr #critical role #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #empire kids #empire siblings #writing #my writing #m9 #c2e122 #i'm just emotional about them okay

55 notes · View notes

rivertoasty · 3 years

Text

Star Wars: Revelations Tech x Natelyte

Now Revised

This is the first sexual encounter between these two characters in a series I am writing based on the aftermath of TCW.

I revised this encounter because after re-reading it a few weeks later it did not capture the vision that I have for the start of their romantic relationship.

WARNINGS: Rated MA +18, Explicit, NSFW, P in V sex, protected sex, during office hours, Auralism (sound kink), recorded encounter, feelings.

5K Words.

Norslyr Translations

Sonval: Sun drop in Afrikaans

Sonskyn: Sunshine in Afrikaans

Lokacinka: your turn – Hausa

taa ya nyota: starlight – Swahili

Zub da hasken rana a cikina: Pour your sun flares into me - Hausa

Haskaka ni da farin dodo: Spark me with a white dwarf (baby) – Hausa

Gee nog een uitbarsting my sonskyn: Give one more eruption my sunshine – Afrikaans

Star Wars: Revelations: Tech x Natelyte

Tech turns on his helmet audio function to listen to Natelyte’s special recording. The audio is Natelyte masturbating, moaning, and whining his name as she uses a high-powered vibrator on herself.

“Tech...!” She whimpers. His eyes widen at the sound of her voice calling his name. This recording was unexpected, it appeared in his room upon the Solar Scourge before leaving to complete a job. Tech knew well enough to listen to the audio in private in case it was something meant just for him. Nat’s voice breaks again as she nears release.

Tech checks over his shoulder to confirm the door is locked and proceeds to remove his cod piece. He takes it a step further and removes all his armor except his helmet, he lays out on his bed. He pulls up innocent images of Natelyte on his screen to look at as he strokes himself. Tech isn’t one to take this kind of time to himself while on a job; but the crew are already on their way to return to Norsik. He isn’t going to be needed anytime soon. Tech let’s out a groan at the lack of fluid friction he could do to himself alone. He grabs a sock from his bed side and slicks his cock with lube and proceeds to jerk himself with the sock around it. The vibrator takes on more of the volume in the background of Nat’s whimpering. Tech begins to visualize how she does it to herself, just from this audio clip alone he can deduce that Natelyte is more about clitoral stimulation than penetration.

“Make you...cum on my piece...”. He goes on babbling about all the dirty things he wants to do to Nat.

“Nat...!” He yelps at the violent ejaculation that glazes the inside of the sock. Feeling himself need more of her to get his nerves right he continues listening to Nat. Her voice breaking in high pitches that he has never heard her voice achieve before, at least not around him.

“Tech.! Oh, I miss you already.” She coos, he can envision the devious smile on her lips. Then she orgasms whining his name. He sits up tossing the sock to the floor.

“She’s so enthralling”. He sighs still thinking about Natelyte. All the things he wants to do with her...and too her. Thinking of the moans and whines she let out while calling his name, the actions she took to make this for him. It all started so innocently, she is making it clear that she’s not teasing anymore, she wants Tech.

Both of these geniuses make a schedule nearly every morning to let the others know when and where they will be throughout the day so if and when anyone needs their help, they can always find them based on the schedule. When they put it together that they both do this type of time management technique they began to plan their days to intersect every now and then just to get some time to work together, take breaks that overlap with one another’s time. Then one day, Tech cleared his schedule and he sent just ‘Natelyte’ for the whole day, to not only her but to everyone in the crew. When she saw this, she too just wiped the day away and plastered Tech’s name across the planner and they went out together for the day doing fun things instead of work. Then this job came up a few weeks later and he had to go with the Scourgemen, she slipped this audio recording in his room before they departed. Now he isn’t going to hold back what he wants to do with her. Natelyte is a beautiful and intelligent woman, a rebellious danger, something he admires most about her. The ship came out of hyperspace, Tech redresses and went out to the bridge. The crew is eager to get back to the surface to see their perspective counter parts. None of the women came along for this delivery job, it wasn’t out of disinterest, they just have much more pressing matters that require their presence to maintain at present. Hunter walks out onto the bridge to oversee the dissent to the surface being performed by Wolffe. He looks Tech up and down with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow, knowing full well that Tech is a horny little bastard right now. Tech shrugs the look off, at least he is getting something from his girl.

The crew land at the platform and Tech was off the ship and dashing towards Natelyte’s office building. Assuming she would be walking from that direction, he turns a corner and there she is. Her face brightens with a smile to see him alive and in one piece. They briskly walk towards each other and embraced. Their armors clad against each other couldn’t stop the feeling of the other’s warmth.

“I listened to your message.” He says with a soft smile.

“Oh ja? Did you enjoy it my sonval?” She asks and leans into him with her breast plate more against his chest plate. His hands move further down her back to hold her more closely.

“I loved it so much that I want to participate with you my sonskyn.” He rasps lowly in her ear and nibbles at her lobe, wasting no time as always. Nat breaks away from him still grasping his hand to walk to her office together. They continue to converse about the job he returned from and high lights of events happening on Norsik.

Her office is open and organized, Nat closes the door behind her and activates the glass clouding feature so no one can see through the glass. Tech steps forward and cups Natelyte’s face, their eyes transfix on each other searching for the next move. Nat takes notice of Tech’s posture, now straightened and taller due to the posture correction patch Ottehok slapped between his shoulder blades to correct his hunching. Their lips connect, her arms wrap around his neck, she introduces her tongue into the mix and Tech hums with delight. Tech steps forward to press Nat to the glass wall and the kiss deepens, their heat begins to overtake their minds, instinct begins to override logic and focus.

Heat swells like a roaring star.

“Tech….” Natelyte moans when their lip’s part for just a moment. Her lust lidded hazel orbs focus on his wide brown irises shielded by his specs. “We should move from the glass. I heard someone enter the lab. People can see our figures against the glass wall…” She speaks with a reluctant smile. She did not want to pause in the moment, but privacy is priority in regard to this encounter.

He is a Voider after all.

“Ah well, to your nook then?” He smirks and pushes his frames up his bridge. He takes a few steps back to get distance from the glass. The disinterested look in Natelyte’s eyes is quickly noticed by Tech. He comes forward to take one of her hands to spin her around the space between them, so her bottom is pressed against a desk that was behind Tech. “Or I should we continue right here?” He queries in her ear with his crotch piece pressing against her apex.

“Ja right here, sonval.” She mewls as he nips at exposed flesh on her neck. His hands come down to her thighs to lift her onto the desk. Her hands push aside monitors and a keyboard to make room for their encounter on the desk’s surface. Teck kicks away a swivel chair just a foot away from their coupling. “I’ve always wanted to be taken in this office.” She lets out as Tech sucks away at her neck leaving hickies carelessly across her supple flesh. “To be railed by a man of your faculty.”

“You give me too much credit my taa ya nyota.” He smiles as his hands come down to unhook his utility harness and comm link. Nat follows suit and begins to unclasp her armor plating. They strip down to their under clothes and eagerly entangle once more to explore each other’s forms.

Natelyte’s full feminine curves draw the attention of his hands immediately. First her thighs to then fearlessly cupping her breasts. Her hands roam over his upper body memorizing every muscle groove, feeling his solid frame tensing beneath her touch, she catches notice of his flushed complexion, how pink his ears get when he blushes, it’s adorable. He is touch starved, ravenous for physical contact of any manner possible, his throbbing member sandwiched between both their thighs is evidence of his physical needs. His unbashful expression to her acknowledgement of his arousal has him take a moment and clear his throat.

“Ahem. With your permission Natelyte, I would like to record our coitus?” His query is collected and serious. She knows damn well that Tech exhibits Auralism; where one is aroused by sound; not that just any sound arouses him of course, but just the sounds that he desires to hear when in need. Hence why he has a habit of recording nearly everything; he does it for his own reasons, from safety to necessity for assignments, for proof or for study. But of course anything remotely having to do with sex, you best bet it will grab his attention for a moment before he remembers his surroundings and task at hand. Nat knows all too well he is not referring to just audio recording their encounter, he will be recording everything.

“Ja, the more angles the better actually.” She halts her movements across his body and reaches back behind herself to activate a monitor. Tech’s eyes narrow in bewilderment before she speaks again. “I can capture more than just the angle of your frames.” She speaks in a low sultry tone that rivets in his ear canal sending shivers down his spine and goosebumps to rise across his body. She opens an application that allows her to wake all of the surrounding monitors in the office, activating a recording feature. The cameras all blink with a red light signaling the start of their first coitus session. Tech stares in awe at Natelyte’s expanded reach into this kink, and his cock throbs with gratitude. “Perspective on all sides…” her tongue slips into an ear, her hands return to his body with a fiery intensity making Tech’s knees weak. His fingers brush along his goggles to begin recording their steamy encounter, and for Tech to get to work on his sonskyn.

“May we disrobe?” Nat nods and lifts the hem of his shirt first; she wants to see what this Techno Master looks like underneath everything. She is not disappointed. Tech is sporting a healthy muscle tone, a cog and skull tattoo on a shoulder and left pectoral muscle, several others accented with blaster scars and a stunning set of abs that has Nat bite her bottom lip in arousing admiration of Tech’s physique. Tech’s hands come back to Nat’s body, he lifts off her shirt and pulls down her pants, panties, and socks. His darkened brown eyes scan across her chestnut skin, her red curls complement the flecks of green in her brown pools. Navy blue and crimson red runes line across her body, markings of achievements and lessons she has mastered throughout her life. Her body is a sculpted masterpiece, Tech is far from being a religious man, but he’d be dammed it he didn’t want to worship the ground that this woman walks upon.

He worships her in a different manner.

Tech lifts her left foot into his mouth, slipping her toes between his lips, his tongue sweeping between her toes. Nat slips onto her elbows to watch Tech do his thing. He sucks on her big toe and releases it with a pop.

“That was really nice.” Nat says with a pleasant smile.

“Your clitoris looks much nicer…” Tech purrs planting a kiss to her lips first to then trail down her body. Kissing each dark nipple, her pierced naval, down to her darkly pigmented clitoris. Spreading her opening with his thumbs he inspects her coloring; it becomes pinker towards the center, her skin is smooth and tender, with arousal dripping from her. His hands glide along her thighs, his warm breath fans over her apex, he witnesses her opening contract, the slit rising and falling in a slow motion, his places a slow wet kiss to her button. Nat’s head falls back, she lowers from her elbows, to lay flat on the desk, she props her legs wide on the desktop. His hands come up to her torso, pinching and rolling her nipples with his skilled fingers, burring his face between her legs focusing all of his affections on her clitoris. Slow and featherlight ministrations, spelling his name and number in her folds, drawing all the sinful noises from Nat.

“Aw jaaa…” She drabbles on babbling words in Norslyr, pleading for Tech to go just a tad lighter when pressing onto her clit. His hands freely graze along her body, memorizing her form, her curves, down to the last scar. Heat begins to form in her core, quickly building from Tech’s touching. She takes one of his hands and sucks on the fingers, drenching the digits with her saliva for her own benefit. Tech knows exactly what she wants him to do now, and he does it when she releases his fingers. He fills her opening with one finger with a few pumps for her to adjust, to measure her readiness, and then he adds the second and her moans grow louder. With raised brows he looks over his shoulder to look at the door, but what does looking at the door solve? So he reaches up and covers her mouth to hush her lewd noises from prying ears. Natelyte giggles and sucks on his fingers again whilst hooking a leg over his shoulder to lock his mouth back onto her clit. “No one can hear us. Not behind this glass. I promise...!” She sucks in air through her teeth and lets out a choked cry, her hips buck against his face. Nat stands to her feet with Tech plastered against her clit from below. His brown orbs open wide to take in the sight of her standing over him, hands fisting his hair to pull him into her with more pressure as his mouth opens wide to swallow her pussy. She pulls on his hair from side to side to have his mouth swipe her opening, his hands come to her ass to hold himself steady on his knees. Then she gushes with slick from above and he gulps down every last drop like a parched man drinking from a spring.

The light of the amber screens drapes her body in a golden light personifying her as the physical embodiment of solar radiance.

Nat’s legs shake, Tech’s strong hands support her at her rump, he pants for air and rises to his feet to seal their lips together. Tongues dance frantically as she takes in her own taste glistening across Tech’s face.

“That was an exquisite view, Nat.”

“Lokacinka.” She says breathlessly and pushes him down into the swivel chair behind him. Tech scans the monitors around the room, he rolls the chair pushing with his heels to the center of the room, so each screen has an angle on them both. Nat smiles with his attention to detail, but now she wants all his focus again on her instead of the technology around them both.

All. On. Her.

Nat crawls between his legs and rubs his clothed bulge straining to be set loose from its prison. The heat radiating from his crotch is intoxicating, drawing her in, mouth pooling with saliva, with want. “Take this off.” She pats his thighs and Tech stands before her and peels off his blacks. Tech catches this next moment on his lenses, Nat’s eyes wide with shock, and an ambitious smile spreads across her face taking in the sight of Tech’s massive cock. The veins raised almost perceived as being angry, but Tech is far from any sort of antagonized emotion. His cock twitches at the first sight of Nat’s tongue darting out to swipe across her lips. She presses his thighs for him to sit back down in the chair

“Are you hungry my sweet?” Tech rasps as his hands find purchase in Nat’s thick curls.

“Ravenous.” She sighs and wastes no time in drooling over his cock. She pumps him a few times, feeling the girth, watching a bead of hot precum spill from the tip down the shaft to mix with her saliva to be smear by her chestnut hands along his tan meat. Sweet soft sighs leave Tech’s chest. She brings the hot tip to her plump lips and kisses it a few times. Dragging her lips down the shaft, licking her way back to the tip, slipping it between her lips for her tongue to swirl around the head. Tasting his early seed and the salt of his skin.

“Please…”

“Hmm?” She hums with a full mouth sending vibrations around his solid member making his toes curl at the sensation.

“Please be sloppy. Make it loud and messy ta ya nyota.” His grip tightens in her hair. Nat knows what he wants, how he wants it, and she will do it only for him. Nat chuckles with him in her mouth and she slides down his shaft swallowing him whole.

Natelyte can deep throat.

Tech’s eyes fixate on her motions. Her head bobbing up and down to suck him from tip to base, nose pressing to his pubic bone, throat expanding and contracting around his cock. She gags and coughs while still managing to keep him stuffed inside. She slurps and sucks loudly, her tongue swirls around the head and base. She has his tip hit the back of her throat; she opens her mouth wider to let the wet sloshing sounds of her throat to echo within the room and fill his ears.

And for the cameras to hear.

Tears fall from the corners of her eyes; Tech pulls her hair to have her face look up at him, snot drips from her nostrils. He can feel her swallow, it causes her to cough, she pulls off him, so she does not bite him. As she coughs Tech stands up and takes her hand to have her sit on the desktop again, he separates from her as she wipes her eyes and nose. Tech reaches down to pick and open a condom from a pocket of his belt and rolls it on. Natelyte watches him do this and the puzzled look on her face has him smile in slight embarrassment.

“Is that the fabled con-dom I’ve been hearing about from you Voiders?” She smiles bringing a hand down to his now covered member to feel the rubbery barrier for herself.

“It is not a fable if it is real, my sweet.” He smiles whilst cupping her face and kissing her deeply to commend her erotic blowjob.

“What is a con-dom?” Her accent while speaking Arubesh made it hard to speak that unfamiliar word.

“It is a thin latex polyurethane barrier that goes on a male’s member to capture the sperm.” He smiles at her with a flushed expression. Drunk with need. Burning with desire. Yearning for release.

“Oh…will it...still feel the same or?”

“Yes, yes it will still feel the same for you. I will lose much of the sensation, but it is worth it. I wouldn’t want to risk impregnating you, Natelyte.” Their foreheads pressing together, staring into each other’s eyes with understanding and adoration.

“I could take my own protection. An after pill. That way you don’t need to miss out…” She says pumping his shielded cock, gathering the strange lubricant that covers the outside.

Tech wants to, he wants to feel her from the inside, her hot moist walls clenching around his throbbing mass. But he cannot. He must do it this way, he cannot risk the possibility of spreading his genes among the Norsik population, not even if it is with Natelyte.

He just can’t.

Nat sees his internal confliction, then his resolve as he clenches his jaw and lines himself up with her entrance. Pumping himself and coating his cock with her juices. “I want to, but I cannot.” He says and cuts off any more of her pleas as he plunges inside her warm depths. A loud moan escapes her chest as Tech thrusts inside her a few more times to sheath his piece within her, coating every last inch he has to give with her slick. Then he holds himself still to look upon Nat, to see her already ruined around him. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms tighten around his shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck groaning from the stretching pleasure of his cock.

“You feel so good sonskyn.” He purrs in her ear and begins moving a fast pace. Every time he bottoms out inside her a beautiful gasp leaves her chest. The sting of her nails digging into his broad shoulders fuels his need to fuck her harder. Demanding that he fuck her hard as to wash away her previous thought of the barrier affecting her end of the pleasure between them. His pleasure is surely dulled, but he uses that dullness as an advantage to last longer. To fuck her for all that she is worth here and now.

Nat’s heels dig into his lower back, her breathing is ragged, she peels an arm from around his shoulder to vigorously rub her clit. Tech growls at this action and replaces her hand with his own thumb. She mewls at the harshness of his touch, she lays flat against the table, her breasts bounce in rhythm of his thrusts. The monitors all shifting from the weight of his pounding, moving their angles around without touching them, it’s maddening.

“Don’t stop!” She cries out as her legs begin to tense around him. Her hands come down to grasp his forearms to anchor herself to him. Tech leans back with their arms locked together to press as deep as he can reach within her. And she cums with a mighty cry as a wave of the most intense internal orgasm crashes within her. Tech fucks her through it, unable to yield to his better judgement to slow down or cease his movements to allow her to settle once more. He presses on, heeding her command, doing what she says, what she wants, he’ll do anything, everything for Natelyte’s pleasure.

She deserves the stars.

Nat’s legs go limp around his waist, his arms release hers and return to the underside of her thighs to keep her legs at his sides. Her eyes return from the back of her skull and come to refocus on the man fucking her into oblivion. The aftershocks of electricity brought on by his unyielding movements makes her back arch and body jolt. She whines his name and praises, how perfect he is, what he does to her, and how he keeps fucking her with a pleasant ferocity. Her body returns to be flush against him, her hands combing through his hair, licking his neck, biting along his structures, marking him in the same careless manner he had done to her in the beginning. He lets out sweet moans and sighs at her efforts. Then Nat pulls herself close to his ear and speaks in a complete wrecked manner that has him obey every next word.

“Sit in the chair and let me ride you like a wild Scorp.”

Tech pulls from her and finds his place in the swivel chair quickly to be mounted by Natelyte’s thick thighs. Her body is so soft and supple, covered in a sheen of sweat that has her glowing in the amber light of the screens. She lines herself up and sinks down on him quickly to regain the fullness that he fulfills within her. Tech can feel her entire body working on top of him, all of her weight, her skin, her scent, her muscles.

“Da rana! Zub da hasken rana a cikina! Haskaka ni da farin dodo!” Nat shouts like a battle cry. Her movements are rocking the chair, making it squeak with every harsh landing of her hips against his. The chair begins to feel as though it may break from their use of it. Tech hopes that it does, all for that camera value. How hard she can fuck him in return. Her walls clench around him, her nails dig deeply into his shoulders to then release him and run her hands through her hair. She leans back to give Tech a full view of the goddess riding him as she takes another orgasm for herself.

“Cum my darling. Cum all over my cock again. Take it all for yourself!” he babbles. His hands gripping her sides to support her as her bounces begin to become uneven and ill timed. The tight coil within her snaps and her walls quiver around his shielded cock again. This time she stops to take it all in, lifting her feet from the ground to have all her weight fully bare down on Tech which he handles with ease. She sobs into his neck, holding her he stands with her in his grasp to lay on the floor, this will be his last bout, he is nearing his own limit now and wants to ejaculate while drowning in her hazel pools. In missionary he begins to move slowly, pumping in and out from tip to base, scooping her out with his cock. Her back arches from the tender aftershocks that sweep across her nerves, which he attempts to drown out with sweet kisses.

Tech removes his goggles for this last bout, placing them near their heads to continue filming, but he wants to see her face to face.

Nat is moved by this action, a clammy hand comes to cup his face, fingers tracing along his temple without the interruption of his goggles. He is handsome. Her hands come to wrap around his back, a hand grazes over the posture patch between his sharp shoulder blades. His sweat drips down onto her which she revels in; the fact of knowing how hard Tech works in all aspects of his character in everything he does, it is admirable. He plants kisses to her forehead and cheeks, nibbles at her neck as his chest falls to rest upon hers. Natelyte takes a moment to acknowledge how Tech’s frame can easily cage her in beneath him, his heat enveloping her body, his sweat claiming very square inch of her body, as his cock lays claim to her internally. Tech can feel her depths, no longer limited to physicality, but intellectually, emotionally…he can see it all in her eyes. How much he means to her, the mark he has left on her brain, her heart, and now all over her body.

“Gee nog…een uitbarsting my sonskyn…” He speaks with a heeding tone to what is coming soon. Nat reaches down to rub her clit, hearing the sounds of their wet skins squelching drives Tech up a wall. Her moaning increases with pitch, her breathing quickening as she cums again on his cock.

“Jaaaaa! Ja! Ja-ah-aah!” He fucks her again through another deeply felt orgasm which spurs him finally into his own.

“Ah, yes! Oh yes! Karking hell!” He shouts into the air with quick deep jabs into Nat’s core. Pouring his unfelt seed inside of Natelyte, a Norse Valkyrie. As they cum together, they kiss.

They lay in heaving silence for a few moments before Tech pulls from her and rolls the condom off. He reaches out for her canteen that had been knocked to the floor from off the desktop earlier and takes a sip for himself then relinquishing the rest of its contents to Natelyte. She takes a few savoring gulps and hands it back to Tech. They sit up together and lean against the desk for support.

“That was awakening.” Nat chuckles breathlessly looking to Tech for affirmation.

“I agree. I wonder how the recording is going to turn out.” He says dryly and glances down at Nat with a teasing smile.

“Oh I promise you it will turn out grate after I’m through with it.”

“Just you? I assumed we would both work on it together…” His voice cracks from parched vocal cords.

“I think that is the first time you included someone in your assumption Tech.” She looks him in the eyes with surprise. He stares back at her; filtering through his stored memories like a data bank to find any other instance he had done this. Assuming people already knew what was going to happen but did not know anything until he explained it aloud. For once he hopes that this assumption would be correct. Natelyte caresses his cheek fondly and places a chaste kiss to his lips to break his filtering. “Of course we will work on it together, sonval.”

#bad batch smut #clone trooper tech #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #tcw fanfic #smut #tcw smut #tech smut #clone trooper tech smut

33 notes · View notes

captain-ross-poldark · 3 years

Text

Another interesting article from the Irish DM.

THE WOMAN WHO FINALLY TAMED POLDARK

By Maeve Quigley

Heartthrob Aidan Turner has a track record of dating co-stars and it seems like he’s finally found his leading lady as it’s revealed he and Caitlin Fitzgerald have tied the knot

THEY were the pictures that broke the hearts of thousands of fans — the dark-haired actor affectionately smooching his new wife on the romantic streets of Rome, as their wedding rings flashed in the warm Italian dusk. After three years of dating, Aidan Turner tied the knot with fellow thespian Caitlin Fitzgerald in a secret ceremony in the Italian capital last summer, although news of the nuptials has just broken.

The pair met on the set of adventure film The Man Who Killed Hitler And Then The Bigfoot and it seems — despite Turner’s previous protestations that he would never date another actress — they couldn’t help falling for each other.

Pictures taken on August 8 show the newlyweds days after tying the knot as they flashed their gold bands while enjoying a romantic al fresco dinner date at Pierluigi’s restaurant in Rome.

In the newly-released images, the loved-up pair seem unable to keep their hands off each other as they sip their drinks, holding on to one another as they gaze into each other’s eyes.

It is believed Fitzgerald also came to Ireland before the pandemic to meet Turner’s extended family — possibly ahead of their big day. Of course, she’s not the first woman with beauty and talent to be seen on the arm of the dashing Dubliner.

But at 37, the man whose shirtless scything in BBC drama Poldark had women everywhere a-quiver is now officially off the market.

Turner was born in Clondalkin, the son of Eileen, an accountant, and Pat, an electrician. He is the youngest of two boys; his brother works for the Revenue.

The family later moved to Walkinstown where growing up he was quite shy so his mum sent him to ballroom dancing classes as she felt it would help him no matter what career he chose. He became quite the champion and could possibly have been headed for an international career before he got bitten by the acting bug when he attended the Gaiety School of Acting, where he dated classmate India Whisker for a short time.

Even then, Turner’s dashing good looks were getting him noticed off stage.

To supplement his acting career, he got a job as a barman in famous Dublin nightclub Lillie’s Bordello, where he proved to be a big hit with the VIP guests

‘Women would come in just to stare at him,’ said former hostess now wellness guru and television presenter Andrea Hayes, who gave the acting student his position behind the bar. ‘I’m not joking.’

His first big acting break came when he landed the part of receptionist Ruairi MacGowan in RTE’s long-running medical drama The Clinic, taking the seat left vacant by another major success story, Chris O’Dowd, who also played a medical administrator on the show.

Around this time he was dating Charlene McKenna. The thenaspiring acting stars were together from 2007 to 2009 and shared a flat together in London before their relationship ended just weeks after McKenna had said in an interview how happy she was.

McKenna has recently got married in secret herself, to actor Adam Rothenburg, with whom she starred in Ripper Street, although she has said she still has a friendship with Turner.

‘He’s flying and I’m so proud of him,’ she said of Turner in a 2016 interview. ‘We still keep in touch and I knew he would do this well for himself. I always told him he would be a movie star.’

While they lived together, Turner landed his breakthrough role as tortured vampire Mitchell in the BBC Three hit Being Human.

Mitchell was torn between his blood lust and doing the right thing and was keen on leather trousers and coats, allowing Turner to smoulder on screen for the first but certainly not the last time.

He managed to gain a cult following from the role — as well as a new girlfriend in the form of his co-star Lenora Critchlow who played a ghost to Turner’s vampire.

When their relationship ended, Turner also chose to quit his role on the show.

But it was Being Human that got him his role in The Hobbit after director Peter Jackson saw him in the show and was struck by his elfin features. He never made it to the elves though, instead playing a dwarf.

And as his star ascended, he began dating another actress, this time Cork-born Sarah Greene. They had been friends for a few years after meeting on the set of Titus Andronicus, directed by Selina Cartmell at Dublin’s Project Arts Centre; but love didn’t blossom until much later.

‘I played Demetrius, her character wasn’t a named character but we met on that,’ Turner said in a magazine interview. ‘It was all very platonic and we never hooked up or anything, but that’s how we got to know each other. Then years later we just met again and it just sort of took off.’

Turner and Greene became the golden couple of the Irish drama scene, both with careers on the rise. They were together when he landed the role of Ross Poldark in the BBC revival of the Cornish drama that became a huge international success.

The fame that came with the role was difficult for both to handle as Turner is not a fan of being seen as a celebrity while Greene hated people taking photographs of her boyfriend while they went about their daily business.

Though then happy in his relationship with Greene, Turner admitted that he had been heartbroken in the past and it was something he was able to channel into his role as the brooding Ross Poldark, a man torn between two women.

‘I don’t know anyone on this planet who hasn’t had their heart broken,’ he told the Radio Times. ‘It’s happened to me. Love is love it’s the purest and rawest thing we have in life.’

As their careers progressed, the couple spent more time apart as Turner was in New Zealand with The Hobbit while Greene was working on projects like Vikings closer to home. But he insisted the distance wasn’t a problem.

‘You meet someone, you fall in love, then you can only see them over Skype or phone calls or texts and emails. And you have this whole other side to your relationship and it’s... it was fun,’ he said in a 2015 interview. He added: ‘We knew we really wanted to be together. And knew if we could do that, we could tackle a lot more. It was never: God, this is hard, bloody hell, we need to review this. This sucks. We never questioned it; it was great. So we had that from the beginning...’

But as the Poldark mania went into overdrive, so did the rumour mill and there were false reports of an engagement and even a secret wedding between himself and Greene. In actual fact the opposite was the case, with the relationship ending in 2015, five years after it started.

Turner then seemed to swear off dating those in the same business, despite his track record. In a press conference for the fourth series of Poldark, he said dating in acting circles meant you could never get away from work, admitting: ‘If you’re in my business and you find somebody who does exactly what you do and you’re living with them, then you’re in the business all the time.

‘You go home, talk about casting directors, you talk about the press, you talk about the next job you’re doing — it can become quite dull and taxing,’ he added.

So instead he was linked to a mystery law graduate, an advertising executive and then the artist Nettie Wakefield, who he dated for around a year before their hectic schedules drove them apart in what was described as an amicable split.

But obviously when he met the stunning blonde Irish-American, Caitlin Fitzgerald, 38, on a film set three years ago, Turner’s new rules went out the window, so bowled over was he by the beauty and talent of his co-star. By the time the film was premiered, the pair already looked smitten, posing on the red carpet together.

Fitzgerald appeared at a concert with Michael Sheen, with whom she starred in Masters of Sex but was seeing Turner at that time and like him, is an intensely private person.

Despite his fame and the stir his bare-chested scything caused, Turner has never been one to chase the celebrity lifestyle — perhaps because of those nights he spent observing celebrities while working behind the bar in Lillie’s.

‘If I allowed myself to let it change my life, it could,’ he has said in the past of his fame. ‘Where there’s celebrity, it’s easy to slip into that — being followed in nightclubs, or dating famous people or getting adverts. I’m just not interested in that stuff.

‘I want to do good work with good actors and filmmakers, read interesting scripts. I didn’t get into this business for celebrity. I did it for my love of film and stories and theatre.’

So although it has now been widely reported that he and Fitzgerald tied the knot in front of his parents Eileen and Pat, neither of them are likely to confirm their nuptials at any stage in the near future.

In fact, the only kissing Turner is likely to talk about is for his role in the film Leonardo, which explores the life and sexuality of Leonardo Da Vinci. In the film we will see Turner as the renaissance artist in a passionate clinch with another man as it explores Da Vinci’s sexuality and his rumoured affair with his apprentice Gian Giacomo Caprotti, better known by his nickname Salai. It is for his art that Turner intends to keep us all guessing as he’d rather we were interested in his roles than his romances.

‘It’s important to me that people don’t know too much about me because I’m trying to play characters,’ he has said in the past

‘Sometimes you see actors who are really good, but you have trouble separating that actor from the celebrity profile.

‘I don’t want to be one of those guys. It helps that people don’t know a lot about me, I guess.’

#aidan turner #leonardo

30 notes · View notes

aurathian · 3 years

Text

Aftermath: Of Love

AO3

Word count: 7.9k

Rating: T

Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Pairings: Link/Zelda, Link/Midna, Link/Ilia

Summary: Link mourns his loves and his losses.

The mirror shattered.

Completely and utterly destroyed, Midna had left him breathless for the last time. The lonely mirror frame, now without a mirror to hold, left the Princess and her Hero standing there like fools.

Until he dropped to his knees and cried. His sobbing filled the otherwise empty air, hot and dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to even say her name.

The Hero, brought to his knees, not by the enemy but by love.

His hands roamed the dirty floor beneath him, searching for something, anything, of hers to hold and cradle in his arms, but the shards of the mirror had faded and there was nothing left of her.

He felt a hand graze his shoulder, doubtful and tentative. “Hero,” the Princess murmured, and she said nothing more.

He did not think that she could understand his agony.

When he finally ran out of tears to shed, night was encompassing the desert and a chill hung in the wind. The Princess of Hyrule had beckoned him to stand up from the floor and so he did. He met her gaze and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, “but look upon your forehead.”

“I can’t.” Was she mocking him? Telling him to look at something with which he needed a mirror?

“Of course,” she muttered, and her hand brushed his hair back so she could look. “I think you will be pleased at what you find crowning your head when you get the chance.”

“I… we…”

“We should go,” she finished for him.

They turned their backs on where the mirror once glimmered in the sunlight and didn’t look back.

The Princess insisted that he spend a night in the ruined castle, and he was puzzled as to why because he had expressed to her multiple times his desire to return home. He wanted nothing more than to sit beside the Ordon Spring and mourn until he rotted into the earth.

As he undressed that night, down to nothing but his simple white shirt and pants, a knock came at the doors of the chamber. He opened it a crack and peered through the small opening only to be greeted with the shadowy face of Princess Zelda, lit by the soft light of the candle she held close.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

He stared at her. Then why was she here?

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Sure.” He opened the door more and stepped to the side. When she entered the room, she pushed the door shut and faced him.

“Hero… I do not know how to ask this of you.”

“I am… I am here to serve, Princess.” The only thing he wanted to serve were the goats back in Ordon. She set her candle down on a nearby table and approached him.

“I would like you to take up residence with me in the castle here,” she told him, “and we could lead Hyrule together.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. He was a simple farm boy, raised on the outskirts of Hyrule, skilled in only herding goats and shooting slingshots with children. When she noticed his expression, she chuckled lightly.

“Before you were given the role of the hero, you were to deliver me a sword, or so I was told,” she looked at him through thick eyelashes and ran her hand up his arm. “So I believe that we were destined to meet anyway, and perhaps destined to be together.”

“No,” he said, and the firmness in his voice shocked even himself. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to go home.” He didn’t know what he had to do, but he knew what he wanted to do.

“You don’t have to,” she replied. “You could stay here with me. You and I… we’re alike in many ways, I think. We have made countless sacrifices, and we both lost a dear friend.”

“A friend,” Link muttered. “She wasn’t just a friend to me.”

“Oh?”

“I…” his face contorted into something of anguish and his hands balled into fists until his nails dug into the skin of his palms. “I loved her.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this!” His breathing became erratic, tears resurfacing when he thought he lost them all, and his chest rose and fell dramatically. “I want to go home.” His voice was broken, cracked.

Silence.

Then, “I see.” Said so lowly he barely heard it, but the hurt that etched her voice was evident. He watched her fade out of the candlelight, her silhouette reaching for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Hero.”

“No, wait.” His hand shot out to grab the sleeve of her nightgown and he tugged lightly, eliciting a small gasp from her. “Stay.”

“Why should I stay with you when you will not stay with me?” she bit.

“Because… because I need you. Please. Just for the night.”

Her heart fluttered when he spoke those words, but she knew he didn’t need her because he loved her. He needed her because he didn’t know how to cope.

She couldn’t understand why she was so taken by the Hero Link. He was dashing, yes, but she was more smitten with how he was—how he carried himself, spoke, how he felt. When they rode Epona to victory on the battlefield, she felt something ignite in her chest, and when he struck Ganondorf down, it blossomed into a flame.

“I will stay,” she said, and took a seat on the chair next to his bed.

“No, no. You lay in the bed.”

“What?”

“You’re the princess.”

“That means nothing, not when I can’t execute my role properly.”

“I will sit. It’s fine.”

She sighed and crawled into the bed while he replaced her in the chair.

They spoke until one of them fell asleep about their lives, their journeys, and how they ended up sleeping in the same room.

Deep into the night, when even the castle itself no longer creaked, she woke to the sound of him crying, fussing in his chair and mumbling nonsense.

“Link?” she called, leaning carefully over the bed. He tossed his head and let out a choked sob.

“Midna—”

She tapped him quickly, trying to release him from his nightmare, and when it didn’t work she shook his shoulders. When that proved futile, she shouted, asking him to please wake up.

He did.

His eyes shot open and his body lurched forward. His face was covered in sweat and his hands shakily gripped the chair. He whipped his head to face the Princess and his eyes darted around her face, nervously scanning, but he didn’t know what for. He sputtered words, asking who, what, when, where, finally groaning and gripping his head with a hand.

“You’re okay,” she cooed, voice smooth as silk. “It was just a nightmare.”

“No… no, it wasn’t just… it’ll never be just a nightmare.”

“Hero—”

“It was so real.”

He woke her once more with his thrashings that night, but he settled himself until he was only weeping in his sleep.

In the morning, he noticed Princess Zelda was no longer in his chambers, and she took her candle with her. White sunlight drifted through the singular window in the chamber and cast itself on a part of the cold floor where he chose to stand and stretch. His fingers drifted over his cheeks, whereupon he felt a dryness reminiscent of old tears. He glanced down at his green tunic, thrown haphazardly on the floor, almost a little too carelessly for a holy garment granted to him by the Goddesses.

He wanted to step on it. He wanted to burn it until there was nothing left.

He leaned down and scooped it off the floor. He held it up to the window, blocking the morning sun.

Link was not a hero. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to be a simple goat herder from the village of Ordon, where he played with the children and helped the local pregnant woman with her household duties. He wanted to clean his horse in the spring just outside the village and go on walks with his mentor Rusl. Without Midna, he had no purpose.

He slid the tunic on over his head and fastened it around his waist with a belt. After putting his boots on, he scoured the room for his hat. He felt almost naked without it, and it was the one thing he wanted to keep of his goddessforsaken outfit.

He searched for his beloved hat until a guard came knocking at his door, telling him Zelda requested him in the throne room.

So he went, and as he went, he caught himself covering the back of his head with his hand or scratching and patting it. He missed his green stocking cap.

Walking through the castle where he once battled many a fearsome foe was peculiar now, because it didn’t seem as foreboding and dangerous anymore—now, it was just a partially destroyed castle bustling with guards, servants, and construction crews. The Princess certainly wasted no time in reclaiming her kingdom.

When he finally reached the throne room, situated grandly at one of the castle’s highest points, he was surprised to find it void of any people except for her. The only sound in the air was the light breeze and his breathing as he walked the stretch of the room to where she sat, a tiny figure on a large throne.

He knew it was there that she gave up her kingdom, and now here she was taking it back.

“Hero,” she greeted when he finally drew close. “I trust that you found your way to me without problem?”

“Yes.”

The hero was a man of few words.

“Hero—Link, do you see what I have regained?”

“Hyrule.”

“No,” she said. “I have regained a broken shell of what once was Hyrule, and now I’m expected to piece it back together by myself.” She let go of any sort of regal manners she had and tore her crown off her head. The hero watched in silent shock as she threw it to the ground and it broke into dozens of shards just like the mirror did only a day ago. Gripping her hair in her fist and groaning, she refocused her gaze on him and he saw bloodshot eyes.

“What am I to do, Link?”

It wasn’t rhetorical.

“I don’t know, Princess.”

“You don’t know… Goddesses above, of course you don’t know.” She rose from her seat and strode up to him, hands behind her back. “But you could.”

“No, I couldn’t.” He backed away.

“You saved Hyrule once already,” she remarked, “so why can’t you do it again?”

“I have to go home.”

“Why?” she pressed. “Why do you have to? Link, please, I can’t do this by myself. I need someone. I need you.”

He knew why, but he lied anway.

“The children in the village… they—they need me.”

“I need you.”

Link sucked in a breath. Then, “No, you don’t.”

She stared at him, shocked at his defiance. Slowly, she moved her hands from behind her back and his breath caught in his throat.

“I have what you want,” she said mockingly. It lay limp in her hands, ever so tantalizing, a deep forest green, torn and dirty.

He reached out for it, but she pulled back.

“Give it to me,” he demanded, barely above a whisper.

She began to cry. “Link, Hero, please. I can’t do this by myself and you—you’re the most capable person I know.”

“You don’t know me.”

The next thing he knew, she was kneeling before him, grasping his legs in her hands and rocking back and forth. She cried.

It was all so wrong. The most powerful woman in Hyrule, the Princess Zelda, was on her knees before him, an insignificant farmhand, and she was begging him. Tangled locks, red eyes, on her knees, she had let go of any dignity simply because of him. He decided he didn’t need his hat anymore.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he murmured beneath her sobs. “Goodbye.”

He backed away out of the throne room, covering his face with his hand and taking one last glance back. He left her there, on the floor, where her tears stained his stocking cap.

The forest smelled like home. It smelled like fresh pine and subtly of a past rainfall and to his animalistic instincts, it smelled like prey. Squirrels and mice, tiny forest creatures; he could smell them, even from atop Epona, where sometimes the branches scratched his face and leaves tangled in his dirty blond hair. He had passed the lantern oil salesman Coro, still seated in his little log chair with his back hunched, fire still crackling under his pot. It made Link wonder if all that much had really changed.

He trotted past the entrance to the cave through which he had chased Talo and into the small, overgrown tunnel that led to Faron Spring. Clear, sparkling water fed by a small waterfall, topped with large trees through which the sunlight filtered, casting its rays upon the small white flowers among the grass.

It was peaceful.

He stopped Epona by the water’s edge and hopped down. He stroked her mane and patted her side. He knew even after everything he’d been through and would go through, his trusted steed would never leave his side.

He rolled his pants up to his knees and waded into the shallow spring, his eyes closed and arms outstretched. The forest breeze, one he missed, felt so good on his skin and he wished he could melt into it. With his eyes still closed, he submerged his cupped hands into the water and splashed his face and wetted his hair.

Then he remembered.

He pulled his hair back from his forehead and opened his eyes to stare at his reflection in the sacred water and besides the bags under his eyes, he noticed something else.

There, on his forehead, was a dark scar shaped like the Shadow Crystal used to imprison Link in his wolf form.

He was crying again, but he was crying because now he had a piece of her, and he didn’t care how malicious that piece was because it was her.

He cried until the sun set and the waters he laid in no longer glowed with its light.

For most of the ride home from the spring, he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching his forehead. It was right there—she was right. There. And he couldn’t touch her, see her, hear her. She was gone.

He almost rode past Ordon Spring, but he was lucky enough to be paying attention because now she was there.

Wading in its waters, splashing her face and wetting her hair, muttering to herself was Ilia. He halted Epona suddenly and roughly, almost diving off his saddle and tripping over himself to run to her.

She turned around, eyes wide in surprise and mouth dropped in shock.

He stopped just short of hugging her and his mouth hung open because he couldn’t find the words.

“Link,” she breathed. Tentatively, she walked up to him and pressed her hands on the sides of his face. “Am I dreaming?”

Bringing his hand to cover one of hers, he smiled. “No.”

When he arrived home—

Home. Did he have a home? Because nothing felt quite like it did before, like a detail was always off and something was always missing. His strongest desire was to return to Ordon so why did it feel so very wrong? He wondered if he really belonged.

“The children really miss you, Link.” Ilia broke the silence with her soft, reserved voice, twiddling her thumbs and nervously glancing around.

“I visited them whenever I could in Kakariko,” he said, “and Malo had his shop in Castle Town—”

“No, Link,” she interrupted. “They miss you.”

“Oh.”

It was silent again.

Why did he feel like an intruder in his own home? The pictures on the wall, the layered rugs, the ladders—they all felt foreign.

“Y’know, the goats really miss you too. They don’t really… behave…” her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say either. “Ugh, Link. Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah,” he replied in a whisper. He laid his sword, still sheathed, against a wall by the door and abandoned his shield on the floor next to it.

“Tell me,” she demanded. “You can always tell me.”

“Ilia…” he stared at her with sad, broken eyes, eyes that were once as bright as the sky, that once glimmered with happiness and content. “I don’t know if I can.” Now, his eyes were dull.

“...Fine,” she muttered. “I won’t pressure you.”

He took off his forest green tunic and held it out in front of him. He stared.

“Hey,” she flicked his arm. “You good?”

He blinked. “Yeah… I’m fine.” He threw it on the floor and looked at her. “I’m going to go to bed, Ilia.”

“Oh.”

Nervously, she rubbed her arm, bit her lip. “Link, um…”

“What?”

“Could I… spend the night here? With you?”

They weren’t strangers, so why did they speak to each other so awkwardly?

“I only have one bed,” he said in a confused tone.

“That’s what I mean,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “I have a hard time sleeping alone. It’s embarrassing, because I’m strong enough and I’m independent so I know I can, but lately I’ve had these awful dreams—nightmares, I suppose—and I can barely get a good night’s rest, so I was just wondering if—”

He gently grabbed her hand. “Yes. Yes, Ilia. It’s fine.”

They laid in his bed together, and she wondered if it would really be beneficial to her sleep when she could barely calm her racing heart. He laid on his side facing away from her, but the bed was so tiny that they were still almost cuddling, but she knew it wasn’t supposed to be romantic, yet when he had grabbed her hand to comfort her she wondered if they could be more.

She was about to drift off to sleep at last when she heard a soft thud. Cracking one eye open, she watched Link smack his pillow with a tense, closed fist. He made small sounds, like he was crying, and when she leaned over to see his face she saw the tear streaks illuminated by the moon.

He had nightmares too.

He was mumbling something through his tears so she leaned down to listen.

“Midna…”

She rolled back onto her side and wondered who Midna must have been to him that he could dream so vividly of her.

She made him pumpkin soup in the morning.

Ilia figured that after all his arduous traveling it was best to let him sleep, even if his snoring was obnoxiously loud and she had to leave the house a few times to escape it.

When Link finally did wake up, it was almost noon and the aroma of the soup had filled his nose and summoned him to his little kitchen. From her spot in the tiny treehouse, she watched him sluggishly trudge to the bubbling pot and pick up the ladle. He looked so exhausted, his eyes dark and the bags intense. His mouth was curved in a frown and his hair was disheveled.

It was so shockingly unlike him.

He spooned some of the soup into a wooden bowl and turned around.

“You made this?” he asked, and his voice was coarse and textured like tree bark.

“Yes.”

And her voice was such a contrast to his; soft, smooth, light. Untouched by war.

He sat down at the table and swirled the soup with a spoon, staring at it with dead eyes. When he finally lifted some of the thick liquid to his lips, he felt bliss.

He felt at home.

“It’s good,” he said after a while. “I missed it.”

He turned around in his chair and said to her, “I missed you.”

She absently picked at her fingernail. “I missed you too,” she replied in a whisper.

He smiled and went back to devouring his soup.

“Um, this morning Fado from the ranch came by. He wants to know if you can help herd goats tomorrow.”

Goat herding.

He’d just saved Hyrule, and now they wanted him to herd goats.

Why did it seem so ridiculous to him? Why did it seem so insulting when it was all he wanted?

“Sure, not a problem,” he said through a mouthful of hot soup.

The village children had begged him to tell them stories of his travels. Despite what they’d been through, they remained mostly the same. Loud, annoying, but lovable.

Why couldn’t he be as strong as them?

“Don’t hold back, either!” Talo said, faking some punches. “I want to hear about all the gross stuff.”

“I don’t know if I can tell you any of the gross stuff,” he told them. “It might be too much.”

Yet, when Colin tugged on his arm and said that they could handle it because they were brave like him, he couldn’t help but recount his journey.

So he told them.

He told them about the poisonous monsters of the Forest Temple in Faron Woods and the blistering magma of the Goron Mines and how he had to sumo wrestle to gain access.

When Talo asked Link to teach him how to wrestle like that, he firmly told him no.

Link took a deep breath, looked at his surroundings. A small bridge arching over a stream, bright sunlight making it shimmer, people tending to their pumpkins.

Ordon was so small. So fragile. He hoped it would never know the stain of loss.

He told them about his imp companion, how they travelled around Hyrule together and unraveled its mysteries and solved its puzzles. He told them about the biting cold of Snowpeak and the arid heat of the Gerudo Desert, where he fought the dead. He told them about how he infiltrated Hyrule Castle and saved the Princess.

“Oh, that’s so romantic!” Beth chirped. “The hero saving the princess. It’s straight out of a storybook.”

Talo made a gagging sound and stuck a finger in his mouth.

Link only smiled and nodded.

It was the furthest thing from romantic.

“What happened to your friend?” Colin quietly asked.

“My friend?”

“The imp.”

Link ran his fingers over his forehead, searching for the right words.

“She went home.”

“Oh.”

His mind was scrambling. He just wanted Midna.

“I want to hear more about the princess!” Beth begged. “Pleeeeeease.”

“Of course… the princess,” Link mumbled. His thoughts were becoming messy, each one colliding with the next, and he became lightheaded. “She was…”

He fainted.

He felt something cold and damp touch his face, something prod his arm. There was talking, but it was muffled and indistinct. He saw nothing but blackness.

“...be fine.”

“But what if…”

He blinked open his eyes. It was blurry, so he blinked again, and the face of a woman staring down at him became clearer. Her face was clouded with worry and her brows were furrowed in concern.

He groaned, brought his hand to his forehead.

“Oh, Link,” the woman above him said, “you’ve finally come to.”

Uli. Her name was Uli.

“I… huh?”

“You fainted. The children came and got me. You’re in my house now.”

“Oh.” He sat up, looked at her. Her belly was swollen, but nowhere near as big as it had been when he’d left Ordon. “You…”

She laughed lightly and rubbed a hand over her belly. “Yes, Link.” She gestured to a cradle in the center of the room. “Do you want to meet her?”

He nodded and she helped him out of bed and to the little cradle. She placed a finger over her mouth and looked at him with happy eyes, so excited to show off her pride and joy, napping cutely in the cradle he’d retrieved for her so long ago.

As he stared at the baby, eyes wide, he was fascinated with how life continued even when he wasn’t around.

He knew Midna wasn’t dead or gone. He knew she was still out there, milling about her realm and serving as its ruler, but in his world, she was dead. Yet her life still went on without him.

She brought Link to a table where she served him some bread and water before sitting down across from him. “You’ve got something on your forehead,” she told him, “and I tried to wipe it off but it was very stubborn.”

“Don’t wipe it off,” he said. “I like it.”

“What is it?” she asked. “It must mean something if you like it so much.”

“I can’t tell you.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry. I think I need to go. Thank you for taking care of me.”

As he stood and walked to the door, Uli held her head in her hands and sighed. “You and Rusl. Always so secretive.”

He was surprised to walk into the darkness of the night, illuminated only by the moon and its stars in the sky. Ordon was dead quiet except for the sound of the grass being shaken by the breeze and owls hooting in the night. He tiptoed through the village, still worried a skeletal beast might pop up and maul him like so many tried to do in Hyrule Field.

He was thankful to have been unconscious during the hours of twilight.

He climbed the ladder into his humble treehouse, shutting the door softly behind him only to be startled by Ilia knitting in front of the fireplace.

“Oh, you’re home,” she said.

Spoken so familiarly, like they were married.

“Yes, I am,” he replied dumbly.

“I heard you fainted when you were with the children.”

“I did, unfortunately.”

“But Uli took care of you?”

“Yes. Fed me bread and all.”

Ilia smiled and set her knitting on the floor. She wandered to the small kitchenette where she picked up a stack of letters.

“The postman came by,” she stated. “I don’t think he’s ever delivered anything all the way out here before, but he must’ve made an exception for someone as important as you.” She handed the letters to him and he accepted them into his own calloused hands.

“Thank you.”

She went back to her knitting and he thumbed through the letters, most of them promotions from Malo Mart, until he came upon one sealed with a red wax stamped with the Triforce. His heart fell to his stomach.

He just wanted to be left alone.

Dear Link,

I hope you are doing well in Ordon. I would like to apologize for the display you saw in the throne room the other day. That is not who I am.

I can’t do this without you. You took on what I could not, and it proves that you are the only one fit to rule beside me. You saved my kingdom so why should I, an incompetent princess, rule what I could not save? If you were by my side, Hyrule could rebuild itself to what it was before.

I know you may not believe me when I say it, Hero of Twilight, but I love you. I plead that you accept my offer to be Hyrule’s king.

I will be waiting for you at the castle.

Signed,

Princess Zelda

King. What a silly idea. He was not fit for any role such as that, any role that included leadership and confidence. For her to say that she loved him when they barely knew each other convinced him she was using him as a publicity stunt.

He crumpled the letter up and tossed it in his crude wooden waste bin.

“What were they?” Ilia asked, not looking up from her knitting.

“Just Malo Mart advertisements,” he said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.

He knew Ilia could never lay an eye on that letter. It would crush her to see a woman declaring her love for him, especially when she didn’t know that he despised the woman so carelessly writing those words.

He loved Ilia.

But he also loved Midna.

He sighed and dragged himself over to Ilia, plopping down behind her and resting his head on her shoulder.

He fell asleep to the sensation of her fingers in his hair.

The next morning, when he washed himself in the Ordon Spring, he made sure to stop for a few moments and gaze at his forehead. It was his way of saying good morning to her.

He snapped out of it when Ilia stopped by with Epona to bathe her.

Blushing, she said, “Geez, Link. Put on a shirt.”

“No,” he huffed. “I’m herding goats today. It gets too hot with one on.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled and began attending to Epona. “Y’know, you should wash your own horse.”

“You beat me to it,” was all he said before dunking his head under the water.

He forgot how relaxing goat herding was, because once he’d finished the day’s work he got to lounge around the ranch and stare at the sky while Epona grazed nearby. He refocused his attention on the present when he saw Fado walking up to him.

“Thanks for yer help,” he said. He also forgot how dirty ranch work was, because Fado was positively caked in dirt and other brown substances. “You can go on home now if ya’d like.”

Link smiled, nodded, and let his back hit the ground so he could stare at the sky some more.

When he did finally leave, the sun was setting, and he chose to walk Epona out instead of ride her. The pair leisurely walked on the path back to the village, and Link spoke to her and wondered if she could still understand him outside of his wolf form.

He was greeted by Ilia lazing on the ground near her father, Mayor Bo’s, house.

“You didn’t scratch her this time, did you?” she asked, half genuine and half joking.

It felt like he suddenly got slapped in the face, being forced to recall a time that felt like it was eons ago, when everything was quiet and normal.

“You remember?” he asked.

She laughed and nodded. “Of course I do. No point in regaining my memory if I can’t regain it all, right?”

His chuckle was colored with nervousness. “Right.”

“Don’t you miss it?” Ilia questioned. “When everything was how it used to be. Normal is the word, I guess.”

“I do.”

“Do you miss what we had?”

She spoke as though they lost the spark they once had.

“We still have it,” he replied quietly.

She got up from the ground and walked over to him, taking his hands in her own. Without looking up at him, she asked, “You really think so?”

He nodded.

She kissed him.

His shock quickly dissipated as he melted into it and cupped her face with his dirty hands.

He missed her.

They had a fire that night in front of his treehouse, a pathetic blaze fueled by a few tree branches. Into the fire he cast his green tunic, and neither of them said anything.

Then she spoke. “Why?”

“I hate it.”

He burned away his past.

They laid together once more, staring at the stars through the window. They were content.

“There’s something you need to know,” Link said suddenly.

“What?” she murmured, almost a low hum.

“I… on my journey… I met a woman.”

She stiffened in his arms.

“Her name was Midna.”

And she recalled the night where she watched him smack his pillow and cry and whimper her name.

“She was with me for my whole journey,” he explained, “and at the end of it she just… left. And I—”

“You loved her,” Ilia interrupted quietly.

“Yes.” His voice was just as quiet, if not quieter.

“I understand, I think,” she said, and he was surprised because usually she jumped to her own conclusions and ran with them. “I would probably fall in love if I had an adventure with someone, too.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“But I love you,” he reassured her.

“I love you too.”

Time and the challenges it brought with it changed both of them. Ilia gained understanding and patience while Link had only felt loss. He didn’t know who he was anymore or what he wanted.

He decided it was okay to float through life for a little while.

Yet, even as he slept and despite his reassurances, Ilia couldn’t help but think about Midna. She didn’t know who Midna was or if the woman reciprocated his feelings. Behind her facade was a jealousy she didn’t know how to cope with because deep in the back of her mind she wondered if he was lying to her.

Link and Ilia spent many hot, sunny days cooking for the other and bathing together in the spring, splashing each other with water and exchanging kisses before Link went to wrangle the goats.

She wished none of it had ever happened—none of his journey, none of her amnesia, none of Midna, because then she could love him without doubt. She could love him as the simple man she knew him to be, someone who played with the village children and helped the local pregnant woman with her household duties. She could love him as the man that needed a wake-up call every morning because he was such a heavy sleeper, as the man that was so carefree he couldn’t even notice when his horse was injured.

As the man who cared for her so much that he helped her recover her lost memories.

She threw away her doubts one day when they were sitting in the spring together, holding hands and kissing and she asked him:

“Will you marry me?”

He loved her.

And because he loved her, he crumpled Zelda’s letters to him and hid them in the little nooks and crannies around his house, because he didn’t want to throw them away. Something inside him wanted to keep them and read them over every now and then, anytime his mind might stray to the idea of being the king, so that he could remind himself of his distaste for the now queen.

Each new letter he received became more and more riddled with desperation and confusion, loss and anger. It was clear to him that Queen Zelda was overwhelmed with her duties and didn’t know how to handle it, and so she begged in more undignified ways each time. And, every time without fail, she professed her love to him and begged him to come home to her. Yes, she used the word home so carelessly, so recklessly, because he finally understood where his home was and it was not with her.

He made it a point to rise earlier than Ilia so that he could greet the postman who didn’t care who he handed the letters off to even though he knew the importance they carried. Sometimes, Link wondered if the Malo Mart promotions were only in the mix to hide the fact that one specific letter always carried the royal seal.

Maybe the postman was a little considerate after all.

Or maybe Malo didn’t understand the concept of spam.

Whatever the reason, he was grateful that Malo chose to advertise his shop so aggressively.

Ordonian weddings, despite the modesty of the town on the surface, were a big deal. The entire village was decorated with white banners and flower garlands. The aroma of various pumpkin dishes filled the air and the ranch, with its wide open field, was the perfect venue for the ceremony.

Dozens of chairs and a humble wooden arch were situated in the green expanse with a makeshift rug laid down as the aisle. Link had already herded the goats into the stable that day and now he was cleaning himself in the Ordon Spring, where he and his spouse would later be taken to receive a blessing.

But, for now, they stood in the spring and splashed each other.

It was what he always thought he was destined for—a simple life, free of any worries, married to his childhood friend in his hometown.

Needless to say he was disappointed when Uli and Sera came and took Ilia away to prepare her for the ceremony, and he was left alone in the spring.

With nothing else to do, he stared at his scar and said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, because he was alone and the air was empty and the woods were stagnant, and because she wasn’t there.

He stood there in front of the entire village, clad in a nice white tunic cinched at his waist with a brown belt, watching her glide down the aisle.

She was like an angel. It was a bright and sunny day, and she shined even brighter than the very sun that made her figure glow.

She wore the simplest white dress; no lace, no gems, just white fabric and a simple necklace, green like her eyes.

He tried his best to ignore Mayor Bo’s ugly crying in the front row.

When she finally stood across from him, they exchanged vows and Link told her that she was his only love.

They listened to Fado drone on about the usual wedding stuff, which were things neither of them cared about.

Yet as he spoke, Link couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if it was Midna standing across from him. Perhaps she wouldn’t be dressed in white but a dark blue, and her hair would be up instead of clasped together below her chin.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

So he did.

“I’m so tired,” Ilia groaned back at his—no, their—house. She kicked off her painful shoes and flopped on the bed.

“Too much food?” he asked, following her.

“Too much everything,” she answered.

He lightly kissed her, then more, then more, and more and more and more until she pressed a hand to his naked chest.

“Are we going to…?”

“Do you want to?”

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She hummed in thought.

Her answer was a strong grip on his head and another kiss.

“Good morning,” she yawned, rolling over in his arms. She held a hand to his face. “Husband.”

She sighed, and her contentment made him swell with love.

“I can finally call you that after so long,” she said with a smile. Her eyes sparkled in the rising sun and he kissed her cheek without saying anything in response.

He got out of bed and peered out the window, panic setting in when he saw the postman.

“Oh, I can go get the mail today,” she said. “You must be tired after last night.”

“No. No, it’s fine, really,” he said in a rush, and he slid down the ladders and went outside to retrieve the mail.

Promotions and a royal letter once again.

When he came back inside, Ilia stood there with an eyebrow cocked and her hands on her hips.

“Why can’t I get the mail sometimes?”

“Because… I like to. The postman and I—we—we talk. Sometimes.”

“Okay.” She frowned and squinted at him skeptically.

When he came back from herding goats that afternoon, Ilia was sat on the floor with the Master Sword in her lap, still sheathed much to his relief, but in her lap nonetheless.

“Don’t touch that,” he told her. He swiped it from her lap and set it back against the wall.

“Don’t you have to put that back sometime?” she asked.

“Yes… I will, eventually. But not—not today.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think I’m ready to let go yet.”

That night, he had another nightmare, and she rocked him back and forth until he stopped weeping and saying her name.

Midna.

Over dinner one evening, Ilia asked him something.

“Can you tell me more about Midna?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Please.”

She set her hand atop his and fiddled with his ring.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

He swallowed, prepared himself, touched his forehead.

He told her. He told her about who Midna really was and the things she could do and see, how in the twilight he would abandon his humanity and become a wolf at her command, how Midna wasn’t actually a strange imp but rather a beautiful princess with otherworldly powers, and he told her about the Mirror of Twilight and its absence in their realm. He told her about how, as far as the world of light was concerned, Midna was dead.

The only thing she could say at the end was “Oh.”

Then one night, in the comfort of their bed, she asked him, “Do you still love her?”

And he hesitated to answer because he didn’t want to lie, but he knew the truth would sting, and he knew she was asking if he loved Midna and not her, but still he responded with a quiet “Yes.”

She didn’t move or show any acknowledgement to his answer. Eventually, her body was dead weight in his arms, her chest rising and falling with each light snore. When he ran the back of his hand over her cheek, it was wet.

“Sorry.”

The next morning, when he woke, she was not in bed with him, which was odd because he was usually the early riser. He nudged the covers, which had been thrown over him, to the side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He climbed down the ladders and hit the ground floor with a soft thump. He stretched, flexing his body and his toned arms high above his head. When he turned around, she was standing next to the door with a carefully sealed envelope in her hand.

“Good mor—”

“What is this?” she hissed. She held the letter out and shook it in front of him. Slowly, carefully, like he was approaching a bloodthirsty wolf (but wasn’t that him?), he went up to her and took the letter out of her tight grip. He broke the seal and pulled the parchment out.

“I do not love her,” Link answered before she could ask.

“Two women?” Her voice was defeated. In her mind, she would never be enough, and the letter only confirmed that notion that settled now in the front of her mind.

“No.”

“Is this what you’ve been hiding from me? Is this why you always insist on accepting the mail?”

“I…”

“Yes or no, Link,” she whispered. She wiped furiously at her eyes.

Dejectedly, “Yes.” He let the letter fall to the floor as he took her hands in his. “I do not love her.”

“Then why does she send you letters almost every week?”

“Because she loves me.”

No, she didn’t. He knew Princess Zelda was desperate for someone to help her regain the trust of her citizens, and who better to do it than the Hero that saved her realm? She framed it under the pretense of love in the hopes of roping him back to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Are you really?”

Her words bit. Hard.

“You could tell me so easily about how much you loved one princess, but you couldn’t tell me about the other one that is actively sending you love letters? Begging you to come home?”

“That’s not—”

“I am not stupid, Link. I can understand more than you know, but you seem to think I’m not ready to handle your trauma.”

“No, you’re not.”

“We are married. Husband and wife. For better or for worse. I’m supposed to be here for you, so why can’t you let me do what I’m supposed to?”

“Because I’m scared.”

“Scared of what? Me discovering your emotional affair with Princess Zelda?”

He wanted to tell her she was queen now and not just princess.

“Scared of losing you, too.”

She stared at him. Then, she walked up to him, and hugged him.

Together they cried.

The next time he received a letter from Queen Zelda, he was going to let Ilia read it with him. Instead, the paper was wordless, and inside the parcel that came with it was his hat, clean and neatly folded. It amazed him how Queen Zelda seemed to know when he gave up because she gave up at the same time. The hat was her surrender.

He cried alone but into Ilia’s arms.

“Darling,” he said to her, “I’m going to return the sword.”

“Really?” she asked from against his chest. They looked at it, sheathed and clean, just sitting against the wall.

“It’s time for me to let go of it.”

“When will you be back?”

“By sundown. I promise.”

Somehow, she knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but which part was a lie she didn’t know.

He ran his hand through her hair, kissed the top of her head. She strapped the sheath to him and ran her hand over it.

She kissed him goodbye and he, in turn, kissed her belly.

He never stopped wondering what it could’ve been like if it was Midna instead of Ilia.

He took Epona into the village to get Rusl’s trusty golden cucco and when questioned as to why he needed it, Link only gestured at the sword on his back and Rusl understood.

When Link rode back through his clearing, he said goodbye to Ilia once more, and she stood there and watched him leave without saying anything. She wondered if she would ever stop waiting for his return.

Epona carried the Hero through Faron Woods, where he stopped at the spring to stare at himself one last time and subsequently her. He washed his face, asked for a blessing from the spirits, and moved on.

He left Epona outside the cave leading deep into the Woods and it was there that he rid her of her saddle. He gave her a kiss on the nose, patted her mane, and said goodbye.

He navigated the poisonous fog of Faron Woods, coughing and hacking, but eventually made his way to the Forest Temple where he finally employed the cucco and flew down to the Sacred Grove.

It was odd wandering the Grove when he couldn’t hear the mocking laughter of Skull Kid or his blaring horn. However, it was peaceful, almost ethereal, like he’d entered another world disconnected from his own, much like the Twilight Realm.

He made it to the pedestal where he was to lay the Master Sword to rest and when he unsheathed and poised it over the pedestal, its glow faintly surged. Once, then twice, then it stopped, like it wanted to say something to him but it couldn’t.

Slowly, hesitantly, he dropped it into the slot. Its home. It had served its purpose and it was therefore no longer necessary.

Much like him.

Even after it was all said and done, he didn’t know what he wanted. Midna forever held his heart, and he stared at the Master Sword in its pedestal and weeped for her.

He left the pedestal and wandered the Sacred Grove, and some say you can still hear the quiet murmurings of her name.

Time passed, Ilia’s belly swelled, Zelda’s letters ceased, and Ordon Village faded into obscurity. Yet on its quiet, surviving breath, you can still hear the hushed rumors about a man who mourned until he rotted into the earth.

#zelink #zelda x link #loz #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #twilight princess #the legend of zelda twilight princess #tloz #zelda #link #midlink #illink #midna x link #ilia x link #angst #fanfiction #nintendo #oneshot #longshot

74 notes · View notes

babysizedfics · 4 years

Note

I need to know about doctor mama lo taking care of a sick baby Virgil if you would like pretty please. I dont wanna ask on the in character blog cuz I feel like it would be weird to ask for details and lo seems kinda busy anyway lol.

hey tumblebee!! yeah yeah lets do this, Im gonna write it so that ppl who dont follow the other blog can understand too

WARNING IF U HAVENT ALREADY BLOCKED THE TAGS ILLNESS TW AND VOMIT TW THEY ARE VERY PREVALENT IN THIS

also this is a VERY long headcanon!!

so last night vee got ill, he had been regressed in the afternoon with patton and he was acting much more fussy than usual - not being entertained by his cartoons, not having the energy to play with his rattle, pretty much constantly whining and pouting and he gets very wriggly when he's fussy

patton assumed it was because vee had been upset earlier that day. at one point vee started gripping his stomach, and patton assumed its because he was hungry and could smell the food roman was cooking

but when dinner came around no matter how hard patton tried he couldnt get vee to eat a morsel - he kept turning his head away from the food and whining. at one point patton and logan both managed to convince him to eat a spoonful but his face crumpled with a wince and it looked almost painful for him to swallow it. it was at this point logan noticed he had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead

things fell into place quickly after that - logan checked his temperature and it was indeed slightly higher than was healthy, they noticed vee's hands were trembling and he was constantly on the verge of tears :(

while patton cleared away dinner and excused roman who wanted to go and craft in his room, logan took vee to his bedroom and tried to check for more symptoms, since vee was non verbal and unresponsive totheir questions. he tested his tummy by pushing it a little to see if the pain got worse when he released it (this is a test for appendicitis) but there was no reaction thankfully except vee being upset by logan not cuddling him. he checked his throat for any redness or infection, nothing.

vee's crying became more pronounced and eventually he was in constant tears, occassionally pleading 'mama mama' through sniffles and hiccups and whines of pain :(( Patton brought him a baby bottle of cooled tea made with fresh mint leaves since that is supposed to help stomach pains. though he left the room again since logan thought it was best not to crowd virgil. Vee's crying had dissipated but he was strangely silent and seemed almost loopy now. he only drank a little of the tea before he pushed it away with a gag.

logan immediately took him to the bathroom knowing what was coming, and sure enough vee threw up into the toilet, crying between gags. logan dutifully managed to keep vee in his lap the whole time and held his hair and rubbed his back, telling him he was such a good boy the whole time

Thankfully it didnt last long as there wasnt much in vees stomach to be emptied. he was shivering and sweating and flushed and had lost all energy. he wasnt even crying anymore, just whimpering under his breath. with a bit of a struggle logan managed to show him how to rinse his mouth out with mouthwash - though he had to hold vee over the sink and pat his back to make sure he didnt swallow it

during all of this patton wasnt able to help because of his heightened empathy, if he sees someone throwing up the likeihood is he will too and that wiuldnt be very helpful! so instead he drives to the store to pick up some medicine and ice pops - and comes back with half the store including some actual baby medicine smh - ((im actually begging u to read that linked post i think its so funny))

it was originallly meant to be logans night to put roman to bed but understandably patton took on that task instead. after roman was drifting off patton pokes his head into vee's room. he had hoped to find lo and vee asleep but they werent. they were lying in the dark with an in the night garden audio story playing on a portable speaker and with vees salt lamp and star night light lighting up the room in a soft glow.

logan offered a strained little smile and nod to patton as he stroked vee's hair and cuddled him close. vee was completely out of it honestly. his body was wholly lax against his mama, his lips were in a permanent pout and his eyes were puffy and wet. he barely even acknowledged his papa coming in, his teary eyes just settled on him for a moment then dropped back to the bedsheets without a reaction. he kept lifting his thumb up to suck on it but logan kept capturing it and apologising as he brought it away. Vee shouldnt suck on his thumb and logan doesnt want to give him a paci while he's ill. understandably, baby vee was completely miserable.

patton asks if logan thinks vee could handle a popsicle or plain crackers at the moment but logan disagrees. he doesnt expect either of them to get much sleep so he will make sure vee eats something in a few hours. with a gentle kiss on vee's forehead patton goes off to bed, confident that logan will be able to look after vee and will come get him if theres any issues

logan and vee really dont sleep much at all. Vee drifts off for a few minutes at a time then gasps awake from vivid fever dreams. logan keeps ice cubes in a bowl by the bed for vee to suck on if he needs to cool down and wraps a couple in a flannel to press to vee's head when his fever rises in the middle of the night.

around 3am logan jolts awake and realises he had drifted off. and vee isnt anywhere in the room. he panics momentarily, bolting up from the bed and dashing to the closet to see if virgil is in there - which he tends to do when he is overwhelmed - but then he hears sniffling from the bathroom.

he finds vee, no longer regressed, curled up against the side of the bathtub with his bangs clinging to his sweaty head. vee is the palest person logan knows but he looks positively grey at the moment

'can i help in any way?' he asks, aware that he doesnt need to baby talk at the moment but still eager to look after this bundle of miserableness

virgil just groans under his breath and clutches his knees to his chest. 'i.. i didnt know what to do with the..' he gestures vaguely to something on the floor

logan notices virgil, being not regressed anymore, had obviously wrestled off the diaper he had been changed into the night before and not known how to dispose of it

'its ok, ive got it' logan wraps it up in a bag and puts it in the trash can they have in the room for just this purpose

'sorry.. m stupid' virgil croaks

'You're not stupid.' logan says firmly as he washes his hands 'You're ill and probably delirious from the fever. it's alright virgil'

theres quiet for a bit longer, virge's head pressed against the porcelain edge of the bathtub likely in an attempt to cool his fever. logan stays there with him for a while just waiting. then suddenly virgil starts sobbing and buries his face in his hands.

'sweetheart, tell me whats wrong please' logan hurries to kneel beside him, lifting his hands away from his face. that wouldnt help the fever

'i dont feel well' virgil cries pathetically, tears rolling down his face.

logans heart breaks 'no, you dont. i'm sorry little one, i know its not nice'

at the nickname virgils thumb raises to his lips again, which logan hurriedly intercepts. 'i'll make you a deal, okay? you're allowed to use a pacifier, but you have to use the same one everyday until you are better. we will need to sterilise it every night too.'

vee sniffles and nods, then chokes 'm not a baby right now though'

'that doesnt matter. you dont need to be regressed to want one of your pacis, vee'

vee is unresponsive and starts scratching at his pyjama pants. logan gets a feeling he isnt saying something. then he notices virgil's pout is much more infantile than his adult ones. 'are you feeling little, baby?'

with a harsh shake of his head vee starts crying again. he whispers 'dont wanna be a b...' then cuts himself off and whimpers

logan cards his fingers through virgils damp bangs. he knows what virgils mind has jumped to. 'were you going to say you dont want to be a baby?' he lifts virgils chin up to look at him 'or that you dont want to be a burden?'

virgils pale lip wobbles 'same fing'

'no sweetheart, no no no,' logan sits on the tiles beside vee and pulls him into his lap. virgil goes willingly. logan rocks his baby as he says 'youre always always allowed to be a baby and its never ever going to upset your family. even if you're an adorable wonderful brave baby boy alllll of the time' he scribbles his finger on virgils rosy cheek and delights at the tiny smile it earns him. 'but especially when you're feeling yucky. you feel a bit yucky today dont you, little one?'

vee nods with a pout

'but yknow whats not yucky? softies and pacis and diapers and lots and lots of cuddles with mama' he holds virgil tighter to prove his point. vee sighs and drops his head to nuzzle against his mama's neck. logan feels he still has a slight fever. 'i know what might help you feel less yucky. does my sweet baby want a sweet ice pop?'

thankfully vee nods against his shoulder and grips tight onto his pyjama shirt, preparing for when logan lifts him up

he first makes sure to change vee into another diaper and even decides that he should wear one of mama's t-shirts as a light dress so he doesnt get as overheated by his pyjamas. at this point vee actually giggles for the first time pretty much all day as he feels the tshirt swish lazily around his legs. logan makes a mental note to observe whether little vee might want to try wearing dresses if the feeling sparks this much joy (at this point logan is unaware that vee has secretly been trying skirts and dresses in his room for months, and roman found out a few weeks ago, but vee isnt ready to tell the cgs yet)

by the time vee is in his diaper and mamas tshirt dress and has a paci and jiji clutched to his chest he is a lot calmer and happier. he's still very ill and exhausted and teary, but theres a tiny smile on his face instead of a pout. in the kitchen he picks a strawberry ice pop and it goes down well, logan convinces him to have a cracker too though vee is in such a young headspace by then that he is just sucking on it, which logan supposes is fine too

by the (real) morning vee is still regressed and has managed to have a couple hours undisturbed sleep. its not much but its better than nothing. logan didnt fare much better. by then vee misses his papa and asks for him and logan hands the responsibility over to papa patton, trustinf the other caregiver enough to catch up on a quick power nap himself

but yes, the main thing is vee thought being ill was a burden enough that he shouldnt be regressed too, but logan makes him see that its okay. vee is regressed pretty much the whole time he is ill over the next few days because its stressful and painful and its a lot easier to feel comforted when ur a baby

yeah! gosh that was long, theres probably a billion spelling mistakes! feel free to ask follow up Qs if i missed anything u wanted to know abt this event

#little/big concepts #illness tw #vomit tw #food mention #long post #asks #tumblebee the smol bean

33 notes · View notes

desiraypark · 4 years

Text

The Dress (ft. Clyde Logan)

Hello love! This is a combination of prompts 13 and 149! I will work on 29 and 66 either later tonight, or tomorrow. Thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Prompts Link

13. “Your parents would be royally disappointed if they saw what you have on right now. Even more disappointed at what I’m thinking about doing to you.” 149. “Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” Characters: Clyde Logan x Reader Content: Jealous Clyde; younger Clyde (about 22/23); they do the nasty; first time having penetrative and oral s*x Word Count: 1900 (It wasn’t supposed to be this long :/ lol)

“Girl, you were WIDE open tonight!” Lauren said laughing. “Finally!” Patrice chimed in. The night was so different for you. Something just snapped in you within the last few weeks, and you just wanted to be free. No more being a squeaky-clean good girl to satisfy your family. Gone were the days where the state fair or after-school programs were your allotted fun. You were 22, you were drinking, and as Lauren said when you changed in front of her one day, you had a “rockin’ ass body”. Now, you were walking back to campus in a skimpy $25 red dress and pumps you could barely walk in. You, Lauren, Shayla, and Patrice all had the tits, legs, and thighs out, and you were really feeling the moment…until you got to your dorm. Clyde was sitting on the bench hunched over and staring into his phone. He lifted his head at the sound of giggling girls and raised his eyebrows. You didn’t even notice him. Patrice was pulling out her ID card when the hurt baritone voice broke through your giggles. “Y/N?!” You looked up, and the figure on the bench rose and towered over all four of you. “Oh, shit…” Lauren mumbled. “Clyde?” You suddenly felt the need to cover your bare arms. He just looked you up and down, wide-eyed. Patrice swiped her ID card and she, Lauren, and Shayla rushed through the door. Some friends! “What are you doin’ here?” you asked. “I came ta surprise you, but I guess I’m the one that’s gettin’ a surprise…” He looked you over again. Clyde was the sweetheart you just couldn’t get away from. You once lived next door to each other, but were separated when your family moved to a completely different neighborhood. Then, you reunited in middle school. Before graduating from middle school, Clyde and his family moved to a completely different side of town, but that time, you kept in touch--even that time he’d gone to juvie. He wasn’t allowed to go to his prom (he kept getting caught smoking cigarettes in the bathroom)--and you fought hard to allow your school to let him be your date at yours. Because who else was there? For you, only Clyde Logan. Even your strict parents rooted for you and Clyde. Sure, he got in a little trouble from time to time, but he was just a lil’ baby boy who just needed some attention. They knew that with the guidance of their good, churchgoing, and 4.0 GPA-earning daughter, he could be steered onto the right path—and he and his own parents felt the same. But these days, you were tired of being “Miss Goody Two Shoes”--and even though you’d never get tired of Clyde, he was still a component of that image. “What are you wearing?” he asked with low eyes. Right then, anger filled your chest. “A dress, Clyde. I went to a club.” He didn’t say anything. His elevator eyes looked you over once more and you rolled your eyes. “Look. You shoulda call—” “Yer parents would be royal’y disappointed if they saw what you have on right now...” he interrupted. He stepped close to you. “Even more disappointed at what I’m thinkin’ about doin’ to you…”

You pressed your finger into his toned chest. “Clyde, despite what you and my parents think, I am an—” You blinked and got a look at his eyes. He returned the stare and did that thing again--he looked you over like a lion on the hunt for prey. You blushed and let out a nervous giggle. “Wait, what?” He leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. Then, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed his on your waist. “Wanna go to my room?” “Mmm-hmm…” he said, lips still on yours. He pulled away. “Let’s do it, babygirl. Please?” “Let’s do it, Clyde.”

The most you and Clyde had ever done was use your hands on each other, because again, you were a “good girl”. As much as you wanted to climb on his big dick—and it was huge—you wouldn’t dream of popping up pregnant or something without a ring.

Your friends were long gone from the lobby. When you led Clyde to your dorm room, they were all packed in. “Umm...may we have some privacy?” you asked meekly. “Are you sure?” Lauren asked with her hands on her hips. Suddenly a Mama Bear, she was glaring at Clyde. He started rubbing your hip. You pressed your lips together and blushed. “Yes. I’m sure.” The girls raised their eyebrows and let out a chorus of “oop’s!” and “ohh’s!” before dashing out of the room to who knows where. When the coast was clear, you grabbed the hem of your dress. “No. Keep it on.” He yanked you close to him and devoured your mouth. “Keep all of this on.” “Oh, Clyde,” you giggled. “What’s gotten over you?” You started to help him undo his shirt buttons. “You in this dress…” He pulled his lips away and smacked your ass, making you jump. “Did you dance with anybody tonight?” “Um…kinda…” When you grabbed the hem beside his buttons, he let out a little growl and reached under your dress, searching for your panties. Since his accident, he had to rely heavily on his right arm, making it just as strong as it was nimble, and with a few tugs, you heard the fabric of your panties ripping. A flash of annoyance fell over you, but it was quickly erased. In response, you snatched his shirt off his shoulders. Together, the two of you got his arms out of the sleeves. Once Clyde was only in his boxer-briefs—you both sat on the bed, and you pulled out his drooling dick. You rubbed the precum over the head and looked up at his toothless smile. He rarely showed his teeth. He just pressed his lips together until the craters formed in his cheeks. “You know what to do wit’ that?” he asked. You looked at him with seductive eyes. “I’ll figure it out…” Clyde didn’t say much as you licked and sucked his dick. He just let out some stifled his moans and vocalized a couple of “watch your teeth, darlin’s”. You sucked him up until your jaws ached, and when you finally came up for air, he pulled you to him by your chin and tasted himself on your tongue. “My turn,” he said. You grinned, sat up, and pushed your back to the wall, and Clyde started to kneel on the floor. He pulled your torn panties completely off—kinder now than he was with them before—and examined your pussy: the puffy lips and the shiny wetness that was leaking out onto them. “I wanna eat you from behind,” he proclaimed. You got on all fours and let your shoes dangle over the side of the bed. He wrapped his right arm around your bare thighs and without hesitation, stuck his face into your folds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he’d been practicing on another woman. But you knew better. Clyde always knew how to get things “right” on the first or second time. You were melting all over his lips--your hushed moans bounced off the wall in front of you, and back into your own ears. “I want you ta cum in my mouf,” he mumbled over your pussy. He went back to eating you with vigor, and your clit was throbbing. You reached under yourself and rubbed it, but his arm unraveled from around your thighs, and you felt his thick fingers push against yours. He pressed down onto your clit and rubbed your juices around, inciting squeals and lusty winces from you. Then, you felt it. “I’m coming, baby,” you moaned. “In my mouth, babygirl. In my mouth…” Your toes curled and your eyes rolled back as you released your buildup on Clyde’s tongue. You heard to the squishy sounds as he lapped every drop up of you. As you caught your breath and fell flat, you felt a dip in the mattress and looked up at Clyde standing over you, looking nervous. “I don’t got no condoms, baby,” he said. His Adam’s apple moved up, then down. Your heart started to pound. It was getting too damned good! You ran the toe of your shoe up his leg. “Do your best, baby. I trust you.”

Then came the dimples. Clyde pressed his lips together and grabbed his dick. “Back on all fours.”

You flipped back over and pointed your ass to him. You helped him line up at your entrance, and once the tip was in, he took hold of your waist. Then, he dipped more inches inside of you.

“Oh, Clyde,” you moaned. Not bad for so far. Just a little sting, but overall, it felt pretty good—as if a piece of your body was finally being returned to you. “That alright?” he asked. “It’s fine. Just start slow.” Clyde pressed a few more inches into you and you grabbed your sheets for leverage. You felt him press his thumbs into you for the same reason, as he pulled out, then gently pushed all of himself in. The cotton sheets scrunched between to your fingers as he massaged your walls with his raw, warm cock. “Go faster, baby. Go a little faster,” you instructed. Clyde picked up the pace, and gradually did so until he found the speed that had you crumbling in his hands--squealing and screaming without a care for who heard you. Eventually, you felt him tugging on your waist.

“I wanna see your pretty face,” he said. He held his cock inside of you, and the two of you maneuvered so that your body could crash into his. Your head rested on his shoulders, exposing your neck to him—your face in his hair. He ran his hand up and down your body as he kissed your neck, your jawline, and then your lips. Next thing you knew, his hand was around your throat--but he didn’t squeeze it. “Call me selfish…” he started a thought--still probing your insides. He nibbled on the top of your ear, then gave it a kiss. “But I don’t want anyone else ta ever touch you.” You moaned. “I don’t want nobody dancin’ on you. I don’t even want none of these college boys lookin’ at you…” he grumbled. You giggled. “I can’t help that I’m sexy, Clyde.” Then, he chuckled, too. You were sure he was finally showing his teeth--and it was so like him to do so when you couldn’t actually see it. That boyish smile of his. “Naw…you can’t help bein’ sexy. But if I find out you been walkin’ ‘round campus in this lil’ dress again, I’ma have to be a lil’ rougher on this lil’ pussy of yours,” he responded. You felt a quick flutter in your chest. When did he get this nasty?! “Mmm…” you hummed. “Guess I gotta buy some more of these kinda dresses, then.” Clyde trapped a chuckle in his chest and pushed your upper body back down on the mattress. Then, your sweetheart plunged into your dripping pussy until he couldn’t anymore. When he pulled out, you hiked up your dress for him to squirt his cum on your ass…but he yanked it down and left a nice, huge mark on the fabric.

#anon requests #prompt requests #clyde logan smut #clyde logan x reader

67 notes · View notes

96harmony96 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

Her tie was silver and her shirt brilliantly white, the stark absence of color emphasizing those amazing green irises. Standing there with her jacket open and her hands shoved casually into her pants’ pockets, the sight of her was like running smack into a wall I hadn’t known was there.

I jerked to a halt, my gaze riveted to the woman who was even more striking than I’d remembered. I had never seen hair that purely black. It was glossy and slightly long, the ends drifting over her shoulder. That sexy length was the crowning touch of bad boy hotness over the successful businessman, like whipped cream topping on a hot fudge brownie sundae. As my mother would say, only rogues and raiders had hair like that.

My hands clenched against the urge to touch it, to see if it felt like the rich silk it resembled.

The doors began to close. She took an easy step forward and pressed a button on the panel to hold them open. “There’s plenty of room for both of us, Camila.”

The sound of that smoky, implacable voice broke me out of my momentary daze. How did she know my name?

Then I remembered that she’d picked up my ID card when I’d dropped it in the lobby. For a second, I debated telling her I was waiting for someone so I could take another car down, but my brain lurched back into action.

What the hell was wrong with me? Clearly she worked in the Crossfire. I couldn’t avoid her every time I saw her and why should I? If I wanted to get to the point where I could look at her and take her hotness for granted, I needed to see her often enough that she became like furniture.

Ha! If only.

I stepped into the car. “Thank you.”

She released the button and stepped back again. The doors closed and the elevator began its descent.

I immediately regretted my decision to share the car with her.

Awareness of her prickled across my skin. She was a potent force in such a small enclosure, radiating a palpable energy and sexual magnetism that had me shifting restlessly on my feet. My breathing became as ragged as my heartbeat. I felt that inexplicable pull to her again, as if he exuded a silent demand that I was instinctively attuned to answering.

“Enjoy your first day?” she asked, startling me.

Her voice resonated, flowing over me in a seductive rhythm. How the hell did she know it was my first day?

“Yes, actually,” I answered evenly. “How was yours?”

I felt her gaze slide over my profile, but I kept my attention trained on the brushed aluminum elevator doors. My heart was racing in my chest, my stomach quivering madly. I felt jumbled and off my game.

“Well, it wasn’t my first,” she replied with a hint of amusement. “But it was successful. And getting better as it progresses.”

I nodded and managed a smile, having no idea what that was supposed to mean. The car slowed on the twelfth floor and a friendly group of three got on, talking excitedly among themselves. I stepped back to make room for them, retreating into the opposite corner of the elevator from Dark and Dangerous. Except she sidestepped along with me. We were suddenly closer than we’d been before.

she adjusted her perfectly knotted tie, her arm brushing against mine as she did so. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to ignore my acute awareness of her by concentrating on the conversation taking place in front of us. It was impossible. She was just so there. Right there. All perfect and gorgeous and smelling divine. My thoughts ran away from me, fantasizing about how hard her body might be beneath the suit, how it might feel against me, how well-endowed—or not—she might be…

When the car reached the lobby, I almost moaned in relief. I waited impatiently as the elevator emptied and the first chance I got, I took a step forward. Her hand settled firmly at the small of my back and she walked out beside me, steering me. The sensation of her touch on such a vulnerable place rippled through me.

We reached the turnstiles and her hand fell away, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. I glanced at her, trying to read her, but although she was looking at me, her face gave nothing away.

“Camila!”

The sight of Cary lounging casually against a marble column in the lobby shifted everything. He was wearing jeans that showcased his mile-long legs and an oversized sweater in soft green that emphasized his eyes. He easily drew the attention of everyone in the lobby. I slowed as I approached him and the sex god passed us, moving through the revolving door and sliding fluidly into the back of the chauffeured black Bentley SUV I’d seen at the curb the evening before.

Cary whistled as the car pulled away. “Well, well. From the way you were looking at her, that was the girl you told me about, right?”

“Oh, yeah. That was definitely her.”

“You work together?” Linking arms with me, Cary tugged me out to the street through the stationary door.

“No.” I stopped on the sidewalk to change into my walking flats, leaning into him as pedestrians flowed around us. “I don’t know who she is, but she asked me if I’d had a good first day, so I better figure it out.”

“Well…” He grinned and supported my elbow as I hopped awkwardly from one foot to the other. “No idea how anyone could get any work done around her. My brain sort of fried for a minute.”

“I’m sure that’s a universal effect.” I straightened. “Let’s go. I need a drink.”

The next morning arrived with a slight throbbing at the back of my skull that mocked me for having one too many glasses of wine. Still, as I rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor, I didn’t regret the hangover as much as I should have. My choices were either too much alcohol or a whirl with my vibrator, and I was damned if I’d have a battery-provided orgasm starring Dark and Dangerous. Not that she’d know or even care that she made me so horny I couldn’t see straight, but I’d know and I didn’t want to give the fantasy of her the satisfaction.

I dropped my stuff in the bottom drawer of my desk and when I saw that Mark wasn’t in yet, I grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to my cubicle to catch up on my new favorite ad-biz blogs.

“Camila!”

I jumped when he appeared beside me, his grin a flash of white against his smooth dark skin. “Good morning, Mark.”

“Is it ever. You’re my lucky charm, I think. Come into my office. Bring your tablet. Can you work late tonight?”

I followed him over, catching on to his excitement. “Sure.”

“I’d hoped you’d say that.” He sank into his chair.

I took the one I’d sat in the day before and quickly opened a notepad program.

“So,” he began, “we’ve received an RFP for Kingsman Vodka and they mentioned me by name. First time that’s ever happened.”

“Congratulations!”

“I appreciate that, but let’s save them for when we’ve actually landed the account. We’ll still have to bid, if we get past the request for proposal stage, and they want to meet with me tomorrow evening.”

“Wow. Is that timeline usual?”

“No. Usually they’d wait until we had the RFP finished before meeting with us, but Cross Industries recently acquired Kingsman and C.I. has dozens of subsidiaries. That’s good business if we can get it. They know it and they’re making us jump through hoops, the first of which is meeting with me.”

“Usually there would be a team, right?”

“Yes, we’d present as a group. But they’re familiar with the drill—they know they’ll get the pitch from a senior executive, then end up working with a junior like me—so they picked me out and now they want to vet me. But to be fair, the RFP provides a lot more information than it asks for in return. It’s as good as a brief, so I really can’t accuse them of being unreasonably demanding, just meticulous. Par for the course when dealing with Cross Industries.”

He ran a hand over his tight curls, betraying the pressure he felt. “What do you think of Kingsman vodka?”

“Uh…well…Honestly, I’ve never heard of it.”

Mark fell back in his chair and laughed. “Thank God. I thought I was the only one. Well, the plus side is there’s no bad press to get over. No news can be good news.”

“What can I do to help? Besides research vodka and stay late?”

His lips pursed a moment as he thought about it. “Jot this down…”

We worked straight through lunch and long after the office had emptied, going over some initial data from the strategists. It was a little after seven when Mark’s smartphone rang, startling me with its abrupt intrusion into the quiet.

Mark activated the speaker and kept working. “Hey, baby.”

“Have you fed that poor girl yet?” demanded a warm masculine voice over the line.

Glancing at me through his glass office wall, Mark said, “Ah…I forgot.”

I looked away quickly, biting my lower lip to hide my smile.

A snort came clearly across the line. “Only two days on the job, and you’re already overworking her and starving her to death. She’s going to quit.”

“Shit. You’re right. Steve, honey—”

“Don’t ‘Steve honey’ me. Does she like Chinese?”

I gave Mark the thumbs-up.

He grinned. “Yes, she does.”

“All right. I’ll be there in twenty. Let security know I’m coming.”

Almost exactly twenty minutes later, I buzzed Steven Ellison through the waiting area doors. He was a juggernaut of a fellow, dressed in dark jeans, scuffed work boots, and a neatly pressed button-down shirt. Red-haired with laughing blue eyes, he was as good-looking as his partner was, just in a very different way. The three of us sat around Mark’s desk and dumped kung pao chicken and broccoli beef onto paper plates, added helpings of sticky white rice, and then dug in with chopsticks.

I discovered that Steven was a contractor, and that he and Mark had been a couple since college. I watched them interact and felt awe and a dash of envy. Their relationship was so beautifully functional that it was a joy to spend time with them.

“Damn, girl,” Steven said with a whistle, as I went for a third helping. “You can put it away. Where does it go?”

I shrugged. “To the gym with me. Maybe that helps…?”

“Don’t mind him,” Mark said, grinning. “Steven’s just jealous. He has to watch his girlish figure.”

“Hell.” Steven shot his partner a wry look. “I might have to take her out to lunch with the crew. I could win money betting on how much she can eat.”

I smiled. “That could be fun.”

“Ha. I knew you had a bit of a wild streak. It’s in your smile.”

Looking down at my food, I refused to let my mind wander into memories of just how wild I’d been in my rebellious, self-destructive phase.

Mark saved me. “Don’t harass my assistant. And what do you know about wild women anyway?”

“I know some of them like hanging out with gay men. They like our perspective.” His grin flashed. “I know a few other things, too. Hey…don’t look so shocked, you two. I wanted to see if hetero sex lived up to the hype.”

Clearly this was news to Mark, but from the twitching of his lips, he was secure enough in their relationship to find the whole exchange amusing. “Oh?”

“How’d that work out for you?” I asked bravely.

Steven shrugged. “I don’t want to say it’s overrated, ’cause clearly I’m the wrong demographic and I had a very limited sampling, but I can do without.”

I thought it was very telling that Steven could relate his story in terms Mark worked with. They shared their careers with each other and listened, even though their chosen fields were miles apart.

“Considering your present living arrangement,” Mark said to him, catching up a stem of broccoli with his chopsticks, “I’d say that’s a very good thing.”

By the time we finished eating, it was eight and the cleaning crew had arrived. Mark insisted on calling me a cab.

“Should I come in early tomorrow?” I asked.

Steven bumped shoulders with Mark. “You must’ve done something good in a past life to score this one.”

“I think putting up with you in this life qualifies,” Mark said dryly.

“Hey,” Steven protested, “I’m housebroken. I put the toilet seat down.”

Mark shot me an exasperated look that was warm with affection for his partner. “And that’s helpful how?”

Mark and I scrambled all day Thursday to get ready for his four o’clock with the team from Kingsman. We grabbed an information-packed lunch with the two creatives who would be participating in the pitch when it got to that point in the process; then we went over the notes on Kingsman’s Web presence and existing social media outreach.

I got a little nervous when three thirty rolled around because I knew traffic would be a bitch, but Mark kept working after I pointed out the time. It was quarter to four before he bounded out of his office with a broad smile, still shrugging into his jacket. “Join me, Camila.”

I blinked up at him from my desk. “Really?”

“Hey, you worked hard on helping me prep. Don't you want to see how it goes?”

“Yes, absolutely.” I pushed to my feet. Knowing my appearance would be a reflection on my boss, I smoothed my black pencil skirt and straightened the cuffs of my long-sleeved silk blouse. By a random twist of fate, my crimson shirt perfectly matched Mark’s tie. “Thank you.”

We headed out to the elevators and I was briefly startled when the car went up instead of down. When we reached the top floor, the waiting area we stepped into was considerably larger and more ornate than the one on the twentieth. Hanging baskets of ferns and lilies fragranced the air and a smoky glass security entrance was sandblasted with Cross Industries in a bold, masculine font.

We were buzzed in, and then asked to wait a moment. Both of us declined an offer of water or coffee, and less than five minutes after we arrived, we were directed to a closed conference room.

Mark looked at me with twinkling eyes as the receptionist reached for the door handle. “Ready?”

I smiled. “Ready.”

The door opened and I gestured in first. I made sure to smile brightly as I stepped inside…a smile that froze on my face at the sight of the woman rising to her feet at my entrance.

My abrupt stop bottlenecked the threshold and Mark ran into my back, sending me stumbling forward. Dark and Dangerous caught me by the waist, hauling me off my feet and directly into her chest. The air left my lungs in a rush, followed immediately by every bit of common sense I possessed. Even through the layers of clothing between us, her biceps were like stone beneath my palms, her stomach a hard slab of muscle against my own. When she sucked in a sharp breath, my nipples tightened, stimulated by the expansion of her chest.

Oh no. I was cursed. A rapid-fire series of images flashed through my mind, showcasing a thousand ways I could stumble, fall, trip, skid, or crash in front of the sex god over the days, weeks, and months ahead.

“Hello again,” she murmured, the vibration of her voice making me ache all over. “Always a pleasure running into you, Camila.”

I flushed with embarrassment and desire, unable to find the will to push away despite the two other people in the room with her. It didn’t help that her attention was solely on me, her hard body radiating that arresting impression of powerful demand.

“Miss, Jauregui,” Mark said behind me. “Sorry about the entrance.”

“Don’t be. It was a memorable one.”

I wobbled on my stilettos when Jauregui set me down, my knees weakened from the full body contact. She was dressed in black again, with both her shirt and tie in a soft gray. As always, she looked too good.

What would it be like to be that amazing looking? There was no way she could go anywhere without causing a disturbance.

Reaching out, Mark steadied me and eased me back gently.

Jauregis' gaze stayed focused on Mark’s hand at my elbow until I was released.

“Right. Okay then.” Mark pulled himself together. “This is my assistant,

Camila Cabello.”

“We’ve met.” Jauregui pulled out the chair next to hers. “Camila.”

I looked to Mark for guidance, still recovering from the moments I’d spent plastered against the sexual superconductor in Fioravante.

Jauregui leaned closer and ordered quietly, “Sit, Camila.”

Mark gave a brief nod, but I was already lowering into the chair at Jauregui’s command, my body obeying instinctively before my mind caught up and objected.

I tried not to fidget for the next hour as Mark was grilled by Jauergui and the two Kingsman directors, both of whom were attractive brunettes in elegant pantsuits. The one in raspberry was especially enthusiastic about garnering Jauregui’s attention, while the one in cream focused intently on my boss. All three seemed impressed by Mark’s ability to articulate how the agency’s work—and his facilitation of it with the client—created provable value for the client’s brand.

I admired how cool Mark remained under pressure—pressure exerted by Jauregui, who easily dominated the meeting.

“Well done, Mr. Garrity,” Jauregui praised lightly as they wrapped things up. “I look forward to going over the RFP when the time comes. What would entice you to try Kingsman, Camila?”

Startled, I blinked. “Excuse me?”

The intensity of her gaze was searing. It felt as if her entire focus was on me, which only reinforced my respect for Mark, who’d had to work under the weight of that stare for an hour.

Jauregui’s chair was set perpendicular to the length of the table, facing me head-on. Her right arm rested on the smooth wooden surface, her long elegant fingers stroking rhythmically along the top. I caught a glimpse of her wrist at the end of her cuff and for some crazy reason the sight of that small expanse of golden skin with its light dusting of dark hair made my clit throb for attention. she was just so…womanly.

“Which of Mark’s suggested concepts do you prefer?” she asked again.

“I think they’re all brilliant.”

Her beautiful face was impassive when she said, “I’ll clear the room to get your honest opinion, if that’s what it takes.”

My fingers curled around the ends of my chair’s armrests. “I just gave you my honest opinion, Miss. Jauregui, but if you must know, I think sexy luxury on a budget will appeal to the largest demographic. But I lack—”

“I agree.” Jauregui stood and buttoned her jacket. “You have a direction, Mr. Garrity. We’ll revisit next week.”

I sat for a moment, stunned by the breakneck pace of events. Then I looked at Mark, who seemed to be wavering between astonished joy and bewilderment.

Rising to my feet, I led the way to the door. I was hyperaware of Jauregui walking beside me. The way she moved, with animal grace and arrogant economy, was a major turn-on. I couldn’t imagine her not fucking well and being aggressive about it, taking what she wanted in a way that made a woman wild to give it to her.

Jauregui stayed with me all the way to the bank of elevators. She said a few things to Mark about sports, I think, but I was too focused on the way I was reacting to her to care about the small talk. When the car arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief and hastily stepped forward with Mark.

“A moment, Camila,” Jauergui said smoothly, holding me back with a hand at my elbow. “She’ll be right down,” she told Mark, as the elevator doors closed on my boss’s astonished face.

Jauregui said nothing until the car was on its way down; then she pushed the call button again and asked, “Are you sleeping with anyone?”

The question was asked so casually it took a second to process what she’d said.

I inhaled sharply. “Why is that any business of yours?”

She looked at me and I saw what I’d seen the first time we’d met—tremendous power and steely control. Both of which had me taking an involuntary step back. Again. At least I didn’t fall this time; I was making progress.

“Because I want to fuck you, Camila. I need to know what’s standing in my way, if anything.”

The sudden ache between my thighs had me reaching for the wall to maintain my balance. She reached out to steady me, but I held her at bay with an uplifted hand. “Maybe I’m just not interested, Miss, Jauregui.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips and made her impossibly more handsome. Dear God…

The ding that signaled the approaching elevator made me jump, I was strung so tight. I’d never been so aroused. Never been so scorchingly attracted to another human being. Never been so offended by a person I lusted after.

I stepped into the elevator and faced her.

She smiled. “Until next time, Camila.”

The doors closed and I sagged into the brass handrail, trying to regain my bearings. I’d barely pulled myself together when the doors opened and revealed Mark pacing in the waiting area on our floor.

“Jesus, Camila,” Mark muttered, coming to an abrupt halt. “What the hell was that?”

“I have no freakin’ clue.” I exhaled in a rush, wishing I could share the confusing, irritating exchange I’d had with Jauregui, but well aware that my boss wasn’t the appropriate outlet. “Who cares? You know she’s going to give you the account.”

A grin chased away his frown. “I’m thinking she might.”

“As my roommate always says, you should celebrate. Should I make dinner reservations for you and Steven?”

“Why not? Pure Food and Wine at seven, if they can squeeze us in. If not, surprise us.”

We’d barely returned to Mark’s office when he was pounced on by the executives—Michael Waters, the CEO and president, and Christine Field and Walter Leaman, the executive chairman and vice chairman.

I skirted the four of them as quietly as possible and slid into my cubicle.

I called Pure Food and Wine and begged for a table for two. After some serious groveling and pleading, the hostess finally caved.

I left a message on Mark’s voice mail, “It’s definitely your lucky day. You’re booked for dinner at seven. Have fun!”

Then I clocked out, eager to get home.

“She said what?” Cary sat on the opposite end of our white sectional sofa and shook his head.

“I know, right?” I enjoyed another sip of my wine. It was a crisp and nicely chilled sauvignon blanc I’d picked up on the walk home. “That was my reaction, too. I’m still not sure I didn’t hallucinate the conversation while overdosing on her pheromones.”

“So?”

I tucked my legs beneath me on the couch and leaned into the corner. “So what?”

“You know what, Camila.” Grabbing his netbook off the coffee table, Cary propped it on his crossed legs. “Are you going to tap that or what?”

“I don’t even know her. I don’t even know her first name and she threw that curveball at me.”

“She knew yours.” He started typing on his keyboard. “And what about the thing with the vodka? Asking for your boss in particular?”

The hand I was running through my loose hair stilled. “Mark is very talented. If Jauregui has any sort of business sense at all, she’d pick up on that and exploit it.”

“I’d say she knows business.” Cary spun his netbook around and showed me the home page of Cross Industries, which boasted an awesome photo of the Crossfire. “That’s her building, Camila. Lauren jauregui owns it.”

Damn it. My eyes closed. Lauren Jauregui. I thought the name suited her. It was as sexy and elegantly masculine as the woman himself.

“She has people to handle marketing for her subsidiaries. Probably dozens of people to handle it.”

“Stop talking, Cary”

“She’s hot, rich, and wants to jump your bones. What’s the problem?”

I looked at him. “It’s going to be awkward running into her all the time. I’m hoping to hang on to my job for a long while. I really like it. I really like Mark. He’s totally involved me in the process and I’ve learned so much from him already.”

“Remember what Dr. Travis says about calculated risks? When your shrink tells you to take some, you should take some. You can deal with it. You and Jauregui are both adults.” He turned his attention back to his Internet search. “Wow. Did you know she doesn’t turn thirty for another two years? Think of the stamina.”

“Think of the rudeness. I’m offended by how she just threw it out there. I hate feeling like a vagina with legs.”

Cary paused and looked up at me, his eyes softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry, baby girl. You’re so strong, so much stronger than I am. I just don’t see you carrying around the baggage I do.”

“I don’t think I am, most of the time.” I looked away because I didn’t want to talk about what we’d been through in our pasts. “It’s not like I wanted her to ask me out on a date. But there has to be a better way to tell a woman you want to take her to bed.”

“You’re right. She’s an arrogant douche. Let her lust after you until she has blue balls. Serves her right.”

That made me smile. Cary could always do that. “I doubt that woman has ever had blue balls in her life, but it’s a fun fantasy.”

He shut his netbook with a decisive snap. “What should we do tonight?”

“I was thinking I’d like to go check out that Krav Maga studio in Brooklyn.” I’d done a little research after meeting Parker Smith during my workout at Equinox and as the week passed, the thought of having that kind of raw, physical outlet for stress seemed more and more ideal.

I knew it wouldn’t be anything close to banging the hell outta ofLauren jauregui, but I suspected it would be a lot less dangerous to my health.

#camren #camren fanfiction #lauren jauregui #camila cabello #camren shipper #conversion

5 notes · View notes

mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

You Were Perverted Too III

Chapter: 3/3

Rating: E (Smut Warning)

Summary: George is finishing up recording for his song While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Ringo thinks it's beautiful but the ending seems a little out of place.

Tags: Smut

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

George began to move while Ringo remained completely still, he slid himself down gently onto Ringo's lap then pressed an experimental kiss against his neck. Ringo felt completely frozen, his hands were clenched into fists on his lap feeling far too heavy to lift. Was this really happening? Ringo let out a struggled breath, he could feel the heat of it as it bounced off of George's neck. He was certain they'd never been this close before, at least never like this. George pressed another kiss higher up on Ringo's neck where it met his jaw, he grazed his teeth lightly and it made Ringo shudder.

"George..." Ringo huffed out, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say.

"Mmm?" George hummed against the skin, his hands were moving up Ringo's chest.

"W-What..." Ringo began, his mind was a complete fog "I don't-"

George let out a low laugh, moved one of his hands up to the back of Ringo's neck and began playing with the strands of hair there "Relax." Was all he said.

Ringo tried to relax, he closed his eyes and released the pressure in his shoulders but as soon as George planted another soft kiss he immediately tensed up again.

"What if someone comes in?" Ringo asked in a quiet voice as though the sight alone of the two of them like this wasn't incriminating enough.

"They won't." George reassured, he drew back from Ringo for a moment and cupped his cheeks "It's just us."

George moved in for another kiss, this time on the lips; in his mind, Ringo was prepared to evade it somehow but his body acted completely independently and he felt himself leaning in. It was strange to say the least, to feel the lips that Ringo had become so familiar with across the years. It was a gentle kiss, as though George was still trying to test the waters and was afraid of going too far. Ringo found himself kissing back ever so slightly, his hands seeming to move on their own as one ran up George's back and the other settled on his hip. It felt completely natural, that was the strangest thing, like any other girl was sat in his lap. George pulled away after a few moments, he had a serious look painted across his face yet his eyes were kind, he was clearly looking for some sort of approval. Ringo smiled at him nervously, he felt himself growing a little giddy. George smiled back but it was far from the innocent one Ringo wore.

"You can hear me moan for real, if you'd like." George whispered, running his tongue over one of the sharp teeth.

Ringo felt his face heating up dramatically, all the blood in his body rushing to opposite ends "You were doing all that on purpose?" He asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

George laughed again, he'd settled quite comfortably into Ringo's lap "Not at first, but it didn't take me long to figure out why you kept getting so quiet and nervous all of a sudden."

Ringo scoffed defiantly "Nervous?"

Something flashed in the darkness of George's eyes and his grin widened, Ringo didn't like the look of the expression one bit. George tightened his grip somewhat on the back of Ringo's neck then thrust himself forward so that his crotch agonisingly rubbed against Ringo's. Ringo couldn't stop a low moan from rolling past his lips which only made George laugh once more.

"Nervous." George repeated, pressing another kiss along Ringo's neck, far more heated this time.

Ringo couldn't deny the tension in his body, but he was determined to not let George completely have the upper hand in this situation. As George began moving his lips higher, finally brushing against Ringo's own again, Ringo let out another moan which was bordering on a growl. He gripped the back of George's slim thigh and lifted him up with ease, he let out a sudden gasp that melted into a laugh, walking the two of them over to the back wall. Ringo locked their lips together roughly, welcoming George's legs wrapping around his waist.

"You know how long I've been waiting for you to do that?" George asked with a sly grin, his hand was running through the length of Ringo's hair.

Ringo kissed him again, teeth began scraping against lips "I'm still waiting to hear these moans."

George raised his eyebrows excitedly, his grin growing "Then give me something to moan about."

No more words were needed, Ringo lowered George to the floor somewhat roughly but it was clear he was still trying to be gentle, then pressed up against him once more for a heated kiss. George had begun breathing heavily, but there was no sign of his desperate moans from earlier. Ringo was determined to change that, as he lowered himself to his knees and fumbled with the button and zipper on George's trousers. The passion of the moment removed all worry Ringo might've had about doing something like this for the first time, no doubt there'd been some experimental times in his youth, it felt completely natural.

"You ever done this before?" George asked, seemingly reading Ringo's mind, he was beginning to unravel but only slightly.

"Nope." Ringo answered simply, he'd already worked George's trousers down and was now confronted with his clothed erection.

How hard could it be? Ringo wasn't going to allow his brain to panic, to somehow talk himself out of it, so he ran with all the adrenaline his body was providing and swore to not let this moment pass him by. He pulled down George's boxers tentatively, his fingers were shaking a little with excitement, and took in the sight that he'd seen so many times before, but never like this. He paused for a moment and looked up at George curiously, as if there was any concern that he wanted to back out but the lust in his eyes said more than words ever could.

Ringo wrapped his fingers around George's length and set to work, the quicker he acted the less likely his brain could register exactly what was going on then begin to freak out. The realisation that he was about to suck off his best friend in a studio where anyone could walk in at any moment, was definitely not something Ringo wanted to think about right now. Instead, he wanted to feel. He pressed his lips against the head of George's cock, drawing out a hiss from the taller man who was biting his lip desperately. Ringo opened his mouth and began swallowing down George's erection, he was surprised at how easily he could take it, and ensured the coldness of his rings were pressed up against the hot flesh that he couldn't fit in his mouth.

"Fucking hell..." George breathed "You sure you've never done this before?"

Ringo chuckled which apparently had been the right thing to do, because George let out a deep moan and relaxed his head against the wall; that was a sound he wanted more of. Ringo pushed himself further, trying to open up his throat to fit more of George inside as he lowered his mouth down further until his eyes began to tear up. George moaned again, Ringo couldn't help noticing how similar it was to the noises he made earlier even if George had sworn they weren't. Ringo then began moving his mouth up and down George's length, it didn't take too long to pick up a rhythm - that had always been Ringo's speciality - and before long George was gripping at Ringo's hair like he was ready to burst.

"Fuck, Ringo." George moaned, sweet and softly in a way that Ringo had never heard him before "I'm close..."

Ringo hummed proudly, slowing his pace a little and experimenting with hollowing his cheeks which only made George lose control even further.

"Shit, shit!" George bit down on his hand to stifle the noises "I'm gonna fucking cum."

Ringo sped up once again, one hand rested on George's bare thigh and the other playing soothingly with his balls. The whole thing felt entirely surreal, he just wished it didn't have to end. It only took a few more motions of Ringo's tongue before George was being pushed over the edge, his screams and moans were muffled against his palm as he spilled down Ringo's throat. The taste was awful, Ringo certainly hadn't been expecting that, but he wasn't going to ruin the eroticism of the moment by spluttering and coughing pathetically. Instead he swallowed down as much as he could, then gently pulled his lips off of George's now shrinking cock. He remained on the floor for a while, looking up at George innocently. George's eyes kept fluttering shut, he was desperately trying to catch his breath as he rested all his weight against the wall.

They didn't have too long to relax, soon voices could be heard down the corridor from the studio and the two of them dashed back to where they'd been previously in an attempt to look normal. Ringo scoffed down a couple of biscuits and swigged his tea to try and remove the taste from his mouth while George tried to straighten his appearance as best he could. John and Paul sauntered in, taking their seats in the room without much thought at all.

"Any luck with the song?" Paul asked with a smile, there was something in his eyes that Ringo didn't like.

"You could-" George had to pause to clear his throat "You could say that."

"Jolly good." John smiled too, looking at Ringo directly with a knowing glare.

Maybe they hadn't been that quiet after all.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

14 notes · View notes

tinypeckers · 3 years

Text

The Enchanted Ornament

Ship(s): Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey (Jackoff? ehehe)

Word count: 7,790

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and everything couldn’t be more wrong. The baby won’t stop crying, everyone is in a bad mood and Gavin has lost his Christmas spirit. Can something as simple as a wish save it all?

A/N: This story is two years in the making. I have been working on it every festive period since 2018 and it is finally done. I almost didn’t release it because, well, you know but... I did. Because I love this story. I am proud of it but I’ll warn you here, there is a new OC introduced. His name is Brian, er, I think we all know why (Here’s a link to my thoughts on it as well, if you care)

AO3 link

Jack sat, head between his hands, perched upon the edge of the bed. His right foot twitched erratically as the pressure increased against his temples. He screwed his eyes shut. He tried to hum. A broken and tuneless carol barely vibrated his lips. No matter how hard he squeezed, how tight he closed his eyes, how loud he hummed - he could not drown out the near-constant whine from beside him. He cracked open his right eye and it narrowed when he glanced at the basinet inches from his knee. The baby inside it, who had seemed so angelic and sweet just a few months ago, kicked at his confines. With fists barely bigger than a ping pong ball, he pummelled the air.

“Please,” Jack whispered at the baby. “Please Jeremy, just give in and sleep.”

As if Santa Claus himself had listened and granted Jack’s wish, the infant stilled. The whines gave way to small, miserable hiccups. Jeremy’s legs fell and his fingers opened up. His eyes, which had not left Jack for hours, started to flutter closed. Jack held his breath. Hic. Jeremy fought to keep his eyes open. Hic. His foot hit the mattress impatiently. He brought a fist to his mouth. Hic. His eyes closed. Hic. They stayed closed. Hic. Jack let his own eyes fall shut, his breath slowed in sync with the child laying in the basinet. Finally, Jack thought.

He didn’t hear the sound of small, socked feet that tip-toed into the room. He didn’t acknowledge the arm that brushed his knee. Jack wouldn’t have known that someone had joined them at all, he’d have blissfully have sat there for hours if it had not have been for the small, yet caring, hand that brushed its knuckles against the baby’s cheek.

“Night, night Jeremy.”

Like a sensitive car alarm startled by a falling leaf, the baby screeched once more. Jack shot to his feet and glared at the boy who had only wanted to check on his younger brother.

“Gavin, get out!”

He loomed over the seven-year-old, face as red as his beard and eyes bloodshot and wild. Gavin fell backward and scrambled away from his father. Jack’s breaths came in heavy, short bursts. Gavin stood, as quickly as he could scurry to his feet, and dashed from the room.

Gavin pulled the door shut behind him. He winced when the slam seemed to escalate his younger brother’s screams. Not sure what to think or who to turn to, he shook as he tried to reason with himself why his father would yell at him like that. Gavin ran to the room right next door to his parent’s. The door was closed, as it had been for months, but Gavin went ahead and opened it anyway. He’d not got one foot through the doorway before he was yelled at once more.

“Gavin,” his older brother, Brian, barked from his bed. “Can’t you read? You’re not allowed in here.”

Gavin raised his shoulders, clenched his fists and tried desperately to keep his lower lip still as it quivered. He could read, Brian knew that – it’s just that, like his teachers and his parents often said, Gavin was often oblivious to things around him. Gavin didn’t know what oblivious meant, exactly, he just knew that it meant sometimes people got annoyed at him for, as far as he was concerned, no reason. Gavin didn’t tell Brian any of this, of course, he merely stood and tried not to pout.

“Papa yelled at me,” he finally said.

Brian laughed, or rather made a sound that was close to a laugh. He didn’t smile or offer to give Gavin a hug like the younger boy had wanted – like Brian would have, last year. Instead he rolled his eyes at his brother and shifted the laptop perched upon his knees.

“By the sounds coming from next door, you deserved it. Papa and Dad didn’t get any sleep last night thanks to that dick,” Brian gestured to the wall with his thumb. “Neither did I; the brat.”

“You can’t call him… that. His name’s Jeremy.”

Brian rolled his eyes: “They should have called him Satan, I thought they’d come to their senses after they took you three home but no, you had to lose your cuteness and then they wanted another one. Fools.”

Gavin swallowed. He played with the hem of his shirt and bit at his lower lip. When no words came, he simply stared at his older brother. Brian had let his hair grow out since his thirteenth birthday and now he had to blow air out occasionally to stop it from flopping over his eye. He had practically lived in his bedroom since then too and stopped playing games with Gavin and all of his other brothers. Gavin had begged him all month to help him build the family Christmas puzzle – Geoff and Jack had been too busy with the baby, Ray would rather play on the Xbox and Michael just grew bored and broke it all apart again – but Brian simply refused. On one occasion, he had said he was too old for it now. When Gavin asked why their fathers still did it then, because they were ancient, Ryan had told him to go away in less than pleasant terms and had been grounded all weekend.

“Why are you still here? Go, and shut the door on the way out. Anything to drown Satan out,” Brian waved Gavin toward the hallway.

With a heavy sigh, Gavin did as he was told. He gently closed the door this time, aware that the screams from next door were becoming less and less frequent. He paused by the door, pressed his ear against it to listen. He could hear his papa hum to the baby, the occasional creak of a floorboard letting Gavin know that he’d given in and picked the infant up. Gavin swallowed. He knew he was seven, and technically a big boy now, but he wanted nothing more than to open the door and join them. He wanted Jack to pick him up, bounce him on his hip and hum a Christmas carol to him. Jack had been too busy to teach him a new one, like he’d promised, so Gavin had had to google the lyrics to Silent Night, but listening to the YouTube video wasn’t the same as Jack’s singing. He dragged himself away from the door, used the back of his hand to wipe underneath his eye and headed down the stairs. He didn’t need Brian, or Papa – he had other brothers and he had a whole other dad to keep him company.

Gavin went straight to the kitchen. Geoff hunched over the counter, his face hidden behind his hands. Gavin could see his shoulders rise and fall, slowly, as Geoff tried to breathe. He was struggling to, mostly because Michael had sucked all the air out of the room with his screaming.

“Wha’ happened?” Gavin asked.

Geoff stood properly then, seemingly startled back into action by Gavin’s voice. He turned his back to the inquisitive boy, preoccupying himself with the large, uncooked bird that he had procured for tomorrow. Gavin chewed upon his lower lip. He edged around the breakfast table and peeked at his brother.

Michael lay flat on his back, face red as he tried to rival the baby’s yells from upstairs. His feet kicked and kicked at the linoleum floor. Strewn around him were the boys’ advent calendars, the final door ripped open and the chocolate missing. Gavin allowed himself a short, sharp breath. He had been looking forward to opening that tomorrow. It had been so fun this past month to race and find the door. Ray was always first but Gavin was always second. He was good with numbers, see, much better than he was at reading. Michael wasn’t patient enough to find the number and always resigned himself to a huff. Gavin liked to help him – it was always nice to see his brother smile once he’d found it. Gavin didn’t mind that he liked to declare that he’d done it himself.

Gavin sat down beside his brother and folded his feet underneath his knees. Michael’s yells never stopped, though he cranked one eye open to see who had bothered to pay him attention. He only screamed louder when he saw that it was Gavin and not Geoff who had noticed him.

“Why are you crying? I’m not mad you eated my chocolate, Michael.” Gavin reached out to brush a stray curl from his brother’s forehead.

“Leave him alone, Gavin.”

Gavin looked up. Geoff hadn’t turned away from his turkey but his voice was gruff and clipped. His tone left no room for arguments and, though Gavin would much rather give his brother a hug, he got up and did as he was told. Gavin toddled over to Geoff. He stood upon his tiptoes to see what his father was doing. Michael let a yell fall into a huff.

“I thought that turkey was for tomorrow’s dinner,” Gavin said.

“It is, bud, but Papa and I are going to be so busy tomorrow so I’m starting it tonight to make sure we actually get dinner tomor-“

Geoff trailed off as he moved away from the bird to grab something from his spice rack. His hip brushed a mug on the counter. As the cup tipped towards the ground, a small dollop of brown liquid careened to the floor. Geoff saved the mug, absent-mindedly pushing it back as he walked away. Gavin frowned. He knew that his dad had made the hot chocolate a few hours earlier, when he’d let his sons steal a sip once it had cooled down enough. Yet Geoff had never left a hot chocolate so that it had become cold, Gavin knew that his dad liked to finish it before he and his brothers came back for seconds. He glanced up at his father. The bags under Geoff’s eyes, though ever prominent, had surely gotten deeper these past few days.

Without a word, Gavin slunk out of the kitchen. It didn’t feel like Christmas at all. At least, it wasn’t like last year. Last year, they were all watching Christmas movies together by now. Last year, he and Michael had helped Papa build a gingerbread house. Last year Brian had helped Gavin wrap a present all by himself for their dad. Gavin chewed at his fingernails as he entered the living room. Maybe Brian was right, maybe everything had changed because Jeremy was here now? Gavin’s brow furrowed. He shook the thought away. No, it wasn’t Jeremy’s fault. He wasn’t crying on purpose. He was just a baby. He needed more help than Gavin, that’s all. Gavin nodded to himself. Christmas wasn’t over either – he could still have fun!

Gavin looked up. The living room was his favourite room in the house by far. Geoff had gone all out with the decorations; paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, all handmade by Gavin and his brothers; a wreath hung above the fireplace, a berry garland hid the nails that held in the stockings and the covers on the pillows on the couch had been swapped out for more festive colours. Best of all was the tree – Gavin had helped out there too – upon which sat the prettiest, most magical fairy Gavin had ever seen. The boy spared her a small smile as he hopped over to the couch where the last of his brothers sat hunched over Geoff’s old laptop. Gavin sidled up beside Ray. He squinted at the screen as Ray shot a ball at pegs.

“Want to build my puzzle with me, Ray?”

Ray didn’t even look up, he only grunted as he shot the last ball. Gavin clapped when the fireworks appeared on screen but Ray sighed. He exited the game. His name appeared again and again on the high score list, taking almost every spot bar one. With a score much higher than second place, it was the only Brian left on the list. Ray hit play again and restarted it entirely.

“Why’d you do that?”

Gavin waited for an answer. All he got was the click of the mouse as Ray fired his first ball. Gavin swallowed. He used the back of his hand to rub at his eyes. An old movie was on the TV, one that Gavin had never seen before. Ray had turned the sound almost all the way down. Gavin took it upon himself to turn it back up. He forced a smile as the small child on screen uttered an optimistic phrase about “having Christmas cheer”. He slipped off of the couch and headed toward the base of the tree. When Gavin had left it, his puzzle had been almost finished. Now it lay in pieces once more. He rubbed at his cheek, willing away the salty water that had raced across it. He brushed the pieces aside, found a corner and placed it onto the carpet. Gavin hunted for the other corners and spaced them out evenly. He interlocked other pieces where he could.

Gavin sniffled as some of the pieces started to get damp, curling at the corners as he pushed them into place. Behind him, on the TV, the child cried below his own tree too. Gavin looked back at it. The screen was suddenly engulfed in a white light and the fairy that once sat at the top of the tree now stood below it, almost as tall as the plant itself. The child looked up as she smiled. Gavin watched, mouth agape, as she offered the child some Christmas wishes. He watched as the scene changed and the child stood with his family around him, grinning from ear to ear, as it begun to snow just in time for Christmas. Gavin looked up at his own fairy then. She looked like the one from the TV – white dress, big crown and silver, glittery wand. Gavin opened his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue, when Geoff called from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready – everyone get in here!”

Having spent all the afternoon and most of the early evening preparing his beautiful bird, Geoff had opted out of making dinner for Christmas Eve too. Gavin poked at his meal, which had spent all of a few minutes in a microwave, and tried to be grateful for it. He knew that his dad was tired, that he was lucky that they were all around the table together (except for Jeremy, who he hoped was now sleeping peacefully) but he couldn’t help feel disappointed that Geoff had forgotten that Gavin didn’t like mac and cheese because he hated the way that it squelched. Still, he forced down a mouthful and tried to ignore that it had already started to go cold.

Michael sat beside Gavin, arms crossed, glaring at the meal before him. When they had first sat down, Jack had tried to force him to try a mouthful but Michael was nothing but stubborn. Jack had given up almost immediately, resigning himself to eating his own meal. Brian had his phone out at the table, eyes trained on the screen as he used one hand to eat and one hand to scroll. Gavin waited for one of his dads to tell his brother to put it away. It was against the rules normally, but it seemed that they were making an exception for Christmas. Ray sat as close as he could to Brian, his eyes following every flick of his brother’s finger. He ate slowly, seeming to suck upon his fork before going back for another mouthful. At the head of the table, Geoff paired every mouthful with a sip of water. Gavin let his fork fall onto his plate and clapped his hands together.

“Is everyone excited for Christmas?”

Ray sat up straighter then, dropping his own fork and holding up his hand as he listed everything he wanted under the tree.

“Santa’s gonna bring me a new laptop, a phone just like Brian’s, a new controller, a nerf gun…”

“No, Ray, he’s bringing me a nerf gun,” Michael interjected. “You can’t ask Santa for a nerf gun because I asked for it first and he’s going to give it to me, isn’t he dad?”

Geoff lowered his glass, which at this point had little more than a drop of water swirling at the bottom, and cleared his throat.

“Well, Santa-“

“Santa’s not bringing you anything because he’s not-“

“Brian!”

Jack pushed his chair back as he yelled, hands firmly planted on the table as he loomed over it to glare at Brian. The older boy seemed unfazed by his father’s outburst, he even seemed to smirk at the reaction. Gavin, on the other hand, had curled up in his seat.

A faint wail sounded from upstairs. Jack slumped in his seat, fingers making indents in his forehead as he willed away the headache that had been there for hours. Geoff reached out and squeezed his husband’s shoulder, glancing at his children.

“All right, everyone, finish up your meal. I think we all just need an early night.”

Brian did not need to have to be asked twice, though he rolled his eyes at his father’s request. He stood up and left the room. Only seconds after, Ray did exactly the same thing, eye roll included, but his exit was much swifter so that he did not have to hear the inevitable lecture from his fathers. Michael also got to his feet. Instead of leaving, however, he grabbed the chair he had been sitting on moments before and tried to throw it. Thankfully for everyone else in the room, he was far too small and it was much too heavy and he only succeeded in pushing it a few inches. Frustrated at the lack of destruction, Michael kicked it back under the table.

“Michael,” Geoff began. Michael kicked and kicked and kicked at the chair. “Michael. Stop that, you’re being very naughty.”

Yet Michael did not stop and Gavin winced as one of the rods that formed the back of the chair finally gave way to the heel of Michael’s foot. As though he did not notice, Michael continued to deliver swift kicks to the chair. Geoff stood then and grabbed his son by the arm.

“MICHAEL! That is enough, you have been horrible today and if you don’t go upstairs and get ready for bed right now, I will tell Santa that you don’t deserve any gifts this year.”

Gavin gasped. Michael stopped kicking. They both looked at their father in horror. No gifts? That wasn’t fair. Gavin knew that Michael had indeed been quite terrible today, and maybe in the past month he’d had his naughty moments, but he knew that his brother was good. It was Michael who would hold Gavin’s hand when he was scared, after all, and Michael that got the boys at school to stop bullying Ray and Gavin was sure that the last time he’d seen Brian smile was after a joke that his brother had told. Michael certainly deserved presents, Santa couldn’t judge him on just one day!

Geoff let go of his son’s arm but his face never lost its thunder. Michael hiccupped, he rubbed at his cheeks vigorously and sucked in a breath. He lifted his arm and for a second Gavin thought that he was going to reach out, Michael’s fingers outstretched as though asking Geoff to hold him, but he let his arm drop. His chin met his chest as he shuffled out of the room. Gavin looked at his father then, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he waited for Geoff to follow his brother and give him the hug he so clearly needed. Geoff didn’t go anywhere. He seemed years older to Gavin, almost twice the age of Father Christmas himself, and so vulnerable.

“Daddy, Michael will still get presents, won’t he?”

“Go to bed, Gavin.”

A lump seemed to form in Gavin’s throat. His chest hurt, like he’d been running for hours and forgotten to breathe. He did that sometimes, had to stop and hold onto his knees as he gulped in air. This time Gavin didn’t know what to do. He looked at his dad, and then to his papa, before he nodded and slipped from the room.

Upstairs, Gavin found Ray already in bed. He’d pulled his duvet over his head and the faint glow underneath made it obvious he was not sleeping and did not plan to soon. The door to the boys’ bathroom was open so that Gavin could see Michael inside brushing his teeth. The mirror reflected his red, puffy eyes and miserable expression. Gavin came and stood beside him. He went to grab his brother’s hand but Michael snatched his arm away. He spat the toothpaste out into the sink, rinsed his mouth and left Gavin alone in the bathroom. Gavin watched him get into his bed through the mirror. He looked at himself then and felt sorry for himself. It was Christmas, he thought, it was the season of joy. He wished and wished that today could have been like last Christmas, that they could have all spent it together and it was magical. Gavin could only think of one way to fix this. With a nod to his own reflection, Gavin grabbed his toothbrush and formed a plan in his head.

Hours later, when Gavin was sure that everyone else had fallen asleep, he tiptoed downstairs. The living room was dark and it felt more horrifying than magical as Gavin made his way to the tree. He didn’t know the time but was thankful to see that Santa had not been yet, hoping that he still had time to save Christmas. He knelt beside the puzzle he had still yet to finish, picking up a piece absent-mindedly as he sighed. Gavin squeezed the piece in his hand and looked up. Even in the dark, the angel’s dress seemed to glow. Gavin could not make out her face but he tried to imagine where her eyes were, remembering that his papa had told him it was important to make eye contact with someone you wanted to talk to. Gavin took a deep breath.

Across the hall, in the kitchen, Geoff, Jack and Brian cocked their heads towards the door. They had paid no attention to the slight creak of the stairs minutes earlier, the house was old and it just did that, but now they could hear a faint muttering coming from the living room.

“One of the boys must be up, probably trying to catch Santa again,” Jack said.

Brian rolled his eyes from where he leaned against the kitchen counter, bag of chips in one hand while the other cradled the small cup of whiskey Jack had allowed him to try when they had caught him sneaking down for a midnight snack.

“When are you going to tell them? Surely at seven they’re old enough,” he asked.

“If I had my way, never,” Geoff headed towards the door. He’d have to send the kid to bed, he thought, lest they caught Jack and himself doing Santa’s bidding. “But I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon – hopefully with no one spoiling it for them.”

Geoff playfully pinched his son’s nose as he passed him. Jack followed, if only to deal with the possible tantrum that could come once the boy’s plans had been foiled. With nothing better to do, Brian decided he should come as well to help convince his brother that Santa would not come at all if he stayed up and waited. The living room door had been left open a crack and as Geoff reached out to push it open and spoil the would-be Santa catcher’s fun he paused for a second to listen to what the kid was saying.

“Please, please, please miss angel if you could help Jeremy go to sleep so that dad and papa could take a nap and feel better it would be so nice because they should have a good Christmas too and, and if you could just maybe make Brian happy tomorrow as well, maybe he can help Ray play that game and then Ray would be happy too and they would have a very good Christmas,” Gavin clasped his hands together and sighed. “And I know Michael weren’t very good today but he has been good a lot of the time and he really, really, really wants a nerf gun so please tell Santa that he is a good boy and he should get one to play with tomorrow. If Santa says no then tell him that Michael should get my presents then ‘cause I don’t want ‘em.” Gavin squeezed a puzzle piece between his hands and closed his eyes. “Alls I want for Christmas is for everyone to have fun and to be together tomorrow. No one’s been happy for a long, long time and so please if you could help – I know I’m asking for so much but my family needs you. Oh, but, maybe, if you can, and if it would make dad happy, could you maybe ask if he could help me finish my puzzle and, and, if papa feels better after his nap if you could maybe also ask him if he’d sing with me tomorrow. But don’t worry if they can’t, it’s okay – just please if you really are magic just make sure that you help them to have a good Christmas.”

Geoff’s hand slapped against his mouth. He took a step away from the door and fell against his husband’s chest. Jack felt equally as shaken but, as he heard the wishful boy tiptoe back toward the door, he was quick to pull both his son and his husband back into the safety of their kitchen. He nudged the door closed and held his breath as Gavin stepped out into the hallway. The boy paused, curious about the slither of light that spilled from the kitchen that he had not noticed on his way down. He shrugged it off and hurried back upstairs to make sure he was asleep long before Santa came and visited.

Back inside the kitchen, Geoff looked as though he had been visited by a Christmas ghost. He clung to his husband because he did not know what else to do. How could they have let this happen? Their own son had resorted to asking an inanimate object for help. He looked to his husband for the answer to the thousands of other questions that whizzed through his mind.

“Right, I know that that was unexpected and upsetting to hear,” Jack said. He looked from Geoff to Brian. Though he seemed calm, his voice wavered as he spoke. “But we can fix this. Tonight. There is still time to make sure that Gavin, and all of us, have a good Christmas tomorrow but we have to work fast.”

As Jack launched into his plan, setting out tasks for each of them and trying to keep the mood light, Brian nodded along. He looked into his glass, which had a drizzle of whiskey left in it, and chucked his head back to finish his drink.

When Gavin awoke the next morning, he didn’t feel incredibly magical. He didn’t know what he’d expected, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t the empty feeling that he had. With a sigh, he sat up in bed and glanced across the room at his brothers. Ray had yet to wake but Michael sat sleepily in his own bed. He blinked rapidly at Gavin and supressed a yawn, throwing back his covers and toddling over to his brother. Gavin lifted his own duvet to welcome him into the bed, finding comfort in the way Michael’s fingers quickly tangled with his own. Michael bumped their heads together.

“Merry Christmas Grabbin,” he said.

“Merry Christmas, Michael. Do you think Santa came?”

Michael squeezed Gavin’s hand. He chewed upon his lip and glanced quickly at his brother.

“I hope he did and I hope dad didn’t tell him I’d been naughty.”

“Don’t worry Michael, dad wouldn’t do that – I bet Santa’s left you lots of presents,” Gavin said but he wasn’t so sure. Still, his brother smiled back at him so he hoped that he was right.

The two brothers waited as long as they could before they jumped into Ray’s bed. He grunted as they sat on him and tried to bury himself further under the duvet. Once they had reminded him it was Christmas, however, Ray could not leave his bed faster. As they scurried to pull on their slippers and dash out the door, Ray insisted that they wake Brian up as well. They ran to his room and found the door slightly ajar. The boys paused in the hallway, hesitant to let themselves in given the sign. It was Michael who gave the door a little push and all three waited as it slowly creaked open. Brian’s bed was empty and unmade. The three boys looked to one another. Perhaps he had gone to wake dad and papa already?

They ran down the hallway, hand in hand, before they came to a stop in front of their parents’ door. This was one was fully shut, most likely to muffle the cries of their younger brother, but Michael did not hesitate to pull on the handle and shove the door open. Like Brian’s, however, the room was empty. The three boys stepped inside to peer into the basinet only to find that it too was void of Jeremy. They looked at one another.

“You don’t think they started Christmas already, do you?” Ray asked his brothers.

“No,” Gavin whispered. A lump formed in his throat. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Come, I bet they’re downstairs waiting.” Michael tugged on his brothers’ hands.

Standing at the top of the stairs, the boys could hear Christmas music coming from the living room. Hand in hand they walked down the stairs and with every step it grew louder and louder. The door was shut. Once again, it was Michael who reached out and opened it for them.

It was as though they had opened the door to Santa’s grotto. While the house had already been beautiful and festive, Geoff’s pride and joy of the season, it was as though an angel had come and spread her own magic across the room. Brian sat on the couch in last year’s Christmas sweater, the sleeves of which were halfway up his arms, and his hands held a mug of hot chocolate in lieu of his ever-present phone. Beside him, Jack cradled Jeremy in his arms. The baby donned an elf outfit, complete with little pointy slippers, while Jack himself had a Santa hat balanced precariously upon his head. All three boys gasped at once. They rushed to the couch. Ray scrambled to sit right next to Brian and was quickly welcomed as his brother lifted his arm for him to cuddle under. Michael hovered in front of Jack, having been told too many times to give Jeremy some space to rush onto his father’s lap, no matter how badly he wanted to. Jack shifted the baby in his arms, making space for his other son, and patted his knee.

Gavin wasn’t sure what to do as he watched his papa snuggle with Michael in what felt like the first time in months. He was overwhelmed with the gratitude that washed over him as Brian listened to some story Ray was telling him. He was sure that he was about to break into happy tears when someone gently bumped into his back. Gavin looked up but was only graced with the bottom of a tray. The man holding it stepped back and then Gavin was greeted by Geoff’s smile.

“Oh, you three are up? I wanted to come and give you hot cocoa in bed!”

Geoff almost dropped the tray in his hands at the chorus of cheers that erupted. Michael refused to move from his coveted spot on Jack’s lap but he reached eagerly for the tray. Geoff sidestepped Gavin and lowered it for him. He smiled at his son as Michael took a mug. Ryan grabbed Ray’s for him and gingerly held it in front of the boy so that he could sip from it. Geoff turned to Gavin then.

The warmth from the mug in Gavin’s hands seemed to spread all the way through his body. It filled him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and felt like a big, loving hug. Geoff placed the tray onto the coffee table. He slipped his hands underneath Gavin’s armpits and slowly carried him over to the armchair, making ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ sounds every time Gavin’s hot chocolate dared to kiss the rim of his mug. Geoff turned and took a seat, placing his son onto his lap. Almost immediately Michael cried out.

“I want to sit on your lap! Why does Gavin gets to sit on your lap?”

“You can come sit on my lap too, Michael, I’ve got two knees!”

Jack held Michael’s mug for him as he scrambled off the couch. He handed it to the boy and Michael shuffled his way to Geoff. Once he’d been safely seated and his hot chocolate was back in his hands, Michael curled into Geoff’s arms. Geoff kissed the top of Michael’s curls, and then Gavin’s head too, as he squeezed his two boys against his chest. He stifled a chuckle as Gavin cried out, his pyjama top now sporting a brand new brown spot on its chest.

Once the mugs were dry, with help from Geoff of course, the children looked expectantly from their dads to the tree. The family puzzle wasn’t the only thing hiding under its branches now, with presents of all shapes, sizes and colours taking up valuable floor space.

“Oh,” Jack said after minutes of being stared at. “Do you want to open your presents?”

He blinked rapidly at the onslaught of happy cries. He looked to Geoff and the two shared a look that only parents could understand.

“All right then, but I suppose you better open your presents from Santa first. He left them at the very front.”

Ray elbowed his way out of Brian’s arms, although he was sure to hold his hand out to help Brian to his feet. Gavin wriggled free of Geoff as well, the first to stand in front of the tree. He hopped from foot to foot as he waited for all of his brothers to gather. Only Michael didn’t move. He chewed upon his fingernail and looked up at Geoff.

“Dad, did Santa leave a present for me?”

Geoff and Jack shared another look then, though unlike before the expressions on their faces made it obvious to anyone that looked at them what it meant. Geoff cleared his throat and pressed another lingering kiss into Michael’s curls.

“Of course, silly. Now go and help your brothers find them, I think Gavin is getting impatient.”

It was obvious which ones had been left by Santa, the brown wrapping paper didn’t match anything else under the tree. The boxes were tied together with twine and four out of the five were all the same shape and size, while the fifth was much smaller and crinkled when held. Brian read the name on the smallest parcel’s tag, smiled and then handed it to Jack. The baby in his arms slapped the package that was placed upon his lap. Jack made a tear for him and Jeremy slowly pulled at the paper. He didn’t care for the sweet, crinkly plush octopus inside but laughed as he ripped another strip of paper. Meanwhile Ray, Gavin and Michael waited impatiently in front of their own parcels. Brian stood by his. He teased his brothers as he pinched the corner.

“Okay,” Brian’s fingers tugged at the paper. “Go, go, go!”

Geoff cringed as paper flew across his freshly vacuumed living room. He fought the urge to pick up every piece right that second, knowing it would only be met with a stern look from his husband. It didn’t matter, anyway, as the boys revealed their gifts from Santa. He had been so kind to give them each a nerf gun, conscious to give them the same one so that they did not fight. Geoff knew, not from experience because of course it had been Santa to get these gifts for the boys, that these guns had been so hard to get so Santa must have tried very hard to find them.

“Look, look – Papa look what Santa got us!”

Jack smiled at his children as they rushed him. Jeremy startled as they drew close, dropping the strip of paper he’d been holding. Jack held his breath as he waited for the boy to cry but he let it out when Jeremy only laughed instead.

It did not take long for the guns to be loaded, fired and thrown aside in lieu of the other more brightly wrapped gifts under the tree. Though Ray did not get the laptop he had written about, or the phone for that matter, he was not disappointed by the gifts he did receive. His favourite, that had briefly had a tag that read ‘from Brian’ before it had been ripped off, was a controller. It was identical to Brian’s own: light green with a darker green crosshair painted on. The only difference was the name in the corner, Ray. Ray held it in his hands and looked up at his older brother. Brian smiled back at him. He waved his freshly unwrapped R-rated game.

“Maybe later we can play this together, yeah?”

Ray nodded and squeezed the handles between his fingers. He laughed as Michael knocked his shoulder and shoved his own controller, also from Brian, under Ray’s nose.

“Me too! I want to play!”

Gavin stood off to the side, his own identical controller in his hands. The corners of his mouth almost touched his ears. He did not want to blink, for if he did he might miss Brian’s smile or Jeremy’s happy little kicks. He did blink, however, when Geoff gently nudged him with the black trash bag he’d whipped out not too long after the Santa presents had been unwrapped. Gavin bent down and picked up his discarded wrapping paper, and Michael’s and Ray’s and Brian’s too, and dropped it into the open bag. Geoff nodded back at him in appreciation. Gavin leaned into his father’s hand as it ruffled his hair, letting his eyes fall closed for just a second before he snapped them open again to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Geoff’s hand left his head to snatch some wrapping paper that flew into the air. Ray had already started on another gift, one that was from papa and dad this time. Michael passed another present to Gavin. It was rather crudely wrapped, with too much paper having been used and tape slapped this way and that across the folds.

“I helped papa wrap it,” Michael beamed.

Gavin dropped his controller to the floor. He did not wait to open it to give Michael a cuddle, wrapping his arms around his brother’s neck and squeezing. Ray rubbed at his head where Gavin had bonked him with the box. Gavin mouthed his apology. Michael made exaggerated gagging sounds as though Gavin were choking him but he wrapped his arm around his brother’s back all the same. He pushed his brother away to watch him open the gift. Gavin picked at the paper. His fingers struggled to find purchase on the edges. Eventually Geoff came over to help him, using some scissors to slit through some of the tape and create a hole. Gavin ripped the rest off himself. Geoff’s hands shot out to catch every shred of paper before it could fall onto his freshly vacuumed floor. Gavin grinned down at the gift in his hand. It was a puzzle, a new one with more pieces than the puzzle he had worked on all month.

“This one isn’t just for Christmas,” Geoff said. “We can work on it all year.”

He gasped as Gavin threw himself into his father’s legs and hugged him too. Michael, not one to be left out, wrapped himself around the both of them in an extremely tight bear hug.

There was not much left under the tree now, just a couple of presents for the adults from their friends and from each other. Brian spied one more for his youngest brother, nestled between a tall gift bag and a suspiciously squishy parcel addressed to his papa. He pulled the present out and stood up. He took a moment to stetch, fingers brushing some of the tallest branches of the Christmas tree. Beside him, Ray copied his movements. Brian smiled down at him before he marched toward his papa. Jack was still sat on the couch, Jeremy on his lap. The baby smashed together two strands of wrapping paper he had kept from being thrown in the trash bag. Jack’s eyes, which had been almost completely closed, glanced upwards at his eldest son. He saw the present in Brian’s hand and made to take it but the boy shook his head. He gave the present to Ray instead, who frowned when he read the tag and saw it was not for him. Brian made grabby hands at Jeremy. Jack raised an eyebrow at the boy. Ryan mimicked a lobster as he opened and closed his fingers.

“Come on,” he insisted. “You can’t sit there all morning, you and dad have presents to open too. I’ve got him.”

Jack bit his lip. Brian had not so much as glanced at the baby since he had been brought home and he was certainly the first to complain when Jeremy cried. He was about to turn his son down, tell him that he and Geoff could wait until Jeremy had gone for a nap when Brian cocked his head at him. Jack felt chastised for his thoughts. In that moment he saw that although his son had grown several inches and developed an attitude seemingly overnight, he was still Brian. Brian who was the first to calm down a crying brother, Brian who was the apple of Ray’s eye, Brian who played shop after school and patiently counted out the fake money. Brian who now, in a jumper that barely fit him anymore, reached down and took his youngest brother from Jack’s arms. He settled the baby on his hip, as he had done years before for Ray and for Michael and for Gavin. Jeremy’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as he looked at his brother. Jack held his breath. Jeremy’s brow knitted together. His little cheeks flushed red. And then Brian pulled a face as the baby farted upon his hip, loud and wet. Jeremy laughed. Jack hid his own chuckle behind his hand. Brian shook his head at his younger brother.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Jeremy.”

Jack changed the baby before he let Brian sit down with him. He smiled at his eldest as Brian held both Jeremy and Ray on his lap. He watched as Ray gave Jeremy his present. He could see Ray’s fingers itching to help him unwrap it but a simple shake of the head from Brian and he sat, as patiently as he could, and watched his younger brother fight to free the toy from its wrapping paper. Jack was distracted by a small kiss upon his neck. He leaned back against his husband. Geoff wrapped his arms around him, black trash bag coming to rest upon Jack’s stomach. It was nearly full.

Later, when all the presents had been unwrapped and the turkey had been eaten, they all returned to the living room. Brian sat beside Ray on the couch and pointed at the screen of Geoff’s laptop as he offered tips to Ray on how to get the best score. Jeremy was curled up on his lap, thumb on the edge of his lips as he snored softly. Michael sipped at his second hot cocoa of the day, which had been Geoff’s at first but had been given up rather quickly. He sat beside Brian on the couch with one of his new toys, a teddy bear with a rather mean face, and watched the Christmas movie that Geoff had put on for them. Jack snored from the armchair where he had, up until recently, been teaching Gavin the words to Silent Night. He had unintentionally sung himself to sleep. Gavin pressed a kiss to his forehead and scrambled down from his papa’s lap. He looked up as Geoff returned with his replacement mug of hot cocoa. Geoff smiled at him and nodded to the tree. There was nothing left under it but the puzzle. Its pieces had been scattered but were still mostly left under the tree.

“Shall we?”

Gavin rushed to the tree and fell to the floor with a plop. Geoff was much slower, and more careful, as he lowered himself to the ground. He placed his mug between them and laughed when he saw Gavin’s eyes dart toward it.

“Go on then,” he said.

Gavin yanked the cup up off the floor. The drink sloshed inside, and then over, before it hit the carpet. Gavin’s eyes grew wide as he brought the mug to his lip. Geoff sighed at the stain but managed to keep himself from rushing to clean it. If it lingered later on, he would simply tell his husband that they should refit new carpets as a Christmas present to themselves. He reached for a puzzle piece instead, rubbing his thumb over the worn image. It wasn’t a corner, so he put it to one side and looked for another. Gavin placed the mug down much more gently than he had picked it up. Hot cocoa clung to his upper lip in a mockery of a moustache that would not sprout there for years to come. He found a corner piece, showed it to his dad, and placed it confidently where he knew it should go. Geoff was sure it was for the other side of the puzzle, but he kept it to himself and hunted for something to connect to it. As Geoff searched, Gavin glanced up at the top of the tree. He smiled at his fairy and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’.

#roosterteeth fanficion #rt fanfic #ragehappy #jackeoff #rt baby au

4 notes · View notes